#//so if you want like a full rundown

[enchantedbrew]

۞ Cafe Enchante ۞

۞ A Brief Summary of the Plot and Routes ۞

{I figured that since there probably aren't a lot of people who have played this game, I could make things easier by giving a brief overview of the contents of the game so my partners aren't having to come in blind. I'm going to cut for length, but I will be as concise as possible so you could just skip to the section you're looking for and read the tldr on that.}

{Please be aware there will be spoilers in this post! If you plan on playing the game and don't want to be spoiled, please do not read beyond the plot overview! There will also be triggers for dark and graphic content like violence and combat, as well as content like depression and trauma.}

۞ Table of Contents ۞

Main Plot Characters and Worlds Mysir's Route and Non-Route Rindo Rindo's Route Important Items and Mechanics

۞ Main Plot ۞

The main character (Kotone Awaki) inherits a beloved cafe called Enchante from her late grandfather, Souan Awaki. But upon going to check the status of the shop, Kotone discovers that within it is a door that acts as a gate to other worlds, and the only patrons of the shop are all beings beyond humanity. Things are further complicated when a government agent arrives to the scene as well. From there Kotone chooses to keep and run the cafe, and she accepts any responsibility that comes with it.

۞ Characters (And Their Worlds) ۞

Kotone Awaki - The MC, for the sake of this blog an NPC, but the main love interest for characters in the game. She hails from the human world, and after Souan's death, she runs the cafe Enchante.

Souan Awaki - Kotone's grandfather. He was brash and beloved by everyone associated with Enchante, but apparently not fond of adventure.

Misyr Rex - The "Demon Lord" from Asmodea, the Demon World... Except he's actually a former human warped by the wasteland he was stranded on, The World of End Times. He pretends to be a demon lord while he's in Enchante, and he has a playful, mischievous attitude. He's constantly butting heads with Rindo.

Canus Espada - The Fairy of Death, Dullahan, is a noble knight fairy with flames where his head should be. He's usually shy and straightforward, but he never hesitates to protect those he cares about. His world is the fairy world of Medio, run by its queen Titannia and her brother Vennia.

Ignis Carbunculus - A firewolf hailing from the beast world of Bestia, he's loud and rambunctious but hides his feelings. A tsundere type, he's awkward with his feelings, but he's the strongest beast of his world. In Bestia only the strongest survive in the merciless winter wasteland, but Ignis refuses to kill. He's often followed by his fan and adopted brother, Dromi.

Il Fado de Rie - A fallen angel that lives permanently in Enchante, he's mostly confused about how humans and society works, and he isn't trusted to do anything on his own simply because no one trusts him not to go overboard with his powers as an angel. His homeworld is the Heavenly World of Caelm, where angels aren't allowed to feel emotions. Growing emotions is how angels fall, and that's why Il is forced to live in the cafe.

Kaoru Rindo - Another from the human world, Rindo is a government agent that works for the Government Paranormalism Measures organization (aka the GPM). This organization studies, uncovers, and manages non-humans that make their way into the human world (usually via wormholes that only last for a short while).

۞ Misyr's Route and not Choosing Rindo ۞

I'm going to focus on Rindo since he's the only LI I portray, but since Misyr's route is the technical true ending, and since I use it as a basis for Rindo's "happy ending" verse, I'll be covering it, too.

Misyr's Route - Following Mysir's route reveals the truth about his not being a demon lord and the calamity that is the World of End Times, a world born from a human soul's lingering despair. Long story short, the world's spirit strips Kotone of her corporeal form, and Misyr jumps in to save her, a feat that takes all of the circumstances of previous routes coming together (which I won't cover here) to accomplish. After they are saved, the human world becomes aware of non-humans and a reformed GPM work to discover how to turn non-humans back into humans (since Kotone doesn't regain her body). This is basically the state I use for Rino's happy ending verse, where he works with Mikado to find the cure to non-human transformations and revert non-humans to their former human states. And thus saves not only Kotone but his sister as well.

Non-Route Rindo - Not only for the above but for any situation in which you don't select Rindo as your main route, he is a friendly and distant personality. His best friend is a overly-enthusiastic Akira Mikado, and his sister is Shizuku Rindo (who is also Mikado's girlfriend). Shizuku was promoted to a section of research that used torture and malpractice to experiment on humans and non-humans alike. When she threatened to expose these practices, she was added to the roster of subjects for experimentation, and he was turned into a non-human that then went on a rampage. Rindo spared her life, and Mikado gave her a medicine that kept her in a coma ever since. With this traumatic experience haunting him, Rindo is adverse to mixing human life with non-human life, and it causes him to avoid getting close to people as well. He doesn't even talk about his sister or the existence of her outside of conversations with Mikado.

۞ Rindo's Route ۞

If you select Rindo as your main route, you will learn the above information, and this becomes the main conflict of the story. Mikado is at one point promoted to the same branch of the GPM that Shizuku was, and there he discovers what really happened to her. Overcome with grief and rage, Mikado allows Shizuku to continue her rampage that she'd been cut short from so many years ago. Additionally, he discovers that with every life she takes, Shizuku regains a small fraction of her humanity. Unfortunately Rindo is caught in the crossfire and falls ill to her curse, for which there is no cure. As a last ditch effort, and regretful of the situation, Mikado gives Kotone a potion that turns him into a non-human. Rindo is forced to take on a form that he abhors, but as a result he becomes strong enough to stop Shizuku and Mikado's path of destruction. He kills his sister after a great battle, and Mikado allows himself to die by Shizuku's hand to avoid forcing Rindo to take him out, too. Once the situation calms down, Rindo leaves the GPM for good and dedicates himself to working in Enchante instead, prepared to live the rest of his life as a non-human.

۞ Important Items and Mechanics ۞

Enchante's Gate - The door through which the regulars come to Enchante. This gate connects to other worlds, and the door is usually hidden in those respective worlds where no one can see or perceive them. As a result, getting new customers is almost next to impossible, and those that are in Enchante only got there by accident. That being said, it isn't impossible that someone comes through.

Wormholes - Gates are the only permanent doorways from one world to the next, but wormholes exist to serve the same purpose as well. Wormholes are never stable, however, and they often close shortly after they're formed. GPM has one singular wormhole to Bestia that Mikado has managed to stabilize for an extended period of time, but this is an exception to the rule.

Non-human Types - GPM categorizes non-humans by types and will often refer to these types when encountering them. Type 1 Non-humans are non-hostile and can communicate. Type 2 Non-humans are non-hostile but cannot communicate. Type 3 Non-humans are hostile and cannot communicate. How GPM deals with non-humans greatly depends on how that individual falls into this categorization.

{So this isn't a ton of information, but I hope it gives you enough to work with going forward with writing with me. And of course if you have any other questions, feel free to come to me at any time and I'll answer them as soon as I can. Happy writing, folks!}

[57sfinest]

also yall we need to step back from the harryvision and understand that kim, at his core, is a loser (affectionate) like everyone else. so much out there wants to portray him as limitless patience, great cook, super organized, good handwriting, nice tasteful living quarters etc and that's fun to contrast him to harry but well i am here to RUIN that we need to take off the du bois glasses and appreciate kim for the weirdguy that he is. he has horrific fits of road rage and harry genuinely fears for his life riding along with him and witnessing the generational curses this man is capable of unleashing upon the stupid little fucks that cut him off on the 8/81. he has never had the time or space or budget to learn to cook so he lives off deli sandwiches and butter noodles and the occasional grab-and-go fruit. he writes so much so frequently with such awful handwriting that he has invented a new form of shorthand and the moralintern is contacting him to create a cipher system for them. he has no resources to furnish and maintain a nice flat so it's like a slightly gentrified r/malelivingspace but with a table for his sewing machine and there's scrap fabric and thread and half-pinned half-hemmed pants strewn about the place. there are absolutely a bunch of shitty mockups of his old wirral character in the backs of his notebooks and he hasn't played it in years but if he ever picks it back up then his minmax high int high dex definitely-not-a-self-insert sidhe artificer is READY. everyone add your weirdguy kim thoughts NOW 👇

[spineless-lobster]

Last night I had a dream that I showed hozier my instagram and it was nothing but the song of achilles what kind of disorder do I have

[blubble-lake]

it's been over 2 weeks and this thing (unfortunately) still has a grip on me

[porcubus]

Tumble user carkali you said many moons ago you were making a Carmen PowerPoint did you post that and I missed it or is it still in the works. Keep up the great work either way soldier ily

Hello beautiful anon you remembered that..(twirls my hair)

Well yes actually its not posted but I am still working on it, though its gonna be a very messy thing since. originally I had more of a thesis statement of what I thought was going to happen with carmen in limbus/her current state and feelings but it more turned into spotting carmen in a good chunk of the new abnormalities...

I think the theme is still there but like all my stuff its gonna be messy and kinda hard to read But I hope you will take what you can from it once posted :)

[tunacharm]

oh fuck the hyperfixation is starting to become politics

[iraprince]

gonna show u guys a little opalescent highlight hack i threw together today

rainbow gradient above your main figure (i usually have all my main figure folders/layers in one big folder, so i can clip gradient maps + adjustments to it!). liquify tool to push the colors around a bit. STAY WITH ME I KNOW IT LOOKS STUPID RN I'M GOING SOMEWHERE WITH THIS

THEN: set it to add/glow (or the equivalent in ur drawing program), lower the opacity a bit, and apply a layer mask. then u can edit the mask with whatever tools you like to create rainbow highlights!!

in this case i'm mostly using the lasso fill tool to chip out little facets, but i've also done some soft airbrushing to bring in larger rainbow swirls in some areas. it's pretty subtle here, but you can see it better when i remove the gradient map that's above everything, since below i'm working in greyscale:

more granular rambling beneath the cut!

u could also just do this with a brush that has color jitter, but what i like about using layer masks for highlight/shading layers is how simple and reversible it makes everything. i can use whatever brushes i want, and erasing/redoing things is super low stakes, which is great when i often approach this stuff with a super trial-and-error approach.

example: have u ever thrown a gradient w multiple colors over an entire piece, set it to multiply etc, and then tried to erase it away to carve out shadows/highlights? it's super frustrating, bc it looks really good, but if u erase something and then change ur mind later, u basically would have to like. recreate the gradient in the area u want to cover up again. that's how i used to do things before figuring out layer masks!! but masking basically creates a version of this with INFINITE undo bc u can erase/re-place the base layer whenever u want.

anyway, back to rambling about this specific method:

i actually have TWO of these layers on this piece (one with the liquified swirls shown above, and another that's just a normal concentric circle gradient with much broader stripes) so i can vary the highlights easily as needed.

since i've basically hidden the rainbow pattern from myself, the colors in each brushstroke i make will kind of be a surprise, which isn't always great -- but easily fixable! for example, if i carve out a highlight and it turns out the rainbow pattern in that area is way too stripey, i can just switch from editing the mask to editing the main layer and blur that spot a bit.

also, this isn't a full explanation of the overall transparency effect in these screencaps! there's other layer stuff happening below the rainbow highlights, but the short version is i have all this character's body parts in different folders, each with their own lineart and background fill, and then the fill opacity is lowered and there's multiply layers clipped to that -- blah blah it's a whole thing. maybe i'll have a whole rundown on this on patreon later. uhhh i think that's it tho! i hope u get something useful out of this extremely specific thing i did lmao

[tojisun]

the hand that feeds you

— “i take care of her, s’all.”

johnny mactavish x f!reader

cw: 18+ work - minors dni; age difference; daddy issues (kinda the central plot); cooking as a love language; slow burn but in high speed; a breath of angst; power imbalance; canon divergence - regular/non-military life au // amazing divider by @gildui! // 6.5k words

extra notes: this is a very self-indulgent work. there are holes in the plot, 100%, so ignore those holes pretty pls </3 also ik this is more of a captain johnny-verse but midway through, i started projecting so i might’ve written him incorrectly and im really sorry for that!!

being roommates with johnny is not as weird as it is; he’s amicable, at first, then full blown nice when days passed. he’s not loud, per se, but there’s always a constant chatter streaming from his space, like he physically can’t sit still through the silence which is great because you don’t fare any better with the stillness too, so reminiscent of how it was in the suburbs.

you moved to a neighbourhood just skirting past the inner city just because it’s a lot cheaper. but even then, rent was always high and your little box in a rundown complex wasn’t going to sustain you forever even if you wished it would. then, an opening in johnny’s townhouse was posted, almost half-price than whatever is up in the market, and it’s great despite your skepticism. hell, it’s more than great — it’s lifesaving.

your shitty job at the bookstore really can’t cover much of your expenses anymore, and sure student loans and the grant is great, but the growing debt makes you wince so it’s whatever at this point. you’re about to graduate soon anyway, pooling work experience from volunteering and club organizations, and it’s not like you can even go back to how it was.

(underway to law school, primed up before your father’s scrutiny but the burnout got to you before you could even write the LNAT. you realized that being a barrister wasn’t really what you wanted so you changed programs, midway, and switched to children’s education.

god, the disappointment in your pa’s eyes was so big, you knew to pack your shit before he could even kick you out.)

it’s… tough.

god, is it tough. none of your old friends and colleagues could stay in contact, which you don’t hold against them because most of them, by now, have graduated and entered law school. you’re straggling about two years back because of the switch in programs, and everything’s gone too tight. your budget. your social life.

your dating life.

johnny often distracts you from it all — he works in downtown, in one of those high-rise buildings often reserved for limiteds or holding companies, and has to travel off the city every three months. he makes good money, he said jovially, and you know it’s a nudge as to why your portion of the rent is cheap in the first place.

when you finally bit the bullet and asked why he put up one of the rooms in the market, johnny just shrugged and said he needed someone to house sit but sort off permanently. said something like last time he left, the pipes bursted and he couldn’t really fly back to help with the repairs.

it’s great being with him. he’s bright and bubbly, but also dependable in ways you never really thought about. like—

well, it’s all mundane things so listing them feels embarrassing, and it makes you feel as though you’re a touch-starved damsel and johnny just so happened to be the next older man to give you any attention and his time. but you can’t help it. god, you can’t help preen at the way he exists beside you.

he’s just so… beautiful, is what it is.

rugged and charming and loud and filling. the townhouse is too big for the two of you, but johnny makes it work. makes it feel like the two of you just fit into each other’s spaces.

early mornings are spent with him lilting between english and scottish, his exhaustion plastered onto him even after he’s downed two cups of coffee. he bumps his hip onto yours when he ambles out to prepare for his work, grumbling something like good morning and how’re you. afternoons are more lively and productive; it’s of you coming back from campus at six in the evening only to find him in the kitchen, fixing up dinner. it’s always something fancy and rich in flavour; something he always eats with wine on the side.

you, uh, you never thought he could actually cook, let alone feed himself well, but there he was, always a plate ready for you too like it’s expected that you’ll eat dinner with him. like spending time with him was just natural — the sky is blue, the ocean’s deep, and you and johnny fall into each other like there is an invisible string pulling you close to him.

it’s a beautiful change of pace, and there are more days now when you can breathe in a little easier, and you know it’s all because of johnny. it’s all him who pulled you out of your slump and out of that darkness and gave you the room, literally, to grow.

he’s beautiful, but you’ve said that already, haven’t you? he’s just… so good to be with.

then, johnny began picking up and bringing some home.

.

the first time it happened was shocking, really.

you had an early morning, something that’s so murky now in your memories so you’re unsure if it was anything uni related or work related, just that it was five in the morning and you were clambering downstairs as quietly as you could. you rounded the length of the hallway from the platform to the kitchen when you ran into someone.

“steady,” she’d said, voice hoarse and loud in her shock too.

you yelled, jumping, arms swinging because was there an intruder, and it took johnny physically subduing you for you to calm down. looking back now, you burn in embarrassment, but then you had been so worried, your body wound up so tightly in your fear.

“shh,” johnny had murmured with that wry grin. “s’just me, lass.”

your eyes danced between him and the brunette — pretty even in her rumpled shirt, with long legs and a small waist — trying to understand what was going on. you are sure johnny had told you before that he wasn’t seeing anyone so who—

“your girlfriend?” she asked johnny, turning to him with her lips pursed and her brow cocked up.

the question settled in your stomach, doing wonders to your already-fragile psyche. you’d just spent hours thinking about johnny and what he meant to you; what living with him meant. how it eased up something carved within the trenches of your being, like you’d always been waiting for someone like him.

the question was a reminder, like prickling you with icicles, leaving you to navigate the swoop. but johnny had laughed, nothing mean but so dismissive that you felt the curl of shame brandishing from the base of your spine like johnny was laughing at you.

“oh, nah,” he replied, arm still slung over your shoulders. “she’s sorta my ward, yes? i take care of her, s’all.”

that’s all. you’re nothing more to him but a ward. a tenant. not even a friend—

she hummed, then leaned over to kiss johnny, her eyes still drawn to you like she’s watching, waiting for a reaction, and when she got none, she trudged to the door. you and johnny watched as she bent down to slip in her shoes, some stilettos with red bottoms, before wordlessly disappearing into the darkened morning.

“pretty,” you chirped, trying to break the tension of whatever that was.

johnny laughed in that way that surely crinkled his eyes, only to steer the conversation away by asking why you were up early. you remembered what you had to do and you dived to the kitchen in a flurry, chatting about the deadlines and due dates — so it was a school thing — and johnny just watched, silent, humming, eyes still curved in his glee.

you left no sooner than his… paramour did and, for a while, that was that.

but your semester is coming to a close and your schedule is changing, but so is johnny’s. he’s coming home later and later, but always seemed to offer apologies in the form of easy-to-microwave meals for your dinner. they’re still homemade, probably cooked up in the morning before he left for work, and you’d messaged him to say that he didn’t need to worry about you. that, sure, you came to him amidst financial struggle, juggling work and school, and trying to decide if you would have to starve this month because of rent, but you can cook. for yourself and for him too.

johnny’s face did a terrible thing when you mentioned that in person, the first in a while after things got hectic.

“what,” you bit out, embarrassed.

“nothing,” he said, blinking like he was realizing things he shouldn’t. “s’fun doing things f’r you.”

then he clamped up, spooning soup into his mouth, some of it messily dribbling into his chin. it’s not like you were doing any better, with how your throat closed up at his words, eyes going wide.

it’s been a thing, is what it is, but neither of you two have ever acknowledged that it’s a thing. it’s been a wordless experience — of johnny taking over things when it comes to the house because of course he will, it’s his home, but he always covers things for you too. things you’re sure normal landlords don’t really worry about, but not johnny.

there’s always extra food in the kitchen, extra blankets when the weather dips. there’s even a new cooling machine for the summer even though you know johnny’s room already has an installed air conditioning. he’s even changed the seats in the dining room because he caught you once hitting your hip after an all-nighter on a project.

then, he refurbished the den to make it your office.

“you didn’t have to,” you told him, mind racing at your savings, wondering if he was going to increase your rent.

johnny just shook his head with an almost fond roll of his eyes and clapped your back, arm hovering there. “s’all yers, hen.”

everything he did always accounted for you. so why the women?

they’re all long limbed and trimmed waist, with eyes that sparkled even when all you’ve seen of them is always within the poorly-lit hallway. they have voices that curl teasingly, breathy like they’re enticing johnny for one more night. and they’ve always, always, treated you like a—

like a kid.

a burden, almost, of johnny’s.

and, hell, maybe you are. johnny’s almost twice your age; he’s also already well-established in his career, some senior position that you can’t really follow but one he talks about with fondness. he’s got land rover-money, the car in his garage big and black and almost military grade, and it looks so expensive especially beside the crappy civic you were able to snag for a cheap price because it’s got about three-hundred-thousand mileage already.

you’ve got nothing to give him, other than the lousy rent payment that he doesn’t even really need but is just asking for courtesy because it’d be so weird for him to offer a room, or two now given you have the den too, for free. you’ve got nothing on your name, and if it isn’t pity that makes johnny care for you, then you don’t know what.

maybe his string of one-night stands are right — you are just a kid.

that maybe you really are still too wet behind the ears for the real world that you go running to the next person that could protect you from it, stumbling into his life and licking up every drop of his attention, mistaking his kindness for devotion. his care for love.

.

you should have known, then, that the thoughts would ripple, leaving you to feel like the days are unnavigable. obsession quickly took root, growing fangs, and it ensnared you; a vice noose at what had been a pleasant coexistence.

hell, you can barely stand being with johnny because of the jealousy. it’s a shameful thing, but a part of you thinks you deserve johnny more than the others do.

you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s nightmares and the horrors that spill from his lips when it’s twelve in the morning and the two of you have hit the bourbon. you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s aversion to the windows in the living room; that the reason why the curtains are a deep green is not to match the new plants he’s allowed you to fill up his home but because they shroud the panels more than the cream ones had. you tell yourself that nobody knows that johnny can sing; that he can cook a mean tomahawk; that he likes reading; that his wrists were hurting so he’s currently scheduled for a surgery; that he’s soft to you.

the women don’t know this johnny, you tell yourself, nails clawing at the hems of your chest. they don’t know him the way i do.

it’s a pathetic whisper. it’s so laughable. so juvenile.

they’re right. they’re right.

(you’re just a—)

“i don’t see you anymore,” johnny murmured one morning, when things have gone quiet again, a cup of coffee sitting on the counter while he watches you throw orange peels into the garburator.

he just got back from a work trip in aberdeen, his exhaustion loud on his face. his hair is overgrown, the bottom ends of his mohawk curling along his nape. he was there for over three weeks, skirting almost close to a month — the longest he’s ever been away — and you had tried so hard not to message. not to drop casual check-ins because you’re sure no tenant ever does that to their landlord, but johnny had remained just as friendly; asking things like if you wanted another potted plant, a monstera or a dragon tree, or if you still had that swiss chocolate he brought home as a gift, or—

the list of his questions grew, but you’ve given him clipped replies, not knowing how to act right anymore since your quiet realization. even the “thing” that you thought you shared with him had fizzled at the drop of the women coming-and-leaving, and you are left to pick up the pieces.

it’s not like you’re broken or ruined or angry. god, no you aren’t.

but you feel unsteady, like now that you know that you liked him more than he liked you, you forgot how to breathe. how to live without that looming burden because your affection is nothing but a burden.

what will johnny do if he finds out? you can’t afford a new place to move into, not when you’re so close to graduating, the finish line just about to graze your very fingertips with how near it is. money is still tight, and johnny has already spoiled you rotten. has shown you how it is to live a comfortable life. and if he learns of your feelings, you would lose this. more than anything, you would lose him.

so you detached yourself from the noose, curling into yourself and using his work trip as a way to move on.

jesus — move on, huh? like there was a ‘you and johnny’ to even move on from. like there was anything there to read. like there was anything there to pull away from; twitching fingers drawing back into the spaces of your ribs, tucking yourself away from his warmth.

“i’ve been so busy, john,” you muttered, just as tired.

“yeah?” he said, still light. still jovial. “let me cook something nice for ye, huh? reward yer hard work and all.”

“i can’t.” you swallowed down the prickle lodged in your throat, eyes ducking away to avoid seeing his. “i’ve got a meeting with the club.”

(you missed the way johnny’s smile dipped.)

“oh,” he said.

you shrugged, internally wincing at your weak attempt at being normal, before gathering your thermos and your messily-wrapped sandwich. johnny was still standing by the counters when you turned around from the sink, his bulk so close to yours in ages. it had been so long since you could just reach over and feel his warmth; feel the soft pudge of what once were hardened muscles.

he’s looking at you with such sad eyes that it’s jarring to truly see because he’s looking at you like—

like he’s losing you.

“i’m gonna…” you trailed off, not really knowing how to end this truly awkward interaction.

“yeah, f’course,” he croaked out. “take care of yerself huh, lass?”

“thanks.” the smile on your face felt more like a grimace. “see you.”

he said nothing more after that, his eyes still searching; still furrowed like something’s changed and something’s happening, and it made your stomach drop because please. please don’t let him notice.

but johnny just watched as you went, his coffee all forgotten.

(something bloomed in the soft press of your heart, flickering like a young ember. you’ve never realized how longing could feel like your mouth is stuffed with cotton.)

.

johnny hasn't picked up since his return from aberdeen.

they’re getting a new firm so the shuffling has been brutal, leaving johnny to clamber out at five in the morning before coming back home when it’s pushing 11pm. the scruff on his face is becoming more unkempt, salt and pepper becoming more intense, but even then, he’s never looked more ruggedly beautiful as he is now.

it’s like he’s aged years and you shouldn’t be reacting so strongly to the change, but looking at johnny now makes you ache in a different way — core throbbing, throat parched and eyes stinging as you watch him. you’re so drawn to his gravitational pull, unable to detangle yourself now that it feels like he’s more back in your life than he ever was.

and you know it’ll end up hurting you. that you’ll go back to isolating yourself at the drop of a new girl in the house, the smell of her chanel or bvlgari perfume filling up the crevices that you’ve dutifully dusted every saturday morning while johnny’s out for a run. he’s made having casual lovers a cycle, one that you cannot blame him for because johnny doesn’t like you back.

but johnny’s been so attentive to you these days. he’s been a hovering presence even when he looks like he’s one blown wind away from passing out in his exhaustion, his warm hand always on the small of your back as he walks you to the door before chirping a hearty, “kick ass, bon!”

he’s back to fixing up food for you, like that blip in your schedule got him all creative because now, it’s not even just dinner. you’ve got breakfast waiting for you in the microwave, and packed lunch already in your bag, carefully tucked beside the manila folders and plastic envelopes for your capstone. it’s like he’s making up for something which is dumb and wrong because now, you’re all swooping stomach and prickling lungs.

“yummy?” johnny asked, catching you wriggling in excitement at the flavour bursting into your tongue.

your cheeks tingled, feverish, before giving him a shy nod.

he huffed, something so achingly fond, and rested his chin atop his crossed arms. you didn’t know what to focus on — the scruff on his face or the hard lines of webbing veins spilling from beneath his folded sleeves. then, he crooned, “good. that’s good.”

you ran upstairs to your room, throwing an excuse about finishing up your paper, before locking the door, and feeding your cunt two fingers to satiate the burn. the stretch was delicious, raw and sweet, and you humped your wrist, trying to douse the flames burning you up.

you thought of johnny, of the way he looked and how much nicer he’s been; of johnny and the way he was so kind to you, so caring like you’re up in his priority list again, overtaking his busy schedule and the firm restructuring, and his needs.

your orgasm felt like a ripping of reality, your mind splintering at the edges as you’re stretched thin. it felt like you’ve been pulled taut, then released with a resounding snap. it felt euphoric, like the explosion of something intoxicating. something wickedly addicting.

you knew that this could never be unmade. your affections had grown their tendrils, curling past the quiet admiration and spiralling into something unforgiving. into something greater than yourself.

“fuck,” you had rasped out, eyes prickling with tears as shame rushed into your chest. “fuck.”

you didn’t need this. you didn’t need any of this.

but it becomes a cycle — wash, rinse, repeat.

johnny continues to go unshaven; continues to pour his attention to you. and you soak it up, needy and soft, unable to turn away with your tail tucked between your legs. you fall back to the ease of how it had been, hip bumping his, morning coffee shared in the silence, dinner a filling affair once more. all that’s changed are the lingering looks, the resonating touches.

how johnny’s wide hand falls to the small of your back more often; how his fingers just slots against yours every time he passes you your cup; how his eyes rove over your face, always searching for something you dare not hope for.

the last time he flicked his eyes down to watch the way your tongue lapped at your lips, swiping away at the extra cream, johnny’s pupils had constricted before a quiet groan rumbled from his throat. your thighs had quickly clenched close as heat exploded in the pit of your belly, spreading like wildfire through your veins. the pressure on your nub made you hiccup, like a whine dragging itself from your trachea, and johnny had snapped his eyes back to yours so quickly, it made you heady.

“bon–”

“i have to go,” you murmured, clamouring to shaky legs.

you fucked yourself to a deafening point once more, ears ringing as you squirted, the gush of your slick pushing past your fingers. you had to gnash your pillow cover to muffle the moan rumbling from the base of your throat, trying desperately to be good. to not be heard. to be better.

but johnny’s burning gaze on your lips was seared into your memory, blazing on top of everything, and you imagined—

god, you imagined.

the way he’ll take you — beard rough on your chin, thicker fingers spreading you wider, reaching deeper, before finally filling you up with all of him, bullying the whole length of his cock until he bottoms out.

you pressed on your stomach, dizzy, thinking about how johnny would hit that far. you know he would. the women he’s slept with have told you, anyway, in passing, describing how he was in bed with dreamy sighs like they weren’t still reeking of sex and johnny’s aftershave.

(you still wonder why so many of them were mean, their noses tipped up every time they saw you. they were the ones that johnny chose, the ones who were fortunate enough to have been his lover, so you wonder why they still sought you out like you were competition.)

“johnnyyyy!” you moaned, loud and long, your fingers prodding at your walls, and you knew that you’d regret the wrangled cry later, but you didn’t care then, too busy swimming in the aftermath of your orgasm.

.

but johnny heard it anyway.

he told you that he had heard you. 

it happened so quickly — one moment you were bent over the espresso machine, fiddling with the levers with bleary-eyed attempts, then the next thing you knew was that johnny was crowding you, trapping you between the warm bulk of his body and the counter, his eyes furrowed so deeply which made the lines on his forehead run much deeper.

“whu’?” you asked, blinking tiredly at him.

johnny just did this shaky breath that rattled his whole body, like he was propped up by a couple of sticks instead of his whole mass. the mood shifted with that weak inhale though, and you turned to fully face him, ignoring the beeping machine because johnny was still looking at you with those eyes.

the ones that made you feel seen, read, and laid bare before him. like he could weave his eyes past the fabrics of your shirt to peek into the very jagged shards of your heart and see the cross that you’ve been carrying. like he knew things about you that he shouldn’t.

“johnny?” you prodded again, finding his silence alarming.

“yer too young for me, m’eudail,” johnny finally rumbled out, voice thick and deep.

and it’s—

what.

your mind was pressing into your skull, trying desperately to link your synapses together; for the fog to clear and for your coherence to rise above the pull of drowsiness, but johnny was faster. like now that he’s said the first words, the rest just follow, unstoppable in their force and in their meaning.

“i told myself i couldn’t,” he murmured, still breathing shakily; gaze still too fragile. “that yer lookin’ for nothin’ like me, and that yer just tryin’ to get out there with yer career.”

he lifted a hand, fingers twitching, before balling it back down to a fist.

“told myself i’ve gotta let go. found a way to cope and shit.”

johnny took another ragged breath in, and it startled you into gulping one of your own — you didn’t even realize that you’ve held your breath as he spoke to you, your chest clenching tightly as your mind began to link the passageways together, filling you in on what he wasn’t really saying.

“but carin’ f’you was so easy. christ, it was even delightful, hen.” he chuckled, something that was somewhat raw and pained.

you licked at your lips, blinking wide eyes open. johnny tracked the movement, his nose flaring like you’ve done something more than a subconscious thing, his shoulders going taut.

“i like doing all sorta things for you. liked seeing y’eat what i cooked; liked seeing y’use what i got f’you. liked watching y’come home to me. to me.”

a soft sound echoed between the two of you, and it took you an embarrassingly long time to realize that it was a breathless whimper that petered out from the base of your throat. you didn’t even realize that you’ve curled into yourself, almost like you’re trying your best to shrink before johnny, and johnny crooned.

callused palm cupped the round of your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your eye. “told myself yer too young; that surely yer looking for someone closer to yer age, but bon, i heard y’last night.”

you startled in his hold, a quiet gasp piercing through the heat. johnny’s lips danced with mirth.

“s’right. heard a loud thump against the wall and ran upstairs, all worried, but guess my surprise, yes? y’were moanin’ my name so loudly, it’s like y’left yer door open.”

“johnny, i–”

“tell me,” he said, moving closer, his chest pressing against yours. “tell me t’stop, bon, an’ i will. but y’ve got to tell me. y’ve got to push me away.”

you looked at him, your eyes trembling at what he was laying out thickly, and your throat going parched at the blanketing desire rippling from him. there were so many things you wanted to ask, but his breath was tickling the bridge of your nose, dancing so close to the bow of your lips, and your heart ached.

desire coursed through you in waves, dribbling from the cup, and you lurched forward, chasing after his lips.

johnny melted into you. his hesitant touch turned greedier, more possessive, mapping your body and pulling you closer into him. his mouth devoured your own, gulping down the pleased little sighs and keens spilling from your lips. he kissed like a man starved, but you weren’t any softer; all nippy and desperate, fingers digging into his hair and fisting at the thin strands.

it was feverish, almost to a boiling point, and you needed more.

god, you needed more.

“johnny,” you mewled when he pulled away just enough to slide his damp lips along the cut of your jaw. “johnny, need you.”

“christ,” johnny sounded so wrecked, his voice rumbling deeply from where his lips were suckling on the soft curve of your neck. “i’ve been dreaming of this, mo luaidh. i knew i shouldn’t but yer so sweet to me and i– i wanted.” he said that word like it was dirty; like he’d been fighting tooth-and-nail to suppress it.

it made you tremble to hear how johnny desired you just as much. he had always felt unobtainable; always danced too far from your grasp and was always bigger than what you knew you could handle — his lovers had always looked divinely; pretty, yes, but fierce in their own right like they knew how to live without johnny; and you know they could, because they didn’t need johnny the way you do. they didn’t look at johnny like you do, like he hung the stars with those thick and aged hands of his.

but as you stood there, feeling every word punctured onto your skin, you couldn’t help but begin to cry, the tears springing from your eyes to slip down your cheeks. johnny rubbed your back, soothing and gentle. 

“i wanted t’take you – make y’all mine,” he whispered. 

you hiccuped, shaky from the weight of your hunger, and nuzzled close. your hands fell from fisting his hair so you could claw at the sharp corners of his shoulder blades, feeling the muscles there rippling, all taut when he bent forward and kissed you.

“please,” you began, feeling your mind thinning because you wanted more. more. more. more. “i can be– johnny, s’always been you. nobody else but you.”

you tugged him away, cupping his jaw and forcing him to look at you. and god, johnny looked so devastatingly beautiful, his eyes all furrowed and his cheeks all flushed, and his lips spit-sheened.

“fuck me,” you whispered, tired of dancing around.

he groaned, something that sounded so pained, before he was tugging you with him, up the stairs and skirting past your room and into his. 

you’ve never been in johnny’s room before, just as he had never been in yours since you moved in, and until now you still don’t know what you had been expecting upon walking in, but the smell of johnny wafting through was almost gut-punching. he smelled so close, like he was everywhere — surrounding you from the ground-up, dousing every pore with him until even your mouth felt full.

and johnny, he smelt like home. 

there were no more words uttered as he stripped you off your pyjamas, sure fingers making their way down the buttons, unlatching them from the hemmed slits. you watched with heavy eyes, blinking slowly like everything had been wrung out of you, leaving you pliant and soft. johnny hummed, appreciative, and mapped kisses from your heaving chest, teeth nipping at the fat, before moving on, sprinkling every expanse of your skin with such reverence. 

your hands were balled to your chest when he reached the jut of your belly, his chin hovering just above your crotch. johnny flicked up his darkened eyes at you, asking silently.

you gave him a nod, not trusting your own voice too.

johnny’s eyes had turned into slits, pleased, and hefted himself up just enough to be able to fit his hands on your hips and tugged your pants down. you shivered, the warmth in his room not enough to suppress the winter chill, and it made you buck into him. johnny comforted you with a quiet shh, rubbing his palm on the pudge of your thigh in soothing circles.

you don’t know why that touch was what did it for you, but soft sobs finally spilled from your mouth, scrunching up the desire into something undeniably frail. johnny didn’t startle though, like he knew that you had been wounding up to this tipping point, and instead continued to touch you tenderly, almost like if he could, he would cradle you close. 

“i love you,” you said, sniffling, because that was the crux of your vulnerability, right?

you love him. god, you love him. 

you’ve loved him since the day he sat you down for dinner and told you that you’ve got nothing to worry about, not anymore and not with him around. you’ve loved him since the day he flipped the den so you can have your own space for work; don’t mind the fact that he didn’t know if you were going to even stay, just that he insisted that you deserved that room either way. you’ve loved him since that swiss chocolate, since that cup of coffee, since he’s begun filling your painfully lonely days with his care. 

you’ve loved him since and now—

“oh, mo graidh,” johnny breathed out. “i love you too.” he kissed your thigh, scruff ticklish. “gu siorraidh is gu brath.”

you wanted to ask what that meant but johnny was already moving, sitting back up to strip out of his own shirt. you trailed your eyes down his body, capturing your trembling lips between your teeth at how breathtaking he was — soft with fat but still heavy with muscles, fuzzy with hair with the smattering pooling just underneath his belly button before trailing down to where they were hidden underneath his pants. 

you twitched before finally braving enough to reach out and brush your knuckle over the indents of his softened abs. johnny hummed, something that curled with appreciation, before covering your hand with his and holding it there. 

“all of me s’yers, hen,” he said with such finality that you felt it settle deep within the marrows of your bones. 

you nodded, emotionally spent and johnny lilted something else in scottish, so soft that it was almost a croon. you let him manhandle you — pushing your hips up so he could slot a pillow under for your back; you were so malleable to his touch as he took over, bending once again for a kiss while his fingers danced past the laces of your panties and into the damp heat of your pussy. 

you moaned, eyelashes fluttering when he pressed one in, so careful and slow, but you were so wet that it slid in with no resistance, gobbling it up knuckle-deep. johnny had groaned like he could feel your rising euphoria, before nosing along your temple as he wiggled the finger around, stroking at your walls. you wondered if he was going to tease but then he was pulling it out, only to plunge two in the next thrust, curling and stretching, and oh—

oh, ssss’good.

you don’t even remember how long he’d been spearing you with his thicker fingers, rough and long and reaching far, far deeper than you could with your own, but you laid there, sobbing, feeling your slick slip out, pooling, making a mess of your thighs and his sheets. johnny had moved from suckling on your neck to taking a nipple in his mouth, teeth softly gnashing at the bud. you felt like you were on fire, burning from your core, aching for a release. 

“cum f’me, m’eudail,” johnny groaned, breathless himself, his cock poking underneath his boxers, the fabric all wet from where his tip was, leaking pearled pre-. “let me see you.”

“johnny, i’m gonna– i’m–!” you squealed, legs jumping, squeezing johnny’s sides as you jolted, hips twitching at the bloating ecstasy. johnny just pushed down on your thigh, not letting up with the pace of his fingers. he was fucking you so hard that his hand’s slapping against your skin, his palm grinding down on your clit just right, and the pleasure sizzled into something biting. into something that was almost painful.

it was catastrophic, pulling you into two directions. johnny’s everywhere — his scent in your lungs, his fingers deep in your pussy, his mouth hot and wet on your tits, and like this, like this, you felt yourself breaking. 

ripping—

then, your orgasm was punched out of you. 

your senses had gone awry — throat throbbing as you cried out, your eyes going blind as they rolled into your skull at the final curl of johnny’s fingers. white noise filled your ears, and it was like you were submerged underneath water, wading through the crashing tides of your climax.

you came back to johnny peppering your face with soft kisses, whispering something you couldn’t decipher past the croon of your name and something like you did good and so beautiful. he’d already pulled his fingers out, and used both arms to cradle you close. you felt so empty — god, that wasn’t even his cock, yet — but your body thrummed pleasantly, almost like the itch was finally scratched. 

“johnny?” you puffed out, voice all scratchy and weak. 

“i’m here, bon. i’m here.”

you hummed, curling into his chest, head pillowed by his arm. you wanted to ask what about his own euphoria, but johnny seemed so content just laying there with you, not really desperate or needy, so you let it go, losing the battle against your drowsiness before finally slipping into a quiet sleep. 

.

johnny’s there for your graduation, carrying a big bouquet of only eden roses. you didn’t even know that those particular ones were expensive until someone from the graduation party oohed and aahed to their friend. 

your cheeks burned when their friend chirped, “well someone’s clearly loved.”

you know that what they said would have had johnny agreeing loudly if he was allowed in the lineup because he is never one to be shy about what he feels; or not anymore, anyway. he loves so fully and openly that you still wonder why it took the two of you so long to get together, but the days since then had just been kind and filling that you have long forgotten how it was to not be with him. 

they’re going to call your name soon, and your stomach swoops, excitement and anxiety mixing in a dizzying tandem. 

you’re graduating with a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a diploma in early childhood education, and this is not where you thought you would be when you first started university, but it’s the happiest you have ever been. and sure much of your poli-sci courses were scrapped when you changed majors, and that’s also a lot of money wasted, but you have three job opportunities lined up already and it’s like the seismic shift in your life had finally corrected itself. 

(your mom said she’s sorry that she and your pa couldn’t come, but you’ve stopped longing for their acceptance and told her it was fine.

there’s a date saved in your calendar, though, for a brunch with her and that was enough.)

you ducked into johnny’s arms when the graduation ceremony ended, careful of the bouquet he’s holding. 

“congratulations, bonnie,” he says, a hearty laugh rumbling from his chest. “christ, i’m so, so proud of you.”

you never pegged yourself for a crybaby, but tears begin to pool in the corners of your eyes at the weight of his words. 

“thank you,” you reply, soft and raw, and honest. 

johnny pulls you in, his lips warm as they’re pressed on your forehead. 

and this, just like this, you know things will only get better from here on out. 

[mortalityplays]

Unprintable: Artists Against Authority

I am absolutely beside myself with excitement to announce the launch of Unprintable.

Unprintable is an online free shop, where original artwork and arts resources are released into the public domain.

Everything listed here is free to use, copy and remix any way you like. You can print off hi-res artwork to decorate your apartment, or to use in your own projects. You can use the writing in your own zines, anthologies or performances. You can put it on a t-shirt. You can read it on the radio. You can paint it on a truck. It's up to you, entirely and forever.

The collection will be updated continuously, on an unfixed schedule, with contributions from a wide range of named and anonymous artists and activists. You can read the FAQ for a full rundown of what Unprintable is and why it exists, but these are the really important parts:

Can I download/print/use the work listed here? Yes. Can I use it for [X]? You can do whatever you want with it forever. But what if I want to [Y]? You can do whatever you want with it forever. Why do this? A few reasons: 1. We want a space to just share things, no strings attached. We recognise that copyright is an irrational system that was designed to protect the profit interests of publishing middlemen and IP hoarders. In fact, copyright is often weaponised against the creators it pretends to protect. As long as it exists, we are unlikely to win any other form of protection for our work, and we are profoundly limited from engaging in the kind of communal artistic and storytelling practices that were the norm around the world for thousands of years. 2. Radical art is often unprintable. Profit motives make people cautious. A lot of print-on-demand or local print shop services will refuse artwork with controversial, sensitive or political content. This is very frustrating when these themes are the focus of so much of our work (and indeed our lives). Rather than waste any more breath trying to explain why a trans artist might want to print the word ‘faggot’, we can give our work away for free. Got a printer? It’s yours. 3. It feels good. Sharing is joyful. It’s the reason we love making things in the first place. We don’t write poems because we look forward to filleting them for consumption, or layer colours so that we can sell a canvas by the ounce. We have only ever wanted to be able to support ourselves so that we can make, but that relationship is deeply dysfunctional under capitalism. We made these things, and we want you to have them. It doesn’t need to be complicated.

I'll write up some more posts introducing the launch collection soon. In the meantime...be free, enjoy, explore, have fun!

https://free.mortalityplays.com

[zillychu]

I’ve gotten a WAVE of asks about this AU, so I decided to flesh it out some more and answer some of those questions!

I’ll probably polish this extended summary up at some point and submit it to AO3. But for now, here’s a rundown of my thoughts–please feel free to send more questions! I’ll update this post if I get any more. But if you’re someone who wanted to write fic for it, don’t worry, you don’t need to take my headcanons as gospel. It’s a pretty basic AU honestly lol

Summary:

The portal accident results in a violent explosion that wipes out the whole block, and condemns all of Amity Park. Danny haunts the city for 100 years, before Sam and Tucker find him. 

Setup:

In the 1920’s, 19-year-old Danny went into the incomplete portal on his own, hoping to help out his parents. Ripping the portal open through unnatural means created a huge burst of energy that resulted in a massive explosion. A good portion of the Amity Park population died, many were injured, and the ones on the fringes relocated–Amity was quickly deemed too dangerous due to the excess ectoplasm in the area that attracted ghosts. 

While the disaster was in Amity, the fallout was seen around the globe. Before, natural portals were rare, short-lived, and rarely allowed ghosts to fully slip into our realm (the most severe cases being on par with poltergeists that most people didn’t believe in). Now, natural portals pop open frequently around the world, large enough to allow the entirety of a ghost into the physical plane. They’re more common the closer you get to Amity, but they happen enough elsewhere that this change was something of a small apocalypse before people settled back down and found out how to combat at least some of their new, permanent neighbors. 

Danny is unaware that he’s only half-dead, believing he’s a full ghost. He ends up sticking around Amity, unintentionally making it his haunt. His grief and guilt over causing the death of his loved ones (and many others) makes him isolate and avoid human contact. Though he has, at times, scared nosy people away from the city in a mix of territorial instinct–and to get them to leave before a less friendly ghost finds them. 

Ghosts are much more of an uncontested danger in this AU. Lesser ghosts are practically mindless, and while stronger ghosts are capable of reason, their interests are limited. They’re highly territorial, possessive, and often destructive. Most worrisome is that they also like to snack on the life force of anything alive. No one is sure what dictates a ghost’s propensity to attack or hunt the living for their life force since ghosts don’t exactly experience hunger. At least, not the way we do. If a human is rescued before their life force is fully drained, they can make a full recovery–though humanity has still not yet found what this “life force" is. 

And since the Fentons’ research died along with them, there aren’t many tools available to the public to protect them from ghosts. Most homes have standard ghost shields and some weapons are available on the market, but certified ghost hunters are required to take care of anything more powerful than your average spook. 

Sam and Tucker met in high school, and are now rooming together for college very close to the Amity border. Rent is surprisingly cheap when you’re a stone’s throw away from a condemned area crawling with ghosts. Sam is the one who drags Tucker along with her fascination over finding out more about the city, and its largely mysterious demise. Sam is aware of the danger, but feels ghosts have a place in this world just like everything else, and does exercise caution–like one would while foraging in the woods with a known tiger population. 

What she and Tucker weren’t expecting was to run into a ghost that felt almost human. One that hasn't hurt them, not for lack of trying–while being powerful enough to walk past ghost shields without so much as a flinch. The long white hair is familiar in the whispers of the ectobiologist community, but there’s no way it could be the rumored ghost king Phantom, right?

About Danny:

He has very long hair, claws, and black sclera. His hazmat suit is more torn and ragged, with exposed hands and feet that fade into a burnt black.

His hair tends to float a lot on its own. It can start morphing into fire under duress. 

He does still technically have gloves and boots, they've just charred and melted into his skin towards the ends. He can't take them off in his ghost form. His hands and feet have a leathery texture that's tougher than the rest of his skin.

The white of his hazmat suit is both supposed to look like flames, and also a battered look representing his more violent, explosive death.

Overall, he appears rather listless and sad, with an unnerving air of danger around him–even for a ghost. 

Danny’s “ghost sense” comes out as white smoke.

He does breathe black smoke at times, usually when agitated. 

He's already fought and defeated Pariah Dark by the time Sam and Tucker find him, technically making him the Ghost King. This is heavily speculated by ghost experts, despite there being no real proof beyond a massive battle that scarred Illinois. He has not donned the Ring or the Crown, and captured sentient ghosts are hesitant to answer questions surrounding him. Danny basically has the throne but doesn’t do anything with it, and finds it meaningless enough to routinely forget he has the title. He only fought Pariah because he knew otherwise, humanity would have perished. A lot of ghosts are scared of him because he's so hard to figure out, and he's strong. 

Danny is usually very quiet and speaks softly, because his lungs were damaged in the blaze that half-killed him. He's technically healed since becoming a ghost, so it's more of a compulsion due to the traumatic memory. That, and he’s just… very forlorn and distant, shy around humans who don’t seem to understand how dangerous it is to keep hanging around him.

His memories pre-accident are extremely fuzzy. He knows the very basics of who he was, but specifics have been muffled due to trauma and isolation. He routinely forgets human habits, etiquette, etc. and tends to act more like a full ghost with some odd quirks. 

He does try to scare Sam and Tucker off numerous times. Unfortunately for him, they realized they shouldn't have been able to escape a ghost that strong–but they did, because he let them. 

Sam and Tucker think he's mute at first! He doesn't speak a word to them until several encounters later, when he fumbles his whole scary act and saves them from another ghost. 

He’s still half-ghost, though he doesn’t figure this out until Sam and Tucker come along trying to unravel the mysteries behind the Amity catastrophe. Physically and emotionally, he’s been stuck for 100 years–so his human form is still 19. It’s unclear at this point if he can age normally like a human as long as he stays in human form, or if he’s immortal. 

Danny's family did not turn into ghosts, though he sometimes worries he'll find them in the afterlife as shells of their former selves. He doesn't know if it's better or worse that he's not sure he'd recognize them. 

(Danny also still has some living family. Take a guess.)

Yes, he knows how to Wail. Understandably, he very rarely uses it. You do not want to witness this.

Danny :) is not immune :) from the allure of eating a human's life force :)))

[wheeboo]

for a moment, forever | choi seungcheol

SYNOPSIS. in which while shopping for wedding dresses for your best friend, you can't help but want to try one on too. PAIRING. choi seungcheol x gn!reader (ft. jihyo from twice as reader's engaged best friend) GENRE. fluff, established relationship WARNINGS. mild cursing, terms of endearment, reader wears a wedding dress, cheol doesn't show up until like halfway into the fic HAHAH WORD COUNT. 2.2k

notes: this is lowkey me describing my dream dress if i do somehow get married lmao so also self indulgent too ig, and it was fun searching up dresses! this also reminds me of that one scene from extraordinary attorney woo. if u know u know :') happy belated bday cheol <3

[02:39PM | y/n] should be done with jihyo's appointment in a few hours!! you can pick me up then bub❤️

[2:41PM | cheol 💕] Sounds good, my love. I'll see you then 😊

"Wait, oh my God, that one is beautiful!"

"Right?!" Jihyo exclaims eagerly before swiping to the next photo in her camera roll, on it displayed a gorgeous mermaid wedding dress that she had saved from Pinterest. "Okay, not sure if I like the mermaid ones but this was one was too pretty to not be saved."

"You can always ask to try one on too. I still think you'd rock whichever one you put on," You tell her, lacing an arm around hers as the two of you approach the bridal boutique that was just around the corner. "I still can't believe you're getting married."

When you and Jihyo exchange knowing glances with each other, squeals of excitement escape both of you. It feels surreal, almost like a dream knowing that your best friend is about to walk down the aisle and take her first steps into married life. Just ahead of the two of you, the bridal boutique gleams with soft lights and elegantly displayed gowns in the windows.

As you both step inside, the cozy warmth of the boutique wraps around you, and a subtle, lingering floral scent and delicate perfume fills the air. The interior is enchanting yet inviting, with a variety of dresses arranged by style. The boutique's consultant greets you both with a welcoming smile, and after a brief chat and a rundown of the different options, she leads you to a private area where Jihyo can begin her fitting.

You follow Jihyo as she naturally gravitates towards the gowns on display. You can tell she's already picturing herself in each dress. It's a bit overwhelming being surrounded by so many intricately designed dresses, like you've walked straight into a world of fairytale. Lace, satin, tulle𑁋every fabric imaginable seems to be represented here.

While helping Jihyo pick out some dresses, you can't lie that some have caught your eye more than you can admit. Knowing that one day these dresses will be worn by someone on of the most important days of your life fills you with awe. The thought makes your heart full, and briefly, you can't but help but imagine yourself walking down the aisle one day.

For a moment, your mind flickers to the thought of Seungcheol, and your heart does a jump.

One particular white tulle, floral embroidered dress with off-shoulder sleeves catches your attention. It's a perfect blend of elegance and romance. You let your hand run over the delicate embroidery, marvelling with admiration at the elaborate details caressed over every inch of it. The floral patterns are so finely crafted that they seem to bloom like real flowers right out of the fabric.

"Y/N, you need to try that on right now!"

You turn swiftly at the sound of Jihyo's commanding voice. "What? No, I can't𑁋"

"Come on, please!" Jihyo urges insistently while holding just about a dozen dresses in her hands. "It's so beautiful!"

"But this is for your special day, not𑁋"

"Honey, you and Seungcheol have been together for so long now, and sooner or later, you're going to have your special day too. Just try it on for fun, and I’d love to see how it looks on you!"

Okay, she really didn't have to bring up Seungcheol like that, but now you can't get it out of your head. An odd, fluttery feeling bursts in your stomach on top of the embarrassment crawling up your neck.

"Fine," You relent with a playful look. "But I'll do it after you try on all your dresses. Once again, today is for you, missy."

A wide grin spreads across her face as she shuffles towards the fitting room. "It's a deal!"

The next hour or so you spend lounging on the couch as Jihyo tries on dress after dress. Each one seems to bring out a different side of her: from elegant to dramatic, playful to sophisticated. You can’t help but laugh and cheer her on, snapping pictures and videos to capture every moment. You also help with various aspects of the fittings, from adjusting straps to even adding the veil on her head.

"You look like a princess!" You exclaim, clapping your hands as she twirls in a voluminous ball gown in front of the mirror.

"I feel like one!" Jihyo giggles, even doing a dramatic hair flip to add for an endearing touch.

The last one that she tries on is a mermaid dress with stunning lace detailing and a long, flowing train that spreads across the floor like ocean waves. As she steps out of the fitting room, the dress hugs her curves perfectly, and she looks every bit of a confident, radiant bride shining in her own element.

"Girl," You gasp out, voice full of awe. "that dress was made for you. You look absolutely stunning!"

Jihyo gazes at herself in the mirror. "Really?"

"Yes!" You claim, and you almost want to cry thinking about your best friend walking down the aisle. "I can so picture you walking down the aisle in this, holy shit."

Jihyo chuckles bashfully at your reaction.

"I'm going to be a bride," she says aloud, somewhat to herself and in a way announcing to the world too, before turning to you with a gleeful expression. "I'm going to be a bride!"

[04:45PM | cheol 💕] Are you done, sweetheart? I got to leave work earlier and just arrived at the place. Might come in since it's boiling outside 😅

"I really don't know about this𑁋"

"Come on, just try it on!" Jihyo nudges you ever so slightly to the fitting room, the dress trembling in your grasp. "This will be us doing some early preparations for your wedding, 'kay?"

Reluctantly, you find yourself stepping into the fitting room, the dress in your hands feeling both light and heavy at the same time. Taking a long, deep breath, you start to change into the dress as the consultant comes to your side to assist.

At first, the fabric feels odd against your skin, the delicate embroidery and soft tulle brushing against your shoulders as you put on the dress. The off-shoulder sleeves fit surprisingly snug when you slip them through your arms. The floral patterns seem to come alive right before your eyes, just like they had when you first saw the dress.

You take the first glance of yourself in the mirror in the fitting room, and it's almost as if you've been kicked in the gut and all the words had left you.

"Wow," You whisper to yourself, doing a small spin to see how the dress looks, and it feels absolutely magical to be the one wearing this dress right now.

Scrambling slightly, you look around your scattered belongings on the floor for your phone, knowing that you just have to capture this very moment before you would have to take the dress off.

But you can't find your phone anywhere.

"Crap, where did I put it?" You mumble annoyedly, having to move your dress around to get a better look, yet you still don't see it. Did you leave it outside? "Hey, Jihyo! If you're out there, can you pass me my phone?"

No response.

"Jihyo?"

Still no response.

Deflating your shoulders, you decide you might as well step outside to retrieve it.

"I didn't think the dress would fit this good. It's a bit heavier than I thought but I think I could manage𑁋"

And then you freeze, almost as if you were caught red-handed committing some sort of heinous crime, because Seungcheol is standing not that far away from you, eyes wide with disbelief and mouth dropped down to the floor at the sight of you wearing the wedding dress.

For a few moments, it's like the world stops as well, and you start to feel a little self-conscious under his gaze.

"Cheol? What are you..." Then you look down at yourself and the dress you were wearing. "You're here earlier than I-I thought, I should go change𑁋"

Seungcheol blinks back to reality from your words. "Wait, no, don't move, please."

He keeps his eyes locked on you, his gaze moving from your face, to the way the dress hugs and accentuates your figure in all the right ways, then back up again. You can practically see the gears turning in his head. You can't help but feel a blush creeping up your cheeks as you stand there, awkwardly holding the hem of the dress in your sweaty hands.

You can hear your heart pounding in your chest. This is not how you imagined seeing Seungcheol after Jihyo's appointment. You were expecting a casual, friendly greeting, maybe a quick kiss, and then a drive home. But this... this is different. You've been with Seungcheol for years, but he's staring at you like he's seeing you for the first time.

"Wow, I..." He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly before placing his hands in his pockets. "You're fucking breathtaking, honey."

Your cheeks burn brighter than ever, some sort of choked sound leaving you at his bluntness. You glance down at the dress, then back at Seungcheol.

"You... You think so?" You ask, voice timid and tainted with unsureness.

"Think so?" he repeats, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I know so. I can't take my eyes off you."

A rush of heat climbs up your neck as you avert your eyes away, pretending to adjust the hem of the dress, fingers clumsily tugging at the material. The dress suddenly feels suffocatingly hot and you don't know how much more you can take.

His eyes still don't leave you even when he steps closer, the features of his face softening into simply an adoring look.

You could feel your feet melting into the ground below. "Cheol, I should really go change𑁋"

"Not yet," he says firmly, and you stay put. "Just let me look at you for a little longer, please?"

That familiar, pleading tone to his voice makes your heart run laps in your chest and causes your knees to feel like jelly. He takes a few more steps towards you, and before you know, he's standing right in front of you, half-lidded eyes flickering between yours and your lips. He takes a hand out of his pocket and reaches out to gently cup your face, letting a finger trace slowly over your cheek, leaning in just close enough to whisper in your ear.

"I can't wait to marry you."

His words come out so quiet that you're barely able to hear it. And before you can respond, some loud, marching footsteps snaps you out of thought.

"Y/N! Look at this, I found the perfect veil for you!" When Jihyo sees you and Seungcheol, she stops short in her tracks, glancing at the sight of you in the dress and Seungcheol standing in front of you appearing as if he was just two seconds away from kissing you.

You clear your throat loudly, stepping away from Seungcheol and towards Jihyo.

"You found a veil for me?" You ask her.

"Yeah, put it on!" Jihyo hands you the dainty veil. "I went through hell trying to find a good one and I think this one works perfectly."

You feel Seungcheol's eyes on you as you carry the veil towards the mirror and carefully place it over your head. The light, airy fabric showers down around you, complementing the elegant gown. As you adjust the veil to your liking, you catch a glimpse of your reflection and can't help but smile. You see Seungcheol in the mirror as well, staring at you with an intense gaze of admiration.

And when you turn around, Seungcheol thinks you look more beautiful than what his imagination could possibly give him. He has to bite at his bottom lip in order to suppress some of the giddiness threatening to spread throughout his body, and the thought of seeing you again in a wedding dress makes him almost dizzy.

You're like an angel who has stepped foot into his world. The dress houses your wings and the veil is your halo. It's a perfect vision of the future he’s been dreaming about for so long it nearly makes him burst; a reality that he never thought he'd be seeing so soon.

He's going to marry you𑁋he knows he will. He knew that from that moment you first smiled at him back in your freshman year English class, all because you both simply made unexpected eye contact while you were introducing yourself. He knew it even more when he embarrassingly fell on his ass during a university soccer game and your laugh was the only sound that he could hear.

This is his first peek of forever with you, and he can't wait for it to all come true.

Seungcheol faintly hears you ask what he thinks about it, and only the heavens know how much he wants to answer by putting that ring stashed in the depths of his bedside drawer on your finger right then and there. But there's a time and place for everything. He has to make sure everything is perfect first.

So, yeah, he should really get to planning. And right now seems like a good start.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @eternalgyu

@lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @ryuwonieebae @wonwooz1

@mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23

@phenomenalgirl9 @mirxzii @bookyeom @parkjennykim @melodicrabbit

@bewoyewo @honglynights @bananabubble @treehouse-mouse @starshuas

@totomoshi @armycarat2612 @etherealyoungk @maesvtr0 @gigification

[sasheemo]

Friday Thoughts

Chapter 1

Word count: 5.3k

Chapter Index

Read on AO3

Four months. That’s how long it’s been since you stepped into the quiet, modern house nestled at the end of a well-kept street. Four months since you met Nicholas, bright-eyed and full of questions, the kind of kid who could win over even the most reluctant babysitter. And four months since you met his mother, Agatha Harkness.

Agatha had been polite, professional, and just distant enough to make her presence intoxicating. At first, you told yourself it was nothing, just admiration for someone so self-assured, so obviously in control of her world. But as the weeks passed, admiration turned into fascination, and fascination into a quiet, gnawing ache you couldn’t shake.

It wasn’t as if the two of you shared many conversations. Agatha kept things brief—efficient, almost clinical. A quick rundown of Nicholas’ dinner preferences and bedtime routine, a reminder to call if anything urgent came up. She never offered more than the bare minimum needed to keep things running smoothly, yet her presence made every exchange feel heavier than it should. 

You tried not to think about her too much. Tried to focus on Nicholas, the job, anything else. But ignoring Agatha Harkness was like trying to ignore gravity - inescapable, pulling you in whether you wanted it or not. 

It wasn’t just her appearance - though that certainly didn’t help - it was the way she occupied space, commanding attention without effort. The way her gaze would flick to you, sharp and assessing, like she was filing away every detail for later consideration.

And when she left… she didn’t just leave. She left behind. The faint scent of her perfume, rich and warm, clinging to the air long after the door had closed behind her. The lingering echo of her voice, low and smooth, a melody that at times could feel almost too calculated to be accidental.

You told yourself it was nothing. Just a natural reaction to being around someone like her: refined, confident, and utterly out of reach. But the longer you spent in her home, the harder it became to convince yourself of that, especially when so much about her remained shrouded in mystery.

You had no idea what she did for a living, only that it involved late-night calls, countless virtual meetings, a constant stream of emails at all hours, and events that demanded an air of authority as much as they did elegance. 

She was always impeccably dressed, whether she was working from home or heading out for an event: power suits tailored to perfection, silk shirts and blouses that radiated precision as sharp as the cut of her blazers, and fitted dresses that looked like they belonged on the cover of a magazine.

She exuded the kind of confidence that made you certain she held a position of influence, something important, something that carried weight. CEO, maybe? Or some high-ranking executive? It would explain the polished demeanor, the frustration that would sometimes edge into her voice during a call you definitely  weren’t meant to overhear, and the meticulous organization of her home office. 

Then again, she had an air of mystery that didn’t quite fit neatly into the corporate box. She was decisive, yes, but there was something else beneath it, something restrained, like she was only showing a fraction of what she was truly capable of.

You didn’t even know Agatha’s exact age. There were old photos scattered around the house, most of them of Nicholas as a baby, a few of her alongside Rio, her ex-wife. You’d caught glimpses of them during one of Nicholas’ enthusiastic storytelling tangents, the kind of childlike recounting that brought those still frames to life. Rio looked noticeably younger in the pictures, which only deepened the intrigue surrounding Agatha. How old was she? Late forties? Early fifties? 

Not that it mattered, or at least… it shouldn’t have. But the more time you spent in her orbit, the harder it became to ignore just how much space she occupied in your thoughts. It was unprofessional, irrational, and entirely out of your control, as if every little detail about her demanded a corner of your attention whether you wanted it to or not.

The first time you met, you’d thought she was intimidating. There was something about the sharpness in her gaze, the way she seemed to size you up as if you were being evaluated for a job far more critical than babysitting. 

You’d left the interview certain she didn’t think much of you. But then she’d hired you.

To be fair, you hadn’t exactly taken the job because of your love for children. Babysitting seemed like an easy way to make some extra cash while juggling your morning part-time job. You hadn’t expected to enjoy it, much less grow attached to Nicholas.

But Nicholas wasn’t like other kids. He was curious, creative, and so full of energy that you couldn’t help but be drawn in. He’d ask you about your favorite books, try to teach you the names of constellations from his room, and once insisted on making you a friendship bracelet out of beads and string.

And then there were the quieter moments. Like the time he’d curled up beside you on the couch after a rough day at school, falling asleep mid-sentence while you read his favorite book. Or the time he’d asked, out of the blue, “Do you think my mom gets lonely when I’m at school?”.

You hadn’t known how to answer that one.

Nicholas made the job feel… easy. Comforting, even. But his mother? She made it kind of impossible.

Every time you walked into her home, you’d feel her presence. Not physically, she was rarely around long enough for that, but in the little things she left behind, subtle markers of her existence woven into the very own fabric of the house. 

The low hum of her voice drifting from the upstairs study during late-night calls, words too muffled to make out but carrying a cadence of control that made you pause, just to listen. The faint impression of her meticulousness in the perfectly aligned cushions on the couch, the neatly stacked mail on the counter, the absence of even a stray sock or misplaced book.

Then there was the way her heels clicked against the floor when she came downstairs, the sound crisp yet unhurried. She didn’t rush, Agatha Harkness was not the kind of person who rushed. Her movements seemed to shape the rhythm of the house itself, setting a quiet standard for everything and everyone in her space.

Soon, you began picking up on details you had no business noticing. Small, fleeting moments that clung to the edges of your thoughts like whispers you couldn’t quite ignore. Like, the slight smirk she gave when Nicholas said something clever, a mixture of pride and amusement softening her features. Or the way she adjusted her hair when she was stressed, tucking loose strands behind her ear with a practiced motion, revealing the elegant curve of her neck.

And then there were the more unconscious gestures, each one driving you wild in its own very excruciating way. The quiet rhythm of her foot tapping against the kitchen floor when she sipped her coffee between meetings. The faint click of her tongue against her lips when Nicholas tested her patience, a subtle attempt to hold back words she clearly wanted to let loose. The way she stood when she was lost in thought, her arms loosely crossed as one finger absently brushed against her lips, almost as if she was tasting the edge of an unspoken idea. 

And her laugh. God, her laugh. It wasn’t often that Nicholas managed to coax it out of her, but when he did, it was warm and rich, a sound that lingered long after she left the room.

Everything about her seemed carefully curated, controlled at all times. And yet, in those instants, you saw something else. A woman who, despite all her poise and precision, carried the weight of something she never let anyone else see.

You weren’t supposed to think about her like this. Not when she was the mother of the child you babysat. Not when every interaction with her reminded you of just how far apart your worlds were. Not when she was so far out of your league, it was laughable.

She is older, accomplished, and entirely unattainable. The kind of woman who probably spends her evenings at upscale dinners or in rooms filled with people who match her level of sophistication. Women who are successful, and as captivating as she is, people she could meet as equals.

And who are you? Someone who stumbles over your words if she so much as glances your way for too long. Someone whose idea of ambition is stringing together part-time jobs to pay the bills. 

It isn’t just that she is out of your league, it’s like she is playing a completely different game.

But that didn’t stop your mind from wandering. 

You knew it was ridiculous to even entertain the idea of her seeing you as anything more than a babysitter. And yet, in the quiet moments, when her voice lingered in your head or her laugh replayed itself unbidden, the thought of her crept in, no matter how hard you tried to push it away.

It didn’t help that most of the nights you were working at her house were predictable, almost comforting in their routine: dinner, homework, reading or watching a movie with Nicholas. A lovely rhythm, easy and unassuming. 

Except for Fridays.

Fridays were different. Fridays were harder. Fridays were the nights when Agatha didn’t stay holed up in her study, immersed in work or late-night calls. No, she would step out in one of her perfectly tailored outfits, leaving behind a quiet hum in the air, like the house itself was holding its breath in her absence.

And like clockwork, every Friday night, when she walked out the door, you’d find yourself wondering. Where was she going? Who was she meeting? What would it be like to occupy even a fraction of her time? Did she let others see pieces of herself you’d only glimpsed in passing? Did she laugh with them the way she sometimes laughed with Nicholas? 

The questions gnawed at you in ways you hated to admit, piling up in your mind uninvited and unrelenting, until all you could do was let them sit there, unanswered and far beyond your reach.

“Get a grip.” you mutter to yourself as you approach the house, tugging your hoodie tighter against the evening chill. But you can’t shake the feeling that this Friday, like all the others, will leave you tangled in questions you have no right to ask, about a life that’s so close yet impossibly far away.

When you reach the door, you pause, taking a breath to steady yourself. You knock and when Agatha opens the door, you momentarily forget how to breathe.

She stands before you in a deep navy suit, the tailored jacket hugging her form perfectly, the sharp lines of her trousers elongating her already commanding presence. A delicate gold chain rests against her collarbone, catching the light every time she moves, and her fingers gleam with matching gold rings. Her hair is swept back, leaving a few strands to frame her face, and her pointy black heels click faintly as she steps aside to let you in.

“Evening, hon.” she greets, her voice a smooth hum that settles in the space between you like a low melody. Her gaze sweeps over you, unreadable as always, but you catch it - a flicker of something in the corner of her mouth, an almost-smile that makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Hi.” The word slips out, and you pray she doesn’t notice the slight quiver in your voice. You grip the strap of your backpack a little tighter, as if that will steady you.

Stepping inside and closing the door, you let the familiar warmth of the house wash over you, the faint sound of Nicholas’ laughter from the living room grounding you just enough. You focus on it, using the noise as a lifeline to ignore the way your pulse quickens in her presence.

Agatha moves toward the hall mirror, tilting her head as she checks her lipstick. The movement is casual, something you’ve seen her do countless times in the past months, and yet your eyes are drawn to her like a magnet.

“You know the drill.” she says suddenly, her voice breaking the silence and startling you just enough to snap your attention away. She doesn’t turn, her focus still on her reflection, but her tone commands yours. “Dinner’s already set out for Nicky, and he’s got homework to finish before he’s allowed any TV. I should be back around midnight, but call if you need anything.”

“Got it.” you nod quickly, keeping your response as short as possibile, not fully trusting your voice.

As she turns to reach for her bag, your ‘Friday thoughts’ spill out right on time, tumbling over themselves in a chaotic rush you can’t seem to contain. Your weekly ritual of overthinking, courtesy of one Agatha Harkness.

Where is she going tonight? Another date? She has to be dating. It would explain the Friday nights routine, the flawless outfits, the faint whiff of perfume that lingers long after she leaves. Nobody has ever come home with her or even close to the house in the past months. Does that mean the dates go poorly? Does she cut them short, brushing the other person off with the same composed finality she seems to apply to everything else? Would she even bring someone back here? 

Probably not. No, if anything, she’d go to their place. Some immaculate apartment, probably, with clean lines and expensive furniture. Somewhere she could walk in, take control, and leave just as effortlessly when she wanted to.

You shake your head, trying to banish the images from your mind. They always feel so intrusive, like you’re stepping into corners of her life you have no right to imagine.

Agatha’s voice breaks the silence once again, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“Don’t let him con you into staying up late.” she says, a playful lilt in her tone as she heads toward the door.

Your lips curve in a faint smile as you manage a reply, your voice steadier than you expect. “I’m not so easily corrupted, you know.”

She pauses in the doorway and turns back slightly, her gaze fixated on yours not long enough to offer answers, but just enough to stir more questions.

And then, she’s gone. The front door clicking shut and the soft echo of her heels fading into the night feeling so anticlimactic compared to the storm she leaves behind in your head. You stand there for a moment, staring at the door. 

What is it about her that makes you care so much? Why does she take up so much space in your mind when you know, deep down, that you’re nothing more than the babysitter?

But even that thought doesn’t hold. If you’re just the babysitter, then why does her gaze linger more now than it did in the beginning, like a challenge, like she’s daring you to figure her out? Why does it feel like the tension between you has been building over the weeks, simmering beneath the surface, a game you don’t fully understand but can’t help wanting to play?

And why, in those moments, does it feel like she’s not just looking at you, but through you, as if she’s started seeing pieces of you that even you aren’t ready to admit?

It wasn’t always like this. At first, her attention felt brief, almost incidental - a fleeting glance here, a curt smile there. But now, there’s something deliberate about it, something that leaves you questioning everything every time you’re near her. 

But that’s all it is: questions. Never answers. And it’s maddening.

The hours pass quietly after Agatha leaves. Nicholas breezes through his homework with minimal resistance, though not without a few dramatic groans and exaggerated complaints. Dinner is uneventful, save for a minor debate over whether carrots are better raw or roasted.

By the time the clock strikes nine, Nicholas is sprawled on the couch beside you, his favorite blanket draped haphazardly across both of you. He’s already halfway to sleep, eyelids fluttering as he fights the inevitable.

“One more movie.” he murmurs, his voice soft and drowsy. “I promise I’ll go to bed right after.”

You tilt your head, arching an eyebrow as you shoot him a skeptical look, the kind of look you’ve perfected over the months, the one that makes him squirm just enough to admit he’s pushing his luck.

He flashes a sheepish grin, clutching the blanket tighter.

You shake your head but don’t press the matter, reaching for the remote to start the movie. He inches closer as it plays on, the way he always does when he’s tired but too stubborn to admit it. You feel the weight of his trust in the quiet way he settles, his breathing growing slower, his eyes fluttering closed more often than they stay open.

As minutes pass, Nicholas’ resolve doesn’t hold. Not even halfway through, his head tips against your arm, his breathing evening out into the quiet rhythm of sleep.

You glance down at him, his small frame curled against your side, and a wave of warmth washes over you at the sight. With a quiet sigh, you adjust slightly, sliding an arm around him. He leans into you instinctively, his trust so natural it tugs at something deep within you. A faint smile touches your lips as you shift your gaze back to the screen.

But your attention falters. The soft hum of the house, the rhythmic flicker of light from the TV, and the quiet cadence of Nicholas’ steady breathing create a cocoon of calm. The atmosphere wraps around you, soothing and lulling, until your eyelids grow heavier with each passing moment.

You try to resist, telling yourself you’ll move in just a minute, maybe two. But before you know it, sleep creeps in.

The soft click of the front door opening stirs you awake a couple of hours later.

For a moment, you lie frozen, still caught between sleep and wakefulness. Then, the faint sound of heels clicking on the floor reaches your ears, steady and unhurried, until Agatha steps into view.

Her suit only slightly rumpled and her hair just a little out of place, as the tired look in her eyes shifts to something softer when she takes in the scene before her.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” she mutters, though her voice carries more amusement than irritation.

You blink, sitting up carefully to avoid jostling Nicholas. “I, uh… he insisted on watching the movie, and I guess…” You trail off, gesturing vaguely at the blanket.

Her lips twitch, hovering on the edge of a smile. “So much for not being so easily corrupted.”

You let out a soft laugh, brushing a hand over the blanket. “I’d say I wasn’t corrupted, I was just… strategically outplayed.”

Agatha lets out a playful scoff before her gaze flicks back to Nicholas, and for a moment, something in her demeanor shifts. The dim light of the living room catches her profile, tracing the delicate lines of her features, fleeting but unmistakably tender.

She crosses the room and kneels beside the couch. With a soft touch, she brushes a hand over Nicholas’ shoulder, murmuring his name in a low, soothing tone until his eyes flutter open. Groggy but obedient, he reaches for her hand, and she helps him to his feet.

You hover awkwardly by the couch, unsure whether to follow or retreat. But when Agatha rises and leads Nicholas toward the stairs, you find yourself trailing behind them instinctively. Agatha walks beside her son, her hand lightly resting on his back, steadying him as he shuffles up the steps rubbing his sleepy eyes.

At the top of the stairs, she pauses in front of his bedroom, guiding him inside. You standing awkwardly by the doorway, caught between the pull of the moment and the nagging sense that you’re intruding on something sacred, watching as she tucks him in. 

When Agatha finally steps back, she lets out a quiet sigh, brushing her hand across her son’s hair one last time. She moves toward you without looking, gently nudging the door closed behind her with the faintest click. 

For a moment, the two of you remain in the hallway, the silence between you heavy but not uncomfortable. It gives you just enough time to glance down at yourself. 

Comfy sweatpants, an oversized hoodie, and the faintest smudge of Nicholas’ dinner on your sleeve - a smudge you hadn’t noticed until now. It’s not awful, not disheveled, but standing next to her, you feel like a rough pencil sketch beside a masterpiece.

There’s no denying it, the gap between you. She’s poised in a way that seems effortless, innate. There’s this weight to her sophistication, not showy but intrinsic, as if it’s simply woven into the fabric of who she is.

It makes you feel impossibly small. A painful reminder that she’s untouchable, a fantasy so far out of reach it feels foolish to even consider.

Agatha leans lightly against the wall, her arms crossing in a way that feels unhurried, almost lazy, a stark contrast to the usual precision she carries herself with. Yet even in this quiet repose, she doesn’t lose an ounce of her commanding presence.

She exhales softly, a subtle sound that fully draws your attention. It’s like she’s letting go of the weight of the night piece by piece, and it feels oddly grounding, a rare glimpse into something unspoken.

“Long day?” you ask breaking the silence, your voice quieter than you intend, almost hesitant.

At the sound, her eyes snap up to meet yours, a flicker of surprise crossing her face as if she’d forgotten you were there. It’s fleeting, quickly masked by a practiced neutrality, but for that brief moment, she looks almost caught off guard, as though your presence is something she hadn’t actually accounted for.

“Longer than it was worth.” she replies, her tone low and even.

You hesitate as the air between you grows thick, pressing down on your chest until, before you can stop yourself, the words slip out. 

“Bad date?” they tumble from your lips unbidden, and the moment they’re out, your heart lodges itself firmly in your throat.

For a moment, the hallway feels suspended in time, her gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that has your pulse pounding in your ears. Agatha tilts her head slightly, her eyebrow arching as she studies you, the corner of her lips curving upward - not quite a smile, more a deliberate flicker of amusement.

“Bold of you to assume it was a date.” she says, her voice low and tinged with intrigue, as if daring you to explain yourself.

Your cheeks burn, but you can’t backpedal now. “I mean—it’s Friday, and you looked so—uh, dressed up…”

“Careful, hon.” she interrupts smoothly, her tone laced with teasing. “Flattery will only get you so far.”

You swallow hard, suddenly hyperaware of how her perfume lingers faintly in the air between you. “I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t mean to—”

Agatha cuts you off with a low, rich laugh, the sound curling around you like smoke, warm and unshakable. It’s the kind of laugh that feels like a statement, as though she knows exactly how flustered she’s made you and isn’t above enjoying it.

She doesn’t say a word, but her gaze stays on you for just a beat longer than necessary, her eyes catching yours in a way that feels way too deliberate. Then, with a grace so effortless it almost feels unfair, she pushes off the wall, brushing past you as she moves downstairs.

You linger for a moment in the hallway, trying to steady your breath after the quiet intensity of the exchange. But when you finally descend the stairs, the soft clink of glass pulls your attention to the kitchen.

That’s exactly where you find Agatha, illuminated by the soft glow of the light above the sink. She’s holding a glass of red wine in one hand, her other arm braced casually on the countertop.

Once again, you find yourself hesitatingly watching her from the doorway. Your gaze settles on her hand, on the way the graceful tilt of her wrist makes the wine swirl in the glass.

“Done sneaking around?” she teases without turning to look at you, her tone low and laced with  amusement.

Your cheeks flush, and you step into the kitchen, fumbling for an excuse. “I wasn’t sneaking. I just- wanted to say goodnight before I left.”

She finally turns upon hearing your voice, her eyes catching yours with unsettling ease as she leans lazily against the counter, the glass cradled in her hand. “Isn’t that sweet.” she murmurs, her tone softer, thoughtful. “Almost as sweet as falling asleep on the couch with Nicky.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“It—it wasn’t—” you stammer, trying desperately to find your footing. “He was tired, and I guess I was too. It just… happened.”

Her lips curl into the faintest smile, and she takes a slow sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving yours. “No need to be so defensive.” she says, her voice dipping into something almost indulgent. “It’s a good thing. You’re great with him. Not everyone would be.”

The compliment strikes you square in the chest, and for a second, your brain struggles to process it. Your heart pounds so loudly you’re certain she must hear it. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but your words dissolve under the weight of her gaze. It’s calm and far too knowing for your liking, like she’s pulling apart every layer of you with ease.

And then, just as you think the moment can’t possibly get any more overwhelming, she does something that makes your thoughts screech to a halt.

Her tongue flicks over her bottom lip, unhurried and purposeful, as if savoring the last lingering taste of the wine. It’s a fleeting gesture, but one that feels maddeningly intentional, and the way her eyes darken as they hold yours sends a jolt of electricity straight through you.

As if perfectly aware of the effect she’s having on you, her expression shifts. Mischief crosses her features, the corner of her mouth tilting upward in a way that feels more dangerous than playful.

“Maybe” she says, her tone low, teasing, and just a touch too intimate “I should ask you out next Friday.”

The words land like a thunderclap. Your jaw slackens, your brain completely short-circuits, and you’re sure you’ve just imagined it. There’s no way she just said that.

“I—what?” you manage to stammer, your voice barely a whisper, your pulse now hammering in your ears to the point you fear you’ll grow deaf because of it.

Agatha tilts her head, her expression the picture of innocence, though the gleam in her eyes betrays her. “What?” she echoes, as though she has no idea why you’re reacting this way, casually swirling the wine in her glass like she hasn’t just flipped your entire world upside down.

You blink at her, your thoughts spiraling in every possible direction. There’s no way she means it. It’s a joke. It has to be a joke. But the way her eyes hold yours, the subtle curve of her lips, the raw energy she’s exuding - it all feels so charged, that you can’t help but question everything.

Your breath catches again as her smile deepens, and for a moment, you think she might actually say something else, something that’ll either clarify or completely unravel you. 

But instead, she leans back against the counter, watching you with an expression that’s equal parts amusement and intrigue, like she’s waiting to see what you’ll do next.

You can’t move. You can’t think. All you can do is stand there, your thoughts looping in an endless cycle of ‘What just happened? Did I imagine that? What does she mean?’.

“I should, uh… go.” you finally mumble, retreating toward the door as your brain struggles to keep up with your body.

“Of course.” she says smoothly, her tone as composed as ever. And then, as you reach the door, she adds, “Early shift tomorrow, right? Seven, if I’m not mistaken.”

You freeze, your hand on the doorknob, and glance back at her. “How did you—?”

“You mentioned it once, a couple of months ago.” she replies casually, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I tend to remember things like that.”

Her gaze lingers just long enough to make your pulse spike up once again before she finally looks away, taking another sip of her wine. “Goodnight, hon.”

You barely even register the door clicking shut behind you. The night air greets you like a slap, cool against your flushed cheeks, but it does absolutely nothing to steady the whirlwind of emotions spiraling inside you. Your feet carry you forward on instinct, each step heavier than the last as her words loop endlessly in your head.

Maybe I should ask you out next Friday.

The sentence hits like a gong, reverberating through your entire body. She remembered your schedule. Not just vaguely, she knew the exact time your shift starts. And then she said… that. 

Was it a joke? A casual tease? A test? A mistake? Was she - no, she didn’t seem drunk.

Your steps quicken, as if you can somehow outrun the storm in your mind, but it’s a losing battle. The echoes of her voice, the deliberate flicker in her gaze, the way she’d licked her lip like she knew exactly what it would do to you. It’s all still there, clinging to you like a second skin.

You stop dead in the middle of the sidewalk, pressing both hands to your head like you can physically stop the spiral. “Nope. Nope. Nope. That did not just happen.” you mutter, your voice growing louder with every word as if volume alone will make it less real. “She’s messing with me. She has to be messing with me.”

But even as you say it, doubt creeps in. You’d thought that before, but it couldn’t all be in your head, could it?

Your hands drop, and you stare blankly at the street ahead, your mind flitting through every possible explanation like a detective unraveling a conspiracy. 

‘Ok, so she’s teasing me. No, she’s testing me. No—oh God, what if she’s just bored? What if I’m like, some kind of entertainment for her?’

And then, the most dangerous thought of all slinks into view, unbidden and relentless. 

‘What if she wasn’t joking?’

Your knees nearly buckle at the thought, and you force yourself to keep walking, shaking your head like you can physically dislodge the idea. 

By the time you reach your door, your heart is still pounding, your face still burning, and your thoughts are definitely still stuck in an endless loop of ‘what the actual fuck just happened?’.

You step inside, kicking the door shut behind you with a quiet thud. The thought of changing or even turning on the lights feels like too much effort, so you head straight to your room. Dropping your bag by the door, you collapse onto the bed face-first, muffling a groan into your pillow.

You let out a long sigh, turning your head just enough to breathe as the pillow muffles the rest of your thoughts. Your body sinks into the mattress, heavy with exhaustion, but your mind refuses to quiet down.

You close your eyes, willing the tension to drain from your shoulders. The weight of her words, of her gaze, of all of the questions. You just want sleep to come quickly and take it all away.

And somehow, after a few restless minutes, it does.

[rizzanon]

Imagine being the neglected daughter of Bruce Wayne. No matter how hard you tried, you were always a shadow in a house full of larger-than-life personalities. You trained until your muscles ached, went on as many patrols as you could, and pushed yourself far beyond your limits—anything to earn even a sliver of attention from your father or siblings. But it never worked.

They always seemed so caught up in their own lives, their own missions, their own struggles. Dick was the golden boy, your father’s favourite no doubt. Jason was the black sheep of the family, but everyone still cared abiut him. Tim was the genius strategist, very much like your father, someone who felt so out of reach for you. Damian was the prodigy heir, the blood son, as he liked to flaunt, and someone able to have a proper father-son bond with Bruce. Cassandra was the silent powerhouse who also had an unshakable bond with Bruce, and Duke? Duke was the bright light—the one who somehow fit into the family dynamic faster than you ever could.

And you? You didn’t fit anywhere. You were just there, occupying space, trying so desperately to carve a place for yourself in a family that didn’t seem to have room for you.

You told yourself it would get better. That one day, they’d see you. But that day never came.

By the time you were twenty, you’d long since lost yourself in the role of being “Bruce Wayne’s daughter.” You couldn’t even remember what you liked or what you wanted for yourself anymore. What’s worde was that you weren’t even acknowledged as Bruce Wayne’s daughter. You were a disgrace, the media and public not letting you forget about your “disgraceful” bloodline. Your mother had an affair with Bruce Wayne years ago, and the moment you were born, she just left you at the doorstep of the manor, and completely disappeared. You weren’t wanted by your mother, nor your father. Nor by anyone else. Yet, you still tried. Hoping that things would change. Things would be different. But then, one night, everything ended.

It was a routine patrol. You’d tracked a lead on a drug ring to a rundown warehouse. It should have been simple. But then the shootout started. You held your own as best as you could, but you weren’t fast enough. You weren’t strong enough.

As you lay there bleeding out, alone in the cold darkness of the alley, all you could think about were regrets.

You wished you hadn’t wasted so much of your life chasing the approval of a family that didn’t seem to care. You wished you hadn’t pushed away your friends—the ones who told you that you deserved better, who begged you to stop throwing yourself into something that was breaking you. You wished you’d never picked up a mask at all.

Crime-fighting wasn’t for you. You knew that deep down. You wanted to help people, yes, but you weren’t like your brothers and sister. You didn’t have their instincts, their skills, their drive. It was like everyone else was built for this life, as if it was etched into their very bones. But you weren’t like them. You were trying to fight battles you weren’t built for, all because you thought it would make them notice you.

And as the world faded, your final thought was this: If I could do it all over again, I’d leave. I’d move out the second I could. I’d erase every trace of (Name) Wayne and start over. I’d live for myself.

Then everything went dark.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you noticed was the ceiling of your bedroom at Wayne Manor. You sat up, your heart pounding. The pain was gone, your wounds were gone—everything felt… normal. Too normal.

You looked down at yourself, noticing your hands were smaller, your frame slighter. Confused, you stumbled to the mirror across the room, and what you saw made your breath catch.

It was you. But younger. You couldn’t have been older than sixteen.

Your mind raced. Was this some kind of hallucination? A cruel trick? But then your gaze caught the date on your phone. It was four years ago.

You were sixteen again.

Should I write about this??

edit: yes, i think i’m gonna write this now, just need at least a few days to draft the storyline and see where i want to go with it 🫶

edit 2: yes, i’ve already started working on this , go check it out!! <3

[malereadermaniac]

Betrothed ~ Alpha FireLord Zuko x Omega male reader

Even after his father had been overruled, Zuko couldn't experience true freedom; bound by his duty as firelord Part of that duty was of course, as an Alpha, to find a mate and continue the lineage of the fire nation But when the firelord is brought a familiar face by the royal matchmaker, he's put at ease word count: 3.1k Sfw & Nsfw / MDNI ~ amab m!reader / FDNI

Zuko felt uncomfortable - both physically and emotionally. Physically, the firelord was uncomfortable from the head to toe firelord get-up; his advisors insisting he wears traditional Alphan fire lord clothing to his matchmaking appointment. He was deemed one of the luckiest men in the world, an Alpha born into not only wealth but royalty, but those blessings came with their own limitations. Zuko wanted to choose his partner, he wouldn't care of their secondary gender or status, the alpha just wanted the real love he had been deprived of all his life - and that was the root of his emotional discomfort. But nonetheless, as FireLord, he had a duty to his people and his honor, so Zuko was willing to go through with whatever was about to come.

As the matchmaker walks into the arranged meeting room, Zuko's nerves turn 10 fold - but he, of course, doesn't let that show, a simple chill running up his spine instead. He watches as the evidently Beta woman places down her folder and a packet of scent patches, sneaking a peak at her notes when she opens her folder; many graphs of scent compatibility catch Zuko's eyes along with his profile, clearly this woman takes her job seriously. After the matchmaker introduces herself, she hands out scent patches to any Alphas or Omegas in the room, allowing for Zuko to only be able to smell his soon-to-be mate and as to not overwhelm the Omega - afterwards, the woman starts to give a brief rundown of what will occur. Zuko listens attentively as he fidgets with his fingers beneath the table: the omega will walk in, she will read his brief information, the two will greet and scent each others wrists, if Zuko accepts the Omega then any advisors and herself will leave the room for the two to talk. It felt like the woman was talking forever, the FireLord's heart beating quicker and quicker by the second, but once she finally stopped, Zuko's head snapped to look at the door as the matchmaker stood up to let his future mate into the room. The last thing Zuko expected to see was his childhood friend - you, (y/n) (l/n).

"(Y/n)?!" Zuko stutters out, going to stand up but his advisors easing him to sit back down

"Ah! Zuk-..." you stopped yourself when you saw the matchmakers face, procedures had to be followed to a tee according to her. You make you way to the table Zuko was sat at and bow with grace

"FireLord Zuko, it's an honor"

Holy shit, your voice had such an immense effect on Zuko, the title of FireLord rolling off of your tongue perfectly. You were dressed in traditional clothing, ridiculously adorned with fire nation accessories, the sleeves of your clothing long enough to cover your hands as you nod and bow - you looked enthralling. Zuko had never seen you in this light, his contact with you having been cut before your secondary gender had shown itself, but man, did you really grow into a full Omega. Your scent was surprisingly the last thing the Alpha had noticed, but once he took a note of it, it was all the man could think of; a soft smell of flowers and cotton, it reminded Zuko of the happy portion of his childhood, but most of all it made his inner Alpha flare up like mad. The matchmaker starts to read off your information as you sit down in front of the royal, the both if you fighting smiles.

"(Y/n) of the affluent fire nation family of (L/n). Overall healthy with a blood type and astrological match with the FireLord. Most importantly, a 98% match between their pheromones. His fire bending is passable, but he passed top of his class in fire-healing. He has etiquette training, cooking, cleaning, and even medicinal skills as well as a fertility of 0.7 - one of the highest in the nation."

You cringed at all of your personal, embarrassing details were read off and watched as Zuko's advisors checked off on their little clipboards - but all of your negative emotions vanish when you catch Zuko's eyes, the warm smile on his face putting you at ease immediately. His scent was not only calming and anything but overwhelming, but it also felt like it was perfect for you, it was like gold was running through your veins every time you took a breath. The two of you snapped out of your infatuated dazes from the matchmaker coughing to draw attention. Zuko's advisors mumbled amongst themselves and then one whispered to Zuko, which resulted in a smile from the handsome Alpha which was followed by a nod - then, the next thing you knew, Zuko was holding out his wrist.

"May I scent you, (y/n)?" Zuko asked, initiating the scenting with his voice smooth like silk. You immediately agree and rub the scent gland on your wrist against Zuko's, your muscles instantly fully relaxing as his scent sticks to your gland. The two of you watch as all surrounding people leave the two of you alone and sit in a brief silence; that is until Zuko softly breaks it. Usual small talk turns into friendly catching up, Zuko interested in your life after the two of you were forced apart by life - you'd both talked about missing and thinking about each other and how you'd even witnessed Zuko's Agni-kai with his father. Over the half an hour that the two of you talked, your hands slowly crept closer together until Zuko's strong hand had its slender fingers intertwined with yours. Just before his advisors interrupted the two of you, Zuko had asked a question that shocked you

"Do you want to be my mate?"

Zuko knew the two of you had no choice in the matter, but because of his history with you, his previous and current soft-spot for you, he would want anything but to keep you in a forced relationship for his own benefit. After a short silence, a soft nod from you put Zuko's heart at ease; but that peace was only shortly lived until his advisors walked in and had you two follow along, the life of royalty barely giving the Alpha a chance to breathe. The two of you walked behind Zuko's head advisor, his other few trailing behind you both - and even they couldn't help but notice how right you two looked walking next to one another. After being escorted to your new shared bedroom, Zuko's advisors planned to take Zuko away to further discuss your relationship; however a wrench had been thrown into their plans when Zuko immediately disagreed, demanding that a discuss that surrounds you should include you. The way that the Alpha stood up for you made you beam internally, a small smile making its way onto your face, and with no room for argument, you left the room with Zuko and his advisors towards the meeting room. Passing by the throne room, the two of you notice some workers build you a throne as they did for Zuko - those advisors work really quick it seems - the both of you take into account how Zuko's is taller and positioned just a little higher than yous...

"We propose that the wedding happens by the end of the month" the lead advisor begins the discussion. The scene isn't necessarily foreign to you, your father having you sit in on meeting with the previous FireLord in this very room, a large table sits in the middle of the room, Zuko is positioned at the head with you next to him (kneeling in the floor) as his advisors sit at the opposite end.

"Isn't that a little too soon? Can't we have it by the end of the year?" Zuko argues, clearly not wanting to rush a delicate process

"One month is quite generous already, Lord Zuko... You must pull your nation together, a royal wedding is the type of celebration you need - the sooner the better, ten months is far too long" another advisor pops up

"One month isn't even enough time for me to properly court (y/n)" Zuko fights back, a calm demeanor on his face as he looks towards you and smiles

"My Lord, the Omega isn't the priority at this point in time, keep in mind you also need to provide an heir" the main advisor explains

"An heir? I understand the wedding, but the throne will receive an heir when the two of us so wish!" Zuko's tone shifts, clearly offended at the suggestion that your purpose in this marriage is to pop out pups

"Why don't we compromise to five months?" You pipe up, fidgeting with your sleeves as you look at the advisors

A short silence fills the room

"Don't speak during meeting, Omega" one of Zuko's advisors says to break the silence. All of then were thinking it, he was just stupid enough to say it

"I beg your pardon? Leave" Zuko demands, his tone devoid of emotion, and when the advisor protests, one look towards his guards has them remove the advisor from Zuko's meeting room.

"U-Uhm- Five months is acceptable, thank you" the lead advisor acknowledges your point, the first time you'd even been looked in the eyes by one of Zuko's trusted men

After the awkward meeting that surrounded your near and far future, the rest of your day reflected the whirlwind prior, sorting out royal duties and meeting Palace staff. But as the sun began to set and you made your way back to your room, Zuko stopped you

"Yes, my Lord?" You ask, looking up into Zuko's eyes with soft, tired eyes

"Y'know you can just call me Zuko..." the alpha blushes, the title really affecting him only when it came from your soft lips

"Haha... sorry, guess my training really did work" you chuckle

"Hmhm... was it really that intense?" Zuko asks as he starts to walk with you to the royal bedroom

"I mean... if you'd say 4 hours of etiquette training and 3 hours of learning how to please an Alpha a day is intense then yeah" you say with a sly smirk, the sarcasm in your voice evident

"Wow... I didn't even know... I've only ever had the regular royalty lessons" Zuko mumbles, closing the door behind you

"Yeah... even if I come from an affluent family, my secondary gender makes me get treated like a mutt" you say with a smile

"Well I promise you... I won't let that happen around here if I can help it." Zuko says sincerely, holding your hand in his firmly. The sweet gesture makes you blush, your words failing to come out of your mouth; your scent glands running rampant from receiving basic respect for once in your life! After a few minuets of silence, looking into each others eyes while blushing and breathing in each other's scents, Zuko suggests the two of you get to bed. You have to rip your eyes away from the Alpha as he let's his hair down, stripping off his heavy attire to his bare chest.

"Ah! Sorry! I'll step into the bathroom if you need" Zuko says with a worried look on his face as your insane scent snaps him out of his thoughts; your blushed face and eyes fixed on his toned body really giving away that your instincts were taking over.

"No! Sorry! Oh my, I'm so sorry!" You shout, tearing your eyes away and turning around embarrassed. Zuko chuckles and continues to change, but the same ordeal repeats when you begin to change - however, it was even more intense as the Alpha was practically drooling at the sight of your bare skin.

Sleep was very needed after such a chaotic day, and after a chaotic week, and a chaotic month. At some point, Zuko asked for your permission to court you, proposing with the crown given to the FireLord's mate; and of course, you agreed. Life started to seem less chaotic after that. Zuko would shower you with gifts every day and ensure to spend at least 4 hours a day with you, taking you out on dates to prestigious restaurants and on smaller dates in the Palace Gardens; it was enjoyable, it was the secondary school experience the two of you never had, having either been in private tutoring or single gender private school. It was also very evident that the two of you had never had your firsts in everything, of course, because of valid reasons; Zuko had been exiled near the time his secondary gender had come through! And you were under strict orders to stay untouched until you were mated, being collared for most of your life. But still, it was very evident that you two were massive virgins.

Point A: When Zuko proposed to court you with the priceless, beautiful artifact of the Royal family, you hugged him. The way that the Alpha turned red within seconds, his pheromones suffocating you, Zuko desperate to keep you in his touch as he scented you. It was clear that the young FireLord had never had even physical contact with an Omega.

Point B: The first kiss that the two of you shared. On a small picnic date in the gardens of the Palace under the moonlight a month into the alpha courting you, Zuko asked to kiss you. And holy shit when he did, the two of you were inseparable. Your lips were stuck to Zuko's for an entire half an hour, his tongue devouring your mouth as Zuko was taken over by his inner Alpha, pushing you gently to the ground and hovering above you. Your pheromones and his were running rampant, mixing in the air to make a stunning aroma, your moans were music to the Alpha's ears as your stomach did flips just from kissing Zuko. You could feel how hard Zuko was as he was grinding against you, desperate to feel you, desperate to have whatever he's been craving since he presented. Luckily, some guards stopped the two of you from doing anything that would get you into trouble.

Point C: Zuko is only 20, jealously is understandable. So when Sokka paid a visit to the Palace and required you healing after doing something stupid, Zuko had never felt what he felt in those few minutes. You, seeing another Alpha naked, touching his body to heal him with your fire, you'd never done that for Zuko! His pheromones were sour and his chest hurt, and once Sokka made his way to the guest room and you and Zuko to your own room, the Alpha demanded to know if you were infatuated by his water tribe friend. It was so evident that even seeing someone else's naked body was a high level of intimacy to Zuko, and even to you, it was at the time. But after kissing for the whole night, the Alpha's hands roaming your body gently, his jealousy faded away.

Eventually, the two of you made it official, Zuko's advisors already scheduling the wedding for the end of that week. The nation was ecstatic, hundreds of thousands of people either showed up or read about your wedding and mating to the FireLord. And that night, after finally getting permission from his advisors, Zuko set his eyes on marking you...

That night was intense, and it went on for ages, so here's a brief recap:

Once the two of you were basically locked in your bedroom by your advisors, Zuko decided to initiate

He held you against the door, and after gaining permission from you, looked down into your fucking sexy eyes, held your chin up to him and quickly started to kiss you

The Alpha held your waist and you chin, his tongue dominating you along with his insanely powerful and attractive scent

The two of you made your way to the king-sized bed without breaking the kiss once - Zuko on top of you as he undresses you

Once the two of you were naked, all hell broke loose

Your legs were placed onto the Alpha's broad shoulders, his two slender fingers immediately going to your slick-leaking hole

Moans filled the grand room along with a rich aroma of your scent mixed with Zuko's

You had cum already just from Zuko's fingers, and once he had licked up all of your sweet, sterile cum, Zuko aimed his huge Alphan cock at the entrance of your hole

The two of you went at it for what felt like hours, your bodies covered in sweat and scent glands releasing so many pheromones that they were beginning to liquefy and pool by your glands

Your hole had been stretched long ago, taking the shape of Zuko's huge, veiny dick

Eventually, Zuko couldn't hold back anymore, knotting you and cumming in unison with his Omega - the two of you taking the opportunity to fulfill your duty and mark each other

With that out of the way, the two of you spent the rest of the night making passionate love to one another, pleasuring each other in so many ways that your combined orgasm count for the night was 17! Luckily you two are literally built to have shit tons of sex!

And after that night, the two of you couldn't get enough of each other after finally tasting what you had been missing

For now, you were on the most expensive birth control - pills made in the earth kingdom using natural herbs and minerals that are almost 99% effective at keeping you and Zuko from providing an heir a little too early

So with the worries of pups out of the way, you two would go at it like... well... Alpha and Omega

Heats were insane but well spent with Zuko, the Alpha eating you out and fingering you for and hour minimum, making you orgasm plenty of times before satisfying the burn in your stomach with his huge cock

Zuko's ruts were when shit really hit the fan, his advisors would have to leave the palace and have it guarded for the week it lasted - luckily they were more rare than your heats

In summary, your Chambers walls have seen many things: from you worshiping the Alphan firelords body to Zuko letting you, the light of his life his Omega, ride him like a toy without permission to touch you

And in the future, once you two are ready for pups, Zuko can't wait to be the father he never had - and he knows that seeing you as a dad and care for his pups will further awaken something within him he never knew he had before meeting you

[tojipie]

Omg please please please write another fic about needy cry baby gf and Toji 😫🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

thinking abt him not realizing when he’s being mean because he grew up in a house full of boys where insults were a form of affection :( we’ve all got a little bit of crybaby reader in us me finks

content: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

────────────────────────

a sea of limbs dance and weave around the court with intricacies you won’t even pretend to understand, leaving you more confused with each passing minute.

you remind yourself that you’re here for toji, wanting to spend more time with him regardless of whether you were into the activity.

toji liked it, so you liked it. at least before the game got confusing.

“that was two points, right?” you ask him, trying to make sense of the shot a player had just made.

toji pauses, holding the chilled end of his beer can to the back of his neck.

“three, baby.” he corrects, kicking his work boots off. the older man relaxes into the soft embrace of the couch with a groan, propping his feet up on the ottoman.

“right… right.” you realize, listening as the announcer gives a rundown of what just happened. you look over and gauge his expression, searching for any acknowledgment of what you’d just said.

“sorry, not really a basketball fan.” you joke, hoping to alleviate the awkward air.

“not that smart either, huh?” toji chuckles, taking a sip of his beer.

your stomach drops at the comment. blood rushes to your ears as humiliation takes over, eyes welling up with hot tears.

you knew he was 100% joking. that’s just how toji was around the people he loved.

you were being too sensitive, right?

the two of you had discussed instances like this before, the older man explaining that that was truly just how he spoke to people.

he never meant to upset you, in fact he’d rather hang than ever hurt you on purpose. his words, not yours.

toji has promised you he was working on it, trying to choose his words more carefully around you.

that’s all it was, you tell yourself. a simple slip of the tongue.

or was he truly mad at you this time?

nope. just a joke. you tell yourself, fiddling with a loose thread in your sleeve to distract from the lump in your throat. you try to inhale around the blockage, accidentally releasing a sob that alerts toji right away.

“hey.” he mumbles, setting his drink down to look at you. calloused hands cradle your face as the older man takes a close look at you.

you pull away, trying to compose yourself. just a joke! you remind yourself.

a joke, not serious. just. a. joke.

“nonono, hey it’s okay.” he whispers, eyes blowing wide as he realizes the gravity of the situation.

“i’m sorry sweetheart, i’m sorry.” he pleads, muting the tv to focus on you.

“m’ not stupid.” you whimper, wiping each eye with the back of your hand.

“course not pretty girl.” he whispers, rubbing your back in soft circles. “i’m sorry, you know that’s j—“

“just how you talk.” you mumble, not sure if his explanation actually made it ok.

“but.” he starts, pulling you into his lap with a grunt.

“that’s not an excuse, right?” he asks you, clearly remorseful.

“need to watch my mouth around my girl, huh?” he chuckles, still rubbing small circles up and down your back.

“it’s ok.” you conclude, resting your head on his shoulder as he presses soft kisses to your cheeks and forehead.

“hate making you upset.” he tells you firmly, nuzzling into the crown of your head.

“you wanna watch something else?” he asks, placing the remote in your hand. “movie, youtube?”

you crawl out of the older man’s lap and onto the couch, pulling up prime to scan the comedy section.

“i fucking hate basketball.” you giggle, the man beside you breaking out in full blown laughter as you press play on the remote.

[livingdeadgirlflorette]

LATE NIGHT KISSES ⊹˚. ♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖ carl grimes x fem!reader

tags / rundown : fluff, slightly suggestive, set in alexandria, straddling, making out, friends-that-make-out-'cause-that's-normal, getting caught

word count: 1.56k

a/n : hello! first ever fic on tumblr lols, i've never really thought of posting anything here but I think the carl daydreams in class are getting to be too much >_< also i'm not really that fluent in english, english isn't my first language so please bare with me ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

dividers by @cafekitsune .𖥔 ݁ ˖

PART 2: ARE WE STILL FRIENDS? ₊˚✩⊹

It wouldn't be a surprise to anyone how much you have a silly teenage girl crush on the leader's son, Carl Grimes. They think it's cute, seeing you get all flushed cause he places his hands around your waist when passing through you and you getting all tongue tied when he asks if you're okay.

Or when you guys were having dinner with the group at Maggie and Glenn's house and he tells you that there's something on your face, then proceeds to use his own hand to rub it off, all the while unintentionally caressing your face. To add more fuel to the fire, everybody shows knowing looks and silent chuckles with one another. It takes all of your willpower not to combust from being flustered and embarassed cause not only did he just unexpectedly caress your face unintentionally, everybody in the group had seen the interaction go down. . . Including his father, Rick.

It all chalks up to just a small infatuation with him, that's all. You're just a girl, you get crushes. It's all just an innocent crush. Given the way that Daryl had described you back when he had caught you sneaking around the forest scrounging for food, you looked teary and doe-eyed, as if you couldn't hurt a fly. Oh Little Miss Y/N, so cute and naive. They wouldn't have thought anything else.

But you'd pay to see the look on their faces when they find out that you'd sneaking into Carl's window just to sit on his lap on his comforter and kiss him through the night. Then with the sliver of dawn seeping through his bedroom curtains, an unspoken meaning where you slip away back where you came in, as if there was nothing between you two.

And that's where you are right now, on his bed with your knees straddling his lap with your arms around his neck, his hands hesitantly going through your waist and drawing soft circles while you two kiss.

You smile into the kiss due to this. It's cute really, how no matter how many times you have his mouth between yours he'll always act as if it's the first time you've ever done something like this. He handles you with such care and delicacy, as if any sudden movement and you'd break, treating you like a porcelain doll. Pulling away, you figured a teasing comment now and then wouldn't hurt the mood.

"Aren't you just sweet?" A small airy chuckle leaves your mouth as you lazily smile, eyes lidded with lethargy from just kissing.

The look on his face is enough to tell you that he wasn't annoyed at your quip, but he seemed as if he's tired of it.

Sighing, he leans in to kiss your lips and pulled away to put his mouth near your ear. As he got closer, you could feel his breath on your ear everytime he exhaled.

"Don't get too cocky now." He smiled as he leans back to get a full view of you, all tired and giggly just from kisses between you and him. You look at his face then specifically to his lips, until going back to his gaze.

Neither one of you seemed like you wanted this to end, going slow and chaste with each touch. Every caress and hold he leaves on your skin is tingly, leaving you hot and unarguably bothered.

Carl seemed like he wanted to take it a little further, leaving you surprised when he slowly but surely puts his hand on the nape of your neck, adding a slight pull to deepen the kiss.

Evidently shocked, when you pull away slightly with your mouth slightly agape until Carl leans in more to capture it, turning the seemingly chaste kisses between the two of you into something more. No matter how different it felt, there was no denying how much you both found it so pleasurable.

As Carl keeps leaning in with his hand still on the nape of your neck, he lays you down on the headboard delicately. When you both pull away, you both just gaze at each other, basking in the loving mood that had been created. With his body on your side with his face still near yours, you both decide leaning in for another kiss wouldn't be the worst idea.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. With all the making out with Carl made you relaxed and sleepy, you barely registered a firm knock on Carl's bedroom door. You both pause and look at the door then look to each other.

Who'd be knocking this late at night?

"Carl? You okay in there?" Shit. You could tell who's that firm but caring voice came from, and it was obviously Rick's.

Like headless chickens, you and Carl scramble to find a hiding spot for you before Rick gave himself the go-ahead to enter, ending up with you under his bed frame.

The door opens and you see Rick's socks entering Carl's room. Luckily before Rick could get in, Carl had situated himself on the bed, going under the covers making it look like he had been preparing to go to sleep.

"Hey Dad, what's wrong?" Carl asked while rubbing his eye, feigning sleepiness.

Breathing is easy, but it felt a lot more stuffy when your friends' Dad is one movement away from finding you under his son's bed. Even so, you cover your mouth, trying your best to breathe evenly. All of a sudden Rick's weight is on the side of the bed, with him sitting on it looking at Carl lovingly.

"No, it's– it's nothin', I was just thinkin' about since i've been so busy here now, I never really got to give you the chance to talk to me." He places his hand on Carl's shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"I just wanted to tell you that no matter how hectic I get— if you got any trouble, be it problems for yourself or problems about. . . a girl, you know where to find me." He smiled at Carl, the latter doing the same to him also.

"Thanks Dad, that— that means a lot." Carl smiled and Rick pulled Carl in for a hug.

This was such a heartwarming scene, if it weren't for the girl seeming under Carl's bed, waiting to be let out. She felt as if she was gonna panic any moment now, plus the fact that she was feeling guilty. Rick was having a heart-to-heart with Carl and all she could think about was about how he laid her down, with his lips chapped yet still soft against hers, the room filled with silence other than their bated breaths.

With both people pulling away, Rick sat up and adjusted his shirt. There wasn't really anything he needed to adjust, he just really needed to fidget with something, otherwise it'll make it awkward.

"I'll see you at breakfast. G'night Carl." He ruffled his son's hair then smiled. Carl seemed to also smile, letting out an chuckle.

"Goodnight Dad." Before Rick could leave the room he looked as if he was contemplating. I guess he finally made a decision when he decided to say one last goodnight.

"Goodnight Y/N." Rick smiled then shook his head chuckling before closing the door.

Y/N crawled out under the bed, mouth slightly agape, and panicked. She didn't know what to think. Rick knew? If Rick knew how did he know? Did the others know also?

"How in the hell does he know? We were so careful too." She said, slight awed. They really were careful, acting as if nothing was going on behind the scenes. She plopped down on the side of the bed next to him, leaving out a sigh then shutting her eyes.

Carl leans forward, with his head nearing hers. "I'm not even sure how. But since he knows it doesn't really matter anymore, so does that mean we can. . ." Carl trailed off, then glancing at her lips, then back at her eyes.

Scoffing with a smile, she immediately got up.

"You cannot be serious right now Carl!" She chastised him softly, and started to ready her stuff as fast as she can.

"I'm seriously not going to stay here any longer. I don't know how much embarassment I can handle knowing Rick, your father knows about this and outright acknowledged me!" She uttered, "I think it's best if I go, I think I can't handle any more guilt 'cause I feel like i'm gonna burst—"

but before she could pack up any further Carl had stood up and went to her to grab both her wrists to stop her from doing anything else.

"Hey, look at me." Carl let go of her wrists and gently used his right hand lift her chin up. He kissed her chastely, then pulled away to look at her.

"We can handle this. I'll be with you, okay? It's not as bad as you think." He assured her, then placed a loving kiss to her forehead then placing it against his, holding her with such love and care.

"Let's just hope the others haven't found out yet, they'll never let us live it down." You joked, trying to lighten the mood. Luckily it worked, with Carl smiling back at you.

"I don't think it would be so bad, them knowing you're mine."

this one was a doozy, i'm thinking if i wanna make a part two to this hihi (๑>◡<๑) don't be a silent reader and let me know!