#Because they are perfect in every way shape and form

[gangstalkerbarbie]

You're not a god, technically. A god is one of them big ones, the extraterrestrials, see?

You, like everything else in the world, were born here; your beginning is not before time and outside the world. Not a god. You're a daimon. It's a common misconception.

Still, in the space of that misconception there's honest work.

You're not sure the council upstairs (if it's even a council anymore) pays much attention to most of mortalkind, really, otherwise there wouldn't have to be witches to do work scholars are jealous of, but doesn't someone have to?

Sometimes the ones that do enough of it become angels. Sometimes the ones that do something better than anyone else become... well, just what is Silence, actually? Is that still what he goes by? When he was Death All-Devouring he had a few more teeth, you think.

Anyway: when official channels fatfinger a prayer, you have to know, and it's just sort of the case, ethically speaking, that you're to do something about it. Even if only to keep up the illusion that the world-machine works. That's kind of a duty incumbent on all of you immortals, these days. Just until the big boss ... well, the big boss cannot be said to ever be doing or thinking or going to do or think anything, so you're not sure where that was going.

And that's why you're here at this wedding — because a hundred, two hundred years ago they realised the big kahuna might not be listening, deep down, somewhere, and so now you are the wight of the marriage bed. Some say the angel. They're not sure. You're not sure either; you have perhaps a dot more free will than angels tend to, but you find yourself doing a lot of angelic kinda work.

Is the Immanence here, like She's supposed to be? Doctrinally (you are a daimon, you don't really care about doctrine outside the mechanics of your own existence) She doesn't fuck with mixed marriages, but She also conveniently is present every time two men talk about lofty matters, yes, even if they're talking objectively heinous anti-sense about women and children and beasts. So, you know. It's kind of touch and go here. Is mixed marriage more bad than womanhatred? Very important scholars debate the issue even now. Six thousand years of debate have yielded the answer 'yeah idk probably'. You cannot perceive the Immanence. You wouldn't know.

You do, however, know the future, and in the next thousand years, thankfully, they will perfect the shaping arts and learn to make men into women, and maybe they'll all be women then, what the hell. It's an optimistic thought. The other immortals kind of snicker at you and tell you to go look forward at what they do with chymics, self-made new forms of life, in that future, and what they themselves go mad with pain and grief and loneliness and do, for which reason you kind of don't want to.

You might go and listen in on some of those last debates instead, except, again: wedding.

To your profound disappointment, this wedding expects to make you co-in-laws, sort of, with a small unfriendly god, one of the daimons that really believes in it, waves their essence around. This is... about to get really annoying.

You actually don't even dislike Sowulo. Everything you know about them boils down to the fact that they've been experimenting with themself after their mortal followers degendered them — that's the trouble with the overreliant ones, the essence moulds to the understanding of the souls they shepherd and then you end up in no end of annoying circumstances. This would be why personally you've never investigated what gender you're supposed to be. Less for your people to contradict that way. Maybe you predate gender, how's that for a thought exercise? (You don't; you were born in the middle of the Age of Chitin; they don't have to know you're something smaller and duller wearing an old god's pelt.)

And, well, it's just... they're a little weird? OK. They're a lottle weird. You are pretty sure they are, like, super mega ultra weird. The situation is like this: their people, their little guys, they used to be these peaceful cattle nomads. Then the Aeon of Sails and the Great Industrialisation, and the dire circumstances that led them into the ghettos, and so on — and somewhere in that transition, the travelling spirit of the warmth of the sun that was their constant companion came into conflict with the new State doctrine that the stars are unfeeling miasmas of incandescent plasma. (Is that doctrine? That's how you understand most things. You're not sure of the semantics.)

So now: degendered, deprived of influence, a cold light, not a warm one. Invoked, at best, at afterbirth burials, confirmations, weddings, cremations, premarital haircuttings, housewarmings, slaughters, and for the end of winter when it dies under their hand. They're annoying and dangerous and haggard and raw-voiced as a hungry buzzard because they are starving, because they have lost themself, because they don't remember what they used to be and they don't know what they want to be now.

Sometimes a ship launches from the harbour of this city, and you are there because you have one of your people to look after, and they look out at you from shore, forlorn, jealous, abandoned, so hungry. So hungry. Mourning something they half remember, something they are convinced you have. That's why they incite their sophonts to kill yours, maybe. You wouldn't know. You've never asked. You're busy doing your job, keeping those sophonts safe.

They envy you your vitality. They wish they knew what they were. They think you know what you are, and they want you to get off your inconceivably tall high horse.

You're not on a high horse. You just are, and you try to make sure your sophonts can just be, too. But Sowulo doesn't know that.

Sowulo knows that their people are small and broken and scattered, and that each wedding with any other people weakens them — weakens the people and weakens their god.

Sowulo hates you.

And, like, you don't really play favourites, all mortals are the same to you deep down, but you understand that there is a Teensy Weensy little problem, perhaps, with the favourite son of their most warlike clan's Great Chanter running away from home to elope with a witch-midwife from beyond the Pale. Not because she's yours, but that doesn't make it better. Her own huntedness and fear and old pain doesn't do anything for the situation either. Sowulo doesn't understand yet that suffering is a universal condition of settled life.

Your marriage priest, a jolly little roundish woman in veils against the interference of spirits with her work, pounds her cowhide drum and begins her chant. Sowulo's shakes his solar rattle, completely unaware that his god is seething in the rafters of the fane. Are you going to have to save his life, then, before the sun is up? This is going to be a very long, unnecessarily laborious, and probably also very interesting night.

You are a god whose most devout follower is marrying your rival God’s follower. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem except you both are asked to bless the union, and for that both of you must attend.

[mejaemin]

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖₊˚♡˚

valentine boy

˚ʚ jeong jaehyun ɞ˚

final day of my valentine’s day countdown!

wc ♡ 1.9k

summary ♡ it may be jaehyun’s birthday, but he still likes to celebrate you, and does so in the form of four love letters.

warnings ♡ suggestive, fluff, SO MUCH LOVE IT’S DISGUSTING, jae is SUCH a sap and SUCH a romantic in this, my heart hurts

lia's note ♡ happy birthday to my love, my light. i miss jaehyun so much, and he’s really so special to me. i couldn’t help but pour my heart into this, and i wouldn’t have it any other way

playlist 🎧 completely - jaehyun, best part - daniel caesar ft. h.e.r. , give you the world - steve lacy, sunny days - wave to earth

congrats to those who guessed jaehyun for day nine! @cigsaftersuh and @jae10velies are two very smart cookies 🌹🫶🏽

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖₊˚♡˚

when you roll over in bed, first thing in the morning, you reach your hand out for your boyfriend, only to be met with nothing. popping one eye open, the bed is empty, the bed made on his side. sighing, you sit up, waking yourself up to go find him, when you finally notice the envelope laying on his pillow.

letter one ♡˚₊‧⁺˖

‘good morning my sweet thing ♡ happy valentine’s day.. if i’m not back by the time you wake up and open this, i went to visit my parents for a little. we’ve got a long day ahead of us, but mom wanted to see me for a little since, her words, “your birthday comes first, yuno! come visit your mom before you spend the day with your girlfriend.” i would’ve brought you, but you looked so pretty and peaceful while sleeping, and it would’ve ruined my plan, so i left you home. on that note, i know you told me not to do anything for you today, but i can’t help it :( spoiling you is my favorite, and it’s how i want to spend mine our day, okay? now, once you’re ready to get up, there’s something waiting for you in the bathroom…’

the ending of the letter is quite ominous, but it leaves a smile on your face nonetheless. you tell him every year to let you do all the gift giving, fully ready to discard valentine’s day and put his day first, especially when the former was made as a way for companies to gain money. still, he insists on celebrating you at the same time.

getting up out of bed, you make your way to the bathroom to get ready. as soon as you walk in, there’s another envelope taped to the sink mirror. pulling it out of the way, you set it aside to get yourself ready. the whole time you’re washing your face, brushing your teeth, you have to stop yourself from smiling at the idea of what’s to come later on in the day. jaehyun’s always been a loverboy, to an almost poetic extent, and upon looking at the letter sitting next to you, you’re sure there’s more to come, and you can’t wait to read all the loving words he’ll say to you. once done, you take the letter and sit back down on the bed to read it.

letter two ♡˚₊‧⁺˖

‘now that you’re opening this letter, i’ll assume you’ve woken up then? good, because i’ll be back in the afternoon to start our day. i wish i could be there to get ready with you, watch you open your first gift, but since i can’t, why don’t you check the closet? i’ve picked something out for you that i know will look perfect on you. i can’t wait to see it on you, and confirm my prediction. i can envision it now, you’d look so beautiful in that dress, it’ll compliment you perfectly.. okay, i have to stop now, or i’ll have a problem. anyway, enjoy your outfit my love ♡‘

with a smile you go over to your shared closed excitedly, pulling the door open and flicking the light on to reveal a beautiful dress in your favorite color right at the front of your clothing rack. pulling it off the hanger you immediately get dressed in it, stepping back to look at it on in the mirror. it’s fits perfectly, complimenting your body shape in all the best ways. when you look back in the closet for shoes to pair with it, there’s another envelope on the floor that you must’ve missed.

letter three ♡˚₊‧⁺˖

‘you’re getting dressed now, aren’t you? i hope you like the outfit. if not, don’t worry, we can get something else when we go out, okay? don’t stress. now, i’ll be wrapping up with mom pretty soon, so why don’t you finish your routine, okay? do yourself up however you like, in whatever way makes you feel prettiest. i’ll love it regardless. when you’re done, there’s something out in the kitchen, okay? i love you so much, baby. enjoy.’

with a soft giggle, you sit down at your vanity and start putting yourself together. even in the letter, jaehyun always reminds you of how much he loves you, in every form that you can take. he always uses the gentlest and most loving language he can, holding your heart with the most care. his love is so strong that when you fix your hair and do your makeup, you don’t feel a need to try too hard, doing the bare minimum, and thanks to him, you feel good about yourself just like that.

with the final touches of your appearance done, you grab your phone off the charger and check it for the first time today before you do anything. without fail, jaehyun’s texted you a string of good morning messages and words of love. you of course send some in return, thanking him for the letters and lightly teasing him for being a sap. you share a laugh before you shut the device off, making your way to the kitchen where your jaw drops.

there’s an entire display on the kitchen counter, rose petals scattered over the granite with a full bouquet in the middle, a bundle of prada gift bags sitting next to it. there’s a teddy bear as well, and one final letter with a card propped open next to it, reading ‘will you be my valentine?’ with the most perfect penmanship. you snap a photo, sending it to him with your reply, an obvious yes, before opening the last letter.

letter four ♡˚₊‧⁺˖

‘again, happy valentine’s day my love! i hope you enjoy all the gifts i put out for you. i know what you’re thinking, by the way. you’re mad that i’m spending money on you when it’s my birthday, aren’t you? if i were to tell you i’m sorry, i’d be lying, and that’s just not something i can ever see myself doing to you. more than anything, today is a day of love, and i’d rather celebrate us than make it all about me. my birthday wish is to keep you by my side and love you forever, every inch of you, and it just so happens that the day of love is at the same time. now, may i tell you why i love you so deeply?

we’ve known each other forever, and i’ve seen you grow into a beautiful, beautiful woman, with a wonderful personality that can warm an entire room. your laugh is more beautiful than any song i’ll hear in my life, and your smile is so bright, blinding in a way that makes me never want to look away. i’d let my eyes burn to nothing if it means i can continue to see it. i love the way you carry yourself as well, so thoughtful and considerate to everyone around you. you have so much love and kindness in your heart, and i’m so lucky to be a recipient of it. i’ve learnt so much from you as well, and i’m so grateful for the person you’ve helped shape me into. you’re truly everything i’ve ever wanted and more. i’ll cherish every piece of you that you give me with my whole being, and i promise to never let it go. my love for you is unconditional, and i’ll trace every ridge, scar, or imperfection in your body with nothing but adoration because it’s all perfect in my eyes.

i’ll save the rest of my sentiments for when i can say it out loud, okay? save you some reading. for now, remember that i love you with everything i have. happy valentine’s day, my love, my sweet, my peach.

-your forever only, jaehyun ♡’

his words are so beautiful, and you have to get a paper towel to hold to the corners of your eyes to stop the tears from messing up your makeup. he’s always so shy about things like this, getting flushed in the cheeks and ears at even the most simple words of affirmation. you know he’s a romantic at heart, but it still blows your mind every time you see him take a pen to help convey how he feels. he always lets his true feelings out when he has pen and paper, and it makes you cry without fail every single time. he really knows how to touch your heart, his words so sweet and loving.

you’re busy unboxing everything, a pair of sunglasses and a new bag in your hands, still letting his love letter sink in. you’re so stuck in your own world that you don’t even notice that jaehyun returned until his arms wrap around your stomach, his chest pressing into your back. his lips press against your temple, then your nape, and your eyes flutter shut as your body leans into his.

“happy valentine’s day.” he speaks softly, spinning you around in your barstool so you’re facing him.

your arms reach around his neck, pulling him closer so you can leave a sweet kiss on his lips. “thank you, baby.” you give him another one, “and happy birthday to you.”

he thanks you, pulling you flush to his body. you stay there, encased in his strong arms for what could be forever, you don’t know nor do you care, because it’s warm, safe, and comfortable. his head rests on top of yours, one hand gliding up and down the side of your body, the other on the back of your head. he’ll kiss your crown a few times, soaking in your scent, before pulling away.

your hands are intertwined, resting in your lap. “now that we’ve celebrated us, can it be your turn now?” you smile up at him, and his face is full of love.

his cheeks turn rosy, and he nods. you’re immediately up and out of your seat, shuffling your way into your bedroom where you pull out a birthday themed gift bag and box, followed by a valentine’s day basket. he opens them, overjoyed to see a photo album with a collective of polaroids from the past year, along with a new vinyl for his collection. the basket has a bunch of candies and small trinkets, along with a stuffed animal of the animal you’ve always said represents you. his smile reaches his ears as he looks through all his gifts, and a billion kisses are left all over your face as a thank you.

even more happiness fills his eyes when you take his cake out of the fridge, lighting the silly cartoon candles and singing to him. when you finish, he’s very thoughtful as he blows the candles out. you share it together, small enough to have in one sitting before putting all your new items away to finally head out for the day. he continues to treat you the entire time you guys are out, buying nearly everything you touch and complimenting you for even the littlest things. he has so much love to give to you, and it’s not even because of the holiday, or his birthday. he conveyed it to you many times throughout his letters, that he’s constantly thankful for you and your presence in his life, regardless of the date or who’s being celebrated more. the love continues to show even when you go back home, wrapping up the day, when there’s yet another display on the bed that wasn’t there before, which he lays you down on and continues to give you all the love he has.

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perm taglist: @chenlezip @coquettejunnie

[hotchnerwrites]

Valentine's with JJK Men

Pairing: JJK men x reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: SFW, Valentine's date, fluff, no use of (y/n)

A/N: Happy Valentine's! Total last-minute speedrun, working on ending my writing block ugh. Please ignore my grammar and any typos, I didn't have time to check asdfghjk,,, Enjoy!

My requests are open. Send me stuff! :)

Satoru Gojo

You had been worried, in all honesty. But you had decided to give Satoru the benefit of doubt. He’d come up with something. But then… 14th February rolled around and still nothing. So you sent out some feelers, in the form of subtle questions. 

Should I get my nails done? What do you think of this restaurant? 

You really didn’t need to. He had sent you a last minute text the day before like, “Hey, pick you up at 7 tomorrow. Wear the blue dress, it’s hot.” Because of course, he was too confident you’d say yes. Which you did. 

But the irritation melts away when you open the door and he’s standing there, all soft-smiles and heart-shaped sunglasses. He smothers you with compliments, and you wonder if your heart will flutter out your chest.

And Gojo never does things halfway. He’s the personification of the saying ‘Go big, or go home’, and Valentine’s Day is no exception. He had brought with him a small mountain of gifts— designer accessories, ridiculously overpriced chocolates (he’d probably end up eating the lot), and a bouquet so big he was nearly invisible behind it. 

Satoru had also taken the liberty to book an extravagant date at the most exclusive restaurant in town, complete with a candlelit dinner and a skyline view. Throughout the night he’s flirty and playful, feeding you bits of cake just to watch you roll your eyes at his antics, and pressing kisses along your knuckles like you’re some fairy princess. 

The night ends with him dramatically twirling you under the stars (he admitted to stealing this idea off Pinterest), probably to music only he can hear. And when you two get home, he’s snuggling up to you like a clingy cat, murmuring, "You know, I’d do this for you every day if you let me."

Suguru Geto

Suguru isn’t one for flashy displays; instead, he makes everything deeply personal. He asks you to be his Valentine a week in advance, phrasing it so softly that it feels like a promise rather than a question. 

On the day itself, he surprises you with a picnic by the river. You wonder how he managed to find such a perfect spot with a gorgeous view that was also free of other couples, but that’s just Geto. He had a talent in finding placed untouched by the chaos of the world.

The blanket is laid out perfectly, and the food? Home-made, down to the last detail—because he rarely cooks, but for you, he spent the whole morning perfecting your favorite dishes. He had even tried his hand at baking, and you couldn’t help but coo at the wonky cookies.

There’s a gentle sort of intimacy in the way he pours your tea, in the way he tucks stray hairs behind your ear, in the way his fingers brush against yours as he hands you a chocolate-dipped strawberry. Suguru even wore his hair loose, flowing around his face, a look you love. He usually keeps it tied back, but he knows you prefer it this way. It’s a small detail, but it makes him feel even more approachable, even more him.

He doesn’t rush anything—he just watches, taking in the way the sunset makes you glow. 

When the time feels right, he pulls out a small box, inside of which sits a necklace with a beautiful locket made of dried flowers. It’s both meaningful and expensive—something he chose carefully, something that reminds him of you.

A quiet smile tugs at his lips when he fastens it around your neck, fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary. 

“Looks perfect on you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

Later, when the sun is low in the sky and the world feels like it’s holding its breath, Suguru doesn’t rush you to move or leave. Instead, he sits next to you, his presence grounding and peaceful, just enjoying your company in the stillness of the evening. His hand finds yours in the quiet, and you can feel the solid affection between you both without needing to say anything. His love is gentle but all-encompassing, not a grand declaration but a steady flame that burns deeper than any rose or candlelit dinner could ever show. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmurs quietly, as if this moment—this perfect, simple moment—is enough.

Kento Nanami

Nanami is a man who plans ahead. No last-minute reservations, no rushed gifts—everything is thoughtfully chosen weeks in advance because to him, love is not about grand gestures or fleeting moments; it’s about consistency, intention, and care. 

He formally asked you to be his Valentine at least a month ago, his voice steady but gentle when he said, “I’d like to take you somewhere nice. If you’re free, of course.” But there was a quiet hopefulness in his eyes, a softness in the way his fingers brushed against yours when he said it.

By the time Valentine’s Day arrives, he has already spoiled you in small ways leading up to it—fresh bouquets every week, tiny, thoughtful gifts left on your nightstand (a book he caught you eyeing, your favourite coffee blend, a handwritten note that simply said “Thinking of you.”). He never overdoes it, never makes a spectacle, but his love is constant, woven into every choice he makes.

The day itself starts with a spa appointment already booked for you, a quiet way of making sure you feel pampered. In the evening, he picks you up at your door, looking effortlessly elegant in his suit. Before you can say anything, he presents you with a stunning bouquet, bigger than any of the ones before, wrapped in understated, tasteful paper—because he notices the details you like, even when you think he doesn’t. 

He murmurs a simple, “You look beautiful,” before leading you to a sleek, intimate restaurant where he’s secured the perfect table—somewhere quiet, private, away from the noise of the world.

Dinner is perfectly paced—deliberate, unhurried. He watches you with those warm, focused eyes, listening intently to everything you say.

At some point, he slides a small box across the table—not a ring, not yet, but something deeply meaningful, something he saw and thought of you immediately. When you open it, his lips quirk up ever so slightly, pleased by the way your fingers linger over the delicate earrings inside. 

"I wanted you to have something special today," he says simply, but there’s an unspoken depth in those words—a quiet promise that this isn’t just Valentine’s, isn’t just a single day of romance. 

By the time the night ends, he drives you home with one hand on the wheel and the other resting lightly on your thigh, his touch warm and grounding.

“I hope today was enough.” And it’s almost laughable that he even thinks that, because everything he does—every carefully chosen detail, every quiet moment—is a testament to how deeply, truly, and wholly he loves you.

Toji Fushiguro

Toji is… not the Valentine’s type.

 He groans when he realizes the date, mutters something about it being a commercial scam, but still finds himself dragging his ass to the store last minute to grab some things you like.

He won’t admit it, but he actually tried— he arranged the flowers in an acceptable bouquet (you ignore the misshapen stems), downloaded your favourite movie on the TV, somehow made popcorn without burning anything, and picked up dinner from your favourite spot.

But for all his grumbling, he sat through the entire thing, sneaking glances at you instead of the screen. He spent the rest of his efforts pulling you as close to him as possible, pressing the occasional kiss against your neck. His hand finds your thigh, fingers tracing lazy patterns. 

“You owe me for this,” he mutters in your ear, but you know he doesn’t mean anything by it.

By the end of the night, he’s dozing off with his head in your lap, your fingers dragging through his hair slowly. And then so quietly that you almost miss it— “I guess it wasn’t that bad.”

Toji isn’t the best with romance, but he still showed up. He tried his best. And that means more to you than you’ll ever say.

Ryomen Sukuna

Sukuna does not care about Valentine’s Day. 

At all.

When you first bring it up, he barely looks up from his throne, giving you an unimpressed look before growling, "What the hell is a Valentine?" 

You have to practically beg him to celebrate, and even then, he makes zero effort—no chocolates, no flowers, nothing remotely romantic. If you expect candlelit dinners or heartfelt confessions, you’re delusional. The best you’ll get is an unimpressed stare and maybe, just maybe, a begrudging “I guess you look good today.”

And yet… later that night, when he sees you sulking about it, he lets out a dramatic sigh before dragging you into his lap, his fingers tilting your chin up.

"Tch. You really care about all that dumb human shit?" he mutters, but his voice is a little softer. 

Then, without warning, he kisses you, slow and deep, with a kind of intensity that makes your knees weak. When he pulls away, he smirks, satisfied by the dazed look in your eyes. 

"There. Happy now?" And as much as you hate to admit it, you kind of are.

Choso Kamo

Choso could probably make a career out of overthinking. 

He had no idea what to get you. He spent weeks figuring out what to do. Not one social media platform was helpful, and was back to square one. 

What if you don’t like his gift? What if he forgets something? What if it’s too tacky?

He spends days pacing and stressing, and at the cost of his pride, he calls Yuuji, who tells him to do whatever feels right. Great.

Choso tried, he really did. 

He shows up at your door with an armful of gifts, everything from handwritten love letters to a carefully wrapped box filled with all your favourite chocolates. His eyes light up when you open the door, and without hesitation, he pulls you into the warmest, longest hug imaginable.

He keeps it simple but heartfelt—a pasta dinner, a slow movie night, his hand resting over yours the entire time. 

He stares at you like you hung the stars in the sky, eyes filled with so much adoration it makes you a little dizzy. At some point, he blurts out, "I don’t really know how this works, but… I just wanted to make today special for you." And you swear, if you weren’t already in love with him, that would’ve done it.

Megumi Fushiguro

Megumi is low-key but incredibly sweet. 

He never makes a big deal out of celebrations, it’s not really his style. But he knows how much it means to you that he shows up, so he makes sure you know he cares.

You wake up to a warm cup of tea, brewed just right, and breakfast-in-bed. You’re delighted to see your eggs shaped like a heart, and Megumi stands there in the corner, grinning with pride. 

When the two of you go out for lunch at the latest ‘aesthetic’ cafe you found on the net, he makes sure to surprise you with a bouquet of your favourite flowers wrapped in brown paper.

And at night, he decides to take you to a karaoke bar. In some ways, you and Megumi are polar opposites. But when it comes to karaoke, there was a shared love. He never sang in front of his friends (Nobara would never let him live it down), but he dedicates just about every song to you tonight. You’re too busy laughing to sing.

The night is cozy���just the two of you, tangled up under warm blankets, the scent of laundry soap filling the space. Megumi doesn’t say much, but his actions speak volumes—the way he pulls you closer, the way his fingers gently trace patterns on your skin. 

At some point, he murmurs, "You make every day feel like Valentine’s Day." And just like that, your heart is gone.

Yuji Itadori

For Yuuji, Valentine’s is a mix of romance and utter chaos. 

He got you flowers and chocolates, but to your utter horror, he bought you one of those musical Hallmark cards. The tinny audio drives you up the wall (Yuuji swears it’s the best thing ever invented). You’re tempted to light both him and the card on fire.

But you had no idea what was in store. You got a little worried when he set up the mini-projector. You really hoped it wasn’t another video of him singing. Bless his heart, but his singing voice should never see daylight.

You buzz in anticipation and when the video starts playing, you are absolutely delighted, Yuuji had commissioned one of those ridiculous TikTok videos where a bunch of random guys dance and hold up a sign with your face on it and wish you Happy Valentine’s. 

He’s grinning the whole time, clearly proud of himself. You laugh so hard you almost forget the effort he put into everything. 

The night is warm and silly. He refuses to let you oversee his cooking, resulting in mildly burnt vegetables, but the thousand tiny moments where he looks at you like you’re his entire world make it taste all the better.

At some point, he blurts out, “I just love you so much.”

And it’s so earnest, so raw, that you can’t help but tackle him to the couch with a flurry of kisses all over his face.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[ancha-aus]

Bitty Surprise - Chapter 1 - Pov Cross

Hello! What is this? This is something I normally only do on my AO3. My normal uplaod day is Sunday over there and I try to upload a chapter of a completed series every Sunday.

The thing is. This one is a short one and I figured everyone here could also appreciate the bitties. So I am cross posting.

The link to the AO3 story is Here.

Enjoy the bitty madness :)

---

Summary:

With the truce in place Killer, Cross and Nightmare are free to travel around the multiverse. They never expected to come across some Bitties who proceeded to steal their souls. They hope they at least did the same in return.

*---------------------------*

Cross can honestly say he is happy with the truce.

And no Killer that has nothing to do with the fact that they now are included in the council meetings and that Dream has been talking to him again.

Cross can admit it is nice to be able to try and repair his friendship with Dream but the eye brow wiggles from Killer has to stop.

Seriously, they are skeletons how does he even do it?

Cross just loves the fact that they can now actually go to neutral universes for their shopping without having to worry that someone is going to act weird.

Well they still act weird but now they can’t refuse service as easily or raise the prices because the Stars will be mad at them.

At the moment Killer and him are doing some grocery shopping. They had found this new neutral universe and it is perfect!

The monsters were never locked underground. They are chill about skeletons. They hadn’t even met the ‘main cast’ just yet! It is a large enough universe and world that they just, hadn’t ran into their own alternative and honestly it is a nice change of pace. Cross is getting tired of always having to explain that ‘yes technically he is Sans’ and ‘No they aren’t the same person because environment and nurture affects how a person shapes,’ and ‘It is more like having the same name and coming from two different countries.’. Cross can’t even count all the times people in universes have gotten weird about their own universe version of him after meeting any of the universe travellers.

Either way he is getting off topic.

The shops are all up to date and modern and have a large amount of styles.

Hell! Even boss had been treated neutrally here!

Instead of the fear and distrusting glares shot his way, this universe had been kept completely out of the loop! Which means they just see Nightmare as just another monster. Hell at most someone asked Nightmare if he was part slime monster.

Cross had managed to keep it together but Killer had wheezed and fallen over laughing.

Cross is also unsure how Nightmare had managed to keep a straight face before giving a charming smile and telling them that he got that a lot, but that it was just an expression of magic which caused the form. The monsters who had asked had quickly apologised for being rude. Nightmare however had just continued to smile and reassured the other that it had been alright as they hadn’t meant it as rude or negative but from a place of interest and respect.

Cross sometimes wonders if the war could have been over quicker if Nightmare had used his charms instead of the intimidation strategy but he isn’t going to finish that thought.

Either way it means that Killer and Cross have been doing most of their shopping in this universe and they tended to go to the same city, mostly because they knew the way at this point and where to get the best deals.

The truce did mean they didn’t have as much… disposable income anymore. No longer going on raids cuts back a lot in your pocket money.

It isn’t as if they have issues, Nightmare is a great boss and doesn’t let them have issues like that. It just means that now they actually have to pay for everything they want and that makes them more aware of prices again.

And honestly it is worth it as Cross can just enjoy spending time with Killer and Nightmare both without someone attacking them. It gives Cross time to really enjoy the experience and their company-

A snort and Cross looks over before biting down hard to stop himself from laughing “Killer.”

Killer grins as he leans against a doorway of a random shop, a large pink feathery boa around his neck and even bigger and brighter orange sunglasses on his skull.

“Killer? You must be mistaken! I am the fabulous Killster!! The real diva of the land!”

Cross knows he is going to lose this fight, especially with some kids nearby giggling before rushing back to their parents.

Cross rolls his eye lights as he turns away and starts walking “I am leaving you! And I am not going to get those snacks you want! Or maybe I will just get the wrong ones on accident! You are soooooo picky about them!”

“Hey! You don’t mess with the Crunchables!”

Cross snorts as Killer joins his side again, sans boa and sunglasses. Hah, sans, Cross may actually get better at this punning thing.

Cross looks around and realises he walked into another street parallel to the one holding the store they had been going to. Oh well, the long way it is. It is sunny anyway and a nice day to enjoy it.

Killer catches up and huffs “You are no fun.”

Cross answers with a deadpan voice “Of course not. They don’t train humour in the army.”

Killer snorts “Explains why XGaster was such a tool.”

Cross laughs and nods. It used to hurt, thinking about his past world. But he has made peace with his loss. He has a new home now with Nightmare and Killer and he is happy.

He knows that the Stars invited him to live with them after the truce had been made but… Cross hadn’t wanted it. He had wanted to just remain with Killer and Nightmare. Cross had found a certain peace in the silent and isolated castle. A happiness with being near Nightmare and Killer.

Cross could still remember how so many had come to him. Asking him if he had been okay, if he was sure about this decision, if he was being threatened.

Funny.

How even with a truce in place and Nightmare keeping his word to the dot people still mistrusted him.

Cross remembers how he had asked Killer about it. Why everyone still looked at them in that way. While they hadn’t with Cross. Even with Cross having been the reason half the multiverse had gotten into a war and XGaster had gotten out. Killer had snorted and looked so amused as he explained “You look like a hero. You behave like people expect a hero to be. Of course you are forgiven.”

Cross hadn’t liked it at all. Because it had been Nightmare who had even figured out that Cross hadn’t been in full control of himself. Nightmare had been the one who managed to at first lock XGaster out, then later lock XChara away and later remove them completely. Making it so that Cross was truly free to be himself again.

Yet everyone acted as if it had been the Stars. All while Ink had had a direct hand in bringing XGaster back and giving him his overwrite power back.

So Cross now just ignored most people and much preferred his own home. Where people didn’t question how he felt or thought the whole time. Where he had his new family.

Killer nudges him “Hello~ Crossy boy~ time to wake up again~” and he stares at him with those dark sockets “You good…” he glances to the side and kicks a rock “Didn’t meant to… like… trigger stuff I guess.”

Cross snorts and bumps their shoulders together “Nah, just my own mind wandering.” He looks around for a distraction when he feels himself freeze.

Oh.

My.

God.

That is.

He grabs blindly and tugs hard. Killer makes a choking sound “Cross!”

Cross just keeps tugging “Kills. Kills you need to see this. Kills. This day just became amazing.”

Killer grumbles but Cross feels him freeze under his hold “Holy shit… is that a…”

“Bitty store.”

They share a look and rush over to the store.

Only to pause by the window.

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god they are so tiny!” Killer jumps in place as he has both his hands on the window as he stares at the tiny monsters.

Cross can’t actually recognise these monsters. Normally the bitty stores seem to specialise in monster types and have all kinds of bitty versions of other multiverse goers.

This seem like… just bitties. Just really tiny cute little things. Cross feels his soul melt at the sight of a tiny tiny lion like monster yawning before rolling up. A tiny shirt and pants on and all kinds of plushies around it as the bitty hugs one of them close.

Cross’s skull is turned back around and Killer stares at him with the most serious look Cross has ever seen on his face “Cross. If I don’t go in there and hold at least one bitty I will fucking die.”

Cross blinks before remembering. Bitty universes tended to not allow anyone access and least of all them. Saying it is too much of a risk to have any bitty of either the Stars or the Crescents given out. At least the Stars weren’t allowed versions of them either.

But these… these didn’t look like versions he had seen before…

Cross grins widely “You wouldn’t be able to stop me from holding one.” And he ducks under Killer’s arms and enters the shop.

A pleasant little bell rings out as Cross lets his eyes go around the store. It is chaos and overfull and should be overwhelming but it is beautiful and Cross never wants to leave.

The walls are covered with shelves and even more shelves all filled with all types of colourful items, tools, tiny house expansions. All for bitties. There is a bookshelf by the cash register that holds books all about bitty care.

But most importantly. To the other side by the window, which is cracked open to let some fresh air in. Are the bitty containers.

“Oh shit.” And Killer rushes straight there and falls to his knees to be on eye level with some of the glass containers as he coos that the miniature monsters.

Cross rushes to his side and just stares in awe.

He is unsure how long they just stare until they hear someone laugh softly behind them.

“I take you never saw a bitty before?”

Cross turns around and sees a ram monster behind him. Cross feels slightly embarrassed as he looks back at Killer, who has yet to stop staring at the bitties, before he looks back “We… we euh… We know of them of course. We just never had the chance to… see them ourselves.”

The ram laughs as they look at Killer who has actual hearts in his sockets as he stares at two tiny bitties starting to interact.

The ram looks back at him and grins “If you want you two can hold some of them.”

That shakes Killer out of his staring as he looks up in awe at the ram “We can!? But I thought… They bonded quickly and stuff?”

The ram huffs “Only when not treated right.” they look apologetic “I am sorry. I just know that a lot of people keep those poor bitties isolated. Makes them more likely to quickly bond to a new owner. But that is cruel. The little guys are happiest and healthiest if they can interact with one another and form a bond or two with fellow bitties.”

Cross nods along “I never heard that before but it makes a lot of sense.”

Killer nods “Yeah! Cats have it too! Cats bond with fellow cats! Which is why it is advised to adopt two or a bonded pair when you adopt a cat. I assume the same counts for bitties?”

The ram smiles brightly “It does! Come! I will show you some of the older bitties, they are more likely to let you hold them in peace and won’t mind it too much.” The ram leads them away from the front and to a larger container, Cross glances down and spots about sixteen bitties.

Killer gasps as he stares “They are so small.”

The ram laughs “Yeah you never get used to it.” they open the container which causes a few of the bitties to look up. The ram smiles “Hey you guys. Any of you okay with letting some new visitors hold you for a bit?”

The bitties share looks before a goat bitty rises and easily walks over to the opening and holding their arms out. The ram lowers their hand and the bitty climbs up themselves.

The ram takes the bitty out and doesn’t even close the container behind them.

Killer has his hands in a cup and the bitty is carefully transferred. Killer just stares in awe and gently pets the bitty. Cross looks nervously at the container “euh… shouldn’t you like… close that?”

The ram hums and looks over his shoulder “Oh no it is fine. Bitties, once comfortable, don’t tend to run away or explore beyond the area they see as home. I mostly keep those closed and locked to make sure customers don’t just remove bitties from their areas without permission.”

Cross nods and feels Killer nudge him with his shoulder “Cross. Cross. You gotta try this man!”

Cross looks at the ram monster and they laugh as they ask for another bitty to volunteer which another bitty answers, a dog monster bitty this time. One transfer later and Cross has an adorable tiny dog monster in his hands. Staring up at him and wagging the tiniest little tail when Cross pets him.

Eventually both bitties seem to have had enough and start to fuss, which the shop keeper sees and they quickly take the two bitties back and put them with the others. In the container one little cat like bitty runs to the goat to check them while three other dog bitties rush the returned dog bitty.

The shop keeper grins “See? Bonded pairs and groups. They are adorable when they snuggle together and sleep.” And they point to one pile of three bitties all sleeping peacefully together in the afternoon sun.

Cross can’t help but coo at the sight. Killer turns to the shopkeeper with a begging look “Can we… hold more?”

The ram laughs but nods as they keep retrieving bitties for them to hold. Cross thinks his favourite is a little cat one who had been nuzzling the tips of his phalanges, even when he got scratched by the little guy.

They spend their whole afternoon in that little shop. Talking to, holding and snuggling tiny bitties. Some are friendlier than others and Cross still isn’t sure just who his favourite is. Maybe the shy little guy that kept hiding his face. Or the sweet bitty who would hug his finger. Or the bitty that bit his phalange as soon as Cross tried to pet them. Oh Cross just can’t decide.

“Oh… my… god!”

Cross blinks away from the tiny sleeping bitty in his hands as he searches for Killer, only to see Killer disappear behind a shelf near the windows.

“Oh are you kidding me! This is the cutest ever! Hey! Sir! Can I please hold this skeleton bitty?”

Oh. My. God.

Cross very carefully returns the bitty he was holding to the right container before running towards where he saw Killer disappear. The moment he gets to Killer he saw what has the other enchanted.

Perfectly at eye level for them. Right by the window near the cracked open side. Is a container with a lone skeleton bitty inside.

The bitty is bigger than the bitties they had seen until now but that mattered very little because it was still a bitty and still not even as big than their own hands.

The little thing is munching on some pieces of fruit and seems completely uninterested in the noise they are making or the fact that Killer is pretty much plastered against the side of their cage. The little thing just munches on their fruit as they look out of the window.

Cross can’t help but notice the caved in skull and how one socket is completely black while the other socket is red with a tiny spot of black. The bitty is wearing this large, for them, jacket with a fluffy hood and some shorts.

The shopkeeper catches up to them and Cross hears them pant “Please no running in the store!”

Killer only turns a tiny bit, his own empty sockets not looking away from the bitty “Can I please hold this one? Oh they are just adorable!”

The ram monster frowns before seeing where Killer is looking and they look apologetic “Oh… euh… I am sorry but no… that little guy isn’t really for holding or anything… Not even really up for adoption for that matter.”

Cross frowns before once again noticing that the little guy is all alone… No other bitties with them. “Where is their bonded bitty?”

The ram sighs as they looks sheepish “Well, the little guy is bonded! It is just… Bitey is… bitey… and he can’t be with other bitties… Mostly because he tends to steal the food from the other bitties and stockpile it.” The ram walks over with some food and very carefully unlocks the actual little gate.

As soon as the lock unlocks the bitty turns around and the large red socket stares at the ram. Cross can see the bitty study both Cross and Killer before dismissing them and staring at the one holding the food.

The ram very slowly moves a hand closer and into the container.

The bitty glares and starts to show their fangs and a low growl starts to leave the tiny thing.

The ram speaks softly “It is okay. I know you are stressed. I am just giving you some food. I won’t take anything from you.” the ram slowly fills the food dish before the hand leaves the cage and the cage is relocked.

The bitty continues to stare at the gate for a bit before slowly rising from its spot and taking a few steps closer. He looks up to check the gate and ends up grabbing the filled dish and pulling it over with him. Back to the spot he had been sitting at. The one closest to the window.

Killer just coos loudly as he stares at the bitty. And Cross gets it. It is so fucking cute.

The ram sighs.

Cross turns to the ram and frowns “So… where is their bonded bitty? Wouldn’t the little guy feel relaxed and happy if his bonded or bondeds are near?”

The ram sighs again as they rub their face “We know! The problem is… we don’t… actually have the other bitty that he bonded with?” They wave at the open window “There is a bitty somewhere here in town… just going around in the alleyways… we don’t know who they are or how they are, they were not originally from this store to begin with!” they sigh and look sadly at the skeleton bitty “We would… like to let this little guy go to reunite with his buddy but… well… the skull, as you no doubt know better than anyone… it needs constant treatment…” they sigh sadly.

Killer frowns “Why not catch the other little guy?”

The ram chuckles “Oh we tried. We tried everything but the little guy is smart and slippery and… well… the last time we tried to catch him he made a run for it and we didn’t see him for five weeks.”

Cross feels himself freeze. Five weeks? From what he understood not being near their bonded for a few days was already rough for the bitties…

The shopkeeper sighs “This little guy was beside himself. Whining and staring out of the window. Trying to escape multiple times. Not even eating his own food and just stockpiling it all. We were so worried. When the other guy came by for a visit again we just… we decided it was for the better to just leave them an easy way to interact.” And they wave at the open window.

Killer frowns “What about cats? I thought cats hunt bitties?”

Cross feels his soul speed up with panic. There is a tiny bitty all alone outside and there are cats and what if those cats get the little guy and-

The ram holds up their hands “No! Well… yeah… But we have yet to see a cat try to get in but we have security cameras. Bitey’s friend tends to only come when there is no one in the shop at night.” they nod towards the cage where the little bitty has been sorting the food and between moving it he keeps looking up at the window, as if waiting.

Waiting for his equally tiny friend.

The ram smiles as they point back to the other bitties “Either way, this bitty isn’t for sale or adoptable. Want to look at the other bitties again? There are many more in all shapes and forms!”

Killer looks back at the tiny skeleton “Fine I guess…” he stares for a moment longer before going back to the other bitties.

They spend a while longer holding the other bitties in the store. But Cross knows his soul isn’t in it. He can’t help but keep thinking about a tiny bitty outside. All alone and having to take care of himself. About the tiny bitty who is alone in a cage, hoping for his one friend and family to come back for him, while all the other bitties dislike him. Cross is reminded of the empty space he had been, all alone. He is reminded of Killer who had been in his own dead AU for a long time. About Nightmare, who no one seemed willing to try and understand or even bother to talk to, to try and understand why he did what he had to.

Killer and him end up leaving the store in silence as they continue their track to the grocery store. They are lucky it is still open and they quickly grab the things they need. Neither of them say anything as they collect the things they need and pay.

They don’t bother to explore the streets anymore after getting the stuff they needed and Cross uses his, well it used to be XChara’s but now it is his, knife to cut a doorway for them.

They step through and Cross feels himself relax.

Home sweet home.

Hah!

Strange how before it was just a place of work but now it is his home.

Killer had called it Nightmare’s hideout once. But Cross likes to think it is more than just that now. It is their hideout, their home. A place where the multiverse can’t get to them and they can just be. A place perfectly safe with nothing that can hurt them anywhere near.

Honestly it would be the perfect place to have two tiny bitties run around, nothing would hurt them as they explore-

Cross shakes his skull and goes straight to the kitchen after entering the castle. He opens the bag and starts putting things away. Killer looks into the bags and takes out some frozen pizzas which he puts in the oven.

They are quiet as they clean up and wait for the timer to run out.

“You two are oddly quiet.”

Cross looks up as Killer grins “Sup boss!”

Nightmare rolls his eyes as he looks unimpressed “Not much of a boss anymore. Why do both of you feel disheartened? I thought you two were going to one of the universes that we had already called clean?” he frowns.

Cross feels touched by the worry as he shrugs “We did! We went to the usual place.”

Nightmare’s frown doesn’t disappear “That doesn’t explain your emotions.” he looks between the two of them.

Killer huffs as he leans on the counter with crossed arms “We were just walking through town and- Wait! Nightmare!” Killer stands upright with a large grin “They have a bitty shop in that universe!”

Nightmare blinks and looks surprised “But it is a neutral universe…”

That is when Cross remembers. Cross himself and Killer may have had the chance to see bitties once or twice from a distance… but Nightmare wouldn’t have had the chance, ever. As Nightmare at first hadn’t been able to enter positive universes and later it was just too much of a risk as he would be weaker and the Stars stronger.

Killer seems to have thought of the same conclusion as he grins widely “Mare you need to come with us next time! There were so many bitties! They were all so cute and were so well behaved but not afraid or anything and it was all clean and well taken care of!” and Killer starts explaining with wide gestures what they saw and how they held some bitties.

Cross keeps an eye on the oven and by the time Killer winds down talking the pizzas are ready for them. They all get their own and get comfortable at the table to eat their dinner.

Killer grins widely “Oh and Nightmare! They had a skeleton bitty! Not any other multiverse goer or anything! The little guy was straight up just his own person! He was cute and was just hoarding food and such a big little guy!”

Nightmare chuckles as he eats a piece “If this whole conversation is just a windup to ask if you can adopt a bitty you could have started with that.” He eats another bite.

Killer’s grin falls and he sighs “Not like it is possible… little guy isn’t up for adoption.”

Nightmare frowns “Why not?”

Killer just stares sadly at his plate and Cross speaks up “Well, bitties bond to other bitties for like stability and mental health and stuff. Well the little skeleton guy does have a bitty he is bonded to, but that bitty isn’t actually in the shop but a wild bitty.”

Nightmare stops and frowns at them “I thought bitties couldn’t live in the wild?”

Killer pouts as he lays on the table on crossed arms “They normally can’t… guess it is just a very crafty bitty.”

Cross thinks “I think there are some AUs where they can but that are the special cases. In general they can’t…” he sighs as he pushes at his pizza “We are just worried about the two little guys…”

Nightmare looks at them thoughtfully before nodding “I see. And while adopting isn’t possible you could always visit him and sponsor him.” and he eats.

Killer shoots up and stares in shock “What?”

Nightmare pauses as he looks unimpressed “You can visit the bitty still. Not to forget you may be able to make a deal with the shop that you at least adopt him in name. That way you can still spoil him but the shopkeeper will be able to make sure everything is still fine. In some places it is called sponsoring.”

Cross blinks confused “That is a thing?”

Nightmare nods “It is often done with endangered species, at least in quite a few universes. It makes the people feel more involved and attached to them. Maybe you can make a deal with the store and work something out?” and he turns back to his pizza.

Killer jumps up “Yes! We can totally do that! Oh! And tomorrow we can show you where the store is! That was you can also see the bitty!”

Nightmare chuckles “It is fine Killer.”

Killer pouts “Come on boss, it will be fun!”

Nightmare sighs as he shoots Killer a look “I thought we already agreed I am not technically your boss anymore. At most I am your landlord.”

Cross snorts “Being a landlord implies we are paying you, which we aren’t.”

Killer nods “In matter of fact you still pay us.”

Nightmare sighs but Cross can spot a small smile on the other’s face.

Cross smiles as he turns to his own food and finally eats dinner.

--

"… Hey."

“Bunny.”

“Who were that?”

“… Don’t know. Left quickly.”

“Okay… stay safe?”

“I am fine bunny.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

[f1cflcfic]

Just Because I Called You (Carlos Sainz) - part iv

pairing: carlos sainz jr x fem!reader

summary: y/n knows there's a reason for his contact details to be saved under 'do not interact', but one call does not mean you miss him.

genre: written au, brief 18+ content, yet more angst before we reach fluff

wordcount: 2.7k

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons

series, previous parts : part i | part ii | part iii

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

Your fingers hover over your screen, the old text thread with Carlos still open. You hadn’t spoken to him since you’d slept together, again. It’d been 8 days – not that you were counting of course – since it had happened. Your friends still none the wiser, you’d deleted the last couple of messages to ensure it’d stay that way.

Besides, it’s weirdly nice to not see Dean’s text tarnish the rest of the conversation. To not be reminded of what you and Carlos had talked about, or the fact that something had felt different when he’d walked out the door. He’d taken his hoodie with him, and with it, your poorly hidden intentions of using it as an excuse to see him in the future.

Your friend bounces over from the kitchen and hands you another glass of wine, casually glancing at what you’re doing. She immediately shakes her head. “Don’t do it,” Lisa warns you. “Do not text that man.”

“I wasn’t going to,”  you lie, then pout as she snatches the phone out of your hands.  A wave of panic crashes over you when she goes to delete his contact detail altogether,  but you try your hardest not to let it show.  How are you meant to (not) contact him now?

“That’s harsh. He still has a key to my house, you know? I was hoping to get that back.”

Lisa just stares at you, unimpressed. “Change the locks. Get an extra spare key made. Girl, think in solutions – not problems. And he is a problem.”

He is, to you. Because he doesn’t play by the rules you’ve familiarised yourself with over the years, and breaks down your walls so easily. Because he makes you feel things so deeply that it scares you. So yes, he is a problem, but maybe not as much as you’ve led your best friend to believe.

After all, it was you who’d pushed him away when he asked you to meet his family, when he took you on holiday to his childhood home, when he wanted you at all his races.

You were the one who’d called it a mistake, something you didn’t mean when you’d accidentally said “I love you” first. Who’d made it your mission to interrupt Carlos when he’d intended to say it back – because you didn’t want to risk him not meaning it.

You were the one who’d said you didn’t like flowers, when you’d seen them in Carlos’ apartment. And you’d panicked, too scared of the thought that he’d never planned on giving them to you. So you’d wanted to strike first, protect yourself from disappointment.

You were the one who’d insisted that it was fine to just coopt sponsor events as dates, because it was “more practical”. You hadn’t known how much it asked of you to play the perfect couple all the time, how much time they’d require from Carlos, and how much time you’d effectively spend alone each night. When you had figured that out, it’d felt way too late to complain about it. And Carlos had tried to tell you, but you’d been so adamant – he’d relented.

Just like how he’d relented and stopped trying to say the words “I love you”, even though it was right there in every kiss he pressed to your skin. Or how he’d never bought you flowers, but had gotten you LEGO flower sets to build together instead. He’d always found ways to burrow his way deeper into your heart, without pushing you beyond your limit.

The only exception had been his family – that had been non-negotiable. Carlos spent his time-off with them in Mallorca, and it had been so obvious to him that they’d be there, that he hadn’t thought to tell you. He hadn’t given you the opportunity to deny him this.

And you’d hated how much you’d loved it.

So from time to time, just to prove to yourself that you could do without, you’d make up excuses when he’d go visit his family. And he never pushed, even though you could see the disappointment etched into his features every single time you did it.

He hadn’t wanted to scare you off with things or feelings you weren’t brave enough to face yet. But in spite of all that, you’d pushed him away anyways. Because those scary three words that had only escaped you once – they’d been threatening to spill out of every pore of your existence ever since. And all you’d known for certain was that Carlos would always leave to go somewhere you couldn’t follow. Even if perhaps maybe you’d made it so yourself.

You knew very well how much your resistance and hesitance had hurt Carlos along the way. And Carlos deserved better.

You’re not a good person, you think. Because you don’t deserve to miss him now, either – and yet here you are. Losing Carlos may have hurt, but loving him is so much worse.

“I miss him,” you whisper more to yourself than your friend, eyes downcast. Lisa wraps her arms around you, and you can’t help but frown. It feels deceitful to have her comforting you without knowing the full truth.

“It’s okay to miss him and still move on, Y/N.”

The problem is, what if you don’t want to move on?

“I wish that I could take it all back,” you tell her instead, hiding in the hoodie you’re wearing. It’s not as soft as Carlos’ sweater, nor does it smell of him. The realisation leaves you disappointed every single time.

“No you don’t,” she says with a sad smile.

“No, I don’t,” you echo, then sigh.

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

There’s two more weeks to go before the season starts again. It’s been circled in blue on your calendar for months. How things have changed since you’d first put marker on paper. Now, the date just seems to be haunting you. Turns out that even if you’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the other person to give up – it doesn’t make it hurt any less when it eventually does happen.

Lisa had already threatened to throw the calendar out once she’d caught you staring at it, but it’s like a drug you can’t refuse. You need to know just how much time is slipping through your fingers, how many hours you’ve spent exactly agonising over what has happened, and how many more you have to make up your mind.

Maybe you’re wrong, after all. Maybe losing Carlos does hurt more than loving him does. Maybe – if you’d given him a chance, he’d have proven to you that after leaving he always came back.

A sigh escapes your lips, as you tear your gaze away from the calendar. “Come on, Y/N, you can do this,” you say out loud, trying to focus on the spreadsheet in front of you.

There’s something not quite right about the budget for one of the projects you oversee, but it’s been hard to figure out. Probably because you keep finding yourself distracted by stupid calendars, or googling Spanish phrases you think you might remember Ana saying to you a few weeks ago. You have a right to know what she’d wanted to convey, didn’t you?

It's unimportant and stupid, but it’s one of the few ways that you can justify any sort of proximity to Carlos to yourself right now, so you’ll take it. If that makes you pathetic, pathological, and a walking paradox? So be it.

Your heart skips a beat when your eyes land on a term midway down the page that’s achingly familiar.

Nena.

Nenita.

You don’t need to read what it means, as you vividly remember Carlos kissing the words and its translation into your skin. He’d tried very hard not to call you that since the break, but it had escaped him the other night.

You’d heard it. You’d been drunk and emotional, and all you’d done was accuse him of not fighting for you. And yet he’d taken care of you and called you nena – like he used to. Before you started building your walls even higher, trying to repair every hole he put in your defences. Before you’d used the one thing he couldn’t change against him.

And when he’d made sure you were safe and comfortable, you’d slept together. Because it’s maybe the only way you still feel capable of expressing just how much you feel for him, without having to put words to it. Because naked with him in bed still feels so much less vulnerable than allowing full emotional intimacy.

The dark night had made it easier not to have to see the defeat on his face, when he’d said he wouldn’t ask you for something you weren’t willing to give. But the problem is, you’ve come to realise these past few days. The problem is, that you’d probably give him everything. Except he hadn’t asked. Because he’d loved you enough not to.

It’s ironic, that what had allowed you to fall for Carlos, and get so close at all – his patience, never pushing you for things you weren’t ready for – had turned out to be your downfall as well.

“Fuck,” you mutter as you feel your eyes burn. A part of you wants to give in and just have a full-on cry, but another part of you just wishes you could channel the hurt into hyperfocus instead.

As you debate what would really be the better option at 9PM on a Thursday, there’s a sudden noise coming from the hallway. Tears instantly forgotten, you hold your breath as you turn to face the door to the living room. Are you really about to be robbed in your own house as well, just to add to the misery and make it a trifecta of torture? Lisa had offered to stay in the other bedroom just last night, but you'd told her that it was fine. Mostly because you couldn't bear the fact that she was set on getting you over Carlos, for all the wrong reasons. But she'd never show up unannounced, and most importantly - she doesn't even have a key to the place. There’s no one else in Monaco who does, except Carlos – and you’re not nearly delusional enough to get your hopes up. He wouldn't.

Your heartrate spikes, as the handle of the door rattles.

“Honey I’m homeeeee!”

The door bursts open, and in walks the original other occupant of your apartment – your best friend. “Sam! What the actual fuck? You’re supposed to be in Thailand!”

She laughs as she throws her arms around you, then promptly sinks into the couch.

“Yes, but then a mutual acquaintance of ours who shall not be named reached out, and said you might need some moral support. So, he arranged a flight, and here I am.”

Too stunned to speak, all you can do is follow her lead and slowly lower yourself to sit right next to her. “What do you mean?”

She rolls her eyes, face more tan than it had been since you’d last seen her in person, but still so achingly familiar – as if she’d never left. “I mean that your ex-boyfriend paid for my flight, and I wasn’t about to deny him his misplaced sense of altruism nor myself that very much deserved business class seat.”

You blink once, twice. “Carlos reached out to you?”

She nods as if it’s obvious, then shoots you a playful glare. “Aren’t you incredibly impressed with me for keeping this a secret, and also for not being offended that you didn’t tell me anything?”

“You were in Thailand, I didn’t want to burden you," you retort, still reeling from the casual way in which she'd just said Carlos had been in touch with her. He'd gone through the effort of contacting not just anyone, but your best friend. But when? And why? Because this time, it was really done?

You're already spiralling, but then you realise Sam's right there, still looking at you - waiting for you to expand.

"Besides, I really didn’t want to hear you say I told you so,” you tell her, a self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

If anything, Sam knows too much. Whereas Lisa has been a great friend and truly is one of your best friends in Monaco, she's no Sam.

Sam had grown up with you.

She’d been the one deciding to move to Monaco on a whim. She’d been the one who’d seen you fall into traps of your own making every single time, and had then asked a year later if you’d wanted to join her. And so you had.

You’d built a new life for yourself, had gotten a new job, made new friends – including Lisa – and eventually found yourself a new boyfriend. And then Sam had left. She had taken a sabbatical off work, and had decided to travel to South-East Asia, saying she'd missed out on the experience when she was still in college. She'd asked if you'd wanted to come along, but you’d been spending most of your time with Carlos. You had a life, a job you didn't want to give up - as much as you were second-guessing that now with the spreadsheet from hell still lurking on your laptop.

And Sam had been so happy for you, but she'd also left just after witnessing you crash out over Carlos making space in his closet for you. She'd told you to try to not fight it. To just let it all happen. And you had tried to take her advice. You'd secretly enjoyed it all. Up until it had started to feel too real, too perfect, and you’d wanted too much.

She just gives you a look. “I was going to find out at one point, Y/N. Whether or not you’d have had the time to dress up the truth – you know I still would’ve found out, I still would’ve said I told you so, and then I’d still have been here to support you. Like disgusting cough syrup.”

You snort. It’s not the first time Sam makes that comparison, and her expression brightens at seeing you grin. “And I’m feeling very generous, so I’ll forgive you for not calling me yourself. Mostly because I did text you that I was doing a silent retreat and wouldn’t have my phone on me,” she looks a little sheepish at that.

You both know that more than anything, the fact you didn’t want her to know about the break-up in the first place is incredibly telling. It’s as close to an admission of guilt - of regret - as you’ve gotten.

So you sigh, and sink into the cushions even further. Sam patiently waits for you to gather your thoughts, wraps an arm around you as you eventually find yourself relaying the past couple of weeks to her. This time no holds barred, full transparency.

“I think I fucked up, Sam. I think I really fucked up,” you confess finally, tears staining your cheeks.

She wordlessly hands you another tissue, a determined glint in her eyes.

“Alright. So maybe you did. You’ll make it right. We will make it right. Do you love him?”

A part of you wants to deny it, wants to immediately curl up into a ball and deflect – doesn’t want to admit someone had gotten so close to you. Doesn’t want to admit you’d want someone that close to you.

But it’s time to be a little courageous now, you think. If you want to fix this, you’ll have to be. So you swallow away the lump that’s formed in your throat, and give her a small, but terrified nod.

Sam snorts. “Okay, we will work on your delivery, but I believe you. Now, do you love him enough to stop thinking he’s going to break your heart? And to stop hurting him? Even if that means you agree to walk away?”

New tears immediately well up in your eyes at the thought of actually never talking to Carlos again, never seeing him again, never existing together again. But you also know that as harsh as it is, Sam is right. It might very well be that Carlos taking the hoodie you’d once bought him – it might mean that he didn’t want to give you a reason to see him again. Maybe – maybe that’s what he needs. And hadn’t he always given you what you’d thought you needed? So, with newfound resolve, you nod. If he needs you to leave, then that’s okay. It’s okay, because you need him to be okay. And for once, you should consider what he needs first.

“Great,” she pats your knee, then stands up. “With that settled, we should relax, because I'm exhausted physically, and you're exhausted emotionally. So I say we grab our blankets and get cozy here. Starting with that delicious red wine he introduced you to and I know you still keep stocked, because you’re terribly predictable.”

You look up at her and smile. “Hey, Sam? Thank you. For being my cough syrup.”

“Anytime.”

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚ A/N: I mean, I couldn't not upload something on Valentine's Day!

Let me know what you think <3 Likes, comments, reblogs, asks are all appreciated.

Part v is now available here.

want to be added to the taglist? send me an ask!

[blightbright]

I've been exploring this in my fic writing because I wanted to find an interpretation that sat right with me, and fic writing is the perfect way to do that IMO! Anyway, spoilery for my fic I suppose, but in my interpretation, I don't think Mythal spoke at all during that final scene. I think Mythal is gone, and Morrigan spoke all of those words, with the fragment of raw power that once belonged to Mythal. IIRC the power is called the Essence of the Protector. Mythal misused that essence/power. Morrigan has it now, and she'll do something better with it, as an abuse survivor who refuses to continue the cycle of abuse. "Mythal" appears with Morrigan's shoulder mantle framing her in the shot, and magically I think Morrigan (a shapeshifter!) is projecting that shape forward. It is authentic because she is tapping into that magical current and has every right to magically, that power is now hers! And the feelings are being explored authentically.

Rook doesn't always get it in terms of what they say in-game, but that doesn't change my interpretation, because hilariously Rook can call Morrigan "Mythal" like four times earlier in the game anyway, and after the first time, Morrigan is like (paraphrasing) "OK, but I'm not... [annoyed sigh] Fuck it. You don't get it. Whatever."

I think I explain this better in fiction than in essay form, but suffice it to say, I don't think Mythal took accountability at all. And abusers rarely do. (I think Flemeth/Flemythal did to some degree, by being genuinely sorry and willing to die, but she's functionally a different person than the original Mythal.) I think Morrigan broke the spell in the way it needed to be broken, reminded Solas that everything he did was while tied to Mythal (not his sole responsibility), and it was enough.

Tl;dr - IMO, Morrigan's speaking the whole time, just putting on that role rightfully, as the power behind it is now hers. But she's still herself! And uncovering this during my own writing made me FALL DEEPLY IN LOVE WITH MORRIGAN TBH, but that's a whole other thing.

Something that baffled me (even more that I was already baffled at least) about Mythal in Veilguard was what she said to Solas during the redemption ending.

When Solas finally starts coming to terms with all the things he has done, Mythal responds that they are “not for you to bear alone, my friend”. Implying that their mistakes are for both of them to bear, because they are both accountable, right?

But then she just, peaces out. She releases him from her service, and she doesn’t actually bear anything. If Lavellan is there, she bears it with him, otherwise he still bears it alone.

Yes, she most likely cannot remain in that form to actually do something, but it’s the wording that bothers me. To tell someone that they shouldn’t carry the repercussions of what both of you did, only to immediately sever them from you and leave them alone to do just that.

[i-like-loserz]

my sleepy boyfriend

synopsis: mingi is kind of obsessed with you. even (especially) when he's sleepy...

pairing: needy!mingi x reader

warnings: SMUT (18+), needy boyfriend!mingi, less subby -- more desperate, consensual somnophilia, man-handling, unprotected sex, slight nipple play, mating press!, breeding kink (as always), size kink (its mingi hello), creampie, not proof-read, i think it's cute!

word count: 1.6k

note: please read the warnings! if you don't like them, just don't read it lol

part I | masterlist

Mingi is adorably pathetic. 

He’s a perverted loverboy — ready to whine and beg for your touch at any moment. 

And he’s well aware that you’d never deny him. 

But how could you when he looks at you with his slick, bitten lips, fluffy hair, and an aching boner pressing desperately against his sweats?

It's even more delicious when he's tired, exhausted to the bone. Because even unconscious, his body is hungry for you. 

Without his apprehensive habits holding him back, Mingi is eager to take anything you can give him. Several nights you've woken to him getting off against your body, grinding himself against your thigh.

He makes such a mess against your pajamas and even after cumming several times, he’s begging to finish inside of you. 

In the beginning, he’d whisper frantic apologies, immediately retrieving a towel to clean you up with an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. 

But then he became more depraved. 

Waking up from a wet dream soon leads to him using your body to satiate the desperate need that’s been building inside of him all night. 

How could he resist you, though? Especially when you’ve expressed how much you like to wake up to him inside of you. 

Still, he feels like a pervert when he stares down at your helpless form as you sleep soundly next to him. That doesn’t stop him, of course.

He bites his bottom lip to keep himself quiet as his hands run down your body, making sure to feel every inch of your clothed skin. 

It’s a warmer night so you’re wearing a cute floral tank top that sticks perfectly to the shape of your body. The material is so thin that he can barely make out the pretty shape of your nipples. Mingi is sure that he’s never wanted to lick over your body more than now. 

His light touch lazily glides along the length of your chest before dipping into the loose elastic of your tank top. A deep, breathy groan rumbles in his chest as his hand splays over your bare tit, loving how perfectly it fits in his grasp. 

He gently squeezes at your flesh, massaging with an eager touch before moving downwards to lovingly rub circles around your rapidly hardening nub. He takes his time teasing and flicking your sensitive skin, enjoying the way you sigh prettily under him, unknowingly enjoying his attention.

He leans over you, admiring the perfect contours of your face. Every time he looks at you, he’s reminded of how obsessed he is with every one of your features.

Your beautiful eyes, your cute nose, your delicate lips, the whole shape of your face – features he wants to see reflected in his children. 

Mingi dips in closer, taking in the sweet scent of your soft skin before gently burying his face against your neck. He presses a few wet kisses against your heated skin before releasing his hold on you. He wants more.

You opted to sleep in some lace-trimmed cotton panties, sporting an innocent bow right in the middle. Your thighs are deliciously bare and it’s been tempting him terribly all night.

His large hand traces the edge of the waistband before moving to press delicately against your covered clit. His dark eyes dart to your face as you inhale sharply, your body shivering at the light caress. 

Mingi eagerly drinks in the way your brows cinch together from the sudden bout of pleasure. He relishes making you feel as needy for his touch as he is for yours. Even if it’s but a fraction of his desperation. 

He can barely hold himself back from diving in, but he wants to feel your pretty eyes on him. 

He needs you to touch him back. 

“Baby…” His hand drags slowly over your core to the side of your thigh, pulling it up to wrap around his waist. He holds you there, pressing his hips against yours to make you feel how desperately hard he is for you. “Wake up.”

He nudges your cheek gently with the tip of his nose. 

Your eyes flutter open at his sweet, pleading tone, arms automatically moving up to wrap over his neck. You blink away your sleep to see your blushing boyfriend over you, eagerly waiting for you to say something. 

“Mingi...” You sigh, pulling him closer to nuzzle against the warmth of his neck. He smells so good. Cozy and masculine. You just want to bury yourself against him and stay there forever.  

You let out a breathy moan as Mingi presses down harder against you -- suddenly feeling bold by the soft way you said his name.

You gently run your nails down the back of his head, pulling a sweet shudder from his pouty lips. You can feel him throbbing under his boxers

“Been so patient for me, haven't you?" You coo, dotting soft kisses all over his neck and jaw.

"Didn't wanna wake you..." He mumbles, "But it hurts." He flexes his hips to rub himself against you, already panting from the feeling of your warm body against him.

"My poor baby." You grind up against him, meeting his every thrust, already drenching your underwear from how badly you want him inside of you. "Don't worry I'll help you."

"Mmph...Can I just--" He pulls away for a moment and shoves a hand between your bodies, pushing your tank top over your tits before moving downwards, a starved look on his face as he stares down at the translucent fabric sticking against your pussy.

Mingi pulls away for a moment to reposition you, large hands pushing your legs until the top of your thighs press against your heaving chest.

A mating press. It's one of his favorite positions.

You're tighter, closer, and louder like this.

Without hesitation, he shoves your underwear to the side, revealing your dripping center. Even in the dark, he can see the glistening wetness spilling out of your entrance.

"Ming--!" You gasp at his forwardness.

"S-so...p-pretty." He uses one large hand to hold your legs as he quickly pulls himself out of his boxers, already desperately stroking himself at the sight under him.

Your hands fist against your pillow as he slides his cock over your wet entrance, pressing ever so slightly against your dripping hole. He groans when he feels you flutter against him, so ready to be filled by his cock.

"F-fuck, I don't think I can hold back--"

Your legs rest weakly over his shoulders as he presses close to you, thighs shaking as they're pressed between your hot torsos. His head is bowed down to watch himself press into you, not stopping until he's balls deep inside of you. 

You can tell by the way his body trembles that he's trying his hardest to be gentle -- but once he feels the tight heat of your pussy wrapped around him, he's lost to the heady pleasure that spreads throughout his body.

You flutter around him uncontrollably, eyes rolled to the back of your head at the intensity of being stretched so deliciously, so quickly. It's a familiar feeling that never ceases to have you seeing stars, no matter how often he fucks you.

“Uh-!” A sharp cry is forced out of your throat as his hips shakily pull away from you before immediately snapping back, shoving his cock impossibly deep inside of you.

It sets off a spark in your core as he continues to expertly fuck right against your g-spot, overwhelming your senses with blinding ecstasy.

"M'sorry," He pants against your ear, "I c-can't help it."

He starts to thrust shallowly, desperate, pressing himself flush against you with every fevered move, as if he can’t stand being even a centimeter away from you.

You can feel your wetness make a mess in between your bodies, painting over the back of your thighs and dripping onto the sheets.

"N-Needed this --" He chokes out, "Needed you."

"Use me." His cock throbs inside of you, heightening the way he prods against the deepest part of you. "Fuck your cum inside of me, Ming." His thrusts grow harsher, sloppier as his hands pin your body against the mattress, forcing you to take every inch of him.

"Y-yes, fuck-!"

His eyes are squeezed shut as he uses you to fuck himself dry. You reach your orgasm at the same time, clenching tightly around him with a whine as he trembles against you, spilling his hot cum inside of you until you're filled to the brim. 

You’re both panting, skin hot and sticky as you separate. The ecstasy fizzles out and is replaced by a drowsy haze. As you start to come back to reality, you feel the soreness blooming in your legs. You groan under Mingi, weakly pushing against him to get some relief. 

Waking up himself, he instantly releases his hold on you, worried eyes scanning over your face and body.

“You okay? Did I go too hard?” You stretch out your limbs with a soft groan and smile weakly up at him. 

"I'm amazing, baby." Your thighs rub together, feeling the tackiness from your combined slick, "A bit sticky though..."

His hair is a mess, sticking up in different directions, his body is all flushed and his lap is…a hot mess. You can’t help but stare up at him with adoration, enamored by how perfectly messy your boyfriend looks after fucking you into the bed. 

“You’re so cute, Mingi.”

“Huh?” He tilts his head like a confused little puppy.

You shake your head, refusing to elaborate.

Instead you lean back against the headboard and make grabby hands up at him, “Come here, baby, let’s cuddle.”

“...But we’re all sticky.”

“Mingi.”

“Ok.”

[acid-ixx]

before the bell rings (a loving family, an unpalatable desire spin-off)

ft. romatic yandere bruce wayne x gn reader x platonic yandere batfam.

tw: slight nsfw. bruce watches and kisses you while you sleep. in no way, shape or form do i condone this behavior irl.

ihave a raging headache but i don't care because i love making spin-offs of my original series'. and now i've been thinking of something related to a loving family, an unpalatable desire where just like again &. again being the opposite of like him, in this current universe i'm writing about;

you're much too loved by your husband, bruce wayne.

there are eyes everywhere when you two have been into the first stages of your marriage. he may have proposed to you for the sake and promises of protection both your families agreed upon from when martha and thomas and alive— your relationship must've been purely transactional during your childhood; but in the process of knowing you better during the planning for your wedding, in the process of grief and accepting his parents' deaths, a broken childhood and cold glances—

bruce came to love the comfort and warmth you offered him.

the entire time he was convinced that your marriage will be all but a distant relationship all throughout planning for possible venues, cake designs, guests and attires; a task he chose to uphold for the sake of your preference of a picture perfect wedding and his reputation to keep in public.

it was all that, mere promises to maintain cordiality.

there would be no affectionate touches, or the need for intimacy during both your honeymoon stages. he respects your boundaries, and you do with his privacy. after the entire wedding, everything will return to normal; with the added fact that you'd simply be living in his mansion with no qualms to bother him whatsoever.

those were unsaid agreements that you yourself knew to abide by. you were never close with the man you'd be married with during childhood, after all. for him, you must've been a checklist for him to fulfill his parents' will; there was no love before or after his grief, not even when you'd attend the funeral and expressed your apologies for the loss— his eyebrows furrowing at your shorter form, but never quite looking at you.

younger you knew it was the protection that will be granted, and never the love you wanted, but you still held on to that flicker of hope that somehow, someday you'll eventually form an amicable bond with your soon-to-be husband.

yet to you, he was the only ticket way out of your abusive home life, one filled with not only coldness, but sharp glares from a mother who never wanted you and painful beatings from a father who criticizes his own child's every mistake, each hit more painful than the last.

as much as you desire something more homely from your soon to be husband, you've long since accepted that your life will never be filled with visceral love that eats you up, love whose hands tangle upon your hair not out of sheer hatred but desire, love whose strong arms raise you up in the air rather than raises itself up to hit you.

and as you both prepare for your wedding, an air of awkwardness and discomfort was expected. backs turned, never facing each other, your eyes never quite looking at his, and unwanted brushes of each other's bodies bumping into each other translates itself to tension and mere desire to get over the plans just as quickly.

bruce tells himself, it will all be over soon. this is necessary to keep up facades and earn more connections. he hasn't been as close with childhood friends after his parents' death, hence why he was too ruffled to properly communicate with his partner after years of isolation from peers. he knows you know to understand that fact.

you tell yourself that as much as your heart aches at the impending doom that you wouldn't be able to spend time with your husband as much after the entire fiasco of dealing with wedding arrangements, with wayne enterprises and hundreds of other duties to fulfill— you've nothing to do but embrace that mere fact.

so it was all that.

bruce will never love you as much as you force yourself to love each and every flawed part of him. the first steps of planning your marriage already reflected what would soon be the damning years of a loveless courtship.

love is painful, loving bruce will be painful. your heart will never flutter at the meaningless bouquet of flowers he'd gift you, or jewelry that was never your preference, all because you both knew it was a necessary farce to make things prettier on the outside. bruce can never learn to love again after the heartbreak of losing two of his loved ones.

all that.

yet the longer you two spend time in the same room in stuffy outfit fittings and bakeries whose warmth both your loves you thought would never quite reach— the more bruce notices the slight quirk of your lips every time he guessed your favorite color or design, the gleam in your eyes glowing brighter at him choosing what he thought would be the perfect confectionaries for reception, and the tiny claps and soft tugs at the cuffs of his sleeve the more he chooses to accommodate each and every preference of yours.

he starts to fall, not out of hindsight. he was never an obvious man, no.

but he fell in love, either way.

with your habits, the way your hands gesture your excitement, and the shy grin you show his way whenever he pursues physical affection to you in both private and public; with you melting into his once stiff chest and ridged shoulders, hands wrapped around your waist, head slowly nuzzling into the crown of your hair. sometimes he'd be brave enough to caress your hips and run his fingers through the flesh between your neck and shoulders.

every damn time he takes a newer risk, every time, you'd be left shocked, yet never pushing away at his ministration.

a surprise that rewires your perception of him in your mind— not less pleasant nonetheless.

he falls in love whenever his heart beats faster— a feeling he thought he'd never come across after years of hardened training— at the way you buzz every time he proposes you two go out on dates, at your unheard gasps whenever he actually gives you bouquets of your favorite flowers as gifts, at your incoherent mumbles as you two walk through the farmer's market with his body shielding you from stalking paparazzi's and countless of admires; your mouth forming words, brows furrowed, oblivious at bruce's unwavering gaze and arms ready to rest upon your shoulders as if he never once hesitated to touch you.

and he soon realizes that he begins to yearn sleeping in the same room as you. you still stay at your home at the time being, only to be housed at his right after your marriage— but bruce loses sleep all the same. at thoughts of what you would feel like all pressed up against him, the warmth that emanates off your body every time your arms would explore his chest, and how he'd wake up to your wide, intoxicating smile, calling him, bruce wayne, your husband as you caress him and tell him breakfast is ready.

he could picture you sitting beside him, your arms unknowingly on his thighs because you crave physical affection, your attention on both your children, chattering with them as if you were always their parent. he sees you scolding damian for sneaking food under the table for his, telling jason and tim off for arguing yet again, whilst dick laughs at his brother's clumsy way of eating with barbara rebuking his statements. you'll always be the first person cass would talk to about her ballet recitals, the one duke chides for advice about which club to choose, and steph's first choice every time she stumbles upon drama.

the entire atmosphere would be spontaneous. there could be small fights, little debates and sometimes even tension, yet they listen to you nevertheless. at your pretty voice giving them an earful altogether whilst bruce would worship you with his hungry eyes, forgetting the breakfast on his plate just to hold himself back from the urge to pepper kisses on you in front of the family.

the perfect dream, like a gomez to his morticia who admires every side of them. their beauty, their sadness, anger and flaws. you complete him, he only realizes at such a late time.

just as quick as he imagines those fantasies, bruce would find himself stalking through the confines of your family home as batman; confirming to himself your breathing patterns, the flutter of your eyes, soft mumbles, and your tight hold on one of your pillows, wishing it was him instead. there, he takes in the state of your room: the decor, your wallpapers, each and every trinkets and hobbies you've collected all over the years; and most importantly, just how small and confined your room is, yet cozy at the same time.

the manor would be your castle soon enough, and he promises that it would feel as homely as your previous room. he promises that you wouldn't be sleeping alone eventually. you'll be so loved... so cared for. he'll learn to properly love you, how to touch you in all the ways he could imagine, to kiss parts left neglected, to satiate the hunger watching you every damn time.

every night, he gains newer information about you as you sleep oblivious to the presence looming above you. every night, he notes the texture of your bedsheet, the blankets that hug at your body tightly, the pillows you drool on and the softness of your mattress.

he'd ruffle your hair, and begin to trudge closer and closer to you, to the point his confidence would be at an all time high and he'd be breathing the same pattern as you, body nearly pressed atop yours as his hands tangle itself upon your messy hair. bruce watches your skin bathe in the moonlight's glow, he admires the slow rise and fall of your chest and the delicious peaks of skin from the fabric that threatens to fall.

his desire only grows stronger, his willpower grows weaker all the same.

and at a time of momentary weakness, at the passion that drips off his body merely watching you, at the unsated hunger and moments of restricting himself from touching you too much during your times together— he kisses you while still sleeping, deeply and unregretful at his choice. devouring your lips, wishing he could instead feel his tongue pressing against yours, and licking at the drool that escapes from his relentless kisses. his hands would be on either side of your head, but his thighs pin your waist, heavy and unrelenting on moving from its position.

when he lets go, he laps at his lips for any remaining taste of you, hardwiring the memory into the deepest, most sinful parts of his brain, and admires your beauty from up close. bruce watches just how angelic you look sprawled atop a bed that soon would be big enough to fit two, he sees the smile slowly forming on your face, and the giggles that erupt all while you still remain asleep.

you must've been dreaming something pleasant. he hopes that it is him, he hopes that it would be him lavishing you in his love.

and he'll be coming back home right after pecking your lips and cheeks one last time, before leaving your room, to sleep in his bed all alone after a night of a passionate endeavor. he'll be dreaming of a night with you, every night with you in fact. of your pleasured closed-eyed smile in bed and arms that reach to wrap around his body like you do your pillows. he'll cover you like a blanket with his warmth, too.

and you'll always be in his mind, even as he wakes up every morning after another day of sleepless patrol, without you by his side, without your body pressed tightly against his, without the feeling of your plush skin on his scarred one, or the melody of your snores and flutter of your eyes at the light that hits it; bruce would never be satisfied.

in fact, he begins to crave for more as he touches his lips, remembers how easily pinned you are, how fitting your body is wrapped around his. he realizes that mere fantasies would only serve as distractions, he realizes that he needs the real thing.

soon, he'll invite you to the manor, all in his own accord, without hesitation or implications that it was all for mere planning.

there you would be, shy and modestly greeting his children. bruce notices the way your finger shivers, and the barely concealed smile that makes it way to your face when you finally meet your soon-to-be family, your soon-to-be children.

unaware, oblivious to the night he took your first-kiss. he knows it is your first kiss, you've written it in a journal of yours that you're saving it for whoever is your future husband— it's only right that he prides himself in the fact that he is your fiance.

he notices how well you fit in the manor, how you're such a perfect match to the neverending energy of adrenaline to fight and to patrol, acting as a mediator, a peacemaker to the hustle and bustle of spontaneous fights and arguments that alfred used to deal with alone. and his children—?

god, his children love you.

after first impressions, after you spend time coddling beside your fiance, talking to each and every one of them with a fond smile; acting as if they're all already your children without any second thoughts, never forcing yourself into their lives or invading private topics or inside jokes like the other suitors interested in bruce who visited; after you leave the manor despite their insistence that you stay—

all of them took it in their hands to help you both prepare for the wedding arrangements; damian made a comment to push for the wedding date to be way earlier. dick says he'd be in charge of the music, steph butts in saying she knows how to play the piano, cass opens up about performing a ballet piece during the wedding, duke suggests alfred should be handling the food, barbara says she has connections with entertainment factions, tim states matterof fact that he will be organizing the entire schedule, even jason insists on attending, just simply disguised amongst the background.

it would've been a marriage where it's only your side of the family who attend, an agreement you both settled for in the earlier stages of planning, but...

if the family loves you so much at just a first impression then...

bruce wayne loves his spouse even more.

and you, being the hopeless romantic you ever are, craving intimacy at such a young age from the lack of it, took the bait and fell into his controlling hold when you've still had the chance to back out.

after all, what is love without sacrifices?

soon enough, what once were lingering, unsure touches would be bruce holding you tightly against his chest like you two were puzzle pieces fit perfectly together. he was never the type to compliment through words, but every time you wear your favorite shade or those that matches his suit colors every time you both go out for outings, his bright blue, yet dull eyes would glimmer in the sunlight, taking in your entire form. he'll kiss you for what feels longer than half a minute, and sometimes even pin you down against the mahogany door of the office if it meant he was that pleased.

you love the attention, you bask at just how easy it is to love his children. even if their personalities contrast, even through the fights they sometimes have in front of you; none ever lash out at you for breaking it up, even the youngest, damian, who would always be the most violent amongst the siblings.

hell, he'd always be the most possessive, the most demanding of your attention for whenever you stray too close to his other siblings. always glaring, always picking up fights and insulting everyone, but never directing anything at you, even threatening to bite those who dare touch any gifts you give him.

yet you love them, either way, and you've come to love bruce, too. at the most unexpected of times, even. you love it when his touches linger a bit longer, you buzz with joy every time he'd hide your face from paparazzi and hold you tighter, never once letting a hand stray far away from your body, always having you in his arms just like how your perfect fantasies would always play in your head.

and even if you're still unaware of bruce's identity of being batman, the same hero you used to fear, you still insist on kissing bruce's scars that he always comes home with every night after patrol. you let yourself become a treasure he worships, you allow him to kiss you, defile you, and never once let you out alone anymore— your occasional manor visits before your marriage turned into countless of nights spent under a roof with people you thought you'd never be... that closely intimate with.

it is only before the wedding bell rings that bruce falls in love with you, and it would soon be after that you realize just how trapped you truly are.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: after this, i will return to hibernation. and if anybody asks, yes, superman wanting to smash you in this au is still canon. and yes, he will find a way to persuade you in smashing him.

taglist: @donnaaurelia, @prince-nikko, @neerathebrightstar (i hope u like this :))), @mr-celestial-writings, @glasscurrents, @sh4rk-k1d, @vellichor-and-hiraeth, @sammytheotakunerd.

[timmydraker]

Tim Drake is a selkie.

No one outside of Janet Drake knows this, and she ensure it is kept a secret purely for the fact that if it gets out people will quickly realise that neither she nor Jack is a selkie themselves.

They would realise that Janet had an affair.

The man she had met on their trip overseas had gotten her pregnant and then vanished, seemingly disappearing into thin air.

It wasn’t until Tim was born that she was sure it was the other man’s child, if not for the distinctly black hair than the smooth pelt like band around his wrist.

His father had one similar and he refused to take it off.

The first time Tim transformed was luckily when Janet was still sure she wanted to be a mother and was bathing him at just four months old. When the little boy with bright blue eyes suddenly went quiet and then rolled over in the bath, she watched as he turned into a small baby seal.

Janet had screeched and backed up in shock, only to watch as the seal looked at her with big black eyes and seemingly start to cry before he shifted back into Tim.

The band around his wrist came off and was the perfect shape of the seals pelt from earlier, sitting in the tub like it hadn’t just shifted Janet’s entire life out of balance.

Naturally she hid the hide and made sure Tim never saw it again, especially when there were no more shifting incidents.

Tim was nine when he found it and well accustomed to his parents lying to him about a range of things, all varying in importance. They lied about when they would be home, about stocking the fridge, about being at his science fair…

But when Tim was sneaking into his mums closet to try find one of her spare credit cards, he found the pelt and something in him felt whole.

Tim had always felt like something wasn’t right about him. He felt like his very body was missing, or maybe his soul, and no matter what he did he couldn’t find a way to fill that gap. Being in water helped, so did showers and sunlight, though it was never enough.

It was why he started skating and stalking Batman and Robin, just to distract himself.

Photography worked best though.

Yet as he reached a tentative hand out to touch the pelt he swore he could feel himself being put back together like a puzzle.

Tim didn’t shift straight away, not when he was left stuck in the blissful feeling of his skin feeling right for the first time he could recall.

It was when he watched the pelt shift to wrap around his bare arm like a sleeve that he shifted.

The seal form he took wasn’t what he expected, but of course it wasn’t.

From then on Tim would spend every chance he got with the pelt, learning to control both the shifting of his skin and how to disguise the hide on his person. He usually kept it as some kind of band that covered his arm or waist, keeping it close to his hand at all times so he could check that it was safe.

He never wore it when his parents were home, just in case.

Naturally, he did research and learnt what he was as best he could.

By the time Janet realised he was taking the hide out of its hiding spot he was thirteen and almost finished his Robin training. He had kept it hidden from Batman if only because he was scared and not even sure if his mother really knew what it was, but when he came home to find her in his room he knew it was over.

She had held out her hand and said in the calmest voice she could, “hand it over, Timothy.”

Tim didn’t.

Janet had stood up and gripped his wrist, quickly finding the pelt around his arm and yanking it off of him.

Tim had cried, not out of physical pain but mental. It was like he was being put under some kind of spell and he found himself unable to move to snatch it back as Janet held the now pelt in a too tight grip.

“You will not touch this again, you hear me? I’m going to burn it.”

And she tried, she really did, but then Tim started to scream. The loud, echoing wails rang through the entire mansion until Jack rushed to his son and tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

Janet only stopped when Jack started calling for her to call an ambulance and she came up with the badly damaged pelt to find her son seizing on the floor with his skin burning red.

Tim calmed down quickly once she put it under water, but he was still shaking and sobbing wildly.

He never found out how she managed to convince Jack to not call for an ambulance or to leave them alone, and Tim tried not to think about how little Jack had to care for him to accept so easily.

Janet had given him the pelt back and watched him sob as he held it to his chest and wailed.

The next trip they went on lasted seven months and in that time he spent as much as he could in his seal form to focus on healing his damaged skin.

It was still burnt, ugly scars covering the bottom and entire left side of his fur, but he learnt to maintain it.

After that he kept the pelt hidden under armour in the Robin uniform.

When Jason attacked him he cut the pelt through his armour, not knowing it was there. He managed to not cut it in half and in a twisted irony got right over where it wasn’t scarred.

Tim managed to hide it from Batman but at that point he was sure that Alfred suspected something.

Yet it wasn’t until Damian that anyone found out.

At that point Tim felt safe enough to have his pelt kept as a thick band around his wrist, out and open but only in the manner.

As much as he wanted to hate him, Tim couldn’t blame Damian when after a year and a half of him being there and the two working out a few differences and issues, he noticed. Tim hadn’t worn it visible since he first arrived and tried to kill Tim, but he had subconsciously felt safer around Damian and the boy was the best at spitting changes in others appearance.

“Oh.”

Bruce had looked up at Damian while Tim minded his business stirring his tea, “what’s up, chum?”

Damian pointed to Tim’s wrist, “I was not aware you were a Selkie, Drake. I apologise if I damaged you pelt in my attacks.”

Tim had tensed so badly that he was sure that Superman could hear his joints locking even though he was off planet.

Naturally Tim started to hyperventilate when Bruce asked with genuine confusion, “What?”

Tim bolted to his room as quickly as he could and shut the door before sliding down it and clutching his pelt-band to his chest with his free hand.

It could have been a few seconds or minutes, but it felt like a whole hour before Tim heard a knock at the door and the calm, gentle voice of Bruce talking through it.

“Tim? Can you open up for me please?”

Shaking his head even when the other couldn’t see, Tim let out a whimper and crawled quickly to the bathroom as his panic took over.

By the time he heard the door open he was in his preferred form of a half seal, his lower body only and the skin of his back shifted, and clutching his inhuman lower body.

Bruce came in and stared at him in shock for a bit before swallowing.

Coming to sit beside the tub, Bruce reached over and turned on the tap to let water begin to run into the tub.

Tim was grateful if not a little confused by the action and finally got the courage to look up at him.

Bruce looked awkward as hell, but was clearly trying if the small smile on his face was any evidence.

Reaching a big hand over, he held it palm up for Tim until the young man reached out to accept it and placed his own now damp hand in his.

“I… I don’t know what exactly you are, but I do know that you are my son. Damian seems to think I should know already and maybe I should, but not because you didn’t tell me. As much as it pains me to say it, I get why you wouldn’t trust me.”

Tim shook his head, “I trust you, Bruce. I just… the less people who know, the less likely I’ll loose my pelt again.”

Bruce frowned but said nothing about what that implied , though Tim knew he’d be asked about it later. It didn’t help that his lower half showed the most of his burn scars.

“I’m sorry, Tim. I can’t change what has been done, but I can promise you I will never, ever take you pelt form you. I don’t know ow exactly what it means, I’ve never heard of a selkie before, but Damian seemed to think it was important.”

Tim smiled even as he wondered how Damian knew what his pelt was.

Bruce gave his hand a squeeze, “He seemed to gain a lot more respect for you because of it.”

Damian spoke from where he was at the door, making Tim jump and Bruce inhale in a way that showed he was taken off guard, “Of course I have. Selkies are nearly extinct and Timothy had survived to almost nineteen without loosing his pelt.”

Tim fully shifted in his shock.

[solvisun]

121224 ♥︎ drunk tsukishima kei and his insistence of asking you why you love him.

it's already close to midnight when your husband of two years ask you all of a sudden. he's warm, and hazy with alcohol. you're absentmindedly treading your fingers through his soft hair, the floral scent from his shampoo is irresistible. you inhale slowly and plant a small kiss on his scalp.

"why do you love me?" his head buried on the slope between your neck and shoulder, breath a little warm that tingles your skin as he sigh through his nose. you feel his hold on your hip tighten, palm smoothing the crease on your shorts as he travels down to your thighs, giving it a loving squeeze.

you resist the urge to laugh in amusement. you hear your clock from the nightstand tick faintly, the low hum of the ac ebbing and flowing in the silence. you think about the myriad of ways you could respond, yet in all of them, no amount of words will ever reach its essence. no matter how you say it, it will never be enough.

instead, you ask him back, voice low as if you’re whispering, "what's not to love about you?"

he grumbles, and you can almost imagine the little pout surfacing his pretty lips, “do you want me to barf at your sappiness?”

“i’m serious.” you say as you fight a smile.

“prove it.”

“sorry?”

he finally looks at you, a long pause with slow blinking, his hand leaves your thigh, reaches up to brush his knuckles against your cheeks. the ring on his ring finger feels cold against your warm face, light catches gold—are you talking about the ring, or his eyes? maybe both?

you’re a little tipsy yourself. you might as well just kiss him right now because your mouth always fails you to shape your love in the form of words. you’re not eloquent enough to mold a perfect sculpture of sentences, you’re not capable of holding onto a voice but it’s ironic how you’re able to carry a weight of a ton of actions—and you think, maybe he doesn’t need you to be perfect with words.

maybe he just needs you to say it, you love him for all that he is.

you capture his hand, locking your fingers through the gaps and kissing it while holding your stare. such beautiful golden brown who only ever looks at you like this. you don’t want to look away, you want to keep him forever, like he’s a promise you love to keep.

you feign a scoff, “fine. if you want specifics. i love you because you give me challenges, the ones that pisses me off in a good way, the ones that make me a better person, the ones that make me think differently.”

“i love how you argue with me about the smallest things, like which way the toilet paper roll should go, just because you know it gets a rise out of me. i love the way you silently leave the last piece of your favorite snack for me, even though you act like you don’t care.”

“i love that you fold the laundry so badly on purpose just to get out of doing it, and how you mutter ‘you’re welcome’ when i fix it.” you see the slightest of twitch of his brows. guilty.

you rest both your intertwined hand on your chest, hoping he can feel your beating organ.

“i love how you complain about the dishes but still wash the ones i ‘accidentally’ leave in the sink. i love how you steal the blankets at night but always drape them back over me when you think i’m asleep. i love how you sigh every time i forget my keys but still wait by the door to hand them to me, no matter how late i’m running.”

“i love how you can be so stubborn and sharp with your words, but you never let the day end without sitting next to me, even if it’s in silence, just to make sure we’re okay. i love how, after a fight, you pretend to not-so-subtly leave fresh fruit cuts on the counter or let me pick the movie, even though you hate my choices.”

“you choose horror all the time.” he comments without thinking, and you chuckle.

“i love that you can’t handle it. because you can’t help but cling to me after.”

at this point, your voice wavers slightly, the memories tugging at your chest. “i love that, even when we hurt each other, you always find a way to show me you care. you never say it outright, but it’s in the way you stay. you always stay, kei.”

your voice soften as you look at him, his golden eyes searching yours with a quiet vulnerability. “is that good enough of a reason, kei?”

he was quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable, before scoffing softly. “you’re so dramatic.”

right as he bury himself in your scent, lips on your neck that inevitably makes you shiver, you can see his ears turn red—and you think it’s the alcohol, but maybe it’s also because of your sappy shitty monologue. maybe its both.

your head feels lighter, a pleasant buzz on your veins and a thudding heart that can’t quiet itself, maybe you want the world to know just how much you love this man— and to make it even more sappier, he’s your world. it should be obvious by now.

you are dramatic. “hehe, that’s why we’re here. that’s why you love me.”

ever since you became his highschool sweetheart, you didn’t change as much. at least, to his eyes, you remain the love he’s always wanted.

and the things you do to him, for him. leaves him drunk with want. your name on his lips sits like a prayer, a letter of promises forever to keep—committed to keep.

the ends of his lips curl into the faintest smirk, his blush deepening as he muttered, “maybe.”

after a few quiet shifts in position, you both comfortably settle in each other’s arms for the night. he closes his eyes and yet, he can still see you in perfect resolution, as if there’s a screen behind his eyelids. replaying the memories with your words ringing his ears.

he remembers his first kiss with you before he falls to sleep. saw your eyes glossy and glowing, he never told you this but, he wanted to marry you by then. wants you to give him that look everyday, wants your beginnings and your tomorrows.

and—oh, he already has it. huh. wow, he still can’t believe you love him after all these years.

© SOLVISUN 2024. thank you for reading!

[fir3flytv]

JASON TODD yearns for you. He wants you in every way, shape, and form. You're his everything. You're his reason for being. When he thinks of the perfect being, he thinks of you, flaws and all. He takes you as you are. Everything about you, he loves, even the bad. Because you wouldn't be you without them. You'd be someone else. Not his love. The way he looks at you, it's like you crafted every star from hand, every crater in the moon, and every land mass on earth. Every touch he places on you feels like he thinks he's unworthy to be in your presence. JASON TODD needs you. You're a constant. You're his constant. When he looks at his future, he sees you. He sees love. He loves you. He's in love with you. A light in his second life, one he would never take for granted. <3

[lucyandthepen]

get you alone | ljn ( m )

ideally, jeno should have his hands full with teaching. (un)fortunately, he only seems to have his head full of you.

pairing: tutor!jeno x reader verse: college au rating: r ( minors, do not interact! ) warnings & tags: jeno is a college algebra math tutor & reader is failing, written in lapslock, not beta’d in any shape or form so please excuse mistakes, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, folks), piv, oral (f!receiving), use of pet names (kitten, angel, sweetheart), praise, reader calls jeno ‘sunbae’ until she doesn’t, size kink i guess if u squint! word count: 8.5k

a/n : actually this was written for a different fandom but i’ve decided to make it a jeno fic bc idk why not! first time writing in a different perspective so it’s a bit odd for me & i can't say i fw with this style nor am i particularly proud of this fic but she is ... sumn! also i fear i have a thing for the math tutor trope but that’s neither here nor there AHA enjoy !! 

if you liked it, please consider reblogging to support (especially because this may get flagged for mature content)!

there wasn’t anything special about your case; at least, that’s what jeno had thought when he picked up your request before he met you. before he met you, you were just another student trying to demystify the painfully enigmatic art of getting through college algebra. before he met you, he had already tagged this case as another charity stint — a good way to get brownie points with the dean’s office and the mathematics and natural sciences department. in fact, thinking of all his tutoring cases as community service made them somewhat palatable, if not a little forgettable. he was quite sure, at the time, that you’d be in and out — both of the tutoring center and his memory. such was the case with most of his other tutees, anyway. 

he hadn’t expected you to be… well, you — a pretty little thing, with your sweet smile and your wide doe eyes. on the first day, you’d stood out; you’d arrived at the tutoring center’s lobby in a short dress, knit cardigan, and coquettish makeup, as if every fiber of your being were bidding the spring a solid farewell. multiple heads had turned, including his, as you came up to the front desk and asked for one lee jeno for college algebra. you were eager for summer, jeno had learned as you broke the ice little by little, in part because you looked forward to visiting okinawa with your family, but also because you were eager to get your first semester out of the way. that much, you had in common with most of his other students — almost all of the ones seeking help in college algebra only took it as a depressing core requirement of whatever degree they were doing. you, specifically, were focusing on fashion design; that very vividly explained your attention to your looks. this mathematics class was a thorn in your side, a mandatory thing that was simply supposed to get you through later business-oriented classes in your degree program. for jeno, however, college algebra had become the perfect excuse from the moment he’d laid eyes on you. 

the more time he spends with you, the more he thinks you’re exactly his taste. it starts off with little things he finds attractive, things he picks up while he’s watching you fill out the practice sheets he’s prepared for you on quadratic equations or while trying to get you to understand logarithms — your neat, tiny handwriting, almost like print; your habit of boxing your final answers in firm strokes, even if they’re hopelessly wrong; your colored tabs, cascading down the page side of your textbook. but as the weeks wear on, he sees all the little things in between — the way your long eyelashes quiver when you stop and close your eyes as you think for the answer, the upturn of your plush lips when you have the same answer on the practice sheet as he does, the deepening of your artificial blush with a natural hue when you realize you don’t know the answers to his gentle questions. he notices that you refuse to wear anything longer than a knee-length skirt despite the still-strong winds, notices that your tiny palms are always smooth and pink, that your hair always smells of coconut milk. these are things he can’t help but jot down in his memory — that was exactly what you were, after all: memorable. 

and the more he remembers about you, the more jeno wants you. yet he’s never made a move, never given so much as a hint of his interest, not only because there are prying eyes all around the building but also because you have never so much as shown a smidge of desire back. in fact, he has to wonder if you’ve ever thought of him in a different capacity — not as a tutor, but as a man. if you have, you’ve never made that obvious; you always talk to him respectfully, the little wall you’ve erected between the both of you remaining steady, and you never let your eyes linger on his face for longer than it takes for him to explain what you don’t know. jeno has had his fair share of female students, and in all of them, he’s seen the same kind of hunger — to few, he’s catered to their whims, if only to pass the time, if only for his own benefit. but you, with your ribbons in your hair and your sweet, sweet mouth, have never once shown that same kind of desire. 

he doesn’t know if it frustrates him, but he does know one thing — it makes him want you all the more. 

he wants you even now, as you sit across from him, dolled up as usual. even now, as your eyes take on a glassy sheen of defeat, your cheeks puffing out in the way that tells him you’re admonishing yourself once again, he craves you — maddeningly so. and he realizes that it doesn’t really matter if you're not the one to fall first, as long as he can still have you. 

“time out,” you beg, your fingers meeting the palm of your hand to signal a break. “my brain feels like it’s going to explode.”

“you just had a break ten minutes ago,” jeno reminds you, though there’s a lighthearted amusement to his voice that makes you smile sheepishly. “at this rate, you’ll be on more breaks than you’ll be taking the time to actually learn.”

“i’m trying,” you groan, your fingers curling against your forehead as you bump your head against your fist. “i just don’t think i’m cut out for this polynomial whatever — trial and error bullshit.” 

“you’ll hate me for saying this — but you’ll never know unless you keep trying.” 

“funny.” your sigh rustles the papers in front of you gently. “how do you do it, sunbae?”

“hm?” 

“you’re not only good at this stuff, but you’re so good you’re able to take the time to teach people like me.” 

“strengths and weaknesses — it’s the natural way of the world.” jeno smiles gently at you, and he notes how his chest feels tighter when you return the sentiment shyly. “i could never do what you’re doing in your own degree, try as i might. anyway, you’ll get there. i won’t let you become my first ever failed project, you know.”

“i wouldn’t want to let you down either, sunbae, but—” the back end of your pencil taps lightly against the surface of the table. “it just feels hopeless. i can’t focus on anything. it’s so… so abstract, and everyone here is talking all at once, and i don’t even know what i’m ever going to get out of this class in the long run.” 

even when you’re dejected, you look pretty; your bottom lip juts out naturally when you whine like this, and for a moment, jeno can’t say anything in response. he’s too busy wondering what your mouth would feel like on his — on him. when he snaps himself out of his brief reverie, he notices you’re looking around at everyone else — and he has to agree that with the noise level in this whole building, it isn’t the most conducive site for learning, especially when the learner is already so averse to the subject matter.

“i can’t help much in the way of it being too abstract,” he says kindly. “but it’s not a requirement for us to have our sessions here. i know it can be quite distracting, all these voices flying around, so why don’t you look for a place that better suits you, and we can start meeting there instead? the more comfortable you are in your environment, the better you’ll be able to absorb the material, i’m sure.” 

“you think?” your pencil comes to a slow halt as you refocus on him, a thoughtful light glimmering behind your gaze. “yeah — yeah, i actually wouldn’t mind that. then, i’ll look for a different place for us to meet, and we can start there next week. how does that sound?”

“whatever suits you suits me,” he responds easily. 

he lowers his gaze immediately after you flash him a blinding grin; there are far too many people here, as you both very well know, and if he keeps looking at you and your pretty little expressions any longer, he might just give them something to actually look at. 

it had been your idea, not his, so why did jeno feel like he’d dragged you into a compromising situation?

you’d texted him over the weekend that your search for a new venue had been absolutely fruitless; every cafe and study space you’d been to was either too expensive or equally as packed with people, if not both. jeno had seen the preview to your message, but he hadn’t been prepared for what it read out in full when he’d actually opened it. 

sunbae, would it be too difficult to just meet at my apartment? i attached a map, so let me know!

it wouldn’t be too difficult; logistics-wise, it was walking distance from campus and almost directly across the train station he takes home. it also definitely promised an environment you were comfortable in, and you wouldn’t have to worry about excess noise from any other tutoring groups. no, the difficulty really only lied in himself — you two, all alone, would certainly mean his mind would be up to no good for the two hours every monday, wednesday, and thursday you would be together. 

but for your sake, he’d try to rein it in, with the operative word being try. 

your place is as neat and as pretty as you are; he doesn’t know if you’ve cleaned up for him, or if you’re naturally this organized, but he likes it all the same. it smells of toasted marshmallow and expensive perfume, and all your furniture matches. jeno supposes he likes that in a woman — someone able to care for herself, someone who cares about herself. and you’re always just as neat and pretty to match, with your hair always styled sweetly, your makeup always enhancing your features. 

the problem is that now that he’s in here, where you live, and where you spend most of your time, jeno’s mind seems to wander too much towards thoughts about what you do in private. he rejects studying on the couch, not just because it’s bad for posture and concentration but also because he can’t help but imagine you pressed into the cushions by his hand. he suggests the small dining table you have, but on the second meeting at your place, he starts thinking about what you might look like seated on the table, your ass hanging over the edge and his face buried between your thighs. whenever you look up to ask him something, he drinks in your lovely, made-up face again, and starts wondering what your makeup would look like ruined before he interrupts that trainwreck of a thought with the answer to your question. 

by the end of the week, jeno’s defenses are all but shot, and he realizes that this situation might be optimal for you, but it definitely isn’t doing him and his now constantly straining cock any great favors. 

he supposes that your performance has somewhat improved; you’re less likely to trail off when you’re thinking and can actually do practice sets for a lot longer without all the noise and hubbub around you. your only real hindrance is yourself and your frustration; you have a habit of giving into your carelessness that sends you spiraling into despair, and it doesn’t help that when you press your cheek against the surface of your dining table and whine, the comfort jeno offers is noticeably delayed because he’s too busy thinking about his cock between your lips. 

“my dad’s going to kill me if i fail this midterm,” you grumble, stabbing the practice sheet with your pencil; it skids sideways, and jeno robotically fixes it back into proper alignment for you, careful not to brush against the arm that’s folded inwards, supporting your chin. “he only agreed to let me take this degree because of the business aspect of it. as if i’ll need to know about—” you check the header of the worksheet. “domain and range when i’m doing actual design work.”

“you’ll never know what might be useful later on in life. i definitely thought this was nonsense back in high school — and then i got this job.” 

“and now you’re rolling in dough?” you smile slightly. jeno chuckles. 

“i’m a long way away from having myself a scrooge mcduck golden pool, but i make enough to get by very comfortably, thanks to this.” 

“thanks to me, you mean.”

“you’re not my only student,” he snorts, pinching your elbow; you cry out exaggeratedly. “focus up. the hour’s almost over, and you should have finished with this much earlier.”

“can you leave it as homework?”

“not a chance.”

you blow out a sharp puff of air. “my mom used to do this thing where she’d give me rewards if i did well with my homework. i wish i’d still get something out of this.” 

“what kind of rewards did she give you?” 

“chocolates — candy, or sometimes we’d go out for milk tea together, if i did a particularly good job.”

“this is math tutoring, not a trip to the dentist,” jeno says, amused. 

“a trip to the dentist would be more enjoyable,” you mutter under your breath, picking up your pencil and doodling an angry face next to the number you’re only halfway through solving. “this totally blows.” 

“try to finish this before the hour’s up, and i’ll see if i can get you something nice. out of my own paycheck,” he stresses, prodding at your cheek to shift your attention back to the paper. he doesn’t miss the fact that your eyes light up, childish as the promise is. 

he doesn’t know if that’s really what motivates you, but you do manage to finish the worksheet with a few minutes to spare before the clock hits seven, and that earns you some light, solo applause. it isn’t much by way of true praise, but you flush with pride all the same. jeno packs his things in silence as you get yourself a glass of water, and you see him to the door. only there does he notice your eager eyes, your expectant smile. 

“what’s going through that pretty little head of yours?”

“are you really going to give me a reward? i did great today, you know,” you respond bluntly. 

“you were serious about that?” he laughs. 

“absolutely. i earned it.” you raise a slim finger, wagging it in his face. he trails it with his gaze, no shortage of amusement in his eyes. “next monday, i want something sweet.”

jeno takes in the sight of you, keeping your door open with your hip; he wonders if you know what you’re doing to him, what you’re asking of him — if you even know there’s nothing that could possibly be sweeter than you at this very moment. he drinks in the sight of your feigned haughty expression on your pretty features, the unnervingly low dip of your tank top, the tempting hemline of your shorts, and feels like you must be aware of what he’s going to do next. 

“if it’s something sweet you want, you don’t have to wait until next week.” 

he does it before he can think it through — surely, there’s nothing too harmful about a quick kiss? he angles your chin upward with his thumb and forefinger before you can even react to his words, and he tastes you like that for the first time. you’re just as soft and as sweet as he’d imagined, if not more so. 

when jeno pulls away, you step back; there’s shock written all over your face, your mouth still hanging open slightly. your voice is gentle, shaky when you start speaking. 

“sunbae, wha—”

“see you next week. rest up over the weekend, or there’ll be consequences.” 

he finds it easy to joke with you now, even after what he’s done — finds it easy to wave goodbye with nonchalance as he walks to the elevator, now that he’s gotten one thing out of his system. the look on your face, the growing blush across the bridge of your nose and your temples is indication enough for jeno to feel confident — if you hadn’t thought about him that way before, you were sure to spend the next few days doing exactly that. 

it’s exactly a week before your midterm exam, and jeno notices you’re less than focused. 

he’d let you stew over the weekend, not expecting much by way of communication; indeed, his phone hadn’t once been jostled by your texts. he’d taken that silence to assume that you’d been wrapped up in thoughts of the kiss he’d left you with, and you did not disappoint on that front; the next monday saw you fidgety, flushed, and constantly faltering in your words. you asked less questions, which normally indicated a problem, but today, he’d let it slide; you definitely had a little too much on that pretty little brain of yours. 

he notices you’re still dolled up — your eyelids are shimmery, and your lips are glossy; you’re wearing a tennis skirt that hits all the right buttons for him, too. it’s true that you’re always pretty well-dressed and put together, but today somehow feels different. if before, jeno had always seen you dressed up simply to look good, today it feels a little more like you’re dressed up to look good for him. he knows it’s a little bit egotistical to assume as much, but he also doesn’t miss the side glances you throw at him when you think he’s not looking at you answering your textbook or the way your cheeks glow when you make the slightest bit of eye contact. 

still, you try to focus as much as you can; it’s adorable, in fact, to see all your valiant efforts to appear unperturbed. he figures he’ll play along for as long as you will — what matters to him, after all, is that you’re in the game to begin with. you complain less today, focus on your worksheets, and jeno even manages to witness the sight of your forehead creasing up as you concentrate on a particularly difficult item. you’re adorable, in the kind of way that makes him want to pin you down and have his way with you. 

you finish your work without a fuss today; you only actually asked for his help twice, which was a feat in and of itself. and again, when the session is over, you walk him to the door.

this time, when you linger, he waits; you’re clearly not good at hiding your true intentions, as it’s become clear you have something you want to say. as you try to piece your thoughts together, jeno reaches into his backpack’s front pocket and extracts today’s gift — an actual chocolate bar, albeit a rather run of the mill one. 

“what’s this?” you ask, your thought process clearly derailed as confusion takes over your features. 

“your reward. for a good job last week and today — you said you wanted one, didn’t you?” 

“but i thought—” you stop yourself, your mouth opening and closing, suddenly wordless. jeno grins. 

“not good enough? i picked that up from a convenience store on my way here, so it definitely isn’t anything special, but i thought it would at least be a good motivator.”

you’re turning red, and there’s turmoil in your eyes — he enjoys this, he realizes, the way he flusters you. if he had known this would be the result, he would have made a move much sooner. you shift your weight from one foot to the other, back and forth, obviously weighing out your options too. finally, you say, “alright.”

“you seem disappointed.”

“i’m not.”

“i’ll get you a better brand next time, if you really don’t like it.” 

“it’s not that.”

“so what is it?” he doesn’t expect you to say it, and you don’t defy expectations; your bottom lip just quivers, and jeno chuckles low under his breath, stepping forward just past your doorway, just a little bit closer to you. “don’t tell me you wanted something completely different?”

you don’t say so, but he knows; he can tell by the way you tilt your head back, the way your lips part slightly, the gloss still trailing along the seam. he can tell by the way your torso arches just a little bit closer, almost like an accident. he can tell by the way your eyes bore into his, almost pleading. 

“what you did last week…” you start, but your voice trails off into nothing soon after. he chuckles again.

“ah, that. i might have gotten ahead of myself.” 

“was that all?” you press.

“and what would you do, if it wasn’t?”

“well — do you always like to play games?”

“i have a penchant for playing with my food before i eat it, if that answers your question.” he smiles down at your still-reddening face. “i was giving you a reward, as you wanted. i came up short on options then and there. you’ll let it slide this once, won’t you?”

“you did that just because i did well last week?”

“of course.”

“well, i did well today, too.” 

“you did, and that’s why you have this.” he gestures to the chocolate bar in your hand. 

“i don’t want this.” your voice is stubborn now, heated and frustrated, and you stuff the chocolate back into his hand. you must not like having to ask for something so blatantly — it’s too bad jeno wants to hear it in those exact words. 

“tell me what you really want, then.” 

you’re still unable to find the words, but your hands do the talking for you; they press into his shoulders and give you leverage to tiptoe until you’re just close enough to his lips. but you don’t close that gap, your mouth quivering only inches away from his, and oh, jeno wants to toy with you, but you’re just too irresistible this close to him. his warm palms press against your jaw, keeping your face steady as he closes the gap, and this time, he doesn’t just get a brief taste of you — jeno claims your lips with the thirst of a man who’s stumbled upon an oasis in the desert. 

you must have thought about this moment long and hard over the weekend, because the nonchalant side of you that’s turned a blind eye to him is completely gone; he drinks in your soft noises and short, breathless gasps — all signs of your eagerness — until he’s drunk on the taste of you. the deeper the kiss gets, the less you can keep up, but you try, and jeno always likes rewarding your efforts, his wide tongue taut and flush against your tiny one in the sweet, warm cavern of your mouth. he licks every inch of it, leaves the mild nicotine taste of himself there, before he pulls away slowly. your eyes are still closed when he creates distance, fluttering open in a happy haze a few seconds later. 

“good enough for you?” he murmurs, tucking a soft lock of hair behind your ear. you hum in assent through your dazed smile, and jeno knows he won���t be the only one looking forward to this coming wednesday.

you’d done really well today.

jeno’s proud of you — prouder than he’s been of most of his students in his career here at the university, actually. you’d finally answered a worksheet almost perfectly, save for a couple of numbers where you’d forgotten to round up, and those things are absolutely negligible at this point (by his books, anyway). you’ve been on your best behavior yet, avoiding all forms of complaint, and he knows fully well why, but he won’t criticize you for your hard work all the same, no matter the motivation behind it. 

in fact, you’ve done so good that he doesn’t wait until he’s about to leave to give you your sweet reward — which is why, twenty minutes before he’s meant to go, he’s got you on your couch, your legs spread, each one hooked over his shoulders. 

truth be told, you’d been good way before the lesson had started; you’d answered the door in a crop top and the tiniest pair of shorts you’ve dared to wear yet — all clothes that you couldn’t yet wear outside yet, given the weather. selfishly, jeno is thankful for this fact, and if he had to list down other things he’s thankful for, just off the top of his head, it’s that you no longer meet in the tutoring center and that your apartment’s walls seem thick and well-reinforced. 

“sunbae, don’t tease me.” your silly little whining voice makes its first appearance of the day, but all jeno does is smile — it’s an almost wicked expression, set firmly between your thighs. “you said i did really well today. don’t tell me you’re backing out on rewarding me?”

“not at all, sweetheart,” he hums, pressing a small kiss to your inner thigh. he likes seeing you shiver at the contact, likes the way you’re chewing on your lip in what appears to be slight agitation. “just thinking of how much of a reward you deserve.” 

in all honesty, jeno would like to take every bit of you now; you’re already so ready for him, anyway. he can smell the faint perfume of your arousal, can see the way you’re anticipating the most from him, and a part of him doesn’t want to deny you of that. the larger part of him has dreamed of burying his cock into you, anyway, and why wouldn’t he do that? but something also tells him to wait — or, rather, to make you wait, to make you want him just a little more. 

and so, he decides.

his mouth finds your skin again, pressing kisses up your thigh; they get wetter, hotter as his mouth moves up, until his nose and lips are buried against your clothed core. you squirm in response, but his grip on your thighs keeps you relatively steady, even as his tongue presses against thin fabric. the wet muscle pushes sharp against your tiny entrance, the tip meeting slight resistance against your shorts and panties, but he finds a way, burying half his tongue in alongside damp cloth. 

you’re already wet like this, and so needy that it might be possible for jeno to get you off just like this, still clothed, but the hunger in him spikes once you call out to him. 

“sunbae, please…”

with a groan, his fingers yank the fabric aside, exposing your pussy to the warmth of his breathing. it’s as pink, as pretty, as tiny as the rest of you, as fuckable as he’d imagined it would be, and he wastes no time in pressing his tongue flat against your folds, dragging it up in a wide, messy stripe; the muscle only tenses when it bumps against your clit, his tongue flicking upwards to tease it. 

you’re so reactive, even at the slightest things — you whimper, you squeeze your eyes shut, you squirm. you’re begging to be fucked, and jeno’s cock is strained tight against his jeans, but your taste is so addicting that he can’t help but dive back in. his tongue eases between your folds now, spreading them apart until they’re lewd and sticky with his saliva, and the nub of your clit has grown so pronounced now — so pert and lovely that he can’t help but purse his lips around it and suck with excess force. 

“sunbae — f—fuck,” you mewl; you almost sound tearful. “f—feels so good…”

jeno wants to tell you how fucking good you taste, how beautiful the sounds you’re making are, but his mouth is too busy; his teeth rake down your cunt lightly, earning him a jerk of your hips, and he has to place pressure down on your thighs again to make sure you’re still enough for him to slip his tongue into your cunt. 

he can tell even just by that how tight you’d be around him; your walls are warm around his tongue, and there’s a pressure against the muscle that tells him how good it’d feel for his cock to take its place. as if to simulate his desires, he presses his tongue deeper in, fucks you shallowly with its wetness until your whimpers become little sobs, broken and choked back. his thumb drags across your slit then settles against your clit, and he can feel the thrum of your pulse against the pad of his finger, beckoning him. he complies, easily, thumb tracing circles around the nub that start off slow, only for him to ramp up the pace alongside his tongue. 

you’re easily at fault for that; the way you whine for him, call him sunbae, tell him how good it feels over and over — why wouldn’t he want more of you? 

he’s not sure which of you really earns the sweet reward today; you cum on his tongue, your cunt trembling against his mouth and your fingers threaded into his hair, but he’s the one who comes out licking his lips like he’s had the best treat of his damn life.

come the middle of next week, jeno finds himself face to face with a test paper — one already clearly marked, with a number circled on the top-right corner. ninety. a stellar grade for anyone, and especially for you. 

you know it, and you look absolutely triumphant; you’re practically shining as you perch on your little dining table, your perfectly manicured finger jabbing at the score in emphasis. 

“flying colors, wouldn’t you say?” 

“color me impressed,” jeno replies smoothly, a genuine smile of pride tugging at his lips; he turns the page over, scanning your responses. you still draw your parabolas a little on the small side, making them a bit difficult to discern, and you’ve still got the habit of not rounding your answers up, but this is tremendous work, and he’ll be the first to praise you for it. “your dad must be filled to the brim with joy now, right?”

“i haven’t told him yet. you were the first.”

“well, i’m proud of you, sweetheart.” 

“proud enough to give me a reward?” 

he looks down at you in feigned thoughtfulness. here you sit, back in your little tennis skirt, looking up at him with hopeful eyes under those long, curled lashes. for someone who spent the first half of this semester acting ostensibly nonchalant, you’d very easily shown your true colors soon after — not that he really minds. in fact, he’s taken a decided kind of liking to how eager and willing you’ve come to be. 

“we’ve only just started our session, though,” he hums out, an idle thumb grazing his chin as he watches your expression turn from bright to cloudy, the beginnings of strategy darkening your gaze. it’s not like he wants to say no; he has no real intention to. but seeing you squirm in want makes him feel good about his decision to hold out a little longer — never mind the ache in his cock even then. “don’t we usually leave the rewards for a later time?” 

“i was thinking — since it’s the start of a new lesson —” 

“we wouldn’t want you falling behind from the start, would we?”

“i promise i won’t,” you pout. “i promise i’ll put in my best effort next time.” 

“next time? sweetheart, don’t tell me you’re thinking to get off scot-free today…” jeno trails off, his hand falling to the nearest surface it can reach — which, logic seems to dictate, is your soft, milky thigh. he feels you tense under his palm, and he bites back a smile, keeping his expression level. “i just don’t know.”

your small hands grip at the front of his shirt, and he hears you, for the first time, doing something he’s always wanted to hear you do. 

“please, sunbae?”

how could he say no to you? he hadn’t really planned on it, had only wanted to see you do this, but it’s still too much and beyond his expectation — your misty gaze, your quivering lip. it’s almost laughable that you don’t think he’d notice the way you shift yourself so that his hand, still warm against your thigh, slides up your skin, the hem of your skirt bunched up in the junction between his thumb and forefinger.

jeno chuckles — isn’t this exactly where and how he’s always wanted you? “how could you ask me like that and expect me to refuse, angel? in that case, i have no real choice but to dedicate all our time today to your reward.” 

your breathing hitches — in anticipation, in desire, in excitement — as his hand continues its trail upward, deliberately now, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. his head dips down, rests into the crook of your neck, and he inhales the thick, sweet scent of your perfume, your shampoo, of you and all that he’ll take from you. 

“just remember, you asked for this,” he murmurs against your skin. “so i’m going to take every bit of you until there’s nothing left for anyone else.” 

you’re so willing, so ready even before he can get his full bearings; your hips are rising slightly off the table, and jeno feels like it’s you that’s telling him to move faster. he tugs down your panties, letting gravity take its course until they’re a tiny puddle of fabric on the floor, and he slots himself between your legs. like this, you have no choice but to spread, and you do so without hesitation, your knees locking against his sides as he pulls you in for a tight, hungry kiss. there’s that taste of you he loves, that clean, sweet buzz that draws him in, and his hands are bruisingly tight on your waist as he reclaims your lips. 

you already look dazed when he pulls away, which is always cute, but a little unfair — jeno wants you to be aware still when he takes you, and damn, if he doesn’t want to take you right fucking now. he kisses you again, harder and more demanding, as if willing your attention back to him, while his hands explore you — run up your thighs, fingers brushing against the plush curve of your ass. it’s not enough, not by a long shot, and he’s pushing the waistline of your skirt up your stomach with his hands, letting his warmth transfer onto your skin; he chuckles as your stomach sucks inward at his touch, just as you let out a gasp against his lips.

and he wants desperately to hear that noise again; in fact, he wants to know what you sound like in every capacity. his mouth works down your neck, pleased to find that suckling wet and languid on a spot just above your collarbone has you writhing and whimpering. are you sensitive or touch-starved? whatever the reason, he wants to draw all of that out of you, his hands drawing back down to hook under your thighs. jeno drags you to the edge of the table, until your bare cunt is flush against the front of his jeans, and he lets you feel him — a brief tease of what’s to come. 

“i’m s—so wet already,” you whisper, as if he doesn’t know — as if you know it’s exactly what he wants to hear anyway. “sunbae, please, i need you.”

“not that,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing your collarbone as he speaks. “not sunbae. jeno. call me jeno, angel.”

“jeno,” you exhale shakily, and it’s music to his ears — as if the last thing holding him back from you had shattered. 

“that’s it — what a good girl,” he purrs, his hips rocking forward against your pussy before they retract, leaving just enough space for his hand to slip between. slender fingers trail down your folds, sticky and slick. “you are all wet for me, aren’t you? ready to take me deep inside?” 

even the way you nod, a tiny movement of assent, drives him wild, yet a part of him still wants to test the limit of your patience, his middle finger stretching to circle your entrance. 

“wouldn’t want to shock your tiny little pussy, though, would i? will you let me stretch you out first, kitten?”

“yes,” you mewl, sounding almost tearful. “anything— anything, please.”

jeno drinks in the long, drawn-out keen you set free when his digit sinks into you; he’s already felt your walls against his tongue, but a small part of him is still surprised at just how tight you are. that same part nags that he might not fit easily into you, but whatever that voice is is easily drowned out by a more assertive promise — he’ll make it fit. 

“can’t tell you how much i’ve wanted to feel your pretty little hole around my cock,” he presses on, his finger pushing deeper in; he feels you tense a delicious kind of tightness, as if it’s almost too much for you. is it? “ever since that first day you came into the tutoring center, dressed up all cute — did you do that on purpose, sweetheart?”

“yes,” you admit, breathless; the syllable is lengthened into a weak moan as jeno pumps his finger into you, slow, deep strokes that tease your tacky walls open. “wanted — wanted to make a good impression…”

“and you did, didn’t you? kept looking so sweet for me, so pretty every single time — got me thinking about all the ways i wanted to have you. got me so fucking hard every time we’d meet — is that what you wanted?”

jeno doesn’t give you much room to respond, but he can make his own answers to appease himself anyway; he reclaims your lips, already eager for another taste of you, and you comply with the same amount of desire, your soft whimpers melting against his teeth. in the space of pseudo silence, wet, messy noises, he manages to tease another digit into you, and you cry out against his lips as it pushes in, joining the first in how deep it reaches. he absorbs that too, takes in every minute sound you make, relishes the way you pulse around his fingers. even without the noises, he can tell your pleasure’s heightening, with the way you clench around him, your hips rocking pitifully as you’re eager to rut against his palm. 

“look at you now.” he’s selfish, but he doesn’t care — he wants to ruin you, and if the telltale squelch of your cunt as he fucks his fingers into it isn’t indication enough, then the way your mouth hangs open as he pulls away, letting his name fall freely from your lips, definitely is. “legs spread, all desperate to feel good for me. what a needy little kitten you are. this good enough for you, angel?”

you shake your head, only to squeal as he pulls you closer, his fingers shoving deeper into you; your hips are re-angled, allowing him to brush the pads of his digits against the rough, sweet spot, and he feels triumph bloom in his chest as you throw your head back, teary eyes squeezed shut.

“no, no, no,” you babble, and he can see the bob of your throat as you swallow hard, clutching at sense to make words. “want — need your cock, want to cum on your cock so badly, jeno — want you to fuck me, stretch me open, please —”

“greedy, aren’t you?” he murmurs, leaning in to nip at the spot he’d left reddened above your collarbone. “go on then — show me how much you want it. show me what a good girl you are, and cum on my fingers.” 

“but—” 

“come on, angel,” he urges above the squelching noises, increasing surely in volume. his fingers meet resistance when they spread apart inside you, but all it does is create a delicious friction that has you squirming in his hold. “don’t hold back. let me see you fall apart.” 

and you do, so prettily, your eyes rolling back and your voice unrestrained. jeno’s fingers ride you through your orgasm, pumping deep and steady despite how slick you’ve gotten, your juices coating his hand and wrist. he watches the flush rise to your neck, stopping at your cheeks, watches the heaving of your chest, the shine of your skin from a thin sheen of sweat, and he doesn’t want to let you come down from this high, but his cock is aching — practically bursting from his jeans — and all he can do is make the silent vow that the next time you look like this, he’ll be balls deep in you. 

“that’s my girl,” he coos gently, watching the tension slip from your shoulders; his free hand is at the small of your back quickly, easing you down as your torso falls back, and you’re laying on the table. “pretty little thing, aren’t you? cumming so sweetly for me.” 

“jeno,” you groan out weakly, your tiny hand clasping around his wrist. “cock — i want your cock, please—” 

“can’t wait?” he’s indecent for sounding amused, but even that does nothing to stay his arousal; how eager you are simply makes him want you all the more. “okay, angel — since you asked so nicely.” 

a slight twinge of disappointment runs through him as he pulls his fingers out, but it’s quickly buried by the feeling he gets once he gives you a clear sweep of a once-over; how slutty you look, still half-dressed but already half-ruined, your thighs shaking in an effort to keep them open for him, the remnants of your last climax still leaking out of your hole. the sight of you has him so distracted that unbuttoning and unzipping his pants feels like a fever dream of an act; he barely notices what he’s doing until he’s already bare in front of you, and alertness has crawled halfway back into your consciousness as you push yourself up on your elbows to look at him.

“it’s so—” you have the decency to blush, though there’s a pleased look on your face that tells him you’re not really embarrassed. “i didn’t think you’d be this big.” 

“does that worry you?”

“i’ve never had anyone… this big.” pride blooms in his chest — good, he thinks, because if he can’t be as memorable as your first, then he’ll take being the most in something as a prize. “i don’t think — will it fit?”

“does it matter?” he chuckles, and your blush deepens. “no matter what — you’ll take all of me in, won’t you?”

you chew on your bottom lip, as if considering your options, but to jeno, there’s really only one choice — the correct one, and you make it when you nod your head. 

“it’ll feel good, though, you know,” he muses. his hand wrapped around his base, he lines himself up with you, the tip grazing against your folds. “even better than just now.”

with just a little more pressure, he has his shaft flush against you; his girth sits against your slit, the tip pressed against your clit, and he starts to rock his hips — into his fist, against your cunt. your hips quiver, and a shiver runs through you as your pleasure spikes again, but he can tell it isn’t enough. your bottom lip is back between your teeth, and your eyes are flitting between his face and his cock. jeno reaches out, eases your lip out from between your teeth, strokes it gently, almost tenderly. 

“say it,” he commands in a soft, silky voice. 

“fuck me, jeno,” you breathe out, barely missing a beat. “fuck me, fuck my pussy, please.”

and if you ask that desperately, he’ll waste no time; he draws his hips back, dragging his cock down until he’s aligned with your entrance. his eyes are trained on your face, even when he pushes in, so that he can take in your expression — the widening of your eyes as his tip breaches the first wave of resistance, the way your mouth falls agape as his fingers dig hard into your flesh. he’s never seen a prettier sight in his life.

“stretched you out already, but you’re still so fucking tight,” his voice is a soft, melodious croon, a stark contrast to the way he’s forcing past your tightness. “tight and wet, like a good girl.” 

“so big,” you whimper, your fingers stretched far enough to tickle the front of his shirt. “can’t — can’t take it.” 

“of course you can, angel.” jeno doesn’t give you the time to brace yourself fully before he’s rocking his hips in a little more sharply, his cock now halfway into you. your fingers curl into a little fist, immediately flying back to block the noise from your mouth. “ah ah. don’t get shy on me now; you’ve been so noisy for me all this time.”

but he doesn’t really mind the way you clap your palm over your mouth to muffle your high-pitched squeal as he thrusts in fully, the adjustment period after the last movement close to nothing; he’s too busy focusing on how good you feel around him, how warm and wet your insides are. this is heaven, easily, and jeno wants to stay here for as long as he can. 

“god, you’re fucking tight,” he repeats, an appreciatory gaze running over where you’re joined. his thumb stretches over your folds, rubbing them — something of an apology, perhaps, although all it does is stimulate you more, and you shiver at the extra contact. “how deep is it, baby?”

“can feel you here,” you mumble out, your small hand pressing just above your pelvis. he feels the tightness multiply as you place pressure, even just for a moment. “your cock’s so much deeper than anyone else.” 

your hand falls away, limp, as he draws his hips back; you inhale, long and deep, before letting it out as a broken moan when he pushes back in. it drives him crazy, to start off this slow, when all he wants is to find a pace that has you sobbing, but the resistance of your pussy against his length isn’t easy to ignore. jeno works you open, his jaw set and his grip tight against your frame, and it isn’t long before he’s picking up speed, the slap of his flesh against yours fueling him exponentially, mingling with your cries, steadily increasing in volume. 

“that’s it. let everyone hear you,” he eggs on, his thumb now circling tight around your clit; your legs are quivering, threatening to close, but he keeps you steady, one arm wrapped around your thigh. his thrusts grow rougher, more deliberate, and when he looks up from where you’re joined back to your face, he sees your expression as a mixture of incredulity and ecstasy. a thin line of drool hangs from the corner of your mouth, your pretty pink lip gloss smeared, and fuck if he doesn’t want to make sure you look like this every single time he comes over. “let them know who’s fucking you good, angel.”

“j— jeno!” your voice hitches, lilts up as he presses in at a different, deeper angle, and he almost cums right then and there from the way your walls pulse around him. “your cock feels so good, fucking me just right— more, god, more—” 

he complies without hesitation, gathering both your thighs and pushing them closer to your chest; you look even lewder like this, folded in half with your sopping cunt presented to him like it’s all his to take, and it is, isn’t it? there’s an increase in the intensity, the vigor in which he pumps his cock into you, and he knows he’s brushing repeatedly against your spot by the way you’re blubbering his name out in a way that suggests you sincerely think no one else in this building can hear you. 

“that’s my girl,” he hums approvingly, though there’s a thickness in his voice that has him sounding a little more strained. “such a good girl, with your cunt all nice and sloppy for me. do you like it when i go this deep? does it feel good when i fuck you where no one else can?” 

“yes!” you sob out, your hands crumpling the end of your skirt up into tight fists. “jeno, i— cum, i need to cum again, please—”

“i’ve got you, kitten,” his tone is reassuring, a stark contrast to the rigor of his hips. “don’t have to hang on for me, you know; always love seeing you fall apart.” 

“m’close, so close —” 

“let go, then,” he urges, his blunt nails digging into your flesh. “let me feel that sweet cunt cum on my cock.” 

you comply without hesitation, though if you’d done it willingly, he can’t really tell; he has to pin your hips down to stop you from bucking up and causing him to slip out, and you writhe against him as you sob in ecstasy, your walls fluttering before they clench. stray tears leak from your eyes, squeezed shut, and jeno wants nothing more than to eat you up like this — broken, fucked out. 

you’re not even fully down from your high when he feels it — that sudden wrenching in his gut that tells him he’s about to follow suit. with a low groan, he peels your thighs apart again, lets you watch him as he bullies straight into your leaking hole. your voice is a staccato, punctuating every deep, sharp thrust into you, and it’s exactly to that melody that he wants to get off. 

“tell me where you want it, angel.” he doesn’t trust his voice, sharp and short as it is now. “should i mark your pretty face? your stomach?”

“want it against my pussy,” you whisper out, and jeno almost loses his mind as he watches you spread your folds apart with your forefinger and middle finger, inviting him. “make a mess of it, sunbae.”

he’s barely able to pull out before he’s spilling against you; he ruts against your slit, coating your folds and the insides of your thighs in thick, creamy white. you hold your legs apart for as long as you can until they start to tremble, and he catches them and gently eases them down. 

when you sit up to kiss him, you’re still demanding; he feels your hips rock closer, your sticky cunt pressing against the underside of his cock.

“not enough,” you murmur against his lips, and jeno chuckles as you bind your hands around his neck. 

“don’t worry, kitten,” he hums back. “we’ve got all afternoon.”

[pucksandpower]

What the Eyes Can’t See

Charles Leclerc x blind!Reader

Summary: you may not be able to see in the traditional sense, but Charles won’t let that stop you from seeing him

The crackle of the fireplace fills the cozy living room as you snuggle deeper into the plush couch cushions. Your head rests on Charles’ chest, rising and falling with each steady breath. His arm wraps around you, fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder.

“This is nice,” you murmur, nuzzling against the soft cotton of his shirt. “Just you and me.”

Charles presses a kiss to the top of your head. “It really is. No racing, no interviews, no cameras. Just us.”

You smile at the rumble of his voice vibrating through you. “You know, there are times I’m actually grateful I can’t see.”

“Oh?” His thumb strokes your arm. “How so?”

“Because it means I experience things purely through the other senses. Like right now.” You inhale deeply, savoring the smoky wood blending with Charles’ warm, earthy scent. “I can really focus on the sound of your heartbeat, the feeling of you breathing, that wonderful smell ...”

Charles gives a contented hum. “I’ve never thought about it that way before.”

You shift to gaze up at him, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Of course, there are other times when not being able to see is … difficult.”

“Like what?”

You consider this for a moment. “Hmm, well, I’ll never get to admire the Monaco skyline or see you celebrating on the podium after a win.”

A hint of sadness tinges your tone as you continue. “And as much as I love listening to you talk about racing, I can’t fully picture the circuits or the cars or … or you in your race suit.”

Charles’ chest rises and falls with a soft sigh. You can sense his gaze studying you intently.

“Is there anything you wish you could see? If you could have your sight for just a day?”

You don’t even have to think about your answer. “You.”

You feel him tense in surprise. “Me?”

“Yes.” Your hands roam over the strong lines and curves of his face, trying to commit every plane and angle to memory through touch alone. “More than anything, I wish I could see what you look like with my own eyes.”

You trace the sweeping arches of his brows, the aristocratic slope of his nose, the firm line of his lips. Lips you’ve kissed so many times yet never seen.

“I want to see the exact shades of your hair and eyes,” you murmur. “Whether your skin has any adorable little freckles. What expressions flit across your face when you smile or laugh or ...”

You trail off as emotion clogs your throat. Charles pulls you closer, cradling you against his chest.

“Hey,” he says softly, tilting your face up toward his. “Maybe this will help.”

His warm fingers alight on your hands, gently guiding them until your fingertips brush the graceful curve of his cheekbone. You freeze, caught off guard by the tender intimacy.

“Charles?” You breathe. “What are you doing?”

“Letting you see me, in a way,” he responds. “Go ahead, map out my face with your hands. Don’t hold back.”

You swallow hard, heat creeping into your cheeks. Taking a steadying breath, you begin tracing the striking angles and planes of his features with feather-light touches.

First the high forehead, smooth and unblemished beneath your questing fingertips. Then the regal swoop of his nose, the delicate arches of his brows. You brush across each, imprinting the shapes and textures into your mind’s eye.

When your fingers graze the plump curves of Charles’ lips, he presses a soft kiss to each fingertip in turn. You shiver at the whisper of his breath fanning across your skin.

“Keep going,” he murmurs, voice low and husky. “Don’t stop.”

You let your hands roam freely over the stubbled planes of his jaw, the hollows of his cheeks, the strong column of his neck. Every slope and angle, every tiny perfect imperfection imprinted into your consciousness.

As your fingers trace along the high planes of Charles’ cheeks, you can’t help but notice two tiny indentations forming in the skin. Little divots that crease and deepen as an affectionate smile blooms across his lips.

Dimples. Charles has dimples.

The discovery hits you like a bolt of lightning, a rush of tenderness and endearment flooding your chest. You find yourself helplessly, hopelessly captivated by those adorable little dents punctuating his smile.

“You have dimples,” you murmur in awe, fingertips stroking over the precious divots again and again.

A low chuckle rumbles through Charles’ chest. “That seems to delight you.”

“Of course it does!” You exclaim, feeling your own lips stretch into a beaming grin. “Dimples are the cutest thing. Especially on you.”

You lean in to nuzzle your nose against his cheek, dropping feather-light kisses into each crease. Charles gives a contented hum, strong arms winding around your waist to pull you flush against him.

“I had no idea you’d be so smitten over a couple little dents in my face,” he teases, smile evident in his voice.

You shake your head vehemently, still peppering those blessed dimples with adoring kisses. “Not just dents. They’re absolutely adorable.”

A burst of affection blooms in your chest as you realize this is the first time you’ve been able to fully appreciate this charming little detail of Charles’ features. All the times you’ve laughed and joked together, exchanged warm smiles and loving embraces — you never knew the true adorability of his dimples until this very moment.

Pulling back, you cup Charles’ face in your palms and simply drink in the shape and feel of that beautiful, dimpled smile pressing against your skin. In that instant, you fall just a little bit more in love with this incredible man.

“I’m so grateful I got to discover this about you,” you murmur, stroking the pads of your thumbs over the grooves in his cheeks. “Your dimples are my new favorite thing.”

Charles gives a soft laugh, the rumbling vibrations resonating through you both. “Well then, I’ll just have to keep smiling so you can appreciate them.”

As you continue to trace the sharp edge of his cheekbone, you can’t resist leaning in to nuzzle against the warm, fragrant skin. Charles sucks in a sharp breath, fingers tightening around your wrist.

When you finally pull back, you feel as if you’ve beheld and memorized every nuance of his face. Every dip and curve, every tantalizing detail.

“Thank you,” you whisper, drinking in the comforting scents and sounds surrounding you both. The crackle of the fire, the rhythm of Charles’ breathing, his warm, intoxicating essence. “Thank you for letting me see you like that.”

Charles doesn’t respond at first. You feel his piercing gaze raking over you, studying you with an intensity that raises goosebumps along your arms.

“You know,” he says at last, voice rough. “There’s also something I want to see.”

Before you can ask what he means, gentle fingers are slipping beneath the frames of your sunglasses. You tense instinctively, pulse skyrocketing.

Nobody ever sees your eyes.

You start to pull away, shaking your head. But Charles simply holds you steady, thumbs stroking your temples in a soothing caress.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “Let me in. Let me really see you this time.”

There’s no demand or expectation in his tone. Only tenderness and an affection so profound it steals your breath. Your throat works as you swallow hard.

Do you trust him enough?

You think of his face — the face you’ve just meticulously mapped and memorized. And in the cadence of his breathing, the rhythm of his heartbeat against yours, you find your answer.

Slowly, you give a tiny nod.

The sunglasses slip away, and for the first time you’re baring the full weight of your sightless gaze to another soul. You can’t see Charles’ reaction, but you feel his sharp inhalation, the minute tremor that courses through his body.

Panic grips you for a moment, wondering if you’ve made a terrible mistake by exposing such a vulnerable part of yourself. Maybe he’s revolted or pitying or-

“Beautiful.”

The hushed utterance shatters your wildly spiraling thoughts. You clutch at Charles, needing an anchor.

“What?”

“Your eyes,” he clarifies, reverence ringing in every word. “They’re the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

Gentle fingers cup your face, thumbs tracing the delicate skin beneath your sightless gaze. You yearn to ask him a thousand questions — what color they are, if any scars are visible, how he can possibly think them beautiful.

But then his lips are on yours, silencing your whirling doubts with a scorching, openmouthed kiss. You melt into the heated embrace, pouring all the unspoken words and insecurities into the slick slide of your mouths.

When you finally part, both of you are breathing raggedly. Charles rests his forehead against yours, fingers still mapping the curves of your face with infinite tenderness.

“Thank you,” he whispers again, voice tight. “For sharing this with me. For letting me all the way in.”

His thumb brushes the fragile skin beneath your eye, and you understand that he’s thanking you for more than just revealing your eyes. He’s grateful for the soul-deep intimacy you’ve permitted by exposing your most vulnerable and closely guarded self.

You swallow hard past the lump of emotion clogging your throat. No words can adequately express the depths of what you’re feeling. So instead, you simply lean in and capture Charles’ lips in another kiss, hoping he can taste the love and gratitude and trust shining through every caress.

When you finally pull apart, you cuddle back against Charles’ chest with a contented sigh, feeling more seen and cherished and adored than you ever have in your life.

As Charles trails tender kisses along your brow, his deep, soothing voice rumbles against you.

“No matter what, I’ll always be here to show you all the beauty and wonder you can’t see ...”

The words wrap around you like a warm, comforting blanket, chasing away any lingering insecurities. In this moment, cuddled in the arms of the man you love more than life itself, you’ve never felt more grateful for the unique way your senses experience the world.

Because really, what use are eyes when you can simply close them and see with your heart instead?

[00valentina-writes00]

omg hii could you do squirting with ambessa and grayson 💗

♡♥︎Squirting with them!♥︎♡

Warnings: rough sex (Ambessa ofc), soft dom!grayson, squirting, strap on sex, calling their strap “cock”

♡Ambessa♡

Ambessa doesn’t fuck. She conquers.

Her hands are firm, calloused from years of wielding steel, gripping your thighs like she owns them. Because she does. Your body belongs to her, molded beneath her in ways only she knows how to shape.

Your legs tremble where they rest over her broad shoulders, her grip forcing you open as she drives into you, stretching you wide around the thick, red strap she’s been fucking you with for what feels like hours.

You’ve lost track of time.

All you know is the way she moves—steady, unyielding, ruthless. The way the slick sounds of your cunt take over the room, wet and obscene, mixing with the low, satisfied hums she lets out every time you clench around her.

And fuck, you can’t help it.

Your body is betraying you, shuddering against the cold marble of the vanity she’s got you splayed over. She’d bent you over it first, made you watch yourself in the gilded mirror while she took her time stretching you open. Her fingers, two, then three, slow and deliberate, her deep voice murmuring filth against the back of your neck.

Now? Now she’s got you on your back, thighs shaking against her as she buries herself deep, watching every twitch, every arch, every desperate attempt to keep yourself grounded while she ruins you.

“You take me so well, wife,” Ambessa murmurs, her voice dark with pride, thick with possession. You whimper at her words, feeling the way she fills you, stretches you so wide you can barely think.

Your fingers claw at the marble beneath you, the cold surface doing nothing to cool the fire crawling beneath your skin. “Ambessa, I—”

She chuckles, low and knowing. “I know.”

And then she fucks.

No more teasing, no more measured strokes—just raw, unrelenting force as she pistons into you, dragging desperate, broken moans from your throat. Your body jerks with each thrust, your back arching helplessly, your cunt clenching around the thick girth of her strap.

“You like this, don’t you?” she taunts, watching the way your body obeys her, your legs trembling as you try to hold onto the last shreds of your sanity. “Being fucked like this—being used.”

You nod frantically, barely able to form words, too lost in the relentless pressure, the way her hips snap against yours, sending wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure crashing into you.

Ambessa smirks, shifting her angle, grinding the base of the strap against your swollen clit. The friction is too much, too perfect, and you cry out, the sound breaking into a sob when she does it again.

“Such a messy little thing,” she murmurs, voice thick with approval. “Look at you, already close.”

You are. You can feel it coiling tight in your belly, pressure building so fiercely it borders on unbearable.

Ambessa sees it. Feels it. Owns it.

She leans in, her massive frame dwarfing yours, the weight of her presence pinning you down as she drags her teeth along the shell of your ear. “Cum for me, wife,” she orders, her tone leaving no room for disobedience.

And you do.

Your body locks up, the tension in your core snapping as pleasure explodes through you, white-hot and all-consuming. A broken cry tears from your throat as your orgasm rips through you, making you arch, making you thrash—making you squirt.

It’s sudden, uncontrollable, liquid gushing from your cunt as Ambessa fucks you through it, her expression dark with satisfaction as she watches you fall apart.

“That’s it,” she growls, not slowing, never slowing, her cock still driving into you, coaxing more from your trembling, overstimulated body. “Give me everything, all of it.”

You’re shaking, gasping, barely able to process the mess you’re making between you both. Your thighs are soaked, the marble slick beneath you, your mind wrecked.

Ambessa groans, watching the way you convulse, how your cunt flutters around her strap, how your juices drip down her thighs. She presses a firm, possessive kiss against your lips before pulling back, her eyes burning with something hungry.

“Again.”

And you know—you know she’s not stopping until she wrings every last drop from you.

♡Grayson♡

The bedroom is dimly lit, the glow of the city outside casting soft shadows across the walls. The air is thick with anticipation, your body already thrumming with heat as Grayson stands at the edge of the bed, rolling up the sleeves of her uniform with deliberate slowness. Her dark eyes rake over you, taking in the sight of you spread out for her, waiting. There’s a quiet power in the way she carries herself—calm, composed, entirely in control.

“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?” Her voice is low, rich with amusement as she steps forward, her presence alone enough to make you shiver.

You nod, thighs pressing together, desperate for friction.

Grayson chuckles, shaking her head. “No need to be shy now, love.” She runs a warm hand along your bare thigh, fingers grazing your skin just enough to tease. “You want me to take care of you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathe, arching into her touch.

“Good girl.” The praise slides over you like velvet, sending a new rush of heat between your legs.

Grayson moves with slow precision, undressing with practiced ease. Her coat is the first to go, then the rest of her uniform, revealing the toned strength of her body—years of discipline and training carved into every muscle. When she finally steps out of her trousers. Her hand reaches for her strap on the nightstand, and she hooks it over her hips. Thick, black, perfectly shaped to fill you just right. Sitting low against her hips, the veins along its length catching the light as she strokes it, testing its weight.

“Look at you,” she murmurs, climbing onto the bed, settling between your thighs. “Already so wet for me.” Her fingers ghost over your entrance, gathering the slick that’s pooled there, and she hums in approval. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet, and you’re dripping.”

You whimper, lifting your hips in silent plea, but Grayson only smirks, dragging her fingers up to your clit, pressing just enough to make you gasp.

“So sensitive,” she muses, rubbing slow, lazy circles, watching the way your body reacts to every movement. “Let’s take our time, hmm? Want you nice and ready for me.”

She teases you like this, fingers dipping inside just enough to make you crave more, her touch never quite giving you what you need. You’re trembling beneath her by the time she finally presses the head of her strap to your entrance, coating it in your slick.

“Deep breath,” she murmurs, soothing, as she begins to push in.

The stretch is delicious, just enough to make your breath hitch, your hands flying to grasp her strong arms. Grayson groans softly, watching the way your body takes her inch by inch, her grip tightening on your hips.

“That’s it,” she praises. “You can take it. Always take me so well.”

She gives you a moment to adjust, the weight of her resting heavy against you, the warmth of her skin grounding you. Then, she pulls back, thrusting in slow and deep, setting a pace that has you gasping, clutching at her shoulders.

“Grayson,” you whimper, legs wrapping around her waist, urging her closer.

She chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’ve got you, love.”

Her hips roll, each thrust deliberate, filling you just right, hitting that perfect spot that makes your back arch, your nails dig into her. She never rushes—no, Grayson takes her time unraveling you, savoring every sound, every shudder of pleasure.

One hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing in fast, practiced circles that send sparks of heat through you. The pressure builds fast, your body tightening around her, pleasure coiling low in your stomach.

“You gonna cum for me?” she murmurs, her voice thick with hunger. “Come on, sweetheart, let go.”

It hits you hard, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your body convulsing beneath her as you cry out her name. But she doesn’t stop—no, she keeps moving, keeps working you through it, her fingers never letting up.

“That’s my girl,” she coaxes, her pace getting faster, relentless. “Give me another.”

You’re already overstimulated, thighs trembling, but Grayson doesn’t let up. Her movements grow more precise, her fingers unrelenting, the slick sounds of your arousal filling the room. The pressure builds again, impossibly fast, until—

You shatter. A broken moan tears from your lips as your body spasms, your release spilling onto her, soaking the sheets beneath you and her thighs. Grayson groans, grip tightening, her pace slowing just enough to let you ride it out.

“Fuck,” she breathes, looking down at the mess you’ve made, pride gleaming in her dark eyes. “That’s my good girl.”

She leans down, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss, her weight pressing you into the mattress.

“You did so well,” she murmurs, brushing damp hair from your forehead. “Always so perfect for me.”

Her voice is warm, laced with satisfaction, but there’s a glint in her eye that tells you she’s not quite finished with you yet.

“Think you can give me one more?” she asks, and the way she grinds her hips tells you it’s not really a question.

And fuck, you don’t think you can say no.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello could I please request civilian!reader staring at the batboys for a long time and goes “why are you so perfect and handsome, I’m so lucky to have you and I will protect you with my tiny body and hands” 🌸

Idk whether or not this is what you wanted anon but I hope you like it at least in some way 😂

Jason can’t help but let out a full belly laugh upon hearing your declaration after having stared at him for a full hour, as he walked over to you to cup your face in his hands and rest his head against yours.

‘How sweet you of chipmunk, I’ll make sure to keep that in mind whenever I’m in trouble.’ He murmurs as his thumbs stroked your cheeks.

He found it extremely endearing and sweet that you would ever go out of your way to protect someone like him but he preferred if you were to stay at home where it was relatively safe. Jason cared way too much about you to loose you, even if the comment was made in a lighthearted way.

Gotham was far too cruel for someone like you and you both knew it, the city was bound to swallow you whole before you even made it down the street.

The other thing that stuck in Jason’s mind how you thought he was perfect and handsome, to which he would always respond with;

‘I’m far from being either of those things chipmunk, but I’ll take the compliment.’

Jason didn’t view himself as an ugly dude but nor did he think of himself as handsome either, he grew up in Crime Alley and was taken in by a billionaire, he never had times to focus on the way he looked or acted in the eyes of others. Until you of course.

To Jason, Dick was someone many would consider a handsome and perfect man while those same many often regarded him as the complete opposite under the same breath. So whenever you held his face in your hands and called him handsome or perfect with a look of utter love and adoration in your eyes, Jason can’t help but find himself slowly starting to believe that he was in fact a handsome man.

If anything Jason views himself as the one who is lucky to have someone as good and as perfect as you and he reminds you of it day and night, whether he was Jason Todd, your perfect man or Red Hood, feared vigilante of Gotham.

Dick: found it really cute that you thought you could protect him, someone who had the insane flexibility and agility of a cat, but he wasn’t one to crush your dreams and aspirations.

‘My hero has finally come to save me?’ He’d gasp dramatically as he practically falls into your arms, causing you to buckle under his weight and collapse on the bed and giggle at his theatrics.

However he wouldn’t dare let you put yourself in danger in any way shape or form for the likes of him, he refused it as this life had nothing but take and take and take from him anything and everything he held dear.

He still remembered how he felt partially responsible for Jason’s death that he tries to make up for it by being in his corner when it seemed as though everyone thought ill of him.

So Dick really doesn’t want you going and pulling the heroic card on him as he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it, he’d act like he could when in reality he was doing far worse then anyone could imagine. So it be better if you let him do the saving.

Now Dick was aware of his own attractiveness and appeal but when you were the one calling him perfect and handsome, he’s smiling widely and internally kicking his feet and saying silly shit like;

‘You still have a crush on me? How embarrassing for you.’ To which you respond with ‘Dick we’ve been dating for 8 months-‘

When anyone else calls Dick handsome they are pointing out an already pre established fact, but when you’re the one saying he’s handsome it has more meaning as it felt as though he was being shown something that he never knew was there before. He lived for every time you called him handsome and it wasn’t because of an ego thing, he just like you calling him handsome and would never want to live in reality where he never heard you say it ever again.

Damian;

‘I can protect us both without issue so there’s no need for that.’

He sometimes takes your word a little too literally, regardless whether you were joking or not.

He was the crime fighter out of you both, so just let him do all the fighting, he doesn’t want your eyes to be burdened with the violence and criminal activity that he was accustomed to.

Also when you called him perfect and handsome, Poor Damian didn’t know what to think as it wasn’t something he viewed himself as nor expected anyone outside of his family to either.

He could handle insults and such but soft words laced with love and care towards him was an entirely new feeling for him in general that it both scared and excited him simultaneously. Besides Damian wasn’t interested in tibial things such as being conventionally attractive or whatever troubles the average person, he never thought it of any importance when other things took presidency in his life.

However when you compliment him, Damian couldn’t help but feel as though he was a little boy again, he would feel himself stiffen for a moment before the appropriate response came to him as easy as breathing, because caring for you was as easy as breathing to Damian and he’d do anything to make sure you were safe and sound wherever you are; for without you he’d be deeply lost.

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 1

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

Bashing of like...every IC member? I think Rhys gets the worst though, definitely disordered eating, kinda depression?, isolation

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

He found her deep inside the House of Wind. Far enough from the festivities of Starfall that it was startling to find her.

The second oldest Archeron Sister must have wandered off just like he had.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” Azriel asked her as he spied her sitting in a puddle of her skirts on one of the couches, staring at the empty fireplace.

“Why aren’t you?” Zahra gave back drily, not even looking up at him.

What exactly was he supposed to answer to that? Oh, I can't stomach watching your sister dance with her mate? And even if I could stomach that, Rhys's mental commentary to him about it had turned his stomach. Even when Azriel had kept away from Elain just like Rhysand had ordered him to do, ever since last year. So really...what was he supposed to answer?

“Dancing isn’t exactly my favourite activity,” Azriel finally replied. It wasn’t a lie. 

"Yeah, well, mine neither," she answered with a shrug. "Not that I ever learned."

"You never learned?" he asked surprised. Nesta had learned. Elain had learned.

"Bastard, remember?" Zahra said drily. "I am lucky that I got to learn how to read and write and do basic math. I was not going to be molded into a perfect lady, because no self-respecting man would marry me anyway."

The blunt way Zahra was talking stunned Azriel momentarily. There was something harsh, something almost...bitter and resentful in her voice as she spoke.

It seemed like it didn't matter if one was born a bastard in Illyria or the Human lands. It was horrible either way.

"Your sisters will miss you," he said instead quietly. "And you'll miss the spectacle."

"I don't really care for the festivities," she said with another shrug. "I don’t like the holidays. Humans don’t have any. We… they are too busy trying to survive," Zahra corrected herself quietly. "And besides, I am only here anyway so I don't end up being an indentured servant until some of you decide that I am back in your good graces,” she gave back caustically.

He grimaced. That Zahra had vehemently disagreed about their treatment of Nesta was well known.

It had surprised him too because it was just as just as well known that Nesta seemed to not care for her half-sister on a good day. They weren't particularly close, in any way, shape or form.

Something in his chest clenched painfully. Not from the insult she threw in his direction, but from the defeated way she said it. That she thought that they would just…toss her aside like that.

She was one of them.

"We won't," he said firmly. Her eyes slowly turned toward him and there were dark shadows in those eyes. Out of all the Archeron Sisters, she was the only one with green eyes. Azriel wondered if she had inherited them from her late mother.

Zahra was only the half-sister after all. The result of her father’s dalliance with a maid. Her age put her somewhere between Nesta and Elain. 

It was easy enough to pick out the differences between Nesta, Elain and Feyre and Zahra. Dark hair similar to Elain’s, but green eyes. Skin a few shades darker than any of theirs. Lips that looked like Feyre’s but a nose that looked like none of her sisters. 

Zahra seemed to belong but didn’t. 

And right now, these green eyes…something was wrong. Something was off with these eyes. 

"You don’t know that," she said with a humourless laugh. "Do you want to lie to me too, and  tell me that Rhysand has nothing to do with whatever happened between Elain and you?"

Azriel stiffened, a low sound escaping his throat. She knew. She knew.

"How did you-" he croaked hoarsely and Zahra cocked an eyebrow at him.

 "Do you really think that I hadn't noticed the two of you dancing around each other for months? Or the fact that you two can barely manage to be in the same room together?" she asked dryly and Azriel averted his gaze.  "There is no one as beautiful and kind as my sister," Zahra said drily. "I don't fault you for falling for her."

Azriel said nothing, the pain in his chest growing at her words. The pain...and the bitter realization that his feelings were not as well-hidden as he had thought they were. 

"It doesn't matter," he said quietly. "She has a mate. She deserves better than me anyway."

"Did Rhysand tell you that too?" Zahra said drily. "You never tried to hide the fact that your mate was dying from the same, so you have that on him."

Azriel gritted his teeth, the pain in his chest becoming almost unbearable. "It doesn’t matter," he repeated firmly, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "Elain is happy. I would do nothing to put that in danger." 

"Yes, she is," Zahra agreed. "For what it's worth, I am sorry," she apologised to him, her voice honest.

Azriel swallowed, the pain in his chest lessening only to be replaced by something else. Something...much more complicated. Something like…pity.

He pitied her. This young female was so full of bitterness. He couldn’t even fault her for it either. She had been just a bastard. Even when they had first met the Archeron Sisters…Zahra had been working in the household as a maid. Half employee, half part of the family. Like their father couldn’t make up his mind what he should do with his bastard daughter. 

"You don't have anything to apologise for," Azriel finally told her quietly. "Do you really not want to watch?" he asked her. "You are supposed to wish for something when you see the stars fall."

She snorted, the sound bitter. "What I want, I am never going to get," Zahra said, her voice brittle.

He took her in in more detail at that moment.

The simple green gown she wore, high necked and long sleeved...that long gown that did little to hide how thing she was. The dark brown hair, pulled into a braid, obviously trying to hide the pointed tips of her ears and failing...the way her skin, darker than all of her sisters, was nearly ashen.

They had all thought that she was doing well. That Zahra at least was adjusting well.

But she wasn't. She wasn’t doing better.  She hadn't adjusted. Azriel would bet anything that all she wanted in her life was to be human again.

She hadn't adjusted. She just acted in a way that didn't bother anybody, that didn’t spell trouble for anybody.  Zahra had gotten herself a job, managing the accounting at an apothecary in the city.  She had gotten herself a little cottage to rent. She didn’t go out and get drunk. She didn’t use any money from Rhys or Feyre. She showed up for family dinners, staying quiet and polite. 

And if she was miserable…well, then nobody cared, because she didn’t bother anybody. Azriel could understand that. The same was the case for him.

Azriel clenched his jaw, watching her quietly sitting here. The way she was trying to hide away. The dress that was more like a potato sack than anything else. The way her skin was almost...grey. That bitter voice. 

The shadows were stirring and he was unable to look away from her. She looks upset, Master, they told him helpfully. 

"Do you want to go home?" Azriel offered quietly. Home to her cottage? Maybe some peace and quiet would make her feel better. 

Zahra shrugged, not looking at him. Not giving him an inch. That wall of bitterness and sarcasm was so firmly in place, that it was practically a solid wall between them. 

“Don’t want to end like an indentured servant, remember?“ she quipped drily.

“You won’t,“ Azriel said evenly. “You had a headache. I brought you home.“

She still didn’t look at him, her hands tightly knotted into her skirts as she sat there. She was so thin, almost fragile-looking. Her skin was sickly grey. “Come on,” he said finally, walking towards her.

Zahra finally looked up at him. Those green eyes. A bitter and lonely light in them. “What are you doing?“ she muttered. 

“I’m bringing you home,” he said simply, holding out his hand. “Come on, get up.“

Zahra looked at his hand, her gaze wary. “Why?“ she asked quietly. 

“Because you look like you are about to keel over,” he said, more bluntly than intended. 

“Gee, thanks,” she said dryly, her voice sarcastic and bitter. But she placed her hand into his own and let him pull her to her feet, even though he could feel the tension in her entire body. 

Azriel wrapped his arm around her shoulders, steadying her. “Come on. Let’s get you home and into bed,” he said firmly. 

He led her towards the balcony, the last few streaks of light painting the sky, and he grasped her tightly as they shout these few feet into the air until he could winnow to the cottage she rented. 

It’s ugly, the shadows complained. 

He had to agree with them. The cottage was an ugly little thing. Plain. Small. The type of thing that was more of a hovel in the outskirts, rather than anything else. 

“Home sweet home,“ Zahra said dryly, pulling away from him and a key out of her purse. 

That cottage was in serious need of some renovations when the red paint that was flaking off the door was anything to go by. 

As she unlocked the door it became obvious that while she kept it clean and neat.. even that couldn’t help much. This is a hovel, the shadows hissed.

Azriel was inclined to agree. He looked around with a frown, as the shadows scuttered around the tiny cottage. “You live here?“ he couldn’t help but ask. It was a terrible hovel indeed. 

Zahra shrugged as if she didn’t notice the disgust in his voice. “I couldn’t exactly afford anything else at first,” she said drily. 

At least not without taking any money from Rhys and Feyre, and clearly that was nothing that Zahra wanted to do. 

He was struck by how empty it all looked. There was a small kitchen space, a table with a few chairs a fireplace… And the door that led to her bedroom, he assumed. 

“How long have you lived here?“ he asked carefully, taking in the bare emptiness. There were no pictures on the walls. No trinkets and little belongings anywhere. It was…lifeless. She shrugged again and kicked off her shoes, making her way towards the bedroom. “A year?“

The room was equally simple and bare. A bed, a few clothes. A little bathing chamber. That was it. 

“You’ve lived here for over a year?“ Azriel repeated, his voice turning sharp as he looked at everything. There wasn’t even a mirror on the wall. 

When she just shrugged again, he was done. He grabbed her arm and towed her back into the main room. “Stay,” he ordered, pointing at the table and one of the two rickety chairs. 

“What are you doing?“ Zahra asked, raising both eyebrows at him. Her irritation had started to rise considerably. At least that had done something to the sickly colour of her skin. 

“Making sure you eat something before you pass out on me,” Azriel muttered, turning back into the kitchen area, looking around with a frown.

There was…nothing. His shadows reported as much. She literally had a few pieces of bread and some cheese in the whole house. He was more than fuming. That was not enough that she was living in…this hovel, she was apparently also starving herself.

He pointed at the chair again. “Sit,” he ordered a little sharper than he had intended. 

The glare she gave him did not surprise him. Zahra hated being ordered around. “No,” she said firmly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not hungry.“

Azriel clenched his jaw, the anger flaring. How stubborn could she be? 

“You clearly haven’t eaten in days,” he said, pointing out the obvious. “You have nothing in your house to eat.” 

“I have what I need,” she retorted, her own anger flaring. Azriel gritted his teeth, the urge to snap at her almost overwhelming.

“You are skin and bones,” he hissed. “There is barely enough fat on you to keep out the cold.“ 

“Why do you care?“ she snapped right back.

The question hit him squarely in the chest. Why did he care? Why, he asked himself for a moment. Why indeed.

He wasn’t going to lie to himself and say that it was just because she was Feyre’s sister. 

Thankfully, Azriel was saved from actually having to answer, when her stomach grumbled.

Loudly. Azriel almost chuckled at the sound of her own stomach betraying just how hungry she really was. “Clearly your body disagrees with you,” he said drily. 

“Shut up,” Zahra snapped, her skin flushing at the sound of her own stomach. 

“I will shut up after you’ve eaten something,” Azriel said firmly, folding his arms across his chest.

Zahra gave him a glare that could strip the paint from the walls, (but then, the paint was already flaking off anyway). Still, she grudgingly sank down on the chair, her eyes avoiding his. 

He turned back into the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers and found absolutely nothing. There was nothing. Not even some fruits or vegetables. 

He slammed the last cupboard closed, almost causing the hinges to break, the anger flaring hotly in his chest. That stupid, stubborn, stubborn woman.

“I will personally come here every day and stuff you full until you burst,” he snapped before he could stop himself.

“Why?” she asked and he could hear the challenge in her voice. Her own anger rose to meet his own. “Why would you even bother?“ 

“Because you are starving yourself,” he said, spinning around to face her. “Because you are so thin, I could snap you in half with one hand. Because I’m pretty damn sure you haven’t eaten a proper meal in at least a year. That’s why.“

“Maybe I don’t deserve a proper meal,” she shot back and something inside of him snapped at the tone in her voice. 

Because he knew that feeling. He knew. For just a moment he froze. They were far more similar than they should be. 

It was a terrible realization. He knew what the self-hatred and bitterness was like. He understood it far better than he wanted to.

“Nobody is going to suddenly show up and care,” he told her quietly. He saw her eyes flare at the words and he knew she got the meaning behind them instantly.

She sat there, her jaw tensed. “And what do you know about it?” she snapped, her voice bitter. 

“I know what it feels like to starve oneself,” he said calmly. “I know what it feels like to have not a single person notice or care.“

The words rang truer than they should. Her eyes widened for a moment, shock flashing through her. 

“I know what it feels like to be the one be always at the edge of the family. I know what it feels like for everybody around me to meet their mate but not me.“

The words slipped out before he could stop them. The pain he had buried so deep, deep down flaring up. The pain and loneliness and bitter realization that would never have what everyone else had.

He realized only then how much they really had in common. How similar they were. 

“I know what it feels like to be the afterthought,” he continued, unable to stop now. “I know how it feels to be shoved aside. I know how it feels to watch everyone around me find someone while I’m the one left behind.“ 

He took a step closer to where she was sitting, towering over her. “And I know how it feels to hate myself enough to deny myself the basic needs I actually have.“ 

The last words made her flinch. He was so close he could almost see the pain and guilt and bitter realization flit across her face. Her eyes were on her lap, her fingers wrapped around the edge of the table. 

“I know what it feels like to feel as if I don’t deserve to eat,” he said quietly. “Because I’m not good enough. Not worthy enough. Not deserving enough.“

He knelt down in front of her, forcing her to look at him. To meet his eyes. 

She tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let her. He wanted her to see. To understand that she wasn’t as alone as she thought. “I know what it feels like to punish myself by not giving myself what I actually need,” he said quietly. 

Her breath hitched at the last words, her eyes widening ever so slightly. She was listening. Really listening to what he said.

“You’re not the only one who hates yourself, you know,” he said quietly. The look in her eyes shattered him. The look of realisation. Of bitter understanding. The realization that they were so much more similar than either of them had thought before.

Zahra bit her lip, the guilt flashing across her face. Her hands started trembling, ever so slightly.

“You don’t deserve to go hungry,” he said quietly, his voice firm and quiet. “You don’t deserve to starve yourself. You don’t deserve to live in this… hovel.

“The cauldron should just have killed me,” Zara said her voice brittle. “I don’t like this life.”

And didn’t that break his fucking heart? 

She laughed bitterly, but there was no humour in it. “I’m not even surviving,” she said, a bitter smile on her thin lips. “I’m existing. There is a difference.“ 

The words hit him hard. She was right. She didn’t survive, she just existed. There was a difference and a huge one at that. “Then stop just existing,” he said quietly.

His hand was still cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking gently over her skin. 

“Says the guy that just keeps moping around,” she quipped.

It was a low blow but also true. Azriel’s jaw tensed at the comment. “I don’t mope,” he bit. “I just..“

He didn’t really have a good argument in his defence at the moment. 

He sighed. “We should both stop rotting away,” he said drily.

“Yeah, well, that’s easy to you to say,” Zahra said and he could hear the bitterness in her voice. 

“Eat your cheese,” he responded.

She rolled her eyes and snatched away the slice of cheese off the table. “Happy now?“ she muttered. 

“Delighted,” he gave back drily, as he moved towards her fireplace.

“You don’t need to do that,” Zahra said quietly. “I can do that.”

“Considering you’ve been too starved to think straight, you are going to let me do this,” Azriel cut across her calmly. “You are more than likely to burn yourself.” 

“Don’t the flames bother you?” She asked him quietly. He froze.

Nobody else had ever asked him. They had just expected him to be over it by now. He had 500 years to be over it. His hands clenched.

“Yes,” he answered quietly. “They still do.” It was the honest truth. A truth he never told anyone before, least of all someone like her. The shadows curled around his shoulders and arms as if to calm him down. The flames still bothered him. They always would. “But I learnt to deal with it a long time ago,” he continued.

“That’s not fair to you,” Zahra said, her voice quiet. “You are always the one in discomfort. And nobody cares.”

Her words hit him square in the gut. It was true. It was painfully true. He was always the one being uncomfortable. Always the one on edge. It had always been expected of him to be over it by now, the pain and the hurt. The fear and the bitterness. 

He finished building the fire. Using a match to light it carefully, then closing the door quickly.

“I can deal with it,” he answered quietly. “You should go to sleep,” he advised her.

“So should you,” Zahra told him just as quietly. “You look terrible.“ He knew he looked like crap. But that didn’t matter. 

“I’m fine,” he muttered, brushing off her comment. Even though he knew it was a lie. Even though he knew they were both terrible at taking care of themselves. 

“You are a terrible liar,” she quipped. He looked at her and was surprised to see a tiny smile on her face. 

“And you’re a very stubborn, very stupid, very annoying woman,” he quipped back just as quietly. 

The smile on her face broadened the tiniest bit at the comment. “I could say the same about you,” she shot back. 

“Sleep,” he told her again.

And then he left that little cottage to get back to the House of Wind. He didn’t bother winnowing, instead, he shot up into the sky with one flap of his mighty wings. He wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.

His mind was whirling as he flew back to the House of Wind. So much had happened in the last few hours and it was all still a lot to process.

He had always been good at keeping a rein on his thoughts and his emotions. But this time, he simply couldn’t. 

Zahra and him, always on the outskirts of their family. Ignored and expected to get on with it.

They were so similar in so many ways. It was shocking to realize just how much they actually had in common.

The loneliness and solitude he had come to live with, she had experienced herself. The pain and the bitterness, he could recognize it on her, for he had felt it himself. 

Where are you, Az? Rhys demanded at that moment mentally. Azriel would like to scratch out his eyes, but he didn’t.

I’m flying back to the House, he sent back curtly. Zahra had a headache, so I brought her home.

A headache, Rhys shot back incredulously. Azriel could almost see the look on his High Lord’s face. You really think I will buy that?

I don’t care if you believe me or not, Azriel responded icily, his temper rising already at the tone. It is the truth and I really don’t wish to have a discussion over it.

There was a pause in Rhys’ mind. Then a slight huff. You can be so unbelievably stubborn sometimes, you know that?

Azriel didn’t bother reacting to that.

Elain and Lucien are figuring things out. So keep away from her, Rhys told him sharply.

I am keeping away from her, Azriel shot back, irritation flaring. You really think I will go and ruin this for her?

I don’t know what you are up to, Rhys retorted, and Azriel knew the High Lord was irritated. But I really don’t have the time to deal with your crap right now. That’s an order.

Understood, High Lord, Azriel snarled back and he felt Rhys chuckle in his mind at the tone. I will keep away from your precious Elain, I promise. 

Damn right you will, he heard Rhys mutter in his mind and the mental connection between the two of them snapped close. 

Azriel snarled in irritation as he landed on his balcony and stalked into his room. It wasn’t enough that he was wrestling with his own emotions, No, he also had Rhys all up his ass about it. 

And he was infuriated about the whole thing.

Nobody will suddenly show up and care, he has told Zahra. It was the truth. Nobody would care.

They only cared as long as they got what they wanted from him.

Chip away the pieces they didn’t like. Mould him into a person they could stomach. 

Either it was Rhys ordering to keep away from Elain…or ordering him to behave around Mor and Emerie… and to be quite honest…Azriel was done.

It was always him that needed to bend to make everybody else comfortable. Nobody bends for him.

So many years of following orders, of keeping his mouth shut, of bottling up the anger.

Even when everyone around him was getting what they wanted. They got their happily ever after. And he was left behind.  Not once did someone ever realize that he was struggling. Not once did someone notice that he needed something…anything. That he was hurting and in pain. Nobody even bothered to check on him, to ask how he was doing. 

They all got what they wanted. Mor, Emerie, even Feyre. They all got the mate that they wanted. Rhys, Cassian and even Amren had Varian. 

He was the one always helping everyone else. Always the one having to endure everything. Never anything for himself. No love for himself.

Orders, commands, demands…that’s all it ever was. He didn’t get a say in anything. They just expected him to be fine. And if he wasn’t…he had to push through it. 

He was the tool that did whatever needed to be done. The spy that got the order to do the dirty work. The shadowsinger that just had to endure everything. 

All for scraps of attention.

Azriel was done.

He was so done. With everything. With everyone. With the one-sided affection that he had given in a desperate attempt to feel…something, anything…. 

He needed to stop expecting to get anything from them.

Zahra did not. She seemed to have given that up a very long time ago

The cold realization that they had been doing the same to her hit him. She was also the tool they used when they needed it. She may not be a spy, but they used her just the same. Expected her to be fine. 

She was alone just as much as he was. 

Alone and isolated, an afterthought to their family just as much as he was. 

***

It was quiet in the little cottage. 

Peaceful. 

Comfortable.

Sie should be happy. Or at the very least…she should be content, should she not?.

Zahra had a roof over her head. And if she wanted to…she could afford food.

Her job didn’t pay that well, but it wouldn’t leave her starving. She just wasn’t hungry. She seemingly never was.

That was a lie and she knew it. Deep down she was hungry all the time. She just refused to give in to eating. She refused to listen to her body screaming for sustenance. It didn’t matter, anyway. Nobody cared.

She didn’t care.

Something inside her had broken during her bath in that cauldron. Her humanity had burned away and with that…with that everything Zahra had ever wanted.

She didn’t crave anything anymore. Not love. Not affection. Not attention. Not food. It was all gone. All she felt was numb. 

Cold, empty and numb. Like her shell had hardened and frozen over.

She had never thought it was possible to feel so damn tired without having done anything. 

Zahra forced herself to get up. Forced herself to heat some water on the stove… to make tea. The cheapest tea she had been able to find at the market.

It wasn’t the best. The taste was bitter and the color was more brown than black. But it was tea and she was thirsty enough to drink it.

It wasn’t very warm and left a bitter aftertaste on the tongue. Like her life itself. 

Maybe just dying would have been easier, she reflected bitterly. Was this how eternity would feel? Alone? Tucked away in this cottage? 

All her sisters had been given a mating bond. They had been given another person who loved them unconditionally…that was at their side. That wanted them around. That wanted to spent time with them. 

And then there was her. 

She had been closest to Feyre during the years in that cottage. Nesta gave her the fault for seemingly everything htat had ever gone wrong in her life, though Zahra privately thought that for Nesta, Zahra was just the evidence of another of her father’s failings…Elain…well, Elain was more embarrassed than anything about Zahra’s very existence. But Feyre…well, Feyre hadn’t cared. And so Zahra had tried to dote on her as much as she could. 

And then clearly she had been replaced in Feyre’s affections. 

She didn’t fault her for that. 

Feyre had made her own life. And she had every right to do that. She was busy with her mate and her son and Mor was her best friend and…there was seemingly no place for Zahra there. 

Which was fine. 

It was. 

But if Zahra was completely honest with herself…she was unspeakably jealous of the mating bond of every single one of her sisters. 

Of that promise of at least one person that would be on her side, come Hel or High Water. 

Clearly, something was wrong with her that she hadn’t been given a Mating Bond.

She wasn’t worth a mate. Clearly, something was broken inside her. Otherwise, the cauldron would have given her a mate, right? 

Maybe she was broken so thoroughly that nobody even wanted her. 

Why would they? She was a shell of a person, a ghost of the woman she was supposed to be.

She was cold, empty and numb. Everything that nobody could possibly want. 

Everyone else got a mate, love and happiness. Not her.

She had nothing.

Her hands clenched around her lukewarm cup of tea. 

Some random sparks of light sparked against the mug. A gift from the cauldron. They didn’t seem to do anything but warm whatever they touched. Maybe that was that random power the cauldron had given her. Neither future or death…but…warmth. She supposed it was something.

She wasn’t quite sure what to do with it, and she had never bothered telling anybody about it. 

Sometimes she allowed herself to play with them when she couldn’t sleep. They were strange and utterly useless. 

It wasn’t the power of foresight or the power of a death god…no. She had the stupid power to create sparks. Useless sparks of light. 

Oh well. 

Complaining about her sparks wasn’t going to help her either. 

So she pulled out her work and sat down to do her work as the sun came up and the day went on. 

Zahra balanced the account ledgers for one of the apothecaries in Velaris. Which meant she had a whole box of receipts to sort through and put into said ledger.

One receipt at a time, one name after the other. 

It kept her busy. It paid well enough. She seemed to have some kind of aptitude for it…maybe the fact that her father was a merchant had come through for once. 

She worked until the late evening. Until her eyes couldn’t concentrate on the numbers anymore.Until her back and shoulders ached with pain. She stretched her shoulders back. 

She wondered if she should eat something. Her cheese was gone, thanks to Azriel standing over her until she ate it…but she still had one or two slices of bread, didn’t she? 

She could go food shopping…buy another bread, another chunk of cheese tomorrow. 

Then Zahra heard a knock on the door. 

Confusion spread through her. Who would knock on her door at that very late hour? It was after 9 pm already. 

She got up, walked towards the door and opened it carefully.

It was the last person she would expected to be standing on the front porch. Azriel. 

“I am making you dinner.“

Her eyes widened at that announcement. “You are what?” she asked him dumbly. 

He just gave her a deadpan look and pushed past her. “I am cooking dinner because I am assuming that you haven’t eaten yet,” he told her plainly. 

It was true. Zahra hadn’t eaten a proper meal in god knows how long. But why did he care?? “Why?” she blurted out. “Why do you care if I’ve eaten?” 

He gave her a sharp look and pushed her towards the kitchen chair. “Sit down,” he simply ordered and she was too taken aback to protest against it. 

He had brought his own ingredients. His own knives, all tucked away in a little basket that he put on her countertop. “Can you peel potatoes?” He asked her as he rummaged through it. 

She could just stare at him. 

“Who do you think cooked the meat Feyre hunted?” Zahra replied drily.

Azriel froze in the process of digging something out of the basket on the counter. “You can cook?” he asked her and she heard the surprise in his voice. 

Zahra let out a snort. “Yes, I can cook,” she retorted. “What did you think I was doing this whole time in the cottage? Twiddling my thumbs?” 

He shrugged. “Honestly, I had no idea what you were up to,” he told her truthfully.  “I thought you were as useless as Elain and Nesta were at that point,” he admitted.

“Nesta did all the cleaning and hacked the wook,” Zara corrected him quietly. “Elain mended. I cooked. Feyre was the only one who hunted. And yes, we should have done more, but I did help run the household. The only one who never helped was our father.” The bitterness bled into her voice at that. 

There was a long pause after her admission. Then Azriel exhaled. “I guess I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am,” he muttered. “You don’t strike me as a pampered useless damsel.” 

“Thank you for that assessment, Shadowsinger,” she quipped back. “I will make sure to remember it when I need a pick-me-up.” 

He put a sack of potatoes in front of her. “I take it I’m peeling potatoes,” Zahra murmured, staring at the sack that was in front of her.

“Yes,” Azriel confirmed in that no-nonsense voice of his. “While I prep the meat. I do hope you like rabbit,” he added drily.

“Oh good,” she muttered, grabbing a knife and started to peel away at the potatoes. “Did you hunt it?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, his voice neutral. Zahra bit back a snarky remark and focused on the potatoes. 

They worked like that in silence. Him preparing the meat, her peeling the potatoes and the carrots.

It was odd. This whole thing was odd. Sitting and cooking with Azriel. She hadn’t even known he could cook. 

And yet…it was comfortable. Like the silence wasn’t awkward and neither of them felt the need to break it. It was a comfortable domestic kind of silence. Like they had done this a thousand times before. 

“How are you with spicy food?” Azriel asked her after he had taken the potatoes from her. 

Zahra blinked in surprise. “I have a pretty good tolerance, why?” she asked, curious. 

“All the food I can cook is Illyrian,” Azriel answered drily. “I learned from Rhys’ mother and later from my own. It’s spicy.”

“I can handle a bit of spice,” she assured him. “It should be fine.” He nodded in response. 

The sound of the fire crackling in the stove and him stirring up the meat were the only sounds filling the kitchen as they continued their work. 

Zahra honestly had no idea Azriel could cook. He didn’t seem like the type of male who spent time cooped up in the kitchen, making meals. It was a little surprising. 

And yet, the scents of spices and rabbit were filling her kitchen right now... It smelled almost heavenly. 

She hadn’t smelled something as heavenly in a long time. And her stomach growled in response to the delicious scents of food. Zahra tried to remember when she’d last eaten something actually decent, but she couldn’t think straight. The food was distracting her.

“You look half starved,” Azriel observed in a deadpanned tone and she snapped her head up only to find him looking at her. 

His eyes were focused on her, a frown playing on his forehead. “When was the last time you actually ate something properly?” he asked her, his voice firm. 

She averted her gaze. “I don’t know,” she muttered, looking away from him and to the pot bubbling on the stove. “Maybe a week ago?” 

He was silent for a moment. “That long?” he asked her, his voice carefully neutral. She just shrugged in response to keep herself from admitting that she actually couldn’t remember exactly. 

He poured hot, thick stew into a bowl for her and then put it in front of her, holding out cutlery for her to take. “Why are you doing this?” Zahra asked him weakly.

“Because I wish somehow had done it for me,” Azriel responded

That simple statement made her blink in surprise. It was not an answer she had been expecting. She bit her lip, not really sure what to say. 

And then he simply said. “Eat. You look like you’d blow away at the slightest breeze.”

She should have been angered by that blunt statement, but somehow she wasn’t. 

So Zahra ate.

The food tasted incredibly good. She had to admit that the Shadowsinger was talented with cooking. The food was spiced just perfectly, hot and filled with flavour. 

Every bite made her realize just how incredibly hungry she was. Her stomach filled slowly and the hunger abated with every spoonful. It was like her insides started to come back to life. The numbness was slowly disappearing, replaced by an odd sort of warmth flowing through her limbs. 

"Thank you," she finally said weakly.

Azriel just nodded at her, watching her eat. “Of course,” he murmured and continued with his own food.