#Do I just use he him? Or have I just forgotten what it's like to be called it/it's by people?

[2cupids]

warnings. popular!reader, oral (m. receiving), tittyfucking, tiny bit of degradation, cüm eating. mdni (17+).

wc. 1.9k… read part 1 here!

weeks had passed and a new semester had begun since that encounter with nerd!choso and it was a nearly forgotten memory in your head.

but for choso?

he thought about it everyday. it was like a driving force that helped him push through each day and he could only dream of getting so lucky again.

so the moment he saw you walking towards him as class was being dismissed, your ridiculously short skirt swaying as you moved, he knew his prayers had been answered.

“you busy? i need you to write that research paper for me.” you ask nonchalantly as you swipe the wand of your lipgloss across your bottom lip, reapplying it.

choso’s in a trance as he watches you put your gloss on your pretty lips. you were so alluring, so gorgeous. seconds pass and still no answer. you sigh and roll your eyes, looking down at choso and making contact with his bright eyes as he stares at you.

“well?” you furrow your eyebrows as your patience grows shorter and the nerdy boy has yet to answer. choso’s heart flutters at your harsh tone and he swallows the lump in his throat before he finally answers.

“n-no, i’m not busy. i could have it done by saturday.”

your hardened expression instantly softens at his words and you give him one of your sweet smiles. “good. i’ll pick it up on sunday.”

as you turn to walk away, choso stops you. “wait! um.. wh-what do i get for helping you?” choso asks quietly, averting his eyes down to look at your legs. he can’t look you in the eyes.

you turn to him, eyeing him up and down. “and who the hell are you to ask me that?” you smirk at him, but your tone is condescending. you’re offended he would even ask that. “you don’t need to worry about that, i’ll figure out it. just get my paper done.”

and with that, you’re walking up the stairs of the lecture hall and exiting the classroom. choso sits there for a moment, replaying what just happened and taking a moment to collect himself. he finally stands up and adjusts his pants, pulling his hoodie down to cover his boner before he leaves.

the days seem to pass by much slower than he would’ve liked until the long awaited day finally rolls around. choso’s mind is flooded with the multiple different scenarios that could play out, but hell, he would take anything you give him. and that’s only if you decide to pay him back for his kindness again this time.

he’s lost in thought when there’s a knock at his door and he rushes to open it, letting you in. his hands immediately reach for the paper and you quickly skim through it, slipping it inside your bag and setting it down on his desk.

“what should i do with you?..” you cross your arms and let your eyes trail down his figure before letting them rest on his face again. “i could make you put your mouth to use. i want my pussy ate, but i know someone like you doesn’t know how to eat it. and i don’t feel like teaching you either. just go sit on the bed.”

you wonder what you can do and that’s when an idea comes to you. you walk over to him and kneel down in front of him. “so where’s your bottle of lube?”

choso’s taken back. how did you know he even had some? probably just a lucky guess, but then again you are much more experienced than him. “i..um.. it’s in the desk drawer over there. the first one.”

a faint smirk plays on your lips as you roll your eyes and stand up to go get the lube. you pull your top off and throw it on the floor, revealing the lacy pattern of your bra underneath as you sit back on your knees in front of choso again. your eyes catch sight of choso’s face and you laugh, it doesn’t take much to get him worked up. being the tease you are, you give your boobs a nice squeeze. why not give him a little show?

your hands rub his thighs, slowly making their way up to unbuckle his belt and take off his pants. choso eagerly lifts his hips to let you pull his pants and boxers down his legs, and it’s laughable how excited he is.

you take his cock in your hand, quietly admiring the length and girth. it’s almost like he grew from the last time you saw him. you always heard about how nerds like him were packing, but you just thought it was a joke.. that was til choso proved you wrong of course.

his clear arousal leaks from the head of his dick and you can’t pull yourself to look away. without another thought, you lean forward and stick your tongue out, licking the precum that slid down his shaft and up towards the tip, swiping your tongue across the opening, collecting the salty liquid straight from the source. your pretty lips wrap around it and your cheeks hollow slightly while you circle your tongue around his tip.

choso groans and instinctively bucks his hips up. never did he think the guys he saw in porn were exaggerating when he watched a girl give them head, but he never expected it to feel so good. or maybe it just feels so good because the pretty girl he’s crushing on is the one who’s on her knees doing it to him.

you pull off his cock and lick the corners of your mouth as you eye the glistening head of his dick. your hands reach back and undo the clasps of your bra, letting your heavy breasts free as you pull the bra straps down.

choso’s eyes are locked on your every move and his lips part slightly as he watches you reveal your breasts to him. he’s never seen something so beautiful in his life.

“… so pretty.” he whispers more to himself, but it’s loud enough for you to hear.

the corner of your lips curl yet again as you glance up at him. “of course they are, dummy.”

you toss your bra onto the bed and reach for the bottle of lubricant, spreading the lube along his dick before taking one breast in each hand and nestling choso’s cock in between your chest.

choso nearly melts from the warmth that your boobs bring, then you start moving them up and down his length and it feels like heaven.

like the first encounter with you did. a pretty girl with her tits wrapped around his cock.. damn. not to mention the occasional moments when your tongue comes out and flicks over the opening. he can’t help but feel truly blessed.

you can’t miss the way choso’s face twists in pleasure with each drag of your breasts up and down his length even if you wanted to. the soft pants and groans that leave his parted lips have caused a sticky mess in between your legs, making your panties latch onto your wet cunt.

it’s not a surprise to you that choso busts quick, someone like him obviously would. his face is a dead giveaway, and so are his mannerisms and how his knuckles are white from gripping his comforter. he came fast the last time and in a way you find it oddly charming how quickly this nerd cums. what does surprise you though, is when he opens his mouth and starts to beg.

“please… please. can i t-touch them?” he whimpers, the desperation in his voice is clear. “i-i won’t ask for anything else.. just please.”

he looks down through his heavy eyelids, silently pleading with you, and you’ve got to admit that it’s hot. you bite your lip and make a small noise of approval, stopping what you’re doing and reaching for his hands to put them on your breasts.

his large hands squeeze the soft flesh, really feeling and savoring what it’s like to have a nice pair of tits beneath his palms before his hips jerk as he holds your boobs, fucking your chest.

“ohhh.” choso whines, “can i please cum? need... need your permission.” he doesn’t care how vulnerable he sounds, he just wants to hear you give him your approval.

and here you are again, finding yourself so turned on by his words that they’ve got your pussy clenching. you can’t let on that you’re having a change of heart towards him though, so you scoff. “what the fuck are you asking me for you fucking freak? of course you can.”

leaning back on your hands slightly so you have a better view, you watch choso start to come undone right in front of you. his eyes are squeezed shut and his mouth hangs open, letting the whiniest sounds tumble out of his mouth that you’ve ever heard from a man. you can feel his trembling body come to pause as he halts his movements, a second later your tits are covered in his hot cum.

his limp body continues to lay against the bed and when he opens his eyes again, he finds you still on your knees in front of him. one of your hands is holding your chest while you pick up some of his cum on your finger with your other hand, sucking it into your mouth.

you feel his eyes on you and you repeat the action with a grin. his heart skips a beat and he fears you might be the death of him, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

after getting off the floor and back on your feet you grab a few tissues and wipe your face and tits before you make a random, split second decision. “keep the bra.”

choso almost chokes when he hears you say that. he opens his mouth to protest but he decides against it, knowing that whatever sharp response you say will get him hard again. you rummage around your bag before you pull out the spare bra you always carry. after all, a girl like you never knows what trouble she might get herself into.

choso watches you fix your appearance in the mirror and you catch his eye in the reflection, holding his gaze. “you know.. you’d look fine as hell if you got rid of those things.”

what ‘things’ do you mean?

choso is very obviously confused and you walk over to him with a smirk, yanking his glasses off his face and waving them in front of him. “these things, dumbass.”

you move closer to him and stand in between his legs, running a hand through his thick, dark locks. “you might actually be able to pick up bitches then.”

for some reason, you find yourself standing there staring at him for longer than you’d like to. you eventually let go of his hair and sigh, taking a step back and walking over to grab your bag, preparing to leave.

“what a shame.” you say quietly as you open the door to leave, and you truly do think it is a shame.

you’ll never admit it out loud, but maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to find that stupid little loser cute.

taglist — @cheezemanz @tojicvmslut

cleo’s note — i know some people are probably gonna ask for a part 3, but idk if i’ll keep this going so don’t get your hopes up 🥲. thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated!

[kashverse]

nanami knew this day would come. it had started innocently—too innocently. babykuna, the tiny menace to society, had somehow developed an obsession with dinosaurs. it was all she talked about. all she drew. all she screamed at an ungodly volume.

"RAWWWWR! I’M GONNA EAT YOU, POOPYHEAD!"

and of course, because yuuji admired his little she-devil bestfriend far too much, he immediately jumped on the hype train like a devoted disciple. which brings us to now. yuuji, standing in the middle of the living room, clutching nanami’s hands, eyes wide with uncontainable excitement.

"papa. we need diwosaur suits."

"…what."

yuuji gasped. "suits. but not boring ones. fun ones. kom-fee ones. cozy-wosy ones." his chubby little hands balled into fists. “onesies.” nanami slowly exhaled, already regretting this conversation. "yuuji, why do we need dinosaur onesies?"

yuuji stared up at him like he had just said the dumbest thing in existence. "’cuz."

"because what?"

"’cuz they cool, papa." he stomped his little foot for emphasis. "and… and we need matching ones! group ones! like a famiwy pack!"

"yuuji, we are not a pokémon bundle."

"but papa, pwetty pleaseeeee." his tiny hands grabbed at nanami’s apron, shaking it with desperation. "we gotta! we gotta be diwosaurs in da wild! rawwr! rawwr!"

"yuuji, i am a grown man—"

"a fun grown man!"

"—who will not be parading around in public in a dinosaur onesie."

yuuji gasped so dramatically that he nearly choked. "papa." his voice trembled. “papa, do you not love me anymore?” nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. "yuuji, i bought you legos."

"yes, but dis is more."

you, watching from the kitchen with your coffee, tried very hard not to laugh. but yuuji had not forgotten about you. "mama!" he sprinted towards you, grabbing at your sleeve. “mama, you love diwosaurs, wight? wight??” you raised a brow. "do i?"

"yes." yuuji decided. "and we gotta be matching! papa is da big dino, you da mommy dino, and i am baby dino!" he beamed. "and den we can go outside and show da whole wide world our dino power!"

nanami, horrified, turned to you. “do not encourage this.” you hummed, sipping your coffee. "i dunno, honey. it does sound like family bonding."

yuuji gasps. "mama likes! it's two against one, papa!"

nanami closed his eyes. he was outnumbered. and so, three days later, nanami found himself standing in front of the mirror, staring at his own reflection.

in a green dinosaur onesie.

yuuji cheered, "LOOKIT, LOOKIT! PAPA, YOU DA BIG DINO!"

nanami dragged a tired hand down his face. he was a grown man. he paid taxes. he handled real estate investments. he had a retirement plan. 

and yet.

here he was, dressed like a discount godzilla, while his son gleefully jumped on the couch in his tiny orange dinosaur onesie. you, in your own (slightly more stylish) onesie, patted nanami’s arm. "you look good, babe."

he sighed deeply. "this is my life now."

and just when nanami thought it couldn’t get any worse—

"UNCLE KENNY, UNCLE KENNY!" babykuna burst into the apartment, skidding to a stop. she blinked up at him. then, with the smuggest little grin—

"you look so silly."

nanami closed his eyes. this was exactly why he should have never given in to capitalism.

[harrysfolklore]

31st - hs

happy birthday to the one and only love of my life 🥹🥹 31 omg! i hope he has the best day ever <33

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

You woke up early on February 1st, carefully slipping out of bed without disturbing Harry, who was still peacefully sleeping. The morning sun was just beginning to peek through the curtains, reflecting light across his face. At 31, he was somehow even more beautiful than when you'd first met him - a few more laugh lines around his eyes, his curls slightly shorter now, but still undeniably your Harry.

Making your way to the kitchen, you began the birthday breakfast preparations you'd been planning for days. You started brewing his favorite coffee and pulled out the ingredients for the banana pancakes he loved so much.

As you worked, you couldn't help but smile, remembering his 30th birthday last year - the big party, all their friends and family gathered together. This year, though, Harry had asked for something quieter, more intimate. "Just us," he'd said, "maybe dinner with family later."

The sound of footsteps made you look up, and there he was, leaning against the doorframe in his pajama bottoms and that old Rolling Stones t-shirt you loved so much.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," you scolded playfully, whisking the pancake batter.

"Bed was cold without you," he mumbled, voice still rough with sleep. His hair was adorably mussed, and he had pillow creases on his cheek. "Besides, something smells amazing."

"Happy birthday, love," you said softly, abandoning your cooking to wrap your arms around him.

He hummed contentedly, pulling you closer and burying his face in your neck. "Thank you, baby."

"Thirty-one," you mused, running your fingers through his hair. "How does it feel?"

"Honestly?" He pulled back to look at you, his green eyes twinkling. "Pretty much the same as thirty. Though I did find another grey hair yesterday."

You laughed, reaching up to touch the single silver strand at his temple. "I think it makes you look distinguished."

"Distinguished?" He raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Mhmm," you nodded seriously. "Very sophisticated. Very George Clooney."

"Oi!" He tickled your sides, making you squeal. "I'm not that old yet!"

The pancakes were momentarily forgotten as you both dissolved into laughter, play-fighting in the kitchen like teenagers. Finally, Harry pulled you close again, pressing soft kisses along your jaw.

"You know," he murmured, "this is already my favorite birthday."

"It's barely started!"

"Doesn't matter. I'm here with you, in our kitchen, and you're making me breakfast. What could be better?"

Your heart swelled with love for this man who could find joy in the simplest moments. "Well, it might get even better when you see your presents."

His eyes lit up like a child's. "Presents? But you said we weren't doing big gifts this year!"

"And we're not," you assured him, turning back to the pancakes before they burned. "Just a few small things. Though..." you paused for dramatic effect, "there might be tickets to that vintage guitar show in Nashville you were talking about."

Harry's gasp of delight made you laugh. "Really? The one with the '59 Les Paul?"

"Maybe," you sang, flipping a pancake. "You'll have to wait and see."

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, watching you cook. "Have I told you lately that you're the best wife ever?"

You felt your cheeks flush at the word 'wife,' still not quite used to hearing it spoken aloud. After nearly a year of marriage, it was still your precious secret, shared only with family and closest friends. The ring on your finger was usually hidden away in public, and you'd both become experts at careful wording in interviews.

"Shh," you teased, though your heart fluttered at his words. "The walls might have ears."

Harry chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "You know, I've been thinking about that actually."

"About what?" you asked, sliding the last pancake onto the plate.

He turned you around gently, his expression thoughtful. "About keeping it secret. Don't get me wrong, this past year has been incredible, having something that's just ours. But sometimes..." he paused, running a hand through his hair, "sometimes I just want to tell the whole world that I'm married to the most amazing woman."

You set down the spatula, studying his face. "Really? You want to go public?"

"Only if you're ready," he said quickly. "But yeah, I do. It's been almost a year, and honestly, I'm tired of not being able to call you my wife whenever I want to. Of having to take my ring off for appearances. Of watching you do the same."

Your heart raced at the possibility. "It would change things," you said softly. "The privacy we've had..."

"I know," he nodded, taking your hands in his. "But maybe... maybe it's time. And what better day than my birthday? We could post something simple, just us."

You thought about it for a moment. The past year had been magical, your private bubble of newlywed bliss protected from the public eye. But he was right - there was something exhausting about constantly hiding, about choosing your words so carefully, about slipping your rings off before stepping outside.

"Okay," you finally said, a smile spreading across your face. "Let's do it."

Harry's eyes lit up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you laughed as he pulled you into a tight hug. "But after breakfast! These pancakes are getting cold."

Later, after breakfast and presents, you both sat on the couch, phones in hand. You'd chosen a simple photo from your wedding day - just your hands intertwined, both wearing your rings, nothing too revealing but unmistakably a wedding photo.

"Ready?" he asked, his thumb hovering over the 'post' button.

You took a deep breath, nodding. "Ready."

With a click, your secret was out in the world. You both turned your phones to silent, knowing they would explode with notifications any second.

"How does it feel?" Harry asked, pulling you close.

You twisted your ring, which for the first time wouldn't have to come off when you left the house later. "Liberating," you decided. "Scary, but good scary."

"No more hiding," he agreed, kissing your temple.

"No more hiding," you repeated, then laughed. "Your mum's going to be thrilled. She's been dying to post those wedding photos."

"Oh God," Harry groaned good-naturedly. "She's probably already sharing them as we speak."

You snuggled closer to him, enjoying this quiet moment before the world would inevitably explode with the news. "Happy birthday, H. Sorry I kind of hijacked it with our announcement."

"Are you kidding?" He grinned down at you. "This is the best gift you could have given me. Now everyone knows I'm the luckiest man alive."

"Charmer," you muttered, but you were smiling.

"Your charmer," he corrected, then added with obvious delight, "Your husband."

"My husband," you agreed, loving how it felt to say it out loud, knowing you wouldn't have to whisper it anymore.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by zayn, yourinstagram and 20,876,449 others

harrystyles Best birthday gift was marrying my soulmate almost a year ago. Thank you for keeping our secret. ❤️

February, 2024

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username1 WHAT THE HELL

username2 IS THIS A JOKE

taylorswift Finally!! 🥂 Keeping this secret was TORTURE. So happy for you both ♥️

gemmastyles Bbout time you two told everyone!! now i can finally post all the cute photos from the wedding 😭💕

lizzo YALL I WAS AT THE WEDDING AND HAD TO PRETEND I WASNT THIS WHOLE TIME 😭 CONGRATS AGAIN BESTIES

niallhoran The most beautiful day! Love you both!

yourinstagram Finally 🤍 Happy birthday to my husband (!!!) who makes every day feel like a love song. Thank you for choosing me, always.

username3 HUSBAND???????? MARRIED????????? IM SHAKING AND CRYING AND THROWING UP

username4 OH MY GOD THE SIGNS WERE THERE ALL ALONG. REMEMBER WHEN HE KEPT TOUCHING HIS RING FINGER IN THAT ONE INTERVIEW??

username5 not me zooming in on every detail of this photo 👀 THE RINGS ARE SO BEAUTIFUL IM SOBBING

username6 the way they kept this secret for a YEAR?? we love a private couple

username7 HARRY STYLES IS A MARRIED MAN. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. I REPEAT. HARRY STYLES IS A MARRIED MAN

username8 im so happy for them but also crying in the club rn 😭

username9 THE WAY YN JUST CALLED HIM HUSBAND IM SCREAMING

username10 not me thinking about how they had a whole secret wedding and we had no idea 😭 they're so powerful

username11 "best birthday gift" STOP IM CRYING THIS IS SO ROMANTIC

[moonlightdreamzz]

One more time … before you go? — ENHYPEN ♡

SUMMARY. Remember that time you tried to get Enha to go one more round, even though it was going to make them late for practice?

GENRE. $MUT

AUTHORS NOTE. No Niki in this one … I’m simply just not ready yet 😭 this all started with Jungwon….as always. I #needthat so bad omg. I’ll add a keep reading later!!! I use mobile 99% of the time lmfaooo.

HEESEUNG

Heeseung is halfway dressed, his shirt unbuttoned, exposing the marks you left across his skin. He should be leaving. His phone has buzzed twice with reminders for practice.

But you? You’re making it impossible.

Lying there with that smug little smile, eyes heavy with mischief, legs tangled in the sheets like you belong to him and only him. His mind is at war—responsibility vs. pure, unfiltered desire.

He exhales, rubbing his jaw before giving you that look. The one that makes your stomach flip.

“You’re gonna make me late,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement.

You stretch, your shirt slipping just enough to tease. “Mmm. And?”

His tongue flicks across his bottom lip. He eats this up—the softness of your skin, the dreamy way you’re watching him like he’s the only person in the world. And that part of him that wants to ruin you for this? Oh, it’s winning.

“You’re dangerous, baby,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair before he leans in, pressing his hands into the mattress on either side of you.

“If you think you’ll ever be able to tame me,” you whisper, dragging your fingers down his chest, “you’re wrong.”

A slow smirk stretches across his lips. “Guess that means I have just enough time to teach you a lesson about playing fair.”

His shirt slides off his shoulders. His phone? Ignored.

JAY

Jay grips the edge of the dresser, head bowed as he takes a very deep breath. He’s fighting demons—no, you.

Because you know what you’re doing. Lying there, looking up at him with those wide, innocent eyes that are anything but.

He should be walking out the door, but instead, he turns, slow and deliberate, raking his gaze over you like he’s memorizing every inch.

“You,” he starts, his voice lower than before, “are relentless.”

You tilt your head, pouting just enough to make him twitch. “What?” you murmur, dragging the sheets up like you’re shy—like you weren’t just begging for him an hour ago.

He exhales sharply, stepping closer, towering over you. “This. The games. The teasing.” His whole body is tense, like he’s trying so hard to keep his control. “You really think I have time for this?”

Your fingers graze the waistband of his sweats, featherlight, and his whole body stiffens.

“You always make time for me, Jay,” you whisper, biting back a smirk.

His jaw clenches. His hands tighten.

“Yeah,” he mutters before flipping you onto your back with one rough pull. “I do.”

JAKE

Jake’s halfway out the door—hoodie thrown on, bag slung over his shoulder. He’s already late.

But then you giggle.

Soft, sweet—dripping with amusement.

He turns on his heel, eyes narrowing. “What?”

You bite your lip, stretching out across the sheets, giving him a look that makes him twitch. “Nothing,” you hum, “just funny how you think you’re leaving me like this.”

Oh, you’re playing dirty.

“You’re unreal,” he mutters, dropping his bag as he stalks toward you. “Absolutely shameless.”

You hum, tilting your chin. “This is what you do to me, baby,” you breathe, dragging your fingers over his wrist as he reaches for you, “and you love it.”

His grip tightens. His breath hitches.

“God, I do.”

His lips crash against yours.

Practice? Long forgotten.

SUNGHOON

Sunghoon stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, his brow furrowed, a mix of frustration and desire flashing in his eyes. He’s trying to hold his ground, trying to convince himself that he’s leaving and that’s that.

But you’re lying there, playing your cards like you always do. That teasing little smile, the way your body moves under the sheets, bare skin on display—he knows exactly what you’re doing.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters, his voice low, almost warning you. “You know I have to leave.”

You stretch slowly, arching your back just enough to make him forget every reason he had for walking out the door. Your eyes are half-lidded, lips parted slightly as you hum, “So go.”

The playful, sweet tone of your voice has a fire starting in his gut, but he tries to remain composed. “Go, huh?” He swallows hard, the tension building between you two. His arms drop to his sides, but his fists are clenched, and he’s battling with himself, trying to stand firm. “You really think I’m just going to leave you like this?”

You smirk, pushing yourself up on your elbows, your gaze locking with his. “If you can,” you taunt, voice dripping with the kind of playful arrogance that always gets under his skin.

His eyes narrow, and his body shifts, as though he’s about to snap. “You really want to push me, huh?” His voice is deeper now, the usual calm replaced with an edge of frustration. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to touch you but knowing it’ll make him lose control.

“Is that what you want, Hoon?” you murmur, sliding the sheets down your body just enough to show him what he’s trying so hard to ignore. You’re too much of a temptation. “You want me to beg you to stay?”

Sunghoon’s eyes darken with something dangerous, something raw. He takes a step closer, his breath becoming shallow. He grips the edge of the bed, leaning over you. “I don’t want you begging for anything,” he growls, his voice thick with need. “But you’re making it damn hard to walk out of here. You know that?”

You let your fingers trail up his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt, the tension rolling off him in waves. “Then don’t,” you whisper, your lips brushing his ear as you push against his chest. “Stay with me. Just a little longer.”

He shakes his head, the small movement full of frustration. “You’re too damn good at this, baby,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck as he dips lower. “But I warned you—if you keep this up, you won’t be able to walk straight when I’m done with you.”

You shiver under his touch, your body burning with need as he pulls you toward him. His lips crash against yours, hot and desperate, with all the pent-up frustration he’s been holding back. His hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, your body flush against his.

“You’ve got five minutes, Y/N,” he whispers between kisses, his voice a mix of hunger and control. “But I swear, if you keep pushing me, you’ll never leave this bed.”

SUNOO

Sunoo stands by the door, his hoodie half-zipped, fingers curled around the strap of his bag, but he’s not moving. His eyes flicker to you, still sprawled on the bed, sheets barely covering the evidence of what just happened. He swallows, hard, but masks it quickly with a smirk.

“I know that look,” he muses, leaning against the frame with practiced nonchalance. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

You shift, stretching just enough to make his gaze darken. “Me? Never.” Your voice drips with feigned innocence as you prop yourself up on your elbows. “But you really think you can just leave me like this?”

His smirk falters for a fraction of a second. He’s eating up the way you’re looking at him—like he’s something to be worshipped. And he is, but God, you’re dangerous.

Sunoo clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he steps closer, the air around him shifting. “You’re so spoiled,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing against your jaw. “Always wanting more.”

His voice is low, teasing, but you see the way his chest rises and falls, the way his grip tightens like he’s already lost the fight before it’s even begun.

You lean into his touch, your lips barely grazing his palm as you whisper, “I can’t help that I know what I want…and I always get it.”

His breath catches—just for a second—before he exhales a sharp laugh, his other hand finding your waist, pulling you against him in one smooth motion.

“You’re so lucky I like my punishment sweet,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over yours, “or else I’d make you beg for it.”

You grin against his mouth. “Who says I won’t?”

His eyes darken. His bag hits the floor.

Practice can wait.

JUNGWON

Jungwon stands at the edge of the bed, jacket in hand, hair still messy from what you just did to him. He’s trying—really trying—to leave. But his knuckles are white around the fabric, his feet glued to the floor, because the way you’re laid out in front of him? Bare legs tangled in the sheets, skin still warm and glowing from before? It’s taking everything in him not to crawl back into bed and ruin you all over again.

“I have to go,” he mutters, but it’s weak. Half-hearted. Like he already knows he’s lost.

You stretch lazily, rolling onto your side, the curve of your body on full display. “Mmm, do you?” Your voice is teasing, sweet and slow, curling around him like smoke.

Jungwon clenches his jaw, eyes dragging over every inch of you like he’s committing it to memory. Like he’s already regretting leaving.

“You really think you can just walk out after that?” You prop yourself up on your elbows, lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Jungwon, baby, look at you. You’re not going anywhere.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, hands flexing at his sides. “You’re unbelievable.” It comes out like a whisper, a confession, his resolve hanging by a thread.

You stand slowly, letting the sheets slip just enough to have him sucking in a sharp breath. “Am I?” you purr, stepping closer, your fingertips barely grazing his chest. “Then why do you look like you want to devour me all over again?”

Jungwon exhales through his nose, like he’s this close to snapping. His hands find your waist, grip tightening as his forehead drops to yours. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You hum, your fingers trailing up to tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him shudder. “But what a way to go, huh?”

His laugh is low, breathy—half frustration, half surrender. His lips brush against yours, teasing, lingering, almost giving in.

“God, you’re so spoiled,” he groans, but his hands are already pulling you flush against him, already betraying every excuse he tried to make. “You know I can’t say no to you.”

You smile against his lips. “You never do.”

And that’s it. That’s the final thread snapping.

Jungwon’s hands grip your thighs, lifting you with ease, pressing you into the wall with a heat that has your breath hitching. His lips find your neck, his voice rough, needy, wrecked.

“Do you even know what you do to me?” he murmurs, biting down just enough to make you gasp. “How fucking crazy you make me?”

Your fingers tighten in his hair, a smug smile playing on your lips. “Tell me.”

Jungwon groans, his lips trailing lower, his body pressing you tighter against the wall. “You’re perfect. Perfect, and you know it.” His voice is almost desperate now, like he needs you to understand just how far gone he is. “I swear, you drive me insane.”

You tilt his chin up, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Then show me,” you whisper. “One more time, Jungwon. Prove it.”

His forehead drops to yours, his breathing uneven, his resolve completely shattered.

“You’re gonna get me in so much trouble,” he rasps.

But his lips are already crashing into yours. His hands are already gripping, pulling, taking. And when he growls “Just one more” against your lips, you know—

He’s not leaving anytime soon.

[ddarker-dreams]

A Deal's a Deal.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, violence against minor characters, descriptions of anxiety, mentions of alcohol. Word count: 5k.

Next (TBA)

“... Sorry. This one’s no good either.” 

Sighing dejectedly, you sink into your seat. 

You can’t tell if your companion’s disappointed. He maintains a neutral countenance, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts. Still, you study him, awaiting some visual indication before moving the conversation forward. He must sense your intentions, for he catches your gaze and smiles. 

“Should we call it a day? You look tired.” 

“The hell? Isn’t it considered taboo to tell a lady she looks tired?” You grumble. “And here I thought you were Casanova incarnate. You’ve got to work on your charisma stats.” 

Chrollo shrugs halfheartedly. “What point is there if you’re immune to my many charms?” 

“Let’s be real — ‘many’ is overdoing it, a little humility won’t hurt. I commend your budding self-awareness, though. At least we’ve made progress on that front.” 

He hums, offering no rebuttal. You realize that you’ve perked back up, reinvigorated by his goading. He certainly knows how to get people going. Among his defining features, that’s one of the first you recognized; his uncanny way of orchestrating favorable outcomes. 

Sipping your preferred warm beverage, you canvass your surroundings. 

The café’s less crowded than when you came in. There are still a few students typing away on their laptops while consuming a concerning amount of caffeine. In the corner sits an elderly couple, whose order you overheard by virtue of the volume it was placed at — “Give me a regular coffee. Straight black, none of that ‘appaccino, grand venti’ nonsense. Decaf for my wife.” 

(You prayed for the barista’s sanity when he tried explaining the different ways ‘straight black’ could come). 

“... I am losing my touch, aren’t I?” Chrollo murmurs. You snap your head in his direction, having temporarily forgotten his existence. “You prefer older men?” 

You almost choke mid-sip. “Pleh…! That’s it, I’m retiring, good luck sorting your issues out.”

“You don’t mean that.” 

“How I wish you were wrong,” you deadpan. Lifting his phone off the table, you scroll through its contents. There’s nothing new to look at. “An exorcist, huh? You’re positive that’s a real thing?” 

“They exist. They’re just rare, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” 

“I blame the Protestant Reformation.” 

The skin beneath his eyes wrinkles. “... Cute.”  

His compliment makes you frown. 

“Quit it with the flattery, already.” 

“Flattery implies a degree of insincerity, no?” He challenges. “You of all people should know when I’m being genuine.” 

“You make it sound like I’m a walking polygraph.” 

His lips part and close as he considers his response. “That isn’t how I view you.” 

This guy’s clever with his word choice, you think. Too clever.

Disliking where this conversation might go, you redirect. 

“This ‘Hunter’ site you’ve been using… is there any way for me to access it?”

“Feeling a bit impatient, are we?” 

There’s a patronizing lilt to this tone that has you inhaling sharply. Closing your eyes, you ball your hands into fists, willing your agitated mind to relax. Your goal feels so close. This future you never believed possible dangles above your head, only to recede as if you were Tantalus whenever you grasp for it. Needling Chrollo won’t get you any closer, but at least it gives you something to do, mimicking progress. 

“The Hunter site has various measures in place to prevent account sharing. You don’t want to end up on their radar,” Chrollo retrieves his phone and tucks it into his coat’s pocket. “While your enthusiasm’s admirable, I suggest you leave this part to me.”

You swallow thickly. “... Right.” 

“Are you upset?” 

“No, I’m not,” you rest your hands on your lap. “Just, y’know. Reminded that we’re from two different worlds.” 

Outside the café’s windows, individuals from all walks of life bustle about. Some are on their phones, others chatting with friends, or holding their partner’s hands. It’s a picturesque display of normalcy. They’re likely thinking about what to have for dinner, when to set their alarm for the following day, if they can squeeze out of plans they halfheartedly agreed to over the weekend; you know this because you aspire to live the same way. 

“You’re closer to mine than you think.” 

A fervent disagreement blazes then turns to ash on your tongue. There’s an unidentifiable quality to his stare — neither kind nor outright malicious — almost clinical in its effort to elicit a reaction. You stir in your seat. Despite your time together, he’s as much an enigma as he’d been upon your first meeting. Charming and courteous, yet lacking genuine warmth, like a faux candle. 

“Do you get some kick out of riling me up?”

“Maybe a little,” he admits. “Your expressive nature is endearing. I can’t help myself.” 

His words resonate with such clarity that you can’t help but wish he’d been a little dishonest. 

“I’m not a toy for you to entertain yourself with.” 

His smile makes you squirm. 

“I know you aren’t.” 

“Then what—” you cut yourself off, fearing what might occur if you continue your original line of questioning. “Man, you’re exhausting to deal with. Has anyone ever told you that you have an awful personality?” 

“Few get to be around me enough to comment on its quality.” 

“I’m counting down the days until I’m no longer a member of that inner circle.” 

Before Chrollo can respond, his phone audibly vibrates. Newfound excitement overwhelms you at the sound. He glances at the notification and nods, confirming your speculation. He places it in your eager hands. While you prepare, he steeples his fingers and leans forward, intrigued as always with your work. 

You relax your breathing. This entire process is based on intuition, chasing after faint sensations until your desired outcome manifests. A pliable force thrums through you — what Chrollo refers to as ‘aura’ — awakening from its dormant state. Mindful of your public surroundings, you keep your dominant hand beneath the table. Where there was once nothing, a three-dimensional object rests snugly against your palm. Buttons of varying utility jut outward along its perimeter. This small item, shaped like a cassette recorder, stirs antipathy in your heart. 

Holding down rewind, the cassette whirrs to life. You prepare to record the latest audio note sent in for analysis. 

Instant Replay (One More Time!).

These past few months have seen your ability frequently leveraged. It was your personal conviction to refuse its use, lest paranoia eat away at you. However, freedom from this bondage necessitates further entanglement. You’ve parted with your long-standing morals, primed to pick through the syllables of others for your own purposes. 

Right and wrong no longer concern you. 

All you care about is surrendering this loathsome ability to the man sitting across the table. 

-

The night air is unforgiving in its chill. It infiltrates your layers of clothing with laughable ease, seeping into your marrow and demanding that you shiver as recompense. Gritting your teeth, you pick up your pace, cursing the parking garage’s elevator for being out of order. You knew parking at your friend’s apartment complex was sparse, but this is a new record. 

The heels of your shoes click against the concrete staircase as you rapidly ascend. A pale, yellowish hue illuminates your path, the lights occasionally flickering. The moon must be feeling shy tonight, for it hides behind thick, stationary clouds, refusing the world its silvery guidance.

Upon arriving on the third floor, you hear an ominous crackle in the distance. 

The consequences are immediate. Intuition tells you to pause, goosebumps erupting over your flesh from head to toe. Darkness swallows your surroundings whole in inky blots. Blinking rapidly, your eyes struggle to adjust. You feel around for your phone and turn the flashlight on. The sudden loss of power perplexes you, did the building’s breaker trip? From what you can see, the rest of the street is unaffected. 

You’re about to resume your journey when you feel something cold press against your temple. 

“Don’t move,” a deep voice demands. The roar of a car’s engine echoes nearby, as does the hurried screech of tires. “Not so much as a fucking inch.” 

Anxiety sets your every nerve aflame. You go stiff as a corpse, and perhaps you may have been mistaken for one, if not for the thunderous pounding of your heart. The moisture in your mouth dries up. Tortuous seconds drag on, devoid of any further commands. You’re ready to offer up your purse, wallet, or anything else he insists on, but he’s eerily silent. 

A pair of approaching headlights blind you. 

Is this more than a robbery? You struggle to comprehend the nightmarish events. The man holding you hostage radiates agitation, shifting his weight from foot to foot. In doing so, the barrel drags along your sweat-slicked skin. His apparent sloppiness has you weak in the knees — it’s your life hanging in the balance, why is he acting like the situation is reversed? 

Abruptly, the vehicle veers off course, crashing into a line of parked cars. A terrible cacophony follows. Glass shatters, metal debris shrieks whilst scattering, and car alarms angrily sound in disunity. What you’re witnessing doesn’t feel like real life. Your disbelief is mutual, for the man holding you captive spews curses.

You hear a click by your side; the gun’s safety being disengaged. 

“Shit!” He maneuvers you in the direction of the crash like you’re a shield. “There’s no way we were followed, no way, we did everything perfect—” 

The man never finishes his sentence. 

There’s a wet gurgle, then a wheeze, as something warm splatters on you from behind. Bile rises up your throat as the wretched noises continue. He must’ve fallen to the ground, for you no longer sense his lumbering presence, or feel the cold kiss of metal on your skin. Regardless, you refuse to budge. You squeeze your eyes shut and tremble wildly. 

“There, there. You’re safe now. ♥” A rich baritone speaks from behind. 

His declaration comes out discordant, belying the reassuring contents. You bristle at the new threat that’s presented itself. If what came before was a house cat, then this is an apex predator, the king of the jungle. The air around him feels oppressive, almost noxious. Even without a firearm directed at you, your panic reaches its zenith, soaring to heights untraversed. 

“Hm? Still scared? Ah, that’s right,” he muses to himself. “Chrollo said you’re sensitive to dishonesty. This could be troublesome.” 

“You… you know Chrollo?” 

“So you’re not in a catatonic state — how reassuring.” 

Slowly, you turn around, sensing a distinct lack of ill intent. Flashlight in hand, you try to make sense of what you witness. The scene that greets you is gruesome beyond your wildest expectations. The man who you assume held you at gunpoint has collapsed onto the ground, his jugular slit clean. Blood gushes from the wound like a geyser, forming a crimson puddle around his head. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, nearly bulging from the sockets. Liquids ooze from every visible orifice and a foul odor rises alongside them. This pitiful creature could’ve been your end. Instead, he met his, departing this world in abject terror. 

Unexpectedly, his muscles twitch. Out of reflex, you jump back and yelp. 

“Rest assured, he’s dead as a doornail.” 

“Why…” you wet your dry lips, “What�� what just…?” 

While you stumble over your words, the building’s power makes a triumphant return. The lights flash intermittently, then go steady, allowing you an unobscured vantage point. Before you stands a tall, bizarrely dressed individual, with bright red hair. His beady, yellow eyes have a predatory gleam to them that he doesn’t bother suppressing. He holds a playing card in his claw-like hands, the three of spades. 

It’s coated in fresh blood. 

Your eyes fall to the fatal wound on your assailant's throat, the gears in your head turning. 

You take a step back. 

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” With a flick of his wrist, the offending card disappears, though its memory burns strong. “I’m Hisoka, Chrollo’s… colleague of sorts. Now, there’s no need to introduce yourself. I’m well acquainted with you. ♥” 

Is that supposed to make you feel better? 

You couldn’t hide your suspicion if you tried. At the very least, there’s no indication that was a lie. However, his familiarity with you is a double-edged sword. If he’s crafty, he can outmaneuver your ability. Dishonesty isn’t black and white, there are loopholes to avoiding your detection. For instance, one can remain purposefully oblivious, lie by omission, or speak in vague terms. These gray areas pass you by as if you lacked this ‘sixth sense’ to begin with. 

He was lying when he said I’m safe now, you recall. But he doesn’t seem interested in harming me…? Something isn’t adding up.

After much deliberation, you ask, “So you just happened to run into me?” 

“Nope. I’ve been following you,” he freely admits. Your aghast expression makes him laugh. “What’s the matter? You were baiting me for the truth, were you not? You’re welcome to have it. ♦” 

In your heightened state of sensitivity, you sense multiple presences converging nearby. Security guards, if you had to guess. You weigh your options. If you stay here, you’ll undoubtedly be harassed for a story that explains the chaos. Telling the truth would land you in a straight jacket whereas deception guarantees cuffs. Leaving in your car is off the table too, you’d be dubbed an important witness. There’s no way you can claim you drove by the carnage without noticing anything. 

“I can help get you out of this debacle,” he offers. “We’re both seeking the same end — the return of Chrollo’s Hatsu. The latest recording I’ve obtained is most promising. So, I’d rather we don’t continue this conversation in prison. ♣” 

Hisoka takes a step forward and extends his hand.

The security guards are getting closer, you think. There’s no time left.

And so you make your choice. 

-

You didn’t think places like these existed outside of the movies, or maybe you just don’t get around enough. 

You’ve found yourself in what you can only describe as a biker’s bar. The decor is old-fashioned, slightly worn yet authentic. There are pool tables, too many televisions to count, and a functioning jukebox nestled in the corner. Rough-looking men wearing leather jackets make up the main clientele. Fortunately, it’s Hisoka who draws the most attention, his gaudy getup acting as a magnet for the eyes. No one pays you any mind. 

For the second time this week, a weirdo treats you to drinks. The main difference is that this is a depressant and not a stimulant. 

You take hearty sips to calm your nerves. All that happened feels so surreal, like a collection of grotesque images that would be blurred out in a documentary. This is exactly what you wanted to avoid. You want to be normal, untethered by the oddity that is Nen, the ‘world’ Chrollo inhabits. You decided long ago that nothing good can come from it. Maybe if you were more adventurous, prone to taking high risks for high rewards. 

But you’re not. 

Endless money, power, and influence don’t sound appealing. Sure, there’s an allure initially, until you consider reality. Lots of money means either lots of taxes or lots of tax evasion. You barely know what a W-2 form is, much less the hoops you’d have to jump through if your income exploded. Power and influence aren’t all they’re cracked up to be either. All that scheming to stay at the top would take away from what makes life truly worth living — reading Wikipedia articles and watching eight-hour-long videos analyzing a video game from two decades ago. 

“Holy shit,” you press pause on the cassette recorder. “This Abengane guy’s the real deal.” 

“Oh?” 

“He’s familiar with getting rid o’ Nen. During his… huh, what’s it called again… oh. Yeah. Audition. Durin’ his audition for Greedy Island—” 

“ —Greed Island.” 

You wave his correction off. 

“—Yeah, yeah, whatever. But, basically, he’s legit. How’d ya even come across this?” 

“Magic. ♥” 

You make a face. “Is everyone who uses Nen annoying?” 

“Some more than others.” 

Speak of the devil. Craning your neck, you’re met with piercing gray eyes. Unlike Hisoka, Chrollo isn’t dressed like he’s auditioning for the circus. Instead, he comes across as a guy who’s going to pitch the worst idea for a startup you’ve ever heard. He’s wearing a dark blazer with a gray turtleneck beneath it, along with white pants and black loafers. You’re about to make your joke known when something about Chrollo’s demeanor changes your mind. Intensity pours off him in waves, giving you pause. 

“Good news, boss. We found your exorcist.”

The title Hisoka uses to refer to him has you tilting your head. He did refer to himself as Chrollo’s ‘colleague,’ but the word boss implies hierarchy. 

“I heard,” Chrollo smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m surprised you’re not rushing back to Greed Island to track him down.” 

He slides into the booth beside you while never looking away from Hisoka. The tension brewing in the air perplexes you. Shouldn’t this news be a cause for celebration? You’ve helped Chrollo search for a Nen exorcist for months now. Chrollo’s been searching for a Nen exorcist for months now. You’re uncertain what reaction you expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. 

“All in due time. I’d hate to cut my time with your little assistant short.”

Hisoka makes a point of looking you up and down. 

Somehow, Hisoka has made Chrollo seem normal by comparison. Disliking the attention, you reach for your drink, only to notice how light it is. Have you already drunk that much? While inspecting the near-empty glass, you realize the room’s starting to feel warm. The stress of what you endured must’ve impaired your judgment. 

What time is it, anyway? Do I have work tomorrow? 

Your watch reads 2:05 a.m.

Shit. 

“I need— need to get going…” 

“Why the rush?” Hisoka questions. “Things were just starting to get interesting. ♥” 

You ignore him and stare Chrollo down, waiting for him to move aside so you can leave. Instead of getting up, he leans closer, pursing his lips. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him. Heat creeps over your face, from your cheeks to your ears. There’s no denying that the bastard’s handsome. Your friends love teasing you about him for that very reason. They never believe your insistence on having a ‘strictly platonic’ relationship, some even have bets for when you’ll end up together. 

Maybe you would’ve considered it if you didn’t know about his Nen proficiency. 

There aren’t any readily available statistics for Nen, but if you had to guess, you’d say most of the population is ignorant of its existence. People who do know about the Hunter’s Association consider it a private enterprise that specializes in exploration and taking on contract jobs. According to Chrollo, this is by design. You can barely go about your day pretending there aren’t superhumans roaming the planet, doing all sorts of crazy nonsense. 

Society would plunge into chaos if the knowledge reached them. 

You hear what sounds like your name coming from underwater. 

Blinking sluggishly, you discover Chrollo’s hand on your shoulder. “Hm? What?” 

“I’ve been calling your name,” he speaks languidly, likely for your benefit. “Are you alright?” 

“Well…” you trail off, pondering the question. “... Mm, yeah, probably not. I gotta get home, and— god, my car— it’s still back there. I don’t want… I can’t…” 

The anxiety you thought you buried resuscitates itself. It’s dull compared to earlier, yet your breathing grows shallow and your hands feel clammy. Your intenses churn like a parasite had been embedded inside. Everything feels far away, as if you’re in a dream, physically present yet mentally adrift. 

You could’ve died. 

You almost died. 

You’d fought desperately to scrub your mind of this knowledge, but the bottle can only do so much. 

“Say, Chrollo,” with a nearly imperceptible motion, Hisoka summons a playing card between his middle and pointer fingers. “If I were to slice her pretty neck, what would you do?”  

The old-fashioned glass Hisoka had been sipping from cracks. 

Pressure invades the air like a thick, heady fog, so tangible in its potency, that the chatter elsewhere dies down. The sudden silence allows for the clinging of billiard balls to reverberate throughout. Patrons glance around, vaguely aware that something is wrong, yet ultimately unable to identify the source. This primal sense of foreboding evaporates as swiftly as it arrives. The lively atmosphere reemerges, until all present seem to have forgotten anything unusual ever occurred. 

Hisoka absentmindedly cleans up the glass shards, piling them into the corner while Chrollo drums his fingers along the table. Chrollo’s jaw is set and the skin between his eyes is pinched in contemplation. 

Hisoka lets out an exaggerated sigh. “This is turning into a bore. I was confident you’d lose your cool, even if just a bit…” 

“Pathetic.” 

The unexpected vitriol has them both turning their heads in your direction. Chrollo blinks, while Hisoka tilts his head, staring at you owlishly. 

He points to himself. “Me?” 

“Yeah, you! You’re like— one of those birds, those showoff birds… dancing with your colorful feathers… ‘nd stuff…” your speech isn’t the most coherent, unaided by the irritation that’s boiling your blood. You leer at him, fed up with everything, especially whatever schemes he’s roped you into. A rough picture is presenting itself, one stroke at a time. To Hisoka, you’re nothing more than glorified bait. You don’t know if he played a role in engineering the evening’s events, but it wouldn’t be a surprise. 

At the very least, he admitted to following you. Even if he was a third party, he could’ve disposed of the impending threat. Instead, he waited, exposing you to bloodshed for his own ends. You wish you could come up with a more scathing insult. Unfortunately, your temple is throbbing and clear enunciation grows harder as your body digests the liquor you inhaled. 

Hisoka looks at Chrollo. “I’m a bird?” 

“She’s calling your bluff,” Chrollo clarifies. “Had you intended to follow up on your threat, she’d know.” 

You’re glad Chrollo realized what you were going for. The diatribe sounded better in your head. Nonetheless, he’s communicated the essence of things, lacking as it is in panache. Hisoka hums, eyeing you like you’d make for a fine appetizer before the main course. 

“You must have kept that detail from me on purpose. What an intriguing ability. ♥” 

Chrollo brushes aside his comment and refocuses his attention on you. “I’ll drive you home.” 

“But my car—” 

“I’ll handle it,” Chrollo reassures. 

He slides out from the booth and stares at you expectantly. You get the sense that trying his patience isn’t a good idea; his encounter with Hisoka must have soured his mood. He helps steady you as you stand, securing his arm behind your back. Neither of you acknowledges Hisoka while making for the door, though you can feel his eyes tracking your every movement. 

Upon emerging from the bar, the cool air you deplored earlier feels like a godsend. You hear cars rushing up and down the street, indicating the presence of a highway. Other than that, you don’t recognize the area. It’s a small, decrepit outlet, featuring shops plastered with neon signs and bars over the windows.

Chrollo ushers you in the direction of a black, unmarked McLaren.

“If you’re gonna do all that, at least get a less basic color… like pink…” 

“I’ll give it some thought.” 

Once you’re in the passenger seat, he fixes the strap of your purse and then buckles you in. It isn’t long until you’re on the road. He stays in the slow lane, mindful to avoid abrupt motions. You recline back and rest your head, hugging your arms close to your body. At the next red light, he sheds his coat, draping it over your person. The cashmere fabric is soft on your skin, embedded with his cologne and warmth. This, paired with the low hum of the engine has your eyelids growing heavy. You try resisting the temptation. 

“Thank you.” 

“Hm? For what?” 

“... Are you serious?” you murmur. “For comin’ to get me.” 

“Of course.” 

Relief rushes over you as the surrounding area becomes recognizable. Traffic is nonexistent this time of night, it shouldn’t be but a few more minutes until you’re home. Then you can crash out on your bed and deal with the existential weight of reality in the morning. Work can fire you for all you care, you just want to sleep. If you were on your deathbed, you’re ninety percent positive they’d ask you to find shift coverage before you croaked. 

Chrollo pulls into your apartment complex, parking as close to the entrance as he can. 

You fiddle with your seatbelt, intending to make the rest of the trip by yourself.

He places his large, calloused hand over yours, preventing further progress. 

“... Chrollo?” 

He doesn’t respond. His thumb rubs slow, steady circles against your skin. You swallow a growing lump in your throat. He hasn’t been himself all night. Or, to be more precise, he’s showing you a side of himself he’s hitherto kept hidden. You always knew there was more to him than he let on. You never wanted to open that Pandora's box, lest your plans be jeopardized. Playing with fire has its risks, yet cauterizing your personal wounds took priority. You don’t know if you have the right to pray the rest of your being doesn’t go up in flames. 

“I assume you’re aware of my fondness for you?” 

“I— well…” you stumble over your words, then meekly ask, “Is now really a good time for this?” 

Chrollo lowers his head and smiles. “No, I suppose not.” 

An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air. 

“One more question, then I’ll let you go,” he looks up at you through thick lashes, an enigmatic gleam passing over his eyes. “Do I frighten you?” 

Your body tenses. He addresses you so softly, so sweetly, had you not witnessed his mouth moving, you would’ve mistaken his voice for belonging to another. Your facilities aren’t functional enough to properly process his query. Perhaps that’s the point — him cornering you at this vulnerable junction. You don’t get why. You don’t think you could even if you were sober. 

Chrollo, for his part, seems to acknowledge he won’t get far in your current state.

Or maybe he gleaned his answer.

He lifts your hand to his lips, where he presses a lingering kiss. You can’t bring yourself to be the first to pull away. He lingers a while longer, as if stuck in a trance. When he does part, the skin tingles in his absence.

“I’ll be in touch.” 

-

For the past week, you’ve carried on as if nothing ever happened. 

It’s easier this way. There are instances where your performance is threatened, like when you ran across a news article detailing the ‘grisly murder of two men at a parking garage on 9th St,’ yet these lapses can be smoothed over. Ignore, distract, forget. This cycle lends you a credence of normalcy and eases you back into everyday life. 

You haven’t seen Chrollo since that night. You suppose he’s preoccupied with his arrangements to meet the Nen exorcist. While you don’t know the specifics, you imagine he’ll have to meet this Abengane in person. In the recording, he addressed two men — named Battera and Tsezguerra — where he proved himself qualified to enter ‘Greed Island.’ Aside from a few anonymous forums, information on this mythical game is sparse. All you know is that the price is exorbitant and that Battera obsessively tracks down every copy available. 

Wherever there’s Nen, things inevitably get weird, you think.

You begin tidying up your apartment. First is drying off the dishes, which saw their first use all week for a much-needed home-cooked meal. While doing so, your phone vibrates. You throw the damp rag down in a hurry and check the screen. All you find is a notification about your upcoming menstrual cycle. Sighing, you put your phone down on the counter. 

Chrollo had been truthful when he promised to take your Hatsu for assisting in the return of his. A part of you is relieved by his absence; the other is frustrated. You want to get this over with. It’s like when you have an appointment later in the day and spend the time leading up to it in a limbo, not wanting to get involved in anything until the commitment is over. Is it possible he already took it? Curious, you hold your dominant hand out. You haven’t used Instant Replay since the night at the biker’s bar. 

Aura surges through you, concentrating at the palm of your hand. Much to your disappointment, the light pink cassette tape appears. Maybe it no longer works? As a test, you rewind the recording of the audio Chrollo provided at the café. Once primed, you press play, listening attentively for certain cues. 

“It is my great honor to profess that I, Lilith, can purge you of any ailment, even scourges derived from Nen — for a small donation of…” 

The self-proclaimed Mistress of Panaceas sounds increasingly garbled as her lies surface. Clicking your tongue, you deactivate your ability. Everything remains operational. You don’t know what you expected, you’ve overheard the telltale sounds of lying the past few days. It just hasn’t been directed at you, which weakens the effect. 

Will you really have to endure this the rest of your life? 

Shortly into resuming your task, there’s a knock at your door. 

You ignore it, not in the mood to deal with a neighbor asking for something. After thirty or so seconds, there’s another round of knocking. You suppress a groan. Why can’t the world sense that you’re moody and let you brood in peace? Trudging over, you try to put on a pleasant face, unwilling to lash out on others even if you’re in a terrible mood. Erring on the side of caution, you glance out the peephole. 

Upon doing so, you almost lose your balance.

…

He must’ve decided he kept you waiting long enough.

[writemekpop]

Naked | Lee Jeno

Summary: You catch your best friend Jeno shirtless and he gets shy. Your teasing turns into something more...

Genre: Suggestive, Fluff

Word count: <1k

You heard Jeno's flip flops as he wandered into your room.

“Y/n?” he called, his voice weirdly gruff. “Can I - um - borrow some pyjamas? I forgot to bring any.”

You looked up from where you were scrolling on your bed. “What? Why?”

A laugh tickled your throat. Jeno was shirtless, and hugging a long pillow to hide his chest.

“Why are you shy?” you said, prodding the pillow, and making him curse. “I've known you since you were 12.”

“Yeah, well, I look a little different now,” Jeno said, blushing a deep purple.

“Jesus,” you said, walking over to your dresser. “I don't know why you're like this, Jeno. Aren't you naked all the time in magazines and NCT Dream stuff?”

“That's different,” Jeno said.

You threw him some pyjamas, which he caught in one hand.

“I mean,” you said naughtily, “I could just Google ‘Jeno shirtless’ right now.”

Jeno's mouth dropped. “You wouldn't.”

You got out your phone, chuckling. You opened the search page, and started typing.

You weren't really going to do it - but suddenly, Jeno tackled you head on, trying to grab the phone.

The full weight of his body hit yours, pushing you back onto your bed, breathless. The pillow fell onto the floor, forgotten.

Jeno snatched the phone from your fingers. “Aha! Got… it.”

His voice trailed off as he realised that his bare chest was pressed against yours, your hands grabbing his waist. His skin was hot and surprisingly firm against you. You could feel him panting against you.

Neither of you moved.

Jeno's eyes flashed to your lips.

You were about to move your hand off Jeno, but he quietly said, “Don't.”

Your heart wobbled. “Don’t what?”

“Don't move,” he repeated.

You stroked up his waist, and down the strong curves of his bicep, fingers trembling. Jeno pushed himself up onto his elbows, and gently smoothed the hair out of your face.

You saw him grin slightly.

“What is it?” you said.

Jeno chuckled. “Nothing. I just realised that… I forgot to be shy.”

“You should be,” you said, your voice a little rough. “We used to have baths together. I've seen your you-know-what.”

Jeno laughed, his eyes scrunching up in the carefree way you loved. “Like I said before.” He winked. “I look a little different now.”

—

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[awyeahitssam]

Travelling back in time is an accident. Harry isn't going to waste it.

Harry glances at the calendar and grimaces. He can't go to Knockturn today. Hogwarts just let out for Summer holidays, and he's already decided to avoid the alleys until school term starts. Just in case... well. Just in case.

He never thought there would come a day that he missed Voldemort's soul pressing alongside his own, but it would make things simpler. If he could peer into Voldemort's mind, he wouldn't have to go about things the old fashioned way. As it is, one of his spies is twenty minutes late, and he can't snatch him from work on the off chance that children are wondering around places they shouldn't be.

Burke's still alive, at least. Harry would feel his death.

It does nothing for his current situation. There will be an attack today. 3 July, 1973 was significant. The day Voldemort's attacks went from targeting the Knights of Walpurgis' political opponents to involving the public.

He just can't remember where.

He knows this. He knows he does. But the time magic takes knowledge, seemingly at random, until he's left with bits of the puzzle. Harry knows Voldemort's broken his soul into pieces, but he no longer remembers what those pieces are called. He doesn't know what they're contained in, either, except one: Slytherin's locket.

Harry really needs to get a move on with this whole defeating Voldemort early thing before he forgets who he is. Forgets why he needs to.

He takes a deep breath. There's nothing for it. Diagon and Hogsmeade are the most obvious places to stage a first attack. Diagon is the more dramatic option, though Hogsmeade would strike fear, especially just a day after the children have left the station. Which one...

Fuck. He's got no time for guessing games, for hoping he knows Voldemort well enough to predict him. The Voldemort of this time is more politically minded than the one Harry defeated, and he's losing information by the day. Who knows how much he's forgotten about his Voldemort.

He needs Burke. He needs the bloody information.

Snape would be home, wouldn't he? His mother's still alive. There was no chance Lily Evans would be sulking about Knockturn. And the Marauders? No...

It should be safe enough.

It's a risk. If he sees one of them, he's going to screw up spectacularly. He has to steer clear.

Too bad he's still got a saving people thing.

He twists through the wards and lands at the apparition point. A moment later, the screaming starts.

Turns out he doesn't need his spy for this after all.

He runs towards the shouts, wand at the ready.

He puts it to good use.

"Evans?" Charlus calls out. "Is that you?"

Harry grimaces and keeps walking. Ever since he saved Charlus's baby brother in the Dark sects first Diagon Alley attack, Charlus Potter has been dogging his steps. The very last thing he wants is the be associated with this family. He already only manages to avoid being labeled a Potter by virtue of using the Sleekeazy's hair potions to settle the characteristic chaos of his hair.

If anyone can recognise its use, it is the inventor. Charlus dared to call him "cousin," before Harry sharply corrected him. He hasn't tried since, but he still has that gleam in his eyes. That set to his jaw.

The famous Potter stubbornness. Harry would be warmed by the fact that it exists outside of himself (and he is, truly, because even if he will never claim them as such, he has family here), but it's causing issues.

"Is that him, darling?" Another voice rings out, clear and lovely. Harry keeps moving along, heedless.

"Yes love, that's our errant Potter-"

Harry spins with a snarl. "I told you," he says, stepping forward to stab his wand into Charlus' chest, the threat bald, "my name is Evans. I want nothing to do with you or your family. I'm a muggleborn, for Merlin's sake."

The woman beside Charlus looks at Harry with wide grey eyes. Aside from their shade, she looks a great deal like Bellatrix LeStrange one day will. Her hair is carefully controlled, brown rather than black, and she's dressed conservatively, as is appropriate for the time period, but. She's certainly a Black.

"Are you quite sure he's yours, darling?" she near-purrs, meeting Harry's burning gaze with a fire of her own. Like recognises like. Black madness sparks in them both.

It has to be Dorea Black. Her arm is linked with Charlus', and she calls him darling. His grandmother.

He turns on his heel and flees.

Pretends the lump in his throat is from fear instead of longing.

Voldemort's yew wand twirls through his fingers as he considers the man on his knees.

Octavian Nott has always been reliable, yet...

"Are you the only one alive?"

Nott's shoulders draw tight.

"No, Vo-" Voldemort presses his magic around the proud little pureblood who dares think to say his name after he's failed. As if he's earned the privilege. "My Lord."

"And where are the others, Octavian?"

"I don't know, My Lord," Nott tells the ground. It's clear from his inflection that his teeth are gritted.

"Oh?"

"The... the vigilante put something around each of their necks. Portkeys. He said the activation phrase when I was the only one left. They... vanished."

Voldemort's methodical movements pause. The mysterious new player on the board has kidnapped his soldiers?

Well. It was an effective tactic, to be sure, but why not simply kill them? Was it weakness, or strategy?

He couldn't help but assume it was the latter. The man - and he was that from the many memory's Voldemort's stolen, though he remains cloaked - was always a move ahead. He met Voldemort's attacks each time.

It was exhilarating. Infuriating, too. The only way his every move could be so neatly countered was a spy. Yet even after he began limiting plans to his Inner Circle, the Knights, this man still knew what he would do...

"What else?" he presses, impatience growing.

"He knocked out five men with a single stunner. It... it seemed to split, my Lord, midcast. And..."

Nott truly is testing his leniency tonight. "You will not like what happens if I have need to prompt you again, Octavian."

A shudder. How positively plebian. "I apologise, My Lord. I simply do not wish to give you incorrect information."

"It just... sounded as though the portkey passphrase was in parseltongue."

Voldemort stares down at his head. Nott's been with him for a very long time. He knows what parseltongue sounds like.

Still, Voldemort must be sure.

"Look at me."

The man does speak parseltongue.

The words "fuck you" spill prettily past concealed lips.

Voldemort obsesses.

The more he learns, the more his fascination grows.

The man performs feats of magic that surprise and delight. Simple things, weaponised. Magical control the likes of which Voldemort has rarely sought to achieve. From fiendfyre, yes, but basic spellwork...

He tries to split a stunning spell. He can still only manage three branches, and they're difficult to aim.

Voldemort keeps trying.

Keeps hunting, too.

The first time he meets him on a battlefield, Voldemort shreds the spell that normally hides his vigilante. The haze cloaking features fractures.

His eyes are unforgivably green. Voldemort almost wishes he would cast the killing curse, just to see how the shade compares side by side.

Victory. He hadn't even had to fight for the other's identity. He tells himself it isn't a disappointment. He can feel the magic this man radiates. Lord Voldemort does not need to be convinced he isn't weak.

He dips his head politely, never letting his eyes stray from that brilliant shade. "Lord Voldemort," he introduces.

One beat.

Two.

Manners, he thinks mildly.

"Harry Evans," his opponent rasps out. It sounds like he hasn't talked to anybody in some time. Voldemort notes the name. Muggleborn, perhaps? Or a half-blood, like him?

Voldemort is hungry to know more. He licks his lips. Bright eyes dart to the motion, then rise back to meet his. A silly mistake. Voldemort tears into his mind.

Or, he tries to.

Blankness meets him. Not fog. Not a wall. Nothingness.

After some heavy-handed prodding, Voldemort pulls back before he is lost in the abyss.

An occlumens as well, then.

He ducks a blasting curse shot at his head.

Time to play.

Thing is, as much as Voldemort likes to play with his food, he's always been a thief at heart.

He wants to steal this man - this Harry Evans - more than he wants to break him.

He leaves with wounds his healer must tend to. They require dittany not to scar. He accepts it for the two large, arched marks. The small one, though - a knife wound, of all things - he keeps. He can rid himself of it later.

For now, though, he has something to press when he thinks of Harry.

Besides, he's not the only one to have left with marks. If Harry is smart, he will bear his well. If not... well, Lord Voldemort is generous. He can always give him more.

His men have standing orders to flee when they see him. He's still down seventeen fighters, stolen by Harry. The next time they dare to linger, he gets three more.

It's annoying to have his pawns taken. Especially because he does not know why.

Harry could ransom them to their rich families. Could try and use them as leverage over Voldemort. Could even just kill them: but he doesn't. Voldemort can tell that much from the Dark Mark. The fact he can't communicate with them or plot their locations is interesting. Unsettling, too. The magic of his mark, circumvented.

It's been a long time since he has gotten stuck on a puzzle.

He thrills at the challenge.

He next sees Harry in his human skin. The other is in Knockturn, just coming out of a shop.

How rare. He's not often spotted in public unless he's dismantling Voldemort's plans.

"Hello," he greets politely. Those green eyes slant over to him, then catch. Like he recognises Lord Voldemort even in this pitiful mask. A part of him delights at the notion, even as he double checks his magic. It remains tucked tight to his body.

"Hello," Harry breathes back.

Voldemort barely suppresses a frown. Is the other attracted to him like this? A pity. He wouldn't think Harry one to fall for a pretty face.

Still, it could prove useful... imagine what information he could pull on a date...

Green eyes trace his features intently. Voldemort is no longer used to being examined in such a way. And then-

Then Harry's magic lashes out at him without the aid of a wand, and the glamour is ripped from Voldemort's skin. He hisses in discomfort at the sensation, taking a step forward and pressing long nails to Harry's throat.

Fingers catch around his wrist before he can make contact. Somehow, Harry is strong enough to hold him in place. Strengthening rituals rendered void. Just what was this man?

The hold does nothing to stop Voldemort from stepping into him. From leaning close to his ear once they're chest to chest and hissing, low in threat, "That was rude, Harry."

The chest pressed to his moves. A laugh trembles out of Harry's throat. He sounds a touch mad. Just look what Voldemort's reduced him to...

"Sorry," he lies. "Were you doing some shopping?"

"No."

Harry hums, disbelieving. Voldemort licks his lips and stares at the neck his fingers have been denied. He wonders how much blood he can draw with a bite before Harry manages to escape.

Harry has a habit of vanishing all the marks he gives him. Such an ungrateful creature.

If given half a chance, Voldemort will bite a collar around his throat.

Harry can't breathe.

He doesn't know how it's come to this. He doesn't understand.

Voldemort's mouth is hot and urgent against his. Nails dig into his hip and back. One of Harry's hands is angling Voldemort's chin.

Voldemort lets him. Tips into his touch. Darts a tongue out to taste him.

He shivers.

Isn't he meant to be destroying Voldemort?

A wicked thought catches in his mind.

Can I destroy Voldemort like this?

Long, powerful fingers trace a burning path up his thigh.

Undo him with my touch?

He takes Voldemort in hand.

Unmake him with my mouth?

Slots teeth against his neck when Voldemort jerks. Scrapes them down when the Dark Lord shudders.

Well. It's not a plan he's thought up, before, but-

It's worth a try, isn't it?

au where auror harry potter ends up in the marauders time period, right by the beginning of voldemort’s rise.

harry potter who avoids hogwarts by all means (the memories are too painful) and instead tries to take down voldemort and his death eaters by himself.

harry who drops his last name in favor of the common muggle last name “evans” to completely separate any ties to the potters (for their sakes.)

harry evans who keeps his distance from his mom, the marauders, and snape because he knows if he sees them he’s going to ruin something.

instead, harry evans catches the attention of the potter family (who is convinced he is a long lost heir), the blacks (who start to suspect he is a new up and coming darm lord), dumbledore (who believes the same), and the dark lord himself (who is intrigued by this mysteriously strong man thwarting his every move.)

i timetravelled to when my parents were still kids to destroy the dark lord but i became his lover instead!?

[astralis-is-typing]

Better with you beside me

⚝fic type: slice of life

⚝genre/contains: seungmin x gn!reader, college!au, fluff, comfort, established relationship, domestic af lol

⚝word count: 1.9k

⚝inspo: "Only" by LeeHi, and a prompt from this post by @novelbear

“Can we get stop by the café on our way back?” You groaned, sneakers dragging across the white tiles of the packed stationery store. Your boyfriend leaned closer, trying to catch your words over the din. You tilted your face towards him, repeating your words closer to his ear.

“There’s food back at your dorm,” Seungmin replied matter-of-factly, tutting at your forgetfulness and playfully flicking your forehead. “We made sandwiches before we left, remember?”

“That’s a whole train ride away,” you sighed dramatically, throwing your head back and rubbing your grumbling stomach for good measure.

“Okay, okay,” Seungmin conceded with faux exasperation, but the amused glint in his eyes was a dead giveaway. “We’ll grab brownies or something once we’re out of here.” He took your hand in his and gave a gentle tug, urging you through the aisle at a faster pace. A toppling stack of binder files narrowly missed his head, but he dodged out of the way just in time. “For now, can we get a move on?”

You grumbled a noncommittal reply, interlocking your cold fingers with his warm ones as you quickly sidestepped the sea of orange and purple files now scattered across the floor. Seungmin reached into the back pocket of his jeans and unfurled the battered shopping list that held your list of supplies. Almost every item jotted down in fading blue ink had been crossed off; it was a testament to the errand nearly complete.

You gripped the handles of the heavy plastic shopping basket tighter, the heap of notebooks, pens, and other supplies making your arm ache in protest as you weaved through the throng of bodies. Like everyone else in here, you’d waited till the very last minute to get everything you needed before the semester started next week.

“A coffee would do me wonders,” you murmured, eyes wearily scanning the packed checkout lines.

“I think everyone in here could say the same,” Seungmin chuckled, a cheeky smile playing on his lips as he took in your worn-out state.

The store was packed with baggy-eyed college students, who no doubt had spent these final days before the start of the semester catching up on work they should’ve completed over the winter break.

The two of you finally made it to the front of the long queue, Seungmin swatting your hand away as you tried giving your card to the cashier. She smiled softly as your boyfriend insisted on paying on your behalf.

“You forget that you’re also a broke college student,” you say, glaring at Seungmin as he thanked the cashier with a small smile and ushered you out of the store.

“Semi-broke,” he quipped, cooing at the expression on your face and poking your side. “You forget that ‘After School Club’ actually makes bank. Felix and Jeongin would’ve bailed out a long time ago if it didn’t.”

“Still,” you sighed, glare evaporating at the mention of Seungmin’s hilarious podcast. “I’d saved up for this stuff, you didn’t have to pay for me.”

The banter between the two of you carried on, bumping into each other every so often as you walked on. Making good use of Seungmin’s distraction, you managed to steer him all the way into your favourite café. Knowing him though, you suspected he could tell where you were leading him and simply let you have your way.

“Just one cappuccino,” you negotiated, left foot inching towards the café’s entrance. Seungmin noticed this and chuckled fondly, nudging it back into position with his own foot.

“You’re really something else.” He sighed, but made no move to argue.

“Is that a yes?” You asked in glee, the weight of your purchases forgotten as you happily swung your shopping bag at your side.

“No coffee though— you know what it does to you,” Seungmin said, shaking his head at your antics. “Get a hot cocoa or some tea. Same for me. You go ahead, I forgot I need to get something.”

“Okay, deal!” Smug from your supposed victory, you didn’t notice the way Seungmin’s lips quirked upwards as you gave him a quick peck on the cheek and walked into the café with a slight spring in your step.

—

It didn’t take long for you to find a cozy little corner to people watch after you placed your to-go order. The familiar scent of freshly baked pastries was a comforting contrast to the disorienting array of perfumes and colognes that bombarded your senses in the stationery store. You took a deep breath, sinking into the plush chair and allowing yourself to momentarily zone out. Contentment came easily these days; simply taking in the low music playing through the café’s speakers or the mellow chatter of groups sitting around tables in twos and threes did you a world of good. To simply exist for a few moments, not particularly focusing on anything.

Seungmin came back just after the waiter at the counter had called out your order. You rested your arms on the counter and watched him walk in as the waitress double-checked your receipt. His light brown bangs fell slightly over his eyes, and he absentmindedly feathered them back into place as he casually strolled over to you at the counter.

“Ready to head back?” He asked, adjusting the tote bag on his shoulder.

“All set!” you confirmed with a nod, hands each balancing your shopping bag and your order.

“We’re not going to get very far like this,” Seungmin teased with a laugh, taking the small box of brownies from you and plopping it into his tote bag before relieving you of your loaded shopping bag.

“Aren’t you the man?” you teased back. Seungmin pulled a silly face at you in response, and you nearly dropped the two cups of hot cocoa you were holding from laughing.

—

“We’re literally four hundred meters from the train station,” Seungmin huffed incredulous. He bit back a laugh at how you were hunched over, empty cups in hand.

Shaking his head, Seungmin took the cups from you and tossed them into a nearby recycle bin before returning to simply stand by your side, arms crossed as he waited for you to recover.

The two of you must’ve been quite the sight— you, bent forward and groaning dramatically, while Seungmin stood stoically beside you, his expression deadpan.

“Piggyback ride,” you demanded, straightening back up with an exaggerated sigh.

“You’ve got to be insane!” Seungmin exclaimed. “The train station is right there.”

“No more,” you protested, shaking your head. “You said that ten minutes ago. Now, piggyback ride!” You clapped your hands once, stepping behind your wide-eyed boyfriend and patting his broad shoulders. “My feet are killing me,” you whined.

“Lazy,” Seungmin quipped, before sighing in defeat and letting you jump onto his back like a human backpack.

Grinning brightly at your small triumph, you ruffled his hair in thanks as your aching feet left the ground. Kim Seungmin was a tough man to beat, definitely seeing right through your exaggerated exhaustion. But he let you win anyway. Just because it was you.

—

The train rattled on, and you periodically turned to the window, letting the fading warmth of the sunset kiss your face one last time. Outside, the scenery blurred past in streaks of colour and light as you and Seungmin sat side by side, playing tic-tac-toe on a forgotten scrap of paper you had found on your seat. After yet another draw, Seungmin gave up, stuffing his pen into the front pocket of his jeans.

“This is ridiculous,” he huffed, playfully reprimanding you. “You use the same infuriating tactics every single time.”

“Hey! It’s the only way to play the game,” you argued in your defense, laughing at his despair.

“You always try trap me by placing your ‘X’ at the same corner!”

“What do you want me to do? Start at the middle?” Your face twisted in mock horror. Such a rookie mistake was far beneath your prowess.

Seungmin tutted at you, giving up before the argument could even begin. “You’re so stubborn,” he grumbled— then immediately blamed himself for it, claiming you’d picked up the trait from hanging out with him. With a sigh, he leaned in, wiggling his fingers in front of your eyes as if he wanted to poke them.

You barely reacted, of course.

It was one of his many odd habits, something you’d grown accustomed to long ago. You still remembered his first ever visit to your dorm, when he’d attacked your plushies, pressing his fingertips into their button eyes and laughing maniacally as if it were the funniest activity known to man.

So, it didn’t come as a surprise now when, instead of flinching, you instinctively shut your eyes and let the soft pads of his fingertips rest gently against your eyelids. You had long since stopped caring how this unorthodox display of affection might look to passersby.

It was moments like these when you felt most at peace.

The stillness of quiet steady love made time stop for just a second. And that was enough to restore structure to your chaos.

Seungmin was your small but certain happiness, the subtleties of his love a constant reassurance that carried you through the longest of days.

“By the way, I got you something,” he said quietly. A rare, shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he fretted with your coat, reaching beneath the collar to tug out the bunched-up hood of your zip-up hoodie. You hadn’t even noticed that small discomfort, but he had.

Briefly acknowledging his help with a smile, you tilted you head, intrigued.

Seungmin reached into the depths of his tote bag beside him and turned back to you with red ears. “Here.” He held out a box to you. “I... got you headphones. So you can, you know, zone out in peace.”

Your breath caught.

There was silence for a beat, then another, and in this void you began to notice every other sound around you— the rhythmic click-clack of the wheels on the tracks, the soft hum of the engine beneath your seats. The rustle of a newspaper as someone nearby turned a page, the snippets of distant conversations that had previously blended into white noise.

You tried to sync your breathing with the train’s rhythm, grounding yourself as you processed what Seungmin had just said.

How well he knew you.

Seungmin, ever perceptive, understood your quiet. “I noticed how you get overwhelmed after… interacting so much,” he admitted, almost sheepishly. “So, here’s a way to slow down. I hope…”

Tears welled in your eyes as you took in his words. “It’s perfect.”

Beyond that, words failed you. All you could manage was pull him into a hug.

Seungmin welcomed it with a small chuckle, the sound muffled as his cheek was squished against the fabric of your coat. Your scent was familiar, an unspoken invitation that eased the last of his lingering anxieties about whether you’d like his gift.

He looked up at you from this angle, admiring the gentle curve of your smile. “I hope they make your semester easier,” he murmured earnestly. Then, adding with a mischievous grin. “And you needed to let those ancient earphones go.”

You rolled your eyes, classic Seungmin. You swatted his hair lightly as you released him from your hold. “But you already do.” Your voice softened. “Make my days easier, I mean.”

Seungmin smirked at that. “Don’t you ever worry,” he said. “You’re stuck with me for the long run. We’ll be alright.”

© astralis-is-typing 2025. Plagiarism is strictly prohibited. This is my intellectual property. Do NOT repost or translate my work on tumblr, wattpad, or any other platform.

⚝A/N: So excited to be back to writing fanfics! Last time I posted on here was like, August of 2023. I've grown a lot since then haha, both as a writer and as a person (I hope). Thank you for reading <3 I hope this story finds someone who's as obsessed with "Only" as I am lol.

[aventurineswife]

It seems like I have started a cult... 🧍‍♀️

Ahem.

The Museum of Divinity has always been a sanctuary—a place where the artist’s hand reveals their chosen figures, their joys and sorrows immortalized on canvas. The characters have come to see these paintings as proof of their importance, their connection to you, their Creator.

But then, one day, a painting vanishes.

And then another.

And another.

Until the museum walls are bare.

Welt and Himeko's Reaction:

"There must be a reason for this," Welt mutters, pacing furiously.

Himeko crosses her arms. "Maybe they’re just reorganizing?"

Both of them KNOW something is wrong. But admitting that would mean acknowledging the possibility that you’re… leaving.

(They do not want to acknowledge that possibility.)

March and Sparkle's Reaction:

March is LOSING IT. She practically sprints to every wall, touching the blank spaces.

"WHERE ARE THE PAINTINGS?! THEY WERE JUST HERE YESTERDAY!"

Sparkle is already drafting conspiracy theories.

"Did we offend them? Did someone steal them? Did something happen to our divine artist?!"

Blade and Dan Heng's Reaction:

Blade stares at the empty space where his portrait used to be. Just… staring.

Dan Heng doesn’t speak for a long time. Then: "…Did they erase us?"

Blade clenches his fists. "No. They wouldn’t do that."

(But deep inside? A small, quiet part of him is terrified that you did.)

Luocha and Jing Yuan's Reaction:

Luocha exhales. "This… is concerning."

Jing Yuan: "Concerning? This is a sign of an impending calamity."

They both enter theorizing mode, debating what this could mean.

"Are they angry? Are they leaving us? …Are we being forgotten?"

Aventurine whistles. "Well. This can’t be good."

Sunday is losing his MIND. "WE HAVE BEEN ABANDONED—OUR DIVINE ARTIST HAS TAKEN BACK THEIR BLESSINGS—WE ARE UNWORTHY—"

He is performing full-on soliloquies about divine punishment.

(You just wanted to clean up your room. Now there’s a full-blown cult crisis.)

Kafka and Black Swan's Reaction:

Kafka: "They removed the paintings. Interesting."

Black Swan has already written ten different essays in her mind.

"If the Artist’s gaze is withdrawn, does that mean their favor is as well? Are we no longer their chosen subjects?"

Kafka’s smirk wavers—just slightly.

She doesn’t like the idea of being forgotten. At all.

Some characters refuse to leave the museum.

Some start searching for hidden clues, convinced there’s a secret message.

Some stare at the empty spaces for HOURS, hoping the paintings will return.

Some—like Blade—are just quietly, devastatingly sad.

And then, the real nightmare begins:

Your self-portrait disappears.

That’s when full-on hysteria breaks loose.

Characters start praying. (Even those who don’t believe in gods.)

Offerings start appearing at the museum, left by desperate hands.

Dan Heng & Blade start searching for ways to bring the paintings back.

Aventurine starts gambling on theories.

Sunday organizes a cult meeting.

March 7th writes ‘MISSING: DIVINE ARTIST’ signs.

Kafka & Black Swan start monitoring dreams, hoping to hear your voice.

They are so afraid that they’ve lost you forever.

And if you don’t put the paintings back soon?

They might just start worshipping the empty walls.

Phew, now that's out of the way... 🏃‍♀️💨

[dearestval]

𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 — ayato

notes: no specific gender but implied female reader (you get called lovely like once), reader has a dad who’s a high ranking official in inazuma, this is literally my first time writing in like a year i hope you enjoy it don’t mind my rusty skills i’ll get better i promise (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

The head maid found it unusually quiet in the halls of Tenshukaku. Normally she would hear the footsteps of the other maids walking about as they carried out their chores.

But as she walked past the west hallway, her questions were answered. At the end of the hall, all of the maids were crowded around the large doors that were open just a crack. The head maid knew there was a meeting between the Tri-Commision and other esteemed officials– but it’s not like these meetings were something the average person would find inherently interesting.

She walked towards the end of the hallway to reprimand the others for being off-duty, but before she could say anything, loud shouting came pouring from the meeting room, echoing in the halls.

“–so aggravating! You are a sorry excuse for a living being that not even nature wants to take credit for your very existence!”

You take a gasp of air after your long berating remarks. The room is silent, and every pair of eyes are looking in your direction. Not that you would know of course, your gaze only rests upon the blue-haired person sitting across from the table.

“Well,” Ayato rolls his eyes at you, not even bothering to meet your gaze, “it’s no wonder as to why your father cannot find you a suitable marriage candidate. Who else could stand to be around such a boisterous–”

“I swear, Ayato–”

“That’s Lord Kamisato for you. Or have you forgotten your manners again?” Ayato’s eyes shift towards you, an indifferent expression worn on his face.

“Manners don’t apply when I’m talking to a–” your colorful insults were interrupted by a loud slam on the table. Your eyes follow the source of the sound, only to meet Kujou Sara’s strong gaze. You feel yourself growing smaller in your seat, any feistiness you had quickly dwindled as you remember the environment you’re currently in.

“Alright, that’s enough. Both of you. Might I remind you two that you are in the presence of the Electro Archon herself?” Sara says, clearly fed up with the bickering. Though she didn’t yell at the two of you, the firm tone of her voice still carried weight to it. You sheepishly look around the room. On one end of the table, other government officials awkwardly avert their gaze from you. Seated at the other end you see an amused looking Guuji Yae, next to her the Raiden Shogun, her own expression aloof.

“Aww, what a shame– this was entertaining to watch,” Guuji Yae chuckles, before turning to the Raiden Shogun, “do let them continue, Ei. I’m having too much fun.”

The Raiden Shogun stands, her gaze unwavering as she looks between both you and Ayato. She looks towards him first.

“Lord Kamisato, please keep your provocations at a minimum. All of us are on the same side, doing our best for Inazuma. There is no need to chastise others.” She turns to you next, “And may I remind you that you are here simply to stand in for your father’s absence. Please do not do anything that would discredit his honor.”

Both you and Ayato murmur out small apologies before the meeting proceeds. You’re a bit embarrassed for your outburst in front of others, including Electro Archon herself. But you couldn’t help it. Ayato always found a way to get under your skin no matter the situation– whether it was at a festival or a fancy dinner party with other distinguished families, he never failed to seek you out and rile you up.

You tried your best to focus on the rest of the meeting, taking thorough notes to present to your father later. However, as the meeting went on, you felt as if there were a pair of eyes on you. Maybe you were being paranoid, but you couldn’t shake the thought that Ayato was staring at you. Yet every time you glanced in his direction, his eyes were always elsewhere.

Naturally, your thoughts kept drifting towards him and you found yourself having to refocus many times and pay attention to others. Even when you weren’t bickering with him, Ayato found a way to disturb you in silence– how typical of him.

You couldn’t thank the heavens more when the meeting finally concluded. Eager to get out of here, you quickly pack your things before thanking Raiden Shogun for her grace towards you today. Your footsteps felt almost lighter as you made your way out of the main building, but just like that, they felt weighed down as the voice you most dreaded to hear calls out your name.

Ayato appears by your side, paired with his smirk that you wanted to desperately wipe off his face.  “Someone sure got worked up today.”

“Do you ever take a day off?” you mumble, walking past him and down the stairs.

“And where do you think you’re going?” he asks, catching up to you to walk alongside you. You don’t know why he keeps trying to bother you, and frankly you’re not sure if you have enough patience to keep your composure, even out in public like this. You barely had enough to do so inside, and you were in the presence of the Electro Archon herself.

“Home, where else?” you respond, walking just a bit faster. But Ayato is relentless and matches his pace with yours. If anything, he’s having an easier time keeping up this pace than you are– a realization that only further infuriates you.

“Alone?” he lets out a small scoff, “Does your father not have guards escort you back?”

“It’s not a far walk back.” Yes, it was unusual for someone from a family as distinguished as yours to be walking alone without any form of protection, but truly your family’s estate was not that far. If anything, most of the journey home would be taken up by walking down all of the stairs in the courtyard just outside Tenshukaku.

“I’ll escort you back. And don’t even think about refusing.”

You sigh, slowing down to walk at a pace that’s far less exhausting. He was right, even if you did refuse him, your words couldn’t stop him from doing as he pleased.

“Whatever,” you murmur, giving up on the idea of a peaceful walk home.

“Besides, I’d be remiss if I allowed someone as lovely as yourself to be unaccompanied on their journey home.”

His words make you freeze. Ayato has commented many things about you, but lovely was never one of them. And for whatever reason, it causes your brain to go blank. You can’t help the way your stomach seems to be doing backflips at this simple compliment– and try as you might, you’re unable to hide it on your face.

Ayato sees your expression, a smug grin plastered on his face.

“Cute,” he chuckles, becoming more amused when he sees the way you grow more flustered.

Like you had mentioned earlier, the walk back to your family’s estate took no time at all. For whatever reason, a small part of you felt disappointed at how brief this walk was. You’re not sure why you would want to spend anymore time with Ayato, but you couldn’t deny it either. But here you are.

He stood before you, just in front of the main gates, smiling down at you. Though this time, it wasn’t the usual smirk that would always annoy you. No, this time it looks almost softer, something you’ve surely never seen from him before. The more you looked at Ayato, the less he looked like the arrogant bastard you were so accustomed to. Maybe it was a lighting trick, but in your eyes, Ayato appeared to be charming, handsome even. You could feel your heart beat faster, your mind in a frenzy as more and more thoughts about Ayato swirl in your head. And though you do your best to put on a poker face, to act cool and casual, you swear you could see it in his eyes that he can read right through you.

But he makes no comment about it. Instead he leans down slightly, bringing his face closer to yours.

“I hope you can take your father’s place again at our next meeting,” his voice is soft this time, and only full of sincerity. 

You can only nod in response, your words escaping you. As Ayato leaves, you can’t help but watch his figure up until it leaves your line of sight. And when you’re left alone, you press your hand to your cheeks. They’re incredibly warm. Perhaps you’re coming down with something, though deep in your heart you know it’s not that. But for now, you choose to push those thoughts aside.

As you make your way into the estate, you aim to find your father, wanting to propose a certain someone’s idea about the next meeting.

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

didn’t realize this was the liberal arts

Jason goes to college. You’re there. And then you show up in his nightlife, which throws him for a loop.

I wish I could tell you what this is but I can’t. i set out to write a meet cute. that's not what happened. Jason is a sad little dude. You’re in one of his college classes, but don’t get the idea that you’re nice about it.

Swearing as always. No use of y/n. I don’t know how long this is.

Edit: whoops, it's a series. rest of it is on my masterlist

————

Jason’s trying.

He is. He’s taking the tattered remains of his life and trying to shove them together, mash them into something liveable. Or at least, manageable. Something he can stand to survive.

It’s difficult. He rose from the Pit with a brain that didn’t quite work, didn’t crank like his half forgotten memories told him it did when he was fifteen. He couldn’t string two thoughts together, couldn’t make the synapses fire. Nothing at the helm but the searing pain he brought with him when he woke up, telling his heart to pulse just to find something to do about the feelings of rage and despair that submerged him.

Which, of course, led him to his stupid plan to kill Bruce.

It didn’t work. And it wouldn’t have helped anyway.

His head finally cleared when the dust settled. It dawned on him that he was blessed (ha) with a new lease on life, or something, and he should probably act like it. He should probably get off his ass and make the most of it.

He ends up doing the only things he knows how to do. Jason patrols and goes back to school to get his GED.

The fighting is obvious. He’s lead with his teeth his whole life, he’s not about to start pulling punches now. And a little purpose never hurt anyone, he figures. It helps, most of the time.

More surprising is how much Jason enjoys going back to school. It had started as a passing thought, but he’d forgotten how much he missed it, the freedom to relax and let his mind whir in circles. Bruce had given him the stability to clear his head and focus in the classroom, and he’d soaked everything up like a sponge. When he goes back he discovers, much to his delight, that he’s actually alright in the head. The lights are on, thank god, and soon enough learning comes easy to him, just like it did when he was a teenager. What a relief, to have that back.

He finishes out the GED and figures what the hell, he might as well keep going, and enrolls himself in Gotham U. He is, he realizes, fulfilling a long-lost dream he’d spun for himself back when he was living on the streets. It makes him quietly satisfied, and he pushes through his first semester.

So this is where he is. He comes home at 4am, showers, sleeps for a few hours, then wakes up for class. Dick calls every other week, Barbara patches herself into the line in his helmet without his permission, and he ignores them both. He registers for a course on seventeenth century literature and reads don Miguel de Cervantes, and Margaret Cavendish, and Shakespeare, of course, but also Galileo, which is fun. He brings his books to class, he makes notes in the margins. He searches the authors’ lives on Wikipedia and tries to make text to world connections, just like he learned in school. He looks around the table at the other students and reckons with the fact that they are not, and will never be, like him. Or rather, Jason is not like them. They’re younger, for one thing, but also infinitely more innocent, which feels stupid to say, but it’s true. Whatever they’ve had happen in their uniform lives is absolutely nothing compared to his, and Jason can put that right in his pipe and smoke it for all the good it’ll do him. But he can’t help thinking it, as he eyes them carefully. There is a chasm separating him from them a mile wide, and that’s all there is to it. He’s not like them. Not like you.

You sit next to him, sometimes. You smile at him briefly as you sit down, then remain silent. You don’t speak often, which is notable in a small seminar. Not that Jason does either. A few weeks in he realizes you speak once per class, unless asked a direct question. Your comments are always summarizing, reminding others of the various ideas discussed and offering options of where to go next. It is immensely helpful when you direct traffic like this, and the discussion tends to be clearer after you speak. He peeks at your copy of Paradise Lost spread open under your fingers to find neat little notes, passages underlined, a few question marks. You’re never late, and you always thank the professor before you leave.

Imagine his surprise, then, when he finds you after dark, kicking the shit out of his perp.

You don’t hear him approach, climbing into the man’s apartment with a thud as he realizes someone had started his work for him. He thinks he recognizes you from behind, except that would be crazy, so it can’t be you. What would a university student be doing here? Jason doesn’t count.

It can’t be you, but he’s not sure, so he clears his throat to interrupt. You look at him over your shoulder with a look of such savagery he almost takes a step back.

Yeah. That’s you. Huh.

The cognitive dissonance threatens to give him a migraine. You look him up and down, raise an eyebrow, then turn back to the man lying on the floor and deal him another blow. The man groans, which doesn’t faze you, but Jason snaps to attention.

“I gotta question him.” It’s true, Jason thinks this man has intel on Black Mask’s dealers.

You whirl back around. “That doesn’t seem like it’s my fucking problem.”

Holy shit. Who the fuck are you, anyway?

“Listen, princess,” he begins, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards him. This is the first time he’s spoken to you, and it amazes him that he’s doing through the modulator. “I got shit to do here, you gotta get out of the way.” You try to slam onto his foot, then recoil, hissing in pain. “Steel-toed, sweetheart, that won’t get you anywhere.”

“What do you even need to know?” you ask furiously. “You target Black Mask, right? You’re wondering if Black Mask is his supplier? He is, there’s checks on the table.” You nod to a modest desk in the corner.

Okay. Yeah, he did want to know that. “Thanks, princess, but I’ll take it from here.”

You wrest yourself from his grip. “No,” you say stubbornly, “I’m not done.”

“Yeah, you are.” Jason eyes the perp, realizing he’d fallen unconscious. Shrugging, he turns to the desk. You’d clearly gone through it, receipts and bills are littered on the table, but there’s a locked cabinet you hadn’t opened. Kneeling, Jason takes out his lockpick.

He keeps an eye on you as he goes to work. You haven’t left, although he’s not sure where you would go, or even what you’re doing here. You watch him warily, folding your arms over your chest. It takes him a few minutes, but eventually the lock clicks, and he slides the drawer open. It’s pretty bare, mostly cash and, aha, a notebook that’s gotta be important.

He holds it for less than a second before you rip it from his fingers, moving across the room and flipping the book open. He grunts in surprise and follows you, only to find himself with a glock in his face.

Instinct tells him to draw his own weapon, and his hand drops to his hip, but he forces himself to freeze. You’re definitely a civilian, despite whatever the fuck you get up to in your free time. You’re not dressed in any kind of practical gear, just a loose fitting sweatshirt and leggings. Jason scouts you out and realizes that the gun in your hand probably isn’t even yours, you don’t have a place to put it. You must have disarmed the perp before Red Hood had gotten there. Jason files that away for later.

“Let me look,” you demand, and Jason nods. You keep the gun on him, holding the notebook open with one hand and studying it intently. It is so like the image of you in class that he almost laughs out loud. Whatever you’re looking for, you clearly find it, and you mouth something over and over, memorizing it. Then you shut the notebook and hold it out to him.

He takes it cautiously. “You need a ride out of here?”

You roll your eyes. “No thanks, dipshit,” and with that you shimmy through the window and bolt down the fire escape.

Jason blinks. Okay.

He follows you anyway, watching from the rooftops as you make your way across town. It takes you a long time, nearly an hour, and Jason worries that something nasty’s gonna go down, but it doesn’t. You trek resolutely across the city, same steady pace, before letting yourself into a nondescript apartment building, an easy bus ride to the campus. He stays for about twenty minutes, but you stay put.

Jason raps a gun against his helmet. Weird.

He tries and fails to wrap his head around it as he finishes out the evening. It’s just not adding up. Jason doesn’t know you well from class, obviously, but you’re such a far cry from what he saw tonight that it’s hard to believe. He’ll have to do some research, he decides, scope out what else you do besides studying and beating up on Jason’s bad guys. Maybe he’ll even ask you about it in class.

He laughs to himself as he heads back to his own apartment. Weird weird weird. Weird performance you gave him, weird enough to keep him up at night. Oh well. You don’t know it, but he’ll see you tomorrow.

————

lol what is this? what is this? a series, hopefully. otherwise I have no freakin’ idea

[redisthenewblue]

TINKER-Twisted Wonderland x Tinkerbell!Yuu/Fem!Reader Part 5 Part 4

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ "Red... Red... BAM! Whoa! It turned blue?!?" Deuce took a step back, totally shocked. How did he mess that up so badly?!

"Change, you awful color! Change! AHA! BWAH! The rose is on fire!" Grim was frantically trying to put out the flames on the bush.

[Name] just sighed as she watched the boys struggle with painting the roses. She pushed them aside and flicked her magic pen at the bush, instantly changing all the roses' colors.

"See how easy that was? I’m just way too good at this!" [Name] tossed her hair back with a smirk, reveling in her own talent.

The boys exchanged glances before looking back at her.

"What? Why are you staring like that?" [Name] raised an eyebrow, confused.

"[Name]... the roses are... um... pink," Deuce stammered, clearly nervous about how she would react. Ace, on the other hand, burst out laughing.

"Don't tell me you're color blind?!" Ace teased the fairy.

"Wow. You’re even worse at this than I thought," Cater scratched his head, trying to figure out what to do with the first-years.

"Hey, maybe you should just leave the roses white! They look perfectly pretty to me," Ace suggested, but Cater wasn't having it.

"It’s all about tradition. You can’t have an unbirthday party without the roses being red. And you can’t play croquet without seven-colored flamingos as mallets and a hedgehog for a ball. Oh, and don't forget, the roses have to be white when the garden flowers have their spring concert. That's non-negotiable!" As Cater rambled, [Name] was left speechless. What kind of animal cruelty were these guys into?!

"What did those animals ever do to you?!" [Name] exclaimed, horrified by how the dorm treated them.

"All your rules are totally insane!"

"They say the Queen of Hearts made these rules herself—she was one of the Great Seven, you know. And Riddle is really into tradition, probably more than any previous housewarden. I’ll admit, he’s a bit... much," Ace huffed, clearly annoyed. 'A bit' was a serious understatement.

"Yeah, no kidding. I don’t have time for this nonsense. Is Riddle around? I need to talk to him," Ace said, cutting straight to the chase.

"Yeah, probably. But are you sure that’s a good idea? Did you even bring an apology tart to replace the one you ate?" Cater interrogated Ace.

"Uh, no...? I came here first thing in the morning!" Ace clarified defensively.

"Ah ah ah... That could be a problem. Have you forgotten rule 53? 'Stolen items must be replaced.' If you’re not in compliance, I can’t let you in," Cater said, sticking out his hand to usher Ace out.

"Are you serious?!" Ace looked at the upperclassman in disbelief. Was he joking?

"Are you telling me I came all this way for nothing?!" [Name] nearly lost it. Of course, the one time she got dragged along, she ended up painting roses, getting teased for messing up the color, and now getting kicked out. Seriously?!

"You know you didn’t have to come, right?" Deuce piped up.

"Deuce." The fairy shot him a warning glance.

"Yes ma’am!" Deuce quickly zipped his mouth shut.

"All dorm residents must follow the rules. If I let you slide, it’ll be off with my head next! Sorry, Ace, but I need you to leave before Riddle spots you. Thanks," Cater began pushing Ace out, who was digging his heels in.

"I... think this guy is serious. You guys, do something!" Ace cried for help.

[Name] glanced at her nails, bored. "I don’t really feel like fighting right now."

"Why should WE do anything?" the blue-haired boy crossed his arms, unimpressed.

"Come on, please! I can’t use magic! Hurry, he’s—" Ace begged before Cater blasted him with a light spell, sending him flopping to the ground. [Name]'s wings twitched slightly as she watched him crash. A determined look crossed her face as she pulled out her magic wand and pointed it at Cater.

"Fine, today’s your lucky day, Ace," [Name] said, glancing back at the boy behind her. Deuce looked at her with admiration as he grabbed his magic pen, ready to back her up.

"I’ve got your back, [Name]!" Deuce declared, filled with determination.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

[Name], Deuce, and Grim were panting in exhaustion outside the dorm. Just how elite was this guy?!

"Make sure you bring that tart next time, okay? Bye now!" Cater waved his fingers at the first years. [Name] was the first to break the silence.

"Ace, I am never helping you again."

"What?! Why?!" Ace exclaimed, shocked by her statement.

"We hit him over and over, but he just kept coming. Maybe he was using some kind of illusion magic?" Deuce said, clearly frustrated.

"So let me get this straight: we walked in there completely tartless, and this dude still made us go through that whole rigmarole before tossing us out? He just wanted us to paint his stupid roses!" Ace facepalmed at the realization.

"We really look like a bunch of chumps," Grim said glumly.

"No, Grim," [Name] corrected him, "ACE DOES!" Her voice rose in volume, emphasizing her point.

"I get it, okay?!" Ace sulked, feeling defeated.

"I guess we’ll just have to grab an apology tart and come back. Maybe after class, we can— Oh no!" Pure panic crossed Deuce’s face.

"What’s wrong?" Yuuken asked, looking at the blue-haired boy with concern.

"We already missed the first bell! We’re going to be late for class!"

"Myah! I can't afford to get a blemish on my first day of glorious Night Raven education! Let’s move, everyone! To the classroom, pronto!"

"I’m out!" [Name] said, her words coming out in a jingle as she flapped her wings and zoomed off.

"[Name]?!" Yuuken called after her, bewildered. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

[Name] was sitting quietly at the back of the class, trying her best to ignore the curious stares from the other students. Even though she promised herself she wouldn’t let it bother her, those insecurities were eating away at her. Sure, she could be tough, but deep down, she was still just a teenage girl.

“Ah, you must be my new homeroom students!” The teacher redirected everyone’s attention to the latecomers at the door. A grateful smile spread across her face as Yuuken and the others glanced up at her. “Hmm, that’s quite the unique coat of fur you’ve got there. Just make sure you come to class looking presentable. My name is Divus Crewel, but you can call me Master Crewel. Now, take your seats because class is about to kick off. We’ll start with the basics, which means cramming the names and key traits of a hundred herbs and poisons into your tiny brains. We’ll tackle mycelia later. But hey, I’m hoping you’ll eventually figure out how to stroll around without munching on anything poisonous. I know you all have the self-control of ravenous hounds right now, but I will not tolerate a single student failing this class. Get ready to be drilled!”

Deuce looked at the worksheet in front of him, confused. “Huh, so… does anyone know what a mycelia is?”

“I’m not really into memorizing stuff like that, ya know?” Ace chimed in.

“Good thing I’m a quick learner,” bragged the fairy with a smug grin.

“All I care about is figuring out which plants are tasty and which ones are gross.”

Yuuken groaned, “Seriously, Grim?”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“I’m your History of Magic teacher, Mozus Trein, and this is my familiar, Lucius. You’re here to dive into the rich history of magic and see how it’s shaped the world you take for granted.”

“Mrrrrooowww…”

[Name] glanced over at the grey cat, which was staring at her like she was out of place. She grimaced and quickly looked away. What’s with cats and her?!

“I grade based on how you behave in class as well as the quality of your work. Don’t even think about sleeping on my watch. Now, let’s open our books to page fifteen. This section dives into the magestones discovered in the Dwarfs' Mine…” The teacher droned on.

“Mrrrrooowww…” The cat rolled over.

“As knowledge and awareness of magical energy spread across the globe from this point, this year is considered Year One of the Magic Era.”

The fairy could feel her eyelids getting heavy. “Oh my Sevens, this lecture is a snooze-fest…” she muttered to herself. Even the cat looked like it was about to doze off! She rubbed her face in agony, wishing she could escape this boring lecture.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“I’m Coach Vargas, and it’s my job to whip your weak little bodies into shape. Great sorcery starts with great physical fitness! Just look at the muscles you can build with a diet of raw eggs! A great mage needs a solid physique! So, let’s do twenty laps and a hundred push-ups!”

“Sevens,” the fairy muttered, her feet dragging as she flew close to the ground, shoulders slumped. “Why do I have to run when I can just fly?”

“Ugh. This forced exercise is bad enough, but meatheads like this guy drive me up the wall,” Ace complained, already dreading the class.

“Finally! A subject I’m actually good at!” Deuce exclaimed, pumping his fist in excitement.

“Seriously, what’s the appeal of running around in circles? Do I look like a hamster?” Grim complained, the flames near his ears dimming as he trudged along beside [Name].

“Well, Grim, you’re not too far off from a ham—”

“Henchman!”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“Let’s see, our next class is…” Deuce mused as the group walked through the crowded hallway. By now, [Name] had gotten somewhat used to the annoying stares. She tucked her wings close and squeezed through the crowd with ease.

“This so-called magic academy feels a lot like a boring, regular school. Not exactly what I was expecting, but at least this collar isn’t too much of a hassle after all. You feel me on that, Grim? ...Huh?” Ace paused, looking around for the cat.

“Wait, where’d Grim go?” Yuuken joined Ace in searching for the missing cat. This made [Name] perk up her pointed ears.

“Oh! Look out the window! I just saw a ball of fur darting across the yard!” Deuce exclaimed, and the rest of the group followed him, leaving [Name] crossing her arms, glancing back at the mob of students near the classroom door. She scowled, contemplating the consequences of skipping class before ultimately deciding to follow the rest of the group out to the courtyard.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“I am NOT putting up with this boring routine every single day. I’m Grim, Sorcerer Prodigy, and I don’t need anyone teaching me how to blow stuff up!” Grim stomped across the courtyard.

“The Headmage is going to be furious…” Yuuken sighed, eyeing the cat.

“Wow, that guy really isn’t a fast learner.”

“Tell me about it,” the fairy said, watching with amusement.

“Not a good look to lose your only student on your first day as prefect. Want some help catching him?” the orange-haired boy offered.

“Yes, please!” Yuuken practically pleaded with the rest of the group.

“I do love those chocolate croissants at the co-op,” Ace nudged Yuuken.

“I’d do it for an iced latte at the cafeteria,” Deuce chimed in.

“I think I could go for a donut or two…” [Name] mused, tapping her chin in thought.

Yuuken groaned at the idea of buying all three of them something, calculating the cost in his head.

“Look! Grim’s getting away, Yuuken!” [Name] pointed.

Finally, the boy relented. “Fine, fine! Done, done, and done!”

“Pleasure doing business! Now, [Name] and Deuce, let’s clean up the mess made by the worst prefect to ever set foot on campus!” Ace got ready to chase after the cat.

“I can already taste that latte, Ace, [Name],” Deuce said, pulling out his magic pen from his pocket. The fairy unfurled her wings and stretched, signaling that the chase was on.

“Deuce, go left!” [Name] shouted, flapping her wings faster to pick up speed. The blue-haired boy shifted to the side, allowing [Name] to gracefully maneuver around the cat, fairy dust sprinkling onto Grim’s soft fur.

“Nyah?!” The cat lifted into the air as the fairy dust took effect, clearly distressed.

“Mrrah! I’m done with these boring classes!” Grim whined as he spun around, “Get me down!”

“Wait… you could’ve used that fairy dust floating trick the whole time?” Ace muttered in disbelief.

“Oops!” [Name] batted her eyelashes playfully, “I’ve been a little too tired lately!” She glanced down at her platform Mary Janes, checking for any scratches from landing.

“Can someone get me down?!”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“Woohoo! Lunchtime finally! Whoa! This food looks amazing!” Grim’s eyes darted around the cafeteria, drool pooling at the corners of his mouth.

“Ooh, a buffet! That’s fancy,” [Name] said as she grabbed a plate and tongs, opting for a tender slab of smoked salmon with a side salad, though that cheeseburger with fries was definitely calling her name.

“Look at how fluffy those omelets are! Ooh, grilled chicken! And a bacon-and-egg tart!” Grim was swooning.

“Shhhh! Dude, inside voices! Where was all this energy earlier today?” Ace hushed him.

“Yuuken, grab me the grilled chicken! There’s only one left! And an omelet too! And that jelly-filled bread. Just fill your whole tray, will ya? Ow!”

“Hey! Watch where you’re going! My carbonara! You broke the yolk!”

“Whoa, that’s messed up! Poking the egg is the best part! You better make this right, dude!” a boy yelled, grabbing the attention of some passersby.

“I’m gonna need that grilled chicken of yours as compensation,” the delinquent said, reaching for the chicken.

“Myah?! No way! Hands off the bird, dude! I need my protein because I am HANGRY!” Grim pulled his tray away from prying hands.

“Hey! That’s no way to talk to an upperclassman! Meet me outside, and I’ll teach you some respect!” an older boy with magenta hair threatened.

[Name] stepped in front of Grim, intervening. “Are you seriously about to fight a freshman over an egg mishap?! I’m pretty sure you’ll be fine eating it like that.”

The delinquent sized her up, a smirk creeping onto his face. “Are you his owner? You should take responsibility for your little friend. Y’know,I’ve always liked my girls with a bit of an attitude.” He placed a hand on her shoulder while his friend snickered. “How’d a girl like you manage to sneak in here anyway?”

[Name] felt her blood boil, her eyebrows twitching in irritation.

“Uh oh…” Yuuken grabbed Grim and stepped back, knowing what was about to go down. He glanced at [Name], noticing her glow shifting from pale yellow to a fierce blood red. Deuce, sensing the tension, gripped the delinquent’s wrist and yanked it away from [Name].

"Excuse me, sir, but the handbook clearly states that fighting with magic is prohibited. I suggest you remove your hand from her shoulder,” Deuce said, narrowing his eyes, nervousness flickering in his stance.

“Fighting?” the white-haired student glared, “You’ve got it all wrong. I’m just helping this ignorant freshman understand his place.”

The magenta-haired friend grinned wickedly, “Now, let’s see just how many ways there are to skin a cat, heh!”

Sorry for the late chapter I’ve been under the weather recently😥😓 I’ll try making the next chapter as soon as possible 🤍

Taglist : @itwaszzmoon @brights-place @capcryooo

[cherryeclipses]

the little things

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: The moments between hunts where you and Dean can pretend to be a normal couple

Fluff, implied smut, no gender mentioned, Dean is a softie, 1 use of Y/N (also im horrible at writing smut sorry babes), wrote in like 30 minutes so not my best work...

Word count: 1.3k

⛧⃝

Dating Dean was tough at times, he was stubborn, self-sabotaging, and put everyone else's needs before his own. But the most difficult part was the fact that you were both hunters. It left barely any time to connect and do normal couple 'things.' Occasionally there were rare moments in between hunts where you could relax and even have a little fun, these were the moments you two cherished, even if it was just five minutes.

⛧⃝

You sighed, searching your pockets for the motel room key, you had just a finished a week long hunt solo taking out a small nest of vampires. As you pushed the door open, longing for a hot shower and bed to sleep in, you froze, whipping your shotgun out of your waistband. "Woah, woah, it's just me sweetheart." A familiar voice drawled. You flipped the light switch, "Dean?!" "You expecting any other men?" He chuckled as you wrapped your arms tightly around his waist, pulling him into a tight hug. You hadn't seen your boyfriend in nearly 2 months. He had been off with Sam, searching for their father and you had been busy with your own hunts. "What are you doing here?" You pulled away to get a good look at his handsome face. "I came for the scenery." He joked, "I came to see you idiot, what else?" "Did you find John?" You questioned. "Ah, it's a long story. A lot has happened since I spoke to you last week. But don't worry about that, I don't want to talk about work tonight." He leant down to kiss your lips, you melted into him, he smelt divine like old leather and vanilla. Your hands travelled up his chest, holding onto the man as if he was about to disappear. Nothing would be able to pull the two of you off each other, except the low growl of your stomach. Dean pulled away from you and your cheeks blushed. "C'mon let's order some food then we can get to the fun stuff." Dean laughed.

The two of you were sprawled out on the old motel couch, fast food wrappers littered the coffee table. You glanced over at your boyfriend, his eyes glued to the TV. It felt so nice to have him back, as much as you were glad him and Sam were getting along again you selfishly missed seeing him everyday. "Take a picture, it'll last longer." Dean said, breaking you out of your thoughts. "Maybe I will." You poked your tongue out at the boy. "I really have missed you Dean, thank you for surprising me." "It's nothing, honestly I couldn't stand being away from you a minute longer. Was driving Sammy crazy." You giggled, leaning your head on his muscular shoulder, your eyes suddenly feeling heavy, you had almost forgotten how exhausted you were. Deans hands playing with your hair absentmindedly, sending you to sleep.

⛧⃝

The sound of Dean softly humming ACDC woke you, you sat up straight in your seat, your neck was stiff from leaning against the side of the impala for hours. You had been driving for what felt like forever, leaving before the sun had set, it was now pitch black outside, you looked out the window to see nothing but bright stars in the sky and no other cars on the road ahead. "Hey there sleepy head." Dean teased. "Hey yourself." You looked behind you to see Sam passed out in the backseat, snoring softly. "How far away are we?" "Almost there, another hour maybe." Dean mused, taking your hand in his, running his thumb gently over your knuckles. As much as you hated long drives it was nice to have some downtime with Dean. You leaned forward to turn up the music slightly before placing a kiss on Dean's cheek, his stubble prickling your lips. You softly moved your way down his cheek, placing gentle kisses along his neck. Dean moaned quietly, tilting his head so you had better access to his neck, eyes still focused on the road. You took the encouragement and travelled further down his neck, lingering on his collarbone. He shuffled in his seat, you could tell he was getting worked up but trying to play it cool. You smiled and pulled away, returning to your spot in the passenger seat. "Can you guys not wait until we get to the motel?" Sam groaned from the backseat. You laughed, feeling sorry for the poor guy "sorry Sam. hands off from now on, I promise." You held your hands up in surrender. Dean didn't say a word but put his foot down on the accelerator, determined to get there as fast as his Baby would let him.

⛧⃝

"Hey Bobby, where's the sugar?" You called from the kitchen. "Second cupboard from the left." He answered from the doorway. You had spent the weekend at Bobby's, helping him with research for Sam and Dean. You sang quietly to yourself as you zipped round Bobby's kitchen, the boys were on their way back and you wanted them to come home to some real food. It was also a distraction for you from all the reading and worrying you had done all weekend long. "Would you let me help you?" Bobby asked. "Nope. There's more beer in the fridge, so go sit down, relax, and don't read any more damn lore books." The old man chuckled, nodding in response and leaving you to do what you needed.

"Honey, we're home!" Dean called out as he and Sam walked through the front door. "Hey Bobby, where's Y/N?" "In the kitchen." Bobby answered the eldest Winchester brother. "What are you -" Dean was cut off when he saw the spread on the dining table. The small table was full with all kinds of food, steak, vegetables, salad, fries, you name it, it was probably there. "Hey - woah did you spend all weekend cooking?" Sam asked as he walked in to the kitchen, eyes wide. "I think I'm gonna marry you" Dean faked a tear as he pulled you in for a kiss. "I thought you deserved a nice meal for once and honestly I was sick of reading! So sit, all of you and dig in. Please." As the men settled in for dinner the oven timer dinged. "More food?" Bobby asked, surprised. "Oh um, it's actually a surprise for Dean." You said, standing up to attend to the oven. You returned holding a steaming hot cherry pie. Dean's jaw dropped, "Have I ever told you how much I love you." He asked stunned. "Maybe once or twice." You shrugged.

⛧⃝

You awoke to sunlight streaming through the torn motel curtains, you rolled over, noticing Dean wasn't beside you. You stretched out across the mattress, contemplating going back to sleep until you heard the sound of the shower running. Sleepily you made your way to the bathroom, tossing your oversized shirt (the t shirt Dean wore yesterday) across the room and removing your pyjama pants once you were in the bathroom. You pulled back the shower curtain to reveal your boyfriend, taking a moment to revel in his beauty, his tan skin glistening with water droplets. "Good morning." He said with a goofy grin. "Morning" You replied, stepping into the shower and placing a soft kiss to his lips. Your hands found their way to his hair, gently massaging his scalp Dean hummed with pleasure, his hands travelling down your damp body, squeezing your hips and bringing you closer towards him. You slowly pulled away leaning your head back to allow the water to run through your hair. Dean took the opportunity to sprinkle kisses along your neck and down your chest. You let a moan escape your throat, he pushes you against the shower wall continuing to kiss you all the way down your body, lingering where you were most sensitive before standing up to meet your gaze. "I should wake up early more often." He mumbles, his voice deep, sending shivers down your spine. "I think we should make a habit of this." You say with a grin. Dean's hands find their way to your waist again "I agree." he says with a kiss before spinning you around to face the wall.

⛧⃝

[champagnecherryblossom]

•Immortality and Desires: His Tiredness, Her willingness•

Pairing | seungmin x fem!reader

Word Count | 1,468

Summary | After centuries of living, life begins to grow dull. Work was no exception.

Warnings | vampire au, vampire!seungmin, fem!vampire!reader, blood, biting, raw (wrap it up), creampie, multiple orgasms, praises, pet names, overstimulation.

A/N - twt link at the end, I had fun writing this one. (sorry for the wait hehe.) any misspelling- I wrote this past midnight lol.

Seungmin was the best of many, he knew just how to make you feel good. Whether it be in bed or just in general. What you loved most was how he’d come home overstimulated from a busy work day, something about him just being completely agitated turned you on completely.

Oh don’t even get me started, Seungmin had the prettiest cock. Average, and fat tip that was likely to hit all the right spots. God just the thought made you wet. That wasn’t even the start, the feeling of his fangs puncturing the cold flush of your own as he groans with each rough thrust he made. God, how badly you needed him right now.

With a whine, you looked at the time. Seungmin should be home soon, it was half past 5. Just a little longer, you thought.

Unable to resist the aching feeling between your legs. You began to rub yourself through the new pair of laced tan panties you had on, a wet spot visible. A clear sign of your arousal.

“Fuck… get home already.” You complained. You’re teeth nipping at your lips, trickling a bit of blood from your lips. Moaning, you threw your head back gently against the sofa as you rubbed yourself with a bit more pressure.

You always got so greedy well touching yourself, you also had a habit of just wearing underwear and a tank top around your place. Bra-less and all. That was what Seungmin loved most, easy access.

Thrusting your hips up, you swiftly pulled your panties off as you began to finger yourself with an unforgettable pace. You made yourself see stars, ones similar to the ones Seungmin easily made you see. Just then, the doorknob could be heard juggling before the door swung open causing you to freeze mid-pleasure.

“I’m back-“ Seungmin froze once his eyes landed on the sight of you, you looked so fuckable. So much so that he was already growing hard. His cock throbbed against his confinement.

“What a show. Go on, keep going.” He smirked as he shut the door, his eyes never leaving your glistening pussy that looked so desperate to be used and abused. Slowly, you began to figure yourself again. Your eyes never leaving Seungmin’s.

“Fuck.” He groaned. He couldn’t wait to get a taste of you, in blood and in arousal. He was always a little greedy in this department.

“What to do…” He dropped all he had at the door, his shoes being kicked off and his pull over hoodie being tossed to the floor to be forgotten until later.

Looking down at you, Seungmin watched you play with yourself. The bit of blood that stained your bottom lip sent a wave of arousal through his already restraining body making it hard for him to hold back.

“You have no idea how much I wanna fuck you right now.” He almost let out a growl which was unusual. You knew Seungmin was really going through it, that today wasn’t the best of work days. This only sent more arousal through you as you pulled your fingers out and rubbed your hard needy clit.

“Oh god…” you moaned, your other hand going to play with your tit all the while Seungmin watched like a pervert.

Despite just starting the pleasure of fun, you were close. Seungmin watching always sent you closer to the edge. Something about him just standing there hard, and with a smirk that looked nothing but a sickly pleasuring one, was enough to push you over the edge.

“Go on, cum.” He paused, before kneeling down in front of you to get a better view of your pussy.

“I’ll let you have a taste later.” The thought of finally having a taste of him was so overwhelming that you came. You’re clear slick gushed out as you moaned and trembled from your orgasm.

Laying there for a moment to calm down, you looked at Seungmin. His red orbs locked on your own. He was beyond excited now. And you knew that, all too well. Moving in the slightest, you sat up as you pulled him into an aggressive and desperate kiss that was sure to leave nip marks later on.

Groaning, Seungmin lifted you up in a swift movement. His hands gripped your thighs as he carried you to the bedroom and laid you on the bed before spreading your legs apart and slipping his fingers inside your already gaping hole, he curled his two digits and rapidly hit your g-spot.

“Wait-!” You moaned out, you weren’t ready for more pleasure just yet. You haven’t fully recovered from your first orgasm. Seungmin of course didn’t care, I mean he did. Just not when you looked like this.

“Shh.” He whispered against your ear before placing gently kisses against your neck. You knew what was to come, you anticipated his next move like a starved child. Waiting and waiting with each peck he gave your skin, until he finally puncture his fangs into your cold flush and sucked.

He was feeding off you, like you guys always did. It didn’t matter if you guys were both cold blooded, he didn’t care enough if it wasn’t the norm for your kind to do such act. What mattered was that you guys found pleasure in. That’s all it was. Maybe…

For a moment, you’ve almost forgotten that he was fingering you. Trying to bring you to yet another orgasm. The feeling was overwhelming yet you didn’t try to push or pull away from him. You let him use you.

“Seungmin…” You gasped out a moan. Your body shaking from the pleasure and without warning you came again. You’re hands wrapping around his wrist to keep his hand where you wanted it to be. He was more than happy to oblige.

“Two times in a row, such a good girl for me huh?” Seungmin said once he released your neck from his bite. Licking the wound, Seungmin pulled away from you. His hand slipping from your grip as he began to strip from his clothes.

Watching like a hawk, you took in every inch of his body. He was slim but built perfectly in the right spots. As he pulled his boxers down with his pants, his cock stood tall and proud against his lower abdomen. His tip leaked of pre-cum, throbbing with need.

“I want you to work.” He smirked. Laying on the bed beside you, he gripped his cock as he stroked himself. His eyes always on you, waiting oh so patiently for you to move.

Nodding, you moved. Aligning yourself on top of his tip, you rubbed yourself against him. Your wet folds coating his head. Without a second thought you penetrated yourself, his length slipping into your needy hole easily.

“Fuck… Seungmin…” You moaned as you began to move. Your head thrown back as you rode his cock.

Groaning Seungmin met with your movements with his own as he thrusts up into you, the feeling was unforgettable. The stress of his day slipping away with each stroke that was made. Leaning down, you kissed and nipped at his chest moving up before biting down on his neck, your fangs digging into his skin as you sucked.

The blood flowed into your mouth, your movements stuttered as he took control. His hands gripping your hips as he thrusted up into you, his mind in a haze as he focused on your bite but the pleasure he was feeling. Oh how much he loved when you fed off him during intimacy.

“Just like that, fuck.” He praised on. Licking the wound. You went on to riding him again.

Seungmin couldn’t handle it anymore, flipping you onto your back. He placed you into a mating press before brutally pounding into you. His cock reaching spots he’s hit many times before. His free hand reaching down as he began to rub tight fast circles against your clit, urging you to your third climax.

“Come on, baby girl.” He praised once more, he knew just what to do and say to get you to fall over the edge. And it worked every fucking time.

As you had your third orgasm, Seungmin didn’t stop his pounding. He was so lost in his own pleasure and race to his own release that he continued to rub your clit despite the overstimulation you felt.

“To… much.. uh…” You whined as you try to pull from him, but he held you still. He was close. So close that with one finally thrust, he buried himself deep inside you as he dumped his seeds into you.

“We aren’t finished yet.” He chuckled as he rode out his high. You knew he meant it, and that got you even more excited

[l0relaii]

LORELAIIIII!!! i crave experienced!josh w/ inexperienced!reader so bad... like the way he would fuck you though it and be so kind to you and so sweet and do everything you ask. HE DEFINITELY IS A MUNCH OML

sam omg?? i love this idea sm!! <33

in my head josh is either a virgin or he fucked a lot of people. A LOT

either nothing or a concerning amount there's no middle ground 😔

and when he finds out that you're inexperienced he's more than glad to teach you everything he knows :D

he'd take it easy with you when you first start dating, only some gentle kisses and touches that eventually turn into make out sessions

and during one of those make out sessions you suddenly blurt out between kisses while on top of him

"i think i'm ready-"

"hmm? ready for what?"

"you know.. to do.. it.."

"it? you're gonna have to be more specific baby"

he's teasing you, you know that, you can see it in the sly smirk on his face

"oh quit teasing me josh, you know exactly what i mean"

"you want me to fuck you pretty girl?''

"...yes"

"yes what?"

"..yes..please-"

"now that's my girl.."

you can feel his hard cock under you, have been feeling it for a good amount of time now poking at you through his jeans

"should i uhh- lay down or something?"

"mm no, why don't you stay right here on top of me? that way you can control everything babe"

"oh, okay-"

he can see how nervous you are, how often you bite your lip anxiously and how you grip his shoulders when his hands caress your skin under your shirt

he begins undressing the both of you until you're both left in your underwear. he leans over the bed getting something from his nightstand.

when he opens his palm bringing it towards you, you see what it is. a condom.

"need any help with this?"

"i think i got it.."

you take it from his hand reluctantly and stare down at the proeminent bulge in his boxers, a damp spot forming where his tip supposedly is

his hands unclasp your bra taking it off before admiring you his lips slightly parted in admiration

"you're so beautiful baby.."

you don't respond though, too caught up in your own thoughts. what if this was a bad idea?

he finally takes off his boxers and your eyes widen at the sight. it's.. big.. bigger than you expected

"will it uhh.. hurt?"

"if we don't get you ready before, probably"

"oh, get me ready, yeah that makes sense.. how.. how will you do that?"

"i dunno baby, what d'you prefer? my fingers? my tongue?"

oh, oh-

"you really wanna do that?"

"why wouldn't i?"

"i thought guys don't really like doing that-"

"i want you to enjoy yourself too"

his hand cups your pussy through your soaked underwear and his fingers sneak under the material rubbing through your folds

you gasp a bit feeling his cold touch on your hot skin and you lean on his chest letting his fingers thrust up into you

he coos soft praises into your neck while stretching you out and your hand mindlessly wraps around his length pumping him slowly

"good girl.. just like that honey.."

you fidget with the forgotten condom wrapper in your hand until you manage to pry it open

with shaky hands you put it on him hearing a soft hiss escape his lips

"you ready baby..?"

"umm yeah, i think i am"

"good.. you're on top, you control everything, okay? go however fast or slow you want to"

he holds his cock upright while you lift yourself a bit to position him at your entrance

once you sink down on him all the way you close your eyes concentrating on how he feels inside you. you don't see it but he does the same thing

after you get used to the feeling of being so full you begin moving slowly bouncing up and down in his lap

he's so gentle, not at all what you expected from what you heard about him when you first started dating

his hands grip your hips, not to hurry you but to comfort you, his thumbs rubbing soft circles into your skin

he looks at you with such adoration uttering hushed praises to you between breathy whimpers

"ca-ahh can you uh- rub my cl-"

you don't even get to finish your sentence because he immediately starts moving his thumb across your puffy nub

all while encouraging you to continue your movements until you cum around him with a drawn out moan of his name

ohh and the aftercare??

jesus he's the sweetest. he cleans you up, offers to watch a movie with you while cuddling, he brings you snacks, water whatever you need 🫠

[thisisjustfanfic]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{My contribution to the fandom. The obligatory "everyone lives together in one big house and they kiss kiss kiss, and they love love love each other.}

Read on ao3.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Maid AU, Eventual Smut. SFW (For now)

Chapter 3: Negotiating

You find a supply closet on the main floor near the stairwell and are relieved to see a good stock of cleaning supplies and tools. Retrieving a broom, you decide to make yourself useful until Zayne gets back. 

With one earbud in, you listen to some music while you sweep the living area, reaching into the deep corners and underneath the furniture. It’s peaceful, and the nagging fatigue that kept trying to lure into napping was momentarily forgotten. 

The sun was beginning to set when the elevator dinged, just loud enough to draw your attention from where you were reaching as far as you can underneath the huge coffee table. The soft rug presses into the side of your face as you reach for what looks like a crumpled can. 

“Y/N?” Your name makes you pause in your pursuit of that can and sit up onto your knees. 

Zayne is wearing his beige coat and you can see the edge of his lab coat and his medical badge peeking out from underneath it. 

He has white bags in one hand and the scent of savory takeout quickly fills the room.

“Hey!” You greet cheerily, relieved to see a familiar face, “I was just tidying up. There’s a can stuck underneath that I can’t reach.”

You return to your quest and hear Zayne’s heavy sigh.

“You said you would take a day.” He mumbles as he walks over to the kitchen and places the food onto the counter. 

“And I got bored,” You reply, speaking louder so that he can hear with your voice muffled. 

“Come on,” You hear him call, his smooth voice cool but not demanding. 

Your fingertips graze the can once, but only manages to push it further away. Zayne says something else, but you don’t hear him. 

A touch at your lower back makes you shiver. Cold fingertips grazing the hem of your shirt. Innocently trying to draw your attention but unknowingly edging into the slightly exposed skin of your lower back. 

You inhale sharply and sit up, finding Zayne standing over you with a stern look in his eyes.

“I brought food.” He tells you like he didn’t just strum a chord in your spine. “Have you eaten since lunch?”

You recall the sorry state of his fridge and shake your head. Standing, you fix your shirt and place your hands on your hips, “You’re not exactly stocked up. Did the other housekeepers do the shopping?”

Zayne’s jaw ticks and he nods, “Yes. I was thinking about the arrangement while I was working and I think we should set some rules.”

You laugh as you take a seat at one of the barstools, “Oh trust me, I got the rundown from one of your roommates on some of the rules.” 

Zayne blinks in surprise, “Who?”

“Rafayel.” You reply, “I have to be honest Zayne, I have no idea how he expects me to clean the studio if I can’t touch anything.”

“He’s…particular about his work.” Zayne says as he begins to unpack the takeup. More than a dozen little boxes laid out and fives sets of disposable silverware set next to it.  “I’ll talk to him.”

Zayne examines each box and then finds one he seems to be looking for, sitting it front of you and offering a set of utensils. You take the white box and open it, surprised to see one of your favorite takeout dishes. Steaming hot and delicious. 

“Thank you.” You say with a bright smile, “Should we wait for the others or do you eat alone?”

“Today we’ll eat alone.” Zayne says as he finds his own box. “You’ll see them more often in the evening. Dinner is sometimes a communal affair.”

You can’t help but feel affectionate at the idea, but then bitter resentment tries to swallow you whole. You miss family dinners. Sitting together over something homemade and chatting until the food gets cold. 

Why did Zayne get that? Why did everyone else get that except for you?

You squash that nasty train of thought, and force a smile, “That sounds nice.”

Zayne sheds his coat and scarf and sits down next to you. From within he coat he retrieved a few papers and sets them on the counter before tossing the coat onto the chair next to him. 

“This is the contract we signed with the last housekeeper,” He explained, sliding one of the papers to you. “It lays out working days, which rooms to clean. Grocery budget and other things. But–” He pauses and slides the other paper to you, “Since you’re not represented by an agency, I wanted to make sure you were given proper compensation.”

You don’t answer with a mouth full of food and instead examine the difference between the contracts. The old one seems pretty standard. Three days a week and what’s to be cleaned each day. Which day to order groceries and the budget allotted for it. It listed who and when inspection of work would be done, and how much would be paid a week for the work. 

The new one was longer. It stated the same expectations but listed only two days working. The areas to be cleaned was shorter and the grocery budget higher. The inspections would be done only once a month and the weekly pay twice as much as the last.

“Zayne,” You tone is chastising, “This is ridiculous.”

“Is it not enough?” He says quickly, pulling the revised contract from your hands and examining it for typos. “We can negotiate, of course.”

“You barely have me doing anything with that contract. And where’s the part where I pay you back?” You argue, stabbing your fork into your partially eaten takeout, “And the pay should be cut because you’re also housing me. That’s more on your utility bill, my pay should be cut to cover it.”

Zayne’s brow crease and his lips purse– eyes glaring at the contract.

“Plus I’ll never be able to keep this place clean if I only work two days a week.” You sit up, taking on as authoritative a tone as you can, “I should be working six days if I’m living here. Sundays off. I can keep all the common spaces clean and do the shopping on Saturdays. You should inspect everything at least twice a week to make sure I’m keeping standards, and the pay should reflect the median wage for this position minus lodgings.”

Zayne’s shoulders deflate, “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I am not.” You argue petulantly, “I’m being practical. Don’t go easy on me, Zayne. I did this to myself.”

HE closes his eyes, takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Fine. Alright.” From his shirt pocket he pulls out a pen and hands it to you. “Write down what you think is reasonable, and we’ll go from there.”

You smile and take the pen, “Thank you Zayne.”

“You punishing yourself unnecessarily, but if you insist on it…” Zayne turned back to his food and began to pick at it. Suddenly remembering something he turns back to you, “There should be stipulations for if you wish to cease the contract or if circumstances change.”

You nod in agreement, “Sure. We can put like.” Your voice drifts off as you turn the page over and find the open space at the bottom, “If I end the contract, I will owe…”

“No, not that.” Zayne sighs, “Put that you are allowed to terminate the contract for any reason, be it professional or personal with no repercussions– financial or otherwise.”

“That lenient.” You mumble as you quickly pen it in. “Would you put that in for some other housekeeper?”

“You aren’t some other housekeeper.” 

The warmth in his voice rivals the richness of the hot chocolate you’d drank yesterday. Thick and decadent, but quiet like he was reluctant to reveal such a precious secret. 

You glance at him and continue to alter the contract until you're satisfied. Zayne argues with the number you write down for your wage, and eventually you find something neither of you are happy with but can live with. A tenuous compromise. 

You sign the bottom and Zayne does the same. 

The food tastes a little bit better now that that’s settled. 

The elevator dings and footsteps tap in approach. You and Zayne turn and you blink in surprise. You recognize his face, and you nearly squeak as he freezes– halfway between the foyer and the kitchen.

“Xavier,” Zayne greets the soft blond man with a gentle nod, “This is Y/N, she’s going to be staying here for the foreseeable future.”

Xavier clears his throat and approaches. His white hunter’s uniform dirt along the edges and some soot covers his right shoulder. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” You greet with a smile, jumping down from the barstool and offering your hand, “Though, have we met before? Your face is familiar.”

You see the muscles in Xavier’s neck work as he swallows and his gloved hand takes yours in a chaste hold, squeezing once without shaking before letting you go. His sapphire eyes don’t linger on your face, and you feel suddenly self-conscious.

“Ah, perhaps we’ve crossed paths at the Hunter’s association.” Xavier’s voice is like soft goosefeather down. The most plush and cushioned tone that settles like a luxurious fur coat on your shoulders. You fight the shiver that rises up your spine at the sound of it, and your mind supplies for sensations of deja vu. 

“Right. Probably.” You reply, returning to your barstool and your food. 

Xavier rounds the side of the counter and goes to the fridge, pulling out the orange juice and pouring himself a glass.

Zayne leans over the counter to find three different boxes and sets them aside, “I got your usual order.”

Xavier nods and a small smile appears on his face, “Thanks. I’m going to shower before eating.”

Zayne just nods, but as Xavier passes by there this look. A sort of exchange of information in a language you don’t understand. Some subliminal nod between gentlemen or perhaps some new greeting? 

You finish your meal and continue chatting amicably with Zayne until Xavier returns. He looks like he was carved from powdered sugar and marble, the softness of his light colored all the more striking without soot to darken them. 

“Y/N is going to be the housekeeper.” Zayne informs the blond as he sits on the other side of you. 

Xavier looks at Zayne like he’s insane, brow furrowed and upper lift slightly lifted. “Seriously?”

Your heart sinks like a stone in your chest. 

“Rafayel has already met her, and made his…rules clear.” Zayne says, “Did you have anything to add?”

The bitterness in Xavier’s expression faded after a moment and he turned his attention to his food, “Not really.”

You lick your lips and try to find something amicable to say, “I’ll try my best to stay out of your way. Rafayel let me know to be careful with his studio, did you have anything I should be careful with?”

Xavier slurped at some noodles and kept his eyes down, “I have books in my room. Don’t move them.”

You nod a few times, appeased that he, at the very least is speaking to you, “Alright. I can do that.”

Zayne hummed from your left and nudged you softly with his knee.

“Oh,” You remark as your brain returns to you, “I was going to ask if you wanted me to cook too?”

“You want to cook?” Xavier’s voice drawls from your right.

“If you’d like me to,” You reply, “I’m no five-star chef but I enjoy cooking. And I have a sneaky suspicion you guys eat too much takeout.”

“That’s not ne-” Zayne’s sentence stops at the look you shoot at him. A stern glare that dares him to try and coddle you again. He exhales in defeat, “A few times a week couldn’t hurt.”

You finish your meal and go to clean up your food while the other two continue to eat. Deciding to tackle the dishes while they chat, you go to the sink and search for a sponge. You find a dish brush and soap underneath the sink and get to work. It’s not hard with the dishwasher unused and empty to your right so you fill it. 

Zayne finishes his food and sets it aside and returns to the contract, reading it over when the elevator dings again. You hardly hear it with the sound of the running water in front of you, but you do notice the change in the room.

You look up in time to see a statue of a man enter the room– his white silver hair fluffy but sharp. Dark black and burgundy makes up the entirety of his look, with a well cut suit jacket hanging from his shoulders. 

“You’re back early.” Xavier notes with a harsh bite to his tone. 

Rafayel was intimidating like a shark in the water. Something that can swim faster and stronger than you can. Xavier was intimidating like space. Void of air and warmth. 

This man was intimidating like a beast of lore was. Something beyond the comprehension of man, and only formed from imaginations and nightmares. 

“Disappointed?” The man mused, thick like fine wine and tinged with the rumbling of a growl. His expensive leather oxfords tapped against the wood floor as he strutted over to the kitchen counter, perusing the takeout for his. As he passes by Zayne, he reaches out, placing his wide hand at the back of Zayne’s neck and squeezing in greeting. 

Stunned by that, you turned off the water and began to dry your hands, unknowingly drawing his attention. Like a predator hearing a twig snap in the forest, his eyes snap to you and a small smirk quirks his lips.

“What’s this?” He asks, clearly not speaking to you. 

“This is Y/N.” Zayne explains once again, “She’s going to be the new housekeeper.”

“ Oh,” The man croons, walking over around the island with the sink to tower over you, “A pleasure to meet you. The name’s Sylus.”

“N-nice to meet you,” You silently curse your stuttering voice, “Sylus.”

He hums when you say his name, backing off out of your space and grabbing his takeout. As quickly as he’d come, he’s walking away, “I’ll be downstairs.”

As his presence grows further away, you feel the ability to breathe return to you. Your face is red and your heart is racing, and what for? Why did he, of all of them, make you feel like you were suddenly game for a hunt?

“That’s the last of them, yeah?” You ask Zayne after a moment.

Zayne chuckles and nods, “Yeah, that’s it.”

Later, Zayne explains that Rafayel often gets caught up in a creative zone and doesn’t come down to eat until much later. Xavier gives Zayne a quiet thanks for the food before leaving, and Zayne makes sure you’re settled before he excuses himself for bed. 

You linger in the kitchen for a moment, cleaning up the remnants of the take out. Zayne’s portion is already gone, the meticulous doctor already cleaning up after himself. Xavier only left behind a few napkins in his wake, which was better than the full mess you expected him to leave you with. 

First impression? Rafayel would likely prod you and push you until you broke. Xavier likely didn’t like you and would avoid you as much as he could. Zayne was…Zayne. He’d be busy at the hospital most of the time, but would likely still find time for you. Sylus was scary and lived on the bottom floor like a goblin, which seemed fitting. Hopefully your run ins with him were minimal. 

The boxes of Rafayel’s order remained on the counter and before you scaled the stairs to head to bed you picked them up. Maybe a peace offering?

You head back to his studio and knock before entering. A muffled response calls back and you enter, finding him laying on the long couch with a sketchbook over his face. 

Lingering by the door, you hold the two boxes of food close to you, hoping to retain their heat. “I brought your food up. I thought you might like to eat here?”

Rafayel lifts the sketchbook and peeks at you, seeming to forget you existed. He sighs and waves his hand for you to approach. You cross the room and find a small portion of the side table to place the food on.

“It’s late and I’m heading to bed.” You tell him, “It was nice to meet you.”

You turn and he doesn’t stop you, letting you leave the room as quickly as you’d come.  You were eager to get started, though this certainly wasn’t the job you’d pick for yourself, you weren’t about to slack off. 

You’d been in such a daze since– For a while. Nothing really felt real anymore. Nothing felt important. Maybe this peculiar circumstance was just bizarre enough to knock some sense back into you. As you readied for bed, setting up the few photo frames on the bedside tables, you hoped so. 

After you left, Rafayel sighed. Eyes stuck on the little takeout boxes you’d brought him. Glaring at them like they were messenger birds bringing news of his incoming doom. 

It couldn’t be. Could it? No. No that was…. Rafayel huffed and tossed his sketchbook aside. His stomach was turning in knots and his skin felt hot. 

A part of him wanted to go to the others, confirming the suspicions curling around his spine like a choking boa. If he noticed it, then the others did too. Maybe not Zayne…poor guy, but certainly Sylus. And most definitely Xavier. 

But it felt too good to be true, and so Rafayel didn’t trust it. A sweet treat hanging from a thread, bait at the end of a silver hook meant to trick him and lay him out for slaughter. 

It didn’t matter who you looked like. What you felt like. What you smelled like… He’d deny the messages his senses were telling him to preserve his sanity. To preserve the tenuous peace and happiness he’d found here. He wouldn’t voice aloud his suspicions in case he was wrong and get everyone’s hopes up for nothing.