#I just love the idea of the chaos this would bring

[apocalyqsc]

photoshoot tension

cw; divorced!jensen a. x personal assistant!reader—afab!reader, smut, slight mutual pinning, tension, reader imagines sex w jensen before it happens, arguing, drunk makeup sex, unprotected sex (wrap ‘fore u tap), oral (m! recipient), maybe breeeding kink, age gap (jensen is obviously in his fourties, reader is in their twenties), probably wrote the getting drunk wrong because I’ve never drank before so erm help, morning after.

author’s note; so ik he’s married but what’s better than if he was freshly divorced so uhm yeah, i actually love his wife so i hope they never get divorced but it’s the thought that counts </3

JENSEN under the white flashing lights just stirred up every emotion in you. but he’s just divorced—it’s a clean slate for him. and you can’t jump onto him as soon as it happens. though nobodies stopping you from making up scenarios of whatever you wanted.

to sex in an motel to his dressing room. their were a lot of places. but oh, scrub those thoughts away. quickly.

after the photoshoot, jensen had disappeared to his dressing room. your heart pounded in your chest, all the way to your ribs. you knocked on the door, his gruff reply telling you to come in. you slowly opened the door as you slipped in the room. “so tomorrow you have a day off—but sunday you have another photoshoot,” you rambled off. you weren’t really focusing on him (in fear the impounding thoughts of an inappropriate relationship with you and him would start back up).

“slow down.” jensen let out a soft huff. you had a strange habit to ramble off about plans, it gave you a unique character. but it could also be extremely annoying. that’s what jensen liked about you. it’s why he kept you around to begin with, well, whenever most people would go home. you’d stay. and he wouldn’t say anything “cancel sunday.” “but—” “cancel sunday, okay?” he stared at you sternly. he understood it was nudging towards valentine’s day, yeah—he knew. he just needed a break from all the chaos.

your breath hitched in frustration whenever you had to take the pen and cross out sunday. “you really shouldn’t cancel this photoshoot.” you muttered in yet again, more annoyance.

jensen rolled his eyes, “it’s fine.” you cut your eyes up at him, finally looking away from the calendar.

“no it’s not. it’s coming closer to valentine’s day and you need to give your fans something—i know you’ve been going through a divorce and all, but life sucks. you can’t cancel, it took me months to get the photoshoot booked.” you said, your annoyance rising. you weren’t sure if you meant it or not. but it was a ‘in the moment’ spur. that’s what made jensen upset. he wasn’t feeling very valentiney the month. out of all the months, he had to get divorced finalized in february.

he rolled his eyes, “well once you go through a divorce in february, you won’t be in the mood for cupid photoshoots.” he shoved off the chair he was sitting in, brushing past you. you let out a scoff as he left, obviously leaving. so in time being, the both of you were at an impasse, a deadlock. though neither of you liked that. not at all. not one bit. there were tensions left unsaid, more than just argument tension. built up, sexual, passion tension.

“jensen, you can’t leave without talking to me!” you huffed in annoyance. he very well could. he was a grown man. though his schedule was handled by a person who was half his age. he ran his fingers through his hair as he walked away. only stopping to cut an eye at you.

ՙ ૮(ˊ ᵔ ˋ)ა .

it was god knows what time, but you found jensen at a local bar, seemingly avoiding paparazzi. you took a seat beside him, muttering a soft apology. he gave you a court nod. he ordered for the bartender to bring out yet another beer for the ‘pretty girl’ quote his words. it was a good idea. not one bit. but you couldn’t just waste the beer. that’s, that’s not good for the environment.

yeah, not good for the environment at all. but the one thing you didn’t do was spewl out an apology to him. your ego was apparently a little to big to apologize. you brought the glass to your lips, the foam from the beer collection on your upper lip. almost giving you a better mustache than jensen. jensen couldn’t help but let out a little snort, swiping his thumb across your upper lip, without warning. your breath hitched softly before pulling away from his thumb. “thanks. for the uhm beer.” you muttered, only making jensen grin deviously.

shy thing you were when it came to physical contact. “your welcome angel.” jensen whispered hoarsely as he brought his glass to his lips. “so, what’ve you been doing?” he asked you. their wasn’t much of a conversation to have with your personal assistant whenever they spent the whole day around you. so he knows what you’ve been doing. keeping him in line.

“oh nothin’ much” you slurred. “jus’ gettin’ li’l drunk now.” jensen cracked a smile, his hand finding the small of your back. it was a subtle movement, but an intimate one, at that. the soft smile from your lips almost—almost dropped into a derpy little grin. a drunk grin.

“oh yeah?” he mused with a grin a he took a gulp from his glass. “hope that works well for you.” you were definitely a little buzzed at this point, the way you were being so open to him is something you’d never do if you were fully sober. you shot a soft smile before going back to your drinking. from what he could tell, you were a lightweight, “don’t drink to much, ya need to be in the right mind to leave, don’tcha?”

“yeah.” you huffed, “but ‘t’s jus’ to good to leave unattended.” jensen much rather hang out with his personal assistant drunk than sober. god, sometimes you were a complete headache. he sent a soft smile your way as you kept drinking. though it was a few moments later, you were snagging your keys off the bar.

“leavin’ me so soon sweetheart?” he cocked his head at you. you were to fun to leave, “at least let me get you an uber, better yet, let me take you home.” you nodded, slapping your keys in his hand. you got up, and he followed after. you looked like an absolute angel drunk, especially under the bars flashing sign. but he wouldn’t admit that out loud. “now, which one is your car.”

you waved your finger in his face before landing it on a pretty black suv. “that one.” he placed his hand on your back, listening to your drunken rambling. again, total drunk angel. he unlocked the car, opening the passenger door for you. he stood behind you, making sure you didn’t fall onto your ass. jensen propped himself against the seat, reaching across to buckle you up. when he pulled away, your face had morphed into a little grin, and you burst out into little giggles. like a schoolgirl. it was adorable, really it was.

jensen walked around to the driver side. as he climbed into the car, turning the car on—it tumbled to life. you had slumped in your seat, getting a little shut eye time. when he drove to your house, the lights from the city’s lamp lights steady and slowly flashed by, jensen squinting every so slightly under the surprise of each light. he let out a soft breath, his gaze going over to you every so often.

he pulled into a place he new best; a motel. he wasn’t completely sure where you lived, nor did he want to take you to his place and have you gasp awake in fear that you got kidnapped. jensen turned the car off, getting out and walking to your side.

jensen tugged your body out the car. when he shut the door, you opened your eyes. “put me down,” you huffed drunkenly. though he wasn’t one to deny any one of anything, so he slowly placed you on your feet. you pressed yourself against him when you almost fell, staring up at him. it felt like a romance movie. but you were both a little buzzed. at least you were now a little bit buzzed from the effects of the drinking. jensen held you against his body, hands going to your hips.

he guided you inside, where he immediately walked to the clerk at the front desk. “hi. can i get a room, for me ‘n the pretty angel?” jensen said smoothly. the clerk looked up—not at all amused, not phased by jensen’s flirty behavior. she didn’t even take a double look at him, not noticing that he was literally -jensen-freaking-ackles.

he grabbed the keys from the clerk and guided you down to the room of the number on the key. jensen guided you in the room, and before the door was even shut, you were pressing your lips on his. “hey,” he let out soft breath, as he held your shoulders, pushing you away. “your drunk.” jensen brushed your hair with his fingers, guiding you to your bed.

you looked at him with puppy dog eyes, “please?” you let out a soft whine. he didn’t want to deny you. like, just look at that face. he let out a huff as he grabbed your hips, pulling you on top of him. you slowly grinded your clothed hip on his—immediately drawing a reaction from him from the motion. he shouldn’t have been doing this. maybe the beer was clouding his judgment. but, god damn did it feel good. “shit—careful” he said, grabbing a hold of your waist to stop you. jensen’s breath was warm—and already panting. he slowly lifted your hips to tug your pants down. he pulled them off your ankles, tossing them onto the floor. jensen ran his fingers along the pattern of your white floral lace. he pulled them off your body, carefully as they guided down your freshly shaved legs. his breath shuddered at the sight of your bare cunt on view to him. he sat up to guide your shirt off your body. and with years of practicing, used one hand to fall back to your bra clip—and unclipped it.

your breathing picked up as you fell to jensen’s pants, you pulled the button through the hole, pushing his pants down. following his boxers. as you pushed the items off him, you followed. you stopped at his cock—kissing it to life. your breath wavered at the sight of it as it sprung to life. you wrapped your hands around the base, licking the tip. testing the waters before you sunk your head around his erected member. you bobbed your head up and down on his member.

jensen’s hand came to make a makeshift ponytail out of your hair—guiding you up and down. jensen let out a noise slip through his lip, almost whimeper-y like, but a moan. you let out a muted gag, your hands falling away from the base of his member. “fu—mmh—ck!” you cried out. tears built up at your waterline. not in pain, but pleasure. he pulled your head up when he neared release.

“wanna do it in you—” jensen breathed breathlessly, “need’ya to be full of my come.”

you nodded softly. “m’kay.” you huffed out breathlessly—pulling yourself up. you sunk down onto his memeber, your head lolling backwards. letting out a soft moan. jensen held your hips in a vise as he guided you up and down on him, one of his hands shifting to rub your cunt in slow, soft circles. you walls clenched around him, the bed hit the wall ever so often. “jensen—ah—to big!”

jensen hummed, pulling your hair gently. “but your doin’ so good my angel.” he placed his hand back on your hip as the bounces started getting sloppy. “not to sloppy.” he drew his hand away from your cunt going to brush the hair out of your face. the way your face scrunched up—jensen let out soft grunts that were lower than your moans. with your head lolled back, mouth open, it tempted jensen. his thumb seemed towards your mouth. your moans got cut off by a gagging noise. his thumb had worked it’s way into your mouth. you bit down on his finger—but not to hardly.

jensen grinned when he felt you bit down “don’t hurt me angel.” he muttered softly.

the rain started up outside, it pitter-y patter-yied against the window and roof. the bed springs constantly screamed in protest under the movement. muffled noises of people talking came from the other rooms—and likewise, they heard the commotion located in three thirty-seven. occasionally a grumpy man would bang against the wall for the two of you to stop, but it never deterred the either of you.

with each bounce, with each muffled moan, with each grunt—both you and jensen neared closer to release. your walls clenched around him like clockwork. “come. come on my cock—c’mon.” he hummed, his hand on your hip, burning intentions into your skin, the same thumb rubbing circles on your hips. his other hand still in your mouth. and almost—in synch, like the command of you coming struck something in the both of you. jensen painted your gummy pink walls white, and your came around his cock.

you collapsed beside him, his limp member slipping out of you as you shifted off him. you kissed his chest sleepily. slowly falling asleep his seed warmed you right up. you closed your eyes—and fell asleep. but not jensen. he pulled you into his arms. and maybe he was regretting it. regretting it so terribly; you where his personal assistance. although guilt would have to wait til later—maybe at twelve pm tomorrow. but now, you two slept. you slept off the soreness of the sex.

when you woke up, the outside world was unaware of what had happened that night. completely unware that a freshly divorce actor had got it off with his personal assistant. the sun fought against the fog as it poured through the curtain, and jensen was in the shower.

you walked to the bathroom, opening the door. with a sleepy voice, you asked “got room for one more.” jensen pulled the curtain back, inviting you under the shower hose with him. the water acting a soothing mechanism. jensen used the motel soap—and a motel rag to clean your body off. you looked up at him with a soft—almost devious smile as you whispered a soft “thank you.” and maybe that was for last night—and maybe that was for him washing you. it was really to be interpreted anyway he preferred.

in a shaky breath, he whispered back an audible “your welcome” as he stared down your soapy body. jensen pressed his lips against yours, the rag dropping to the bathroom floor. when you pulled away, you both had a smile on your face. though the neither of you knew what this meant to your relationship. was it going to happen again? meant to be? or just a drunken mistake? you didn’t know. jensen didn’t know. but it sure as hell had some remarkable sex in it.

[simplysamiblog]

The weight of a perfect goodbye

Before I even begin sharing my thoughts, I need to make one very important thing clear: I am a firm believer in the theory that Jayce and Viktor survived the ending of Arcane. As far as I’m concerned, they were teleported through time and space and are now slowly, painstakingly rebuilding their lives. Together, of course.

I’ve read dozens of (amazing) fanfics where this is exactly how their story unfolds, and some are so well-written that I honestly consider them canon.

That said.

I’ve seen several discussions online about this very topic:

"The creators confirmed it: they’re dead."

"The creators don’t know anything, they’re alive."

"Accept it, they were disintegrated by the Rune."

And so on.

But here’s what I think (not that it matters to anyone or carries any weight at all):

We can’t completely dismiss or outright reject the idea that, yes, Jayce and Viktor are, unfortunately, dead. At some level, we need to accept it—to believe it.

But let me explain why.

Not out of respect for the creators, the canon, the fandom, or anything like that. But out of love for the story, for the essence of their narrative.

At the risk of sounding cliché, do you really think Arcane would have been just as special if Jayce and Viktor had survived? Can you picture the scene? The protagonists recover, the fog of war and chaos clears, and there they are—Jayce and Viktor—standing atop the Hexgates, smiling. Ah, what a happy ending. What a good ending.

Sure. Nice. Nothing more.

Or imagine if we had gotten something like: "And they remained like brothers forever." Ugh.

It’s cruel, it’s unfair, it’s heartbreaking—

But it’s perfect.

The chain of events (cough) that led to that moment, the sacrifice that sealed their fate—

The relationship between Jayce and Viktor would never have been as impactful otherwise. Personally, I don’t think I fully grasped the depth of their bond until their foreheads rested against each other. In that moment of resignation, of acceptance.

Their story, their magic, was beautiful precisely because it ended right then, in that instant.

Jayce asked Viktor, "Why did you ever give me this?"

He could have let him die in the storm. Or, if he wanted to be more merciful, he could have simply saved him without giving him the Rune—

The world would have been safe. The world would have been saved.

But…

The world wasn’t as important as the moments they shared. Their friendship, their collaboration, their bond.

Viktor couldn’t deny another Viktor those moments. That brief but immense joy. Those years in which he had truly lived.

They were stronger than everything—stronger than everyone—

Even stronger than death.

And that’s why, in a way, their death is precisely what makes them so wonderful.

Call it cliché or a bit of a stretch, but the first comparison that comes to mind is Romeo and Juliet. Would it really be the most famous love story if they hadn’t met their tragic end?

"Happily ever after."

Or—

"Never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo."

Sure, they might have survived, somewhere. And it’s absolutely valid to believe that.

But if not for that ending, for that terrible, heartbreaking moment, how much would we have missed out on? How many incredible fanfictions wouldn’t exist? How many fanarts, how many works of art would we have been unknowingly deprived of?

We’ll never know, and I don’t want to know.

Because what we have is amazing.

So yes, I accept the idea that they’re dead—because it makes the fantasy that they’re alive and in love so much sweeter.

But most of all, it makes their relationship a game of fate, something they built around each other. A perfect circle, an inseparable chain binding them as one.

Pulling them together, pushing them apart—only to bring them back to each other again.

Over and over.

Forever.

[babybearnation]

WAIT YOU QRITE FOR PEPE OMG OMG OMG

okay okay i have like an idea for just like first date hcs with pepe bc i feel like it would be so cute

context: me & oli discussed this in dms and agreed for this ask to be general date headcanons rather than just first date!

pepe marti x gn!reader (date headcanons):

both shy yet confident when asking you to go on a date with him

like he's smirking and acting all confident but his eyes are a bit skittish and his face has a lovely red hue to it

takes you to a lovely restaurant for your first date and it's proper swoon-worthy

brings you flowers, pulls your chair out for you, holds your hand over the table and kisses it occasionally - hell, he'll even order your food for you if you're nervous

it's so fun and you two definitely end up attracting some weird looks with how much you laugh and giggle

after all, you two were close friends before pepe asked you out and you wouldn't let romantic feelings change how the two of you were in a negative way

loves going on restaurant dates with you because he loves seeing you all dressed up and snazzy looking

has a secret soft spot for picnic dates - basically a restaurant date but less expensive, more casual and a lot softer

isn't really a big fan of going to the cinema but loves staying home and catching up on movies with you - these can be whole day long events sometimes

always down to go on shopping dates with you

loves to wolf whistle every time you try on new clothes/accessories and he's unashamed to do it tbh

definitely gets you two kicked out of one or two stores because he's causing too much chaos

loves sightseeing with you - if you accompany him to any of his races, he'll be eagerly researching places he can take you and show you within the country

so damn eager to make sure you have a good time when you go to races because he's lowkey convinced he's "forcing" you to go

cooking and baking dates are a MUST

you two have so much fun with these and, even when things go wrong, something usually comes out good

if absolutely everything goes wrong, though, pepe will order food for you two to share whilst you laugh about your failures

always kisses your hand when he greets you for dates, always opens his car door for you, always pulls your chair out, always takes your coat for you - he's just a gentleman, okay?!

will stop doing any of that if it makes you uncomfortable though!

(could also totally see him keeping a blanket or at least a jacket around so, if you wear skirts, he has something to cover your lap with should you need it)

© all rights to babybearnation 2025.

[lilygoofywritingcave]

Happy Valentine's Day !!!!

Oh, it seems a certain member in Slaughterhouse has sent you a letter, are you brave enough to open it?

Spoilers warning for character names

Misaki, the ever silly contract killer

"To Y/N, the chaos to my mayhem (or Whatever Romantic Crap I’m Supposed to Say),

Alright, so listen, uhh I was just planning on sending you a pic of a raccoon holding a heart and call it a day, BUT APPARENTLY that’s not “romantic” enough. Smh. So now I’m here, struggling to put actual words together instead of just sending you a keyboard smash and hoping you get the vibe.

So. Uh. Lily. You menace. Do you have ANY idea what you've done to me?? I’ll see something stupid n immediately think, “Oh, Y/N would laugh at this.” Like. That’s so weird. That’s EMBARRASSING. I save memes just to send you at 3AM, YOU are why Im having sleep deprivation (the good kind ofc). I would smile at my phone like an absolute idiot whenever your name pops up. It’s sick. You did this to me.

Also. Explain why you write me like I’m some cool badass when I’m just some gremlin with a knife and a rifle. Like. Hello??? Ma’am???? I do crimes, that's no news, but then you come along with your little fics n suddenly I feel like maybe, just maybe, I’m not just the sum of all the bad things I’ve done. I don’t know how to process that. Or you. You make my brain short-circuit without needing to doomscroll Tiktok.

ANYWAY. Point is, you’re mine now. No take-backs. Stuck with me forever, I will continue to be the most annoying gremlin in your life, sending you unhinged voice notes, and remind you every day that you matter. Because you do. A lot. (EW I HATE HOW SAPPY THAT SOUNDED MOVE ON PLS...)

...Okay, I think I’ve reached my emotional limit. I need to go set something on fire to balance this out. Or at least, like, flip a table.

Happy Valentine’s, silly.

Misaki Katsuo"

V, cold outside but cares more than you know

"To dear Y/N, Valentine’s Day seems to demand people to express affection for each other, something flowery and poetic. Although I consider traditions like that often exaggerated, but it felt unfair for you. So, I’ll keep this simple, for your sake.

You... matter to me, more than I would want to admit. You’ve become a part of my life in a way I didn’t expect, it is frankly troublesome how often my thoughts wander to you. And despite my usual preference for order, I don’t mind the chaos you bring. In fact… I think I’d miss it if it were gone.

I could compose some poetical metaphor, comparing you to the moon, the stars, or whatever romantic nonsense one is expected to write in a letter such as this, but I won’t waste your time.

Just know that if you ever need me, whether for something important or as simple as spending time together, you have only to say the word and I'll always be there.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N.

"Valentin Viljoen"

Angel, sweet and dangerous like a rose

To My Love, Happy Valentine’s Day.

I know, I know, cheesy, cliché, overhyped day… but I don’t care. Today is just another excuse for me to remind you how much you mean to me, and I’ll take it.

You, you are the one thing in my life that feels real, no cameras, no flashing lights, no expectations to be perfect. Just us, and I need that more than I ever realized.

I’m not easy to love, am I? Always getting caught up in my work, in my image, in making sure everything and everyone is okay… but you? You remind me that I’m more than what people see. That I’m allowed to breathe, to be a little selfish, to take up space in someone's life without feeling guilty.

You make me feel like I’m enough. And I don’t know if I’ve ever felt that before.

So, for today, no, for always, I want you to know that I love you. In the quiet moments, in the chaos, in every way I know how. I love you when I get overwhelmed and you remind me to rest. I love you when you make me laugh so hard I forget whatever stress was eating at me. I love you when you’re just, you.

I don’t say it enough, but thank you, for seeing me, for staying, for being the best thing to ever happen to me.

Now, let’s turn off our phones, ignore the world for a while, and just be together. That’s all I really want.

Your Angel,

Maria de la Rosa

And lastly, the devil himself, Ronin

to my dearest darlin’ Y/N,

there’s always a certain rhythm to a heartbeat. steady, but unique for everyone. funny little thing, really. you press your fingers just right, and there it is: life, thumpin’ away under the fragile skin. but oh, how delicate it is. how easy it Is to destroy

. tell me darlin', have you ever wonder, what it takes to keep that aorta singin’? how much someone’s got Left in ‘em before rotting away? or how love can sink its teeth in deep, turning even the purest souls dark, twisting the light ‘til it don’t shine the same no more?

ironic, ain't it? how even the worst of ‘em, either gutted or broken, still has a heart. just like yours, still beating, lively as ever, a reminder that you’re here and you’re real. that you’re eVerythin’, my everything.

and isn't that a beautiful thing? to havE you readin’ this, seeing the devil puttin' his feelings into words. there ain't no poetrY sweet enough, no god powerful enough to take it away.

Over and over, i think about you, about the way you laugh, the way you exist. about how this world feels a little less, rotten with you in it. Understand this, darlin', you got me by your side. for as long as that pretty little heart of yours beats, you and i will face whatever this shitty world throws at us, together.

Don't ever forget that. And don’t think for a second i’d ever let you go. Remember this and Listen close. It's always been you and you only. Nothing will ever change that.

happy valentine’s, darlin’.

—r. beaufort

(P/S: you know how i play, let's get that pretty brain to work)

[thatguywhodoesstuff]

If I may be so bold, might I share some ideas building off of some of these:

Anne would ship them so hard. When she first finds out, she’s ecstatic and compares them to a princess and her knight, which naturally flusters both of them to no end. When Liko explains how the two first met and everything that happened between then and getting together, Anne is actually even more invested and says how much she loves enemies to friends to lovers. Naturally, she’d try really hard to play wingman to both of them, like Friede, just with less teasing.

I can say with certainty that I imagine starting out they would both try a little to hard to make sure everything they do together is perfect and goes to plan, which naturally caused them no end of stress given the chaos that tends to follow them.

Nidothing is kind of a touchy subject between the two. In one corner you’ve got Liko, a Nidothing super fan who is trying her hardest to get her boyfriend invested in the livestream, meanwhile you’ve got Amethio who just doesn’t understand the hype, especially since Nidothing is someone they regularly interact with.

Now Spinel using Liko as a hostage/bargaining chip against Amethio is a given, but I think we cannot overlook the goldmine that is Spinel trying to use Amethio to hurt Liko. Like, imagine this: Spinel has Liko dead to rights and demands that she hand over Terapagos and the Six Heroes. When she naturally refuses, he tries to mind break her by implying Amethio has been helping him and the other Explorers all this time and their relationship is a complete sham, bringing up doctored videos and the like to support his claims.

While Gibeon undoubtedly sees their relationship as an unforgivable offense, their isn’t a doubt in my mind Lucius would wholeheartedly approve, especially as it would mean some facet of the bond he and his old friend once had still lives on.

Most of my Ameliko headcannons (the ones aren’t here are still being workshopped)

Ok so first off I’d imagine Liko would be the one to confess probably on accident and Amethio would’ve been the ones denying his feelings but motivated by Liko’s “courage” he’d return them. 

Floragato and Cerulege are fully supportive and use hattrem to determine their trainers feelings so they all knew before everyone else. 

Amethio would be the first one to catch feelings. Probably ignited after the cave scene just a tiny bit. But Liko would be the first to realize hers and suddenly become very flustered around him and he doesn’t know why. 

Amethio definitely a tsundere at times. Like a “I happen to be training if you wish to remain weak then walk along” kinda way (I hope this made sense) 

Dot would be the first human to figure it out after seeing them interact or seeing the good ole accidentally brushed hands and seeing them both get slightly flustered. For some reason I feel like Zirc would be the next to figure it out and try and “help” his boss by suddenly becoming busy with everyone else and leave them alone. (Liko is confused because he doesn’t let her help) 

The most oblivious ones would be Roy, Friede, and Onia. Roy and Friede because they still probably see Amethio and explorers as enemies some what. Onia because she misunderstands and thinks Liko has it out for Amethio from some incident. 

At first they’d both be confused at how they feel about each other which leads to some misunderstanding. Liko overthinks it and Amethio doesn’t do well at communicating his feelings or understanding his emotions. 

For some reason I can see Amethio just talking to either Mollie or Orla because he thinks because that they’re both so busy they aren’t listening but they are.

Eventually with a little pushing from Dot, Zirc, Orla, and Mollie they start spending more time together. 

Their Pokemon help out a bit. Whoopsie did Florgato’s magical leaf make it look a bit romantic? Ceruledge brings Amethio objects that look like Liko would like (I don’t know how it would help actually), Hattrem giggles and laughs whenever they’re together making them overthink their feelings, Corviknight adjusting itself slightly when flying so him and Liko are closer than usual. 

The confession™ happens after a huge success against Spinel with Liko blurting it out accidentally. Amethio my sweet emotionally stunted boy doesn’t process it till like five minutes later and then he overthinks it while Liko is overthinking it but they do have a serious conversation later about it. 

They probably start getting very flustered around each other after that. Decide to try it out for a bit before committing to anything. 

First date a walk through a new town, trying out different foods, watching their Pokemon play in a park and then at the end one of them works up the courage and does a light hand hold. 

Go on a few more dates after that before making themselves “official”. First official date is a nighttime corviknight ride. 

Probably wait a bit before they start announcing it to everyone, it’s a little secret they are both terrible at keeping. (Most of the crew already knows) 

Roy and Friede are the only ones actually shocked by the official announcement with Roy being like “HIM?! HIM!?” And Friede being that once scene from Hercules “I can’t believe you’re getting worked up about some guy?! He’s a guy!” Onia is shocked but accepts it like “I see you have excellent taste” 

Now that the sprigatitto is out of the bag everyone teases them a bit about it occasionally which may or may not result in Amethio pulling out his Ceruledge. 

Momdock is probably the worst one in terms of teasing but makes up for it by packing them picnics with delicious food so Amethio lets it slide. 

As far as dates go they like exploring new towns together with Amethio acting nonchalant and uninterested but secretly really enjoying it and seeing Liko get all excited and happy. Corviknight nighttime rides are a favorite of both of them. 

Except for that one time they were caught by Friede on his Charizard and he made a big show of bringing them back. 

They definitely have a date where Liko tries to teach Amethio how to make curry where they both discover this boy cannot cook. He’s rich, he’s always had people cook for him. Disastrous is the only way to describe how it went in fact Murdock banned him from the kitchen after that. 

Liko gifts Amethio a drawing of himself and he treasures it, keeps it in his pocket. 

His rotom wallpaper is definitely a picture of Liko he finds cute. 

I’d imagine Amethio likes to give Liko forehead kisses and she likes to give him a kiss on the cheek. (This is rare as both of them get extremely flustered when one does it) 

Coral has the time of her life teasing Amethio about it, and Sideon starts acknowledging Liko with more respect. 

Spinel probably capitalizes on this at one point. Threatening Liko to make Amethio comply with him. 

Cuddles are a must and Amethio is probably touch starved so he likes to cling on Liko in private. While watching a movie, while she’s drawing or just leaning on her while reading. 

Big spoon and little spoon is interchangeable and neither really cares who’s who.

In fact Amethio is probably always touching her in some way. Hand holding, leaning against her, or just standing close. Liko notices this so sometimes she just holds onto his sleeve. 

Both of them are not big on PDA. 

Amethio might get jealous if Liko is spending too much time with someone else or some new person is just standing a little too close. He gets better but it’s always this irritating feelings. This boy is afraid of losing Liko so naturally gets a little more jealous than Liko.

Liko doesn’t get jealous often but when she does she feels horrible. Amethio comforts her because he notices something’s wrong and when she tells him he finds it amusing but tells her it’s only natural, and when Liko confides in someone like Dot, Mollie, Orla, or Momdock they tell her it’s natural and a little jealousy is healthy. What matters is how they respond to it. 

Omg meeting Liko’s parents was a whole ordeal for both of them. 

Liko because how is she going to explain the whole enemies to lovers arc to her parents like “Hey mom and dad this is my boyfriend he tried to kidnap me, kidnap my Pokemon, and interfere with my goals but he’s good now.” 

Amethio silently panicking because he has no idea how to act around them and doesn’t want to come off as rude. He doesn’t have any idea how to act because he has no healthy relationships to model it off of. 

When Liko does introduce him her parents are like “Ah yes, you got a boyfriend. BOYFRIEND?!” 

After lots of explaining and talking they process it. Lucca interrogates Amethio out of earshot of Liko and Alex after learning he was/is a part of the explorers. 

It’s mostly getting over the initial shock of the news for Liko’s parents but they warm up to him. Alex gifts him a portrait of Ceruledge as a peace offering. 

The one most against their relationship is Hambler and Diana, mostly because they still view the other as the enemy. It takes some time (more for Ham) but they come around. 

Diana because she saw Amethio save Liko and realized how much he actually cared and loved her. 

Hambler would test Liko and she would pass with flying colors earning his respect and “blessing” 

Friede likes to refer to himself as their “wing man” but it’s 50/50 whether or not he does a good job. 

Will 👏 never 👏 stop 👏 teasing 👏 Amethio👏 

He says things like “Come on guys these love birds need some time alone” or if Amethio is out by himself he’ll ask “Thinking about Liko?” Or if he sees something he’ll say “You should give her this girls like this kinda thing” and it’s a fking pokeblock. 

Speaking of gifting both of them don’t do it often but when they do it’s always incredibly thoughtful. 

If for some reason they were separated in battle Amethio might send his Ceruledge out to support Liko and thug it out with Corviknight. 

Amethio comes off as someone who grew up with very little empathy or emotional growth outside his Mom. With Hambler raising him and his dad lowkey being deadbeat and that stupid grandfather of his he doesn’t understand a lot on how to comfort or express emotions. Because of these he has some anxiety about losing Liko and/or not being good enough for her. 

This makes him protective over her, he wants her to be safe and happy. Whether it be helping her train, being scary dog privilege or sending his Ceruledge to help her he always wants her to be protected in some way. 

On the other end Liko understands Amethio’s stress and struggles and does her best to comfort him. She’s very perceptive and overtime is able to read Amethio’s wants and emotions as she gets better at understanding them and he gets better at expressing them. 

aaaaaaaaa YES I LOVE THIS!!! I do think Liko would have a small crisis when she realizes she likes Amethio, but I also think she wouldn’t be able to tell where he stops being her friend and starts being her lover, because those two identities are so intertwined in her mind. Liko imagines dancing with him at a Paldea festival or catches herself wishing he was here, that they could hold hands and read books side by side and share hot cocoa. As for Amethio, I can definitely see him dancing around the concept a la Meg in Hercules (I won’t say I’m in love) and also being jealous in a petty way lol. He’s like “I’m not in love falling in love is STUPID especially with a sweet girl who got me kicked out of the EXPLORERS and who’s KIND no IM NOT IN LOVE” and he repeats this in his head any time Liko walks into the room

They’d definitely have little almost-dates in that in-between period post-cave where they’re not enemies but not friends yet, and Hattrem is definitely the first of their Pokémon to realize their feelings. I also imagine they’d end up raising a couple of pokemon, that literally just follow them from place to place — an Espurr, maybe, or a Snowrunt, or a Flabebe?

It’d also be so funny to see the rest of the cast’s reactions to Ameliko’s slow fall. The RTV would vary, and I agree with you on mostly everything! I think Orla would surprisingly clock that Liko likes someone but assume it’s Roy or Dot, and then ofc tell Molly, who’d tell Murdock, who’d tell Friede. I think Dot has a conversation with Amethio at some point and immediately sees he’s down bad for Liko, which she doesn’t mind, but guess who does mind? ROY that child would kill for Liko and he probably doesn’t get it ™ but if it makes Liko happy then he’ll deal with it. Oh and Ludlow just knows ™

Zirc and Onia would be the only explorers privy to that knowledge early on because you can bet Amethio’s not gonna risk anyone taking advantage of his not-crush on Liko. But then Spinel finds out and everyone knows after that.

I have so many thoughts about them ^////^ if you ever wanna talk more, just lmk!

[brainmuncher]

A mis-text-derstanding

After a long night of patrolling around Amity, Danny damn near collapsed onto his bed. His back ached from a stray ectoblast and his eyes felt heavier than a mountain. Technus had done something to the technology around the town. At random a piece of technology would suddenly go rogue with a virus the ghost implemented. The virus would make the item try to capture anyone in the vicinity using any means necessary. So Danny had been doing regular patrols around town to catch anyone who needed help.

That also means that his sleeping time had been radically reduced. Without even the energy to lift his head, Danny patted around for his phone. Once he finally found the device he hefted himself on his side with a groan. It was a new phone since he was the first casualty in Technus’ plan. Thankfully, Sam had given him another so his parents wouldn’t try to make him one. (Who knows what kind of ‘anti-ghost’ protection they would’ve put on it.)

Tucker had promised that he was working on fixing the virus going around. Hopefully, he had some kind of good news to share. As soon as Danny went to message him he realized he hadn’t downloaded their chat app to the new phone. With a sigh he knew that he would just have to use normal texting but with careful codewords.

Putting in Tucker's number with a yawn, Danny sent the first message.

‘It’s your undead bro. The night out tonight was killer. Any news on the techie progress?’

Danny smashed his face into his bed with a sigh after hitting send. Knowing Tucker he was probably face first in his laptop and won’t notice the message for a bit. He could probably just close his eyes and…

Before he could even consider taking a nap there was a generic jingle from the phone. He should really get to fixing that. Tuck deserves a much better ringtone than some bells.

‘Nothing noteworthy yet. It's harder to crack than normal but nothing I can't handle. Do you need me to take over for tomorrow?’

‘Also why aren't you using our chat?’

Danny squinted at the screen with a slight frown. It had been a while since Sam or Tucker tried to go out in his place. They learned pretty quickly that it made Danny way too anxious to have them out there without him. Something about not being there to protect them if they got over their heads made Danny’s chest ache. 

And of course, Tucker noticed that he wasn’t using the app he made. It was a bit glitchy at times, but what tech wasn’t when it came to Danny? Not only was it secure, but it became an easier way for them to establish a timeline for filing. Jazz had been the one who realized that they didn’t have steady information on not just the rouges but the events of the fights. It became a staple to write out what happened and what went wrong after hearing her lecture about it.

‘Don’t have it on this phone yet. And you know how I feel about you being out there.’

Danny watched the screen for a bit, waiting to see if Tucker would reply immediately again. His mom probably caught him on his computer all day and was forcing him to separate himself from it for a while. It wasn’t an uncommon thing for Ms. Foley to do.

‘Yeah yeah, Mr. Possessive. Do you need me to walk you through how to get it again?’

Snorting at the pun, Danny easily replied. If Tucker was feeling sassy enough to joke about that, then he would push some buttons back. It was a simple banter that they sometimes fell into.

‘You know how I get with technology. I’m more likely to break something. Especially since this phone is so new. Whatever happened to flip phones?’

Danny snickered to himself at the message. Tucker had an ongoing war between new and old technology. While he loved his PDA he also admired some of the top-of-the-line devices. It was like the past and the future mixed in his friend's room. He would gush about the new devices but also gush about the older ones that still had functions that the newer ones lost. But flip phones? That was the only technology he knew that Tucker hated. It was the worst of both worlds for him. He’d been so excited when Danny’s flip phone was bricked by Technus’ virus.

‘I’m going to ignore that you said that.’

‘Also there’s going to be trouble in the park near you tomorrow. I’m already planning on going. Do you want in?’

Scooting up from his lounged position, Danny started to write back his reply.

‘Of course, I’ll be there. Don’t need you to go in alone and join the dead. Unusual for him to leave his plans there though. That’ll be fun to write in the report.’

The image of Jazz reading about that brought a smile to Danny’s face. She always found it interesting when one of the ghosts would change a long-time behavior. The fact that Technus was able to keep this rather on the down low would guarantee her interest. He was always one to blatantly announce his plans to the world to hear. Even though it’s a bit of a pain that he’s learning to keep things to himself it would peak Jazz’s curiosity, which made it bearable.

‘It is weird. And don’t remind me about the report. I still have the one from last week to write and I don’t want to do it.’

That made Danny laugh to himself a little. Last week the lunch lady tried to embrace the Ultra-Recyclo Vegetarian life. In the overflow of food, Tucker had gotten trapped in veggies. He was visibly green from having to eat some to escape. Sam had been excited about it at first before she saw how much food was being wasted. She ended up getting attacked for trying to explain the damage overconsumption and food waste could bring.

‘You looked like you wanted to vomit afterward. Well, at least we are prepared this time. We don’t always get that chance.’

Danny stretched out his stubborn limbs, feeling himself try to sink into the darkness. He’d have to end the conversation sooner rather than later. At this rate, he wouldn’t have a choice on whether he was taking a nap or not. At the familiar sound of bells, he looked back down at the conversation.

‘Unfortunately. Well, I’ll be finished by the time we meet at the park. I know you usually like to sleep after a long night.’

The reply made Danny’s core feel fuzzy with happiness. Tucker always knows him so well. He doesn’t know what he did to get such a fantastic best friend. It was at times like these that Danny knew he was so glad that they were in this together. With two of his best friends at his side, it made being a vigilante so much easier to bear. 

‘Thanks. Remember that not just the dead get to sleep. Don’t push yourself. Goodnight.’

With that, Danny felt comfortable with setting his phone down to get changed into pajamas. It ached on his back to take off his shirt, but Jazz would be disappointed in the morning if he didn’t. She always got that pinched look on her face when he didn’t take care of himself to her standards. Her standards weren’t exactly high up either so it made him feel extra upset when he missed the mark.

Being careful to not lie on his back, Danny got back into his bed. He curled himself into the blankets with a small smile. One last chime of bells rang out in the room, probably from Tucker saying goodnight back. Picking up his phone, he opened up the lock screen and looked at his messages.

Instead of a goodnight, his stomach dropped as he realized a different number messaged him. A very familiar number.

‘Hey dude! I know you had to get a new phone so this is me. Not only did I figure out how it’s spreading, I think I finally found a way to get rid of the virus.’

Practically throwing himself off the bed, Danny got to his feet. Both his back and his mind screamed at him as he looked over the message. He tapped back to the one he’d just been replying to, finding his heart stopping at the string of numbers. One of the area code numbers was a six instead of a nine. He’d been messaging a stranger this entire time.

Looking back at the messages he convinced himself that it was fine. He was vague enough to not be recognized. It wasn’t like this person was from Amity. They won’t recognize the correlation between him and Phantom. Surely the other person wouldn’t take his words at face value. 

Worst comes to worst he can have Tucker take over his phone for a bit and make sure the other person can’t find out who he is. He hadn’t bought the phone or had it under his name in any way, so they could only find out from the conversation alone.

Breathing out a breath of air he kissed his night of sleep goodbye.

‘I’ll be over in a sec Tuck. I think I just made a mistake.’

[tsuzukerukoto]

Kicking my feet and twirling my hair as I read Makoto's comments whenever he inspects something. Also my god he wants to destroy the cameras so badly. LET HIM

[j0kers-light]

To Be Found

The first official chapter. Where everything started! I WAS SWEATING ON THIS ONE! I had to set the scene, prep the ride I wanted yall to travel on and PHEW! Man this brings back memories.

Everywhere in Gotham was dangerous but at least you didn't sleep in Joker's playground.

Hehe, foreshadowing because Joker would be sleeping in our house verrrrry soon. 😏

Just mentioning the name of your hometown made your skin crawl.

Gotta love Blüdhaven. 👀👀 I was dropping hints left and right 🥴

You didn't care about how your close proximity to Bruce was perceived. You were socializing and making new friends, all while talking about your passion for writing. Let the press have a field day. You would deal with the rumors later.

Yall remember when Bruce was a potential romantic interest? That was purely Chaos living vicariously through Y/n. I needed a love triangle and he fit the bill perfectly. I had no idea Bruce would catch so much hate tho! One anon messaged me and asked if it was still a Joker x you story 🤣🤣 I had the girls shook!

I think one anon mentioned she cannot stand Bruce anymore 🥴

"Ask of me anything. I will defy my own will to grant your desires." Bruce cited with a confident grin.

I love how my brain works. I legit penned that.

….The Joker has once again escaped from Arkham Asylum custody and is at large at the current hour.

Enter Joker. Okay I really did lock in the visuals for this chapter. It reads like a movie 😳🫠

"No offense Barb but when isn't The Joker free? I'm still relatively new to the city and I don't get the hype for a shelter in place. It's just one guy.."

It’s just one guy Y/n. One guy who’s gonna change your life 🤭🤭

Now that you were fully settled, you sent a text to Barb letting her know you were safe.

I guess now is a good time to talk about Barbara. I am fully aware of how Y/n's friends are interpreted. They are rude, overbearing, not a girl's girl CHAOS KNOWS. Its all a part of my plan. Hopefully in time you will see why I wrote her friends in such a negative light.

Hovering above you was Gotham City’s worst nightmare: The Joker. Up close he wasn't as scary as the media painted him out to be. What terrified you the most was the 9 mm digging into your forehead.

look its our daddy! I MEAN! Its Joker 👀 ugh I struggled heavy on how to introduce these two idiots. Looking back I made a great decision.

Honorable first meets: at a charity event, J robbing it of course, him hiding in Y/n's apartment (didn't work with my penthouse theory) or holding her hostage at an event and taking back to his hideout.

You remained calm although he felt the way your heart beat wildly in your chest but that could all be chalked up to the normal adrenaline rush after a jog. Joker glanced down at your attire and knew that wasn't the case. You were dressed like a rich spoiled brat caught in the rain. Snakeskin boots and leather pants? Were you asking to get mugged? He chose to ignore how your pants hugged your figure… and what a figure indeed..

Confirmed: Joker was a simp right from the beginning! 🤭🤭

He didn't pull the trigger or reprimand you so you pressed your luck again but right as you parted your lips to speak, he rolled off you. Was it wrong to miss his weight on you? Were you finally losing it? He did feel kinda nice– warm and solid, smelling faintly of rain and gunpowder, a shockingly good combination.

and our leading lady was checking J out from the beginning too!!! One could actually call it, love at first sight ah I love it here.

"Oh, um you're bleeding!" Your head snapped up hearing his sarcastic laugh, though it sounded more winded than it usually did on tv. "As one typically does when.. ah shot."

That sarcastic clown. Ugh I love him for it.

Joker's appearance was tall and lanky but as you held him up you discovered the truth. He was all muscle underneath his tailored suits and haunting visage. You didn't know how to process that new information and wisely steered the conversation elsewhere.

sleeper build for the win

"Shhh shh shhhh." He cooed to you softly. "Trust me on this. I'm a man of many talents." His dark glare hinted to those many talents; some you didn't wish to think about..

no no.... you thought about it. 😏

The door chimed open waiting for its passengers, offering much needed light to the dark lobby however Joker adopted his sinister persona again and slowly backed you into the elevator. Your back hit the mirrored wall with Joker coming to a stop in front of you. You were at a loss in front of his towering height. He didn't break eye contact with you as he stabbed the twelfth-floor button on the panel.

I'll just leave this here as inspiration.

'Head north towards West Mercy Hospital. Snatch a resident on their smoke break; anyone would do.' Joker knew his plan was foolproof but he didn't factor in his blood loss or you getting in the way.

Fun fact! I toyed with the idea of Y/n being a nurse not a writer in an early outline so I added this little bit to pay homage to that idea.

"Oh my God. I'm harboring a fugitive."

Why yes you are Y/n. AHHHHH I can''t believe I wrote that in 2022 what a ride its been AND IM NOT EVEN DONE!

His Lighthouse Re-Read Thread

Hey hi my loves!!! I've read my own story 14 million times but I never did an official reread thread so thank @jaysmentalspace for what's about to happen! 🖤✨

This will be an interactive thread. Yes, you can join in with your own comments, reblogs, whatever! I will start from chapter one and I guess, review/commentate my own story! I hope you enjoy the ride. There's gonna be fun facts, behind the scenes commentary, who knows. 🤷🏾‍♀️

His Lighthouse masterlist let's get started.

[alexiajjk]

jungkook fic recs list (part 1) ౨ৎ

hi!! :) here’s a list of some of my favorite jungkook fics on this app. all of these authors are so talented and i absolutely love their writing! i have soooo many jk fics saved here so i might make another lists soon <3

a- angst f- fluff s- smut

series (completed)

the love prognosis by @awrkive

medical!au, surgeon!jk, surgeon!(fem)reader, corporate lawyer!mingyu, rommates!au, f2l

for as long as you can remember, you've always been a hopeless romantic. the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time.

the cocktail trilogy by @borathae

strangers to lovers!au, diner!au, biker gang!au (a, f, s)

You always thought of your life as nothing exciting. Small town, stable job at the local diner, a roof over your head and nice friends. It didn’t take much to make you happy. But that all changes with the arrival of Jeon Jungkook, mysterious biker with dark hair, tattooed skin and a preference for leather jackets. It doesn’t take long for you to realise that life has so much more in store for you and Jungkook is happy to show you all of it…

inevitable by @ahundredtimesover

exes au, parents au, dad jungkook, baseball player jungkook (a, f, s)

You convinced Jungkook to break up years ago so he could pursue his lifelong baseball dream. Now he’s back home, staring at you, and the little boy next to you who looks unmistakably like him.

two point five by @bratkook

handyman!jungkook (f, s)

Who would have thought booking a handyman from an app would lead to this. Sure, you wish he’d mount you instead of just your television, but you could totally be friends. Right?

between takes by @jeonstudios

porn star!jk x f fluffer!reader, porn star au (a, f, s)

as a fluffer for a popular porn star, your focus is to keep him hard and performing on set. turns out he's not the only thing that's hard

chasing cars by @oddinary4bts

brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader, Hoseok x female reader, forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au (a, f, s)

when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

still don’t know my name by @dollfaceksj

mini three-shot, cybersex, enemies (s)

In which your annoying neighbor—that you can’t stand—turns out to be the person behind the online account you’ve been sexting. You still don’t know his name.

series (ongoing)

colour me in by @taegularities

fwb, fake dating, college!au (a, f, s)

Jungkook's door only opens for you when there's a barter: a trade of lust and haze. But today you knock for something more, as intriguing as it is frightening – and you hope it doesn't close his door forever.

mutual help by @personasintro

fake dating au, slow burn (a, f, s)

in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires �� he calls it mutual help

to build a home by @soft4gguk

dilf!jk x nanny!oc / ceo! jk / strangers to lovers (a, f, s)

at twenty-eight, jungkook sees himself go from a family of three, to one of two - heartbreak never comes easy, but nothing could've prepared him for being a single parent as a result of Ira walking out on him. pain brings chaos and he's in need of help. it's only fateful that you so happen to be a blessing in disguise... in many ways than one.

oneshots

jump then fall (into you) by @writtenwhalien

cruise au, fake dating au, best friends to lovers au (a, f, s)

bringing Jungkook along as your date to your ex’s lavish cruise wedding seemed like a perfect idea at first — all of your family and close friends together, nothing can go wrong… then Jungkook’s ex shows up and all of a sudden you’re in a years long relationship with him. You don’t mind though, really, how hard can sharing a cabin and pretending to be deeply in love with your best friend really be?

not in that way by @girlygguk

childhood bffs2l (a, f, s)

in which you're hopelessly in love with your best friend, min yoongi. meanwhile, your other best friend, jeon jungkook, is hopelessly in love with you.

star behind waves by @taegularities

estranged best friends to lovers, vacation/beach!au (a, f, s)

With a decade’s distance between Jungkook and you, your paths cross on the same island you deemed your second home years ago. And you realise once again – the ocean can never compare to the twinkle in his starry eyes.

seven storms by @wintaerbaer

forbidden love (a, f, s)

As a young woman of considerable wealth, it has always been your father's expectation that you would marry one of the local aristocrats once you came of age. Your family's stable hand? Certainly not an option

self-care sunday by @shina913

nailtech!Jungkook, meet cute (f)

You arrive at your mani-pedi appointment to find out that your usual technician is unexpectedly out. Instead, the salon owner’s son offers to do your nails instead.

[whoreforsexymen]

The VIP Booth | Vander Smut Oneshot 🫗🤎

(Gif creds: me <3)

Pairings: Husband!Vander x Wife!Reader

Pronouns: Fem!Pronouns

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked! 🤺

Word Count: 3.1k (whoops. got carried away with storybuilding)

Tags: Cunnilingus, Fingering, Face Fucking, Finger Sucking, Hair Pulling, Semi-Public Sexual Acts, Established Relationship, etc.

Summary: You coax your husband into eating you out in the only private area The Last Drop has to offer.

Notes: AAAA!! Idk if this idea is ANY GOOD but it came to me in a moment of delusion. The last bit was probably a little rushed, too. SORRYYYY. I’ll make it up to yall later.

Also, tell me I’m wrong when I say that Vander will go to any length to eat some pussy. Do it, cowards. I dare you. YOU KNOW JUST AS WELL AS I DO THAT THIS MAN WOULD HAPPILY DIE WITH HIS FACE IN BETWEEN A PAIR OF THIGHS.

Asks/Request fics are coming soon, as well as a few more special treats for y’all!! Enjoy, my lovelies, & stay tuned. 🤍

(I can see you, minors!! Get outta here 🤺🤺. BACK! BACK, I SAY!)

Inside the walls of The Last Drop, there was one booth unlike any other—a private, exclusive spot tucked away behind the bustling central room. It was a booth reserved for those willing to pay for top-tier service, offering a secluded escape from the usual chaos of the bar’s environment. But as co-owner of The Last Drop—and wife to the main owner—you didn’t need to fork out any cash to reserve it. Especially not on a night like this. No—tonight, luck was on your side. The booth had gone unclaimed by any paying customer.

Truthfully, the undeniably significant feature were its curtains. The enormous maroon tapestries that enveloped the entrance ensured complete privacy, shielding it from prying eyes. After all, that’s what made it the VIP booth—an oasis of solitude amidst the drunken chaos of the crowd.

With the booth left unreserved, its privacy ensuring a rare moment of seclusion, and the crowd blissfully distracted by their own drunken revelry, the opportunity was simply too perfect to pass up. You had concocted a devilish plan—one that had been simmering in your mind all night. It wasn’t just about messing with your husband—it was about messing around with him.

Your overwhelming desire for your husband was impossible to ignore on any given day, but tonight, it seemed even more intense—an insatiable hunger that gnawed at you, its cause elusive and beyond your comprehension. Whatever the reason, it gripped you with a force you couldn't obstruct, leaving you restless and consumed by pure unadulterated lust.

This, naturally, allowed your plan to unfold effortlessly, as if guided by an invisible hand, bringing it closer to fruition.

To carry out your devious plan, you had carefully cultivated the trust of one of the few individuals who worked for you and Vander. They weren’t exactly employees in the traditional sense, but rather a handful of people you kept on the fringes, offering a few coins in exchange for their occasional assistance. Their loyalty was fleeting, bought with small tokens, but it was enough to serve your purpose. Especially in a moment such as this. A seemingly crucial one—at that.

You kept things vague, framing your request as though it were purely concerning a business discussion needing to be had. You asked your employee to discreetly inform your husband that someone was calling him from behind the velvet curtains of the VIP booth. You also made it clear that the employee should mirror your discretion, avoiding any mention of your name or your connection to him.

The employee appeared curious, even somewhat uneasy, at first. That was, however, prior to you slipping a generous cash bonus their way, eliciting their cooperation without room for protest.

"Go on, please," you plead with your unsuspecting employee, your voice laced with a blend of urgency and excitement. "But remember—don’t tell him it’s me."

As the employee slips into the bustling crowd, you struggle to contain the surge of excitement building within you, all while fighting to maintain a sultry—yet composed, demeanor. You adjust your hair, breasts, and clothing, making subtle moves to enhance your allure and mystery. Every gesture is deliberate, designed to keep you as collected and captivating as possible, cultivating an air of intrigue about you as you desperately await the arrival of your beloved husband.

They fulfilled your agreement as you waited—approaching their boss and informing him that someone had entered the VIP booth, insisting on speaking with him directly.

"VIP booth? Thought nobody booked it tonight," Vander remarks, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest as he takes a moment to process the information. Normally, you were the one who handled the VIP booth, and he’d have gladly passed this task off to you—if the employee hadn’t mentioned that the VIP “customer” specifically requested Vander. Looks like he’d have to put on a more hospitable facade and give them what they wanted.

If only he knew just what this "customer" truly wanted from him.

After a series of grunts, groans, and huffs, Vander finally made his way to the booth. After forcing a welcoming smile onto his face, he slowly pushed aside the curtains.

"Sorry for the wait. You wanted to speak to the owner—"

His voice faltered, trailing off faster than it had taken him to summon the words.

You feel your own response threaten to catch in your throat, but you won’t cave. You abandon your nerves.

"Why yes, I did. Although..." you drawl, your tone laced with playful mischief, "...'speak' isn’t exactly at the top of the list of things I want to do to the owner."

Your sultry gaze locks onto his, deliciously teasing. Vander, already an imposing figure, looms even larger from your vantage point in the booth. Seated as you are, you find yourself craning your neck significantly just to meet his eyes, the angle only amplifying his commanding presence.

A slew of unidentifiable emotions cross his face in a mere flash before fading into a singularly—equally mischievous to yours—-expression.

“Well. Seein’ as how you are the VIP patron of the night, how can I oblige you?” He queries, his eyebrow raising once more.

Your heart stutters beneath your breast as his expression shifts, his eyes darkening with a lust-filled intensity that sends a shiver through you. The chemistry between you two never failing to baffle you.

"...Serve me," you murmur, your voice soft yet determined to keep the air thick with seduction.

"And what, if I may be so bold to ask, can I serve you with?" he inquires, his voice dipping low, the provocative edge in his gaze unwavering.

"Your body." you quip, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves stirring in your gut, desperate to make it quiver.

Vander eyes you carefully for a moment, savoring the way your confidence wavers. He deliberately toys with the knowledge of how easily he can unsettle you, his gaze lingering as if relishing every flicker of hesitation you try to hide. A smirk slowly spreads across his mouth—the very one you ached for—his eyes glinting with an all-knowing, deviously sexy twinge. He nods softly, his hand rising to casually caress his beard as he watches you, the tension thick in the air.

“Mmhmm. I see," he murmurs, his tone laced with teasing amusement. "Who am I, if not a man willing to care for his loyal customers?" He phrases simply, the words carrying a heavy, unspoken promise before he moves, gracefully lowering himself to his knees across from you. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with anticipation, before he slowly begins to push himself beneath the table that had kept you both apart.

You don’t dare look beneath the table, almost afraid to meet his gaze at this moment, unsure of what you might see on his face now that the situation has shifted. The tension coils tighter, each passing second amplifying the anticipation that overwhelmed your senses.

You practically jump at the brush of his shoulders against your shins as he crawls to them, the rush of anticipation making every nerve in your body jolt. The aching desperation pulling through you draws attention to your core as you feel his strong hands gently caress your legs, the heat of his touch settling on your knees, sending a shiver through you. The way your teeth begin to tug at your bottom lip seemed like the only way you could physically process your eagerness.

Vander remains silent, his hands moving deliberately in opposite directions, the gesture designed to spread your legs—yet he did so with enough force to split you down the middle if he hadn’t been careful enough. It isn’t until he successfully parts them that he speaks again.

“No bottoms? My. What a dirty girl you are, my dear customer. What if someone else had walked in here, hmm? Did you plan on flashing your bits to any bloke who popped his head in?” He teases, practically groaning some of his words, the guttural tone an unintentional yet instinctual reaction to the sight of you so bare—-so clearly prepared for whatever scenario it was you anticipated happening in this little corner of the establishment.

It was obvious to your husband, from the way you were reacting, that the possibility of him crawling under the table to bury his face between your thighs hadn’t even crossed your mind. The surprise and hesitation in your twitches and subtle movements told him everything he needed to know.

The distant, familiar chatter of real customers beyond the thin barrier tightened the knot in your stomach, throwing you into the reality of the moment. It became an unrelenting presence, grounding you in the tension that hung in the air. Meanwhile, the hot, damp breath of your husband seethed against the cold slickness seeping from your cunt, a stark contrast that deepened the unease coursing through you.

A shiver ran up your spine, your body trembling as nervous spasms raked through your bones when he edged even closer—his hair grazing your skin in that familiar way you knew so well. It wasn’t uncommon for your husband to spend most of his time down here, yet no matter how often it happened, the anxiety it stirred within you never waned.

You had an even harder time controlling how your body writhed as you felt the warmth of his tongue flush itself against your sopping heat. Your nails pressed into the soft wood of the table, digging in as you braced yourself, your body jerking. The spasms faltered for a moment, your body going rigid once he started violently lapping his tongue against your aching clit. The abrasing way his beard rubbed against the skin of your thighs sent you into a spiral.

You had expected him to fuck you directly on the table, to take you in the way you were used to—but instead, he toyed with you from beneath it, the unanticipated choice leaving you bewildered. You had been aching for what felt like ages, the desperation almost unbearable. It was a struggle to keep your mouth from parting—your head tilting back, eyes closing as your husband began to ease the tension that had gripped you for so long.

All you wanted was to whimper, to cry out for him, but you couldn’t—not with the patrons so close, just beyond the curtains. If he had only fucked you as you’d expected, he would’ve easily pressed a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, as he had in similar situations before. But this time, you knew he had chosen this path deliberately, testing whether you could hold your composure.

It was his unspoken way of making you atone for the ploy you used to get him here. He was a patient lover, understanding that even though you had pulled him away from his work—which he didn’t mind as much as he let on—you were just too eager to be patient. Always attuned to your needs, he was more than willing to satisfy the cravings of his most cherished wife, finding joy in fulfilling your desires—no matter the time or place. The absence of his familiar presence behind the bar, and the slight potential for upsetting customers, felt like a small price to pay in exchange for the chance to fully indulge in you. To unravel and claim you in ways only he could.

His tongue was relentless. He sloppily sucked and licked at your needy clit, his nose rubbing against the mound of flesh above as he devoured you. His hands were as equally hungry as his mouth, and in need of something to grab. He manhandles your legs, draping them roughly over his shoulders, his fingers gripping at your plush thighs as he curls his arms around them. In doing so, he pulled you closer, your back slipping against the booth as he guided you down, drawing you nearer to him with a purposeful force. His cock was begging to be set free from its cloth prison as he sunk his tongue deep into the void of your cunt. The rhythmic, wet sounds became a melody more captivating than any song he'd ever heard, especially when paired with the soft mewls of you struggling to stay collected—and most importantly—silent.

You can both hear and feel his laugh against you, a deep, low chuckle that carries a mix of arousal and amusement, vibrating through you with every huff. He found the way he could make you squirm incredibly sexy, the reaction sparking a deep sense of pride within him. There was something about the ease with which he could unsettle you that thrilled him, and he took great satisfaction in knowing how little effort it took. He knew all too well that it only took something as simple as a certain look to have you coming undone—and right now, he was determined to make you come undone. All over his tongue.

Vander knows just how wild his fingers can make you on their own— yet especially so when paired with the mastery of his expertly quick and thoughtful tongue.

He wasted no time in combining the two, intent on making you crack under the pressure. While Vander didn’t particularly want to be caught by patrons, either—or, for that matter, by one of your employees—his desire to make you scream was always his top priority.

He grips your thighs with more gusto than before, continuing to pull them further apart in hopes of expanding his ‘workspace’. He releases one of them, the fingers of that hand moving to replace the tongue that was working its familiar magic inside you. He doesn’t give you so much as a single moment to collect your thoughts as he makes the exchange, effortlessly ramming and curling two up into your cunt as his tongue continues its prior attack on your clit.

You swore you were seeing stars behind your eyelids, your grip on the table faltering just like your efforts to stay in control. You couldn't even attempt to cover your mouth, not with the relentless—yet unintentional—way your hands found their way under the table, tangling in his hair and gripping with enough force to pull some strands loose.

You greedily buck your hips down to meet the thrusting of his digits, pulling his head as far into your cunt as possible. He doesn’t complain. He never would. Maybe it was his own type of preferred masochism, but he’d consider suffocating and perishing in between your legs in this way, a noble death.

Your toes ache from the force with which you’re curling them, your legs clutching and winding around his shoulders and neck like a python.

By now, you had abandoned all caution, hope, and effort to moan quietly. You were practically screaming over the deliciously knowing way he prodded his thick fingers into your cunt. He had long forgotten to move them in and out. He knew exactly what spot drove you mad, and he made his most conscious effort to curl them into it as rapidly and frequently as possible.

As much as Vander adored your cries, they were truly becoming far too loud. He really didn’t want any curious folks to come wandering in to spoil the moment when you were so close to your inevitable peak. He has no choice but to silence you. With the hand that remained on your other thigh, he removed it from its resting place, reaching up from beneath the table as he gazes up at you. With a smirk against your cunt, and his eyes studying how your head was still thrown back against the booth, eyes shut tighter than a steel trap—-he shoves two of his free fingers into your mouth. Your eyes shoot open. You look down at him, earning a wink from your husband as he smirks harder against your cunt. The eye contact was filthy, in the most erotic way possible. It always made you feel slightly awkward, in an oddly arousing way, when you made such a type of contact with him in the heat of a moment like this.

You willingly sucked on his fingers, now understanding the purpose for his actions after a thoughtful moment. He groans against your cunt, luckily the sound being muffled by how much his mouth was buried into it. Your tongue swirls itself rapaciously around the digits, drool falling from your mouth as you did so. Vander simply can’t tear his eyes away from such a sight. He groans more as you lower your own gaze, your expression deadly with seduction. He was almost pissy that both of his hands were occupied at the moment. He was anxious to palm at his cock, desperate to find friction of his own now.

His tongue and lips were still working their relentless job on your clit, suckling every few seconds amidst the slurping. The way his facial hair brushes against it every now and then almost sends you into hysterics—bordering on a full blown frenzy.

Your legs are quaking, twitching and spasming with every harsh lick to your clit. It was so sensitive, you couldn’t help how it shocked your nerves, causing them all to fire simultaneously. Electricity burned in your veins, desperate to chase your orgasm as it made your hips flick against his mouth faster than he could lap at you.

Your orgasm burrowed itself into the pit of your stomach, commanding you to follow it down to your cunt.

It didn’t take much longer for you to keel over the edge of your impending climax. It burst through you, your legs clamping shut around his face—a move which Vander was used to by now—-hips mindlessly gyrating against his face as you brutally cum around his fingers. Vander can feel your walls clenching and relaxing back to back with each additional thrust he gave, your voice begging to slip past his fingers as you come undone. He thought you had been dripping wet at the start of this—but he had been sorely mistaken. Your arousal was seeping out of you despite his fingers plugging you up.

“Attagirl..” He whispers against you, giving your clit a few final licks before reluctantly pulling away. The grip on his hair finally loosened as your body went almost completely limp. Your breathing came in rapid, shallow gasps, just as desperate as Vander, himself, now was. His cock was so hard, it felt like it was being choked by his trousers. But he had the patience of a saint. He could wait as long as needed for you to collect yourself once again.

“So, was the service to your liking?” he asks, his tone teasing—and entirely rhetorical—as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The fingers that had been in your mouth slide free as he takes a moment to compose himself.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles, clearly amused by how speechless you’ve become.

“Just don’t forget to tip your server..” He teases, alluding to the painfully obvious fact, that this situation is far from over.

[ambivalence-is-me]

All I Want (One-Shot)

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Summary: Do opposites really attract? Feyre didn’t think so but Y/N and Azriel prove her wrong.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: fluff

A/N: this is kinda from Feyre’s pov, beginning of ACOMF. I’m in love with the idea of someone from the outside looking at two people in love. I’m thinking of turning this into a series? Or just more one shots? Like write about the dates, the wedding, that stuff. Let me know if anyone would be interested to read it!

————————————————————-

Feyre was shocked. Well, lately it seemed that’s all she was: shocked with a side of skeptical and scared. How else was she supposed to feel after everything she’s been through? She’s thinking of the very first times Rhysand took her to the Night Court. It was during one of those ‘’visits’’ that she first met you.

‘’She’ll help you with anything you need’’ he had said and that you did.

Feyre had taken one look at you and didn’t really know what to think. Physically you didn’t look like a threat, you were beautiful (it seemed there weren’t ugly faes) and your posture was relaxed, like you weren’t standing in front of the Cursebreaker but just another fae. You were smiling kindly at her, no judgement in your eyes and then you started talking.

And you never really stopped.

You were a yapper. Answered all of Feyre’s questions as best as you could and more. You walked her through the court’s history, culture, customs, everything. On her second meeting with you, she had concluded you definitely weren’t a threat. Instead, you were easygoing, kind and just freaking…happy? It seemed like you were always shinning, that nothing can bring you down. Feyre had tested that after a particularly bad day when Rhysand was driving her up the wall. But instead of running away, you stayed and helped her, saving Rhys from another shoe-throwing incident.

You had this soft and gentle angle that reminded her of her sister Elain. But you weren’t quite as graceful as Elain. You were louder, clumsier and upbeat, not afraid to strike up a conversation with anyone about anything. And you definitely weren’t like her sister Nesta but she could tell you shared her observation skills.

Truthfully, for Feyre, you were a saving grace. Someone she could go to in this new world that was thrown at her. She never really expressed any of this of course, scared that if someone found out you’d be in harm's way but she kept you close to her whenever possible.

That’s why Feyre was extremely happy that you were accompanying her to a dinner with Rhysand’s family. Thanks to the information Feyre had gathered from you and meeting them beforehand briefly, she inferred that you obviously knew them but you never stated what was your relationship with them.

Which is why Feyre is now shocked to see the turn of events.

She had expected you to be close friends with them, how can you not? You were a social butterfly and if Rhysand’s family was anything like him, she was sure you had befriended all of them. And you had but not in the way Feyre had expected.

‘’Feyre darling, care to share why you look so shocked?’’ Rhysand asked her with that stupid smile of his. But she couldn’t even bother to answer him, not when she was still staring at the scene in front of her.

Again, Feyre had met these faes…briefly. She’d experience Mor’s welcoming energy, Cassian’s cheeky smiles and jokes, Amren’s silver bright eyes and of course…Azriel’s quiet and intimidating presence. The latter preferring to stay in his shadows and observe the chaos around him.

Which is why Feyre NEVER expected for him to be with…you.

Obviously Feyre didn’t know him, not at all, just what you and Rhysand had told her but she was confident that her observations of him helped her come up with an idea of him. It seemed that she was wrong.

They were all gathered in this beautiful grand room, just chatting and sipping on expensive wine before dinner. Cassian and Amren were in conversation in a corner of the room, the latter looking annoyed at whatever the big Illyrian was saying. You, Mor and Azriel occupied a big comfortable looking sofa. You and Mor leading the dialogue and Azriel, unsurprisingly, was just sitting there listening and assessing. But that’s not what had Feyre shocked. No, it was the fact that you were almost sitting on the Shadowsinger’s lap.

He had one whole arm wrapped around your waist, it screamed ‘’she’s mine’’. His other hand touching your hair softly, as if he put any more pressure on it, it would break. His eyes went back and forth between all of the faes in the room but stayed mostly on you. And Feyre didn’t know if he knew that he was smiling.

SMILING

A small soft smile that Feyre didn’t know the Shadowsinger was capable of. It made him look a thousand times more irresistible. A thought that didn’t go unnoticed by Rhys, who arched an eyebrow at her in return. But Feyre didn’t say anything, she opted to try and hide her surprise and continue on with the evening.

An evening that only continue to bamboozle her. At the dinner table, you were sitting infront of Feyre. Azriel on your left side, Cassian on your right. It was a pretty funny picture Feyre would love to paint. Your frame and sunshine aura in the middle of two big intimidating Illyrian soldiers. As she had expected, you were mostly leading the conversation during dinner. Cassian and Mor quickly keeping up with your jokes and laughter, Rhysand chimed in at times but seemed content to take it all in with a soft smile. But Feyre was observing Azriel and Azriel was observing you.

His eyes didn’t seem to wander off too much, seemingly staying on you throughout the night. He looked at you like you held the world in your hands. Honestly, Feyre had never seen anything like this up close. There were no doubts that this male was incredibly in love with you and honestly, Feyre didn’t even know how to react.

Feyre thought she loved Tamlin at one point but now, after witnessing how Azriel looked at you, just this one look, she was extremely in the wrong.

If you moved, Azriel moved. He was so attentive to your needs: refilling your drinks, serving you more food, he held your hand, brushed your hair away from your face; all of it without you having to ask once. At one point, you looked at him with a smile Feyre hadn’t seen from you before and kissed his temple. An act so simple and yet so intimate that Feyre had to look away. Small tears graced the corner of her eyes, her chest felt so…whole?

She was in a room full of so much love that it was overwhelming her. This isn’t what she expected at all.

You seemed to notice that something was wrong with Feyre. Asking her with your eyes what was wrong. But she didn’t say anything, just gave her a look that you hoped would understand that said ‘’we’ll talk later’’. And later you did.

‘’You’re with Azriel?!’’ She had all but exploded the next day when it was just the two of you.

You smiled and said ‘’Yes’’ like it was a fact so obvious that Feyre should’ve have known. But it only confused her more.

‘’But-you-you’re so…’’

‘’Different?’’ You finished. The same smile still on your face. Feyre could only nod.

This wasn’t the first time someone had questioned your relationship with Azriel. To be fair, you were the very first one to question it back when you started courting a couple of hundred years ago. Because the truth was that you and him truly were opposites. You, an extrovert and him obviously an introvert.

But it was your differences that somehow made it work, that completed each other. At the beginning it had taken time. You never seemed to stop talking and you worried that it was only annoying Azriel. But you never did, at least, he insists that you don’t. But you’ve learned to know his little quirks and expressions. You’ve learned when to stop your yapping around him, particularly only for few moments after he’s had a bad day. You’ve learned his ways, and he learned yours.

He learned to interpret the moments when you kept a conversation going because you wanted to and not because you felt like you HAD to. He learned how to ground you back and remind you that your job wasn’t to make everyone’s day brighter. He learned to take care of you, and you took care of him.

You explained all of this to Feyre, a soft smile never leaving your face when you talked about your Shadowsinger and Feyre couldn’t help but smile back.

‘’In the human world, we- ‘’..She cleared her throat. ‘’When people love each other, they get married but here that seems so…miniscule. Like, marriage isn’t enough for the love you and Azriel have.’’

It was the best thing Feyre could say because really, she didn’t know how else to compare the love you and Azriel seemed to have.

You beamed at that. ‘’I thought the same actually but our wedding day was one of the best days of my life. Right after our mating ceremony.’’

Feyre looked confused. Mating ceremony? But you only kept smiling.

‘’ We’d already been married for a hundred years when the bond snapped. Mating bonds are so special and rare, Feyre’’ You looked at her.

‘’I was already blessed to have found a male that loved me and all of my loudness. And then, to be gifted a mating bond with him?’’ You shook your head as if you still couldn’t believe it.

In truth, even many years later, you still couldn’t. And that was all Azriel. He made you feel so incredibly happy and whole. He still made you feel like a fool, as if you’re a female who’s experiencing falling in love for the first time. And perhaps that’s why the shock Feyre had felt still hadn’t left. Because she couldn’t comprehend how you and Azriel made it look like it was just yesterday that you got together. Like you were still in the honeymoon phase.

Feyre had seen married couples in her village. They fought and yelled at each other frequently, almost never held hands and especially didn’t show public display of affection. But what you and Azriel had didn’t look like that AT ALL.

Later, after you had left saying ‘’Azriel said he had a surprise but I’m pretty sure I know what it is. I don’t care what his job description is, I can find out what he’s planning!’’, Feyre was still processing your love story.

It didn’t seem real. It didn’t seem real that two people/fae could love each other so much, who would do absolutely freaking anything, including die, for each other. After her experience with Tamlin, Feyre wasn’t sure if she’d ever have what you and Azriel have. Deep down inside, she wanted it. She felt like she didn’t deserve it, specially after what she’s done but…she hoped that maybe one day, however far it may be, she would have someone who would look at her like Azriel looks at you.

[justaz]

country bumpkin merlin not knowing anything about city life and accidentally courting arthur without knowing

merlin, watching gwen give lancelot her favor: why do you do that

gwen, heart eyes at lance and not paying that much attention to the conversation: so he knows i’m rooting for him

merlin, with an Idea: ah.

gwaine, lover of chaos, pisser offer of nobles and royals alike, ultimate wingman: merlin…you have such lonely lips. shall i introduce them to mine?

merlin, unaware of the game gwaine is playing: so you can steal my breath away? i think not, scoundrel

arthur, crushing his goblet in his hand:

merlin: arthur’s been in a bad mood recently :( i should cheer him up

merlin, remembering when arthur was put out when merlin brought morgana flowers and not him: i know just the thing

merlin, bringing a bouquet of carnations, roses, and tulips and setting them on arthur’s table while he’s eating breakfast: good morning, sire

arthur, trained on flower language in hopes that one day when he was to take a queen he could woo her easily, trying not to audibly choke on his sausage as he reads merlin’s declaration of love sitting in front of him:

arthur, who recently found out about merlin’s magic and was trying to find a way to bring it up, catching him in the act and watching merlin panic to explain himself:

merlin, Freaking: and i swear to you arthur, i have only ever used it for you. my magic is yours. my life is yours. i am yours. i would never do anything to harm you. i have protected you for years and will continue to do so at your side if you’ll have me

arthur, already believing them to be courting, desperately trying to figure out if that was a proposal for marriage or not but tired of being confused and deciding fuck it: here.

merlin, taking it: i…uh…huh?

arthur, watching merlin with hawk eyes and trying to figure out what he’s thinking and feeling: it’s my mothers sigil

merlin, confused as FUCK but is focusing on the fact that arthur is handing him something of his mother rather than a death sentence: my…my lord?

arthur, realizing how scared merlin’s must be about him finding out about his magic and trying to comfort him while also proposing, killing two birds with one stone: i will always keep you at my side, merlin, so long as we both shall live. if you’ll allow me.

merlin, almost collapsing with relief and tearing up, smiling at arthur as if he had parted the storm clouds to allow sun to shine down on them in that moment: of course…of course, arthur. always and forever.

merlin, watching the castle staff rush this way and that: wow. this banquet must be incredibly important

sir leon the long suffering, day one ride or die, one of the original merthur shippers: banquet? merlin, this is for your wedding

merlin, overworked and exhausted: my WHAT? to WHO??

leon, regretting everything he’s ever done in his life that led him to this moment: to…arthur?

merlin, over joyed but also absolutely befuddled: i’m getting married to ARTHUR?????

leon: you two have been courting for the past year or so, have you not?

merlin: i’ve been COURTING ARTHUR?????? FOR A YEAR?????????

[someprettyname]

BLLK BOYS MEETING YOUR PARENTS FOR THE FIRST TIME (HCs ver.)

characters included : Isagi Yoichi, Bachira Meguru, Shidou Ryusei, Barou Shoei, Chigiri Ryusei, Reo Mikage, Yukimiya Kenyu

a/n : has this been done already? I've been wanting to do for quite some time and now that I finally got over my laziness :] here's my vision for it y'all, I hope you enjoy :]

total word count : 1.5k (😱)

Lets start with the ultimate green flag best boy totally not because I'm whipped :D

1) He's a well cultured man who grew up in a healthy family, so that says a lot. 

2) have you seen how he used to put together chigiri's carekit, assemble the laundry, and wake nagi up? 

3) yeah. 

4) he's good at formalities and keeping a harmony in his environments. Thank his Fe aux and the fact that he's INFJ, but he KNOWS (by default) how to behave in a social setting really well. That just comes naturally to him. 

5) so of course he'd dress well, wear a kind smile and bring along gifts. 

6) your parents - no matter how "conservative" and against the idea of you having a boyfriend/love marriage they are - would be DELIGHTED. He's a good player, stable in career, good looking, rich, well behaved. Damn. You really bagged the perfect guy. They can't say anything even if they WANT to. 

7) and it's not like they can deny the way he looks at you. 

8) Any normal parent would approve of him SO QUICK. SO QUICK, MATE. SO QUICK. 

1) Sweet sweet fluff ball he is. 

2) he's goofy most of the times, but of course you matter to him so much. So he would tame himself. 

3) and everything goes smoothly from there 😙

4) no questionable outfit, well behaved and polite. He took tips from Isagi afterall :3 (and isagi has a PRETTY GOOD social awareness) 

5) extra plus points if you have younger siblings or cousins OR a pet. No explanation needed there. He'd get along with them really well :] 

6) would offer to help your mom in the kitchen (i mean, he had a single mom afterall, man knows nothing but respect for mother) and insist on it - that's where he won your mom over by the way :) <3 

7) now there can be two cases - either you have a black cat energy or are an introvert, in which case your parents would be relieved you finally found someone who can bring you out of your shell 

8) or you're an extrovert or have golden retriever energy - in which case your parents might internally sigh thinking of all the chaos you both might stir up (even if you both are pretty tamed in front of them) but they can't help adore you both >.<

1) .....

2) yeah

3) good luck. 

(on a serious note though, if you're dating him you're more likely to be a sweet, introverted girl. So your parents would be happy that you found someone who can bring you out of your shell pt 2. Though his wilder, more violent side can be.... concerning, hopefully, he tames himself up for you atleast a little bit. That'd probably be easy given how much of a calming effect you have on him :3) 

1) See. you need to understand my vision here. Barou off field is a guy you'd 100% want to date okay? 

2) he's the brother of 2 younger sister, hopefully (unlike my elder brother 🥰) he KNOWS how to treat women. Okay? 

3) I mean, did you see how he treated her mother when she was pregnant on the light novel? Chef kiss. He's definitely a green flag guy okay? 

4) if you've hung out with enough guys (which I'm pretty sure you have) you'd know how nasty a boy to boy only conversation can get. How they so disgustingly objectify women. Yeah. Uh huh. Barou's the kind of guy who'd NOT hesitate to step in and stop that bullshit whenever discussions with his male friends go in that direction. You get my vision now? 

5) he's definitely a family man who RESPECTS his family. He's a guy who you'd want to take back to your mama's (or dada's but that'd spoil my lyrics reference) house ygwim ;) 

6) if you have a traditional family, congrats. You bagged yourself THE perfect man your parents could've imagined. They are proud of you 😂❤️

7) look. I see the dad to boyfriend rapid fire round as something REALLY important (considering your dad isn't a red flag and is not trying to sabotage your happiness 🙏🏻) because ONLY MEN know how nasty other men can get and what they need to protect their daughters from. And Barou? Honey he is PASSING THAT RAPID FIRE ROUND WITH FLYING COLOURS!!!!

8) a supposedly good looking rich guy (who bought them *cough* some real expensive *cough* gift when he came over dinner) who knows what he's doing? Pass. 

9) I'm sure your parents would notice how his eyes soften in the slightest everytime he looks at you and that'd be enough to tell them how he's whipped for you (no matter how firm he's on the outside) and you've found yourself the right guy ;) 

10) (plus the sight of him walking out of his black and red sports with the bouquet of flowers was a SIGHT. TO. BEHOLD. Barou is a classy man afterall.) 

11) yay! WOOP WOOP 🎉

1) He has a older sister, that should be your first cue ;) 

2) he's handsome okay? LIKE ONE OF THE PRETTIEST, MOST HANDSOME GUY YOUR PARENTS WOULD EVER MEET. 

3) He'd enter the room and it'd be LIT UP by his beauty. He's AMAZING. Your parents would be BLOWN away. They just can't help it. (So blown away that they accidentally forget the part where they had to question his hair length xD) 

4) of course they have seen him on TV and googled him but seeing him in real life was a while different thing. Can you imagine the scene? You see my vision? 

5) imagine him walking in in a white button up, his hair neatly done and muscles straining through his shirt as he holds the rose bouquet in his hands gracefully. Plus he smells good. 

6) yeah. 

7) (even you'd be blown away, what's your parents anyways 😔) AND THEN THEY REALISE THAT HE IS A GREEN FLAG AND RICH TOO? 

8) woman. 🤨 Don't embarass them. Why aren't you both married already? 🤨

9) If it's over at yours (as opposed to a formal setting like a restaurant) that the dinner is planned, he's definitely offering help to your mom :D 

10) and of course your father would know he's a gentleman too, so he's another guy who'd get approved real quick 😌↕️

11) (he bought your mom jewellery, haircare & skincare stuff over others afterall, how can she NOT?! She's CHARMED by her son-in-law. Not to be son-in-law. In her mind you're both married already 🥰) 

12) be ready to bear with your parents getting insufferable about deciding marriage dates and who all to call in your wedding after he has left :3

1) 😂

2) 😂😂😂

3) Woman. If you are a Reo girlie, why are you even reading this? 😂

4) i mean, no offence but it's actually surprising you have doubts about him impressing your parents 😂

5) he's THE Mikage heir. The dream son-in-law of everyone in the nation 😂 

6) until and unless you are the daughter/heiress of an equally famous and rich company, your parents would be questioning how YOU bagged HIM. That says a lot 😂

7) He's a man of culture. He KNOWS how to impress people. How knows how to tilt everything in his favour AND he's charming. You see how much of a deadly combo that is when it comes to convincing your parents? 

8) even if your parents are HELLBENT on not approving him, he'd know how to convince, do you worry even a bit sweetheart. 

9) he's not here to get approved, he's here to finalise the marriage dates /j 

10) And even though he KNOWS he doesn't really need to do much to convince your parents given his place in social hierarchy and all that money, looks, power - he's humble. He RESPECTS and TREASURERS you. He'd do everything to make sure he's WINNING the heart of your parents by the end of the night ^_^ 

that there is no scope of doubt. He gotta get what he wants afterall. 

11) Dressing up well, looking and smelling good, the many gifts, behaving politely, offering help, striking up an interesting conversation and keeping up with anything thrown at him, flattering your parents - he's got it all up his sleeve. 

12) all you gotta do is sit back and watch your parents get ENCHANTED under his charming spells :3

1) Another green flag when it comes to dating. He's a Fe user too isn't he? 

2) one of my moots posted about her mother giving him the highest rating among the other blue lock guys so...yeah. That says a lot doesn't it? 

3) he'd pass the vibe check of your mom SO QUICK as if it's a light breeze :3 

4) your mom would have her eyes 👀 on him. He's a son-in-law material afterall + he definitely 100% offered to help her in the kitchen :3

5) a good looking, well behaved rich guy who respects you? Chef kiss. 

6) pass pass passsssss

7) he'd answer all the questions your dad poses at him SO WELL (and so smartly and confidently) so he's impressing your dad before the dinner ends as well 😌↕️

8) as long as your dad isn't a red flag (which many dads are unfortunately) he'd SPECIALLY love him 👍🏻 just a feeling :3

That's it for today ladies and gentlemen. Adios. 🙇🏻‍♀️

[ divider credits to @plusmio hehe you have the BEST dividers fr ]

[heechwe]

night changes | 𝐥𝐡𝐬

୨୧ pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 3k ୨୧ genre: smut, fluff, hint of comedy ୨୧ tags: roomates to lovers au, pet names (love, baby, etc.), dirty talk, size kink, face sitting, 69, unprotected sex, creampie. ୨୧ synopsis: Maybe a citywide power outage is what you need to finally confess your feelings. Well, that and a risque card game. ➸ Birthday fic for the beautiful boy!! Also, the card game is fictional and takes inspiration from other card games like Hot Seat!

“How many candles do we have left?” You ask in the form of a groan, trying to find a bar of reception in your apartment. With the power suddenly lost from the blistering rainstorm outside, it’s a wonder when it will calm down and you’ll have access to the outside world again.

“Relax. I bought more a couple days ago when I was tracking the path of the storm. No big deal.” Heeseung begins lighting them and placing them around your shared apartment. By the time he’s finished, the candlelight gives enough coverage of the living spaces for you both to walk around without issue.

Heesung has always been good at that. He can prepare for the worst and keep a cool head in the midst of chaos, including when your fiery temper rears its head. But your fire comes in handy sometimes. When he doesn’t want to deal with talking to your landlord or fixing errors with the management company, you take the reins. The balance you both established is why you work so well as friends and roommates. 

“I wonder how long we’ll be out of power,” you mumble, drumming your fingers across the arm of the couch and trying not to have a meltdown. The cool air from the open windows provides some relief, even if you’re running hot from your spiked nerves.

“Well, whether it’s a few hours or a dozen, we just gotta make the best of it.” Heeseung smiles. Suddenly, his eyes widen and he claps his hands together. “How about board games?”

You giggle. “When was the last time you played a board game, Hee?”

“It’s been a minute,” he confesses, a shy smile on his lips. “But, hey! Never a better time than now.”

The two of you open the spare living room closet to grab a handful of board games you’ve collected since living in the apartment together. You rifle through them, Candyland immediately catching your eye. But Heeseung has other ideas.

“Oh! Let’s do Hot Topics!” Heeseung holds up the box with a smirk, immediately opening it to rifle through its contents.

“But there’s only two of us!”

“So? We’ll make it work!” He sits down on the living room rug and pats the spot next to him.

You oblige his request. How couldn’t you when he smiles at you in that way? With his cute cheeks and Adam's apple bobbing in laughter—no. You’re not going to trudge up these old feelings again, especially during such an unfortunate situation.

You’re friends and roommates, end of. 

Heeseung shuffles the cards and pulls out the first one on the top of the deck. “Alright, first one. All Play: Would I marry someone twice my age if it meant I never had to work again?” He considers the question, but you immediately let out a noise similar to one you would make when vomiting.

“No fucking way! I don’t want my husband one foot out the door!”

“Well, if I didn’t have to work at the ramen shop anymore—” Heeseung wiggles his eyebrows and you shove him in the shoulder. He expels a hearty laugh. “I’m kidding! I agree with you.”

The game continues on, prompts and questions so ridiculous they make any lingering anxiety about the storm ebb away, too lost in the game and your friend to notice the ever-present storm outside your door.

You take a new card from the deck, flipping it upside to reveal the prompt. “Dare: Stare at the player next to you for thirty seconds. The first one to break eye contact has to skip their turn.” You throw the card in the discarded pile without a care. “That’s so easy.”

“Bring it on.” You move positions to face Heeseung, his eyes immediately lighting up with the challenge presented to you both.

“Three, two, one,” you count down. “Go!”

Heeseung tries to make you break immediately with a goofy face, but you stand resolute, eyebrows furrowed and mouth in a thin line. But then, he stares you down with his bright eyes and soft smile, making your entire body go cold. This could not be happening. You aren’t feeling your stupid, childlike crush come back at you in full force. Not tonight. Not like this.

You had been so stern in keeping it stamped down the past two years you’ve been roommates. It hadn’t been easy, but with enough practice and denial, it seemed pretty easy to keep it at bay. But now, the only two people in the darkness of this room, you wonder how much longer your resolve can hold.

You fake a heavy cough and turn away. Heeseung screeches in victory with his arms raised up high. “Weak! You’re so weak.”

You roll your eyes and turn back to face the deck. “Whatever, dumbass. Pick the next card.”

He reads his new card aloud. “Truth: How long was your longest crush?” He releases an anxious laugh, and then throws the card into the pile amongst the other used ones. “Longest one’s still going.”

You turn your head to face him, but he’s only staring at the deck. He grabs the next card and ignores how his confession has created a new, heavy fog of tension. If Heeseung has a crush, one that’s apparently been in the works for awhile, neither Jake nor anyone else gave you the head’s up about it.

Heeseung reads the next challenge aloud. “Dare: Excite one player just by kissing them for 10 seconds. You’re not limited to the player’s lips.” His eyes go wide as he holds the card tightly between his fingers. “If you don’t want me to, I—“”

You laugh it off, taking the card from him and setting it on the floor. “It’s fine. It’s just a game, right?”

“Right.” Heeseung inches closer, your faces barely a few inches apart. You were prepared for him to kiss you on the mouth and that would be the end of it, but you tremble in pleasure when you realize his lips are suddenly attached to your neck.

A moan escapes your lips when he begins to suck on the space of your neck near your collarbone. He doesn’t use his hands at all. All it takes is his mouth, its soft pressure creating a swirling eruption within your stomach, begging to be released. He licks at your bruising skin, pressing his mouth there once more before stepping back.

When he’s back in his normal position, the timer goes off. “So, uh,” he says, cutting through the sudden awkward silence, “are you excited?”

You blush and bite down on your bottom lip hard, no words coming out in response. You turn your attention back to the deck. “F-Finally, my turn again!”

You turn another card for the next prompt, reading it in your head and wanting to jump out the window before Heeseung can see it. “Dare: Kiss the player you would most likely go on a date with on the cheek.”

You tell yourself to just get it over with, in spite of your jumbling nerves. Excuse it after as a technicality, him being the only living person in existence in the apartment to kiss for the challenge. End it there and hope the past few dares do not destroy the sanctity of your friendship.

You crawl on your hands to get close to Heeseung’s cheek, but before you can land the kiss, he turns his head and catches your mouth with his. You’re unprepared for the act, but your lips quickly become accustomed once you spend a second or two in his embrace. His lips are gentle, teasing, eager for you, and it makes your knees feel like cotton. 

He pulls you up from your position to rest in his lap, still pressing his mouth to yours. Suddenly, his tongue is licking at the roof of your mouth, and your body feels like a live wire. How did he have the power to jumpstart your nerves and set them on fire all at once?

You separate from him, confusion clouding your sudden desire. “Why’d you do that?”

“I wanted to.” Heeseung moves stray hairs from your face, the baby hairs clinging to your skin from the sweat. “Did you not want me to?”

“No, I did!” You giggle nervously. “I just didn’t know how you’d react if I said so.”

“Why did you never say anything before?” Heeseung looks genuinely confused and concerned. He wonders how much more obvious he had to have been. Before this moment, had he missed chances to give you the signs? Clearly so, with your stammered words and nervous limbs. He had to get better at his communication.

“Do you know how awkward it would’ve been if you hadn’t felt the same?” You ask him the rhetorical question, your eyebrow quirked up. “Just tiptoeing around the both of us knowing I have this exhaustive crush on you?”

Heeseung chuckles into your neck. If you described your crush in that way, his had to have been all-consuming, even if you were oblivious to it. “Exhaustive?”

“I mean,” you whisper, “do you know how hard it is to look at you and not want to jump you all the time?”

You feel his bulge tighten against his sweatpants, the sensation against your body making you gasp. Heeseung smirks in response. “Well, clearly it’s a mutual thing.”

The two of you resume kissing, both lost in the relief of your feelings mirroring each others’. In spite of the current storm still whipping the trees against your apartment building, you were so at ease wrapped around Heeseung like a vine.

If anything, Mother Nature is mimicking all the sensations bubbling up inside of you, close to reaching their boiling point with the way Heeseung expertly touches and squeezes your skin while his mouth covers your face in kisses.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” He asks as he lays you down on the living room rug, hands in your hair and lips magnetized to the spot on your neck where he had kissed you previously. “How long I’ve thought about being in your bed? Touching you, tasting you, feeling you.”

“Heeseung, please.” You inch his shirt up and over his head, admiring the divots and ridges of his newly-revealed muscles.

It isn't the first time you’ve seen him shirtless, but it’s only the beginning of the night, and you’re certain you’ll see parts of him you haven’t seen yet. The thought alone makes your body tingle in all the right places. “Stop talking and touch me more.”

“So impatient.” Heeseing releases a devilish laugh into the column of your throat. “I want to savor this. Savor you.”

“We have all the time in the world until the power goes out. I want you,” you whine, bucking your hips up into nothing but his clothed legs and hips, his bulge barely brushing your clothed heat. 

Heeseing hisses and makes you both sit up, his expression blown from lust. “Sit on my face.”

You laugh, hesitant yet excited. “What?”

He places a kiss on your lips with every pause between his words. “I. Said. Sit. On. My. Face.”

You listen to his tone, playfully demanding but completely serious. This is a new side of Heeseung you had never seen. The same humorous guy you felt butterflies for since the day you met, but with an edge of vulgarity that leaves you in impure anticipation. 

You tug off both your cotton shorts and underwear. You may still be wearing your tank top, but you imagine that will come off soon too.

You settle your body down on Heeseung’s awaiting tongue. Your body trembles when he takes an eager lick along your folds, his mouth immediately enveloped in your heat. “Jesus, are you always this wet?” He asks, voice muffled but still clear enough for you to hear.

“Only when I think of you,” you confess. Many nights alone proved the only way to get off was with the image of Heeseung’s face and body between your legs in your brain. Even if he was seven feet away on another overnight session of League of Legends, you had to get your fix.

“Fuck.” He pulls you down further onto his mouth, practically suffocating him as he laps at your cunt mercilessly. Your mouth hangs open in ecstasy, all the fantasies you held incomparable to this.

Heeseung’s hips match yours in their rhythm against his face, and you feel guilty the poor man is receiving no pleasure while you have all of it. You reach over to the top of his sweatpants and pull them down, his cock springing free from the material. The tip leaks a hefty amount of precum, and you smear it down his girthy length with one hand.

Heeseung moans against your center, but he pulls himself back. “You don’t have to–”

“You’re taking care of me,” you pant, “let me take care of you.”

You wrap your lips around his tip, experimenting with the pressure and size of him on your tongue. When he groans and growls in between your legs, lapping at your essence with even more fervor, you take his entire length in your mouth.

“God, you’re too good at this,” Heeseung moans, rolling his hips into your awaiting mouth and cursing when he feels the back of your throat. “I could have your mouth on me all fucking day.”

You continue like that for a while, tasting each other and teasing the waters until both of you are a mess. It’s a mesmerizing dance you’re in with him, chasing your highs together. But you’re unsure who will ask to take the next step. Removing your mouth from his with a resounding pop, you plead, “Please Hee, I want you inside of me.”

“Anything for you.” He gently gets up from between your legs and positions himself against the couch. He signals for you to sit on his lap, a playful grin on his lips. You do so without a second thought, anticipating his body molding to yours perfectly. How did the night start with you both planning another ramen-filled movie night and end up here?

You sink down onto him, the sudden fullness making your eyelids shut from the sensation. “Damn, you’re so tight,” he growls, slowly rocking you onto him with his hands on your hips. “Feels fucking incredible.”

“Y-You’re so big, Hee. It’s amazing.” You find your own pace, languidly riding him as the wind still rages on outside. Besides the weather, the sounds of your skin against his crowd the space of your apartment.

Heeseung removes your tank top quickly, clutching one of your breasts to knead the skin. “You like it, don’t you?” Heeseung whispers. “Being filled up by me, stretched out and fucked hard?” He takes the other breast into his mouth, latching his lips onto your nipple and swirling his tongue wickedly.

“Yes, fuck yes. Only by you, Hee.”

He bucks his hips up into you, your body slamming down on him in fast increments to compensate for his new rhythm. “Yeah, baby, tell the entire floor who’s making you feel this good.”

“Heeseung, fuck,” you scream out his name. It doesn’t matter if the rain and wind can’t conceal your sounds. All you care about is this moment, right here with him in your living room, all your desires coming to fruition. “Fuck, it’s so good.”

After more kisses and curses of pleasure leaving both of your lips, you feel the end deep in your stomach, the release tightening and ready to snap. “I’m gonna come,” you say.

“Ride me harder, baby,” he responds, moving his hand in between your bodies to rub your clit in a frenzy. “Use me. Come all over me.”

You do, feeling your body use what’s left of its energy to reach your peak quickly. You cry out a final time as your orgasm floods your senses, your body alive yet limp from the endorphins circulating through your system.

“Ah, fuck.” Heeseung spills inside of you mere seconds after, your sounds coupled with the feeling of your pulsing walls around him enough for his body to climax as well. He milks it all, hips rocking up into you to exhaust himself in an effort to feel his entire release.

You both slow down, but you relish in the feeling of the sudden warmth of Heeseung’s orgasm inside of you. It trickles down between your legs and onto Heeseung himself as he begins to pull out of you, and the sight may just make him rock-hard again. But he’ll save the image for another night.

Heeseung gives you a final, tender kiss before he stands up from his spot on the floor. He runs to the bathroom for a washcloth, wetting it to clean the both of you up. When he’s done, he takes great care in snuffing out the candles around the house.

You tease him for it, but he reminds you about the serious fire hazard of leaving them burning overnight, to which you agree. “Always one step ahead, babe,” Heeseung jokes.

He brings a blanket with him to cover the both of you up, your body immediately warmed by his. Your head rests on his bicep, his muscle the perfect pillow. 

In that moment, you’re content with not just the power being out, the only sounds being the storm and the air leaving your lungs. You’re content to be here in the dark with Heeseung, the feelings you repressed for so long not only released but reciprocated.

Heeseung kisses your forehead and hums you to sleep, his voice the last sound you hold onto before you’re whisked away to dreamland.

You wake up nestled in Heeseung’s arms on the living room floor, the blanket he grabbed barely covering both of your bodies. You hear the sound of your Roomba trying to connect to the bluetooth and feel the blue morning sky on your skin, telltale signs the power’s back on and the storm has gone on its way.

You smile to yourself, snuggling further into Heeseung’s neck and kissing the skin there. Who knew a power outage could bring two people together like this?

He rustles awake a moment later, his eyelashes fluttering open so beautifully. A smile stretches across his face when he sees what you’re doing. In the light of day, his face is even more breathtaking, and you’re grateful its expressions are reserved solely for you now. “Good morning.”

You blush. “Very good morning.”As you kiss him, invigorating his energy and leftover desire from the night prior, you think you’ll have to send the manufacturers of Hot Topics a thank-you card.

@yvnempire @sjylouvre @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kvanity-main @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

[meo-eiru]

I like to imagine Elias as an insane and extremely messy concubine from those historical cdramas PFFT. Especially in his “omg you came to see me!” Sketch. Mc would be the emperor of course! Poor guy would die to palace drama for sure.

Elias would so secretly poison another concubine if you decide to visit them at night instead of him.

This AU kinda goes hard actually I'm getting a lot of ideas.

Imagine he's the son of a normal family but was blessed with incredible good looks by the gods. Due to that beauty he was yearned by all sorts of nobles which made his family get a lot of riches as gifts but he kept refusing all of them.

Until one day you, the ruler of the country, came to personally visit him and he fell in love with you at first time, saying he would marry you even before he saw what gifts you brought for him.

It's all amazing, he's prettied up by the helpers you assign for him and you two quickly go back to your palace. He's so happy the whole way there but little did you know it's the quiet before the storm.

Once you arrive there he becomes aware of the fact that he's not your main husband but a concubine. He's distraught and extremely angry, what do you mean he has to share a rank with other man. He's clearly the most beautiful one here. Okay maybe you two don't have a child yet but so what? Are you really going to prioritize tradition before him? Even though he loves you so much? Do you not love him is that it???

After that it's just constant chaos. Your other concubines getting poisoned left and right, some of them straight up getting assassinated, a few of them returning to their village while crying due to continuous bullying. Elias even breaks into the rooms of the concubines you decide to spend the night with while you're there.

You've considered sending him back many times but you just can't bring yourself to. He's like a rare flower, with a lot of nobles keeping their eyes on him. Just his existence brings you political power, and not to mention when you do spend the night with him he's like a dream.

While he might be hurting the others due to his selfishness it's also true that he loves you in a way no other concubine does. As a ruler most of the relationships you have with your concubines are for politics but it's Elias who wraps his arms around you as soon as you enter his room. Engulfing you in the flowery scents he covered himself in and kissing you like you two are soulmates fated to be together. He's the one who looks at you with those loving eyes while his face is completely red and his body is warm under you. He's the one who holds your head in place through the whole night to make you look at him, like a sweet hypnosis he puts you under.

So it doesn't take too long for him to impregnate you with a child, quickly raising to the imperial consorts status before everyone else. It doesn't slow down his terrible behavior outside of the bedroom though. In fact it fuels it more some might say.

He has this air of superiority to him, knowing he has won against the others even while coming from a lowly background. He spends so much gold spoiling himself, buying the prettiest clothes and hair pieces, receiving the best skincare and makeup.

But you can't say no to him right? He's your beautiful rare treasure after all.

[er1nne]

blurred lines

⸝⸝⸝ ⑅ —໒ྀི ִֶָ rafe cameron is kown for throwing the best parties, so of course your best friend had to attend, but who'd guess she'd leave you alone with him to take care of you

word count: 6.4k sorry lol

warnings : roofing / slight drug use, mostly fluff, misunderstood rafe as usual lol, also not proofread unfortunately so excuse any mistakes

AN: the problem is left ambiguous & left to the imagination so you can make up the problem, you guys loved the last one lol :) i have plenty more in the vault so let me know if y'all want them. enjoy!

(please do not copy or plagiarize, this is my original work subject to copyright)

You don’t know why you’re here.

The party is overwhelming, a pulsing, chaotic blend of music, voices, and movement that sets your nerves on edge. The heat of too many bodies pressed into one space makes the air thick, suffocating.

You hadn’t even wanted to come, but your friend had convinced you, promising it would be fun, promising she’d stay by your side. Your friend had dragged you along, practically vibrating with excitement at the idea of getting into a this party in particular for some reason. You don’t understand, she had gushed, fingers tight around your wrist, her eyes wide with something close to desperation. People would kill to be invited to one of these. She had promised it would be fun, that she wouldn’t leave your side, that this was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of night.

All lies. And just as quickly as you arrived, she had disappeared into the crowd, swallowed whole by the chaos, leaving you stranded in a place you had no business being. That promise had shattered the moment you stepped through the door. See, what she didn't tell you however, that it was at the famous Cameron Estate. As quickly as you both arrives, she had disappeared into the crowd, leaving you stranded in a sea of unfamiliar faces.

You don’t belong here. Not among the drunken recklessness, the glossy, carefree people who thrive on excess. Not in a house where money drips from every surface, where the air itself feels steeped in entitlement. You’ve heard the stories—everyone has. Rafe Cameron’s parties are one of a kind. But you're not the type to be interested in the whispers and gossip everyone spreads about them on campus.

Now, you hover near the wall, gripping a red solo cup with fingers that feel too tight, the plastic bending under the pressure of your grip. You're not normally a drinker, but given your nerves right now, you definitely needed the drink. You take a slow breath, exhaling through your nose. You’re not here to have a bad time. Maybe you just need to loosen up. One drink to take the edge off. You bring the cup to your lips, letting the liquid burn as it slides down your throat. It’s stronger than you expected, too sharp, making you cough slightly. You grimace, the burn lingering on your tongue, but you swallow it down anyway, hoping the warmth will spread, will make you feel like you belong here. You roll your shoulders, forcing yourself to relax, but the tension in your body remains stubborn, coiling tight in your muscles.

The bass reverberates through the floor, through your chest, making your pulse feel off-rhythm. People are laughing, shouting, clinking drinks together in messy toasts that spill onto the already sticky floors. Someone stumbles past you, knocking into your shoulder hard enough to make you stumble. You flinch, pressing yourself closer to the wall, hoping to make yourself smaller.

Still, you scan the room, searching for your friend, but she’s nowhere in sight. Irritation flickers through you—how could she just abandon you like this? You shift on your feet, debating whether to go find her or just leave altogether. But then, you feel it. A prickle at the back of your neck. It’s faint, barely noticeable at first, like the sensation of a cool breeze brushing your skin. Goosebumps rise along your arms, but you tell yourself it’s just the temperature shift from the packed, overheated room. The feeling lingers, subtle and nagging, trickling down your spine before settling deep in your gut. You shake it off, shifting your weight from foot to foot, convincing yourself it’s nothing more than the side effect of being in a crowded space with unfamiliar faces. But as the seconds stretch, so does the discomfort. The undeniable feeling of being watched. A vague, creeping unease, like an itch beneath your skin.

At first, you ignore it. The party is crowded, filled with wandering gazes and fleeting glances. It’s probably nothing. Probably just your imagination. But as the moments stretch, the feeling lingers, heavy and persistent. You force yourself to move, to look natural. You take another sip of your drink, even though the taste is sharp and acrid against your tongue, even though your stomach twists in protest. The burn should be grounding, but it only heightens the awareness prickling along your spine. You scan the room carefully, slower this time, more deliberate. Your gaze drifts past groups of people caught in conversation, past the drunken laughter and the messy dancing, past the flickering glow of the chandeliers overhead. Your fingers tighten around your cup as you look toward the bar, toward the far end of the room where the shadows stretch just a little deeper.

And then you see him.

Rafe Cameron.

He’s across the room, leaning against the bar like he belongs there, like he owns the place -- oh wait he does. Shit. You're the one who doesn't belong here. A drink dangles loosely in his fingers, but he doesn’t bring it to his lips. He’s not talking to anyone, not engaged in the revelry like everyone else. He’s just watching.

Watching you.

His gaze is a weight, heavier than it should be, anchoring you in place even as every nerve in your body is telling you to move. To look away. To do something. But you don’t. You can’t. The darkness in his gaze draws you in too close. The dim lighting carves deep shadows along the sharp edges of his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw, the cool detachment in his features. He looks almost statuesque, like he was placed there, perfectly sculpted, perfectly still. And yet, despite the stillness, despite the casual way he leans against the bar, drink loose in his grasp, his presence feels anything but passive. It almost feels like an accusatory stare, but something in your gut tells you it's something else.

You swallow hard, pulse flickering unevenly as you force yourself to breathe. He’s like a fixture in the room, unmoving, his presence both effortless and overwhelming. The dim light carves shadows along the sharp lines of his face, accentuating the cool detachment in his gaze. He isn’t smiling. He isn’t pretending not to stare. Doesn’t break the stare. He just is.

You look away, but your body betrays you. A shiver traces your spine, and your fingers tighten around your cup. The weight of his attention settles over you, thick and suffocating. You shift from foot to foot, adjusting your stance, suddenly unsure of yourself in a way you hadn’t been moments before. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe he’s just bored. Maybe he’s not even looking at you. But when you glance back, just for a second, his gaze hasn’t wavered. The space between you feels charged, stretching taut like a thread ready to snap.

Your throat is dry, so you take another sip of your drink, trying to dispel the tension. The burn should be grounding, but it only adds to the growing warmth pooling low in your stomach. The room feels different now, like you’ve slipped into another layer of reality where things happen slower, where every movement matters. The ice in your glass has long since melted, leaving behind a diluted, lackluster drink that won’t do anything to soothe the warmth pooling low in your stomach. It’s the perfect excuse. A reason to step away, to put some much-needed space between you and the weight of his gaze, still heavy, still unwavering. The kind of look that sinks beneath your skin and stays there.

A group of people pass between you, momentarily breaking his line of sight. The spell should break. It doesn’t. Your heartbeat presses against your ribs, too fast, too shallow. He’s still watching, still waiting. You tell yourself you’re overreacting.

The other side of the bar feels farther than it should. The walk is a slow unraveling, each step meant to shake off the feeling of his eyes still following you, still holding on even when there’s distance. But it doesn’t work. Your heartbeat presses too hard against your ribs, too shallow, too quick, the way it does when something isn’t quite right. You tell yourself you’re imagining it, that it’s just in your head, that you’re overreacting.

But then your head starts to feel heavy.

Your fingers feel a little looser around your cup, but you barely register it. You take another sip, but the taste is wrong now—bitter, artificial. The warmth that had been pleasant before now sits heavily in your stomach, slow, syrupy. A strange warmth spreads through your limbs, slow and unfamiliar. Your vision feels sharper and blurrier at the same time. The music presses against your eardrums, a dull, throbbing hum that no longer matches the rhythm in your chest. The music distorts, stretching and bending at the edges. The lights seem dimmer, then too bright, flickering as if they’re keeping time with your unsteady pulse. The conversations around you feel distant, layered on top of one another like a badly tuned radio. Your breath catches, sharp and uneven. The sensation is gradual, creeping, and for a moment, you convince yourself you’re just tired, or maybe you drank too fast.

You steady yourself, shifting against the wall. But the floor feels different beneath you—less solid, somehow. Your limbs feel lighter, and at the same time, unbearably heavy. A cold sweat beads at the back of your neck. Something isn’t right. But it takes longer for your mind to catch up with your body, to connect the dots between the warmth in your stomach and the sluggish, detached feeling seeping into your bones. Panic claws at your throat. You try to take another step, force yourself to move, but your limbs feel detached, foreign.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to shake the feeling, but it only makes the vertigo worse. The heat of the room presses in on you, suffocating, and the sound of laughter and music stretches, distorts, becomes something distant and hollow. You want to move, want to breathe, but it feels like you’re wading through thick fog, each step heavier than the last.

A bead of sweat trails down the back of your neck. Your heartbeat slams against your ribs, erratic and deafening. A sickly nausea curls in your stomach, spreading outward in slow, unbearable waves. The cup in your hand feels impossibly heavy, the plastic slick against your palm. You let it slip from your fingers, hear it hit the floor, but the sound is muffled, insignificant against the chaotic hum surrounding you.

Your vision tunnels, and for the first time, real fear grips you. The once vibrant room is now a mess of shadow and movement, colors bleeding together, voices rising and falling like waves crashing against the shore. You open your mouth, trying to call for your friend, but the words die before they leave your lips, dissolving into a breathless whisper. The realization is slow, unfurling like a nightmare you’re just starting to understand.

Your drink. Something is wrong with your drink.

Your breathing quickens, shallow and uneven, your chest rising and falling too fast, too tight. Your fingers twitch, grasping at nothing, muscles sluggish and unresponsive. The walls seem to bend and stretch around you, the lights overhead shifting like distant stars, too bright, too sharp. You blink rapidly, but it only makes the dizziness worse. The edges of your sight blur further, darkening. The room feels impossibly far away, your awareness slipping, slipping—

And then there’s a presence beside you.

A firm grip on your arm. The touch is steady, grounding, but you barely have the strength to turn your head and see who it is. You don’t have to.

You don’t know who it is.

The scent reaches you first—something clean, sharp, expensive, mixed faintly with alcohol. A voice cuts through the fog, low and steady, but the words slip past your understanding. The presence is steady, firm, an anchor against the overwhelming sensation that you’re floating, weightless. A name—your name?—is spoken again, but it barely registers, as if it belongs to someone else.

You part your lips to respond, but the words slip away before they can form. A strong arm curls around your waist, another against your shoulder. The world tilts, and you realize you’re being lifted. Your body feels light, unmoored, like a doll in someone’s grasp. Your head lolls against a broad chest, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat against your ear, grounding but distant. Footsteps echo—slow, purposeful—but you barely process them. The lights of the party blur into a smear of gold and shadow, flickering at the edges of your vision as you’re carried away.

The voices, the music, the chaos—it all drifts into silence. The world fades. Everything dissolves into black.

Dawn arrives in fractured light and warmth. The first thing you register is the persistent press of sunlight against your closed eyelids, insistent and intrusive. The dull ache in your skull pulses in synchronicity with your heartbeat. The silences of the space unsettles you—too stark a contrast to the last thing you remember.

A scent infiltrates your awareness—rich, savory. Coffee. Bacon. The comforting familiarity should soothe, but instead, it feeds the dissonance pooling in your gut. The weight of the blankets drapes over you, cool fabric against your overheated skin. Your limbs remain sluggish, burdened by an inexplicable fatigue.

Blinking against the light, you lift a hand to rub at your eyes. The motion feels distant, disconnected, as though your own body resists you. A tremor skates along your fingertips. A creeping unease slithers through you.

The room resolves in pieces. Soft, sun-dappled sheets. A nightstand, its dark wood surface adorned with a solitary glass of water. The low murmur of movement, distant yet present, beyond a partially ajar door. Every detail unfamiliar.

You sit up too fast.

The dizziness crashes into you, rendering the world momentarily unsteady. Your stomach churns in protest. A cold sweat prickles along your spine as you press your palm to your forehead, struggling to tether yourself to the present.

Where are you?

Your breaths come faster, shallower. The space surrounding you—spacious, curated, the kind of elegance that exudes wealth—does not belong to you. The bed is too large, the sheets too luxurious. The walls are adorned with artwork that suggests taste and affluence. This is not yours.

And you do not remember how you got here.

Your stomach knots, nausea clawing its way up your throat. Fragments of the night attempt to surface—the party, the music, the sensation of liquid sliding down your throat, the slow unraveling of your control. A pair of eyes lingering in the distance.

And then—

Nothing.

An abyss where your memory should be.

A new sound pulls you back—footsteps, nearing, steady. Your pulse stutters, skittering in your chest. Fear coils tight in your ribs, an instinctual response to the unknown.

The door swings open.

The figure standing there is silhouetted against the morning light, their presence filling the doorway with an unsettling quiet. You try to focus, to piece together something recognizable—an outline, a familiar stance—but the fog in your mind is thick, unrelenting. Your hands grip the sheets, fingers curling into the fabric as your breath catches, morning crust still coating your eyes, blurring your vision.

“Good morning.” The voice is smooth, calm, too composed. It should be comforting. It is not.

Your throat tightens as the memory gap yawns wider. Who is this? And why are you here?

The scent of coffee lingers in the air, mingling with something else—something darker, something you can’t yet name.

And then the figure takes a step forward, slow and deliberate. The weight of their presence fills the space, shifting the atmosphere in an unplaceable way. Shadows stretch and contract in the morning light, their silhouette still obscured by the glare of the sunlit doorway. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, each thud a heavy punctuation against the silence.

Your fingers tighten against the sheets, as if their fabric might tether you to some semblance of control. But control is slipping. Your breath catches in your throat as they advance further, their posture unreadable, their face still hidden from view. The scent of coffee lingers, but now it’s mixed with something else—something faintly metallic, almost sterile, unsettling in a way you can’t name.

They pause just short of the bed, standing over you now. A tension lingers in the air between you, thick, expectant. And then—finally—their voice cuts through the quiet again, smooth and even, but carrying an undercurrent of something you can’t yet define.

"You’re awake."

The voice sends a shiver down your spine. Familiar, yet distant. Your eyes finally adjust, your surroundings sharpening into something tangible. The deep mahogany furniture, the neatly pressed linens, the faint scent of cologne woven into the fabric of the room. Recognition dawns in pieces, fragments of memory slipping through the haze like sand through fingers.

Your breath stutters. This is Rafe Cameron’s bedroom.

Panic blooms in your chest, sharp and unrelenting. Your fingers clutch at the sheets, grounding yourself as the weight of realization crashes over you. How did you get here? The last thing you remember—the party, the drink, the slow, dizzying descent into something dark and consuming. Everything after that is a blur, an abyss where memories should be.

The tension in your limbs loosens, but a strange warmth replaces it—one you can’t quite define. The proximity, the realization that he had carried you, that he had seen you at your most vulnerable. A rush of heat blooms beneath your skin.

You shift against the pillows, suddenly hyperaware of the way the fabric clings to your skin. The weight of the night presses down on you, something heavy and lingering, something you can’t shake off. Your arms pull in close to your body, shrinking in on yourself instinctively, the way you might if you were trying to disappear. The feeling creeps in, insidious and unspoken, settling in your chest like an ache.

Rafe notices.

He exhales, his posture shifting as he takes a step closer, then hesitates, watching your reaction. "Nothing happened," he adds, quieter this time, as if anticipating your thoughts. "I just... made sure you were okay."

You swallow, your throat dry. Your fingers twist into the sheets as you nod, the weight of the moment settling over you. He moves again, this time toward the bed, lowering himself onto the edge. The mattress dips under his weight, closing the space between you in an intimate proximity that makes your pulse stutter.

Your breath catches. He took care of you.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence is heavy, charged, filled with unspoken questions neither of you seems willing to voice. Your gaze flickers to his hands, resting loosely on his lap, his fingers curled slightly as if he’s resisting the impulse to reach out.

You should say something, anything. But all you can do is sit there, the warmth in your cheeks betraying you, your heart hammering against your ribs as you struggle to process what this moment means.

And Rafe just watches, waiting.

"Why?" The word leaves your lips before you can stop it, barely more than a whisper but sharp enough to cut through the quiet. It lingers between you, heavier than you intended, like it carries more meaning than just the question itself.

He glances at you then, something unreadable flickering across his face before he looks away again. There’s something about the way he won’t meet your eyes, the way his fingers press into his palms like he’s holding something back.

"You don’t remember much, do you?" His voice is quieter this time, like he already knows the answer.

You shake your head, swallowing around the lump forming in your throat. "Not after a certain point. Just… flashes."

You think you see something in his expression shift, something fleeting. His jaw clenches for half a second before he nods, just once, like that was what he expected. And then he looks past you, toward the window, like there’s something out there more bearable to face than this conversation. Like maybe he doesn’t want to see the way you’re looking at him now.

Rafe leans forward, resting his chin slightly down as if in deep thought. His jaw tightens, like he’s considering his words carefully. "Because that party wasn’t for you. You’re not like them."

His voice is steady, but there’s something beneath it, something almost reluctant. As if he’s saying more than just that, as if there’s something else sitting on the edge of his tongue, something he won’t let himself say out loud. Your breath hitches. He noticed you. Not just that you were there, but that you didn’t belong there, that you weren’t the kind of girl who let herself get lost in that world.

His fingers tap absently against his elbow before he exhales through his nose, slow and measured. Without a word, he reaches toward the nightstand, fingers closing around a small, amber bottle. He twists off the cap and shakes out two pills into his palm before handing them to you along with a glass of water.

You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to respond to the weight of his words. A thousand questions press at the back of your mind, but none of them make it past your lips. So instead, you just look at him, studying the way his shoulders stay tense, the way his fingers twitch slightly where they rest.

You hesitate, glancing between him and the offering. The silence lingers, thick and unspoken, but he doesn’t push. Just watches, unreadable, until you take them from his hand. The cool glass feels solid in your grip, the only thing grounding you in the moment.

"It'll help," he finally says, voice low, controlled. Not an explanation, not an insistence—just a fact. And then he looks away again, like the moment never happened.

Your heart stutters, warmth creeping up your neck. You aren’t used to this side of him, this quiet sincerity. It makes your stomach twist in a way that has nothing to do with fear.

You clear your throat softly, fingers tightening around the blanket as you shift. you murmur a quick thank you to him, the words barely above a whisper, like you’re afraid to break the fragile quiet between you, you must have lost your voice last night.

Rafe doesn’t react at first, doesn’t acknowledge it right away. He just sits there, staring at a fixed point on the floor like he’s lost in something too deep to name. And then, finally, he nods—just once, a subtle dip of his chin. No arrogance, no teasing. Just acceptance.

The silence stretches, thick and unmoving, pressing against the walls of the room. The air between you is charged with something neither of you is willing to name, a slow, smoldering tension that lingers in the way he breathes, in the way his fingers twitch just slightly where they rest against his knee. The world beyond the bedroom feels impossibly distant, like something you left behind the moment you opened your eyes.

You can hear your own breathing, the slow, measured inhales that feel too loud in the quiet, the way your pulse thrums against the side of your throat. Everything is heightened, magnified—the subtle shift of the mattress beneath his weight, the faint scent of his cologne clinging to the fabric of the sheets, the way the sunlight spilling through the curtains catches in his hair, illuminating the sharp angles of his face.

Rafe doesn’t move. He hasn’t since he handed you the water, since he watched you take the painkillers without a word. He just sits there, his posture loose but intent, his forearms resting against lightly against his body, as if he’s waiting for something. You don’t know what. You don’t know if he does either.

Your fingers tighten around the glass, the condensation cool against your skin. The weight of his attention is suffocating, not because it unsettles you, but because it’s steady. Because he’s not watching you the way other people do—not with expectation, not with scrutiny, but with something quieter, something that feels like it belongs entirely to this moment.

You shift beneath the covers, suddenly aware of the space between you, of how small the room feels despite its size. There’s no rush, no urgency, but the tension coils slow and tight in the air between you, a pull that neither of you acknowledges, but neither of you breaks.

You should say something. Maybe to fill the silence, maybe to push away the weight of whatever is settling over the two of you, but the words don’t come. Instead, you glance at him, at the way his jaw is set, the way his gaze flickers—just for a moment—to the space where your hands curl into the blanket, to the way your shoulders have drawn inward, like you’re bracing yourself for something.

The realization lands heavily: he’s waiting for you to be okay.

You exhale, slow, measured. It should ease some of the pressure in your chest, but it doesn’t. The sheets smell like him. The realization makes your stomach twist, sharp and unexpected, and you inhale quickly, trying to steady yourself, to push it away. But it’s everywhere. His scent, his presence, the ghost of the weight of his gaze on you.

Rafe leans back slightly, his movements deliberate, unrushed. He shifts, settling more comfortably, but it does nothing to loosen the tension laced through the room. If anything, it solidifies it, makes it more tangible, makes it something that feels like it could snap at the slightest provocation.

The past few hours are a blur, a haze of flashing lights and distorted sound, of the world tilting beneath your feet, of a hand—his hand—steadying you before everything went dark. And now you’re here, in his bed, wrapped in the lingering remnants of a night you can barely piece together, but one thing is painfully clear: Rafe Cameron didn’t leave you behind.

And that fact, that certainty, makes your stomach twist.

Your fingers toy absently with the edge of the blanket, your gaze trained on nothing in particular. You can feel him watching you, can feel the weight of it in the space between you, in the air that crackles with something unspoken, something slow-burning and unrelenting.

It’s infuriating, the way he’s so still, so quiet, like he has all the time in the world to wait for you to make sense of whatever is unraveling inside you. Like he doesn’t care how long it takes.

Another beat of silence.

Then, finally, he shifts, pushing himself up from the bed with a slow, fluid motion. His presence doesn’t leave with him, though—it lingers, draped over you like a second skin, woven into the air you’re breathing, into the space he just vacated. He pauses near the door, his hand resting loosely on the frame, his body turned slightly like he’s debating whether or not to say something.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he looks at you, a glance that lasts only a second but feels like it stretches forever, before he turns and disappears into the hallway, leaving you alone with nothing but the ghost of his presence and the steady, relentless pounding of your own heart.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. You just stand there, staring at each other, something unspoken stretching the space between you like a frayed wire. His gaze is steady, unreadable, but there’s something in the way he looks at you that makes your breath catch, makes your fingers twitch at your sides.

The weight of the night still lingers between you, thick like smoke, curling around the edges of whatever fragile thing this is. The silence isn’t empty—it’s full, layered with everything that wasn’t said. The flicker of his throat as he swallows, the way his fingers flex against the counter like he needs something to hold onto. His presence is a solid thing, inescapable.

He clears his throat, breaking the stillness like shattering glass. "I should take you home," he says, voice low, even. "You probably want to get out of here."

You nod automatically, but the motion feels disconnected, like it doesn’t belong to you. The truth is, you don’t know if you want to leave. You don’t know if you’re ready to walk out of this moment, out of this strange and suffocating thing pressing against your ribs. But it’s the logical choice. The right thing to do. So you shift your weight, stepping further into the room as if that will make it easier, as if that will make it feel real.

Rafe watches you for a second longer before pushing off the surface he was leaning on. He moves with the same careful deliberation he always does, like he’s in control of everything, like nothing touches him unless he lets it.

But then, as he reaches for his keys, his jaw tightens. His movements slow. His grip on the metal rings shifts slightly, like he’s debating something, like something about this moment doesn’t sit right with him. And then he looks at you again, his eyes catching yours, something flickering in his expression—something restrained, something almost unreadable.

"Be more careful next time." His voice is quieter now, rougher at the edges. "

You swallow, the weight of his words settling in your chest as a slight warmness fills your cheeks, even if he can't see it. The words settle between you, heavy. He’s not scolding you, not angry. But there’s something else beneath it, something darker. Like he hated seeing you like that. Like he doesn’t want to have to do this again. Like he hated seeing you like that. Like he doesn’t want to have to do this again. But maybe it's all in your head.

A part of you wants to say something—to defend yourself, to explain—but nothing comes out. You just nod, barely, the movement almost imperceptible. He watches the way your fingers tighten around the hem of your shirt, the way your shoulders tense like you’re bracing for something.

He exhales sharply, turns toward the door, and motions for you to follow.

But the moment doesn’t end there. The shift in the air is subtle, but it’s there. His fingers flex around the keys, his body pausing for just a second longer than necessary before he moves. Like he’s giving you the chance to say something. Like he’s waiting.

You don’t take it.

The cold air hits you the second you step outside, sharp and biting against your skin. It’s the kind of morning that lingers somewhere between the last remnants of night and the hesitant promise of day, the sky washed in pale hues of blue and gray, the world still and quiet.

You don’t say anything, but the shiver that rolls through you betrays you, your body instinctively curling inward as if you can escape the chill. Rafe notices. Of course he does. He hesitates for a second, just a fraction of a beat, then lets out a slow breath, as if he’s annoyed at something—himself, maybe.

Without a word, he shrugs off his jacket.

It’s heavier than you expect when he drapes it over your shoulders, the thick, well-worn material settling around you like a second skin. The scent of him lingers in the fabric—something clean but deep, a mix of faded cologne and the unmistakable warmth of skin, like the kind of comfort you don’t realize you need until it’s there.

The jacket is old, but not in a neglected way. More like it carries weight, history. It’s a varsity jacket, dark navy with white leather sleeves, the kind that looks like it’s seen late-night drives, fights behind stadium bleachers, and moments that don’t belong to you. His name is stitched into the fabric on the chest, subtle but undeniable: Cameron. The embroidered lettering is slightly frayed at the edges, as if it’s been touched too many times, traced over absentmindedly. On the sleeve, a faded championship patch clings to the leather, the numbers slightly worn, a quiet reminder of a past you know nothing about.

But he doesn’t just let it fall into place. His hands stay there, gripping the edges just beneath your collarbone, holding it closed, holding you—if only for a second too long. His touch is light, almost hesitant, but deliberate in a way that sends a shiver down your spine, one that has nothing to do with the cold.

The space between you feels smaller now, the tension stretched taut, humming like a wire between you. His fingers shift slightly, his knuckles grazing your collarbone through the fabric, his touch warm even against the cold bite of the night air. You can feel the heat radiating from him, the way his breath ghosts over your cheek, close enough that if either of you leaned in—just a fraction—you’d close the distance entirely.

Rafe’s eyes flicker down to meet yours, something unreadable passing through them, something almost thoughtful, almost careful. It’s a contradiction—the way he holds the jacket like he’s reluctant to let go, yet his jaw is set, his expression betraying nothing.

You swallow, fingers curling around the edges, your hands on top of his, pulling it tighter around yourself. It’s warm, warmer than his hands. Too warm, maybe, but you don’t push it off.

Rafe watches you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in the way his gaze lingers on you that makes your breath come slower, makes your chest feel too tight and your hands are touching before he reluctantly pulls away, almost as if not to scare you off or harm you.

"It’s cold," he mutters, like that explains it, like that’s the only reason he did it.

You don’t challenge it. Because maybe that’s the reason you don’t take it off, either.

And just like that, whatever this moment was slips away, fading into the morning light as he leads you to his car.

The world beyond the house feels different, like the air is thinner, lighter, no longer weighed down by the silence between you. The gravel crunches beneath your feet as you follow him toward his car, your steps feeling almost mechanical. The sky is still streaked with soft shades of dawn, a nostalgic blue still coating the sky, the edges of the horizon tinged with the last remnants of night. The streetlights on the corner on still on,

He unlocks the door, pulling it open for you, but you hesitate. Just for a second. Just long enough for him to notice.

His fingers tighten around the top of the door, his gaze flickering to yours. But he doesn’t say anything. He just waits.

You don’t know what you’re looking for. Some kind of confirmation. Some kind of explanation. But there’s nothing. Just him. Just you. And the space between that feels too charged to make sense of.

You step inside, settling into the seat, the leather cool and smooth beneath you, molded from years of use, broken in but still exuding something undeniably expensive. The scent of rich leather and faint motor oil lingers in the air, a combination of luxury and the kind of careful work that doesn't come from a mechanic’s shop.

The dashboard glows with a soft luminescence, highlighting the precision of the controls—sleek buttons, polished chrome accents, the faint imprint of his hands worn into the steering wheel. The passenger seat, by contrast, is almost untouched. The leather is stiff, uncreased, lacking the wear and shape molded by frequent use. There are no stray belongings, no faint imprints of past passengers, no lingering signs that anyone else has ever sat there. It feels untouched, almost foreign, as though this space was never meant for anyone else. The thought makes your stomach twist, the realization settling in like a whisper you can't quite decipher. For all the history his car carries, for all the work and time poured into every inch of it, this seat feels like it doesn’t belong to anyone—except maybe, just maybe, to you now. The seats cradle you, low and firm, the kind of comfort designed for control at high speeds. A faint scuff on the door panel catches your eye, and you can almost imagine him there, late at night, sleeves pushed up as he worked under dim garage lights, fine-tuning something only he could perfect.

The convertible top is locked in place for now, but the idea of wind rushing past, of the open road stretching ahead, lingers in the air like a promise. This isn’t just a car. It’s his, in every sense of the word. And now, for the first time, you’re inside it.

You grip your hands together in your lap as he closes the door with a quiet click. The sound lingers in the air, final in a way that makes your stomach twist.

The car is dimly lit, the dashboard casting a faint glow across his face, sharpening the lines of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows. He doesn’t look at you right away, just exhales slowly, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. The movement is small, restrained, but you notice it. You notice everything.

The drive is silent. Not uncomfortable, but not easy either. The road stretches ahead, the faint hum of the tires against the asphalt the only sound between you. The air feels heavy, charged, like the moment before a storm, thick with something unsaid.

Your fingers twitch slightly, pressing into the fabric of his jacket still draped over your shoulders. It’s too big on you, the sleeves hanging long past your wrists, the collar brushing against your cheek. The warmth of it, of him, lingers against your skin, a constant reminder that he was close, that he chose to put it there. You could give it back. You should. But you don’t.

The leather of the steering wheel creaks as his hands flex, his grip tightening like he’s forcing himself to keep steady. You steal a glance at him, at the way his jaw tenses, the muscle there twitching slightly. The way his fingers tap once against the wheel before stilling. He’s holding something back, something weighted, and you don’t know if you want him to let it go or keep it buried between you, a secret neither of you knows how to say out loud.

The headlights cast long shadows across the empty road, the outside world slipping by in streaks of gray and muted gold. But inside the car, it’s different. It’s just the two of you, wrapped in a silence that feels almost sacred, like speaking would break something fragile, something delicate.

You shift slightly, the fabric of the seat cool beneath your legs, your knee brushing against the center console. The touch is barely there, a whisper of contact, but his fingers flex again, his grip tightening like he felt it too. Like he’s trying not to react.

You turn your gaze back to the window, but you don’t really see the passing streets. Not when every part of you is aware of him, of the tension strung between you like a wire ready to snap. It hums beneath your skin, lingers in the space between your breaths, curls in the air between you like smoke.

A red light slows the car to a stop. For a moment, the world outside is still, painted in the muted glow of streetlights. You chance another look at him, catching the way his fingers drum lightly against the gear shift, restless. His eyes stay forward, locked on the road, but his shoulders are stiff, coiled with something unreadable.

Then, without looking at you, without taking his eyes off the road, he exhales, slow and measured. "You warm enough?"

It’s nothing. Just words. Just an excuse for something else. But the way he says it, low and rough, makes your stomach twist, makes your fingers curl tighter around the sleeves of his jacket.

"Yeah," you murmur, voice softer than you mean for it to be. "I’m fine."

He doesn’t believe you. You feel it before you see it—the weight of his gaze settling over you, careful but unrelenting. When you finally look at him, his eyes are already on you, studying, assessing, searching for something in your face that you’re not sure you even understand yourself.

His grip on the wheel loosens slightly, but he doesn’t look away. It’s not just concern. It’s something quieter, deeper, something that lingers in the way his brows draw together just enough to show he’s holding back words he doesn’t know how to say.

His mouth parts, just slightly, like he’s about to speak, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers shift against the gear shift again, as if grounding himself, as if trying to keep some sort of distance between whatever is happening between the two of you. But it’s there.

You feel it in the way his throat moves when he swallows, in the way his shoulders seem to tense and relax all at once. And suddenly, the car feels smaller, the air thinner, the space between you pressing in from all angles.

The light turns green, and he finally looks away, jaw tight as he presses down on the gas. But the moment lingers, stretching across the quiet miles, settling somewhere neither of you wants to name.

His fingers drum against the gear shift again, once, twice, before stilling. The light turns green, and the car moves forward, but the moment stays, lingers between you like an unanswered question.

Another mile passes in silence. Another breath held too long before being released. The weight of the night still clings to you, woven into your skin, into the spaces between your ribs. And you know, without him saying it, without needing to ask, that he feels it too.

You tighten his jacket around yourself, pressing your fingers into the thick material. You don’t want to acknowledge how it feels like something you weren’t supposed to have, like something borrowed but not meant to be returned. But neither of you moves to change it.

The distance between you and the night before stretches, but it doesn’t fade. Whatever this is—whatever happened back in that house, in that room, in the space between breaths and silence—it isn’t over.

And somehow, you don’t think it ever will be.

© ER1NNE est. 2024. all rights reserved. unauthorized use, duplication, or reposting of any original content from this blog without explicit permission is prohibited. please respect the creator’s work.