#I love golden son I love golden son I love golden son

[onebadassunicorn]

All I Want Is You

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pure fluff!

word count: 820

Taglist: @firefly-forest @salvatoresister1 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @batboyslutt @tiredsleepyhead

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

******

Chapter 8

The storm outside was relentless, thunder roaring like a feral beast and lightning illuminating the house in bursts of blinding white. Eryan huddled in his small bed, his blanket clutched tightly in his trembling hands. Each crash of thunder felt louder than the last, shaking the walls and making his small wings flutter nervously.

Tears pricked at his eyes, spilling over as fear overwhelmed him. He couldn’t stay in his room any longer. “Daddy,” he whimpered softly to the empty space, his voice barely audible over the raging storm.

Sliding out of bed, he padded across the dark hallway to his parents’ room, his tiny feet making no sound on the wooden floor. The familiar, comforting scent of them greeted him, but it wasn’t enough to stop the tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Daddy,” he said again, louder this time, his voice cracking with fear as he tugged at the edge of the blanket on their bed.

Azriel stirred immediately, his shadows snapping to attention before settling around him. His golden-hazel eyes opened, and the sight of his son standing there with tear-streaked cheeks and trembling hands made his chest tighten.

“Ery?” Azriel’s voice was soft, a soothing balm against the chaos of the storm.

Eryan sniffled, his voice breaking as he clutched the edge of the blanket tighter. “Daddy, I’m scared.”

Azriel was out of bed in an instant, crouching in front of his son and pulling him into his arms. “Hey, tough guy,” he murmured, his deep voice soothing as he brushed a hand over Eryan’s dark curls. “It’s just a storm. It can’t hurt you. I’ve got you.”

“But it’s so loud,” Eryan cried, his little wings trembling as he clung to his father’s neck.

“I know, little one,” Azriel said softly, lifting him into his arms and carrying him back to the bed he and Y/n shared. He climbed in, settling Eryan against his chest, his bare skin warm and steady beneath the boy’s trembling frame.

Azriel tucked the blankets around them both, his strong arms wrapping securely around his son. Eryan hesitated for a moment before laying his head directly on his father’s chest, his tiny hands clutching at Azriel’s shoulders. The steady, rhythmic thump of Azriel’s heartbeat filled Eryan’s ears, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

“Daddy,” Eryan whispered after a few moments, his voice soft and trembling. “I can hear your heart.”

Azriel smiled faintly, his hand stroking Eryan’s back as he murmured, “What does it sound like, tough guy?”

Eryan pressed his ear closer, his little body finally beginning to relax.  “Thump, thump,” Eryan murmured quietly, his voice hitching with the last of his tears.

“It sounds strong,” he said, his little voice filled with awe. “Really strong. I want to be strong like you when I grow up.”

Azriel’s heart melted at his son’s quiet words. He tightened his hold on Eryan, his shadows curling protectively around them both.

“That’s right,” Azriel said with a faint smile, his hand still moving over Eryan’s back. “It’s strong, isn’t it? Just like you. My tough guy.”

Eryan let out a shaky breath, the sound of Azriel’s heartbeat and his soothing voice beginning to calm him. “You’re not scared of the storm?” he asked softly.

“Nope,” Azriel replied. “And you don’t need to be either. You’ve got me, and I’m not scared of anything when I have you and Mommy and Azriella to protect.”

Eryan let out a small, sleepy hum, his little body settling against Azriel’s chest as his breathing began to even out. “I love you, Daddy,” he whispered, his voice thick with drowsiness.

“I love you too, Ery,” Azriel murmured, pressing a kiss to his son’s hair. “More than anything.”

As Eryan drifted off to sleep, the storm still raging outside, Azriel held him tightly, his strong arms sheltering the boy from the chaos of the world. The steady rhythm of Azriel’s heartbeat lulled Eryan into peaceful slumber, his father’s warmth and strength a fortress against the storm.

Y/n stirred beside them, her voice soft and full of love. “Is he okay?”

Azriel glanced at her, his golden eyes warm despite the storm outside. “He’s fine, baby,” he said quietly, his gaze falling back to his son. “He just needed his daddy.”

She smiled, resting her hand lightly on Azriel’s arm. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Azriel kissed the top of Eryan’s head again, his heart full as he held his son. “No,” he said softly, his voice filled with quiet reverence. “I’m the lucky one.”

And as the storm began to fade, Azriel found himself silently thanking whatever forces had brought this little family into his life.

Chapter 9

[sonotpattismith]

while i'm here writing songs for you

pairing: musician!choso x childhood friend!reader word count: 10.6k content: childhood friends to lovers, everyone knows they're in love except them, jealousy, mentions of virginity loss, dying on the grunge choso hill, lil angst, fluff, smut, 18+ inspired by: bless the telephone by labi siffre

“Hah! Your old man’s gonna kill me.” 

Through shut eyes, a freshly eighteen-year-old Choso bit back an amused grin as best he could as to avoid disrupting his uncle’s work against his face. 

“Nah, he caught Yuji at a casino this week, so I’m the golden boy for the foreseeable future while he’s grounded.” The boy muttered with a small smirk. He did feel for his little brother, often sneaking into his room with his console to entertain him for at least a short while in the midst of his prison sentence. Still, he had to admit that his timing was impeccable— giving the older sibling the perfect cushion to fall back to when Jin sees what his son had done to celebrate his birthday. 

“Shit, yeah, I almost forgot.” Sukuna mumbled with a tickled shake of his head as he gripped at his nephew’s forehead in concentration. “Let the brat know I’ve still got his money whenever my boring ass brother lets him off house arrest.” 

“Choso!” 

The boy was eternally grateful that his uncle wasn’t as jumpy as he was, the man tightening his grip around his head in preparation for his jolt of surprise at the sudden shout. 

“Ohhh, I’d be more scared of your girl than your dad, punk.” 

You had burst through the doors of the tattoo parlor like a bat out of hell, your breath heaving slightly with the expended effort of hauling ass all the way over here from the restaurant you worked part time at. After receiving a cryptic picture from your best friend of him sat in his uncle’s tattoo chair with that deceivingly sheepish smile on his face, you could barely concentrate on taking orders correctly the remainder of your shift. Huffing out a sigh, you spotted those familiar, black combat boots hanging off the end of one of the leather seats. 

Choso didn’t bother to correct Sukuna’s labeling of you as his girl, as it was proven a wasted effort after years of telling him that wasn’t the case. It also didn’t hurt that the title made his stomach flip excitedly each time he heard it. 

“Oh my god.” You gaped once you finally reached the chair he was laid at. Half of the deep burgundy, nearly black mark that was being tattooed across his nose was already finished, and you could already picture the crash out Jin Itadori would have when he laid his eyes on his eldest son. 

Cracking one eye open, the birthday boy took in the sight of you, cheeks still red and puffing from the run you took to get to him. Underneath that first layer of shock though, he could see the barely disguised wonder in your eyes as you assessed the situation at hand. Sukuna paused his ministrations to give his nephew a break, and so that you could see the progress. 

“What the fuck! Your dad is gonna kill you.” You laughed incredulously, stepping closer to get a better look. Choso was just glad that his face was already tinged red from the irritation of the needle so you wouldn’t notice how he flushed insecurely under your gaze. 

It was his main reasoning behind the oddly placed tattoo, actually. Since he was little he could remember his face growing noticeably hot over the tiniest of compliments, looks, or touches. Maybe it was far-fetched, but he hoped the imposing mark across his nose and cheeks would draw the attention away from that little quirk of his. It also didn’t hurt that the stencil looked cool as fuck. 

“Not if you’re with me, he won’t.” Choso suggested with a sly, hopeful smile on his face, and you quickly shook your head at him. His face fell into that pout he had mastered to use specifically on you. “C’mon, he’ll take it easy on me if you’re there, please!”

“It was bad enough having to be your human shield when you got your nose pierced, Cho— no way.” 

“I’ll let you check my back for blackheads.” 

It fell silent for a moment as you contemplated his offer.

“You two are fuckin’ freaks.” Sukuna scoffed in disgust beside you before dragging his nephew’s chin back to face forward to continue working. You winced watching the needle begin to pierce at his already irritated skin, and you found yourself instinctively slipping your hand into his to squeeze it. 

“Does it hurt?” You grimaced, leaning a bit closer to watch. 

Choso almost said no, because, truthfully, he had gotten used to the pain about half an hour ago, but he took note of the way you clutched at his hand to comfort him. His lips twitched nervously at the feeling as he closed his eyes once again. 

“Uh— yeah, kind of.” He mumbled, taking the opportunity to lace his fingers through yours under the guise of having something to squeeze onto when he was in pain. His uncle watched the interaction with a deadpan expression, knowing full well that the kid hadn’t so much as flinched once since he’d sat down. Shaking his head with a quiet tut, he barely tried to conceal his amused smirk. 

“What about you, birthday girl, huh? You getting some celebratory ink too?” Sukuna questioned, wiping at the side of Choso’s nose that he’d just filled in. You cringed as you watched the tiniest amount of blood trickle at the bridge of his nose. 

“Don’t know, I think Cho took all the balls in this friendship.” You admitted with a defeated smile.

“Don’t be such a wimp.” Your best friend teased with a careful smile as he stretched his lower half against the stiff chair. The black sweater he was wearing rode up a bit, practically commanding the attention of your wandering eyes. There was a barely noticeable trail of dark hair leading down into the band of his joggers, and your lips parted as you tried to recall when the fuck that had happened.

The last couple of months in your friendship with Choso had been… getting a little difficult. You two had been practically joined at the hip since you were six years old and yelled at a group of first graders for not singing happy birthday to him as well after having overheard his dad wishing him a happy birthday that morning during drop off. For a while, the two of you would tell people at school that you were twins even though it was so clearly not the case, but six-year-old you and Cho were sure that you had everyone convinced. 

He had always been a bit of an introvert, so you had been the greatest birthday gift he could have ever hoped for. So, the awkward boy stuck to your side from that day on. Wherever one was, the other was never too far behind, and this would now be the twelfth birthday you two would be spending together. 

Choso had certainly been… changing though from that lanky little boy who would sniffle and cry each time you two parted for the day (as if you didn’t attend the same school). He had grown taller, his voice had dropped a few octaves, and these days you were finding yourself worrying about the timeline of your best friend’s happy trail. For a while you blamed it on the raging hormones that came along with puberty, but you were eighteen now and weren’t sure how much longer that excuse would hold up in your denial-filled brain. 

This was just one more way he was changing, you convinced yourself as you anxiously waited for him to unlock the front door of his house, his nose and cheeks still glistening with the antibiotic ointment Sukuna had slathered onto his fresh tattoo. He would have never had the courage to do something so bold even just a couple years ago. You had to admit though, the odd choice of tattoo did suit him, emphasizing those tired, chocolate eyes of his so nicely. 

It was silent in the Itadori house as you two crept in, scanning the area apprehensively with each step you took. You clutched at the back of his shirt, tugging him to lean down as you whispered into his black-studded ear. 

“I don’t think anyone’s—”

“Happy birthday you—” Poor, sweet Jin Itadori’s shout of celebration got stuck right in the back of his throat as his eyes fell upon his eldest son, a lit up birthday cake still clutched in his hands. He blinked a few times as though there was possibly just something in his eyes, but the wide-eyed expression of anxiety on the boy’s face gave him away. “What in god’s name did you do to your face? Was this your uncle? Did he tell you this was a good idea because I—”

“It was my idea.” Choso corrected, not-so-subtly attempting to nudge you forward as if you would soften the blow of his father’s wrath, who’s honey eyes fell frantically upon you. 

“Did you know about this? Please tell me you two are punking me or something.”

“She didn’t know.” He quickly defended despite the fact that it would have been a lot easier to share the blame. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he attempted a light-hearted smile. “C’mon, don’t I look—”

“You look like you’re about to be stuck working in that tattoo shop with your uncle the rest of your life because no one is going to hire you with that thing!” The man had begun pacing the length of the kitchen with the cake still in tow, shaking his head in disbelief before stopping to gape at his son in horror once again. “You couldn’t have at least waited until after prom? Graduation? All your photos— ruined! Oh god, I think I’m going to pass out—”

“Calm down, it’s not that big a deal— not like I did anything illegal, y’know like sneaking into a casino while underaged.” Choso attempted to distract him with a sheepish smile, stepping forward to take the cake out of his hands lest he really pass out. With his now free hands, Jin was tearing at the roots of his hair as he continued his frantic pacing, mumbling about not reminding him of Yuji’s recent run in with the law. “Besides, I’m not going to prom anyway.”

Now it was your turn to gape at the freshly-tattooed birthday boy. 

“You’re not?” You questioned, desperately trying not to sound as dejected as you felt. Though you two had never talked about it, you had just assumed that you’d be going to prom together given all the other important milestone events that you had completed hand in hand. Hell, you had even been putting off an offer from a fellow classmate of yours with the impression that Choso would be asking you to be his date— platonically, of course.

“You’re not?” Jin echoed in horror, finally looking up from where his face had been shoved into his hands. The man didn’t miss the disheartened expression that flashed across your face despite your best efforts to conceal it. “Why not? You’re only a high-schooler once, Choso, don’t be silly.”

Perhaps his nervous convincing was a bit overkill, but damn it how he was tired of watching his clearly love-sick son grow older and older without growing any wits about him on what was going on right under his nose. After hosting years worth of playdates for you two as mere children, to encouraging his son to be a little gentler with you as you began going through those awkward years that plagued every pre-teen girl, all the way to having to watch with barely concealed frustration at the way you two fell into one another’s ebb and flow so gracefully without any semblance of self-awareness— Jin was sure that he was more excited than the actual seniors for prom to come around, eager to force you two into the most obvious of couple’s poses for photos before sending you off for the night. 

“Why would I go to prom? You know I hate that kind of stuff.” He explained obviously before turning to see the settling shock lingering on your face. It made him blink a few times, brows furrowing in confusion. “I-I mean, are you going?”

“Um…” You stammered over your words, trying to suppress the flush of embarrassment that you felt creeping up your neck for having assumed that Choso would ask you to prom. He felt his heart in his throat, breath hitching in slight anticipation, because he was sure he wouldn’t have too terrible of a time if it was you he was going with, but the last thing he wanted to do was make things weird by asking you to be his date. “Y-Yeah, I was planning to go. Geto had asked me a few days ago, so—”

“You’re going with Geto?” It felt like his heart had fallen straight through his ass, and it took every inch of restraint in him to not begin banging his head against the dry-wall in a bitter rage, because why did he not think to ask you first? “I didn’t know you two talked like that.”

Jin wasn’t sure how much more of this he could stand to watch before he wrung his son’s neck out. He cleared his throat in an attempt to subtly get Choso’s attention and hopefully send some sort of telepathic communication to him, but he was far too focused on this Geto character that you had mentioned to get his head out of his own ass. 

“We don’t really, but… he asked me, and I wanted to go.”

My god, does she have to spell it out for him? Did I fail somewhere along the way as a father that my son turned out such an oblivious hard head? Just ask her— ask her!

“Oh. Well… that’s good, I guess.” 

Jin hoped to god that as Choso blew out half the candles on you two’s shared birthday cake that he was wishing for some common sense. 

You two did the best you could to shake off the sudden awkwardness following the conversation about prom. At the very least, you two still had to give each other your gifts, so you figured that would cushion the tension. You followed him up the familiar path to his room where you had had Yuji drop off his gift for you so it’d be here when you two got back, biting down an excited smile. 

“No way.” Choso gaped just seconds after opening the door. Stepping in to get a closer look, he quickly turned on his heels to stare incredulously at you. “No way— this is too much. I-I can’t take this.”

There leaned upon the side of his bed was a sleek black electric guitar— one he’d been keening over since the acoustic guitar his dad had gotten him damn near nine years ago now had mysteriously snapped at the neck. Okay, maybe it wasn’t so mysterious because you did tell Choso that climbing up onto his shoulders to get the spider that had been terrorizing his ceiling wasn’t a good idea, because sure enough as soon as the wretched thing moved an inch, you jolted back, sending both of you tumbling to the ground with only his poor guitar to break the fall. 

“After all the fake flirting I had to do to rack up enough tip money for it? You sure as hell can take it.” 

“Please, I can’t—”

“You can, and you will.” 

His face was burning with the guilt of how much you had spent on him, but the glimmering shine of the fresh guitar in his peripheral was helping to soften the blow a bit. The boy’s fingers were practically twitching with the anticipation of getting his hands on the thing, but he stopped himself. With a shy smile shot your way, he crouched down to pull out a box that had since been hiding under his bed. You smiled eagerly before sinking down to sit criss-crossed straight across from him, your present filling the small gap left between you. 

He laughed affectionately as he watched you struggle to pry the box open, deciding to put you out of your misery after a minute or so and tearing the cardboard apart for you. The first thing that caught your eye was a vinyl record— your favorite album that you had introduced Choso to a few years back. It held a tender spot in both of your hearts for that very reason, and its lead single had consequently been the first song he learned to play on his guitar all those years ago. 

Even all these years later he could still feel the sting in his fingers that had yet to callous protectively against the instrument’s strings as he stayed up until the sun rose that next morning trying to perfect each chord so that he could play it for you when you came over. It was choppy at best, what with all the scrapes on his irritated fingers and the lack of sleep, but the dewey eyed look on your face made him feel like he was Jimi fucking Hendrix, only fueling his motivation to get better— to impress you. So, despite how his fingers began to bleed, he played it for you over and over again until you were satisfied.

The sight of the nostalgic album nearly made you tear up pathetially, but you pulled yourself together to beam up at him with all the light of a thousand suns. He flushed under your gaze, quickly looking down to push the box toward you again with a jut of his chin. 

“There’s still something in there.”

Tearing your eyes from him, you pushed back the flaps of the box to get a better look, finding a far too expensive looking record player sitting at the bottom of the large box that he’d definitely been begging neighbors to let him clean their car or mow their lawn in order to afford. Gasping softly, an incredulous laugh bubbled up your chest as you shifted onto your knees. 

“Cho, this is so cool!” You guffawed, fingers struggling to wrangle the turntable out of the damned box to no avail. Unable to fight back his smile, he moved to brush your hands away and grab it for you, setting it down atop his black comforter. Running your fingers down the glossy box, you looked up at him with raised brows. “You’re gonna come back to my house to help me set it up, right?”

“You putting me to work on my birthday?” He quipped with a smirk as he fell back against the bed, hoisting up his new guitar to rest on his stomach. 

“I’ll give you the day.” You caved in mock resignation as you laid beside him, head shifted to observe the way he fiddled with the tuners. “New face tattoo, new guitar— your rockstar look is really coming together.”

“Yeah?”

“For sure— just missing some guyliner.”

His nimble fingers paused against the strings, lips pursing as he peered over at you. It was dead silent as a slow smile spread across your face— because you could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. It was only a mere five minutes later that you found yourself digging your fingers into his jaw to stop him from flinching away each time the eyeliner pencil drew a little too close to his iris. 

“Sit still, dude.” You grumbled, stepping closer between his spread legs as he sat impatiently in his desk chair. 

Huffing out a sigh, he tried not to squirm at your burning proximity. Your tongue was creeping out the corner of your mouth in concentration, and the hand that had since been on his jaw moved to brush the hair away from his forehead. He could feel the warm puffs of your breath fanning against his face, driving his legs to squirm against the floor, which seemed to be the final straw for your patience. 

Choso thought his heart would leap out of his chest when you planted yourself firmly on his lap, your legs hanging over the side of his chair. His arms quickly fell to his sides as though weighed down by bricks, dangling limply as his fingers flexed  apprehensively. Gulping anxiously, he tried not to focus on the way the fat of your thighs squished against him. 

“Close your eyes, Cho.” You murmured quietly as you began working on his lids. He did so swiftly, eager to not have to worry about where to place his gaze.

“So, um…” The boy cleared his throat, trying desperately to get his mind anywhere else before he created a problem that would be embarrassing for the both of you. “You’re really going to prom with Geto?”

“Mhm.” You hummed simply, chewing on your bottom lip as you smudged the freshly placed liner with the edge of your thumb. Perhaps you should have said more, but you weren’t sure that you trusted your voice if you were to speak right now. 

“Do you… I mean are you—” 

“Look up for me.” 

Cursing himself mentally to just get it the fuck together, he tried again as he did as he was told, warm eyes glancing up at the ceiling. 

“I just didn’t know you liked him is all.” He finally got out as his pulse pounded against the fingers you had pressed against his jaw and neck once again. “You’ve always told me about stuff like that.”

With a tickled smile, you leaned back in his lap to narrow your eyes knowingly at him. Upon noting your silence paired with the way you had stopped your work against his eyes, he finally looked back down, and you had to bite back the delighted gasp from seeing the way the smudged, dark liner paired so beautifully with the rest of him, making his already mysteriously dark eyes that much more sultry. 

“You’re jealous, Choso!” 

“What? N-No, I was just—”

“You are so jealous that I didn’t tell you about Geto.”

“I’m not jealous!”

“You are!”

“Am not!”

He was so jealous, Choso determined as he stared up at his ceiling the dreaded night of prom. His fingers idly strummed at the new guitar that laid across his stomach, trying to get his mind off of the fact that you hadn’t even bothered to send him a picture of your dress. It had always been him that was the first to see your new haircuts, fresh manicures, and imaginative outfits, and it was eating him alive that for the first time in twelve years, another guy was going to get to witness that little spin of display you did each time you wore something you felt particularly pretty in. 

It didn’t help that he’d already gotten an earful from his dad when he got home from school that day about the fact that he still hadn’t righted his wrong and asked you instead. Jin must have gone on for at least an hour about what a shame it was that of all the experiences you two had shared, one as important to you as this one would be hand in hand with someone else. For the first time since the start of your long-winded friendship, he was sharing you with someone, and Choso was quickly realizing that he was selfish— and unashamedly so. 

The event had already been going on for about two hours now, and he was coming to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t hear from you tonight. The familiar notes of that favorite song of yours that he had learned all those years ago filled his ears as he began absentmindedly plucking at the strings under his fingertips. Ever so slowly, the melody began shifting into one he’d never heard before, taking its own shape as it filled his melancholy room with feelings of you, and how much he’d taken it for granted all those times he had you laying beside him as he toyed with the notes, telling him what sounded nice and what he needed to work on.

The notes suddenly screeched awkwardly as his phone began buzzing in his back pocket, yanking him from his pensive sulking with its imposing tune. Blinking a few times, he frantically tossed his hips up to wrangle his phone out from behind him, the head of his guitar smacking him in the face with the sudden movements. 

He shot up out of bed pathetically upon seeing your name lighting up his screen along with a picture he’d taken of the two of you in the mirror a few months ago when you tried to give him red highlights. There was dye nearly everywhere except where it was supposed to be, yet you still beamed up at the mirror despite the red streaks covering your face and arms, gloved hands still tangled into his hair. 

Clearing his throat, he quickly swiped to answer the call before it went to voicemail. 

“Did someone spike the punch or—”

“Choso?” Your voice sounded hushed, but it still wavered ever-so-slightly against the sound of music blaring in the distance. The smile quickly fell from his face. “Do you think you could… come get me?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. What’s going on?” He was barrelling through his hectic room to find any pair of shoes to shove on, nearly tripping over himself as he hopped toward the front door on one foot. 

“Um… nothing, I just… really wanna go home.” 

There wasn’t even the tiniest part of him that was convinced, but that would just have to be a conversation for later because there was a timid vulnerability and tremor in your sweet voice that he’d never heard before. Snatching his dad’s keys from the hook by the door, he was requesting your location before racing down the street. There was a slight possibility that he had run more than a few red lights on his way to the hotel that was hosting your school’s prom in the banquet hall. The car had barely come to a stop when he was flinging the door open to rush toward the bench you were sitting at out front. 

“What are you doing out here by yourself? Where’s Geto?” 

But your eyes were fluttering around you cautiously, scoping the surrounding area with a shake of your head as your best friend pulled you up by your arm. 

“Please, can we just go? I don’t—”

“Right— yeah, okay, come on.”

It was silent on the ride home save for your hushed request that he take you back to his house for the night instead. Cautionary side long glances were continuously tossed your way throughout the drive, and you could practically feel the concerned curiosity eating alive at him as your body faced the passenger side door. You were eternally grateful for the fact that the other two residents of the Itadori household had already turned in for the night when you two arrived. 

Choso flipped the lights on in his room, carefully inching the door of his room closed so as not to wake anyone up. When he turned, he was finally able to get his first good look at you, and he was absolutely bursting at the seams to know what Geto must have done to fuck up a night with you as his date looking as ethereal as you did standing in the middle of his room. 

You were sighing dejectedly as you tugged open his drawers to fish out something to change into, but Choso was still stuck by the door, eyes taking in each detail of your glittering makeup and intricately lined lips. 

“You…” His words drifted as you turned your back toward him so he’d undo your zipper. “You look beautiful.”

You paused, head slowly turning to look over your shoulder at him with misty eyes. 

“Thanks, Cho.”

Quickly working your zipper down, he turned to face the door as you stepped out of your dress to shrug on a pair of his sweatpants and a crewneck. His leg swayed anxiously while he listened to the gentle rustling of clothes behind him. 

“Did… did something happen?”

Upon hearing the subtle creak of his bed as you sank down onto it, he carefully turned around. The bed dipped by your head where he sat himself, and you felt him absentmindedly begin pulling the myriad of pins from your hair. Flushing red, you covered your face with your hands as you recalled how your night had progressed, not caring how you were smudging your makeup against your hands. 

“He… he just wanted to have sex with me.”

Choso felt his heart crack at your shaky explanation, the guilt he had been experiencing for not having asked you to prom himself returning tenfold. The bobby pin in his grasp bent between his fingers as he thought about how Geto had ruined what was meant to be a special night for you. 

“That guy’s a loser, he’ll probably die a virgin anyway.” He attempted to lighten the mood with a hesitant, breathy laugh, but it died in his throat when you slowly sat up to look at him, your now loose hair falling messily in your face and tears brimming your eyes. His stomach dropped at the mortified expression scrunching up your typically cheerful face, and he gulped down the bile rising in his throat. “Oh.”

A sob racked your body as you moved to curl into a tight ball, your head resting against his tense thighs. His hands hovered over you uncertainly before slowly coming down to brush at the hair invading your face.

“So, you…” He couldn’t even bring himself to say it, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

“I feel like an idiot.” You cried, fisting at his pajama pants. “I stopped him right after he— he put it… in, but—”

“It’s okay.” Choso cut off your embarrassed rambles, pulling you up to wrap you in a tight embrace. He wasn’t sure if he could handle listening to the details. “Did he stop when you asked him to?”

A heavy sigh of relief left him when you nodded against his shoulder. It was silent for a few minutes, your soft cries soaking into the fabric of his tattered, band t-shirt.  

“I’m sorry.” He whispered dejectedly, trying desperately to get the image out of his head of you underneath of Geto with your makeup done up so prettily for someone who didn’t deserve it. He thought about how none of it would have happened had he just grown a pair. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to prom. I should’ve taken you, none of this would have—”

“It’s not your fault.” You interrupted, finally lifting your head from where it had burrowed into his neck to look up at him, your lip still trembling as your once pristine makeup smeared down your red cheeks. 

As you stared into his dewey, warm eyes, you allowed your thoughts to wander to how your night might have ended had Choso been your date, how you had stopped Geto after the gruelling realization hit you that no hands felt as right against your skin without the gruffness of guitar-string callouses. Your stomach churned nervously, and you laid back down against his lap, unable to face him as the words came tumbling from your lips. 

“I wish it would have been you, Cho.”

Choso’s heart sputtered to an abrupt halt— at least that’s what it felt like as your words sunk in. Slowly, he laid back against his pillow, careful not to jostle you in your spot against his thighs. Staring up at the ceiling, his mouth opened and closed a few times. 

“Y-You mean as a prom date, right?” The question came out apprehensively, because, deep down, you both already knew the answer. You closed your eyes nonetheless, a final tear slipping down your cheek. 

“Yeah, as a prom date.” Your lie came out barely a whisper as he chewed on his bottom lip.

“I wish it would’ve been me too. Y’know, your… prom date.”

It was the first time both of you knew that something had shifted in your relationship, though neither of you were brave enough to mention it the next morning when you woke. 

That fateful night was two years ago now, and you had had ample time to come to the realization that perhaps you should have been more upfront with him, because Choso was now hundreds of miles away at an arts school with only a telephone keeping you two together. 

It had been a difficult conversation with shifting eyes and unnecessarily guilty frowns, but when your best friend had broken the news to you that he’d been accepted into a different university than the one you’d be attending, you couldn’t have been happier that he was pursuing his passion for music. When he dropped the bomb that it was nearly six hours away— that was a tougher pill to swallow.

You two had been doing the best you could though— calling each other every other night and texting in between to make sure to keep up to date on everything university life had to offer you. Still, things would get busy sometimes, what with Choso’s occasional shows that he’d been playing with a local band in his college town, and your downright diabolical class and exam schedule. Things certainly weren’t the same anymore, but you desperately tried to cling onto him.

Additionally, in your absence Choso was reminded of just how much of a clutch you had been for him. He had never been the best at talking to others, relating to the types of casual niceties that seemed to connect people, but he had never had to until now because you had always been just enough for him. Sure, he had warmed up enough to his bandmates, but it was never the same— not when he sat alone in his room at night strumming melodies he only wished he would have played for you earlier when he still had the chance to do something about these things he was feeling.

On your end of the world, it certainly didn’t help that his band had grown a modest following, and it seemed that for the first time, the rest of the world was also beginning to notice Choso. 

Choso, the one boys and girls alike used to veer away from in the halls at school because of his terrifyingly blunt, resting bitch face. 

Choso, the one who spent the majority of highschool with limbs that seemed too long for his body until he grew into his own. 

Choso, the one who, unless you were beside him, often took jokes too literally and ended up embarrassing himself each time he opened his mouth. 

Choso, the one who you had stuck beside throughout each awkward phase and experimental hairstyle until he landed on the shag cut that suited him so nicely. 

Choso, the one who had been receiving the nastiest of thirst comments under each of his band’s social media posts as the rest of the world caught onto what you had known all along.

And, god, how it stung to scroll through each one, but it was like you couldn’t look away, wondering with each username if he was enjoying all the new attention he was getting. You wondered how far he had leaned into this rockstar persona he had been dreaming of his whole life, if he snuck girls backstage and pocketed their bras as evidence of his conquests.

 I mean, the guy had gone damn near his entire life without so much as a second glance from any girl he’d come in contact with— except for you, of course, and you underestimated just how deep his loyalty ran and how much he remembered who it was that had been with him through it all.

So, to hell with every creatively intricate thirst comment under photos that even had you contemplating starting a burner account to appreciate with the masses, none of them mattered despite all the nights you’d spent chewing at your fingernails with thoughts of what he might be up to. Each fan account could burn in hell though—  because it was you he called as soon as he’d received the news that his band would be touring, opening for an indie band that you two had actually been fans of for quite some time. 

“I wanna fly you out.” Choso insisted breathlessly, still winded from the sheer velocity at which he raced for his phone upon hearing the news. It made your heart stutter, because it had been now going on three years since you last saw him, your schedules never having seemed to line up just right. There were a few times when you had contemplated flying out to surprise him at one of his local, bar shows, but with your building mountain of school work, you’d had little to no time to get a job that could afford you the extra change at the end of each month to buy a plane ticket. At your silence, he huffed, and you could practically hear that damned pout from over the phone. “C’mon, our birthday is coming up. We used to spend all our birthdays together.”

Smiling wistfully at the memories of how easy you two once had it, you shook your head. 

“Well that was before you became some heart-throb rock star, Cho.” You teased, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you wondered if he still blushed so easily at little comments like that, and, if so, what shade his cheeks were at the moment. 

“How am I supposed to be a rock star with no groupies? That’s just lame.” 

“Oh, trust me, I’m sure you have a long list of contenders waiting in line. Have you been checking your instagram comments lately?”

This made him pause, the tiniest of knowing smiles creeping onto his face. 

“No, but it sounds like you have.” 

For once, it was you flushing that burning shade of red that once graced his cheeks so frequently, and you wondered when he’d begun reciprocating your teasing banter instead of just stammering through his responses while trying not to look you in the eyes. Shaking his head with a nearly silent chuckle, he decided to put you out of your misery, clutching his phone tighter against his ears. 

“Let me fly you out, please? I know you’ve gotta break coming up. I wanna see you.” 

So just three months later, though truthfully it felt like a year as you and Choso counted down the days until you would see each other again, you were on a flight courtesy of his now modest earnings from his band. And sure, it was no fancy seat with the luxury accommodations he just knew you deserved, but he felt so proud to know that he was able to do something for you. He had been waiting at the airport nearly two hours before your flight was actually supposed to land, flowers clutched in his clammy hands as he checked the time repeatedly. 

Much to his frustration, your flight kept getting delayed, and, after the third push back, he had to begrudgingly resign himself to the fact that he wouldn’t get to be there when you landed, having to get back for sound check for the show tonight. After sending a long winded explanation text, he insisted that you text him as soon as you land as well as as soon as you got to the hotel and as soon as you made it to the venue, and— well, you got the point. 

With all the sudden delays, you only had time to drop your luggage off at the front desk of the hotel, who assured you they’d get it to your room for you before you had to haul ass to the venue before you missed any second of Choso’s band opening. He had given your name to security, who had your pass waiting for you when you arrived and quickly led you toward a less crowded section reserved for the talents’ guests. 

You were slightly winded from the nonstop moving you had been doing since you woke up this morning, but even with how spent you felt, you weren’t sure anything could have woken you up faster than the sight of your best friend on that stage after three years of not seeing him. Sure, the two of you had been keeping up with pictures and the occasional video call, but none of it did him justice— not with the way the boy you once knew had grown into such a… man.

The once lanky limbs that hung awkwardly at his sides had certainly filled out, emphasized nicely by the gaping muscle shirt he currently had on. His biceps flexed with each rip of his guitar as his grown out hair fell into his chiseled face. To your surprise, he had a mic situated in front of him and was occasionally offering back-up vocals that you were straining with everything in you to pinpoint amongst the rest of the music.

His eyes swept across the designated guest area, and you and your poor, weak heart nearly gave out upon realizing that he had begun lining them just as you did for him all those years ago, smudged out across his lids and adding a spine-tingling depth as they spotted you in the crowd. That earth-shattering smile lit up his face as he took in the sight of you looking up at him, because none of this success and fulfillment of lifelong dreams felt nearly as sweet without you being in the audience for him to impress.

Choso was breath-taking on that stage, commanding it with a confidence you had never seen on him before. It was a blur as the set went on, your shouting out the lyrics to the songs of theirs that you’d kept up with over the year, your already spent body expending the fumes of energy it had left to thrash around to the eardrum-crushing beat.

 You found yourself anxiously checking your phone when his band finished their set and disappeared backstage, not knowing if you were going to have to wait until the end of the show to see him. Thinking back to the phone conversation you two had had months prior, and how you really were starting to feel like his groupie. The thought made you smile in amusement, shoving your phone back into your pocket as the main band came out on stage. 

Your questions were answered just one song in when a pair of nearly steaming, sweat clung arms wrapped around your shoulders and chest from behind, squeezing you into an equally sweaty chest. 

“Ew, Cho, get off! You’re soaked!” You tried to sound disgusted, but your delighted laugh deceived you, because you were sure that he could have been covered head to toe in blood right now and you’d still allow him to latch onto you as he was doing so ardently.

“What happened to being my groupie?” He shouted over the blasting music, surprising you when his lips met your cheek in a sloppy kiss. Even he wasn’t sure where he’d worked up the gall to kiss you, but maybe it was the fact that he’d spent the last three years regretting his inaction, and he’d be damned if he was going to let you board that flight back home without at least trying. 

Hoping he didn’t see the way your cheeks flushed at the little stunt, you took note of the fact that he had yet to release you. 

“Your groupie is gonna need a few drinks if she has to deal with your stench for the next hour.”

In typical Choso fashion, he quickly obliged your request, planting yet another kiss against your temple before disappearing in the blur of security and venue workers to find you something to drink. You felt like your head was spinning with his sudden forward shift in behavior, but you chalked it up to the fact that you two hadn’t seen each other in so long.

 So, you didn’t question it when he came back with two vodka Red Bulls and continued to cling onto you the remainder of the show. He hoisted you up on his back when the crowd around you began to grow so you could get a better view of the band and didn’t care that you were screaming along to the songs right into his ear because you were finally here with him, and he could buy you drinks and give you front row seats to one of your favorite bands, and for once he thought that maybe he was brave enough to admit that he wanted something more with you after all these years of convincing himself that there was nothing he could offer you that’d be worth your while.

He was riding on the high of your giddy smile the entire taxi ride back to the hotel, unable to wipe that lovesick grin off of his face even when you asked him if there was something on your face that was warranting all the staring.

“I’m just gonna shower really quick, and then I’ll come to your room so we can order some food, ‘kay?” You explained while fishing out the room key that you’d received from the front desk earlier that day.

Choso’s brows furrowed as he pushed the respective button on the elevator and adjusted his guitar case over his shoulder. 

“What do you mean? We’re going to the same room.” 

Looking up from the inside of your bag, you stared at him with a slightly dumbfounded expression. 

“You only booked one room?” You questioned with a fluttering gaze. 

“We’ve always shared a room.” He explained obviously, making his way down the hall once the elevator doors opened. You could hardly argue with him on that logic, because you two had been sharing a room, hell— sharing a bed since you were kids. As you followed close behind him, butterflies churning in your stomach, you came to the conclusion that Choso had neglected to account for the fact that you two weren’t kids anymore.

Still, he had flown you all this way, and you had missed the endless nights you two would spend together watching horror movies until Jin would stumble into the room, exasperated as he asked you two to please turn down the volume or, better yet, watch anything else that didn’t have him jolting awake from the incessant sounds of blood-curdling screams emanating from his son’s room at ungodly hours of the night. Bonus points if you two had snuck Yuji in to watch them with you and had to shove him under the bed until their dad left the room lest he find out his youngest was watching movies far too mature for his age.

Yuji and Jin weren’t there to interrupt though, and you were currently hyping yourself up in the bathroom mirror to go out and spend the night with the man you’d known for fifteen years now. Looking down at yourself, you cursed at your choice of sleep wear that you’d clearly chosen before you knew Choso would be sleeping beside you. His old Metallica t-shirt had tiny holes in the shoulders and was discolored from so many years of wash cycles, but it was just so perfectly worn in, and it was a little reminder of him each time you went to sleep. 

The tattered hem fell just above your mid-thigh, and you were once again punching yourself in the leg because why would you not pack any pajama shorts? Pants? A longer shirt? Literally anything other than your fucking jeans that you’d rather bear the humiliation for than wear to bed? Huffing out a final sigh, you hung up your towel before exiting the steam-filled bathroom outwardly displaying far more confidence than was actually present in your muddled mind at the moment. 

“Shower’s open, Cho.” You informed with your eyes cast downward, shoving your dirty clothes into the respective section of your suitcase. 

He looked up from the room service menu he’d been studying for the past few minutes, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest at the sight of your bare thighs that still glistened from whatever lotion you had slathered on after your shower, and oh god was that his shirt? His brain was short-circuiting on the spot, and he was so grateful that he was jumping into the shower now, knowing that knob was about to be turned to the coldest setting he could manage. 

You sighed in quiet relief when the bathroom door shut behind him, thanking your lucky stars that he hadn’t mentioned anything about your choice of sleepwear— or lack thereof, hoping it meant that he didn’t notice.

 Finally allowing some of the tension to fall from your shoulders, you looked around the slightly bougie hotel room, smiling at the sight of his guitar leaning against the wall. Taking the opportunity to be a little nosy for nostalgia’s sake, you unzipped the case and carefully pulled the beloved instrument out. It was hardly recognizable now, what with all the decals and stickers he’d adorned it with over the years, but it was that same electric guitar you had scraped up all your tip money to buy for him.

Humming fondly, you sat crisscrossed in the middle of the plush bed to fiddle with the strings, recalling all the nights Choso had spent desperately trying to teach you how to play, but you never could make good on his diligent efforts. You could only vaguely recall the chords to that first song he’d ever learned to play, the one you’d watched him strum what must have been hundreds of times for you. Pursing your lip, you tried to angle your fingers just right along the neck as you dug into the far corners of your memory. 

“Your hand is too far up the neck.” 

In your fierce concentration, you hadn’t even heard Choso exiting the bathroom. Not looking up at him lest you break your focus, you shifted your hand as he’d instructed.

“Here?” 

He tutted softly, though you could practically hear the fond amusement oozing from him. After a moment, you felt the bed dip behind you, and your breath hitched as you felt his chest press against your back, and you suddenly didn’t feel as embarrassed at your lack of clothing since he hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on following his shower. His hands soon came up to close around yours, guiding them to the proper placement.

“Try now.” He instructed softly, tucking his chin over your shoulder to watch your movements. 

Trying to control the way your fingers trembled with the feeling of the muscles he never used to have pressed right up against you, you tried again. When he let out a quiet hum of disapproval, you didn’t have the chance to ask what you had done wrong before he was scooching you back to sit in his lap for better access to the instrument. 

“You’ve gotta spread out your fingers a little more.” Choso’s tips were falling on deaf ears, because his scent was enveloping you like a warm blanket, he was so warm pressed right up against you, and his cheek was brushing against yours as he adjusted your fingers. 

As he had been telling himself since he saw you in the audience earlier for the first time in three years, he wasn’t that awkward boy anymore who was too scared to be honest with himself, and he knew better than to believe that the flush in your cheeks right now was from your shower. Smiling softly, he eased up his hands as you began to get the hang of it, only occasionally reaching up to correct your placements. You gradually allowed yourself to relax against him, your shoulders drifting back to fall along his broad chest. 

“Do you ever think about that night of prom?” Out of all the ways he could have eased into this conversation, he wasn’t sure why that was what had come out of his mouth, but he was relieved when you scoffed out a light laugh. 

“You mean the night I lost my virginity to Suguru Geto?” You shook your head at the once damn near traumatic memory, a bitter smile gracing your lips. “I try not to.” 

It was silent for a moment, and just as he thought you had all but forgotten what you had said to him that night, you spoke up hesitantly.

“Do you? Y’know— think about it?”

“All the time.” 

Your fingers paused against the strings, but a hushed whisper in your ear to keep playing had you jolting back into action, but your subtle squirming against his lap gave you away. 

“Why the hell would you be thinking about that?” You mumbled, keeping your voice low as you desperately tried to maintain your composure.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if it was me instead.”

His hand came up to tighten your grip around the neck of the guitar that had loosened with the implications of his words, and you heard those familiar words falling from your lips just as they had from his three years ago. 

“You mean as my prom date, right, Cho?” 

His head shifted ever so slightly, and you shivered as his nose grazed against your temple. The hand that had been guiding your fingers over the strings drifted down to ghost over your bare thigh. 

“Yeah, as your prom date.” He lied, just as you had that night. The pads of his fingers dug into the fat of your thigh momentarily, giving you the opportunity to push him away should he have been reading all the signs wrong. You didn’t though, you only held back the softest of whimpers when the metaphorical green light prompted him to run his hand further up, brushing back your already maddeningly ridden up shirt. “I think about how much of an idiot he was, what I would’ve done different.” 

The way your comparably smaller frame was expanding and deflating against him in tandem with your labored breaths was making it hard for him to think, and he was sure his body was acting purely on autopilot. 

“Like what?” You dared to whisper, not even quite sure that you were ready to hear his answer, but oh was he willing to give it to you. 

“I would’ve told you how pretty you looked that night— because you did. You looked like an angel.” Choso rasped out against your ear, and his fingers were curling around the warmth of your inner thigh, just barely grazing against your rapidly heating core. Your fingers stuttered once again against the strings, and his other hand quickly came up to grip at the column of your neck, pressing you back against him. “Keep playing for me, angel.”

And you tried, hands trembling as they fumbled to find the right chords again. 

“Did he touch you like this before he ruined your night?”

“No!” You gasped out desperately, arching against him as he pushed your panties to the side to collect the pooling slick at your entrance, using it to aid in the tentative circles he began working against your clit. “H-He didn’t touch me at all— ah!”

With a vexed tut of disapproval, Choso’s fingers dipped down to plunge into your sopping heat. His movements were choppy, and it was clear that he wasn’t sure what exactly you would like, but his focused gaze on your side profile as he studied each of your reactions told you that he was going to figure it the fuck out.

“I would have taken the time for you— I would’ve made sure you were ready.” His regrets were spilling past his frantic lips in a manner teetering on a whine as your head fell back against his shoulder. “Keep playing.”

“I can’t— I can’t, Cho.” You cried deliriously as his fingers began curling up in response to your frantic reaction. You were soaking through the underwear that had been pushed haphazardly to the side, and if you were more lucid you would have been embarrassed at the way it pooled onto the sheets below you. 

At once, he had released the firm grip he had on your neck to push his guitar off the bed. 

“Then come up here and let me show you how I would have taken care of you.”

Choso, with his eagerness to please and this newfound Herculean strength of his, didn’t give you the chance to comply with his request, because he was ripping at your flimsy underwear and shifting you around to face him. It was enough to give you whiplash, but the bruising grip he had around your waist assured that your balance wouldn’t fail you as he laid back against the unsuspecting hotel sheets and yanked you up to hover over his crazed face. 

“Choso, y-you don’t have to—” 

“I want to.” He pleaded, his lips glistening with an anticipatory drool as those puppy-dog eyes of his locked onto your core, and he was once again reminded of the fact that Suguru Geto had to be the dumbest man on this fucking planet. Craning his neck up, he couldn’t help himself as he dragged his hot tongue up the length of your folds, his strangled moan vibrating against you. “Mmph, sit— please.”

Leave it to Choso to not forget about his manners as he begged you to suffocate him between your trembling thighs. You complied, moving ever-so-slowly to lower yourself against him before he dug his fingers into your thighs and made you sit. Hunching forward, your forehead fell against the plush headboard with a choked cry as he all but unhinged his jaw around your core. 

He watched through dazed eyes at the way your face crumpled with each symphony of pleasure that slipped past your bitten lips. There was no sense in dwelling on the past now, but he couldn’t help but feel so utterly idiotic for having been so blind all this time. It had always been there— in the lingering touches and the intimacy of trust that had forged between you two over fifteen years of falling back on one another.

Choso’s eyes rolled back as you rolled your hips against his tongue, momentarily blocking any passage of air through his mouth and nose, but, even with the clenching in his lungs that told him that he needed to breathe paired with the ringing in his ears, he thought he’d much rather have your weeping pleasure as the cause of death on his obituary, because any life where he hindered that impending high you were cravenly grinding toward wasn’t a life worth living.

His tongue dipped into your entrance for an exasperatingly brief tour before its pointed tip was dancing up to swoop under the hood of your already painfully sensitive clit. You squeaked out a pitched moan, nearly tumbling down if one of his hands hadn’t shot up to press against your sternum to keep you upright. A choked sob of pleasure shook your shoulders, and your hand flew down to tangle into the very haircut he maintained for so long just because you said it looked cute on him.

There was a sharp sting on his scalp as you yanked at the roots, the subtle pain at the hands of you nearly sending him to an early grave as his hips bucked up against the air. He was only met by the infuriatingly gentle friction of his sweatpants brushing against his leaking tip, but you were crying out his name and using him so sweetly with every craven thrust of your hips, and it was enough for him after all the sleepless nights he’d spent wishing he could have changed the past. 

Evidence of you was dripping grotesquely down his face, dragging as far up as his nose that glistened proudly in the wake of your sloppy thrusts against him. His eyes were barely open by the time you timidly glanced down at him, half-lidded to match the dopey smile you felt morphing against your folds. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You murmured through burning cheeks as he leaned you back to sit on his chest. 

“I’ve waited fifteen years to look at you like this.” His words were damn near slurred, but the sentiment remained the same. Brushing the dishevled hair from his forehead, you slid down slowly to straddle his waist, gasping tenderly at the feeling of his abs brushing against your sensitive clit, though your eyes never once left his. 

With wanton eyes drifting down his pink-tinted face, his eyes drifted shut as he leaned up to meet the kiss he was sure he was finally about to get, but it instead landed tenderly on his forehead. A warmth spread down his spine, making his fingers curl tighter around your waist. 

“Put me out of my misery already.” Choso whispered, but his actions deceived him as he reached up to keep you pressed against his forehead. Just as you slipped out of his grasp, lips dragging down the bridge of his nose until they ghosted over his. With a clouded gaze, he whispered against your lips, “Did he tell you he loved you?”

With a delirious shake of your head, you crashed through the tiniest of barriers that had been left between you.  

“I love you.” He mumbled desperately against your kiss, hands sneaking up under your baggy shirt to graze along your spine. “More than just a— ah— a prom date. I love you.”

“I love you, too— more than just a friend.” You confirmed as you snuck your hand down between you to creep into his waistband. 

He flinched away from you with a quick, hissing breath, reaching down to grip at your hand in record timing. Pulling away from him with a start, you blinked down owlishly at him. 

“Oh— I-I’m sorry, I just thought you wanted to…”

“I do!” He sat up faster than you could blink to miss it. With that signature flush of his cheeks, he cast his gaze to the side. “Just… give me a little bit, okay?”

Raising a brow at his sudden timidness, you decided not to make it known that you had already felt the tacky wet splotch currently making a mess of his sweatpants. Saving him the wallowing self-pity you just knew he’d fall into for the rest of the night, you opted to lay beside him, tracing the tattoo that lined his nose absentmindedly as he looked anywhere but you. With a soft laugh, he finally turned his head to face you again after a moment of silence, smiling sheepishly down at you. 

“Happy birthday, angel.”

Glancing over at the bedside clock, you noted with a cacooning warmth that it read 12:02 AM.

“Happy birthday, Cho.”

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God bless your dad's genetics… Dilf! Anakin x son’s girlfriend!reader

PREVIOUS

CHAPTER TEN: HOW IT'S ENDS

synopsis: on the last day of the cruise, you confront the life-changing choices made over the past few days and embrace the uncertain, but hopeful, future awaiting you.

warning: age gap (Anakin is 44 years old and the reader is in her early 20s), alternate universe, fluffy, Anakin being a hopeless romantic

w: 3.2k

a/n: hello there,  I confess, words seem to escape me right now 🥺💕 This idea came to me so randomly—I was listening to Juno, and suddenly all the pieces started falling into place. I never expected the direction it would take, but wow… I’m so grateful for all the love, comments, and encouragement along the way! 🥹💖

I hope you enjoy the ending as much as I loved creating it 🫶✨, and who knows—maybe we’ll meet again on the next adventure! Thank you so much for being here, and kisses to all of you 😘💌

📣 Special shoutout to everyone who commented—y’all literally had me smiling from ear to ear 😭😁💕 Your words mean the world to me! 🌸💫

This isn't how it ends This isn't where we put down our pens Go tell the businessmen This isn't how it ends

The golden rays of the morning sun streamed through the small oval window of the cruise ship room. You had forgotten to close the curtains the night before, allowing the early light to slowly warm the space. The soft glow reflected on Anakin’s sandy blond hair, the messy strands splayed against the crisp white pillowcase. His chest rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic motion, his arms wrapped securely around you, holding you close. His chin rested comfortably in your hair, which still carried the faint scent of your shampoo.

The light crept higher, reaching your face, and you stirred sleepily, the warmth stirring a quiet discomfort. You mumbled, your eyelids fluttering before you finally gave in and blinked yourself awake, squinting to adjust to the brightness.

The sunrise outside was breathtaking, the sun climbing out of the endless ocean to paint the sky in shades of gold and amber. It was beautiful, but bittersweet—this was the last morning you’d wake up to this view, the last morning of the cruise. Soon, you’d be stepping off this ship and back into the rhythm of everyday life: college, work, and Netflix marathons filling the gaps where adventure had been.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the quiet sound of Anakin stirring. Your fingers absently traced through his soft hair, and he responded with a sleepy hum, leaning into your touch as if drawn by instinct. His nose scrunched slightly, and the corner of his lips twitched into the beginnings of a smile.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” you whispered, your voice calm and teasing.

He let out a low, playful grunt, refusing to open his eyes just yet. “What? I was being so convincing,” he replied, his voice rough with sleep but laced with humor.

A smile tugged at your lips as he finally opened his eyes, those stormy blues meeting yours with a warmth that made your heart ache. You relaxed back into his embrace as he leaned forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead, his hand trailing soothing patterns down the length of your back.

“Did you sleep well?” he murmured, his tone tender.

“Uh-huh,” you mumbled groggily, your gaze wandering from his to the simple white wallpaper with thin blue stripes on the wall. The room fell quiet again, but not uncomfortably so. The events of the past few days loomed in your mind, crashing over you like the waves outside hitting the hull of the ship.

“What’s on your mind, little angel?” Anakin asked softly, tilting his head to study your face. There was no judgment in his eyes, only curiosity and concern, like he was ready to carry whatever burden you were holding.

“So much happened this weekend,” you admitted after a moment, your voice thoughtful. His fingers found yours, intertwining with your open palm as his hand rested on your belly.

“Good things, I hope,” he murmured, his playful tone lighting up the stillness of the morning.

You didn’t answer immediately, the weight of everything making your chest feel tight. But when you met his gaze, the soft lines of his face, the warmth in his expression, made you feel safe enough to exhale.

“Yes,” you said at last, your voice soft but firm. “I’m just… taking stock of things. I can’t describe how happy I am to be with you, but it still feels like there’s so much ahead of us.”

“We’ll do this together,” Anakin promised, his voice steady with quiet determination. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles that sent warmth coursing through you. “We’ll figure everything out, one step at a time.”

A small smile broke across your face as the tension eased, replaced by the overwhelming love you felt for him.

“Now,” he said, his tone shifting to something more playful, “let’s enjoy that amazing shower one last time.”

Before you could protest, he scooped you up into his arms, carrying you bridal-style across the room. A surprised laugh escaped you, and you clung to his shoulders as he grinned down at you, his mischievous spark fully returned.

“You’re ridiculous,” you teased, giggling as he carried you into the bathroom, the sound of running water soon filling the air.

After a shared bath that lasted far longer than planned—thanks to the endless trail of kisses and caresses exchanged under the hot spray—you were finally dressed for the day. But that didn’t mean you were ready. Not for the inevitable moment where you’d have to face your best friend’s entire family after everything that had unfolded this weekend.

Speaking of him, Luke approached with an apologetic look that made you pause. The first thought that popped into your mind, unbidden, was how Skywalker men had perfected the art of looking like they were about to whine. But you shook the thought away, focusing on the present.

“Can we talk?” Luke asked, his voice calm but tinged with hesitation. His arms were clasped behind his back, a telltale sign of his nervousness.

“Okay,” you nodded, guiding him to the edge of the ship. The salty breeze tousled your hair as you leaned against the iron railing, staring out at the endless expanse of the sea.

Luke leaned beside you, quiet for a moment before sighing. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words spilling out quickly. “I completely overreacted. Seriously, what the hell was I thinking, insulting you like that?”

You glanced at him, surprised by his candidness.

“I mean,” he continued, running a hand through his hair in frustration, “it’s still kind of weird—really weird—knowing you’re with my dad. But nothing about that gave me the right to be such a jerk to you. To both of you.” He paused, his voice quieter now. “I’m sorry.”

You softened at his sincerity. “I understand you were frustrated.”

“And acting like a dick,” he added bluntly, cutting you off before you could respond.

You couldn’t help it—you burst into laughter. “That too.”

Luke smiled sheepishly, but the weight of the moment wasn’t lost on him. “You know, my parents’ marriage has been a mess for as long as I can remember. I guess part of me still held on to this dumb, idealized idea that maybe they’d fix it. Like, one big family Christmas, you know? But… honestly, a divorce probably would’ve avoided a lot of shit.” He exhaled heavily, his gaze fixed on the distant waves. “So, yeah. It’s not like I didn’t see this coming. I just… wasn’t ready to deal with it.”

You remained silent, giving him the space to work through his thoughts.

“I just…” Luke turned to you, his voice softer now. “I just want my best friend back. I know I don’t deserve it after how I acted, but you’ve always been there for me. We’ve been through so much together, and the idea of losing that? It sucks. It hurts. A lot.”

His words tugged at your heart, and you reached out to take his hand, squeezing it gently. “Well, you’re not off the hook yet. You still have to make it up to me for all the trouble you caused,” you teased, a playful smile pulling at your lips.

Luke grinned, the tension between you dissolving into something lighter. “Fair enough,” he replied, then added with a smirk, “Although, can’t I just delegate that job to my dad?”

Your jaw dropped, and you swatted his arm with a playful punch. “Idiot.”

He winced in mock pain, clutching his shoulder. “Hey, I’m fragile! Besides, I’ve already been through enough trauma—like seeing you two together. Please, I’m begging you, no kissing in front of me ever again. My therapist is already going to have a field day.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

Luke’s grin widened, and for the first time in days, things felt normal again. It was good to have your friend back, the ease of your dynamic slipping into place as naturally as breathing.

For a few moments, the two of you simply stood there, side by side, watching the ocean stretch endlessly before you. The sound of the waves lapping against the ship’s hull filled the comfortable silence, broken only when Leia’s voice called out over the sea breeze.

“Come on, you two! Lunch is ready! And it’s the last one before we dock, so don’t miss it!”

Luke straightened, rolling his eyes but grinning all the same. “Let’s go before she starts bossing us around like mom.”

You laughed as the two of you turned and made your way toward the dining area, the weight of the past weekend finally starting to lift.

Anakin sat at the end of the table, his fingers drumming nervously against the edge of his wine glass. Padmé was seated at the opposite end, mirroring the first dinner of the anniversary celebration that now felt like a lifetime ago. The irony of it all wasn’t lost on him, but he was too on edge to laugh. Instead, he tugged at the collar of his shirt, which suddenly felt far too tight.

“Relax, Ani. She’s not going to run away from you,” Padmé teased from her seat, her tone amused. Then, with a mischievous wink at her soon-to-be ex-husband, she added, “Besides, Luke mentioned she can’t swim.”

Anakin sighed, shaking his head at her teasing. “Hilarious,” he muttered, taking a sip of his wine to mask the grin threatening to surface.

The moment the dining room doors opened, and you walked in with Luke, Anakin almost spilled his drink in his haste to stand. In a clumsy blur, he scrambled to pull out a chair for you, nearly knocking over the table in the process. Han and Leia exchanged amused glances as they went to greet Padmé, who watched the scene unfold with a calm smile.

Padmé hid her smirk behind her glass, watching the scene unfold with quiet amusement. Oh, how clumsy Anakin could be when he was in love. It only took one of your smiles to turn him into a nervous wreck—a far cry from the confident, mature man of 40 years.

Anakin sat at the end of the table, Padmé at the other, mirroring the seating arrangement from the awkward dinner at the start of the cruise. The irony wasn’t lost on him, but instead of laughing, he found himself tugging nervously at the collar of his shirt.

“Relax, Ani. She’s not going to run away from you,” Padmé teased from her seat, her tone amused. Then, with a mischievous wink at her soon-to-be ex-husband, she added, “Besides, Luke mentioned she can’t swim.”

Anakin shot her a look, shaking his head as he sighed. “Hilarious,” he replied dryly, taking a sip of his wine. But his attempt at composure vanished in an instant when he saw you and Luke enter the dining room. He nearly knocked over the table in his haste to get up and pull out your chair.

Padmé hid her smirk behind her glass, watching the scene unfold with quiet amusement. Oh, how clumsy Anakin could be when he was in love. It only took one of your smiles to turn him into a nervous wreck—a far cry from the confident, mature man of 40 years.

Once everyone was seated, Padmé tapped her knife against her glass to capture the room’s attention. The gentle chime cut through the soft hum of conversation, and all eyes turned to her.

“First of all,” Padmé began, her voice calm and measured as she looked directly at you, “I owe you an apology.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, the words catching you completely off guard.

“You didn’t deserve the accusations I threw at you,” Padmé continued, sincerity evident in her tone. “My relationship with Anakin has been over for so many years, and yet, I let my frustration and pride get the better of me. I was unfair to you, and I regret my behavior. I’m sorry.”

For a moment, you were at a loss for words. This was the second apology you’d received today, and it left you reeling. “I… appreciate your sincerity,” you finally managed, your voice soft but genuine.

Anakin, sitting beside you, reached for your hand under the table, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand in silent reassurance.

“And,” Anakin chimed in, clearing his throat, “since we’re clearing the air… in case anyone didn’t know, Padmé and I are getting a divorce.”

Han, ever the opportunist for humor, couldn’t resist. “Took you long enough, huh?” he quipped, earning an elbow to the ribs from Leia.

“Ow,” Han muttered under his breath, sitting back in his chair with a sheepish grin.

Padmé chuckled softly before continuing. “Like your father said,” she addressed Leia and Luke, her tone gentle yet firm, “our marriage has been more of a partnership than a romance for a long time now. The feelings that once held us together are gone, and we stayed together thinking it was the best thing for the family. But in truth, we were holding ourselves back. By clinging to the past, we denied ourselves the opportunity to find happiness again.”

She glanced between Anakin and you, her gaze calm but filled with understanding. “We’re older now. Wiser, I’d like to think. And we know that life is too short to live without love. So, here’s to new beginnings and to embracing the future.”

“Cheers to that,” Anakin murmured, lifting his glass. He turned to you with an affectionate smile, his eyes shining with gratitude.

Everyone followed suit, raising their glasses in a toast.

As the moment settled, Leia broke the silence with a question, her practical side shining through. “So… who’s going to get the house?” she asked, her tone curious. “Not that I’m complaining, but, you know, having two houses is nice. Actually, you guys should get a beach house. Right, Dad? You’d look great on a beach.”

Anakin chuckled, shaking his head. “Leia, you know I hate the beach. There’s too much sand, and sand is—”

“It’s coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere,” Leia and Luke said in unison, their voices flat with practiced familiarity.

“Yes, Dad, we know,” Luke added with exaggerated exasperation. “You say that every time we go to the beach.”

Anakin laughed, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Well, then you’ve got your answer. No beach houses.”

The table erupted in quiet laughter, the lightheartedness breaking through the emotional weight of the moment. Lunch continued peacefully, with the hum of conversation and the clink of wine glasses filling the air. Stories were exchanged, jokes were made, and for the first time in a long time, the family felt… whole.

Anakin stole a glance at you, his smile softening as he watched you laugh at something Luke had said. This was what he had wanted—joy, love, and the freedom to move forward without the chains of the past.

New love. New air. A new chapter.

And as he reached for your hand under the table once more, giving it a gentle squeeze, he knew this was just the beginning.

“Come with me outside?” Anakin asked softly, his voice low but filled with tenderness.

You smiled, slipping your hand into his without hesitation. The warmth of his touch steadied you as he led you to the ship’s balcony. The sea breeze danced around you, carrying the faint scent of salt and the promise of a new beginning.

Once outside, Anakin turned to face you fully, his stormy blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. He exhaled deeply, as if gathering every ounce of courage he had.

“I want to keep this,” he began, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “What we have. I see a future with you, and it’s something I never thought I’d want again. I know it won’t always be easy—we’re from different generations, and we’ll have our fair share of clashes. But I want to face those challenges with you, because you’re worth it. You’re everything.”

His words hit you like a wave, overwhelming in their sincerity. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes as a smile spread across your face, soft and full of love.

“I want this too, Anakin,” you murmured, your hands coming up to cradle his face. His skin was warm beneath your touch, his scruffy stubble tickling your palms. “I love you. I don’t know what the future holds, but if it’s with you, I know it’ll be enough. More than enough.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just stood there, gazing at each other, smiles mirroring the love that radiated between you. The world around you seemed to fade, the sounds of the ship and the bustling port in the distance melting into the background.

And then, as if by some unspoken agreement, you both closed the distance. His lips met yours in a kiss that was nothing short of breathtaking. It wasn’t hurried or hesitant—it was passionate and full of promise. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, while your fingers threaded through his sandy hair. The kiss deepened, speaking the words neither of you could fully express: devotion, trust, and the undeniable certainty that this was just the beginning of a lifetime together.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested against each other, both of you catching your breath but unwilling to break the moment. His hands stayed on your waist, grounding you in the present while your heart soared with the possibilities of the future.

The sound of the ship docking at the port brought you back to reality, and you glanced over to see the crew setting up the stairs for passengers to disembark. Anakin, ever attentive, reached for your suitcase with one hand, the motion pulling you back to that first day of the cruise. It was almost poetic—how a simple favor for a friend had turned into something so life-changing.

As you walked down the stairs together, his other hand held yours firmly, his fingers interlaced with yours as if to silently promise he’d never let go. Anakin’s playful side returned as he began making lighthearted jokes, the sound of his laughter blending with the hum of the port.

“Shall I take you home?” he asked, his voice teasing yet gentle as he helped you down the last step. Your feet touched the ground, solid and steady, but your heart felt like it was still floating.

When you nodded, a wave of certainty washed over you. Your life had changed, irreversibly and beautifully. In just a few days, you’d gone from pretending to be someone’s girlfriend to falling deeply, irrevocably in love with the man who had captured your heart completely.

As you walked toward the car, his hand still in yours, you reflected on how unpredictable life could be. A smile tugged at your lips as you thought of the younger version of yourself—nervous, hesitant, and blissfully unaware of the adventure she was about to embark on. That crazy idea from your best friend had set everything in motion, and now, here you were, walking into the next chapter of your life with the love of your life by your side.

And for that, you were endlessly grateful.

[alternate-real-ities]

I'd love to see what alternate versions of this guy there are.

Sure buddy. It wasn't easy tuning my machine this time, but I think I've found some interesting realities out there! Hope you like them :)

In an alternate reality not so different from our own, this bearish hunk has taken on a more muscular, less chubby form - transformed into a behemoth. Here, he's not just any old gym rat; he's a world-famous powerlifter and internet celebrity whose influence knows no bounds.

Young men from all corners of the globe look up to him as their idol, their motivation, their reason for living - especially when it comes to getting swole. They follow his every post, eagerly absorbing each tip on training and nutrition like gospel from a fitness prophet. And why not? With a physique like his, who wouldn't want to emulate perfection?

His pecs are massive, each one a study in taut, rippling muscle that defies the laws of physics. His arms bulge with thickness, as if carved from granite by some mythical sculptor. His thighs are tree trunks, powerful and unyielding, while his calves are chiseled masterpieces of human anatomy.

But his influence extends far beyond the gym walls. In this world, a new wave of ripped teens has become the norm, thanks largely to their idolization of this muscular beast. Gone are the days of skinny, awkward youth; now, every boy from puberty onwards is driven to get big and buff in order to measure up.

Parents worry about the health implications, but who can blame them for wanting their sons to grow up strong and confident like this fitness icon? And as for the young men themselves, they'd follow him anywhere - even into the depths of steroid abuse if it means achieving that perfect, chiseled physique.

In this world, there's no escaping his shadow - nor would anyone want to. For in the presence of such unadulterated muscle majesty, all other men are but mere mortals, forever relegated to the sidelines while he reigns supreme as the ultimate embodiment of human potential.

In another reality, our bearish hunk has been reborn as a towering Latin stud, the kind of papi that makes hearts race and loins stir across every continent. Hailing from Colombia, he grew up in a world where machismo is king, and his rugged good looks and powerful physique were destined for greatness.

Here, he's known as Papi Leche, a towering figure of masculine perfection with a body that could make even the most devout Catholic priests weep with lust. His skin is a rich, burnished brown that glistens with the sheen of oil and sweat after a long day at the gym.

But it's not just his physique that sets this Latino daddy apart - it's his legendary cum, renowned throughout the land for its unparalleled potency and addictive quality. Gringos from all over the world can't resist the allure of his Latin leche, once they've tasted its salty, intoxicating flavor.

He takes great pleasure in breaking them down, both physically and mentally, until they're nothing more than obedient little cumsluts desperate for another taste of his golden nectar. And he always delivers, pumping load after massive load into their eager mouths and throats until they're drowning in Latin dick juice.

And it's not just a physical addiction. They gradually change the more leche they drink. Their skin darkens, their features soften, and their accents change until they're speaking in perfect, melodic Spanish.

Before long, this Latino daddy has an entourage of half-Latino, half-gringo chicos who worship him and vie for his attention - all of them hooked on his leche like junkies on a fix.

So if you ever find yourself in Colombia, make sure to keep an eye out for this hulking bear of a man - but be warned: once you've caught sight of him, there's no escaping his gravitational pull. You'll be drawn in like a moth to a flame, helpless to resist the allure of his latin leche until you're nothing more than a mindless, cum-addicted shell of your former self.

Finally, in yet another reality, our bearish hunk has been reborn as a cocky, wealthy young Arab stud - the epitome of Dubai's high-flying elite and a player in every sense of the word.

Here, he's the king of the scene, with a body that's equally at home on the beach or in the boardroom. His skin is a flawless, golden brown, his features chiseled like marble from the hands of a skilled sculptor.

As a member of Dubai's elite social circle, he moves through life like a prince among paupers - except instead of a crown, he wears a gold-plated watch on each wrist. He cruises the city in his gleaming black Lamborghini, with a string of adoring twink boys piled into the backseat for good measure.

These young men are just playthings for him to use and discard, their tight little holes and eager mouths mere receptacles for his boundless sexual appetite. He'll fuck them raw, pump them full of cum, and then toss them aside like yesterday's trash - all while smirking in satisfaction at the knowledge that he's left another broken little twink in his wake.

But it's not just about the physical act for this Arab stud; it's about the power dynamic. He loves nothing more than to humiliate his conquests, reducing them to quivering, tear-streaked messes as he lectures them on their place in the world - namely, at his feet, servicing his every whim.

And when he lets loose with that massive, cut Arab cock, it's a sight to behold - thick, veiny, and heavy as a horse's head, with a bulbous, slit-tipped crown that glistens with precum. It's the kind of dick that can stretch even the most well-fucked hole to its limits, leaving its recipients gasping in awe at his sheer size and potency.

And yet, despite all the degradation and abuse, these twinks can't get enough of him. They're addicted to the thrill of being used by such a powerful, dominant figure; they crave the taste of his cum on their tongues and the feeling of his thick, veiny cock splitting them open.

But despite all of this, this Arab boy has a soft spot for romance. He adores showering his favorite twink with expensive gifts and lavish dates - taking him to the finest restaurants and clubs, then whisking him away to his private villa for a night of passionate lovemaking under the stars.

So if you ever find yourself in this version of Dubai, keep an eye out for this hunky Arab stud. Just be prepared to worship him... and pray that he deigns to notice your pathetic little existence.

And so, once again, we have explored the possibilities that the multiverse provides. Which version of our friend here do you think is the most appealing? Or perhaps you have your own alternate version in mind? Who knows, the possibilities are endless...

[dollfacefantasy]

TELL ME WHEN YOU HEAR MY HEART STOP ♡

pairing: naoya zen'in x fem!reader

summary: today's a very special day for you and naoya, and he plans to celebrate it with a very special gift.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, dubcon, kidnapping/captivity, drugging, stockholm syndrome, p in v, fingering, breeding kink, puppy play, misogyny, mentions of spanking, corporal punishment, and psychological torture stuff

a/n: birthday gift for my sweet wonderful friend who i love so very much @nexysworld <3 also!! imagine naoya as a few years older than his canon age for the timeline in this story to work.

“Naoya taking a wife… I never thought I’d see the day.”

The sound of Jinichi’s voice speaking his name drew Naoya’s attention to the two men walking several feet ahead of him on the stone path. His golden eyes flitted from the blue sky above to the pair of them, narrowing as he focused on hearing the next part of the conversation.

“It’s not that shocking,” Ogi replied, “He’s the future head of the clan. There’s no way Naobito would let him fail to produce an heir. Even if the old man had to find some bitch to pay off, the kid was always going to get married.”

“That’s true, but don’t you find it the least bit odd? Seeing him at events with some girl on his arm now? Before, he could never shut up about how the women shouldn’t even be allowed at those things. To be honest with you, I always thought he swung the other way,” Jinichi added.

“Well, yeah. But look at her. If he was ever gonna wed a woman, it was gonna be one like her. Quiet as a mouse. Moves through rooms like a scrap of silk in the wind. Doesn’t go anywhere without him,” Ogi reasoned.

“I don’t think that’s her choice,” the other man quipped.

Ogi shrugged. “Maybe not, but she goes along with it. I only wonder if she’s always been so naturally obedient or if the kid beat it into her.”

Gritting his teeth, Naoya had enough of listening to this. He sped up to catch his relatives. Once within arm’s length, he laid a hand upon Jinichi’s shoulder and pulled him around. His lips curled into a sneer upon making eye contact.

The sudden tug shocked the older Zen’in, his brows raising and lips pausing around the word they had been forming. Ogi followed his direction and came to face the future head of the clan as well. The three of them stood there for a moment. Naoya let them have a few seconds to register that he’d heard their conversation.

“I’ve never thought of either of you as intelligent, but I thought you smarter than thinking it was acceptable to disparage your future clan leader out in the open like this,” he said.

“Our words weren’t intended to be negative, Naoya. We didn’t mean to upset you,” Jinichi started.

“Because you didn’t think I would hear,” he shot back.

From the looks on the two faces in front of him, it was clear the men weren’t afraid of Naoya. That irritated him of course. He wanted all of them to fear him, to feel that if they so much as put him in a bad mood, they would suffer. But the emotion he did see on their features satisfied him enough to prevent that from being a pressing issue.

The gleam in both Jinichi and Ogi’s eyes told him they respected his rank. They may hate him and believe him to be nothing more than Naobito’s spoiled-rotten son, but they accepted the fact that there was nothing they could do about it. And he almost liked that more.

“But really? The implication that I have to lay hands on my betrothed to receive her submission wasn’t meant to be an insult?” he mocked, “The idea that my father would have to pay some woman to be my wife wasn’t said to demean me? I don’t believe that for a second.”

“They were just jokes,” Ogi defended, “How you deal with your woman is your business.”

“Oh, I know it is. How I discipline her is of no concern to you, but do you really think I would have chosen someone so unruly to spend my life with?” he questioned.

“It’s just that you have such high standards-” Jinichi stated.

“I do have high standards. And she meets every single one,” Naoya cut him off, “You two don’t have to explain any further. I’ve already decided to forgive you because I know the root of all of this is jealousy. Ogi, I can tell you wish there was some way you could trade in your wife for mine. Someone young and fresh. Eager and passionate. Not dried up and drained of any personality from more than a decade of dealing with you.

“And Jinichi. Have you ever even been with a girl? I’m sure if my wife took the time to so much as smile at you, she’d have you trailing her like a drooling dog. So please, spare me your judgements about her being ‘quiet’ or shy or whatever you think. There simply isn’t much to say when the company is made up of people like you two,” he finished.

The both of them blinked at Naoya in return, unsure of what to say in response to the scathing words. Arguing would probably cause a blow up that would draw the attention of Naobito, but cowering would inflate the young man’s already super-sized ego. Luckily for them, Naoya continued speaking before they had to make a decision.

“Either way, it’s all water under the bridge. I know you two won’t make this mistake again,” he smiled, “But in case you need the reminder, don’t ever utter the word ‘bitch’ in a discussion about my wife. And if I hear you calling me kid again, you’ll find yourself feeling sorely out of place when I take mine as head of this clan.”

This time Naoya didn’t bother waiting for a potential reply before pushing through them and continuing his walk. The pathway fell into serene silence now that it wasn’t polluted by their annoying chatter. Birds chirped in the trees above while a gentle Spring breeze rustled the hedges on either side of him.

He let out a soft sigh as he turned a corner as his shared suite came into view in the distance. Never did Naoya think he’d see the day where he defended a woman so valiantly. Though that was the crux of why he did it he supposed. You weren’t just some woman. You were his. His bride-to-be, his beloved, his special girl. The only person of the female persuasion he’d let walk one pace behind him instead of three.

God, it was ridiculous. Even thinking of you now made his heart race. He envisioned your sweet, sparkling eyes. Your cute lips that tasted like the richest wine in the world. That luscious body below that gave him wet dreams like he was a horny teenager.

He sighed, longing for you even though he’d be in your presence in a matter of seconds. No matter how often he saw you, it seemed it was never enough. If he could, he’d blow off all his duties around here and stay with you for the entire day.

Opening the miniature gates to his suite, he walked across the paved path to a small wooden staircase. He headed up the three steps and finally reached the doorway that would lead to you.

Upon entering his home, he slipped off his shoes and took a glance in the nearby mirror to make sure his hair was in place. On the thin end table against the wall was a pile of wedding invitations. The sight of them brought a smirk to his lips. Save the date! Mr. and Mrs. Zen’in would like to invite you… scrawled in elegant calligraphy and bordered in gold trim.

“Sweetheart, I’m home,” he called through the house.

He waited a few seconds for the sound of you rushing towards him. That phrase served the same purpose as a whistle to a trained hound. He’d taught you well over the last year. Everyday when he said those words, he could count on you to come to him, to ask about his day, and check on what he needed.

Only today, he didn’t hear the pitter-patter of your footsteps.

His eyebrow raised. In an instant, his body tensed, his lips set into a scowl. He tried telling himself you could be temporarily occupied. Maybe you were taking a bath or had fallen asleep for an afternoon nap. You could just be watching tv or listening to some music that muffled the sound of his voice.

He knew it was probably one of those, but his mind couldn’t help going to the worst place. That you had escaped.

His fist clenched by his sides. He bit the inside of his cheek. Walking further into your shared home, his eyes glanced around to look for any immediate signs of your departure. So far there was nothing. All the furniture was in place, no windows had been left ajar, one of your jackets draped across the back of an armchair.

She knows better now, he thought to himself. Last time you’d tried leaving two months ago, he had hoped it would be the last time. He’d caught you tumbling from the bedroom window while coming home to fetch a paper he’d forgotten. If he found out you’d pulled the vanishing act again today, he’d make the fury he’d felt in that moment seem like minor irritation.

When you tried leaving out the window, the two of you had locked eyes as you clambered off the ground. It would have been kind of cute if he wasn’t so pissed, the way he could see the realization in your eyes that you had majorly fucked up. You tried running, but Naoya was fast. He had you by the back of the neck in seconds, his nails digging into your tender skin.

“My little puppy felt like exploring outside her crate, hm?” he’d asked with barely constrained rage, “You know you’re supposed to ask for permission to do that. You’re not allowed to wander on your own yet.”

Naoya always ended his rules in yet even though he wasn’t sure if he actually planned on ever giving you the freedoms he currently forbade. A small part of him believed that the false hope would inspire your obedience better than direct punishments would. Not that it stopped him from giving you regular punishment though. That day he dragged you back into the house and spanked you till your ass was raw. You wouldn’t have been able to run for a light jog after that. It left you crying for nearly a whole day, so he had hoped it would have been a lasting lesson.

He continued to prowl through the house like a fox hunting its prey. Gliding into the kitchen, he again saw nothing out of the ordinary. You even had the oven on. He wanted that to be enough to put him at ease, but he couldn’t let himself relax. You might have left it on intending to burn the house down.

From there he slipped into the hall. You weren’t in any of the rooms off that walkway, so he headed for the stairs. He moved up them in silence. If you were still here, he didn’t want you to know his exact location. Paranoia had fully taken root. It wasn’t just escape that worried him now. Maybe you had figured out that never worked. You could have graduated to planning an attack. That wouldn’t work either, but he wouldn’t put it past you. For all the times you’d wailed about wanting to kill him, he didn’t believe logic factored into these little rebellions.

God, what if you had found the propofol in his nightstand. He kept it unlabeled, but you’d probably recognize that milky liquid by now. You could have found the syringes in his sock drawer too while doing the laundry.

Shit. Shit. Shit. You could be waiting, tucked behind a corner, ready to jab him in the throat like he’d done to you a year ago. In his defense though, you actually needed it. You were so upset that night, it bordered on hysterical. He’d come over to keep you company because even though he’d only been with you for a year, he’d known you much longer.

You were Toji’s girlfriend.

He’d met you while trying to track him down years before. The day he spotted you, his eyes had been trying to find his older cousin on a crowded city street. Instead they landed on you. Back then, you had a real baby face. Your eyes shined under the rays like they'd never known a cloudy day. The delicate daylight made your skin glow and your features appear softer. He felt drawn to you. It was like fate that you happened to be hanging off Toji’s arm.

Naoya had become friends with both of you. Hanging out with Toji was great because he was Toji. Naoya would have had fun with him if they just sat there and stared at each other. But shocking to everyone including himself, he actually liked you. He acted polite towards you, friendly even. He naturally smiled when you laughed. His eyes watched you during conversation. He took interest in the things you said.

In his mind, he maintained that he still didn’t like the company of women for the most part. But if Toji took an interest in you, there must have been something that made you worthwhile.

He fell in love with you silently. It was a feeling he never planned to act on. He would never betray his cousin like that. Instead, he’d just observe you in awe from a distance. He’d resign himself to only being your friend. Cousin-in-law if it came to that.

But then Toji died.

It left you devastated. Naoya felt hollowed out too, of course. He never thought he’d see Toji die. Part of him didn’t even believe that was possible. But even in comparison to his shock and grief and despair, you took it really hard.

You pulled away from him. Gaps between his visits transformed from days to weeks to months. You never outright told him you didn’t want him around. Your offers to play video games just dried up. You didn’t start conversations anymore, only offering minimal reactions to what he said. Most days you were busy taking extra shifts at work and on weekends you were hanging out with your own friends who Naoya “didn’t know.”

He followed you to a couple of these outings after feeling like he was going crazy experiencing withdrawal from you. Only he didn’t find “friends.” He found you, alone at the bar, getting yourself wasted until some guy would take you home with him and leave you feeling more empty than before.

After that, Naoya decided it was his duty to intervene. He would never have betrayed Toji for you, but now that Toji was gone, he would be what you needed. His cousin would want that, someone to protect you and make you feel loved. Someone to prevent you from destroying yourself in your sadness.

So on the anniversary of Toji’s death, he came to visit you. The two of you talked in short, tension-filled sentences. He could feel the guilt dripping from your every word. It was awkward, and he didn’t try making it any easier. Soon enough, as he expected, you pulled out something to drink to soothe your nerves and make the evening tolerable. And with the liquor came your tears.

It was easy really, corralling you to his chest and rubbing your back, whispering I’ve got you over and over. Then one little prick and you were out cold against him in less than a minute.

You weren’t too happy when you woke up the next afternoon in a place you didn’t recognize. His bedroom was much nicer than your apartment. Luxury furnishings adorned the space while expensive blankets covered your sluggish form. The upgrade in surroundings did little to convince you though.

When he came in to explain to you your new circumstances, you listened quietly at first. He thought for a second that it might all go smoothly, that you would see the value in him taking care of you. But then he got to the part about becoming his wife and bearing the next generation of Zen’ins… and you didn’t seem so on board with all of that.

Now, his heart pounded in his ears as he reached the top of the stairs. 

The first few months of your training had been rough, but he honestly thought he’d made great progress with you. All the fighting and yelling and crying broke you down quite a bit. The period of sleep deprivation helped as well. And of course, you’d done great for that couple weeks he’d kept you on a leash. You’d still have your bratty moments every now and then, but overall, you were doing much better now. You’d come so far and learned your place. Just sometimes, you forgot that he knew what was best for you.

And he wasn’t evil. He could be understanding. Going from your life of reckless independence to being taken care of by someone so responsible would be a big change, especially for such an emotional little thing like you. That’s why he only punished for actual disrespect.

He hoped that wasn’t what this was right now. Today was a special day. He planned to come home with open arms for you, not a raised belt. But like always, he would do what he had to.

Cautiously, he ventured through the second floor of your house back towards the bedroom. Once he was within a few feet of the door, he could hear some rustling. Finally some indication that you were still in the house. He let out a breath, but his muscles stayed taut. You could be trying to slip out the window again, prying off the nails he’d tacked through the sill.

His shaking hand landed on the door, his fingertips giving it a light push to knock it open. He braced himself, ready for the worst possible scenario. His plan wouldn’t change. Your compliance was the only variable in this situation.

He came into the bedroom and scanned around for trouble. You weren’t at the window or rummaging through his nightstand like he’d feared. You weren’t crouched at the foot of the bed, poised for an attack. Rather, he saw the closet doors open. That was where the noise was coming from.

Crossing the room, he peered between the double doors. Now his body could finally relax. He let out a deep breath and ran his hand over his face. Inside, you were there, safe and sound and not trying to escape. You were on your hands and knees, ducking beneath a shelf as if trying to find something. It seemed like you were having some trouble. Soft grunts fell from your lips and your hips wiggled as you tried to reach further. He couldn’t help noticing the way your back arched in this position along with your hips squirming. His pants felt a little tighter while watching you struggle, but he could deal with that in a few minutes. He cleared his throat to get your attention.

“There you are,” he said.

At the sound of his voice, your head shot up, knocking into the shelf above you.

“Ow,” you squeaked before pulling yourself free and sitting up. Your eyes looked up at him, wide and nervous. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”

He laughed at your little mishap before walking over to you and patting your head. “It’s alright,” he said, running his fingers along your scalp. 

His sweet puppy. Obedient just as he’d hoped. You deserved more credit than he gave you it seemed. He couldn’t let you totally off the hook for not meeting him at the door though. That was how bad habits formed. 

“Though maybe you shouldn’t start cleaning out the closet around the time I’m usually home.”

You nodded without protest before rising to your feet and tucking yourself to his side, your cheek squishing against the crisp fabric of his shirt.

“How was your day?” you asked. Your voice sounded meeker than usual, but he supposed you still feared the possibility of getting in trouble.

He wrapped his arm around you and squeezed your shoulder. “It was fine. Nothing special,” he said with a shrug. He began walking you out of the closet and back into the main part of the bedroom. “What were you looking for in there?”

“Today those people came over to fit me for the wedding dress, and while I had it on, I remembered these shoes I have that would go with it. I was just trying to find them, so I could ask if you liked them,” you answered.

A perfect answer in his book. You were looking for something in regards to the wedding, and not only that, but you planned on asking him for his opinion on it. It made his heart soar.

His fingers coasted up and swept below your chin, making you look up at him. As your jaw tilted upwards, his eyes fell to your neck. More specifically, the tight piece of material wrapped around your neck.

Your collar.

Just looking at it had Naoya’s cock stirring in his pants. He valued that little strap of fabric more than the diamond ring around your finger that cost thousands. His fingertips flicked the dangling silver tag that hung at the front.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, “Are you getting excited for the wedding?”

You shrugged and gave him a small smile. While he would have preferred a resounding Yes, he would take this. It was a vast improvement from the times you’d burst into tears if he so much as uttered the words wedding or bride in your presence.

He planted a kiss on your forehead before sitting on the foot of the bed and pulling you into his lap. You sat up straight on his thigh with your shoulders back. Good. He stressed the importance of not slouching to you. It was unbecoming of someone with your beauty.

Two of his knuckles dragged down the curve of your face while his eyes studied your face for a moment.

“You know… today is a very special day,” he said, connecting his gaze with yours.

They swirled with nervousness, uncertain what kind of special today was. “It is?” you asked.

“Yeah. It is,” he confirmed. His fingers rested below your jaw while his thumb swiped back and forth across your chin. “Today’s our anniversary.”

You blinked at him for a few seconds. “But we’re not married yet…” you said and cocked your head a little.

“I know that, silly girl,” he said, rolling his eyes, “I’m not talking about our wedding anniversary. I’m talking about the anniversary of us. Of me bringing you here. The real start of your life.”

Realization dawned all across your face. “Oh,” was all you said.

“Don’t give me that,” he said with a little pinch to your jaw, “It’s a lot more important than ‘oh.’ That was the day you really became mine. My little puppy.”

He snuck his arms around you and pulled you flush against his chest, rocking back and forth with you for a few moments. The way his body swayed felt like how a child would do it with their favorite doll. His fingers traced up and down your spine.

You shut your eyes and relaxed in the embrace for a few moments. His tender attitude at the moment helped keep your thoughts quiet, which was good since the information he just gave you feelings the exact opposite of his.

While nostalgia warmed Naoya’s chest, a sense of dread permeated your body. You had been here for a whole year. An entire year of your life, wasted away while you played house between the walls of the Zen’in estate. You had honestly given up on escape after the last time when he threatened to upgrade your collar to an electric one, but the idea that you would actually be here forever didn’t feel real until right now.

Something about the one year marker ticking by made the time more than an abstract concept. The same was true of Toji’s death. Some days it felt like he was gone only a week, others you felt like the last time you laid with him was in another life.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you think of him now. It was stupid, but sometimes you worried he’d be disappointed in you for giving in. He fought his way out of this place. Now one of them had you, and you were just taking it lying down.

But you couldn’t fight back anymore. You just couldn’t. This wasn’t so bad. You told yourself that everyday as you lounged around the house or made him dinner. It could be so much worse. It’s not like Naoya kept you in a box under the bed or in some dank basement. He treated you like a wife. Sure he could be… old-fashioned to put it nicely, but you were pretty sure that, in his own twisted way, he really believed he loved you.

And the worst part about this whole thing was you were kind of sure that, in some fucked up way, you felt some sort of attachment to him too.

You’d liked Naoya as a friend before any of this happened. When he was just Toji’s little cousin. You thought he was cute. A little mouthy, but funny and sharp. He was still that way now, and when you behaved he let you see that. That was when nostalgia hits you. When he got you laughing, some part of your brain felt like you were back in the apartment, waiting for Toji to come home from the store.

And when he wasn’t in a bad mood, he could be pretty sweet. Sure the puppy stuff made you want to vomit at first but now it was kinda cute… It was just his special thing for you. That’s what you told yourself. He took care of you, and he could be loving and gentle. He could be a lot worse to you. Some of the other men around here were to their wives.

Those thoughts only brought you turmoil though. You hated yourself for getting used to him. For finding reasons to defend him to yourself. To justify his eternal presence in your life.

As much as you tried to keep it down, a sniffle broke its way out of you. You hoped he didn’t notice. He was being nice right now, and you wanted so badly to keep that going. You didn’t want this to turn into a lesson.

But unfortunately, he heard the soft sound. He narrowed his eyes and grabbed your jaw, forcing your head off his chest. His eyes looked down upon your face now, not in admiration but with inquisition.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, the words coming out with the smallest hint of accusation.

Before you could even think of a cover, you shook your head. There was no way you were gonna risk having to explain your feelings to him. Naoya wasn’t the best with that.

“No…” you replied, “I’m just… I’m so… I’m so happy.”

He continued to stare at you, though his gaze dissolved from displeased to plain confusion. You brought your hand up to hold his wrist.

“I never thought I would be so lucky to have someone like you who takes care of me and looks out for me. I just can’t believe it’s been a whole year. It just makes me think about everything,” you whispered. The low volume helped them seem more authentic. If you had to be emphatic about this, it would probably seem forced.

A gradual smile began forming on his face. “Well no wonder you’re crying. You know you and thinking don’t go well together,” he teased and pulled you back to his body.

He let out a lovesick sigh and rested his cheek against the top of your head. You released a breath too. Without his scrutiny, you could relax. His hand resumed petting up and down your back while he held you.

“My poor puppydoll… you get overwhelmed by all those big feelings in your head so easily,” he cooed, “That’s why you need me. You know I can handle it all for you.”

You nodded on instinct.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, “But I didn’t bring today up for no reason. I wanted to tell you something.”

“What is it?” you asked and wiped at your misty eyes before looking up at him again.

“Well, because today is our anniversary, I thought you deserved a gift. But you’ve been such a good girl lately, so polite and well behaved, doing everything I ask of you. It couldn’t be just anything. It had to be special,” he explained.

You tried to map out where this might be going, but you came up short. He rolled over with you, slotting you beneath him on the mattress. His elbow held him above you while his free hand came up and clicked off your collar. Your eyes widened as he pushed it aside. Today must have really been special to him.

“I was thinking and thinking and thinking, but I couldn’t come up with anything that my puppy would need. You already have so many pretty outfits. So many good pairs of shoes. All the toys you could want. I keep you so well-spoiled… so what would be a good enough present for my sweet little bride?” he asked as he ducked down to your neck, “Can you guess?”

His mouth began laying hot kisses on your throat. You shuddered under his touch. He licked at your pulse point before nipping at the skin. You know he wanted to leave a mark. That was the main reason he bothered kissing your neck at all.

When he didn’t say anything after a few seconds, you realized his question wasn’t rhetorical. He expected you to guess.

“Um… I don’t know. Are we gonna go out somewhere together?” you asked hopefully. It had been a long time since you’d seen the city. Or anywhere that wasn’t this house or the grounds of this estate.

He laughed a little against your skin, peppering the area with another series of pecks. “Good try, but no. I thought of something even better,” he breathed.

You tried to think of another guess, but you honestly had no clue what he intended to use to mark this occasion.

“I don’t know,” you acquiesced.

“That’s ok, baby. I didn’t think you’d get it. It was just cute watching you try,” he teased. 

He nosed at your neck once more before pulling back and looking down at you. His hand rested on your hips, his fingers clasped around the soft flesh there.

“I was thinking that because you’ve been such a good girl for me lately, that you’re ready for me to give you the greatest gift you’ll ever receive,” he whispered, “My heir.”

Every cell in your body froze upon hearing those words. You stared at him, jaw tight and eyes unmoving. How did you not think of that? It was obvious now that he’d said it. You’d known about his desire to eventually get you pregnant since your first day here, but he’d always referred to it as some distant thing. Some event that would occur after the two of you married.

There was only a month until the wedding though, so you supposed he was on track.

“Like a baby?” you whispered back, still wishing somehow that you’d misinterpreted what he meant.

“Well obviously,” he said, “Now’s not the time for joking, puppy. I know you’re ready.”

“I…” you started, but you cut yourself short. You didn’t know how to divert him from that idea without causing a blow up. “I’m scared…” you tried.

“There’s no reason to be. You know I’ll take care of you. The whole time you’re pregnant, you’ll be spoiled even more than you are now,” he said and kissed you, this time on the mouth. His lips moved against your own at a sensual pace before he pulled back. “It’ll feel so good. It’s what this body was made for. To carry Zen’in babies.”

You didn’t know what else you could possibly say, but luckily that wasn’t a worry for long. He went back in for more kisses. His tongue worked your mouth open before slipping in and caressing your own. You moaned softly and brought your hand up to thread through his bleached tresses.

He smirked against your lips. You could feel the smug curve of it rise as he steadied himself above you. His hand kneaded your hips before his fingers hooked over the top of your bottoms and began pulling them down.

Your heart thundered in your chest. “Nao, I don’t know…” you whimpered, but he silenced you by pressing his mouth harder against you.

“There’s nothing for you to know, baby. Nothing you need to worry about. You let me make the decisions remember? Just be a good girl for me,” he mumbled. 

He rolled his hips against your center, forcing your legs to spread wider in the process. You could feel his bulge against the thin cloth of your panties. He did it a couple more times, rocking the hard mound against your clothed cunt. The dull friction felt good, you couldn’t deny that. Your breath hitched and you arched against him slightly.

Despite you starting to reciprocate somewhat, he could still feel the tension in you, and he didn’t like that. Normally it wouldn’t bother him so much, but tonight was different. He wanted you desperate to carry his babies, begging for him to fuck you full of his seed. It was an honor after all. Even if you still had reservations, you would come to see that in time.

His right set of fingers delved between your thighs, lifting the elastic of your panties and cupping your pussy. He slid his middle digit between your folds. In a few seconds, the pad swirled around your sensitive bundle of nerves. It flicked across your little clit, drawing a whine out of you.

“You don’t understand how badly I need to breed you, precious,” he breathed.

Your legs squirmed, and you bit your lip. You tried to keep your thoughts in line. A few small strokes to your pussy wouldn’t melt you so easily.

But it wasn’t just a few small strokes.

Naoya went back to kissing your neck, working all over from your jaw to your shoulder. His finger played with you until you began leaking arousal. He ground his erection against your thigh and whimpered next to your ear.

You could try to ignore it all you wanted, but you could hear the need in his voice. He sounded like an animal in pain. His other hand gripped you with the force of one as well.

“It’s all I want in this world. To rule this clan with you at my side, full with my child,” he panted, “You’ll look beautiful. Swollen in all the right places. Your body glowing as it does what it was meant to.”

Another moan fell from your mouth as his dreams began to infiltrate your mind as well. And while you were all worked up, you could kind of see the appeal.

“It’ll feel so good for you, fulfilling your purpose. Your body will be so sensitive too. You’ll ache for me, puppy. Your body will crave me like oxygen because it’ll know I own you.”

“Naoya,” you gasped. His finger slid down to your entrance and prodded inside for a moment. He pumped it in and out. It wasn’t enough to make you cum or give you serious pleasure. But it was the perfect amount to steal the thoughts from your head and melt you beneath him.

“Good girl,” he purred, “This is what you need, baby. That silly little brain is trying to hold you back because you’ve been taught that everyone expects more of you. But I don’t. I don’t expect you to work or make decisions or do any of that hard stuff because I know that’s too complicated for my little puppy. It wouldn’t be fair to ask that of you. All I want you to do is relax and let me have control. Just be my good little girl and listen to what I tell you. And what I’m telling you is that you’re meant to be bred. That’s all you need to do, my sweet wife.”

A moment passed where nothing changed. He kept kissing you while you stayed still. But then your hands rose to his chest and started grabbing at his shirt, trying to tug it off. And he knew he had you.

“Silly girl, just a few sweet words and you fall apart so easily for me,” he muttered.

In your mind, your resolve hadn’t completely collapsed. But what he’d said didn’t sound horrible. It was definitely the best case scenario for being here. So why not enjoy your anniversary. You could worry about the consequences tomorrow.

He made quick work of his clothing and your remaining coverings. In no time, he stood nude above him while you laid exposed on the mattress.

Stroking his cock a few times, he climbed on top of you. His golden eyes drooped with lust as they focused on you. You wrapped your legs around his waist in an attempt to guide him where you needed him most.

“So eager to be full now, are you?” he mocked.

You nodded and looped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down on you. Most of the time, he wasn’t a fan of such clinginess while he was on top of you, but you were behaving better than he expected. He could let it slide just this once. It was your anniversary after all.

He lined up with your hole and nudged the tip against you teasingly.

“Naoya,” you whined, tightening your legs around him.

“This is what I get for spoiling you, huh? A whiny pup,” he murmured and pecked your cheek as he sheathed himself inside you.

Your walls locked around him, squeezing and fluttering at the pleasure that came with the first thrust. His breath came out a little shaky as he adjusted to the feeling of you around him. He shut his eyes for a moment, just feeling the warmth of your tight embrace.

“Your pussy’s begging for it,” he said as he dragged his hips back. He then pushed into you again.

Another long stroke followed the first, and then another after that. He set himself into a steady rhythm, rocking his hips back and forth. You mewled and clutched at his shoulders.

“It just feels so good,” you whimpered.

His grip became stronger on you too. He held you close to his body, ensured you couldn’t run or squirm away from him in the slightest. His pelvis continued to piston against you. The faint sound of skin clapping on skin filled the bedroom along with your combined sounds of ecstasy.

Every time he bottomed out, his silky tip bumped against some sweet spot. You cried out with almost everyone. Your eyes rolled back, blissed out from the continuous stimulation.

“That’s it. Just take it,” he huffed, nestling his face against your neck. You could feel his hot breath steaming against your skin.

Arousal continued to gush from you around his cock. Your slick smeared against your skin and coated the patch of dark hair at the base of his dick.

“Nao… deeper, please,” you whined.

He sighed and obliged your request, slamming into you as hard as he could. Your head board knocked against the wall.

“There you go,” he grunted, “Nice and deep. Gotta get it all the way in so it will take.”

You felt so good that hearing that didn’t even bother you. If anything, it dragged you closer to the edge.

“Gonna- ah! Gonna…” you tried to tell him.

“Just think about it. If I knock you up tonight, you’ll be pregnant during our wedding,” he said. He rolled his hips against you at a slower pace that still reached just as deep. “You’re supposed to wait till the wedding night to try, but no one would know. It’d be our little secret. My gorgeous bride, bred and beautiful just for me.”

Your hips bucked eagerly, out of your control. A pitchy whine left you, audible proof of your desperation.

“That’s it, puppy. Cum for me,” he crooned, “Cum for me so I can pump you full and put a baby in your belly.”

You cried out and locked your limbs around his body. Your muscles all quivered as release crashed into you. It hit you like a bomb going off. Your eyes screwed shut while your jaw clenched. Strangled moans still made their way out though.

He groaned right beside your ear. The pulsing of your cunt only grew more rapid around his length. It massaged him just how he needed to reach the finish line. He kept working himself in and out right until he felt that peak. Then he slid in all the way and let his body go lax on you, trembling with the pleasure of his orgasm.

You held him while his cum spilled inside of you, and afterwards the both of you remained attached. Your hearts pounded against each other where your chests met, rising and falling with labored breaths. His fingers lazily pet your head, trailing down to your shoulder to trace little patterns there.

Eventually, he pulled out and rolled off of you. His hand came to rest on your lower stomach without a word. He held it there for a few moments before rising onto his elbow and giving you a kiss.

“My perfect bride-to-be,” he whispered, the tip of his nose nearly touching yours, “I think whatever you had in the oven has long burnt by now.”

The tone in which he said the words had you thinking for a few seconds they were just some sweet nothings you didn’t understand. But upon taking a deeper breath and smelling the air, you realized he was right. The food you’d put in the oven before he’d come home was probably burnt to a crisp at this point.

“Sorry,” you said, instantly sitting up to go and correct your mistake.

But with a gentle hand on your shoulder, he ushered you back down against the mattress.

“I’ll have the servants bring us something better and clean it up,” he said and nuzzled your cheek, “What do I always say? I’ll take care of you. Even your little mistakes.”

You nodded and relaxed again. Your eyes drifted down to your stomach, the location of your possible future greatest mistake. Despite everything that had just transpired, you hoped it wouldn’t take.

“Oh I almost forgot,” he said, breaking you from your thoughts. His hand came up to your throat, your collar between his fingers. He grinned as he fastened it back into place. “There we go. It would be wrong of me to leave my pup without her collar.”

He flicked the dangling tag once more before laying beside you again.

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Hey p here!! 👋🏻👋🏻 Merry Christmas (belated😅) and Happy New Year!!!! Miss you. I'm gonna quit my rambling now🤭

Could you do Toto Wolff with wife reader with their son, Jack celebrating Christmas together. Busying themselves during the winter break after all year of hard working and traveling around. Finding presents for each other, spending time with families and friends. Just fun stuff. Suggestive, fluff. Ask me anything you want to. Up to you. Thanks!!! :))

With prompts : "Don't act like you don't like it." & "You'd make a cute elf."

Here's a link to the pics of this story based. They're so cute!! 🥺 https://www.tumblr.com/f1archives/771048027944337408/toto-susie-wolff-at-christmas-via-susies?source=share

Credit to @f1archives

Love you❤️❤️

hii p heheh missed ya loads!! hope you like this

Last Christmas I Gave You My Heart

The Wolff family home is bathed in the soft, golden glow of Christmas lights. Outside, a blanket of snow covers the ground, and the air is crisp, filled with the scent of pine and wood smoke from the fireplace. Inside, the warmth of the fire flickers and crackles, the room a cozy sanctuary from the cold. The Christmas tree sparkles with twinkling lights, carefully hung ornaments, and a star perched proudly at the top.

You, Toto, and little Jack are fully immersed in the Christmas spirit. Jack, brimming with excitement, runs through the house, eagerly pulling you and Toto into the holiday fun.

“Mom, Dad! Can we decorate the tree now?” Jack’s voice rings out from the living room, his little hands clasped together in excitement. His eyes gleam with the energy only a child at Christmas can have.

Toto chuckles as he scoops Jack up into his arms, his strong arms cradling him with ease. “Of course, we can’t leave the tree looking bare now, can we?” he teases, his eyes twinkling with playful mischief.

You watch them with a smile, your heart swelling as you see Toto—always so serious in his professional life—become a playful, doting father. You know how hard he works, how many miles he travels, but moments like these, when he’s home with his family, are what ground him.

“I’m going to make this tree the best one ever!” Jack exclaims, his little voice full of determination as he runs to the ornaments. You and Toto follow behind him, laughing at his boundless enthusiasm.

As you move toward the tree, Toto walks up beside you, his arm casually brushing against yours. “I love how excited he gets for Christmas,” he murmurs softly, his voice low and full of affection. “And I love sharing this with you.”

You glance up at him, your heart fluttering slightly. “I love it too. It’s perfect,” you reply, your voice sincere.

Toto leans in just a little closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “You’re the perfect part of my Christmas.” His breath is warm against your skin, and you can’t help but feel the pull of his closeness. You try to concentrate on the ornaments, but his words linger in your mind, sending a flutter through your chest.

You reach for a delicate glass ornament, but before you can place it on the tree, Toto’s hand gently wraps around your wrist. His touch is gentle but firm, and you can’t help but shiver at the way his fingers brush against your skin. His voice drops to a low, teasing tone. “You’d make a beautiful elf, you know,” he murmurs, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’d love to see you all dressed up with a little outfit, all wrapped in ribbons and bows.”

You raise an eyebrow, your lips curling into a playful smile. “Oh? You think I could pull that off?” you ask, teasing him right back. “And what would you do with your elf once you caught her?”

Toto chuckles, the sound low and rich, sending a pleasant warmth through you. “I’d spoil her,” he replies with a wink, his hand sliding to your lower back, pulling you in just a little closer.

“Give her everything she wants.”

You lean in, just enough to make his heart race, but before either of you can take the teasing further, Jack calls out, “Mom! Dad! The star! The star! We need to put it on top!”

You both break into laughter, but Toto’s hand stays on your back, a quiet, intimate connection between you as you both move to place the star at the top of the tree. The soft click of the ornament in place feels like the perfect conclusion to the decorating. But the moment isn’t over. Toto leans in once more, his lips grazing your ear as he whispers with a playful grin, “Just wait, I’m not done with you yet.”

You glance at him, a teasing glint in your eyes. “I don’t think Santa’s going to approve of your behavior, Troger”.

He laughs softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Santa can mind his business,” he says with a wink, his voice laced with playful heat. “I’ve been very good this year… as long as you’ve been good, too.”

You smile up at him, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of his jawline. “I’ve been good,” you tease, stepping closer to him until the distance between you is almost nonexistent. The warmth of his body radiates against yours, and you feel the gentle hum of affection between you both.

Before anything else can happen, Jack bounds back into the room, interrupting your moment. “Mom! Dad! It’s cookie time!” he exclaims, eyes wide with excitement as he drags a tray of freshly baked cookies into the room.

Toto chuckles, his hand on your back once more as he watches Jack’s enthusiasm. “Looks like we’re going to need all the energy we can get if we’re going to finish celebrating this Christmas,” he says, his voice playful, as he helps Jack set the cookies down on the table.

You grin, slipping your hand into Toto’s as the three of you enjoy the sweet treats together. You feel the warmth of the moment, the closeness, and the joy of spending time as a family. The love you share is palpable, a soft, steady rhythm that feels like everything you’ve ever wanted.

The night continues to wind down in the Wolff household, the soft glow of the Christmas tree illuminating the room as the fire crackles in the hearth. The house is quiet now, the only sound the occasional snap from the flames and the soft hum of the holiday music playing in the background.

Toto’s hand is gently resting on your shoulder, his thumb brushing small, soothing circles across your skin as you sit together on the couch. You’re tucked close into his side, your head resting on his chest, the steady beat of his heart comforting and steady. Every now and then, you glance up at him, catching the soft, affectionate look in his eyes as he watches you, his gaze warm and full of love.

The night feels perfect. Jack’s already asleep in his room, his soft breaths barely audible from the hallway. The house feels peaceful, calm—filled with the kind of love that can only come from the warmth of family. This year had been a whirlwind, but in moments like these, surrounded by the people who mean everything to you, all the chaos of the outside world fades away.

Toto leans down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gentle kiss. “I meant what I said,” he murmurs softly. “This… this Christmas with you and Jack… it’s everything I could have ever hoped for.”

You smile up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I feel the same way,” you reply quietly. “This is exactly where I want to be.”

Toto’s eyes soften, his hand lifting to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek. His gaze moves from your eyes to your lips, and there’s an undeniable pull between you both. The warmth of the room, the quiet intimacy, it all builds up to this moment.

“You make my world better,” he whispers, his voice low and husky. “You and Jack… you both make everything worth it.”

You close your eyes for a moment, the depth of his words sinking in, before opening them again to meet his gaze. “And you make everything feel safe,” you respond softly. “Even on the hardest days.”

Toto leans in, his lips brushing gently against yours in a tender kiss that speaks of everything you’ve shared and all the moments still to come. The kiss is slow and lingering, sweet with the promise of many more quiet nights like this, full of love and shared dreams. When you pull away, both of you are smiling softly, the connection between you deepening with each passing second.

“Do you know what else I love about Christmas?” Toto asks, his voice playful but sincere.

You raise an eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips. “What’s that?”

He leans closer, his lips hovering near your ear as he whispers, “The way you make everything feel like magic.” His breath is warm against your skin, sending a soft shiver through you. “You have this way of turning ordinary moments into something special.”

You chuckle softly, your fingers tracing his jawline. “I think you’re the one who makes everything magical,” you reply, your voice full of affection. “You and your teasing.”

Toto grins, his hand sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer as he gives you that charming smile you’ve always loved. “Well, I’ll keep teasing you then, if it means I get to see that beautiful smile on your face,” he says, his voice low and filled with adoration.

You can’t help but laugh, your hand resting on his chest. “You’ve certainly got your work cut out for you, Mr. Wolff,” you tease, though the affection in your voice makes it clear you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while, just enjoying the presence of each other. The fire crackles, and the Christmas tree sparkles in the background, casting soft reflections on the walls.

Eventually, you rise from the couch, holding your hand out to Toto. “Come on,” you say softly,

“Let’s go check on Jack. Make sure he’s really asleep.”

Toto chuckles, standing up and taking your hand. As you both walk down the hallway to Jack’s room, the peace of the night wraps around you both like a blanket. The soft glow from the hallway light spills into Jack’s room, where you both peer inside to find him tucked in tight, his little hands clutching his favorite teddy bear.

You smile down at him, feeling a sense of deep gratitude and contentment wash over you. “He’s perfect,” you whisper, your heart full as you watch him sleep.

Toto stands behind you, his hand resting on your shoulder. “So are you,” he says softly, his voice filled with warmth. “You make everything feel perfect.”

You turn around to face him, your eyes meeting his once more. In that moment, with the quiet hum of the world around you, you know that this is exactly where you’re meant to be—surrounded by love, laughter, and the warmth of family.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Merry Christmas, Toto,” you whisper against his mouth, the words full of meaning and affection.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he replies, his voice tender as his arms wrap around you once more, pulling you close.

As you stand there, in his arms, you feel everything—how much you’ve both given to each other, the life you’ve built together, and the future still to come. The world outside may be cold, but inside, there’s nothing but warmth, love, and the soft promise of many more Christmases spent like this—together, with your little family.

[igotanidea]

The talk : Dick Grayson X reader ( with Bruce Wayne)

A/n : it's a snippet, I might consider writing it fully

Warning: suggestive but not explicit

Summary: it's time for the bees and bird talk with Dick

***

Bruce walking in on a young adult! Dick and his girlfriend y/n getting cosy between the sheets.

Obviously, as a normally functioning adult and a father, even if just a foster one, the batman takes it upon himself to have a talk about bees and birds with his favourite son.

He got it all planned out, schemed, thought out to avoid surprises and misunderstandings.

He actually had the contingency plans from A to Z drafted for a while, only hoping that those would never come to use.

Unfortunately, seeing y/n, with her blouse undone, hair a mess and Dick's hands (and apparently more) on her, forces Bruce to retreat to hide the blush creeping on. The last piece of his dignity is gone and he is pretty sure there's no good way to recover from such a failure.

He had reached the ultimate botttom.

"Hey B, you good?" Hours later Dick found him in the batcave, engrossed in some feigned, quickly fixed work. It was too easy to figure he would hide there to avoid seeing or - god forbid - hear anything.

"Hm."

"You wanted to talk to me about something, didn't you?" He grinned, delighting in a way Bruce seemed to develop an eye twich.

"Hm".

"Great. I got some time before I get back to y/n, so?"

"Get back?" Bruce turned to face his son and immediately regretted it. He seriously wished to erase the sight of lipstick and love bites on his neck.

"Something wrong?" Once more dick flashed a smile, trying to force a reaction out of Bruce.

"hm."

"we're being safe"

"Amazing"

"and she's okay with it"

"Great"

"And I've studied female anatomy so I know a thing or two about --"

Oh dear lord...

"Dick." Bruce was an inch from having a spasm. How ironic it would turn out to be if gotham lost its protector because of certain golden boy growing up.

"hey did you know that --"

"Get out, Dick."

"But I thought you wanted to--"

"I said get out"

"-talk?"

"I believe you got it all wrong. It was Alfred. Yes. Alfred wanted to talk to you. Not me."

"You sure about it B? You want me to talk to Alfred about -"

"yes. Absolutely. Now go. I'm sure time is of essence"

"it is. Though Alfred took some time off, thanks to your generosity, Bruce. So I'll go, sure, but I've already got so many questions that I don't want to search online and--"

"Dick?" Y/n voice sounded dangerously close to the batcave entrance "Where are you? I'm gonna have to go soon and I need a proper goodbye --"

"coming!!!" Dick yelled rushing off the room " great talk, Bruce. We'll continue it later."

Dick left and Bruce was finally able to let out a groan. The masterplanner forgot to acknowledge the fact that sweet kids tend to turn into feral, hormonal young adults and require actual upbringing.

***

"you're so mean to him, you know that?" Y/m muttered, once again with his lips on hers

"mean? Who, me? Ouch! You're hurting my heart here princess."

"you are. He could easily be a DILF, yet is alone and you're tormenting him."

"but if you saw the look on his face --"

"you're only proving my point of you being mean".

"I'm sure he'll get some, some day--"

"but still- mmm!"

"I remind you that you enabled the plan baby.... Played quite an important part in it." Dick started kissing her a little harder, not even trying to hide where he was heading. "Wonder why that is..."

"cause you're also a -- ohh!"

"you were saying?" He smirked, looking up at her.

"-prick"

"Am I?" His hands moved where she liked it "what else?"

"liar..." She gasped. While it was true he didn't tell her why he invited her over and that his father was in, his movements were serving as a pretty good apology.

Even if knowing Dick it was obviously also a way to boost his ego and prove his point and complete his twisted and deranged plan.

"you know what, I've already had one talk, I don't really need another.... Rather keep my lips occupied with something else --"

***

Bruce came out of the batcave only after making sure it was safe.

Mentally cursing himself for having not one, but four boys under his care.

Which meant that this - whatever it was-- was about to happen again.

[1hotmuyfunbro]

The "symbolism" of the Battle of Marlas

Since I’m on vacation, I’ve had plenty of time to think, and I couldn’t help but analyze a pretty symbolic situation in Captive Prince—one of those "destined" things in that world. Kastor was born 2 or 3 years before Auguste. I’m sure Theomedes loved him (especially since he was the son he had with his true love), but the pressure from the Kyroi forced him to marry and spend several years trying to produce an heir. This was necessary because Akielos is a group of independent states united under one king, and Damen tells us how his father was the only one who managed to unite them all with the sword, a "proud and warlike" man.When Kastor was 9, Damianos was born. For nine years, Kastor was raised as the future king, with all the effort and expectations that entailed. But then Damen came along, and in Kastor's own words, "everyone forgot about him, even his own father," leaving him marked by insecurity, rejection, and resentment.Imagine what Theomedes must have felt, with all his pride, hearing how Auguste, the legitimate son of King Aleron, was loved, adored, accepted, and practically a living legend—while his own firstborn didn’t represent the same stability or unity for Akielos. Ouch. During the battle of Marlas, Damen and Theomedes didn’t fight directly on the battlefield, but Kastor likely did. This didn’t help the father-son dynamic, as Damen describes how Auguste, the general of the Veretians, tore through Akielon ranks, killing many. So Damen decided to step in and deal with Auguste himself, killing him. For his father, this must have been like renewing the pride of Akielos and his own name. Indirectly, Theomedes extinguished the light and pride of Vere to strengthen the light and pride of Akielos.It’s likely that Theomedes loved Kastor, but he also probably felt frustrated that his son wasn’t fully recognized as legitimate. This must have been a blow to his personal and political pride, especially in a culture like Akielos, where strength and legitimacy were everything. At the same time, Theomedes was surely aware of Auguste’s success and popularity in Vere, which would have only deepened his discontent. Watching his political rival have a legitimate, beloved son must have been a constant reminder of Kastor’s limitations in comparison.Auguste, born into an environment where his legitimacy and position were never questioned, became a national symbol of pride—something Kastor could never achieve due to the circumstances of his birth and the lack of acceptance from the council and the people. The contrast between Auguste and Kastor could be seen as a microcosm of the rivalry between Akielos and Vere. While Vere had Auguste, their golden prince, a symbol of unity and honor, Akielos had Kastor, who embodied internal divisions and political tensions.It’s incredibly ironic and tragic how things played out. Kastor and Auguste were symbols of pride and conflict: Kastor represented Akielos’s insecurities, while Auguste was the epitome of Vere’s pride. Both were measures of success for their fathers, Theomedes and Aleron, as kings.The irony is that Damen, the son who met all of Theomedes’ expectations, was the one who ultimately killed Auguste. Instead of Kastor eliminating the shadow of Auguste, it was his younger brother—who probably didn’t even share the same personal grudge—who carried out the most significant act for Akielos in the battle of Marlas. Damen, the golden prince of Akielos, destroyed Vere’s golden pride, Auguste. This act not only ended the war but also symbolized how the resentment and rivalry between brothers, Kastor and Damen, were channeled on the battlefield in indirect ways.Furthermore, this event reinforces the idea that, even though Kastor hated Damen, he never would have been capable of that act. Damen was Akielos’s golden prince, the complete opposite of Kastor. In the end, Damen cemented the pride and strength of his nation while extinguishing Vere’s brightest light.

Now tell me, what do you think?

[somereaderinblue]

LMK God Games

Did somebody say LMK x Epic the Musical??? I had to post this after seeing these amazing YT animatics which I highly rec. Anyways, enjoy some LMK Nezha content!

[NEZHA]

Father, general, rarely do I ask for favors

Now I humbly, beseech you to spare some mercy

For a dear friend who’s a prisoner far from home

Sun Wukong.

[LI JING]

Divine intervention, is that what you seek?

To untie apprehensions that were placed on that beast?

You may upset the balance for an ape full of shame

But if he's worth the risk of such loud dissent

Let us make it a test.

Convince each of them that he deserves to be released, and I'll release him.

[NEZHA]

Who's them?

[LI JING]

Nüwa! Lao Tzu!

Guanyin! Ao Guang!

Chang’e! Or Me.

What do you say?

[NÜWA]

Great.

[LAO TZU]

Very well.

[GUANYIN]

Agreed.

[AO GUANG]

Hmph.

[CHANG’E]

Groovy!

[NEZHA]

Bring it.

[NÜWA]

You know well I'm a fan of nature’s all

So with so many creatures gone

Has Wukong no heart at all?

[NEZHA]

Their intentions meant him harm

He had companions under his charge

It was a hard choice to make

To live another day and prevail despite the stakes!

[NÜWA]

Fair point, release him.

[LAO TZU]

Trust is not real without care

Why should we offer him a hand?

He turned his back on all his friends.

[NEZHA]

Did you forget they failed to listen?

He was betrayed and then imprisoned

But if you make the right decision 

He can still build a future with those he misses.

[LAO TZU]

Fine, release him.

[GUANYIN]

Though he is strong and mighty, your friend Wukong

Has a callous heart, disregards others for himself.

[NEZHA]

He was busy fighting-

[GUANYIN]

More like busy spiting the deities

It is only fair he faces comeuppance for his crimes.

[NEZHA]

Wait! Please reconsider this….

[AO GUANG]

Really Nezha? These old tricks?

[NEZHA]

Ao Guang!

[AO GUANG]

What kind of so-called warrior just uses his power

Uncaring of those in the crossfire?

He didn’t even spare his brothers

Turned to fodder to sate her

Traded all their lives to demons of bone

Untrustworthy, obtuse, upfront

Pathetic and weak like his son!

[NEZHA]

Hold your tongue now! His son's my friend!

And when were second chances something we can’t spare?

You want redemption? Then set him free

To get back to his homestead for atonement, you’ll all see!

[GUANYIN & AO GUANG]

Very well, release him.

[CHANG’E]

Hey bestie~

So many legends, so many tales

Give me one good reason why yours should prevail!

[NEZHA]

He's got some nice golden vision!

[CHANG’E]

Try harder.

[NEZHA]

He wields a mighty staff!

[CHANG’E]

You can do better than that!

[NEZHA]

He's kind of funny?

[CHANG’E]

Eh…

[NEZHA]

Never once does he stop loving his mate.

[CHANG’E]

Release him!

[NEZHA]

I’ve done your test and passed! Release him.

[LI JING]

You dare to defy me? To not know your place?

No one beats me, no one brings heaven shame!

Power, madness, balance, justice

I must show you right from wrong

To cease this tantrum once and for all!

.

.

.

[GUANYIN]

Is he dead?

.

.

.

.

An entire lifetime unfolds between Nezha’s heartbeats.

Sun Wukong’s life.

As a troublemaker, a warrior, a king……

Then a husband, a father.

How lovely the day had been, the memory as sweet as the peaches and plums they had gorged on.

And then-

“YOU’RE ALONE!”

The words erode him from within like rot through fruit. He’s not alone, he has powers mortals could only dream of having a speck of, he has his father, brothers and duties-

He has Wukong’s friendship. Or well, he had it. 

Nezha blinks and suddenly he sees Xiaotian, MK, Wukong and Macaque’s son, their legacy, the star to their sun and moon, Nezha’s-

“-friend, I couldn’t ask for more!”

Wukong was wrong.

He knows what he’s fighting for now.

.

.

.

.

Through the blinding glow of Li Jing’s attack, a flurry of pink lotus petals explodes in retaliation.

Gritting his teeth, Nezha’s arms trembled under his shield. He takes one step forward, then another, and another-

His shield shatters, he takes two steps back. He barely raises his spear in time to block his father’s next blow. The shaft of his weapon is molten lava in his palms. 

He loses his spear first. Then most of his armor, then his wheels, ah he hasn’t walked in a while, with how shaky his legs are he’s surprised he’s still upright-

Then he’s not. His father’s wrath rumbles in warning. What was one more act of defiance?

And so Nezha, Third Lotus Prince, crawls up those final steps and uses the last of his strength to grab the Pagoda-Wielding General’s fluttering cape.

.

.

.

.

[NEZHA]

Let him go….please

Let him go…..

[doodle-pops]

Jingle All The Way

Finarfin x reader

Request: Hi! I love your blog so much🥹Could you please write a Christmas fic where wife!reader and Finarfin cook something together for their children? Something warm and sweet, maybe a little blond elf comes by and makes everybody’s hearts melt. Thank you! And, even if it’s early, Merry Christmas ❤️

A/N: Merry late Christmas to you anon, and a Happy New Year! 😁

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: none, fluff

Synopsis: You, Finarfin and Finrod decided to spend a little quality time in the kitchen for the festive season.

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“Atto,” Finrod slurred, adjusting the apron he wore, which bore more flour than his hands did. “I told you the lemon slices must be symmetrical. If the slices are uneven, the entire aesthetic of the dish will be ruined.”

Finarfin paused in his attempt to zest a lemon, the grater in his hand slipping precariously. “Findarato,” he said with forced patience, “this is not an art exhibition. Your mother will not measure the symmetry of lemons when she tastes the dessert.”

“But I will know,” Finrod replied with a dramatic toss of his golden hair, his tone heavy with youthful self-importance. “Presentation is everything.”

Finarfin sighed, his diplomatic training only just holding back a retort. He placed the grater down carefully and turned his attention to the array of ingredients strewn across the counters. Flour dusted every surface, and bowls teetered precariously at the edges. The once-pristine kitchen was a battlefield of their good intentions, with the remnants of earlier mishaps—eggshells, spilt milk, and a rather unfortunate incident involving melted butter—littering the area.

It was the morning of the celebration of Narvinyë, the festival of new beginnings, a cherished time in Valinor that many in the household affectionately referred to as ‘the Yule.’ The faint scent of pine and cinnamon lingered in the air, left over from the decorations adorning the hallways and the garlands wound around the bannisters.

The kitchen of the grand household was alive with an unexpected buzz of activity. Warm sunlight streamed through the high windows, painting golden patterns on the stone floors and illuminating the chaos unfolding within. Finarfin, High King of the Noldor, stood amidst the flurry, his normally impeccable robes exchanged for a simple tunic, sleeves hastily rolled up. He was not a man accustomed to culinary endeavours, but the determined set of his jaw spoke of his commitment. Beside him was his young son, Findarato, barely into his teens, golden hair catching the sunlight and barely reaching his father’s chest as he surveyed the kitchen with a mixture of enthusiasm and disdain.

Finrod sniffed disdainfully, glancing at the mess. “Mother would never allow this,” he murmured, more to himself than to his father.

“Well, your mother isn’t here to see it,” Finarfin replied, his tone verging on defensive as he attempted to salvage the situation. “She’s supposed to be resting. Or, at least, that was the plan.”

“She will smell the chaos before she sees it,” Finrod quipped, folding his arms. “And if this is meant to be a surprise, I suggest we proceed with a bit more...order.” He gestured authoritatively at the table. “I shall handle the garnishing. You focus on not burning anything.”

Finarfin narrowed his eyes. “You are dangerously close to losing your privileges to taste the results.”

Finrod smirked but wisely returned to his task, arranging berries and mint leaves with painstaking precision on a platter that held no finished dessert yet. “I’m merely offering guidance, atto. Leadership is in our blood, is it not?”

Finarfin muttered something indecipherable under his breath, though his lips twitched with reluctant amusement. He was about to respond when the distinct sound of footsteps echoed down the hall.

“Ai,” Finrod hissed, his eyes widening. “She’s coming!”

“You don’t know that,” Finarfin replied, though his own movements betrayed a sense of urgency as he hurried to whisk a bowl of batter that was dangerously close to curdling.

“Father, look at this kitchen! She will think we are incompetent!”

“Remove me from the equation please!” Finarfin corrected, though he immediately regretted it when Finrod’s expression turned mock-horrified. “Findárato, less talking, more doing.”

The door creaked open, and both father and son froze, looking up like startled deer. There you stood, framed in the doorway, your expression a mixture of confusion and amusement as you took in the scene before you. Your husband’s tunic was streaked with flour, his hair slightly dishevelled. Your son stood with a handful of berries, his expression comically guilty, as though you’d caught him in some grand act of rebellion.

“I...” You paused, biting back a laugh. “What on Arda is happening here?”

Finarfin cleared his throat, attempting to straighten himself. “We thought you were resting.”

“I was,” you replied, stepping into the room and carefully avoiding a puddle of something suspiciously sticky on the floor. “But the racket coming from here was hardly conducive to rest. What are you two doing?”

Finrod, ever the dramatic one, stepped forward with a flourish, holding out the platter of berries as though it were a masterpiece. “We are creating a surprise for you, ammë. A display of culinary excellence.”

“Culinary excellence?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow as you gestured to the chaos surrounding them.

Finarfin coughed, shooting Finrod a warning glance before stepping forward. “It was meant to be breakfast...or dessert. The exact nature of the dish is still under negotiation.”

You couldn’t help but laugh then, the sound warm and infectious. “Well, it seems I arrived just in time.” You rolled up your sleeves, looking at the two of them with mock sternness. “Step aside, gentlemen. If this is going to be edible, you’ll need a professional touch.”

Finarfin smiled, a mixture of relief and adoration in his eyes as he stepped back to make room for you. Finrod, on the other hand, looked mildly offended. “I am perfectly capable,” he protested, though he quickly followed suit when you gave him a look and came to stand beside you, the top of his mop of golden curls meeting your shoulder.

You took charge, guiding your husband and son with a gentle but commanding hand. Finarfin, to his credit, listened attentively, his movements more deliberate under your watchful eye. Finrod, however, couldn’t resist his flair for theatrics. He appeared far more interested in inspecting his own reflection in the polished surface of a nearby copper kettle.

“Findárato, you do not need to pose while you mix the batter,” you said, trying not to laugh as your son tilted his head just so, his golden hair falling artfully across his forehead.

“But I do,” he replied with utmost seriousness. “How else will it be perfect?”

“Perfection doesn’t require theatrics,” you replied, though your tone was fonder than scolding.

“Tell that to atto,” Finrod muttered, earning himself a sharp look from Finarfin.

“I heard that,” Finarfin said, though his tone lacked any real bite. He turned to you with a sheepish smile. “Is this salvageable?”

You glanced at the bowl in his hands and nodded. “Barely. Add a bit more sugar, and it should be fine.”

At one point, Finrod accidentally knocked over a bag of flour, and the resulting cloud left all three of you covered in a fine dusting of white. The new mess created only earned groans and grumbles about ‘hair’ and ‘clothes being ruined’ while you and Finarfin stood there, shaking your heads with amused expressions while dusting the flour off each other.

“You look like a ghost, atto,” Finrod said, grinning. “Very dignified.”

“And you look like a mischievous imp. Your true nature,” Finarfin shot back, though his tone was full of affection.

At last, the dessert—a simple but delicious fruit tart—was ready. You slid it into the oven, wiping your hands on a cloth as you turned to face your two co-conspirators. The kitchen was still a disaster, but there was a warmth in the air that made it feel less like a chore and more like a cherished memory in the making.

“Thank you,” you said softly, looking at both of them. “For trying so hard. It means a lot.”

Finarfin stepped forward, his hand brushing yours as he smiled down at you. “Anything for you, melda,” he expressed genuinely. “Even if it means braving the kitchen.”

Finrod, not one to be left out, placed a dramatic hand over his heart. “And I, dearest ammë, have sacrificed my dignity and my favourite tunic for this endeavour.”

You laughed, reaching out to ruffle his hair despite his protests and pulling him in for a hug. “You’re both ridiculous,” you stated, though your tone was filled with love. However, within the blink of an eye, your tone flipped, and without missing a beat, you uttered a command. “But clean up the mess you two made and make this kitchen spotless.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts’,” you laughed as you spun on your heel and grabbed the broom, handing it to Finarfin and motioning for him to get started. And just when Finrod thought he was about to be forgotten as he tip-toed out the kitchen, you walked over with a mop and offered it to him. “Make the floors just as golden as the hair on your head.”

Their complaints easily died on their tongue as you sat on the stool in front of the door, but turned into grumbles and mutters with the occasional side-eye as they went about. And as the minutes dwindled, so did their whining once the scent of the tart nearing its end waffled through the air.

The first to stand before the oven was Findárato, complaining about the heat while he watched you remove the tart. His mop was left on the floor, halfway through with cleaning while Finarfin completed his task, which was him cleaning the entire kitchen due to your son whining about his clothes becoming messier. Once the tart was placed on the table, there was no need for plates and extra utensils. Choosing to act with a lack of etiquette, you stuck your fork into the edge and carved out a piece, feeding it to Findárato first. The tart wasn’t perfect—its edges slightly uneven, the berries a little haphazard—but to you, it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

Carving out the second piece for Finarfin, he gingerly took the fork from your fingers and instead, offered you the bite. “Say ‘ah’.”

With a roll of your eyes, you took the piece of fruit tart and hummed in satisfaction at the taste. It was slightly tangy and a bit crunchy, too crunchy to be considered a tart, but it was fairly decent for a group effort.

“Not bad,” Finrod muttered, earning a laugh from you and a mock glare from Finarfin. “For amateurs, that it.”

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[melestasflight]

Happy happy birthday!! I hope it’s such a lovely one!

Hmm, perhaps some gen of Fingon, Finrod, and Aegnor at Barad Eithel being very cousin-siblings and giving each other a hard time about whatever you will?

What a lovely idea of how to celebrate on here!

Aegnor, Finrod, Fingon, Galdor, seducing the Edain. Rated G, 840 words. Written by @polutrope and @melestasflight and right in time for @arafinwean-week On AO3.

Aegnor looks up from his cup to where Finrod is still interrogating Galdor on some obscure Edain lore regarding fire rituals. From what he has absently gathered, they have existed among the House of Hador since bygone times in the East.

He was eager to meet his eldest brother at Barad Eithel, both of them having come for Fingon’s begetting day feast. They have not seen each other in over a year, and there is so much to catch up on, but for most of the night, Finrod has ignored him utterly. Aegnor is not surprised: he cannot compete for Finrod’s attention in the presence of any mortal person even remotely willing to engage in discussion.

Aegnor pours himself a fourth cup of wild rice wine and has downed half of it when Fingon plops himself on the bench beside him, half sitting on his lap, and throws his arms around his neck.

“My dearest cousin, I am so glad you are here.” He kisses his cheek. “Why are you not dancing?” Fingon is deep into his cups already; his fair face is flushed and he is even louder and more cheerful than usual.

Here at least is one who will take interest in what he has to say, Aegnor thinks, and hooks his arm around Fingon’s waist with a squeeze. “I am happy to see you, too. Sit with me for a while?”

Fingon grins at him and then collects himself a little. “How have you fared? What’s the news in Dorthonion?”

“Nothing much since you last visited, but we completed the watchtowers overlooking the plain,” Aegnor begins. He goes on to talk about his construction projects, the new foals born in his herds, the collection of poetry he���s begun writing.

Fingon nods enthusiastically and asks questions here and there. Before long, however, his gaze strays across the table and he interrupts Aegnor mid-sentence. “Is that Galdor?”

“Yes, the poor lad, my brother has had him trapped for the past two hours.” Aegnor is eager to return to the subject of his poetry, but Fingon is no longer listening. His cousin’s eyes are blown wide and dark, and he rakes them up and down the man’s body.

“Your staring is not subtle at all,” Aegnor teases.

“I have never seen him like this, in his princely attire,” Fingon mutters, seemingly more to himself than in response to Aegnor.

Aegnor follows Fingon’s gaze. Galdor has only recently come to manhood; he is even taller than his father, Hador, but no less blond. Free from the helmet and heavy armor that usually hide most of his face and body, he is resplendent, his hair falling to his shoulders in fine golden waves and a handsome stubble adorning his chin. He is most fine to the eye, Aegnor has to admit.

Galdor is, undoubtedly, Fingon’s type. His cousin has a history of seducing the Men of Dor-lómin: a brief affair with Hador himself before his marriage to Gildis; then, Hador’s cousin Handar; and now, it seems, Hador’s own son.

“You cannot be serious, Findekáno. Again?” Aegnor rolls his eyes and smacks Fingon’s shoulder.

“You are a fine one to talk, Aikanáro,” Fingon hisses. “It's not me who patrols bëorian villages in the moonlight.”

Aegnor glares at him, but Fingon pays him no heed. His cousin stands up, downs the cup of rice wine he has been nursing, straightens his clothes and the circlet upon his head, and resolutely marches to where Galdor and Finrod are conversing, heedless of whatever it is Finrod is now explaining to the man. Fingon grins like a fool as he looks down to where Galdor kneels to kiss his ring finger, then he pulls the man up to his feet and whispers something into his ear that washes Galdor’s cheeks pink.

Fingon turns to wink at Aegnor and then he is gone, leading Galdor by the hand, and disappearing among the crowd of dancing pairs.

Aegnor cannot help but chuckle, easily forgiving his cousin. This is Fingon’s party, after all, and he deserves to have a merry time. He picks up his cup, the bottle of rice wine, and walks over to take the seat recently vacated by Galdor.

“Another failed attempt at learning the lore of the House of Hador, brother?” he jests with Finrod.

“Did you know their people worshipped Arien as their God at first? I was so close to having Galdor reveal the meaning behind their fire rituals,” Finrod blurts out, mildly frustrated. “Damn you, Findekáno,” his brother curses, but he chuckles as he says this; there is no true resentment in his words.

They both watch Galdor and Fingon, now twirling on the dance floor. Fingon’s hands are firmly planted on Galdor’s waist, and the man grins brightly at him, blue eyes all for Fingon.

“The boy looks quite smitten with him,” Aegnor tells Finrod.

“He has no chance against our cousin’s charm,” Finrod snorts.

“Care for a dance, brother?”

“Why not,” says Finrod with a smile, and jumps up, pulling Aegnor from the bench with him.

[loverangels]

THRONE BOUND; prelude

A UNION. ONE THAT CAN ONLY STRENGTHEN OR WEAKEN THE THRONE.

pairings: king hal x fem!reader

warnings: arranged marriage, death, political insights

a/n: this will be a series from the post I had earlier teased 'the tailor girl' and this is the prologue I hope you enjoy it! Reblogs and feedback is very much appreciated!

The Will of King Henry IV, First of His Name

To Be Read and Executed Upon the Event of My Passing

In the Name of God, Amen.

I, Henry of Bolingbroke, First of My Name, King of England, Sovereign Lord of the Isles, and Protector of the Realm, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare this my last will and testament, that it may be carried out in full accordance with the law of God and the statutes of this kingdom.

First, I commend my soul to the Almighty, trusting in His infinite wisdom to judge me as both king and man. May the weight of my deeds, both noble and cruel, be measured fairly on the scales of eternity.

To my son and heir, Henry of Monmouth, known as Hal, I bequeath the throne, the scepter, and the kingdom of England. May he wear the crown with strength and wisdom, ruling over this land with honor and justice.

To my loyal councilors, who have served me with unwavering loyalty, I entrust the guidance of my son, Henry of Monmouth, in his reign. Let them continue to support him as they did for me, aiding him in the duties of kingship.

To the Church, I dedicate lands and wealth for the care of our souls and the furtherance of God’s will upon this earth. The relationship between crown and church must remain sacred, especially in these tumultuous times.

And lastly, to my son Henry of Monmouth,

I leave a final decree. On the Feast of St. George in the Year 1412, an agreement was forged between this crown and the noble house of Fairmont, sealed by blood and bound by honor. Despite the fall of Lord Alaric Fairmont’s house, despite his descent into debauchery and ruin, the contract between our families remains intact.

You, my son, are bound to marry (name) Fairmont, daughter of Lord Alaric Fairmont. It is a union forged not out of love or whim, but for the stability of this kingdom. Let it be known, that the fall of her family’s house shall not dissolve the contract, for a king’s word, once given, is unbreakable.

You may wish for a different bride, one of higher birth or nobler blood, but the kingdom’s future is tied to this union. Thus, I command you, Hal, my son, to wed (name) Fairmont and unite our houses.

May God bless this union, for the future of our crown and our kingdom.

Signed this day, in the Year of Our Lord 1418, by my own hand,

Henry of Bolingbroke, First of His Name, King of England

The will lay open on the desk like a predator, its contents baring their teeth with every line. Hal’s gaze had been fixed on it for so long that the words had begun to blur, the black ink swimming against the yellowed parchment. His temples throbbed, and yet he could not look away.

The study was cold, despite the fire burning in the massive hearth. The high, arched windows let in shafts of dying sunlight, but the golden rays did nothing to warm the room. The scent of aged wood and leather mixed with the faint tang of smoke from the fireplace, creating an atmosphere both rich and oppressive.

Hal stood at the centre of it all, his figure tense and unyielding. He paced like a caged animal, his boots clicking against the polished floor, the fur lined mantle of his cloak sweeping behind him with each sharp turn.

"Why now?" he muttered to himself, his voice low and venomous. "Why did he have to tether me to this… to her?"

He stopped pacing abruptly and turned toward the desk, where the will waited, silent and damning. His father’s words still echoed in his mind, a relentless specter. You will wed her, Hal. You will honor this contract.

Hal clenched his fists, his nails biting into the leather of his gloves. His jaw tightened, his teeth grinding as he fought the urge to shout, to lash out at the unfairness of it all.

He could see his father now, clear as day, seated in the very chair that now sat empty behind the desk. He had been a man of iron—cold, unyielding, and immovable. Hal had hated him as much as he had respected him, and now, with the old king dead and buried, that hatred seemed to burn brighter than ever.

"You couldn’t even leave me in peace," Hal spat, his voice rising. He slammed his fist onto the desk, the sound reverberating through the room. The inkpot wobbled precariously, threatening to spill, but Hal barely noticed.

For a moment, he stood still, his chest heaving as he tried to wrestle his emotions back under control. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. But the words on the will remained etched in his mind.

His bethroed.

He knew little of her, only that she was the daughter of a disgraced nobleman—a drunkard and a gambler who had squandered his wealth and reputation. Her name had been little more than a distant whisper in court gossip, a relic of a house that had long since fallen into obscurity.

And now, she was to be his bride.

The thought sent a fresh wave of anger coursing through him. What kind of woman would she be? A simpering fool, eager to please? Or worse, a resentful, bitter creature, forced into this union just as he was?

"Henslowe," Hal barked suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

The older steward, who had been standing quietly in the shadows near the door, stepped forward. His expression was calm, unreadable, as always, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Send for her," Hal commanded, his tone sharp. "Eleanor Fairmont. Summon her to court immediately."

Henslowe nodded, bowing slightly. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

Hal hesitated for a moment, his jaw working as he considered his next words. "And have the maids prepare chambers for her. Something… appropriate."

"Of course," Henslowe replied.

"And the tailors," Hal added, his voice quieter now but no less commanding. "Have them craft a gown for her. Pink. With lace. Something…" He trailed off, struggling to find the words. "Something worthy of a queen."

The steward bowed again and left the room, his footsteps fading into the distance.

Hal turned back to the desk, his hands gripping the edge tightly. The fire crackled behind him, its warmth doing little to soothe the cold knot of anger and resignation in his chest.

For a long moment, he simply stood there, staring at the will. His mind raced, filled with thoughts of duty, of legacy, of a future that was no longer his own. He thought of his father, of the weight of the crown, of the woman who was now hurtling toward his castle in a carriage she likely never thought she would see.

The room seemed to grow darker as the sun dipped below the horizon, the firelight casting long, flickering shadows across the walls. Hal’s reflection shimmered faintly in the polished surface of the desk—a lone figure, surrounded by opulence and burdened by the weight of kingship.

"Damned old man," he muttered under his breath, his voice raw.

And yet, even as the anger boiled within him, there was a flicker of something else—a quiet, unspoken fear.

What kind of queen would she be?

The question lingered in his mind, unanswered, as the fire crackled on.

@deadgirlrin @futuristicmiracleballoon @marvellover98 @evangelinesecondacc @matilde-333 @ilovefamousmen11 @confusionmeisss @sensationalstardust @gwenstacyspiderman @ludarg15 @libralovegood @mdzz1e @neznamstvarno @that-one-heartstopper-nerd @tchalamss @wailingp03ts

(rest that wanted to be tagged I apologise but it wouldn't let me tag you!)

[onebadassunicorn]

All I Want Is You

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pure fluff!

word count: 914

Taglist: @firefly-forest @salvatoresister1 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @batboyslutt @tiredsleepyhead

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

******

Chapter 6

Azriel POV

The night was calm, a perfect contradiction to the storm raging within Y/n as her labor progressed. Azriel hovered beside her, his shadows restless, flickering around the room like anxious guardians. Despite his stoic nature, his golden-hazel eyes betrayed his emotions—fear, excitement, and a love so deep it could drown the world.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered, brushing a damp strand of hair from her flushed face.

She managed a weak smile through the pain, her hand gripping his so tightly he thought she might crack his bones.

He didn’t mind.

He’d endure far worse for her and the life they’d created together.

The midwife and healer moved efficiently, their voices calm and encouraging, though Y/n barely heard them. The only thing grounding her was Azriel’s steady presence. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing her temple as he murmured, “Just a little more, love. Our son is almost here.”

The words sent a shiver of determination through her.

Their son.

A boy who would carry the strength of both his parents and the love of the family that surrounded him.

A boy destined to be cherished.

She bore down with a final cry, and the room was filled with the sound of a newborn’s wail—a cry so fierce and pure it stole Azriel’s breath.

“Do you have a name for him?” the healer asked softly, her voice barely breaking the moment.

“Eryan,” She whispered through tears as the healer placed the squirming, red-faced baby on her chest.

It was the name she and Azriel chose together.

She looked to Azriel, who was already reaching for their son, his hands trembling as he cradled the tiny life they had created.  

Azriel whispered. “His name is Eryan. It means ‘eternal light.’”

His throat tightened, a rare sob escaping his lips as he gazed at his son.

Eryan’s cries softened as if recognizing the safety of his father’s arms. The tiny boy blinked up at him, his eyes the exact shade of Azriel’s golden-hazel, flecked with warmth and intensity. Tufts of thick, dark hair crowned his head, unruly and so much like his father’s. But it was the wings that stole Azriel’s breath entirely - small, delicate, but unmistakably Illyrian, with the faintest shimmer of power in their velvety black expanse.

“Wings,” Azriel choked out, his voice breaking. “He has wings.”

Y/n smiled through her tears, her exhaustion melting away as she watched Azriel marvel at their son. “Of course, he does. Just like his daddy.”

Azriel’s shadows swirled protectively around them, as if welcoming Eryan into their fold. His fingers tracing the soft curve of one tiny wing. “He’s perfect.”

The door to the birthing room creaked open, and Cassian’s booming voice broke the reverent silence. “Is it safe to come in, or will Az kill me for interrupting?”

Azriel turned, his face still wet with tears and gestured for the others to enter. The Inner Circle poured in—Cassian holding a wiggling Azriella, who squealed with excitement, Mor clutching a bouquet of wildflowers, and Feyre and Rhysand with matching smiles of pure joy. Amren stood at the back, her sharp eyes softening as she took in the scene.

“Daddy!” Azriella called, her tiny wings fluttering as she reached for him.

Cassian grinned, adjusting his hold on her as he set her down. “She’s been waiting all night to meet her little brother.”

Azriel chuckled, a sound filled with warmth. He crossed the room and knelt before Azriella, gently lowering Eryan so she could see him. “Ella Bear, this is your baby brother,” he said softly, his voice rich with pride. “Eryan.”

Azriella’s eyes widened, her little hands reaching out to touch her brother’s cheek. “He’s so little!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with wonder. Her gaze drifted to Eryan’s wings, her own fluttering in excitement. “He has wings like you, Daddy!”

“That he does,” Azriel said, his voice thick with emotion. “And maybe one day, you can help teach him to fly.”

Azriella’s face lit up. “I will! I promise, Daddy!”

Feyre picked up Azriella and perched her on her hip, while Cassian pulled Azriel into a rare, bone-crushing hug. “You did it, brother,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re a father of two now.”

Azriel laughed, shaking his head as he pulled back to look at his son again. “I still can’t believe it.”

Rhysand stepped forward, placing a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “He’s beautiful,” Rhys said, his tone reverent. “And with parents like you and Y/n, he’ll grow into someone extraordinary.”

Mor leaned over Y/n, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You’re amazing,” she said. “Absolutely amazing.”

Y/n smiled weakly, exhaustion written across her face, but her heart was full. “We did it,” she whispered, her eyes meeting Azriel’s. “Our family is complete.”

Azriel returned to her side, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed as he placed Eryan back into her arms. “Our eternal light,” he murmured, his shadows still curling protectively around them all.

The room was filled with laughter and love, the Inner Circle reveling in the arrival of its newest member. And in that moment, as Azriel watched his son and daughter together, he realized he’d found his own eternal light in them—and in the woman who had given him this special gift.

Chapter 7

[starsfic]

Telemachus, Minor God of Devotion to Mothers- Part 1

A piece to accompany The Perfect Murder, this showing why Telemachus walked back into the palace perfectly fine.

His brother slammed into his chambers like a wild bull.

"APOLLO!"

His fingers slid on his lyre strings, sending a harsh note into the air. Apollo resisted a sigh. Father's dramatics about Athena's little champion had already consumed so much of his time already. He loved Hermes, truly, but he needed some time to himself.

His annoyance died at the drip drip of water.

"Hermes, what on earth-" Apollo turned and felt himself come to a stop. His annoyance was already dead, but now it was replaced by shock and perhaps a bit of horror at the sight of his brother.

No longer did Hermes smirk and smile, the kind of expression that revealed you were being tricked somehow. Instead, he bared his teeth in an angry grimace. The dripping water came from the headless body he held, wrapped in Hermes's own cloak.

"Is that the son?" he asked.

"Can you bring him back?" Hermes said in lieu of an actual answer.

"I mean," Apollo was already moving, guiding Hermes to the hospital wing that had become part of his chambers when he became the god of healing. "Not without the head-"

Hermes set Telemachus's body on the nearest bed and then turned, lifting up a wet cloak that was bundled around something.

Apollo took it and unwrapped it, resisting a shout of shock when Telemachus's green eyes, tears still beaded up in the corners, were revealed. "Bring him back," his little brother said, this time a little more desperate. "Soon, Uncle will notice he has not arrived at the Underworld yet."

"Strip him," he said, the doctor side of him coming out. "I need to see if he has any other wounds."

Apollo turned away to grab needles and his strongest thread- the latter so thin and seemingly delicate that it could hardly be seen by any eyes beyond his own. When he turned back, Hermes had finished stripping the body, throwing Telemachus's blood-stained tunic over his shoulder. The body was littered with cuts and hand and foot-shaped bruises, but the only mortal wound had been the decapitation.

"Now, get the head and position it correctly." Apollo may not have much time, but he refused to do it wrong.

When the torn flesh of the neck met the shoulders, he began to work.

As he worked, Apollo found himself muttering spells and soft poems dedicated to Telemachus's lasting health. A golden glow began to seep from his lips, trickling down to consume the young man's form. Hermes himself did not speak, not out loud, until Apollo needed the body moved, and his brother held his youngest grandchild to his chest, muttering soft words into his reddish curls.

Finally, it was done. It was rougher work than he would usually take pride in, but it was enough. Apollo whispered one last spell, trying to imagine what to bribe Uncle with in order to avoid his fury about raising the dead.

Telemachus gasped for air.

"It worked," Hermes said, delight tinging his words and cutting off Apollo's annoyed response at his lack of trust. He pulled away a bit, but the youth made a noise between a gasp and a whine and he had the honor of watching his brother freeze.

Seems Hermes had a new favorite grandbaby.

[oddyseye]

I cannot stand the idea of Athena and Odysseus as a couple.

It's disgusting, it's weird, and honestly, it's the biggest insult to brain cells since mortals started thinking they could sail without checking the stars. But — and this is a big, glorious, golden but — the headcannon of every other Olympian thinks they’re lovers? That’s comedy gold. Athena, the eternal virgin, the impenetrable fortress of logic, brought low by the rumor mill of her own family. Hera: Alright, Athena, let’s talk about the wedding. So, for the dress—or should we go with a suit? Athena: Wait, what? Wedding? Who’s talking about a wedding? Hera: Oh, don’t play coy. You and Odysseus? It’s practically written in the stars. I’m thinking something classic, maybe a gown— Athena: Married?! I’m not marrying anyone! Hera: You can’t hide it forever, darling. A goddess like you deserves a big, beautiful wedding. Athena: Wedding? Hera, what in Olympus are you talking about? I’m not marrying anyone, let alone Odysseus! Zeus: She’s right, Hera. This is ridiculous. Athena marrying Odysseus? Over my dead lightning bolt. Hera: Zeus. Zeus: Uh… or… or maybe it’s a great idea? Love is beautiful. Yes, beautiful. Proceed. Athena: WHAT?! I’m not even in a relationship! Odysseus is a mortal man, and I see him as a son! A son! Aphrodite: Oh, spare us the dramatics, Athena. Everyone knows you’ve got a soft spot for him. You’ve been “mentoring” him for how long now? Athena: He’s my student, Aphrodite. I teach him. That’s it. Poseidon: I hate Odysseus. And I hate you for even considering this. But if you’re hell-bent on it, I suppose it’s your disaster to manage. Athena: I am not considering this! I— Dionysus: I’m here for whatever, as long as there’s wine. Athena, if you’re going through with this, I’ll make sure the reception’s lit. Athena: Dionysus, I am NOT getting married! Stop encouraging this! Dionysus: Hey, I’m just offering a little fun. You’ll need it after dealing with that guy. Right, cutie? Apollo: We are NOT friends, do NOT talk to me. Hermes: Athena, come on, you don’t want to marry a mortal? This mortal? You’ve spent so much time with him. Maybe you’re just too proud to admit it. Athena: Hermes, I will smite you where you stand— Hestia: Everyone, calm down. Athena, they’re just teasing you. But if you ever did want to settle down, it’s not the worst thing. Athena: It is the worst thing. This conversation is the worst thing. Hades: Marriage isn’t so bad. Persephone and I have made it work. Persephone: Exactly. And that mortal of yours is resourceful. That’s not a bad trait to have in a partner. Athena: He is not my partner! He’s a mortal — a mortal that I’m mentoring! Demeter: Mentoring. Sure. You keep telling yourself that. Athena: Demeter, don’t start. I mean it. Artemis: I don’t see why she has to marry anyone. Athena, I’m with you. Stay single. Keep your dignity. Athena: Thank you, Artemis. Artemis: But if you did marry him, it wouldn’t be the worst thing. He is brave. Athena: Artemis?! Zeus:....I still think this is a terrible idea… Hera: Zeus, sighing: Fine. I love it. Best idea ever. Carry on. Ares: He has to fight me to prove his worth! Athena: This conversation is over. Athena can’t even walk into the room without someone winking at her or asking how “her mortal boy toy” is doing. Zeus, king of being gross, looking genuinely scandalized for once. Hera planning her “totally hypothetical” wedding. What really gets me, though, is the idea that none of them even care about her protests. She could swear on the River Styx that she sees Odysseus as a son, and they’d still be like, “Sure, sweetie. Your son.” Meanwhile, she’s losing her helmet over it, and it’s just... chef’s kiss. Peak entertainment. I hate the ship, but I love the chaos.

[guzhufuren]

QL Schedule 06.01.25-12.01.25

MONDAY

Ossan's Love Thailand Our Youth (Miseinen)

TUESDAY

Mate The Series* CITYBOY_LOG

WEDNESDAY

See Your Love I Am Devil* The Heart Killers

THURSDAY

The Paradise of Thorns Fourever You When It Rains It Pours Two Some Boys

FRIDAY

Thame Po Caged Again Mhom Ped Sawan* Call Me By No Name* Eternal Butler Sweet Daddy

SATURDAY

I'll Turn Back This Time Petrichor* Mhom Ped Sawan* Teenager Judge

SUNDAY

The Boy Next World Your Sky Mhom Ped Sawan* Perfect 10 Liners Sangmin Dinneaw

starts airing soon:

06/01 Ossan's Love Thailand 09/01 The Paradise of Thorns 09/01 When It Rains It Pours 10/01 Call Me By No Name* 11/01 I'll Turn Back This Time 15/01 Impression of Youth 18/01 Us* 19/01 Fireworks of Yesteryear (When We Meet)* 20/01 My Golden Blood 07/02 Fight for Love 14/02 Exclusive Love 14/02 Baban Baban Ban Vampire 18/02 Fragrance of the First Flower 2* 22/02 Jack & Joker special episode 05/03 Eye Contact

waiting for international release:

? Double Exposure ? Tokimeki Bakudan ? Smells Like Green Spirit ? There's Love That Starts From Mistaken Identity ? Me, Him and You ? See You ? Be Moon: Falling for My Enemy's Son (ep 1-4 on youtube channel Poached Egg) ? Fragrance You Inherit* (here with fansubs) ? Mr. Mitsuya's Planned Feeding (here with fansubs) ? Sugar Dog Life ? Meet Unexpectedly ? Love In The Big City (movie) ? No Heaven But Love* ? A Man Who Defies the World of BL S3 (here with fansubs)

*you can track ql schedules here