#I love the universe in my head in which they

[desperate-gay]

jealous alex morgan? im obsessed with how you write her

Childish Jealousy

Alex Morgan x fem!reader

minor SMUT 18+ in the beginning

summary: your wife’s jealousy comes in the most unexpected ways

a/n: first universe incoming with @occasionallyaurora !

“Fuck, Alex.” You breathe, hips instinctively lifting to chase the warmth of your fiancée’s sweet tongue. Her hands tighten around your hips, pinning you down, her nails pressing half-moon marks into your skin.

The slick sounds of her mouth lapping you over fill the air, mingling with the soft chirping of early morning birds outside the window. A bead of sweat rolls down Alex’s forehead, the heat from the blankets making the space between you sweltering.

“Please don’t stop, baby, just like that. I’m so close.” You writhe, fingers tangled in the sheets as your teeth sink into your lower lip to muffle the moans threatening to spill out.

Right as you’re about to teeter over the edge, your bedroom door bursts open with a little girl barreling straight for you two. You sit up as quickly as possible, fixing your hair to look like you weren’t just getting eaten out.

“Mommy!” Charlie cheers, waddling to your side of the bed, reaching out for your hands.

“Hi, honey! Good morning.” You muster up a smile, grasping the girl’s tiny hands.

Alex huffs under the blankets and thumps her head on the inside of your thigh, realizing that she was just proven wrong.

“What’s mama doing?” Charlie asks, tilting her head curiously to the side, staring at the big lump under the blankets.

Your heart stutters and eyes slightly widen. You lightly smack the back of your fiancée, signaling for her to get up and for the love of god wipe her face.

“Mama is just being silly. Why don’t you go downstairs and put on some cartoons while mama and I get ready to make breakfast, yeah?” The little girl enthusiastically nods and tramples off, allowing you to let out a sigh of relief.

Alex peeks out from under the blanket with a sheepish smile, chin resting on your stomach. Her brown hair sticks to her forehead, blue eyes still blown with lust, lips glistening with evidence of what should have been your perfect morning.

You however are not so amused.

Your core aches, the pleasure that had been coiling so tightly now completely dissipated. And to top it all off, you have a three-year-old to entertain.

“Good morning my beautiful fiancée.” Alex says with a charming smile but is quickly shut down by one look from you.

Huffing, you shove her aside and yank your underwear and pajama shorts back into place. Alex watches as you toss the comforter off and storm into the bathroom, punctuating your exit with a sharp slam of the door.

The brunette stays seated in bed, staring blankly at the wall with a deep sigh. She runs her fingers through her bed head, combing through it to untangle the minor knots.

Minutes later, you reappear from the bathroom, shoulders slumping as you sink into the end of the mattress.

“I told you so.” You say, voice low and pointed.

Alex barely lifts her head from her phone, though her gaze flickers with guilt.

“I told you we didn’t have enough time, but you insisted—”

“And I am so, so sorry, my love.” Alex scoots up behind you, slipping her arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“Mmm, I know you are, and that’s why you will be going downstairs and making our daughter breakfast while I go take a much-needed shower.” You place a chaste kiss on the girl’s cheek before getting up to gather your clothes for after the shower.

—

“That was a long shower.” Alex teases as you step into the kitchen, freshly dressed and looking far more put together than earlier.

“Well I had to give myself my own o-r-g-a-s-m which was remarkable by the way.” You taunt, spelling out the word because your daughter sits at the kitchen table, waiting for the pancakes your fiancée is currently flipping.

The striker freezes, expression dropping at your admission.

You smirk as you pluck a piece of fruit from the counter behind her, pop it into your mouth, and stroll over to Charlie.

“Shit.” Alex curses under her breath when she realizes the pancake had been left on one side for too long.

“Hey, honey. How’d you sleep last night?” You ask the young girl beside you who is currently scribbling away in her coloring book.

“I slept good. I dreamed about my stuffed animals talking to me and we had to save you and mama from the king of the wolves!” Charlie rambles enthusiastically while you smile and nod your head with a huff of laughter.

“Did you save us?”

“I don’t know! I woke up before the end.”

“Oh no.” You dramatically gasp with a hand on your chest.

You and Charlie both talk and giggle with one another as you help color a butterfly in on her page. Alex watches from afar with a soft smile on her face, never getting tired of seeing you two together.

“Did someone call for pancakes?” Your fiancée walks over with a plate full of the fluffy food, some vegan for herself and the rest regular for you and Charlie.

“Thank you, my love.” You smile, looking up at Alex who begins to lean down for a kiss before a tiny hand blocks her way.

“Wha—”

“My mommy.”

You giggle behind your hand at the little standoff happening in front of you. Alex pouts, glaring playfully while Charlie scowls right back.

This behavior has been highly usual with Charlie for the past couple of weeks. She is constantly attached to your hip whether it’s movie night, taking a walk, or even sitting at the dinner table.

Alex thought it was just a phase, but now she’s starting to wonder if her kid is stealing her fiancée out of spite. She’s not sure what Charlie could possibly be spiteful about, but that’s the only explanation she can come up with.

“Alright you two. Let’s sit down and have some wonderful pancakes mama made for us, yeah?” Charlie’s glare is soon wiped off her face, cheering when she notices your smile.

“Here you go, pumpkin.” Alex reaches over to help cut the food up for Charlie when the young girl smacks her hand away. Your fiancée recoils with a small noise and a shocked look.

“I want mommy to do it.” Your daughter huffs, switching her look to you with puppy dog eyes.

“She wants mommy to do it.” Alex mutters under her breath, mimicking the toddler’s tone as she hands you the fork and knife.

You smile sympathetically at the striker, rubbing your free hand up and down her back in reassurance.

After breakfast, Alex heads to the living room with Charlie after you insisted on doing the dishes since she cooked. Alex doesn’t argue. You’re always on about balance in a relationship which started because she insists on pampering you 24/7, and you wanted her to have a break too.

Alex plops down in the middle of the couch. Charlie, however, sits as close to the edge as she possibly can, still holding a grudge over mama stealing you earlier.

A few minutes later, you walk out with a relieved sigh and slump onto the other side of Alex. Your fiancée lifts her arm to wrap around your shoulders with a warm smile only for Charlie to immediately hop between you two, shoving her little body in the middle.

“You do know she’s my fiancée, missy.” Alex says, quirking an eyebrow when Charlie grasps onto you like a koala to a tree.

“But she’s my mommy.”

“So I’ve heard.” Your fiancée mutters, rolling her eyes.

With a dramatic sigh, she starts to scoot down the couch, but before she can, you reach out.

“You know, there’s plenty of room for all of us on the couch.” You extend your hand out for the striker, Charlie intertwines her hand with yours first.

“No! Only room for me and mommy.”

You bite your lip to contain your smile when you see Alex’s nose flare and eye twitch at the little girl’s statement. Your fiancée swiftly gets up and slowly walks behind the couch, dragging her index finger along the backside of it.

“Well,” she murmurs, circling like a predator, “how would you feel if I got a kiss from Mommy?”

She gently tilts your chin, about to steal a kiss when Charlie’s little hands grab onto both of your cheeks and yanks your attention back to her.

“Mommy, look at me!”

You chuckle, placing a quick kiss on Charlie’s forehead. Alex, however, glares at her tiny nemesis.

The tall brunette eventually gives up and stomps upstairs with a loud groan.

“Where are you going?” You call after her.

“Somewhere where I’m actually wanted. Our bed!”

—

“Someone’s grumpy today.” Jaedyn mutters to a nodding Naomi, both watching Alex angrily kick a ball across the field.

“She’s been like this all week! Someone’s gotta do something.” Naomi sighs, shaking her head as Alex stomps off to get some water.

As practice continues, your fiancée’s frustration only seems to escalate. The rest of the team bears the brunt of her aggression: forceful passes, irritated groans, and an overall short fuse.

“What’s going on with that limp, Girma?” Casey asks, having noticed the discomfort of the defender the past few minutes.

“Just some tightness and cramping.” Naomi waves her hand in dismissal, but Casey quickly shakes her head and points to the tunnel.

“Go visit, Y/n, and get that kink sorted out. Can’t have my best player hurting.” The coach winks with a smile.

You're sorting through paperwork when a familiar figure appears at your door. You look up with a smile, tucking away some files before walking over to the exam chair where the girl is sat.

“Hey, Nay! What’s going on? Someone told me you were coming due to calf issues?” You ask, slipping on some rubber gloves for precaution.

“Umm, actually I’m feeling just fine. I came here to talk to you…about Alex.”

Your hands freeze mid-motion before you pull the gloves off, brows furrowing slightly.

“Oh.”

Naomi watches you with her lip tucked in between her teeth, wondering if she has intruded on something she shouldn’t have.

“Well what’s going on with Alex?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows

“I don’t mean to intrude, so if I am, please tell me. But she’s been grumpy all week, and today it’s even worse. I’m not sure if anything happened between you two or what’s going on because you both drive here together and look just fine.”

Inhaling, your eyes wander across the room wondering what could make your fiancée happy at home but grumpy here. Now that you think about it, your fiancée has been acting a little off at home, and maybe she’s concealing it more there because of Charlie.

“Nothing happened at home that I know of. Did she say anything or did someone say something before she got in this mood?” You question, attempting to get any information to help with this new found mystery.

“Huh, I never thought about that. Oh! Emily brought up Alex needing to get laid as a joke a few days ago.” Naomi rolls her eyes repeating the statement, realizing how blunt it sounds out loud.

And suddenly it clicks. Alex hasn’t been grumpy at home, she’s been clingy and pouty. You realize this Charlie clingy situation has been affecting her more than you thought, having barely any time for each other.

Naomi watches your mouth open and head tilt with a nod, signaling you may have figured out what’s wrong.

“I think I know exactly what’s going on.”

—

“Mommy, I don’t wanna go!” Charlie cries out, clinging onto your leg while Servando watches with an amused grin.

“Don’t you wanna spend time with daddy? He even said you can have ice cream before dinner!”

“I did?” He raises an eyebrow in confusion.

“Yes you did. Remember?” You smile with gritted teeth, nodding your head down at the little girl who is clinging so tight to your leg you feel like you’re losing circulation.

“Right! I remember now. Don’t you want ice cream with daddy, and maybe some Disney movies?” Servando extends his hand, watching Charlie peek her head out from your leg.

“I guess, but you promise you will miss me?” You almost melt at the question.

“I’ll miss you so, so much, my Charlie-girl. But you’re going to have so much fun, you might even forget about me for a little while!”

She gasps dramatically at the thought, eyes wide as if the idea is absurd. But after a moment of contemplation, she finally nods, letting Servando scoop her up. You send him a grateful smile, throwing in one more thank you before they head out.

Alex, however, has no idea about this little change of plans. Normally, Charlie would be home tonight, but realizing how little time you and your fiancée have had alone, you decided to surprise her.

And now, with the house empty and a rare moment to yourselves, you set the perfect mood.

Around an hour later, keys can be heard jingling at the door before Alex appears in the doorway. She hesitates, eyes narrowing as she notices the lack of light and sound in the house. It’s unusual. Normally, she’d be greeted by giggles, the hum of cartoons, or at the very least, your voice.

Her steps are slow and cautious as she makes her way through the house, not wanting to wake up what she figured was a two person nap. Once she finally makes her way up the stairs, her eyebrows raise at the dim light spilling through the crack of your bedroom door.

Pushing it open, she stops dead in her tracks.

“What’s going on here?” The striker asks, scanning the scene before her.

Candles flicker across the room, casting soft golden light. A trail of rose petals winds from the doorway to the perfectly made bed, the air thick with the scent of vanilla and jasmine.

Then her eyes land on you.

“Welcome home, baby.”

You step out from the shadows of the bathroom, wrapped in navy blue lace, the color that makes her weak. Two flutes of champagne rest in your hands as you slowly make your way to her, the sway of your hips hypnotizing.

Alex watches you with barely concealed hunger, placing her phone on the bedside table before sinking onto the edge of the mattress. You approach her with a sly grin and carefully straddle her lap, careful not to spill the liquid in the two glasses.

Flipping your hair to the side, you hand her one of the glasses. Alex takes it, fingers brushing over yours as her gaze lingers over your body.

“What’s this all for?” She asks, voice thick with curiosity.

“We haven’t had enough time to ourselves, so I figured I’d surprise you.” You hum, roaming your finger along her jawline.

“And Charlie?”

“With Servando.”

Alex exhales slowly, a smirk tugging at her lips as she sets both glasses aside. Her hands find your hips, fingers tracing the delicate lace, exploring every curve as she takes you in like a masterpiece.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Alex whispers with dreamy eyes.

“Maybe wished upon a star.” You tease with a smile, tilting your head.

She chuckles, but the sound is quickly swallowed when you lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss that turns desperate in seconds—needy, just like the two of you have been.

Alex’s grip tightens, her hands roaming with growing urgency. Whatever patience she had is long gone.

“Maybe I can make up for that morning that was interrupted a few days ago?” Your fiancée mumbles against your lips, voice dripping with lust.

“Just fuck me, Alex.”

[aleskie]

YOU DON'T NEED TO LIFT A FINGER | Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: When a guy just cannot get the hint, Jack makes sure to put him in his place. He's got your back. Always.

Warnings: none!! pure fluff and jack gets protective!! Full discloure, this is for realsies Fem!Reader!! Author's Note: This was supposed to come out a dayyyyys ago but Tumblr was NOT letting me post my drafts 😭😭 my poor therapist spent an hour watching me crash out about it najsjsshjjk

You were beautiful.

Of course you were.

In Jack’s eyes, you were the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth.

Which is why he understands why you get hit on. He really does. Hell, once upon a time, he was hitting on you. And he still hits on you, even now, years into the relationship, because you’re worth it. Because you light up rooms without even trying. Because he’s always been a sucker for the way you roll your eyes and smile at his cheesy attempts to be smooth with you.

You’re beautiful and smart and funny, and you’re so effortlessly charming—of course people would want you for themselves. He gets it. He really does. And honestly, there’s a part of him that loves it. He loves that people notice those qualities about you, that they see in you what he sees every day. It feels like validation, like the universe itself is confirming that he’s the luckiest guy alive. He basks in the knowledge that no matter how many people give you those hungry looks and shitty pick-up lines, he’s the one you're coming home with, his hand resting possessively on your hip as he gives all those people a smirk, his claim laid without him even lifting a finger.

What he doesn’t love is when people don’t take the damn hint.

And you give a lot of hints.

Take this guy right here—Dave, or Doug, or whatever his name is—He’d somehow wiggled his way into the booth you guys shared with your friends for a night out and, while he seemed harmless at first, he was now solely focused on you. And your legs that were highlighted by the body shimmer Jack helped put on you earlier tonight (his fingers still slightly shimmering to prove it—a badge of honor, in his opinion).

You’d been giving him that polite, fake smile since he joined in—the one Jack knows so well and that always makes him chuckle, the one you use when you’re being patient but are clearly not enjoying yourself—and you’ve barely paid him any attention, save for a few fake laughs and an “Oh, that sounds cool” every so often as Darren, or Dino, continues to brag about himself, not even trying to ask about you (a grave mistake, Jack thinks, since you were the most interesting person he knew).

Jack wonders if this guy even realizes you’ve been leaning against Jack this entire time, your head on his shoulder and his hand resting on your upper thigh, or if he’s chosen to ignore that in favor of trying (and failing) to shoot his shot. Better yet, does he even recognize Jack is here, drink untouched and jaw tightening as he watches Danny (or was it Dylan) lean in just a little too close?

Jack glances at you. You’re still handling it with grace, of course you are. You always do. But he knows you. He sees the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way you lean further against him to put some distance between you and Dexter, the way your fingers tighten around your glass, and he knows you’d rather not have to deal with this.

He shifts slightly and stands, leaning forward to smile at the intruder, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, Diego, right?” he says. His tone is casual, even pleasant, but there’s steel underneath it.

“It’s Dave, actua—”

Jack extends a hand, cutting through the guy’s attempt at small talk. “Right, yeah. Sorry to interrupt, but I think my girlfriend and I are gonna go dance now.”

He puts an emphasis on girlfriend, just to make sure this guy gets the point.

Jack gives you a soft look, the kind that makes your breath hitch just a little, and you immediately stand up, reaching for him. His arm wraps around you instinctively, his touch steady and familiar. You can already feel the tension in his body lessening now that he has you close, now that he’s leading you away from whatever-his-name-is and back into the safe, easy rhythm of you and him.

But before you can leave, the guy speaks again.

“Sorry, man, didn’t realize she was yours. You know how women are. With that dress and those legs, she was totally leading me on.”

Jack freezes.

For a second, the world seems to pause, almost like he couldn’t believe what was coming out of this guy’s mouth, like he didn’t want to believe anyone could be that stupid.

Slowly, he straightens, turning back toward the guy—Dave or Doug or whatever his name was—with a look so calm it’s almost serene. Too calm. And that’s how you know Jack is angry.

Not the playful kind of angry, where he pretends to pout when you steal the last fry or kiss him everywhere but his lips. Not the frustrated kind, like when he can’t find his keys for the third time that week or when he’s had a particularly bad game.

No, this is something deeper. Colder. Controlled.

His fingers graze your arm lightly, a small, grounding touch meant just for you. It’s subtle, but you know what it means. I’ve got this. You don’t need to lift a finger.

Jack tilts his head ever so slightly. “You wanna say that again?” His voice is so even it borders on soft, a quiet thing wrapped in steel.

Dave—or Dino or Darryl—seems to think Jack is inviting him to elaborate, which is perhaps the worst decision he’s made all night.

“I’m just saying, y’know,” Dave shrugs, his tone shifting to something almost conspiratorial, like he thinks Jack might actually agree with him if he just explains it better. “When women dress like that, you can’t blame a guy for—”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need you to shut up before I do something we both regret.”

Jack doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. The weight of his words alone is enough to send a ripple of silence through the space between them.

Dave blinks, the beginning stages of intimidation creeping onto his face. He glances at you, as if expecting backup, but you’re already leaning back against the wall, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised as you watch Jack dismantle him.

There’s a small smirk on your lips. Because this? This was a sight you didn’t get to see in public too often.

Many times, people assumed your lovely boyfriend—so easygoing, so effortlessly charming—would lack the sharpness to cut someone down when needed, would stick to uhmms and ahhhs and crassnes.

They mistook his laid-back nature for passivity, his warmth for softness. But you knew better. Your Jack could be quite a wonder with words when he wanted to be. He didn’t need to be loud to command attention. He didn’t need to throw a punch to land a hit.

So you hang back and let him handle this one, finding comfort in the thought of his arms around you later, his breath warm against your ear as you danced the rest of the night away.

“Listen, buddy,” Jack continues, stepping closer. His tone is light, almost conversational, but there’s no mistaking the edge beneath it. “You don’t talk to anyone like that. You definitely don’t get to talk to her like that. You hear me?”

“God, c’mon, man! No need to get all—”

“I already told you to shut up.” Jack’s scowl deepens. His words are slow, deliberate. “The fact that she was polite enough to give you the slightest bit of attention doesn’t mean she was hitting on you. Whatever you thought was going on tonight? Not an invitation.”

Dave—Dino? Derek?—opens his mouth, probably to dig himself into an even deeper hole, but stops when Jack leans in slightly, just enough to make his presence feel heavier. Like a storm cloud about to break.

“She’s kind,” Jack says, voice quieter now, deadlier. “So she tolerated you. But she doesn’t owe you a fucking thing.”

The last of Dave’s bravado starts to crumble. His shoulders inch inward, his gaze flickering around the booth, searching for an exit, for reinforcements—for anything that might save him from this moment.

Jack watches him for a second longer, then exhales sharply, like he’s already bored. “You think being desperate and cocky gets you the girl,” he says, shaking his head. “But I don’t need any of that to keep her by my side.” His fingers brush against yours, finding their place like they always do. “And we don’t need to waste any more time entertaining douchebags like you.”

Jack steps back, his hand sliding fully into yours as he finally tears his gaze from Daniel? Don?—who cares?—and looks at you instead. The shift is immediate, his features easing, the sharpness in his eyes softening into something familiar. Something yours.

“Let’s go, babe,” he says simply, his voice lighter now, more like himself.

And just like that, the moment is over.

As you stand, letting Jack guide you away from the booth, you hear Dave mutter something under his breath—something weak and defensive that doesn’t deserve acknowledgment. It’s the kind of parting shot people throw out when they know they’ve lost. Neither of you glance back.

The music swells around you, the bass thrumming beneath your feet, but Jack doesn’t lead you straight to the dance floor. Instead, he pulls you toward a quieter corner, away from the crowd, where the lights are dimmer, the world a little smaller.

He exhales, then wordlessly nestles his head in the crook of your shoulder.

You smile, running your fingers through his hair, your nails lightly grazing his scalp. He sighs at the touch, his arms slipping around your waist as he lets himself melt into you for just a moment. You press a soft kiss to his hair, breathing him in, grounding both of you in something steady, something real.

After a beat, he tilts his head up, a sheepish grin playing at his lips. “Did I go overboard?”

You roll your eyes fondly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You were absolutely perfect,” you murmur, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

His grin widens, boyish and bright, and just like that, the weight of the night lifts. He tugs you closer, his arm tightening around your waist as he starts to sway you to the music. You laugh as he spins you unexpectedly, sneaking in kisses between the DJ’s transitions, his lips catching your temple, your jaw, the curve of your shoulder.

The man who bothered you is forgotten. The tension, the sharp edges of the night—gone.

All that’s left is this. You and him and the music. The warmth of his hands on you, the sound of your laughter melting together, the rest of the world fading into nothing.

[mingi-s-dimples]

Accidentally Roommates - Yunho

~"Best friend's brother with yunho × reader- where reader has intense crush on her besties brother. She's so flustered whenever around him but never dreams of making it obvious, it would be mortifying. Especially because she's insecure about her appearance and thinks he's way out of her league. You could say shes the nerdy type while hes the this popular, attractive athlete. Not cliche in any way, slow, gut wrenching build. I want just the right amount of angst especially because she sees him with other girls a lot. And then it dips into fluff and sweet smut. Plot twist he ends up living with them for a few months which complicates things and her feelings as she tries to avoid him and not make her crush obvious."

pairing: yunho x fem!reader

genre, 18+, college au

summary: your roommate ends up being no one but your absolutely handsome crush.. and this switch is caused by your bestie, which does you good in the end.

wc: 4.6k

warnings: college au, sweet smut, making love, slight bulge kink, slight size kink, a lot of kissing and making out, reader is kinda insecure about herself, athlete x need typa shit, protected (we cheer in unison), forced proximity, friends to lovers, sweet love, lots of praising, completely consensual, for sure forgot something, might edit later.

Author's Note: heyy sooo this came oit sweeter than expected wusjsujs but my reader wanted it to be sweet smut so I guess it works 🤞🏻 i've never been this gentle in my fics ngl 💀😂 but hey it's a fresh breath of air (an absolute menace and filthy fic with jongho coming next week stay tuned), i hope you like it ml! 💖💖💖

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way!

You knew moving into the dorms for your second year of university would be an adjustment. What you didn’t expect was walking into your new room, suitcase in hand, only to find Yunho standing there, shirtless, with a towel slung over his shoulder.

Your best friend’s brother.

Your secret crush since forever.

And, apparently, your new roommate.

“Oh, hey,” Yunho grinned, running a hand through his damp hair as if this was the most natural thing in the world. “Took you long enough.”

You just stood there, staring, struggling to breathe, your brain short-circuiting at the sight of him in your shared space. “W-What are you doing here?” you finally managed to stammer.

Yunho cocked his head, amused. “You mean in my room?”

His room?

Your stomach dropped. There had to be a mistake.

But before you could process, your phone buzzed.

**[Bestie]: Okay, don’t freak out.

[Bestie]: Sooo... I *might* have switched rooms with you.

[Bestie]: I really wanted to live with Alex [her bf] aaaand Yunho didn’t care so—surprise… I guess?**

Surprise.

You wanted to scream.

Your best friend had traded you like a deck of playing cards, leaving you to share a room with her ridiculously hot, athletic, popular older brother—the same one who made your heart race every time he looked at you.

You could barely function around Yunho in casual group settings. How the hell were you supposed to live with him?

“Oh,” you mumbled, still gripping your phone, voice embarrassingly small. “I—uh. I didn’t know.”

Yunho just smiled, so effortlessly relaxed. “Yeah, I figured. She was too scared to tell you in person.”

Of course she was.

He nodded toward your suitcase. “Well, since you’re here, might as well unpack. I don’t bite.”

That was debatable.

Because being near Yunho always felt like standing too close to a flame.

And now, there was no escape.

—

Days turned into weeks, and you slowly fell into a routine. Yunho was surprisingly easy to live with—clean, respectful, easygoing.

But the problem wasn’t Yunho.

The problem was you.

Because you were hopelessly in love with him.

And every single day in this room was pure torture.

You’d sit at your desk, desperately pretending to study, while Yunho lounged on his bed, scrolling through his phone or tossing a baseball between his hands, his stupidly muscular forearms on full display.

Some nights, he’d come back from practice, sweaty and breathless, shaking his damp hair out before stripping off his hoodie like it was nothing.

Like he wasn’t ruining your life.

And then there were the girls.

Because, of course, girls flocked to Yunho.

And why wouldn’t they? He was tall, insanely attractive, the star athlete everyone adored.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. He wasn’t yours to be jealous over.

But it still stung.

Every time you overheard a flirtatious giggle over the phone. Every time you saw him talking to some gorgeous girl in the cafeteria. Every time he left the dorm late at night and came back with his hair messy, lips bitten.

You hated it.

You hated how much you cared.

And worst of all? Yunho noticed.

Yunho wasn’t stupid.

He noticed everything.

How your fingers tensed when he stood too close. How you bit your lip whenever he walked around shirtless after practice. How you refused to meet his gaze whenever another girl’s name popped up on his phone screen.

And Yunho, being Yunho, decided to have fun with it.

"You’re bad at hiding things, you know," he mused one evening, leaning lazily against your desk while you pretended to focus on your laptop.

Your fingers froze on the keyboard. “Hiding what?”

He tilted his head, grinning like he knew a secret.

“You tell me.”

You swallowed, refusing to take the bait. “Go away, Yunho.”

“Why?” he asked, all mock innocence. “Am I distracting you?”

Yes. Painfully.

But you weren’t about to admit that.

So, instead, you rolled your eyes, keeping your attention firmly on your screen. “I have an exam.”

“Right, right,” Yunho nodded, before casually hooking a finger under your chin, tilting your face up to his.

Your breath hitched.

His eyes burned into yours,

amusement flickering beneath something darker.

“Then why do you always get so nervous when I’m near?” he murmured.

You opened your mouth—nothing came out.

Because what the hell were you supposed to say to that?*

Yunho let out a low chuckle, thumb barely grazing your skin before he pulled away, pleased with himself.

“See?” he smirked, walking off like it was nothing.

Like he hadn’t just set your entire body on fire.

And that’s when you knew.

He wasn’t just teasing you.

He was waiting.

Waiting for you to finally break.

—

It started as a normal evening.

You sat at your desk, typing away, lost in your usual routine. Glasses perched on your nose, a silk blouse draped over your frame, tiny silk shorts barely covering your thighs. Hair tied in a messy bun.

You didn’t think much of it.

But Yunho did.

Because when you glanced up, you caught him staring.

Not his usual teasing glance.

A real, lingering, dark stare.

Something in his expression shifted.

“Yunho?” you asked cautiously.

He blinked, shaking his head slightly. “Huh?”

“You’re staring.”

His lips curled into something wicked.

“Can you blame me?” he murmured, voice lower, rougher.

Your breath hitched.

“What?”

Yunho leaned forward, resting his hands on your desk, invading your space.

“You look good,” he said, tone slow, deliberate.

Your stomach flipped.

His eyes dragged over your frame, slowly, like he was committing every inch to memory.

“I—uh—” You swallowed hard, completely losing your train of thought.

Yunho exhaled sharply, then let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“Fuck it,” he muttered.

And then—he kissed you.

Not a hesitant, testing-the-waters kiss.

A deep, slow, searing kiss.

Like he’d been holding back for too damn long.

Your mind short-circuited. Your body froze before melting into him, his lips coaxing yours apart, the warmth of his hands branding your skin.

Every suppressed feeling, every stolen glance, every bottled-up longing between you—

It all unraveled at once.

And you were helpless to stop it.

The moment Yunho kissed you, the world seemed to tilt.

His lips crashed into yours, warm and desperate, like he had been holding himself back for too long and couldn’t stand it anymore. His hands found your waist first, fingers pressing into the silk of your blouse like he wanted to memorize the shape of you. Then, his palms roamed—one sliding up your back, the other gripping your hip, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left between your bodies.

You gasped.

He took advantage of it, deepening the kiss, groaning softly into your mouth as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shorts, gripping your bare thigh.

You shivered.

It was too much.

Too good.

Your heart pounded so violently it hurt. His scent—clean, warm, intoxicating—filled your senses, making your mind foggy as his lips moved against yours, slow but needy, like he was savoring every second.

Like he was starving for you.

But then—the doubt crept in.

Why you?

He could have any girl he wanted. He did have any girl he wanted.

And yet, here he was. With you.

It didn’t make sense.

What if this was just another conquest for him?

What if you were just another girl he’d grow bored of the next morning?

Panic surged through you, and suddenly, you were pulling away.

"Yunho, wait," you gasped, pushing against his chest.

He stilled instantly, panting, eyes dark and glazed over with something deep—but he let you go.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, voice hoarse.

You swallowed hard, hating yourself for what you were about to say.

“This—” You gestured between you two, still breathless. “I just… I don’t know if this is—if I’m—”

Yunho’s brows furrowed. "If you’re what?"

You took a deep breath, looking anywhere but his face.

"I don’t want to be just some girl to you."

Silence.

Yunho’s jaw tensed.

“You think that’s all you are?”

You let out a bitter chuckle, wrapping your arms around yourself.

"Come on, Yunho. Look at me." You motioned to yourself—small, shy, nothing like the girls that usually clung to him. "And then look at you."

His lips parted slightly, as if in disbelief.

"You’re…" You hesitated, then sighed. "You’re too handsome. Too popular. Too out of my league."

A muscle in Yunho’s jaw ticked.

He hated that.

Hated that you thought so little of yourself.

Hated that you saw him as something unreachable, when all he had ever wanted was you.

"That’s bullshit." His voice was lower now, tinged with something raw, something that made your stomach twist.

Your breath caught when he stepped closer, his fingers brushing along your jaw, gentle but firm.

“You think I want just anyone?” he murmured. “You think I’d do this with just anyone?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

His thumb traced your cheek, eyes locked onto yours with something so deep, so intense that your knees almost gave out.

“You don’t even realize how fucking beautiful you are, do you?” His voice was soft, yet aching.

Your stomach flipped.

“Yunho—”

He cut you off, tilting your chin up, kissing you again.

And this time, you didn’t resist.

Because you believed him.

Because maybe, just maybe, he had wanted you all along.

When he pulled back from the kiss, Yunho’s fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to look at him. His eyes burned with something deep, something that made your chest feel too tight.

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice was softer now, but still rough with restraint.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

"You think you’re out of my league?" He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. "God, if only you knew."

His thumb traced along your bottom lip, his touch delicate, reverent.

"I’ve spent so long trying to keep my distance," he admitted. "Telling myself you were off-limits. That I had no right to want you the way I do." His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "But it didn’t matter. I still wanted you."

You blinked up at him, heart racing.

His voice dropped even lower, barely above a whisper.

"I still want you."

A shiver ran down your spine.

"You don’t even see yourself, do you?" Yunho’s fingers slid into your hair, cupping the back of your head. "You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. Every damn time you look at me, I feel like I’m coming apart."

Your stomach twisted, heat creeping up your neck.

"Every guy on campus watches you, you know that?" His grip on you tightened, his breath hot against your skin. "But they don’t get to have you. They never will. Because I’m the one who’s going to have you."

Your breath hitched.

"I don’t want anyone else, sweetheart." His lips brushed against yours, not quite a kiss, but almost. "I only want you."

And this time, when he kissed you, you didn’t pull away.

Because how could you?

The kiss deepened, and this time, you met him with just as much eagerness, fingers threading through his hair as you pressed yourself closer, needing more. His lips molded to yours with a gentle hunger, the kind that made your heart race and your body tremble.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was uneven, and there was a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes were dark, filled with longing, and for the first time, you could feel it—how deeply he desired you.

"God," Yunho murmured, his voice hushed and thick with emotion. "You’re so beautiful… I can’t even begin to describe how much you’ve been driving me crazy." His hands moved to your waist, holding you close, eyes roving over your face, drinking you in.

He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing softly over your skin, before he spoke again, voice low and sincere. "I…I want to make love to you," he said, his gaze searching for yours, his words carrying an intensity that made your breath catch. "But not just because of how you look… it’s because I want to show you how much I love everything about you. Your heart, your mind, your body…"

You felt your cheeks flush, heart beating wildly in your chest. Was he serious? Did he really want that with you?

Yunho smiled softly when he saw the nervousness in your eyes, leaning down to kiss your forehead gently, almost reverently. "I’ve loved your personality from the very first moment I met you," he continued, voice tinged with admiration and something deeper, more possessive. "But when I saw you tonight, with your glasses on, hair in that bun, and wearing that silk set… I swear I’ve never wanted anything more." He ran his thumb along your lip, his touch like fire. "You were so sexy, so… effortlessly beautiful. It’s been driving me wild, wondering if you even realized how incredible you are."

You swallowed hard, the mix of his words and touch leaving you dizzy, your shyness making you hesitant but the desire inside you growing stronger with every second. You knew how vulnerable you were right now, but with him looking at you like that, you couldn’t help but feel desirable in ways you never had before.

"Yes," you whispered shyly, voice barely audible but full of desire, a blush creeping across your cheeks. "I want you, Yunho."

His eyes softened, and a low, appreciative hum left him as he leaned in again, kissing you with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine. When he pulled back, he slowly reached up and took the glasses off your face, his gaze lingering on you as though he were savoring every detail.

With a quiet, almost reverent smile, Yunho gently lifted you into his arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours.

He paused for a moment, forehead resting against yours as he breathed deeply. "You’re mine now," he whispered softly, his hands trailing down your back. "And I’m going to show you just how much I need you."

The soft smile on his lips was gentle but possessive, the way he held you close spoke volumes, and you melted against him, unable to resist. Yunho was everything you had imagined and more—strong, protective, tender—and now, he was yours.

Yunho’s patience had been tested enough. The second he closed the door behind him, he knew he was done. No more restraint. No more slow, teasing build-up. His control was shattered—he wanted you. Now.

He pulled you onto the bed with a swift motion, his hands grasping your waist and lifting you gently, his lips pressing against your neck, murmuring low praises. But as soon as he stood up, his gaze was unwavering as he looked at you, consuming you with his eyes.

You felt small, almost overwhelmed under his intense stare, the hunger in his eyes so palpable that it made your chest tighten. Yunho was towering over you, all power and confidence. His shirt was the first thing to go, discarded carelessly onto the floor as his muscular chest was revealed in the dim golden light of the bedroom.

You were breathless. His presence was intoxicating—his eyes never leaving yours as he took in your every detail. You felt so vulnerable, yet so incredibly desired. Your heart raced as he stood in front of you, almost like he was taking his time, savoring the moment before he finally spoke.

"Can I continue?" Yunho’s voice was a low, husky growl, the kind that made your legs weak and your pulse quicken.

"Y-Yes," you whispered, the simple word barely escaping your lips as you stared up at him, feeling smaller under his gaze.

His smile was feral. "I can’t hold back anymore."

With that, his hands moved with unrestrained urgency, undoing the buttons of your blouse. He pulled the fabric off you, exposing your smooth, glowing skin to him under the dim light. His eyes darkened as they traced every curve of your body, mesmerized by the sight of you.

You shivered at the intensity of his stare, feeling completely exposed in front of him. Yunho leaned down slightly, brushing his lips over your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. "You’re so fucking beautiful," he murmured, cursing under his breath as he took in the sight of you.

The silk blouse was discarded, leaving you in nothing but your delicate silk shorts. Yunho’s eyes locked on your lower half, and with a low growl, he removed the shorts, his hands trembling slightly as he pulled them off your legs, revealing your bare skin.

His gaze flicked back to your face, his breath hitching as he took in how vulnerable and perfect you looked, completely at his mercy. His chest rose and fell with every deep breath he took, fighting to maintain control, but it was clear he was already losing the battle.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath. "You’re killing me."

Yunho quickly discarded his pants, and as he stood there, you saw the bulge in his briefs, straining and growing more impatient by the second. You swallowed hard, feeling your breath catch in your throat. You knew what was coming, and the anticipation made your heart race.

He took a step closer, his hands resting on either side of you, trapping you in the bed, his dark eyes never leaving yours. "Hey," he said softly, his voice oddly tender despite the urgency in the air, "it’s okay. I’ll take care of you."

And you knew, deep down, that he meant it. Yunho was here to make you feel everything. And more. He wasn’t going to let you go until he had shown you just how much he wanted you.

He climbed over you in the bed and his lips trailed down your neck again, each kiss deliberate, deep, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His hands moved with purpose, exploring your skin with a tenderness that contrasted the desperate hunger in his touch. As he kissed you, his hands slid from your waist to your thighs, drawing slow circles that made you gasp softly.

The praise he had showered on you earlier filled your mind, emboldening you, making you feel seen, making you feel wanted. It was a new sensation, the weight of his words settling into your chest, making you feel lighter yet more grounded at the same time. Slowly, your hand moved from his hair to the smooth expanse of his back. The muscles beneath your fingers rippled with each shift he made, making your heart race.

His body felt so close, so perfect against yours, and with newfound boldness, your other hand drifted down, feeling the tautness of his abs as they contracted beneath your touch. Your fingers hovered near his waistband, just over the bulge that was still pressed tightly against the fabric of his briefs. You could feel the heat radiating from him, and before you even realized it, your fingers brushed over his hard cock.

Yunho’s breath hitched slightly, his eyes darkening as he met your gaze. “Mh?” he murmured, curiosity and desire mixed in his voice.

You hesitated for only a moment, but the way he looked at you, with all that intensity, made you forget your doubts. You felt a momentary surge of confidence. Slowly, you moved your hand away and met his gaze, feeling a rush of warmth flood your chest as you realized the effect you had on him.

Yunho chuckled softly, a knowing smile curving his lips as he looked down at the way your hand lingered. His fingers moved to your waistband, gently peeling your panties away, his touch reverent. His hands were steady, each movement laced with affection and desire.

Then, with equal care, you slid his briefs off, your breath catching as you glimpsed him fully for the first time. The sight made your pulse race, but his touch was always gentle, always considerate. He reached out, his hand brushing your hair away from your face, a soft smile on his lips as he whispered, “You’re so beautiful.”

Every word felt like a balm to your soul, washing away any doubts, any insecurities. The connection between you both was undeniable, and the tenderness in his voice only made it feel deeper. Yunho leaned in, pressing his forehead gently against yours, eyes closing as he exhaled softly.

“I want to take care of you, to show you just how much you mean to me,” he murmured, his voice low, thick with emotion.

You smiled softly, your heart pounding in your chest as you nodded, feeling his love surrounding you in ways words could never fully express. He kissed you again, slow and sweet, savoring the moment as if he never wanted it to end.

Yunho’s hands traced the curve of your hips, his touch igniting a warmth that spread through your entire body. His lips brushed against yours, soft and lingering, as if he were memorizing the feel of you. When he pulled back slightly, his dark eyes searched yours, filled with a mixture of desire and adoration.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his voice rough yet tender, “if you want this as much as I do.”

Your breath hitched, your heart racing as you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

The word seemed to unravel something in him. His hands tightened ever so slightly on your waist, and he pressed his forehead to yours again, his breath mingling with yours. He murmured, his voice trembling with emotion. “I’ll always cherish you.”

With deliberate care, Yunho shifted and took a condom out of his private nightstand. Your eyes widened at the sight of the unopened box of condoms, making you think he'd gotten them just for you. His body aligned with yours right afger he slid it on. His hands guided you gently, his touch reverent as he positioned his cock right between your wet folds. The first brush of contact drew a soft, involuntary moan from your lips, the sound escaping like a secret you hadn’t meant to share. His eyes darkened at the sound, his gaze locking onto yours as he stilled, giving you a moment to adjust.

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “So perfect.”

The air between you was electric, charged with a longing that had been building for what felt like an eternity. Yunho’s movements were deliberate, each touch designed to make you feel cherished, adored. He thrusted in slowly, his hands steady and reassuring, as if he were handling something infinitely precious.

Yunho’s movements began with a slow rhythm, each thrust measured and tender, as if he were savoring every second of this connection. His hands roamed your body, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, before settling on your hips to guide you gently against him. Your own hands explored the expanse of his back, fingers skimming over the taut muscles that flexed with every movement. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer until his lips met yours in a kiss that was both desperate and tender.

His breath grew ragged, his voice roughening with each passing moment. “You feel… incredible,” he murmured against your lips, his words breaking into a low groan as he deepened the kiss. The sound of his voice, coarse and filled with need, sent a shiver through you, your body responding with a surge of warmth that made your breath catch.

Your whines escaped in soft, breathy gasps, rising from your chest as the pleasure built within you. Each thrust of his hips sent sparks coursing through your veins, the intensity of the moment overwhelming yet perfect. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, and he answered with a kiss, his hands tightening ever so slightly on your hips.

The rhythm between you grew more urgent, yet Yunho never lost that tenderness, his movements still filled with reverence. You could feel the tension coiling within you, your body trembling as you neared the edge. “Yunho,” you whispered shyly, your voice trembling, “I’m… I’m close.”

He groaned softly, his forehead pressing against yours as he nodded. “Me too,” he admitted, his voice strained but gentle. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

His words were all the encouragement you needed. The pleasure crested, crashing over you in waves as your body shuddered beneath his. Your walls clenched around him, drawing a low, guttural curse from his lips. He stilled for a moment, his breath hitching as he fought to hold on, but the sensation was too much. With a final, shuddering thrust, he followed you over the edge, his body trembling as he buried his face in the crook of your neck and his cock deep down your cunt.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the only sound the shared rhythm of your breathing. Yunho’s hands gently caressed your back, his touch soothing as he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice still rough but filled with warmth. “So amazing.”

Yunho stayed close, his body still draped over yours as his breathing slowly steadied. His hands moved gently, brushing strands of hair from your face before he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice warm and tender, his eyes searching yours with concern.

You nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “More than okay,” you whispered, your fingers tracing idle patterns along his shoulder. “That was… perfect.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and content, before rolling onto his side and pulling you into his arms. His touch was soothing, his fingers trailing lightly up and down your back as he held you close. “You’re perfect,” he corrected, his voice filled with affection. “I’m just lucky to be here with you.”

You nestled into his chest, savoring the warmth of his embrace and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. The world felt quiet, peaceful, as if nothing else mattered but the two of you in this moment. But then, the sharp buzz of your phone on the nightstand shattered the silence.

You groaned, reluctantly reaching for it. “Who could that be?” you muttered, squinting at the screen. It was a text from your best friend, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh my god, what does she want now?”

Yunho raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Your bestie?” he asked, his tone teasing. “Or whatever she is, she did the best thing by moving in with her boyfriend.”

You blinked, turning to look at him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, his smirk widening. “Because now I finally get to show you how much I love you without any interruptions.” His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “And trust me, I plan on doing that a lot.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you set your phone back down. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, though the warmth in your chest betrayed how much his words meant to you.

“Maybe,” he admitted, pulling you back into his arms. “But I’m yours.”

You sighed contentedly, resting your head against his chest once more. The world outside could wait. For now, all that mattered was the man holding you, the love in his touch, and the promise of countless moments like this to come.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

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[wileys-russo]

Hi my darlin, love your brain, could we possibly see something in the Mila universe please? Maybe reader and Leah “i want mama” or young Mila as a Velcro baby? Ily queen

another lil part of the milaverse

like velcro II l.williamson

leah at first thought she was dreaming, a strange stinging in her cheek as she dozed in and out, not quite awake just yet but not in the same deep state of slumber she was in moments before.

then again, a sudden sting that had her eyes fluttering open, a tired grunt leaving her lips as she felt something poking at her now, blinking tiredly and rolling over onto her side.

"five more minutes babe." the defender mumbled assuming her wife was the culprit, some rustling heard behind her before something tugged on her hair and her eyes shot open again, stretching her neck to glance over her shoulder.

"well good morning trouble." the blonde chuckled at the curious bright blue eyes and cheeky grin which greeted her, her two year old daughter wedged between the pillows.

"oh mila." leah grimaced as there was another little smack to her cheek and a tug on her hair. making a noise not unlike a wild animal her daughter launched herself on top of the blonde who rolled onto her back, the toddler now sat on her stomach.

"no no, no more of that please." she caught the tiny hands which swung toward her, the two year old pouting and trying to pull them free. "give!" she chirped with a frown as leah shook her head and kept her grip.

"excuse me. some help?" leah scoffed seeing you sat up in bed reading a book, entirely unbothered by the assault being rained down on her by the toddler you'd clearly collected and brought back to bed with you, a coffee sat steaming on the bedside table.

"no i think you've got this one, considering you refused to get up last night." you responded calmly, ghost of a smile on your lips as you didn't even look up from your book at her request.

"well you're her favourite, even if i went she wouldn't have gone back to sleep without- ah shit." leah hissed, mila's little pinky finding its way into the small hoop pierced into the top of her ear and pulling sharply.

"shit! shit! shit!" the two year old parroted with a grin and at that you looked up. "congratulations darling, you taught her a new word!" your eyes rolled, snapping your book shut and placing it down atop the table by your side.

"come here you." little giggles rang out as you grabbed the toddler, moving to sit her back down in between the pair of you. "no shit. shit is a bad word. bad word!" you spoke calmly but clearly, leah repeating the same words after you until mila nodded.

"bad word!" she chirped, lurching forward to pinch and squeeze your wifes cheeks. "bad word! bad word!" she sung out as leah grimaced but managed a smile.

"bubba! cartoons?" leah attempted to distract her, mila nodding enthusiastically as your wife sat up, swinging the girl onto her hip and pretending to drop her as giggles rang out and you smiled.

"walk!" mila prodded the blondes shoulder who placed her back down on the ground, the smaller blonde zooming off to the living room, sock covered feet thumping against the floorboards.

"you not coming?" leah frowned, hovering in the doorway as you made no move to get up, quite the opposite actually as you got comfortable, pulling the duvet up closer around you.

"nope. you can handle breakfast!" you sent her a smile as the girl scoffed. "i handle breakfast, i get smacked around as a wake up call, i-" leah began to list off on her fingers as you raised an eyebrow before interrupting.

"-you leave your dirty socks everywhere. you don't wash up. you can't cook. you're as much of a toddler as our daughter some days. you're a bad loser, an insufferable winner, you can't let anyone else beat you. shall i go on?" you challenged, leahs mouth snapping shut as she shook her head.

"no. point made." the blonde gave you a tight lip smile as you hummed, clearing your throat as she went to leave, tapping your lips expectantly. "oh so now i'm not so horrible yeah?" leah mocked slinking back over.

"well i married you didn't i?" you teased in between kisses as leah pulled a face and playfully bit your cheek before pushing herself back up and leaving you to your own devices.

well, for a few minutes.

"no! want mama! mama! mama!" "baabe!"

~

"well hello cheeky. look at you in your little arsenal jersey!" jen greeted the toddler who almost had you in a headlock as you carried her in, tickling your daughters stomach who hid her face in your neck to stiffle her giggles.

"mummys little gooner." leah beamed proudly, tugging down on the top which of course had little williamson splashed across the back. "mamas gooner!" milas head popped back up and scowled at leah as jen whistled and stepped away.

"what! i thought that was our thing? mila!" your wife scoffed with outrage as the toddler stuck her tongue out and rested her head on your shoulder, grip on you tightening even more.

the season hadn't quite started yet but today was a media day for some of the new signings and most of the senior team, both you and leah requesting a later call in knowing how long a morning routine with a clingy toddler took.

and clingy was the right word.

it had started a couple of weeks ago but you and leah didn't see too many issues with it at first, your daughter suddenly wanting you around for nearly every little thing, though at that point she was happy for leah to be there too.

only more recently it would seem this little clingy phase had blown up into territorial jealousy, the toddler in timeout only last night for biting leah when she attempted to kiss you hello after returning from seeing her mum.

but that was nothing compared to the humiliation of trying to drop her off at daycare this morning, both you and leah in agreement the day would go smoother without mila under everyones feet, and even though the pair of you had been around almost constantly in the off season, that was due to change soon.

but with the two year old screaming louder than you thought even remotely possible with such a small body, to save everyones eardrums you'd quickly abandoned that idea, well aware you were pretty much rewarding her tantrum as you packed her back into the car and she was suddenly bright and smiley again.

the velcro stage your mum had called it when you'd rang her up to ask for some advice, pushing that as hard as it was you and leah needed to learn not to give in when she kicked off, and that it was better off addressed early on and not once it had gotten even worse.

but that of course all went out the window as your best friend arrived, cooing at her goddaughter and trying to grab her for a cuddle as was always the case with the striker being one of milas favourite people in the entire world.

today was not a day where that was the case though, and once again it seemed you were the only person mila wanted to do anything with, tightening her grip around your neck and refusing to let go as alessia tried to coax her into a hug.

"join the club!" your wife rolled her eyes as alessia gave up and you shot her a glare and continued to try and pull your socks up with a wiggly two year old strapped to you like a backpack.

"maybe she wants her aunty wally! i think they saved you some of the special chocolate milk this morning mila. should we go get it?" lia tried next, crouching down with a wide smile as the tiny blonde shook her head.

"only if mama go." the girl grumbled, head tucked into your neck as you sighed, hearing them call for you and alessia for an interview with sky sports.

"mil, babe mama has to go and speak to some people. can you please stay with aunty wally? mama will be right back!" you tried, mila shaking her head and locking her arms around you like a vice as you tried to pull her off.

"mila. please let go? mama needs to work." you spoke calmly, wincing as tiny hands wound themselves into your ponytail for extra leverage. "no! want mama. stay with mama." the toddler huffed stubbornly, kicking away leah when she tried to help.

"come on bubba. we can go find aunty steph? look at some pictures of calvy?" leah cooed, the fluffy four legged furball one of your daughters favourite things in the whole world, spending hours running around stephs house chasing him from the moment she could walk.

"no calvy. mama!" mila snapped, growling at leah to attempted to unwind your daughters hands from your hair. "hey! you are not a dog. no growling!" leah warned, mila poking her tongue out and holding on tighter, leah grabbing her ankles and not trying to physically pull her off you.

"ow ow ow leah she's still attached. she's still attached!" you winced as your daughter dug her little fingernails in your shoulder and back, desperate to cling on as your wife let go with an annoyed huff.

this was going to be a long day.

~

"you know people are going to think you've left when you're not in any media content for like three months." your wife teased quietly as she pulled up in the driveway and you pulled a face at her.

"my neck is killing me." you exhaled tiredly, rubbing it with a grimace from where your toddler had hung off of it all day, only finally letting you go to do two interviews when she'd finally passed out from exhaustion, curling up on alessia's lap instead of yours.

thankfully her day of tantrums and clingy behavior had tired her out enough that she'd slept the whole way home, thumb in her mouth which was another thing you and leah needed to wean her off of, but one battle at a time.

though she wasn't tired enough to grumble grumpily at leah who tried to lift her from the carseat, a quiet grunt for you all it took for the blonde to raise her hands in defeat, an apologetic kiss pressed to her lips before she moved to grab the bags.

"mama." mila mumbled tiredly as you hummed, lifting her out of the car seat and once again she clung on tightly, eyes still closed and thumb tucked securely in her mouth as you made your way up the driveway.

"you know she loves you baby, its just a phase." you assured leah, not missing the envious side she tossed your way as she was unlocking the front door to let you all in.

"yeah i know. she just loves you more." leah mumbled with a huff, disappearing into your shared bedroom while you headed off down to mila's.

"okay bubba, nap time." you sighed tiredly, trying to detach your daughter to lay her down in bed, hoping she'd sleep for another hour or two considering her nightmare had kept her up last night.

"want mama." mila exhaled sleepily, half asleep but with the grip strength of a monkey as you tried to pry her off to no avail, the two year old once more strapped securely to your chest.

but after a day of tantrums and arguing proceeding a night filled with tears and screaming, you had to admit you could feel your eyes getting a little heavy too.

"okay mil, five minutes." you gave in and moved to lay down on her bed, the two year old curling into your side, tiny fists bunching at the arsenal jersey still adorning your top as if you could disappear at a moments notice.

you had almost fully dozed off despite the way your limbs hung off the tiny bed, much too long for the kids single you were laid on, when you heard the door scuff against the carpet.

cracking one eye open your wifes head popped in, the defender unable to stop the small smile curling into her features at the sight before her.

"tired are we babe?" the blonde whispered moving a little closer as you hummed, puckering your lips expectantly as leah chuckled but ducked down to kiss you none the less.

a few more sweet pecks and leah was taking a step back before mila stirred beside you, blinking sleepily. "want mummy." the two year old spoke up groggily, leahs head whipping around as she did.

"mummy." mila repeated, a small grunt leaving you as the two year old pulled herself up on top of you, leaving the tinest of gaps for leah on the single bed you were laid on.

none the less the blonde was beside you in an instant, the pair of you squished together awkwardly, mila letting go of you with one hand which then promptly latched onto leah, and in a blink she was sleeping soundly again tucked up between you both.

"little nap, then i'll get a start on dinner." your wife whispered as you gave her an odd look. "cooking it?" you questioned quietly as your wife grinned.

"nah, picking what takeout we order."

[uranometrias]

isn't that sweet, i guess so, aaron hotchner

summary: in which you reunite with your big sister's best friend, aaron hotchner for the first time since you graduated high school, and headed off to university. the last time you'd seen him you'd been a seventeen year old with a massive crush, now you were a special agent with doctorates and degrees. when the BAU is paired up with your unit during a case, you find that unit chief aaron is completely different from the aaron you'd looked up to growing up, but for good reason. one thing that never seemed to change though, is how he seems to know you better than anyone else, which is unlucky for you considering he's married with a baby on the way. pairing: aaron hotchner! x cia! female reader category: fluff x crack content warnings: none really? made up case details. mentions of bombings, murder, death, terrorism. there's an age gap of about 7 years between r! + hotch and this takes place in s1... idk it's just a bit of word vomit surrounding hotch finding a woman that's not haley attractive. no cheating though, cause it's literally fleeting, but reader is a bit smitten. author's note. i've got hotchner brain rot, and find myself with thousands of ideas that i never can bring myself to write. the girls that love him can be a bit... scary lol. they do not play about him, but whatever... he's on my mind so here we are.

it''s been so many months omg. i went to basic training and officially became an army girl! now i'm in italy now learning how to be a paralegal (which makes me even more equipped to write badass women with legal knowledge yum!) anyways... i'm sort of back, my schedule is packed, but i'm gonna get back into writing because i've missed it so terribly. xx

He hears you before he sees you. Your voice, despite the years that resided in between the last time he'd heard it hadn't changed much. It had gotten a bit deeper, a sign that you were no longer the bubbly teen he'd last seen you as, you were older, an adult now. Still, there's an undeniable giddiness that rested beneath your words that took him back to days when you were being chased off by your big sister for hanging around too much and "being way too obvious"

Obvious about what? Aaron had never quite figured it out, but he knows it's you nonetheless. You're standing in the middle of the Langley Headquarters, the Central Intelligence Agency office. The last Aaron had heard about you, you'd been on assignment in Qatar, but that was nearly eight months ago. Jobs that required FBI Agents and CIA Case Officers to overlap were usually gruesome, and despite how polite your tone was, he could still place a level of sternness.

"If we're dealing with some sort of cluster, the last thing we want to do is proceed haphazardly." you're speaking to a group of about ten counter-terrorism operatives, voice low so as not to disturb the other pods of agents working. "That said, over the last month there's been a bombing a week in the areas surrounding the capital." you're muttering just as the team is finally breaching the threshold of your particular pod. The building was bustling, flooded with bodies working on what Aaron was certain were different cases.

One of the agents, a man about your age seems to notice the new group, and clears his throat. You turn, eyebrow raising as you take him in. "I'm sorry?" you question as if the noise was some offensive remark made. The agent, whoever he is, seems to freeze up, eyes wide as he points forward in the general direction of the team. Aaron hears Elle's quiet little snort, and wonders how the two of you will manage to work alongside one another. Elle was - or better put, she could be quite volatile. And it seemed the way you'd spoken to your subordinate had already managed to put a sour taste in her mouth.

"I hope we're not interrupting." and you're finally turning, eyes fluttering directly to Gideon. You don't acknowledge anyone else on the team, only Gideon, head tipping to the side just slightly. Your lips push together, eyes then moving to the clock that rested on the desk nearest you.

"Not interrupting, but you're late, and we can't afford to wait around for the F.B.I. to finally give a damn." and your tone isn't snippy at all, but it's clear that you're passionate about your job, and this case. It makes sense that you're in the position that you're in. You turn back to your team, hands clasping together, "Everyone, these are the Bureau agents we were promised." you motion to them loosely. "You'll all be expected to work with them, not against them." you're back to pretending the profilers aren't there, he's not offended.

He can tell though that the others aren't sure how to take you. "This isn't the time for a balls match, and I don't care how long you've worked where." your eyes shoot across the entire group, resting sternly on the same man who's cleared his throat earlier. "They're here because they've mastered the art of getting into the mind of sons of bitches like these. In layman's terms we need them, and I expect you to give them the respect they deserve," it's then that you finally look back at them, eyes sweeping over the group.

Aaron sees it when surprise crosses your features, it happens when you finally lock eyes with him, but you hide it in an instant. "W-We can expect the exact same of them." everyone notices the sudden waver in your tone, but your face is so set they've got no time to unpack it. "I don't want to hear about any of you getting beside yourselves because you're too egotistical to accept a different opinion. Our goal is the same, so for now these are your comrades, and you'll treat them like you'd treat any cadet coming out of Peary."

You sound so official, and Aaron thinks that's partly due to the fact that you were one of the youngest in the room, which came with a certain level of scrutiny, which in turn meant you had no room to show any ounce of uncertainty. You couldn't give them any reason to believe they could undermine the authority you'd been granted. "We clear?" you ask, and you've regained some of that regality to your voice, and Aaron finds that leadership suits your character.

It's not until your team has offered their affirmatives and you've issued a handful of tasks that you finally turn back to the team. Your eyes sweep over the entirety of the line, deliberately passing over Aaron, and he wonders if that's deliberate. "Welcome to Langley." you start your introduction, "My supervisor said you guys would be here an hour ago." you admit, and you don't sound inherently snippy, but it's clear their perceived lack of punctuality was a bother.

"Our apologies, we came as soon as we were cleared." Jason is saying, and Aaron is certain all minds are running directly to Erin Strauss. She'd always had an affinity of making things way more difficult than they'd ever needed to be.

"That's alright, I'm just glad we've finally got your brains in the building." and you extend a hand, a polite (but still closed-off) smile residing on your face. "Jason Gideon, right?" you question, and he's accepting the gesture gingerly. "I'm Case Officer L/N, I'll be your point person while my supervisor is away." and you're looking at the clock again. "They should be landing within the hour, I'm sure he'll be looking forward to meeting you all." you proceed.

"This is Doctor Reid." and Gideon is addressing Spencer, who offers a small wave that you reciprocate. "This is our technical Analyst Garcia.." and he motions to her, the blonde beaming vibrantly at you. She's a walking ray of sunshine, a brightness that's needed in the profession. You offer your own sort of bright greeting, "And these are SSA's Greenaway, Morgan, Jareau..." and before Jason can move to introduce Aaron, you're offering the first real smile of the day.

"Hotchner." you complete Jason's greeting, smile deepening just slightly. "I'm actually quite familiar, we go way back." and Aaron feels every set of eyes to his left and right snapping right to him. He sees Derek's smug little smirk and JJ's perturbed eyebrow raise. He's not in the mood for questions though. "Follow me, we tore apart an office to make space for you guys." and you're walking, and the team is at a loss. Most of them seem to have no clue how to respond, but Derek does, he always does.

"We go way back?" he mimics cheekily and Aaron's eyes can't help but to roll. Elle and Jennifer are releasing similar snorts, clearly amused at the entire situation. Aaron doesn't know why they're so hellbent on trying to see something that wasn't there. It wasn't like you were some mysterious woman from his past. You were the kid sister of his childhood friend, basically a neighbor. Still, he couldn't deny that the feeling that stirred up alongside the familiarity was not lost on him.

"Let's just focus on the case." Gideon is muttering, and Aaron doesn't think he's ever appreciated the old man more.

It's barely a few moments before Aaron's being pulled from his head. The space that had been allotted to the team was nice enough, it would do for the time being. You watch them appraise the space, hands clasped in front of you like you were waiting for their reactions. "Thank you, it's perfect!" he breaches the first conversation between the both of you, and your eyes seem to light up, shoulders jumping at the not-quite praise. He notes then that you must not get a lot of 'good jobs' from your superiors.

"It's the least we could do, honestly." and you shrug slightly. "My boss won't like that I'm saying this, but we're really backed against a wall here." you lower your tone a bit. "If your team wasn't available, we'd be in a bind." you admit, and Aaron is familiar with the sentiment. His team did a lot of good work. "But, if I'm honest, I am kind of surprised to see you in the midst of the fray." you pivot, showing off all your pretty teeth as Aaron's lips quirk involuntarily.

You'd always been a vibrant person, the kind that could pull the sun out from behind storm clouds. That was something no amount of time could help him forget, and as you let your smile reach your eyes, the crinkle reminds him of a time before all the death, violence, and trauma he'd become accustomed to with the life he'd chosen for himself. "I'm hoping it's a bit of a happy surprise?" he says, because despite the circumstances, this was still you of all people.

"More than a bit." you reply instantly. "Honestly, the circumstances are God-awful, but it is nice to know that the 'little Aar Hotchner' that used to sit in our kitchen for breakfast, is the unit chief of an entire FBI unit." you say, and Aaron knows whether they want to be obvious or not, the team are eavesdropping, minds split between starting at their work, and hoping for a bit of insight into who their boss had once been. He'd deal with the fallout of that later.

"Little?" he says unconvinced, as you breathed out a small laugh.

"Okay, maybe not so little at all." you correct yourself teasingly. "I just- I can't believe that I'm actually seeing you again." and your head tips to the side like you're actually just coming to the realization.

"Yeah, you were a ghost for a bit there after your graduation." and it hits you like a ton of bricks. The last time you'd seen Aaron Hotchner it had been when he'd shown up to your high school graduation. Eighteen year old you, who'd been more than eager to leave Virginia behind and start your real life. That was almost ten full years ago.

"Yeah." you agree with a small nod. "Wow." and you exhale through your nose. "Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, I wish I could say I was surprised, but honestly you've always been the bossy type!" you tease before you can really stop yourself, and it catches you both off guard when Aaron actually laughs.

"I guess I could say the same thing about you. You know, I almost didn't recognize you coming in. Being in charge though... it suits you." and this causes you to brim with nervousness, a nervousness you hadn't felt since you were a kid. You knew you were good at your job, you'd fought hard to get it, and you would do anything to maintain it, but it didn't come with a lot of friends, or congratulations, or even just a small bit of encouragement. It was a thankless role.

Somehow Aaron saying something so minute was enough to set all your doubts and second guesses about yourself at ease. Something that he seemed to have never grown out of practice with.

"Thanks, Aar." you say quietly, and you look like you want to say more, but then your phone is buzzing in your pocket, and you're pulled back into a different headspace. The kind that had no time for laughter, for catching up, or anything outside of business. You check your phone, head pivoting to look at that big clock on the wall, and you sigh.

"Everything okay?"

"My boss is running late, won't be back until tomorrow. Which means this is now officially my case." you express, and Aaron understands your plight. The sudden pressure, the way you must have been nervous.

"That's what we're here for." he reminds you politely, treading lightly. "So you won't have to do this one by yourself." Aaron continues, as you blink away your awe. "And like I said, leadership suits you, you'll probably have the whole office in shape in no time." he offers you more encouragement, and you wonder how it could be possible to leave someone behind, and come back to them holding the same amount of space in your heart.

"Thank you." you let out a tired exhale. "I should go. I was expecting him to handle a few things, but now that it's on me... I have a lot more work to do." and you open and close your hand, flexing your fingers as you shuffle awkwardly. "I'm sorry-" you begin, and Aaron is waving you off, face pinching up in a way that was not quite like him.

"Don't. It'll give us time to think." and he's speaking for the team, who he knows don't need much to find a breakthrough.

"Right. It was-" and you look like you're not sure if you want to continue. "It was really good to see you again, Hotchner." and you stumble a bit as you take a small step towards him. "Just-" and you blink a few times. "Let me know if you need anything." you express, "Anything at all." and the emphasis isn't too lost on him as you beam up at him like you were remembering every last thing you ever recalled about him.

It takes you a second to note that the rest of the team is zoned in on the both of you, and you're immediately making your smile drop, taking a step back. "Uh-" you extend a hand, motioning to the entire group. "All of you." you offer, "If any of you need anything, my office is just up there!" and you point across hq to a large office surrounded with glass doors looking out into the bullpen. "Thank you again for your help." and you're looking at Hotch again, an almost sorrowful look on your face as you offer a smile before you take your leave.

Aaron finds it impossible to pull his eyes away from you, because you were so completely different from who he remembered. But some parts were still the same. He blinks away these thoughts, mostly because the loudest thought in his mind is of Haley and the baby they were expecting. But what were the odds that you of all people would be here. He catches the intense stare of Gideon, and both his eyebrows jump. Jason had a way of reading people like no one else.

He doesn't want to know what he found as he examined Hotch. So instead, Aaron beelines towards Morgan and Reid, hoping to hover long enough to get his head back in the game. If they notice the way his eyes would scan the office every so often, if only to catch a glimpse of you, they say nothing.

So he doesn't say anything either.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

I am having breakfast before I leave for work, and I stopped eating my toast in fascination during the end of this chapter.

Is Daemon... Growing up?! Incredible. Fascinating. A thing they should study at universities. I truly didn't think him capable of it, so credits to your writing for redeeming him after all he is done in this fic and still being believable.

I do not know if they should have a baby because I love this reader too much and you confessed on planning to kill her before, you evil woman, so I will hope they use contraception.

Also, may I ask what does reader have in your head? Like, the maesters say nerves and a weak body, Otto says hysteria, she says she is doomed to death. But she must have something inspired by our world sickness, I think? Untreated asthma maybe? Fibromyalgia? Another sort of autoinmune disease?

Talking about otto....

OTTO COME HERE I JUST WANT TO TALK

(BTW, my gifs are from tumblr, I just look up the concept on mobile, which allows better results than my computer, but Idk if that is true or my perception. In this case, "murder" Then I scroll until I like one)

I want to say that even though baby Aegon and the Arryks are my favorites and my precious babes, Laenor is becoming a close second. When you said this:

"You hark aimlessly so like my twin."

It got me thinking of how similar Gwayne and him are in this fic! And in canon, both younger brothers to amazing women (I believe everything you write so much I hadn't noticed because I was thinking Gwayne was a twin in canon, when no) I don't know, it tickles my brain the right way. It's just one of those things, I love parallels.

As always, your writing is amazing! I loved how this chapter showed so so much character developing. I am impressed by Daemon's arc and envy you a bit the fact that you can craft such amazing plots and I can't! But it's fine because I get to read them!

Cannot wait to see what comes next for these two. Also, how I will go to work after reading this:

Tormented Spirit | 17

Part 1 [...] 14 15 16 17 18

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, violence, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: my mum and i got into an argument after my cat died and now i remember why i wrote this | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @astrogirl01

You walk across the dragon pit, making your way back to Laenor, who was petting his mount. "Hello."

He turns and smiles, "hello. He watches how you pick the petals of the flowers he gave, "where's-"

Before he can finish, the sound of a dragon screeching and soaring of echoes across the pit. His own dragon huffs and bleats, making you turn to it.

"What's the name of your mount?"

Leanor looks at you as you near the beast, "Seasmoke— eh," he dashes in front of you, "careful," he takes your arm, "he's not hostile, I don't think, but then again, he's my ride and I'm biased. Regardless, Seasmoke is, in fact, a dragon."

"Ah," you step back, "forgive me, I-"

"Found yourself very comfortable around Caraxes?" Leanor smiles at me, rubbing your arm, "I'm surprised. The wyrm is rather cranky..." he leads me to his dragon, "not unlike his rider, no?"

Your eyes remain on him as Seasmoke screeches. The dragon sounds nothing like Caraxes, neither does he look or even smell the same, which you think is rather interesting.

"You may touch him if you like," Laenor smiles, stroking his dragon's scales. Seasmoke purrs, almost like a cat.

You rub your hands before touching the beast, "rytsas." Hello.

Laenor's brows quirk.

"Skorkydoso gaomagon gaomā?" How do you do?

He chuckles, "when did you learn High Valyrian?"

"While you and Daemon were in the St-" you squeal when Seasmoke shoves you with a roar, earning an equal reaction from his rider. Laenor snaps and swats his ride, commanding him to obey, to be gentle.

Your heart races and continues to against yourself. You clutch your chest, feeling a telltale uncomfortable tightening. Gods, please, not in front of Laenor.

You vaguely hear him chide the dragon for being cheeky in High Valyrian, and you suppose he says something to you, but your lungs are too constricted for you to hear. For a moment, as you feel your legs begin to buckle under the weight of your breath, or rather, lack thereof, you realize you were treating Seasmoke awfully familiarly. He gave you a simple correction, and now your weak heart was going to make him look like a villain.

"Apologies for— prin-" Laenor grunts as he catches you just as you topple. You crumble into his chest and drop your flowes. You both end up on the floor as you try to catch your breath.

Laenor looks around. He orders the dragon keepers to bring his ride to the pit and he pulls you into his arms, "can you stand?"

Stand? You can barely breathe.

Your silence, paired with the tangible tremors of your body, is enough answer for him. He maneuvers around you, arms wrapping over your form. His stomach drops at the greyness of your skin, but he tells himself he's merely imagined it. He quickly carries you out of the pit.

Alternatively, Daemon is idle in the sky. The sun beats down on his skin as the wind scratches through his hair. There is no thrill in it however, no reprieve. What's more, Caraxes seems to stagger halfway through the flight. The usual agility of his lithe body dwindles the longer they fly, and his rider is rightfully concerned. He turns back before they go very far.

When they arrive at the pit, Seasmoke is no longer there. Daemon is alarmed by the way Caraxes lands. It's not at all like his usual demeanor. He drips into saddle and yelps when Caraxes flops and crashesbelly down on the ground. The dragon keepers are as equally concerned as Daemon upon witnessing this.

Daemon dismounts and gazes upon his mount. One of the senior keepers asks him, "skoros iksis pirta lēda Caraxes, ñuha dārilaros??" What is wrong with Caraxes, my prince?

"Nyke ȳdra daor gīmigon," Daemon mutters, "ziry massitas hen daoriot." I don't know. It happened out of nowhere.

The prince watches as one keeper brushes Caraxes by the snout. The dragon huffs and closes his eyes, rolling on his belly. Daemon's brows furrow tightly and his lips part. This was severely unlike his vicious mount— falling prostrate? He was deeply concerned.

Daemon explains to the keeper that his dragon was well earlier today, in the funeral, and when they just got back from it. It was only after they had flown again did Caraxes begin to act rather dreary.

The keepers try to feed Caraxes but he does not eat. They try to bring him into the pit, but he does not stand. It troubles Daemon. He does not wish to leav, but as much as his heart aches for his companion, it bleeds for you.

"Laenor."

Laenor freezes upon hearing your voice. He had already managed to carry you halfway towards the maester's ward when you regained your voice. He looks at you, brows furrowing at the sight of the tears you'd silently shed. He speaks your name.

"Will you set me down?"

Laenor nods and slowly brings you to your feet. You wobble against the young prince and lean your weight into him as you find your footing. You shudder, struggling to keep yourself upright. A shameful heat wraps around your body. I hate to have you see me like this.

"Hush," Laenor mutters, guiding you to the window sill.

You look up at him, brows furrowing.

"Are we not friends?" he tilts his head, "do friends not help friends?"

Gods... you had said that aloud. You were losing yourself. You shake your head, "yes, but-"

"But what?" Laenor purses his lips, "but if I could not find the strength to stand, surely you would do all you could to help me."

You frown.

He follows suit as you sit by the window. He squeezes your arm, "it's just me, the same Laenor you wrote heartfelt letters to."

Your brows furrow. You gulp as your throat tightens, "I never wrote to you about my affliction."

He shrugs, taking your hand in his, "it is your prerogative what you do and do not wish to tell me."

"I am dying."

He does not respond.

"I'm already dead inside."

He hums, "how macabre," he looks off, "I was rather hoping you'd bring up something more mundane, like how the drapes in these halls are rather plain, considering the fact we are in the capital castle."

You stare at him for a moment.

He looks back at you, "it's safe to say the king cares little for drapes."

You snort and shake your head.

A faint smile spreads across Laenor's lips. He squeezes your hand, "I suppose that is good. A king has much more to worry about than the drapes that drape across his halls."

You release a deep breath. The heaviness of your shoulders become apparent to you. You tentatively lean into Laenor's shoulder; he shifts towards you, offering his arm.

"You hark aimlessly so like my twin."

He steals a glance of you, lips curling into a soft smile, "you speak this as if you believe it would offend me."

"It should."

He chuckles and examines the texture of the wall in front of him, "to be likened to Ser Gwayne is an honor."

You snort and roll your eyes, "it should not be. He is ugly."

"He has your face."

"He does not!" you pull away to look at him, "pray tell, do you think I am comely?"

Laenor looks at you. He purses his lips where yours curl mischeviously.

You raise your brows and snort, "my point exactly."

"Your beauty is simply not to my taste."

"But my brother's is?!" you exclaim, "he has my face!"

Laenor rolls his eyes, "he does not."

You swat his arm.

He raises a brow at you, pretending to be offended, though it barely lasts. He instantly melts at the sight of your smile. He smiles back, "I am glad to know banter livens your spirit."

Your expression softens, "I am glad to know you will be living here."

"Yes. Perhaps initially. You might soon find me irritating like mine own sister does."

You share a chuckle. You shake your head and come to a stand; the prince immediately does the same. You link arms with him and begin walking, "might I show you the gardens, my prince?"

He thinks for a moment, "should you not go to the maester's?"

"They have nothing for me but scolding and milk of the poppy," you tighten your hold on his arm, "the roses are in full bloom."

He nods, "very well."

You saunter to the gardens with no sense of urgency whatsoever. Laenor is good at concealing his worry over you, but unfortunately, you are better at sensing other's agitation over your affliction. You fill the walk with hushed chatter, "you cannot like my brother more than I. I wish to hold your affection."

Laenor turns to you, brow raised, muttering, "you hold my affection."

"Yes, but you've not met him, yet still your prefer him," you whisper.

He looks away, shrugging, "I think he is pretty but I do not prefer him. If I recall correctly, he drank much during someone's nameday and became rather less pretty to me."

You chortle.

Laenor chuckles, turning back to you.

You look at him, thinkinv his eyes are very kind. Your smile turns into a frown as you squeeze his arm, "where were you when they were forcing me into marriage?"

His jaw feathers. He rubs your hand, "you do not want me as a husband. I would not satisfy you."

"I would not ask you to."

He shakes his head, "I do not think I would be able to give you heirs."

You tighten your hold on him, "I do not think I would either."

He frowns, "I-"

"Daughter."

The two of turn back, finding the Hand of the King rushing towards you. Normally, such a sight would cause you concern, but presently, it made you feel only exhaustion... and dread. You pull away from Laenor, preparing to face your father.

You huff when Otto reaches you. The first thing he does is place a hand on your cheek, "are you well?"

You frown and nod, "yes."

"The servants say your husband left you in the pit and your affliction flared. Prince Laenor," he offers him a glance, "had to carry you off."

"I am fine," you mutter, shaking your head, pushing him away.

He lowers his hand, "have you gone to the ma-"

"I'm bringing my friend to the gardens, father."

Otto stiffens. Laenor notices the way Otto's hands clench; he clears his throat, "she has told me pl-"

"Forgive me, my prince, but it would be best if my daughter goes to-"

"The gardens," you blurt, "to show my friend my flowers."

Your father mutters your name.

Laenor knows the argument is quickly going to inflame. He steps forward, "the princess assured me she is well enough—"

"She is not well," Otto blurts, "she just burned her children and fainted in the pit-"

"Why do you despise me?"

Laenor stiffens where he meant to take your arm. Otto altogether loses his words.

You huff at his terse expression. You clench your teeth and turn to Laenor, "perhaps I ought to show you my garden another time."

The prince furrows his brows. He mutters your name slowly.

You shake your head and manage a smile, "perhaps after supper?"

Though he was rather reluctant to leave you in the thick of it, Laenor nods. He squeezes your arm one last time and gives your father a curt nod, "Lord Hand," before walking off.

"Have you gone mad?"

You turn to Otto. He is seething with rage.

"You would speak so carelessly in front of-"

"My frien-"

"He is not your friend," he blurts, stepping forward, "today? Tomorrow? He is promised to Rhaenyra and-"

"He is my friend!" you interrupt. "And my question does not involve him but you, my lord." You shake your head, "why do you despise me?"

He scoffs. He feels his collar tighten around his neck, "you think I despise you?"

"No," you mutter, "I know you do."

He scoffs once more and wipes his face with a sigh, "you stupid, fucking girl."

You feel like you're drowning as tears stream down your face. Your father paces and you gasp when he suddenly walks off. You watch him take large strides, only to stop at the end of the hall to turn back to you. Your heart races when he storms back with a finger pointed at you.

You gulp and step back, but you do not trust your feet to take you very far, so you end up freezing in your spot.

"You are ludicrous!" he pokes the air, "and you are wrong!" he pokes again, face red as he comes back in front of you.

You shudder when he grabs your shoulders and shakes you slightly.

"Despise you?!" he snaps, spittle spattering to your face. He releases you roughly, his chest rising and falling, "you unwitting pup! You've no idea the measures I've gone to ens-"

"DOES IT MATTER?"

Otto clenches his teeth so hard his head shakes.

Your outburst costs you all the air in your lungs. You care little to chase after it, "you fed me to your enemy! Left me to die!"

"I HAVE DONE NOTHING BUT PRESERVE YOU!" he screams, loud enough that his voice echoes in the hall.

Your ears ring and your struggle to breathe.

"Out of all my children," Otto's voice comes out shaky, "I have not lost sleep and coin as much as I have for you."

You manage to reply through the thrumming of your chest, "then you have your answer."

Otto's face hardens as he screws his eyes shut and shakes his head. He wipes both hands across his face in exasperation, "I do not despise you."

"Look at what's become of me," you bring your fists into your chest. You chuckle dryly, "perhaps if you despised me more, I would be better."

"All I've ever done is to better you!"

"Like how you forced me to bear children?!" You quip, "my body could not keep them!"

"If you did not do this, you would have been casted out or killed!" he raises a finger, "you did your duty."

"I did what you wanted-" you groan, "AND IT IS NEVER ENO-"

"ENOUGH!" he snaps and you flinch. Otto grabs your arm, "you are hysterical."

Hysterical. You wince at his tight grip. How you loathe the word. Though you knew it was pointless, you still attempt to wrangle out of his strong clutch.

Even in his vehement vexation, he does not force you to stop. He loosens his grip, speaking your name.

"Release me," you mutter, heart racing.

"No," he mutters, "you need a maester."

You whimper and yank at your arm, "father."

His stomach rolls. For a moment, he hears the voice of his young child begging for his presence. His grips tightens, "let me bring you to-"

"I hate you!"

Otto clenches his jaw. He mutters your name.

"You will not let me be happy. You will not let me die."

He shouts your name.

"Release me!" you whimper, begging to feel light headed.

Finally, he does.

You gasp when you topple into a wall. You are shocked when arms come around you. You turn, breath staggering, eyes meeting the hard face of your husband.

"If you ever touch her," Daemon mutters, hands clutching your waist and arm. He pulls you into him, "if I even hear that you touched her- nyke hobrenka kivigon jaehossi uēpossi arlȳssī-" I fucking swear by the old gods and the new—

You can feel him trembling against you. You will yourself to breathe in deep to try and calm yourself. Your hand comes to his cheek.

Otto draws breath, "my daughter is-"

"Do NOT fucking call her that," Daemon snaps as he pushes you upright only to bring you behind him. His hand clutches the hilt of Dark Sister, "it matters not who sired her— she is my wife."

"She needs medicine," Otto blurts raising a hand, "she is in hyster-"

"Of fucking course she's in hysterics!" Daemon growls and steps forward, "you're her fucking father—"

The Hand scoffs.

"— It's a miracle she's withstood the poison you've been sledging into her throat since gods know when. You're the reason she's fucking sick-"

"DO NOT," Otto barks, "speak to me of her—"

"Daemon!" you grab his arm as Daemon presses closer to him.

"Ivestragī nyke ossēnagon zirȳla!" Daemon barks, eyes fixed on Otto. Let me kill him!

He repeats this twice, leaving you in a fit of tears. The sound of your staggered cries is the only reason he stays his hand.

Otto watches as you crumple into Daemon's arms. He feels helpless to see the monster clutch your cheeks and hold you close. He can see you struggle for air, and it makes his own breath hitch. He feels an overwhelming sense of horror overcome him.

Daemon's brows furrow as you shake your head. He wipes your tears before carrying you and walking away.

Otto stands there, balked, torn, angered, hurt, resentful, tormented. He watches the devil usher you deeper into his hell.

"Maester?" Daemon mutters as he hurries down the hall.

You shake your head.

He makes a sound, "are you certain?"

His throat tightens as you grip his collar, tugging it ever so slightly. You shake your head, "bed."

He nods, heading to your chambers.

When you arrive, Daemon is quick to sit you upon your bed, leaning you on the headboard. He removes your shoes and undoes the braids in your hair. He is gentle, far gentler than anyone who has ever touched your hair.

His face is grave when your tears do not cease. He notices that your breathing is still heavy and ragged. Images of the day you nearly died flash in his mind's eye. He stops undoing your hair and takes your hand, kneeling beside you on the bed. His eyes begin to water, "you must breathe."

You groan and turn away from him, pulling your hand with you. You strangle out, "it is difficult."

Daemon whimpers, kicking his shoes off. He climbs on the bed and sits beside you. He rubs your chest and leans on your shoulder. He cannot help himself; he kisses your neck, "please-"

"Daemon."

"I- I-"

You grab his wrist and shake your head again.

He clenches his jaw as you lower his arm to your lap.

"I can do it."

He gulps and nods slowly.

You inhale deeply and exhale slowly.

Daemon squeezes your hand. He is restless.

"When I die—"

"Stop-"

"— you cannot kill him."

He makes a terrible sound. He shakes his head, "do not speak to me of this."

"I must," you squeeze him, "he deserves to suffer me, to flinch each time my name is spoken."

"Do not die to spite your father," Daemon grunts, "spite him with your life."

You close your eyes and sigh, "and what if I do not want to live?"

You gasp when you hear him whine. Daemon crumbles into your lap. He squeezes your hands tightly, "speak no further... I beg you."

You look down at him. Your heart aches. You sigh and brush his hair, "I would not kill myself. You know this."

He turns his head, one eye peeping up at you, "am I supposed to be comforted?"

"Yes," you blurt, "be sure that when I pass, it is my time."

Daemon sits up, "and what if he kills you?"

You sigh. You take a moment to calm yourself before reaching for his face. He instantly presses his hand over yours and leans into your touch. You rub his wet cheeks, "my father would not kill me."

"Yet he does."

You feel Daemon clench his jaw.

"Slowly... subtly."

You lean your head back. You whimper at the feel of the braids that were still not undone. You pull away from Daemon to undo them yourself. He's about to help you, but then you mutter, "get me shears."

"... why?"

"I do not wish to fashion my hair ever again."

He looks at you for a moment before standing. He heads to your vanity and quickly finds what he is looking for. He reluctantly hands it to you and you gratefully take it.

He watches you undo your hair wholly and bring it to one side. You bunch your dark strands together and haphazardly try to cut it. You cannot, your hair is too thick and the blades too dull; it barely cut parchment. Still, here you were trying to cut your hair. Daemon is silent as you do.

You grow frustrated and look at him, finding his eyes are fixed upon your tresses. Your eyes water, "am I hysterical?"

Violet eyes meet your glassy ones. He strokes your head, "you are my wife."

You grip the sheers tightly before lowering it.

Daemon frowns, "did you not enjoy my braids?

"I-" you stare at the shears, "that is not why."

"... would you like me to help you?"

"No," you look up at him, handing him the metal object, "I am hysterical."

"Do not listen to that cunt," he takes the shears from you, putting it back in its place. You watch him crawl beside you again. He takes your hand and frowns, "you are far tamer than you ought to be."

You raise your brows at his words. You reciprocate his hold and rub your thumb against his skin, "you would feed my madness."

He gazes at your sad face and shrugs, "we could be mad together."

You chuckle.

His heart skips. He squeezes your hand.

"You mean to tell me you aren't yet mad?"

Daemon dares to lean into you.

You do not pull away when he rests his head upon your shoulder.

He whispers, "no."

You feel him bring your hand to his chest. You feel him kiss your hand.

"You are my sanity."

You feel him kiss your neck. You shudder.

Daemon is entranced by your scent. He soon has his hands brushing around your torso, pulling you close to him. He breathes you in like air, because you were his. He buries his face into your hair. Gods, he's missed this. Gods, he's missed you.

You close your eyes and sigh, palms brushing up his shoulders. He takes this as permission to kiss you more, so he does. He peppers his lips across your skin, down your throat, across your neck. He clutches you into his chest, willing you into his ribcage. You gulp and melt into him with a sigh.

The sound encourages him. He pulls you down to bed as if you were weightless. Your skirt hikes up in consequence, and he hisses when he repositions you and feels the bareness of your thigh.

Daemon breaks the kiss, panting like a dog as he examines your from. He gulps, mind reeling at the skin your dress no longer concealed. He remembers what you told him in the garden, how you no longer loved him. He slowly withdraws his hand, feeling it trembld.

You watch as he battles with himself. You dig your fingers into his collar, urging him to look at you.

He does, pupils blown. Your name slips past his parted mouth.

You rub his shoulder, "do you want me?"

"Fuck," he laughs manically, "d-do I want you?"

Goosebumps prick on your skin as he rubs up your thigh. You feel your breathing heavy as his nails dig into the flesh of your hip.

He draws a deep breath and whispers, not trusting his voice, "I want you."

You huff and close your eyes. Your tug his top and part your legs.

"Fuuuuuuck," Daemon whines through a sigh, sinking his head into your neck as he slots himself between you. He curses again when he hears you whimpe. He wraps your thighs around him.

He bucks into you. His teeth nip your jaw. Your nails scratch up his nape and tug his short hair. Your eyes water.

Daemon could peak from this alone.

You mutter his name.

He moans and squeezes your thigh in response.

You whimper as you feel his erection against your core. Your lips wobble. You press your face against his and whisper, "I'll let you put a babe in me again."

Daemon turns to stone.

You begin to breath heavily again.

His voice is muffled, "what?"

"I said I'll let you put a babe in me again."

He lifts his head. His eyes are reddish and his brows are furrowed. Little did you know you mirrored him, if not worse. You were crying, and you couldn't even feel it.

"And then w-hat?" his voice cracks.

You clutch his cheeks.

"And then you die?"

You brush his chin. You cannot reply.

He chokes on your name and screws his eyes shut. He buries his face into your neck and shakes his head. He sinks into you, but he's no longer hard, just sad and desperate.

"... if gods be willing... I'd have a reason to live."

"I am unwilling to gamble."

You lean into his head, "it's always a gamble, affliction or not."

Daemon lifts his head and looks down upon you. He rubs your cheeks frantically as he says your name. He mutters, "I do not even have you yet. Do not be so eager to leave me."

You close your eyes, relishing the feel of his thumbs on your face.

He kisses your forehead, "give me a chance. Please."

You sigh, "I'm exhausted."

His hand trembles, "please."

Your brows furrow.

He examines your face restlessly, brushing your skin in hopes it will coax the answer he wants.

"I'll try."

He breathes a sharp sigh of relief. He kisses the corner of your mouth, "thank you."

[chaaistained]

hazy fairy lights and the thought of schedules

me waking up in my kpop dr for a total of five seconds ..

.

.

.

i didn’t exactly go into this with the desire to wake up in a bedroom i’d only ever seen from one angle, in a picture, off of pinterest . i even started out this whole “process” feeling so desperate that i’m embarrassed to go into further detail but, we persevere —

the night before, i was plagued with insomniac anxieties, the fidgety kind, where your mind won’t sit still and your body thinks “hey! that’s a grand idea, let me do the same!” as if i’m not laying there in my bed, tempted to pull my hair out

i figured, what’s there to lose? like every other night, let’s give this another go, and i went to look at my screenshot of emma’s method (@hrrtshape — tysm lovely <3) and started trying to shift to my wr

the desired outcome of a mind bending epiphany, an almost destruction of the very construct of reality . that didn’t happen .. and truth be told, i found it hard to concentrate in general. but eventually i just kept telling myself that “this isn’t a chore, this a hobby, this is something i do for fun. i’ve done this [shifting] before, even if it was only for a few seconds, i can do it again” and i let my mind think about my daily routine and plans for my wr

after that, i don’t really remember falling asleep. i sorta wafted from dream to dream, mostly about my cr life — university, my high school best friend and our galentines plans, i had a weird panicky one about a chemistry test .. i haven’t taken chemistry since i graduated high school four years ago . but anyway apparently the body keeps the score.. yay us

i think what set me off into a more calming deep slumber was how my dream rippled from chemistry and science to literature, english, writing, and more specifically, editing — before i went to bed i was editing an upcoming fic i will be posting to my fic account (shameless plug : @yourislandgirl) and it was a drabble featuring enhypen’s jake, a kpop idol for those who don’t know ^.^

next thing i know, i hear a twinkling alarm, the kind of one that sounds like stars? not exactly the same as the standard iphone alarm sounds but, i remember it feeling familiar ??

i instinctively went to rub my eyes, expecting the usual crust and sleepiness only to find that they were relatively clear-ish (a point i make bcs i specifically scripted that i don’t get super crusty eyes bcs i hate it). it didn’t exactly hit me then, but i patted around my bed for my phone, snoozing the alarm, my eyes still closed as i took in a few deep breaths.

my room smelled like lavender . which is odd bcs i don’t have a room freshening spray in my cr, i rely on candles but wtv not the point, i don’t own a lavender mist .. but for some reason the only thought running through my head when i sighed out in relief, curling myself back under the sheets was “man . my rooms smells nice”

for your information i’m rolling my eyes at myself while i type this up bcs BITCH (directed at me) YOU SHIFTED

anyway, i kinda felt myself dipping in and out of consciousness, or at least that’s what i thought, bcs in actuality i think i was dipping BETWEEN consciousness’ — the cotton softness of my cr sheets was suddenly a smooth milky satin, and then it was cotton, and then satin, and it wasn’t until this hellscape of a cycle repeated itself for the third time, that i finally realised my surroundings were changing.

it was sort of like what being tipsy felt like, a little buzz in my head, my mind feeling fuzzy, like a pom pom . (that’s legitimately how my mind feels when i’m tipsy btw) and it was like my energy was rising slowly and then getting sapped out of me and then rising and falling

i think i was getting sick of it, and knowing me and my lack of patience, that totally tracks, so when i felt a bit more energy bloom inside, i took the chance to open my eyes. my only thoughts were “god i need to get up, i can’t keep laying here dreaming..”

and that’s when i saw it, the room of my kpop dr self, from an ENTIRELY DIFFERENT ANGLE — i saw a vanity, 80% of it filled with lip products which, again, totally tracks . there was a door open and a stepping stone path of clothes leading out of it, my wardrobe . guitar stands, one for an acoustic, one for an electric . a desk with a monitor and a laptop . i EVEN HAD ROOM FOR A BEANBAG COUCH IM SO JEALOUS

AND AND YA KNOW WHAT SUCKS . IT WAS SO NORMAL?? I KEPT BLINKING TRYING TO WAKE MYSELF UP

my mind was like “ . . . huh”

and THE CHERRY ON TOP OF THIS MIND FUCK — all i could stare at were the strings of fairy lights going along the edge of my ceiling, little stars and diamonds, they gave off a warm golden glow and as i laid there with silk soft hair and skin so smooth i can’t believe i didn’t notice when i touched my face . my brain had the AUDACITY to go “oh fuck . i’ve got to record something today. …(sigh) and rehearse”

LIKE- THATS NOT SMTH TO COMPLAIN ABOUT GIRLYPOP??!!)?)!?,?!

i swear- i swear to you guys . i’m appalled at myself

because i just HAD to think abt something important something tiring, something like my DAILY SCHEDULES BCS THEN

I CLOSED MY EYES AGAIN AND FELT LIKE EVERY OUNCE OF STRENGTH WAS BEING PULLED OUT OF ME

and then i woke up here. again.

my hair was drier, and so was my skin, my eyes were crusty and sleepy, my pillows were comfy but nothing could compare to the marshmallow cloud of comfort that were my kpop dr pillows.

i sat up, stretched, cracked all my joints, went straight for my phone and started to doomscroll . like it was some coping mechanism or something. my mind kept going : “that was a dream. that was just a dream. man what a VIVID dream. yeah, that’s it chaai, you had a vivid dream, you’ve always had vivid dreams, that’s your thing! (true story) that’s all this was…”

but, and i swear you can’t make this shit up, it all felt NORMAL , creepily normal. usually in a dream you’re like “ah yes, i’m dreaming, i can’t exactly wake up right now bcs i’m enjoying this dream, but i know i’m dreaming”

no, no, this quote unquote dream, felt like those sleepy mornings when the world feels slow, when the simplicity of the small rays of morning sunlight coming through your window feel cinematic, when you want to close your eyes and keep taking in gentle deep breaths, hold off on getting up, just for five more minutes.

that’s what it felt like.

i didn’t know i was dreaming bcs i wasn’t dreaming. i was just waking up to a dream, as my reality.

and honestly, another factor is how my mind immediately went to the events of my day, a CLASSIC trope in yours truly. honestly nothing is more on brand than me being like “(sigh) life feels so soft and sweet right now .. alright now let’s cause myself a mini panic attack by thinking about my responsibilities for the day and how many there are and how little time i have to complete everything, isn’t that fun???!?”

finally, my energy levels, that thing i mentioned earlier? about how i’d feel the strength grow and decline over and over again? those five seconds i had in my kpop dr were tiring and drowsy, but not lethargic, they weren’t draining, they weren’t exhausting. i had some energy in me .. and when i closed my eyes, it felt like i was being drained, and i woke up here and felt like i had the life torn out of me and then forced back in. as embarrassing as this sounds, i actually think it “proves” this shift a bit more — logically speaking, i’m more fit, more toned, more active in my kpop dr, where my career is hugely based on my skill levels, as a dancer and singer and performer, where an asset in my job is my appearance, and how i keep myself in shape .. i don’t have to worry about those things here, i don’t have the strength or flexibility or just straight up energy that i do in that reality.. i guess it didn’t hit me, how much difference there would be in my physicality, until this shift

so , yeah. that about sums it up

i think i would have benefitted from grounding myself. and i’m 99% sure i’ll face this problem again bcs i can’t even ground myself in this reality let alone another, mostly bcs i don’t want to, (life’s just so much lighter when your head’s in the clouds .. this is very unhealthy, i do not recommend)

but, for the five seconds that it lasted, it was honestly worth it. my room looked splendid, it was spacious, it was not messy (not matter what dr-self tells you), it was instead, aesthetically chaotic in a pleasing way . and i stand by that

but those fairy lights… mf they’ll be haunting my dreams, ghostly and golden and glorious, i can see them so clearly if i close my eyes.

anyway, here’s to more shifts to come !! i’m not giving up just yet, i WILL get back there, or any other dr for that matter, and i wish you all a happy shifting experience <33

bcs trust me, it took me five years to get five seconds, but in those five seconds i felt a whole 16 years of life in me, i felt a definitive existence there, like i had places to be, people to see, things to do. and i hadn’t even sat up in bed yet ..

this shit is real. it’s as real as you reading this right now. and i’m gonna keep trying, even if all i get next time is another five seconds. and i hope you try with me ≈

.

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chaai brews; tea assortments — dr archive

2025 © chaaistained

[melodyanqel]

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐏 ── ✦ h.ih. (two - more to live)

a pretty little thing, who grew up extremely sheltered and has never seen the horrors in life until she gets recuited in a mysterious competition.

⤷ pairing: hwang in-ho x fem!oc

⤷ genre/tags: fluff, angst, thriller, psychological drama, established relationship, games, action, financial issues, gambling, betrayal, team bonding, family, possessive!sadistic!in-ho, sheltered!sunshine!oc

⤷ warning: mention of health issues

⤷ wc: 1.3k words

⤷ note: it's our front man's birthday! hbd to this dangerously beautiful character! <3

⤷ melodyanqel taglist: @buckitostan @nadloves @gracesworks @verouys @foulbreadpaenut @avery-043009

Upon the eve of evening, when there is still the strength of day yet the softness of night, the city comes alive with music and light. 

Yu-na and her boss are cleaning up the café because it’s getting late. Her favorite time is when she clocks out from work and relaxes in her cozy home. She also likes to turn off the OPEN sign because another day has ended. 

Throughout her shift, Yu-na missed her uncle. Despite the conflicts between her aunt and Gi-hun, she never hated him. Yu-na knew about his poor gambling habits, lived with his mother after his divorce, and got too stubborn to admit his mistakes. But in the end, Gi-hun does have a heart. Yu-na can tell through his emotions when mentioning Ga-young that he genuinely didn’t want her to leave him. It’s pitiful. However, he still thinks of his daughter every day. 

“Thank you, Yu-na for today.”

Giving her boss a jubilant smile. “My pleasure, Mrs. Lee. Have a lovely night.” She leaves the place and notices the once-blue sky is now ink-black with splatters of stars and the crescent moon. Of course, the city is always loud and cheery at night. Yu-na starts to head home and luckily it’s not a long walk because there’s a neighborhood close to the café. Most people around the area know Yu-na because they have been homeowners since she was a child and a few are great friends with her parents. 

Yu-na kindly greets the people when entering the neighborhood. She also notices a little girl dressed in a light green dress and a flower beanie over her head, holding her father’s hand coming towards her direction. 

The child beams when she sees Yu-na. “Unnie!” She shouts the older’s name and sprints her small legs. 

“Na-yeon!” Yu-na bends down with her arms open—the little girl hops into the embrace. “Did you have fun in school?” She asked because Na-yeon started her education this year. They pulled away to face each other and the child responded, “Yes, I did! I learned how to draw because appa knows how to draw and my friends liked my hat.” She spoke enthusiastically, which made Yu-na smile widely. It’s nice to know Na-yeon is living her life to its fullest. 

Then footsteps come closer to them. Gyeong-seok or Na-yeon’s father approaches. He tells Yu-na, “The teacher also enjoys having her as a student. She brings an extra joy for the class.” He quotes the amazing feedback about his daughter. 

It honestly made Gyeong-seok proud of himself because he raised Na-yeon as a single father and the struggles and concerns about her chronic illness caused him to be overprotective. But then he reflects on his mindset to at least have Na-yeon enjoy life, even when she is fighting to stay strong. Gyeong-seok truly loves and treasures his angel and prays that luck will come true. 

Yu-na stands up and says, “I agree with the teacher. She is like the brightest sun in our universe.” The young woman looks at Na-yeon with adoration in her eyes. She takes a hand to pat her head. “I like your hat too. But you are prettier than the flower.” The comment was cheesy yet sweet because it made Na-yeon smile. 

Gyeong-seok also planned on taking Na-yeon to his work for the weekend and it's the amusement park. Yu-na is glad he is taking his kid to a magical place for the first time. Na-yeon had always wanted to go there because she loves fairytales, cartoon characters, and candy. She is like any other kid. Yu-na hopes Na-yeon will have fun and Gyeong-seok illustrates guests.

Afterward, the father and daughter bid Yu-na ‘goodbye’ and went home. 

✮⋆˙

In the Myung household, a family of three is at the dining table to feast on meals and talk about their day. 

They’re the same old topics: work, plans, and how they’ve been doing. For Yu-na, she brings something new to the table. “I met Uncle Gi-hun today.” She told her parents and they looked at her quite astonished. Her mother’s face lights up. “Really? Where has he been all this time?” Yu-bin becomes intrigued. 

Yu-na expounds, “He has been working overseas and has found a better living. His uncle said he stopped gambling because he was trying to improve his ways, which was shocking, but it’s understanding of him not to live on bad habits.” Her response is brief yet her parents comprehend.

Her father, Ji-won, tells her his thoughts. “It’s nice to know he is no longer in a negative life. Even though I’ve never shown any hate towards him, it was disappointing to see his behavior affecting others. That nasty divorce with his ex-wife caused so much trouble to the family that we weren’t so sure to continue being one. Sorry that I had to bring up your sister, my dear.” He sincerely apologizes to the love of his life. 

She shakes her head. “No, I’m with you on your opinion. As much as I never hated my sister and Gi-hun, their broken marriage had all of us worried. But in the end, I guess people do change.” Yu-bin does believe in second chances if the person is willing to make things right. 

Yu-na sighs, “I wonder if we’ll come together again.” She began to feel the nostalgia when times were different and the whole hatred didn’t come into their lives. Yu-bin reassures her child. “Someday. Keep on hoping for it and it’ll happen.” The mother also wants things they used to be. She misses her sister a lot more than she expected. The two women have a deep bond, even when they are countries apart.

Furthermore, the Myung family continued their dinner until it was time to sleep. 

Yu-na washes her greasy face because she ate delicious BBQ, soup, and dumplings. However, the calories were worth it. After having soft, clean skin, she jumps on her bed like a rabbit. The blissful feeling of cotton sheets and a blanket soothes her aching muscles. To end the night, she texts her friend she met in college. 

Park Chae-young is her name. Yu-na once thought she could seriously be a model for a fashion magazine—from face to body to attitude like so much perfection. Chae-young is also a hard-working student and dreams of becoming a registered nurse. It also makes it appropriate that her fiancé is a police officer because they are helping people in the community by providing medical care and maintaining safety, often in high-stress situations.

The quiet bedroom echoes her giggles here and there from the silly yet cute messages sent by her friend. Yu-na feels sleep taking over her body. She delivers one more reply before entering dreamland. 

✮⋆˙

It’s not a work day but a school day.

Yu-na carried her supplies in a pink and white backpack, wore a Cogimyun crewneck, flared jeans, and sneakers, and ate a quick breakfast—a toast with jelly. 

She leaves her home to meet Chae-young at the subway station. Whenever she goes to school, Yu-na appreciates how peaceful the morning is. It’s close to autumn so the weather is getting cooler and less humid. While leaving the neighborhood, a few people said “Good morning.” Yu-na says it back with her usual merry smile. It’s always amazing how a short yet meaningful greeting can uplift someone a little more. 

As she makes her way to her destination, Yu-na abruptly gets stopped by a person on the streets. It turns out to be a grown man who is fairly tall, with dark brown hair layered flat over his forehead and dressed in all gray and black. His facial features are sharp, thin lips, and has kind brown eyes. 

“Excuse me, miss. Do you know a café nearby?” He asked in a deep, charming voice. Yu-na politely answers. “Yes, I do. If you go down another block there will be one.” She points ahead of the street on her left, directing him to her workplace because that’s the closest. 

The man etches an elated expression. “Thank you so much, miss. Have a good day.” He bows to her. 

“You’re welcome and you too.” Yu-na does the same thing and watches him descend elsewhere before continuing her walk. 

series masterlist | three

[jd-loves-fiction]

Hey there! I might have an oddly specific request, but like. I am craving a trope but I am too lazy to write anything myself. Feel free to not accept this :"D

Could you write maybe like a *micro* oneshot about Boothill finding his past lover (from before his planet got nuked), but here's the thing, the lover did an ftm transition, so Boothill may have not realised at first.

And secondly, there is a child. Boothill's, but he had no idea.

The circumstances under what they reconnect is up to you. Wether it's fluff or angst, also.

Thank you in advance, cool writer person!<3

🌑felt that first part😭 ALSO this idea is so good rAAAH I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT IIITT (idk if this sucks but i hope i did this wonderful idea justice my dear, i poured all my love into this ❤️)

ALSO ALSO listened to 'Would you fall in love with me again' on loop writing this cuz the vibes are immaculate :)

Warnings: Spoilers for Boothill's backstory, mention of reader pre-transition as 'her' once but by male descriptors everwhere else, I have no experience writing ftm reader's so forgive my ignorance and let me know if I did good if you can 🥺

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 / 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠

The saloon is lively, crowded, not Boothill’s usual scene but fate or whatever sorry god is in charge of his path brought him here. His mission is complete and he’s exhausted – so out drinking he goes, even though he can barely feel the drink’s effects anymore. He supposes it must be the principle of the thing, a sort of tradition that helps him not lose his mind along the way.

Boothill scans the room by instinct, seeing dancing couples fill the entire room up to the corners – some slowly, some so fast it’s as if the universe is about to implode. A flash of a memory stings at the back of his brain, but he ignores it.

“Uhm! Mister!” Chirps a high pitched voice from below, clearly directed at himself. Looking down he spots a chubby-faced little girl, at which he raises a brow. Why a girl her age would ever think to approach him of all people in the saloon, he cannot imagine.

“Can you help me up, please? I wanna ask for some water,” she asks, polite but determined.

“Oh, well of course little lady!” He responds, gently holding her up and placing her onto the stool, once the cloud of nostalgia is gone from before his eyes. She just looks so familiar… The particular shade of brown of her eyes–

“Thank you mister!” The girl says brightly, sitting all cute and proper as Boothill waves the barkeep over, “It’s no trouble. Whatcha doin’ here, anyway? Y’ain’t alone, right?”

“Oh no mister, I’m here with my papa!” She replies cheerfully, pointing to the center of the room where the most people gather. Between swaying bodies he finds who she points at – twirling a giggling old lady is who Boothill suspects is the girl’s ‘papa’.

The cyborg cowboy no longer has a heart, nor a chest really, but it feels as if it stops in that moment. You don't spot him yet, lost as you are in your own little world, twirling around as sweat builds at your hairline.

But to Boothill everyone else fades as the pieces click into place – a grassfield beneath a starry sky, the love of his life before him, his flesh and bone hands around her blushing face… your face… no matter how you’ve changed, it’s you, he’d recognize you anywhere.

He must be seeing ghosts, surely. The girl’s father must just look like you, that’s it, it has to be, you’re dead… you have to be.

But Boothill knows in his soul that it is. You’re right there, dancing without a care in the world, changed and yet the same.

“Mister?” The little girl to him again, grasping at one of his sleeves and he turns. Her eyes, that particular shade of brown… it’s his, from when he was still flesh and blood. His head hurts. He feels drunk and crazy, maybe he should stop drinking after missions.

“There you are! You should’ve told me you wanted to rest,” You lightheartedly tell the girl, panting as you wipe sweat from your brow. From this close he’s sure it’s you, but Boothill still feels a little crazy for his thoughts. “Made a friend–?!”

The moment your eyes meet his, Boothill is finally sure it’s you. And he can tell you remember him too. Both of you seem stuck in time, gazing at each other like you’ve seen a ghost, which maybe you have, all things considered. The both of you should be dead.

Your mouth opens to speak but no words come out and you’re aching for a glass of water of your own. He’s here, alive and…

“You’ve… changed.” Boothill says lamely – so many things he wants to say, things he should’ve said long ago, things he would’ve said if he knew you were alive all this time.

“S-So have you!” Your voice cracks as you gawk at him, “You’re all… metal?”

Boothill chuckles, nerves eased by the familiarity that settles over the two of you – seems you haven't changed where it counts. “Yeah… it’s a long story.”

“Well, all I have is time.” He can tell you’re still upset with him, perhaps you will be for a while– heck! He’s upset with himself! He should’ve gone back for you, checked, double checked, triple checked!

“Just tell me one thing first;” The cyborg asks, watching as the girl sprints off towards who he assumes is a friend of hers, “Is she…” he points at himself.

“... Yeah. Her name’s Julia.” You tell him, sitting where she was, shoulders still tense as you watch him closely. He’s still as handsome as always, more rugged perhaps, more tired and grim, but the sight of his face still makes your heart stutter with affection. 

Boothill sighs heavily at the information, like the air’s been punched from his lungs, slumping over the bar and covering his eyes. You, alone as your planet burned while he went off to punish the ones who did it, was a heartbreaking enough picture to paint, but with a child? His child?

If they hadn't taken his tear ducts, he’d be filling the saloon up to the ceiling with his tears.

“Hey now, you can cry about it later, ok?” You say awkwardly, knowing you might start crying too if he does. 

He does as you ask, finally raising his head to look at you properly. You’re as beautiful as he remembers, of course you are. You could never stop looking so unfairly stunning to him, never.

Squirming in place as his cybernetic lock onto you, you feel the need to fill the empty space between you – as much as you wish to act like nothing had changed, a lot had, “How did you… recognize me?”

He finds it to be an odd question, of course he’d recognize you, yours is the only face he seems when he closes his eyes, haunting the few dreams he does have like a siren’s song beckoning him to linger within the memories of a better life before he became what he is now, “Y’haven’t changed that much.”

You blink at him, suddenly self-conscious, “... haven't I?”

Oh no, you look upset. He should’ve just said what he was thinking instead of whatever that was, “I– I didn't mean it like– I mean, you look great! Fudge I–”

You’re laughing, open and bright and lovely. Laughing at him no doubt, but laughing, “W-what– why do you– Fudge?”

“Ah, well, that’s part of that long story I told ya’bout.” He replies bashfully, because yeah, it would be strange to hear that coming out of his mouth to you.

Catching your breath and wiping the tears from your eyes, you smile fondly at the cowboy, “Sounds to me like we have some catching up to do.”

The farm boy in him wishes still that nothing had changed, that he could wake up from his dream and lay in the field beneath the stars again, hold you against his warm chest like always and have no IPC blood caked under his metaphorical nails, only dirt and sand from a hard day’s work. But the galaxy ranger he is now likes it better this way – change is inevitable and all things considered, this is one of the more fortunate outcomes of your story. 

You’ve both changed, but not where really it counts.

“That we do, sweetheart.”

[non-un-topo]

what are each of the queer quartets favourite cities/places and what do they think of each other's choices?

Ohh this is really interesting to think about!! And you're testing my geographic knowledge lol.

Andromache

This is... a hard one, considering she would probably be the single most well-travelled person in the world. I feel like she couldn't possibly choose a favourite, but she would have a few places that hold a ton of value to her because they were places where her life changed --- the desert where she met Quỳnh being one of them. I feel like Andy would love a place that was free and open, without borders. Somewhere just filled with horses. Fjords, maybe. Somewhere that reminded her of the ancient world, where she could be at peace.

The others would call her an old woman for this, but they would feel a longing for it, too.

Quỳnh

Samarkand. Maybe I'm biased, because I can picture her so easily loving the mountains because of one of my fics lol, but there's also history here. I imagine her and Andromache spending a ton of time here, or coming back after decades or centuries, as they would travel along the Silk Road. Just think about all the changes they would see. It's mind-boggling.

The boys would probably want to hear her stories about this time and her trade route travels. Yusuf would probably think she's nuts for liking the cold. Andromache would probably feel very sentimental, maybe even a little sad that the times had changed so drastically.

Yusuf

Baghdad! Mostly because of the presence of the Grand Library (Bayt al-Hikmah). Part of the Abbasid Era, but I don't think Yusuf would have cared about the Caliphate so much as he cared about knowledge and art. I can imagine him geeking the hell out in the library, and of course being devastated when it was destroyed. There are actually some fantastic fics that explore this, where I got this idea from (x, x)!

The others could only love him for this, I think. Maybe the women would have hated Baghdad, but they grow to love it purely because of Yusuf's love for it.

Nicolò

Cairo or Damascus, depending on which direction he and Yusuf travelled out of the Holy Land. I'm going to choose Damascus for now. In the cinematic universe in my head, this was where they fell in love. These were also the places where Nicolò's beliefs changed, and he started to live for a greater purpose than he had thought before.

The others would think he's a sap for this, and probably make fun of him (lovingly).

[missyue]

TASTE

Fem!satoru gojo x fem reader x fem!suguru geto

Contains: slight satosugu. Violence. Satosugu killing each other over and over. Satoru and y/n are exes. Alternate universe. Possibly OOC. toxic relationships?. Satoru Gojo is now Satori Gojo, and Suguru Geto is now Sugki (I really tried lol) Geto . Y/n being kinda useless in the satosugu beef. Male ver of Shoko is here btw. Satosugu is somewhat implied to be dating after the funeral. Death.

Yue's notes: imma be honest, reader isn't really involved alot ...tbh this is mostly fem!satosugu..

"I'm sorry, Satori. I just don't think we'll work out.." y/n said, her arms wrapped around her as if to shield herself from the woman's gaze. Y/n knew perfectly well her reason for breaking up with Satori wasn't because she didn't think it'd work out. The real reason was mostly because she was still in love with Sugki Geto, her ex and Satori's best friend.

Satori wasn't sure how to react, after all no one has broken up with her before. Unless you want to count the time Sugki had left her and y/n at KFC.

Y/n didn't wait for an answer and quickly left with her things.

•••

Satori was scrolling on a media app when she saw a recent photo of Sugkk and y/n on a ice cream. Seriously? Did y/n break up with her for her best friend?

She's not surprised, she should've known. everyone knew this would happen at some point. Sugki and y/n were the type of couple to break up for a few months and then get back together.

But she couldn't believe it, why did Sugki knowingly get with y/n if (and she knows the pretty woman knew) she knew she used to be with y/n. Well to be fair, she shouldn't be talking either, she took his shot with y/n the moment he could. But she didn't care.

•••

Satori picked up a knife, using it as a mirror to put on lipstick and gloss. She soon left her house and went into her car, quickly putting in the address of y/n's house. She was sure the two backstabbers were at that location, it was okay if they weren't. After all, she had both addresses.

She entered the house and went upstairs. Quietly walking to y/n's room, hoping to murder Sugki and take joy in her ex's face as she would wake up to Suguru's dead body.

•••

As Satori went to the other side of the bed, she took her weapon of choice out of hiding and stabbed Sugki with a smile multiple times in a row. Her smile dropped as she noticed that instead of blood, feathers were flying.

Y/n soon screamed as she wasn't expecting to see Satoru with a weapon. Sugki came in with a gun, aiming it at Satori and shot it.

Satori soon dodged every bullet. Sugki was getting frustrated, not only was her aim off but Satoru kept dodging with a smile as if taunting her.

Satori then stopped and said,"I hope you like my sloppy seconds!"

BANG!

Sugki had shot Satori. Y/n couldn't believe what she saw. Sugki had murdered her ex.

Satork tumbled out from the glass doors and fell down from the balcony, landing into the fence. The fence had pierced her stomach and left blood all over.

Sugki had gone to the balcony and looked down to where Satoru was laying. Sugki laughed at the white haired woman's state.

Satori was furious and took out a small knife. Sugki tilted her head to the side, wondering what her rival was going to do. She was then blinded in her left eye.

She screamed in agony with y/n quickly attending to her. Y/n looked down to Satoru and saw her put up the finger at her.

•••

Satori was in the hospital as someone had found her. Her doctor was Shouske leiri, he was surprised Satori survived her wounds.

"how the hell did this happen?" Shouske asked, struggling to take out the fence that was still stuck in his friend. Satori gave him a smile, "I was trying to kill Sugki."

Shouske sighed at his friend's antics. He finally took out the fence which made Satori look back at him in pain, she was also slightly annoyed at how rough the fence came out.

"I don't know how you do it, Satori." He said with a soft chuckle and walked away to light a cigarette outside. What he didn't know was that Sugki was in the room disguised as a nurse. Her left eye was now covered by an eye patch, her hair was in a bun with a small hat that had a red plus to show she was in the medical field, and she wore a dress that went to her mid thigh with short sleeves.

Sugki was warming up an electric shock device, turning her head slowly to make sure Satori didn't notice her. She quickly stopped warming up the device and speed walked to Satori. She took the device and put it to Satori's back, shocking her.

Satori's body shook viciously before she turned around with a pissed off face. Sugki didn't wait for what Satori had to say and shocked her again in the chest. Once again, The blue-eyed woman's body shook violently before Sugki put the device on the sides of Satori's head, electrifying the woman's brain and killing her (for now).

Her body fell back into the hospital bed. Sugki put down the device and quickly left before anyone can catch her.

•••

Y/n was sitting on the couch and was finishing the last bite of her meal, after all Sugki had a surprise for her and she didn't want her food to be in the way.

Sugki had come back into the living room wearing black lingerie. Y/n was stunned, she couldn't find the words to speak. Sugki didn't really wear lingerie.

Sugki had sat on Y/n's lap and wrapped her arms around her girlfriend's neck. Little did they know they had an audience.

Before Sugki could kiss her lover, some force made her bend backwards which had hurt her spine. Y/n began to worry, what was wrong with Sugki?

Sugki got off her partner's lap, making noises of pain. She realized this was Satori's doing, remembering when they jokingly made voodoo dolls of each other. She grabbed the doll version of Satori, but before she could do anything, her neck snapped making her head come undone.

Y/n had screamed thinking her girlfriend would die. Sugki snapped her neck and head back into place before throwing the doll into the fire. They both heard a scream, and y/n looked into the distance.

"oh my God! Satori is on fire!" Y/n could see her ex scream and freak out. Who wouldn't? I mean the fire was burning her skin and her organs.

Sugki just laughed while y/n looked at her girlfriend like she was psychotic and ran to help Satori.

•••

Satori was dressed in a fancy white dress with a silk coat with fur on it. She was furious and couldn't let Sugki think she had won. She rushed up the stairs where she could hear water rushing.

Sugki and y/n were making out when Satori opened the curtain and put up her knife, but before she could, Sugki cut her arm off with her own weapon. Y/n gasped and screamed, her eyes closed due to blood in her eyes. Satori had ran off.

Sugki quickly got dressed and took Satori's arm with her which was laying on the floor.

Satori had tripped near the end of the stairs and fell, Sugki had caught up to her and choked her with the white haired woman's arm. Satori choked for a moment before passing out.

Sugki had let laughter leave her lips, she looked psychotic since Satori's blood was on her. Sugki stood up and walked away after her laugh attack.

•••

Sugki and her lover, Y/n, were at the pool and were making out. Sugki then noticed arms wrapping around her waist, pushing her closer. The hands left her waist and found their way to her bottom. Sugki opened her eyes in surprise, only to see Satori kissing her instead of her lover. Satori had a cheeky smile.

Sugki on the other hand was furious, she took out a chainsaw and sliced Satori through her stomach.

Satori held her stomach in pain, at least she was able to kiss the lips that kissed y/n. She fell into the pool and her body slowly sank.

Sugki had a crazed smile on her face but what she didn't notice was Satori next to her smiling in shock, she didn't think Sugki had the guts. Sugki looked at her then took a second look to see if Satori was really alive before looking back to the body in the pool.

The body was not in fact Satoris' instead it was y/n's. Sugki stood there in disbelief. In disbelief that she killed the woman she loved.

•••

Satori and Sugki were dressed in all black, holding solemn faces. After all, what do you say and do when you're at your ex's funeral and was the one who murdered them?

Sugki could hear y/n's family sob.

•••

Satori and Sugki were at their home, giggling as they drank their milkshakes.

"I honestly can't believe we let some girl get between us, Satori" Sugki said before taking another sip of her milkshake.

Satori gave Sugki a soft chuckle before saying, "Lets hope that doesn't happen again" Sugki agreed and kissed Satori on the cheek.

•••

Shouske on the other hand was reading the messages his friends had sent him.

"Why am I always friends with the crazy ones?"

Y/n's ghost agreed.

AHHH, I honestly really love this and Ik it's not perfect but still.

Can u tell I was resisting to make satosugu canon.

[shrillow]

Winter Flowers - Ch 3

sylus x reader; dragon!sylus x human sacrifice!reader

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3

NSFW: gore, smut, cunnilingus

You spend the winter in the dragon’s lair. 

At first, neither of you seem to know what you’re doing. Where to start.

Shall he begin with the dead languages of a people whose last descendants no longer walk the earth? Will he show you the fashions of the world? Should he recount the doctrines of the hundred religions he knew? Perhaps he still possesses those old star maps which sailors once used to brave the seas?

In the end, Sylus begins with a story. Many stories. Whatever your hand brushes—an instrument, a piece of furniture, a weapon—he unravels its history with the steady, patient rhythm of his voice.

“It was an heirloom passed down through a royal bloodline that ruled two thousand years ago . . .”

“The fae believed that sword was forged by a sun god when he was banished to the mortal world . . .”

“This was a popular instrument used for herding sheep. You place your fingers over these holes and blow here . . .”

From sunrise to sunset, the dragon recalls the stories of things with eidetic precision. To your delight and amazement, Sylus has a seemingly limitless memory. And despite the spontaneous nature of your lessons, the dragon is a surprisingly good teacher.

“Only because you’ve proven yourself to be a prodigious student.” The affection laced through his words softens his smug grin.

You blush and bury your nose back into the astronomy text you’re translating.

Nights in the cave are your favorite, for you and dragon select a book from his expansive collection and read together.

Sylus’ tail loosely curls around you while you decipher a collection of mariners fables. Something about a sea serpent who’s hunting a group of sailors after they stole a legendary treasure from it—a brooch? The interpretation is frustratingly vague.

It’s slow work, and the ink has either faded or smeared, but you persevere through the ages it’s endured to be read by you.

The dragon corrects you occasionally, but otherwise is content to rest his head in your lap.

Through the night, your voice fills the cavern, drowning out the winter noise. So engrossed in the book, you don’t notice when Sylus grows quiet.

You glance down to see if he fell asleep, only for you to catch him staring at you. His gaze is honey in the light. Skin like the golden shade of the wheat fields. Even his silver hair seems to catch fire and all his sharp edges are burned down to something tender.

You have not touched each other since the rut, and you dare not now. Why would you? You are not his mate.

Oh, but it’s moments like these, where time turns to liquid and the earth quiets until it’s just your and the dragon’s hushed murmurs, when you want to melt into him and never leave.

How long can you pretend? At least one more night.

“Why’d you stop?” he murmurs, “Are you bored?”

You shake your head. “I just lost my place.”

Sylus lifts himself up, and you mourn his closeness until he gently grasps your hands beneath the book. “Would you like me to take over?”

You ignore the way his thumb circles your knuckles. “Only if you teach me the rest tomorrow.”

His next words leave a dull ache in your chest.

“I’ll teach you everything I know.”

So as the world darkens to its last season, and the snow quietly gathers outside your alpine sanctuary, you and the dragon weave a tapestry of the universe, of everything that once or continues to sleep below the ageless stars.

Sometimes, your mind wanders back to the village. To your siblings and father. To Tara. Not because of some longing for those sleepy huts and worn fields. Only because that is the nature of memory, and as all these treasures that pass through your searching hands inevitably remind you of them.

“Tara would love this.”

You flip through a manuscript on herbology, searching for a more effective salve for Sylus’ injuries. You recognize only a handful of the plants mentioned, Tara would know at least half.

Sylus’ tail flicks out. “Who?”

“My friend,” you elaborate, “She’s a healer. She knows every plant in the valley, when they grow, which ones work together and which don't.”

You grind the dried herbs Tara had stuffed into your bag before you left. She’d almost given you her entire stash, even though those same plants would not be seen again until spring. You're grateful for her generosity as you peel back the dressing and gently clean the dragon’s wounds.

His injuries are surprisingly slow to heal. It may be weeks yet until his full strength returns. You suspect it is due to whatever magic the bounty hunters used to subdue him. The very thought makes your blood boil every time.

“Why were those men after you?” you ask Sylus. You force your hand to steady as you apply the new salve.

He tries to look over his shoulder at you, only to pull at the stitching. “Ngh. I thought you would’ve guessed by now, sweetie.” He holds up a bloody bandage. “Healing blood, remember?”

The answer does not sit well with you.

“And the collar?”

“Useless runes and mage tricks,” he sneers, “I’ve broken every one they’ve put on me.”

Images of the dragon collared flash through your mind. You’re extra gentle when you clean around his neck. “How often do they come?”

“A couple times a century.” He shrugs. “It’s to be expected. Dragons are a valuable commodity.”

Your hands pause over his skin. “What do you mean?”

“Our blood heals. Our scales make excellent armor. Witches use our tears to brew love potions.” You stare at him horrified. Sylus just smiles. “I was once told our livers are boiled to a paste to reverse one’s aging.”

“You’re just messing with me now.”

“I haven’t even gotten to my best parts.” His eyes take on a sudden, unmistakable heat. 

Only Sylus would joke about something like that. Regardless, your face starts to burn.

Sparks fly from his mouth when he laughs. “It’s nothing to worry about, sweetie. They would have to kill me first, and I’m very difficult to kill.”

Perhaps it’s the trick of the light, a dance of shadows, but the red veins on his chest catch your attention as he heaves with laughter. You swear that they have shifted closer to that hollow above his heart.

Difficult, you worry, but he never said impossible.

-

You and Sylus discover your affinity for music.

He presents you with a zither, a fiddle, hand drums, and panpipes. He gifts you sheet music and ancient canvases depicting grand banquets so you can study the hand placements of the musicians who were painted into the scene.

Most of the time, however, you learn by trial and error, copying from the simple melodies you learned in childhood. You hum those tunes to yourself, plucking at your pipa until you strike the right notes.

“You have a good ear,” the dragon compliments, “have you played before?”

“No, but I sing,” you tell him, “mostly to calm the herd. My father played the lute, but it broke and he never bothered to fix it.”

Your focus drifts to the pipa in your hands. A couple strings are missing, but with some tuning, the remaining ones ring out clear and strong.

“Do you miss him?”

You stare at Sylus. He works on a strange contraption, various tools and something he calls a magnifying glass sprawled before him.

You follow your father across the hills as he plays a tune to guide the flock back to the village for shearing and butchering. You listen to his easy strumming as you fall asleep by the hearth. You hear its strings snap under your brother’s young fingers.

“Not in the way I should,” you say.

Sylus looks up. “There’s no wrong way to miss a person.”

“Is there someone you miss?”

The question catches both of you off guard. 

“Sorry,” you amend, looking away, “I shouldn’t pry.”

Sylus doesn’t say anything at first. He fidgets with the object, turning it over and over while silence permeates between you.

“The music stopped,” he observes, “could you play it again?”

A few days later, you find the device he was working on in your room. It’s a mechanical bird, with articulating metal wings and a beak that can open and close with a twist of a gear. Its eyes are the same shade as yours.

-

Tell me what you desire.

His eyes are fountains of truth, pouring with the ageless, nameless, and forgotten. Waiting for some soul to drink from its waters.

Take what you want.

Is it that easy? You open your hands and feel them grow heavy with the weight of this world.

Do you want more?

You bring your hands to your mouth and sate yourself until you are bursting.

Poetry, music, medicine, dragons.

How strange to think that you were scared to plunge beneath the surface. What might you find? What might you unleash? Only to find that it is a bottomless well; the more you consume, the deeper it becomes.

Not all of it is good—of course it’s not.

War, disease, tyrants, curses.

You recognize the beauty, the cruelty. And as any true glutton, you drink more in the hopes of understanding it.

Selfish girl.  Your mother's ring leaves a scar on your cheek as she strikes you. Wanton daughter.

When Sylus offers you starlight from his hand, you hesitate.

“I thought dragons were possessive creatures.”

“I was unaware that generosity would damage my reputation," he quips, “Won’t you at least try this on for me, Dear Shepherd?”

Shimmering diamonds of various sizes are fastened to a silver chain. Fractals of light splash onto the walls. Only the river that passes through the valley has sparkled so magnificently.

“We don’t wear jewelry in the village.”

Jenna’s pendant dangles near your face as she reads to you. You watch your reflection in its scarlet body. Your village boasts no riches and disdains all vanity. But Jenna—

It is her greatest treasure. It is her only treasure. Yet, sometimes you catch her grasping the pendant like a knife to her chest.

Sylus considers you for a moment, a small cluster of lights glint in his eyes. “Then it’s a good thing we’re not in the village.”

Sylus turns you around. His breath caresses the back of your neck as he secures the necklace. “There,” he breathes, “beautiful.”

Your mouth is painfully dry. “It’s heavy.” 

“Beauty should not be taken lightly.” His hand twitches—you think he’s going to touch you—but Sylus bends down instead, hovering over your shoulder like an owl.

“It’s yours if you want it.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” His gaze drinks you in. “This was once a betrothal gift. A man promised his beloved that he would fashion a necklace from the heart of a star.”

“Very romantic,” you hum, “but was the price worth it?”

“I’m sure the star didn’t mind,” Sylus reassures, “they don’t have feelings, after all.”

One beauty for another. The whole earth is merely an appetite to satisfy. What are you within ouroboros’ hunger? The eater or the eaten?

With the dragon looking at you the way he does, you feel like you are both.

-

Your chamber slowly fills with trinkets.

New bedding, chests full of garments, bronze mirrors, all sorts of musical instruments, and towers of books.

"Even the greediest dragon would be impressed by your hoard," Sylus comments, but he never asks for anything back. Nor does he demand for something in return.

You understand sacrifice. You are descended from those who brokered a deal with an ancient power and irrevocably bound your fate to him thereafter. He is owed your soul, your body. And yet . . .

You stand beside Sylus before a grand tapestry.

“What is this?” you ask him.

“The world,” he replies, “at least some of it.”

Your mouth falls open. Continents and oceans are rendered from thousands of dyed threads. Even the borders are lined with gold patterning. Artistic portrayals of various plants and creatures fill the bare spaces. Foreign words hover across specific parts of the map.

“Where are we?”

“Not here,” he says.

You trace your hand down the old weaves, frowning at his words. “Did my people come from these lands?” As you examine map, your attention catches on a set of words floating above a strange looking animal. “What does this say?”

A strange expression crosses his face. “‘Here be dragons.’”

You realize the creature beneath the words is supposed to be a dragon, but it’s no dragon you’ve ever seen. Triple-headed, slavering, and grotesque. No expense was spared in portraying the dragon as a beast.

“You’ve been alone a long time, haven’t you?”

He doesn’t deign you with a response.

He claws at his skin. He fights against a fever that will ravage his body until all he knows is the mark that claims you as his. You have never known a creature more hateful towards its own nature. He told you several times that you could leave; you think he wishes you did, but not for the reasons you think. 

“Sylus,” you choose your next words carefully, “Why did you make the deal with my ancestors if you were just going to let us go?”

A stillness ensnares the both of you in a kind of limbo, tethering you to a precipice you’re not sure you would survive.

“Do you think I would force you?” His voice is the current in the air before a lightning strike.

You aren’t under any delusion that he isn’t capable of violence, however, you’re not prepared for his anger—

No. Not anger.

His body is coiled tight, brow furrowed and eyes so dark and red like gaping wounds. When your hand searches for his, he retreats as if you are a pair of dancers forbidden from touching.

“Of course not,” you tell him, meaning it.

You think he might answer you, but then he hesitates, and you know you’ve lost him. “Then you need to stop.”

His words feel like a brand.

“If you don’t,” he continues, “you’re not going to like the answers.” 

-

Sylus doesn’t talk about what happened. Neither do you.

The dragon speaks in offered books and mechanical gifts, through muted smiles and old literature.

His quiet touches lessen. His lingering gaze fades.

You hold your silence like a noose around your neck.

You miss the Sylus who clutched you in the dark, helpless with need. Who kissed your scars and named you huntress. Who could not pretend that he was a thing without feeling. 

Only in the secret hours after midnight do you let yourself imagine tiptoeing into his chamber and slipping into his nest, allowing his body heat to close around you like a summer day.

From outside, just before sleep catches you in that lovely dream, you hear the baying whine of something suffering, some creature dying.

-

The weather eases; you explore the mountains with Sylus.

He shows you glades that hide the best views of the valley. He takes you to waterfalls from which you drink the freshest water you’ve tasted. You meander through the woods at sunset when the light turns the snow pink and orange. You can see the lake and a herd of caribou making their way across the open plains. You’re too far away to be of any concern to them. Meanwhile, the dragon ambles by your side, scoffing at your jokes and flicking snow at you.

You ask him no more questions about the past. It turns to smoke when Sylus’ eyes settle on you. He plucks a winter camellia and threads it into your hair. 

“I’ve read about this before,” you say as you gather twigs and start weaving a crown.

His eyes flash. “Oh?” 

“A knight gives a flower to a princess.” You creep toward him until your coats brush and your breaths mingle in the cold air. “She tells him to take her back to the palace . . .”

His tail brushes your leg. “And?”

You toss the crown onto his horns. “Then she asks him to make her mooncakes!”

Sylus’ laugh echoes wonderfully through the mountains. You wish you could bottle the sound.

He brings you out in the evening when the skies are clearest, and he points out all the constellations.

“To the west is the Tortoise, it shares a star with the Old Fisherman. And over there—a bit higher—is the Tiger and the Crane . . .”

You stay up well into the night listening to the dragon spin tales from memory. With his head tilted to the heavens—face open and white hair glowing with the light of the full moon—it reminds you strangely of Tara.

You shiver as a sudden gust barrels up the mountain.

“Cold?” Sylus brings his coat tighter around you. With a snap of his fingers, a flame flickers to life in his palm.

“Thank you.” You sigh at the warmth. “That’s a pretty neat trick.”

Sylus hums in agreement, though his mood turns melancholic. “I learned it from a witch.”

“That’s something you needed to learn?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Dragons are creatures of magic. All magic is a matter of patience,” he explains, “and will.” A hesitant smile begins to form. “I believe you have much of both.”

Your heart flutters. “Do you really think . . . ?”

Sylus stares at you incredulously. “You could call down the stars if that is your desire.”

There’s that look in his eyes—an unwavering intensity you’ve only seen glimpses of since the rut—before it’s gone again.

“Besides, it’s a useful skill to know when you leave,” he goes on, “people will be disinclined to mess with a girl who can wield fire.”

-

You don’t notice it at first. How can you, when you spend every day with the dragon?

You are removing the last of Sylus’ bandages when you realize how dull his scales have become.

After that, you notice everything else.

There are bruises under his eyes when he reads to you at night. His hair has lost its luster. The red veins on his chest glow brightly as if inflamed.

Valley-born that you are, you’re unfamiliar with the signs of starvation.

His indifference vexes you. It terrifies you.

You’re paranoid that Sylus will disintegrate from your very touch. You are one sleepless night away from wringing all his dreadful secrets from his throat.

Fear. What a violent animal.

The dragon guards his silence and pretends that nothing is wrong.

-

You watch him with his automatons, tinkering away at their intricate joints and handmade gears. You follow the curve of his back as he hunches over his worktable, lost in his craft. It’s so human. 

You can’t help but stare at his profile. His lips are slightly parted; you want to rediscover the shape of them, find common ground between soft skin and stilted breaths. The light behind him casts a golden halo around his head. It reminds you of sunsets in the valley, how the mountains’ silhouettes are carved from the brilliant hues of a dying sun.

How beautiful. How unreachable.

Although you’re grateful for everything he shares with you—the more you learn about the world, the more questions you have about the dragon himself.

How did you learn this? Where did you acquire it?

Why did you come here? Why do you remain?

The answers to your questions cannot be found in a book.

You pore over mythology texts, bestiaries, religious anthologies, and epic poems. All are more or less the same.

An evil dragon terrorizes a kingdom; a monster kidnaps the princess; a winged serpent tricks the hero into killing his beloved. 

You open a hunting manual on a whim, but immediately regret picking it up.

‘A dragon’s underside is the softest part of their body. As such, make your first incision under the jaw. Continue slitting around its mouth, then down the stomach. Now, you can begin peeling back its skin—’

The words sink into your flesh like rot. You slam the book shut.

You think you know why Sylus has been alone all this time. Why he will always be alone.

-

The dragon is not yours.

Stitch stitch stitch.

Yet, he comes to you when his wounds have torn open. You strip off his ruined cloak and don’t question it.

He has given you—books, tools, jewelry, and music. He has given you himself in the only way he can.

It’s enough it’s enough it’s enough.

You thread a needle through his skin. It feels like sacrilege.

His long fingers grasp your shaking hand, warm and unafraid. It feels like worship.

“You could never hurt me.”

A dragon’s roar is swallowed by the violent storm. Nothing warm-blooded can survive the cold.

The spot beneath your ear tingles.

“Sometimes I want you to hurt.” 

His gaze does not waver. “I won’t stop you.”

Tell me of your shame, you want to say to him, as I have told you mine.

“Are you dying?”

“If only fate were that kind to me.” His mouth twists into a mockery of a smile that quickly evaporates when he sees your stricken expression. You wait for him to say more; he doesn’t.

Oh, he might give you the world, but he cannot give you this.

You gather his tattered old cloak, torn and bloody, and neatly fold it in your lap. It is good fabric. You want to believe that you can fix it.

“I will leave come spring,” you tell him.

Sylus’ expression is indecipherable. He strokes the back of your hand, committing every vein and knuckle to memory. “Then we mustn’t waste our time together.”

-

One night, when the sky is tinged a deep purple, you glance down into the valley and notice the blazing lights of your village.

You motion to Sylus. “Look.”

Several dozen lanterns drift into the night sky while music trickles up the mountain. Although you cannot see the villagers, you know they’re gathering in the town center for the dances.

“I can’t believe it’s already the new year,” you breathe. If you close your eyes, you can almost smell the sweet tarts you and Tara made together.

“Is that what you’ve been celebrating,” Sylus muses, “I wondered what all that noise and revelry were for.”

You turn to him, realizing that the dragon has been watching your village celebrate for the last thousand years without knowing the reason. Has perhaps sat alone on this very ledge to watch the lanterns pass over his head and the festivities down below.

“Stay here.”

You scurry back to the cave to retrieve your pipa.

His tired eyes settle on you when you return. Even now, you want him. Whatever is left of him. Whatever will remain after tonight, even if it falls away like water through your fingers come morning. You will remember him like this: snow in his hair, phantom smile, and bleeding gaze heavy with all the things he cannot say.

You press your fingers to the strings, and begin to sing.

-

He comes to you at night.

You gasp when you blink awake and see his silhouette above you.

He wordlessly slides in behind you, under the furs. It is muscle memory when his arms snake around you and his face finds the crook of your neck. He carries the scent of pine and woodsmoke and . . . something sharper. His skin is hot to the touch as you press your hand against his chest and prompt him to look at you.

A faint tendril of red mist spills from the corner of his eyes.

“Do you want me to leave?”

His voice sounds like cracked glass.

Without a word, you guide him back down until his skin is against yours. You would savor this moment if sleep did not find you all too soon, even as the air smells faintly of blood.

-

There comes a day when Sylus slips off into the mountains and does not return. 

You suspect the worst.

The winds are fierce, but your will is iron. You trace his path down the mountain and through the trees, listening for the beat of dragon wings.

You call his name but all you receive is the mountain’s echoing response. The snow and wind beat against you, punishing your determination.

You trudge through the forest past sunset, until the moonlight casts the woods in a lonely grey. Still, you find no sign of the dragon.

Did he really leave? Did hunters get to him?

One fear after another hurtles through your mind, urging you farther and deeper into the forest. You brought your spear, having learned from experience that predators have no issue encroaching on the dragon’s territory.

What else did your village get wrong? What would happen to your people if Sylus could no longer protect them?

What would you do if you cannot find him?

A violent heat pulses from your nonexistent mating bite. Your legs and face are numb, and you can barely see in front of you.

You snap your fingers, whispering a word of power just as Sylus taught you. Sparks fly off your trembling fingers. You try again and again until the smallest of flames swells to life amidst shadow and snow.

You can only maintain it for a few more moments before your foot catches on something and you crash to the ground.

The flame gutters out. The winds wail through the barren trees. You lift your head, wipe snow off your face. You look back to see what made you fall and you scream.

The unseeing eye of a caribou stares back at you. Its blood oozes from the gashes along its body and pools beneath your hands. Still warm.

You stagger to your feet, and nearly trip again over another carcass.

An entire herd of reindeer lie in mangled puddles, slaughtered in the dozens. Steam rises from their bodies. Torn limbs and viscera stain the once spotless snow.

Just like the sheep.

You grip your spear until your knuckles turn white, the grain of the wood biting uncomfortably into your skin.

The trees close over you like the bars of a cage, their shadows smothering out light and sound. You cannot see where you came from.

Between the trees, you see the dragon. But everything about him is unrecognizable to you.

Sylus crouches over a carcass, tearing and consuming its flesh with razor-like teeth. Black spikes jut out from his skin. He’s elbow-deep in gore and red smoke spills from blood-bright eyes when he spots you.

You run.

-

His screams shake the mountain.

You hide in the dark with your spear, keeping watch outside the dragon’s lair.

You wait for days. You wait long after his cries have died out.

You should leave.

The thought pecks at your mind.

The dragon will not return.

You stare out across the mountains as another storm rolls in. Snow gathers in a frenzy, the world so bright your eyes sting.

The dragon is mad.

You read one of Sylus’ books to distract yourself.

The dragon is a liar.

He emerges from the whiteout like a spectre. He is as you remember him, a quiet ancient power exudes from his decaying body. But when he stumbles upon seeing you, you see his mortification.

“I thought you would have left already.”

Your grip tightens around your spear. “You killed my flock.”

He does not deny it.

“Is that why you’ve remained,” he asks, “to extract my apology?”

Your nostrils flare. “I would have the truth.”

“It will ruin you.”

You regard the dragon. Does he think you are a child in need of protection? You are not so feeble-minded, you never have been. He allowed you to believe that he was sick, that he was dying—and even after seeing the worst of him, he resists. So you will force his hand.

You unsheathe the dagger he gifted you, and slice it across your arm.

The dragon springs toward you and freezes. Red mist pours from reptilian eyes, his claws extend and his skin splits to reveal mangled spikes. Sylus’ knees dig into the earth as he collapses and emits a vicious growl. The red veins writhe across his chest.

You quickly wipe the blood away and press a thick bandage to the cut. “You didn’t just need a mate,” you whisper, “you also needed blood.”

Sylus bows his head. “Abhorrent, am I not?” His distorted voice slices through the air, guttural and raw. The red mist dissipates, his scales slide back under his skin. “How do you feel knowing you’ve bedded a monster?”

Monster. What a cruel word.

“I would not forsake you for this,” you say.

His eyes flutter before they harden in disbelief. “One second,” he threatens, “is all it would take to raze the entire valley.”

Tara and your family flash through your mind. You take a steadying breath. “But you haven’t yet.”

“I found a way to delay it.” With a mate. With blood—your blood.

There’s something else he isn’t telling you.

“Why did your rut come early?” 

He’s quiet for so long, you think he might turn and fly away for good. Until he admits, “I didn’t take her blood before she left.”

“Why not?” you press, “What happened last time?”

The look on his face will haunt you for years to come.

“They sent me a child.”

-

The dragon steals glances at you, waiting for you to speak—to leave—anything. He moves as if to touch you before thinking better of it.

He anticipates your censure, but you cannot find the words to reassure him.

“Only those who’ve had their first blood can be chosen.”

“I know.”

Your blood continues to soak the bandage, though you barely feel the injury’s sting.

“What did you do?” you ask.

“I took her across the lake, and told her to never return to the valley,” he answers.

Your village never spoke of the last girl who was chosen, and you, like a sheep, never asked. Never wondered about their lives until your fate mirrored theirs. How could your village send a child up the mountain to be his mate believing what they do about the dragon’s brutality? 

You don’t realize you’re crying until Sylus wipes your tears away. “I never harmed any of you. I swear it.”

He looks as distraught as you feel.

“I believe you,” you rasp, and he sags with relief. “But Sylus. Couldn't you have returned her? Demand we choose someone else?”

His expression shudders with pain. “The last time I did that, they put her to the torch, convinced that she disappointed me.”

You feel sick.

Memories of the harvest season. Children’s games. The mead hall’s lively music and Josephine’s patient guidance as she walks you through a new embroidery technique—

“I am sorry.” 

—All tarnishes as Sylus kneels before you. He seems to be the only solid thing keeping you anchored to this moment. Diminished as he is. Self-named monster that he claims to be. “You deserved to know before I ever placed my mark on you.”

Remorse darkens his face when he glances at your bleeding arm. You see his hunger. Sylus takes a sharp breath before he retracts a claw and prepares to cut his own palm. His hands shake.

And you—you cannot resent him for withholding the truth. Not when it takes everything he has to resist the bloodlust.

Would a monster cut himself for someone else? Would he yield when told to stop? Would he teach you how to chart the stars? How to speak an ancient language? Would he read to you long into the night, or ask you to play that song one more time?

You stop him before he can draw blood. A bewildered, helpless expression crosses his gaunt face.

“I am already cut,” you say, raising your arm to his mouth, “Why let it go to waste?”

-

His strength returns. The red veins retreat.

You lie in his nest, sleepy and surrounded in his warmth.

“Is there any way to fix it?” you ask the dragon, “This—this bloodlust?”

He sighs and shakes his head. You press yourself against him in a way you haven’t since the rut. 

Who cursed you?

The question sits heavy on your tongue as you follow the haloed edges of his lean body. Hard and soft in equal measure. Violent and innocent.

You press your hand over the hollow of his chest. “Did any of them stay with you, Sylus? The way I had?”

He swallows.

“You’re the only one.”

-

You stare down into the valley. For a village of inconsequential size, it casts long shadows across the white expanse.

They sent me a child.

The dragon may have lied about the sheep, but your village elders—well—what more did they lie about?

You cannot let it happen again. But if you return to the village, would your family and neighbors heed your words, or would they put you to the torch as well? What would stop them from sending another little girl up the mountain?

By the time Sylus' rut returns and his bloodlust needs to be sated, you’ll be nothing but rot beneath the earth.

Your neck burns from the very thought when you hold up the finished cloak to Sylus.

“I’ve made some repairs. Do you like it?”

Sylus cautiously takes the cloak, examines the patched holes and new fur lining with round eyes. His fingers run along your even stitching, stopping at your embroidery. An elaborate pattern of wildflowers and knotwork Elder Josephine taught you long ago.

“I hope you don’t mind,” you say, “I also replaced the old fur with the wolf’s pelt. It should be much warmer now.”

As if the dragon has to worry about the cold. You mentally shake yourself as Sylus slips the cloak over his shoulders, surrounding himself in a field of flowers.

“Your skill knows no equal,” he praises, halting your train of thought. He bites his lip, looking uncharacteristically rueful. “I will probably ruin it again.”

“Then I will mend it again.”

And again and again and again.

A light blush tinges the edges of Sylus’ ears. You watch him smooth down the collar of his cloak, and the memory of the hidden words you embroidered there flash in your mind.

You glance away. “Think of it as something to remember me by.”

In a hundred years, the next woman may find a trace of you here, and know there is nothing to be afraid of.

-

You find yourself staring across the lake more often. Dreaming. Planning.

You have studied the maps, languages, and histories. But there is only so much you can learn from a book.

You spot Sylus some distance away, crouched low. His hair blends in with the snow. He extends a hand towards a fox peeking out from the underbrush. It snarls at the dragon before scampering away.

Something in your chest twists. It's a familiar sensation, so why does it hurt so much more now?

What you're leaving behind feels larger than what's ahead of you.

When Sylus notices you across the clearing, his regal horns shimmering in the winter sun, you think you will long for him forever.

He crosses the distance between you, and says simply, “Thank you."

“You're welcome,” you reply, because you know what he means.

Sylus leans down until your foreheads nearly touch. “May I?” he asks. When you nod, you feel his mouth brush your temple as he inhales deeply. “Your scent haunts my dreams.”

Your breath quickens.

“What do I smell like?”

His gaze settles on you, revealing the jewel of his eyes in all their warm devotion.

“Like flowers.”

-

You do not want winter to end. But end it will.

The frozen lake gradually thaws. Although the snow never truly stops in the mountains, the slow melts creep up through the forests.

You wander through the mountains for one of the last times. The sun casts its glare across the pale landscape, but the persistent cold is not easily vanquished.

You come across a meadow overflowing with wintering blooms. Their colors stand out against the blinding white. You run your hands over their delicate yet hardy petals.

Yellow daffodils and primrose. Snowdrops and winterberries. Jasmine and blue violas.

You follow the meadow until you’re on the outer edge of the mountain proper. Out here in the open, its strangely quiet.

Vibrant red flowers pepper the mountainside, standing out against the pristine white. They sway in the breeze, their sweet fragrance calling to you.

You've never seen their like before. As you bend down to pluck one of them and bring it to your nose, you hear the beat of wings.

The flower is ripped from your hand. You don’t have time to cry out as Sylus wraps a hand over your nose and mouth.

“Don’t breathe!”

But it’s too late. You feel your mouth go dry and your heart beats madly against your ribs. You latch onto Sylus as your legs start to give

“Fuck,” he growls, covering his own face. Your grip slips as your skin breaks out into a sweat and your palms turn clammy. Sylus holds you fast, and drags you away the meadow. You watch his lips move, but you might as well be underwater from the way you can’t make out a single sound.

“Sylus, what—” Inks spots of color flood your blurring vision. Your heart is racing so fast you think it might explode. You swear you hear your mother calling for you.

You reach for the dragon but you no longer have control of your limbs.

When you look at yourself, your skin is melting off your bones.

Your mind fractures. You fall through the seams of reality, to a place where not even the dragon can follow.

-

Heat. Ash. Blood.

You wince at the intense light. Your eyes are slow to focus, all you see are warping colors and loose shapes crossing your vision.

You cannot feel your body. You wonder if you have one.

“ . . . hear me?”

What? You try to speak, but you’ve forgotten how.

“Do you remember your name?” A face sharpens before you. Hauntingly familiar and achingly beautiful. 

What is a name? Why do you need to know?

Your silence shatters that pretty face. His voice breaks as he babbles apologies and pleas at you. 

You want to help him, you do. But your tongue feels swollen and some of his words don’t make sense to you . . . you want to wipe away his tears but you cannot find your hands.

“Do you know who I am?”

Of course you do.

“Sylus."

His eyes flutter, and he releases a soul-deep, relief-filled sigh. He presses his forehead to yours; you realize he’s shaking.

“I thought I lost you.”

When you brush your knuckles against his cheek, they come away damp. “What happened?” 

“Those flowers,” he explains, “can fell even the greatest animals. Inhale their scent and you’ll sleep forever.”

You swallow, your throat feels as dry as kindling.

“How . . .” You survey your surroundings. You’re back in the cave. Tara’s herbs, your mortar, and a bowl of dark liquid lie beside you.

Your mouth tastes like iron and salt. “Thank you.”

Sylus reaches for your face before pulling his hand back at the last second. “Consider it part of my debt to you.”

You take in his tense posture—how he shelters you with his body even though the danger is internal. His tail is tightly coiled and his claws are out. There’s a deep furrow between his eyebrows. You have not seen him so fierce since the rut.

Oh, this won’t do.

“Is that all we are to each other,” you ask him, “debts and deals?”

His throat bobs. When he doesn’t answer, you sit up and run your fingers down his face, across his sensitive chest He makes small, airy gasps that light a fire in your core.

“If I still bore your mark,” you murmur, “maybe you would be more honest with me.”

His breath hitches.

You wait for him.

You do not have to wait long; Sylus cups the back of your head and then he’s kissing you.

-

In some ways, it’s much like the rut, but in many others, it’s completely different.

Sylus kneels between your legs at the edge of his work table. His tools and unfinished projects lie discarded on the ground. He drags the flat of his tongue against your sex and drinks the juices that spill from your twitching entrance. You roll your hips against his face and welcome the searing heat of his tongue inside you.

He whines as you stroke his twisting horns, from base to tip, sharp enough you could prick yourself. He swirls his wet lips around your clit before sucking deeply on the tender nub. His fingers slip between your folders with ease, and crooks them until they press against that spot inside you.

“Sylus!” You arch off the table, grabbing the edge as wave after wave of pleasure cascades through your body. He continues to work your clit as you clench around his fingers.

The dragon gazes up at you, face and ears flushed, panting wildly.

You pull him to his feet and crash your lips against his. His mouth opens immediately. You taste yourself and moan as his hands slide up your body and begin undoing the rest of the laces of your dress.

His mouths down your neck, lingering where his mark used to be, before continuing lower to pepper your bare shoulder with kisses. He pulls down your sleeves until your breasts are exposed and he can take one into his salivating mouth.

You fumble with the buckles of his trousers, only for him to brush your hands away.

“Let me taste you again,” he implores. He gives you several small kisses on your lips and you sigh in response to the onslaught of affection. “Let me do this for you.”

“Don’t you want . . . ?” You gasp when he teases your entrance with his fingers. Your legs wrap around his waist and pull him as close as you can to yourself. You feel his hard length and your thighs shake with need.

“What I want—” Sylus strokes your breasts with his other hand “—is for you—” you hear his knees strike the ground once again “—to cum on my face.”

His breath teases your clit, already swollen up with renewed interest. 

“Can you do that for me, sweetie?”

You nod weakly, before Sylus buries his face between your legs and proceeds to steal your ability to think.

-

He kisses you before you fall asleep. He kisses you during your daily walks through the mountains. He kisses you while he spills deep inside you, exchanging names with a shared breath, until you smell like fire and he of wildflowers.

He kisses you as if he's starving. Perhaps he is. Perhaps he always was.

“I thought—” He shivers against your lips as you trace his naked spine “—that you merely tolerated my rut. You only stayed for what I could teach you.”

You brush away the lock of hair from his forehead. "Couldn't you tell?" you say in disbelief, "I stayed for you."

His eyes widen.

You look away, suddenly shy. If you still had his mating bite, you think it'd burn a hole right through you. "But I have no right to covet you."

You are not his mate.

Sylus threads your fingers together, your interlocked hands are molten gold in the firelight. He kisses your knuckles as he stares at you with a reverent expression. And you realize, suddenly, he's only ever looked at you that way.

“You always had that right.”

You are not his mate, but you are everything else.

When you make love to him, it is less impatient than the wildfire from before. The two of you are more like embers, not yet ready to die.

-

The night sky above the city is alight with every color. You watch them explode and pop and burst across the lake. 

“What’s happening over there?” you ask Sylus.

He sits beside you on the cliff, one leg propped up while he lets the other swing beside yours.

“Tarus City has its own celebrations,” he explains, “this time of year marks the opening of the gates to the underworld, when demons began entering the mortal realm.”

“Is there any truth in that?”

“Perhaps.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Why don’t we find out for ourselves?”

Your eyes light up. “Is this fearsome dragon asking me to attend a festival with him?"

"That depends entirely on your answer."

The joy in Sylus' eyes is more addicting than the rarest of wines. When you extend your hand, he meets you halfway.

"I'd like nothing more."

To be continued

Can also be read on ao3!

[soulvtude]

Okay, so, I’m sitting at this pub in New Zealand, right? Just your average day, burger in one hand, fries in the other, minding my business. The pub has like 17 tv screens, all tuned to the same channel, which is showing the Super Smash (NZ’s T20 cricket match thing). Whatever, I’m not here for the cricket, I’m here for the fries.

I'm halfway through my burger when I look up, right. And I’m pretty sure I felt the universe do a little snap in that moment. Because there, on the screen, is Clark and Bruce - batting.

And like, okay, maybe I’m not supposed to be this invested in a cricket match, but come on. It’s basically Superbat. In a T20 match. In New Zealand. At a pub. It’s like the world knew I needed this now and threw it at me like a cosmic baseball.

So here I am, eating my burger, staring at the screen, and the universe is like, “Here’s your next fic idea. Go ahead and write it.” And I’m sitting there, no joke, drafting the entire plotline in my head in real time. Like, I haven’t even finished chewing, and I’m already designing a Superbat cricket AU.

If you’re a fic writer, you know what I’m talking about. That moment when you see something so wild, so out of nowhere, that you instantly start crafting an entire world around it.

This is my life now. I’ve been gifted a Superbat cricket AU by fate and I’m not going to let it slip away. I’m going to spend the next few weeks writing 10,000 words of Clark and Bruce awkwardly playing cricket and falling in love while they do it. And I will not be taking any questions.

[andy-15-07]

Infinite Horizons

PAIRING: Reed Richards x reader

WORD COUNT: 1159 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The Baxter Building hummed with the quiet energy of invention. Fluorescent lights cast a cool glow over the laboratory, where papers, holograms, and whiteboards filled with intricate equations surrounded a single figure.

Reed Richards stood before a towering chalkboard, writing with swift, precise strokes, his mind working at a speed no ordinary person could match. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms dusted with chalk. His dark curls were slightly tousled, and his eyes burned with concentration as he scrawled symbols in a methodical yet fluid rhythm.

You leaned against the doorway, watching him. Admiring him.

There was something about seeing his mind at work that left you breathless. The way his brow furrowed, the way he whispered numbers under his breath, the way his fingers absentmindedly tapped against his chin when he hit a snag in his calculations—it was mesmerizing.

And he hadn’t even noticed you yet.

Smirking, you finally spoke. “You know, Reed, most people don’t spend their Friday nights romancing a chalkboard.”

His hand stilled mid-equation. He turned, his sharp eyes softening the moment they landed on you. “Y/N,” he said, and just like that, the tension in his shoulders eased. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

You stepped forward, arms crossed, head tilted in playful scrutiny. “You were too busy proving the meaning of the universe to notice, Professor Richards.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not quite. Just solving a little problem in quantum instability.”

You raised a brow. “A little problem?”

He turned back to the board and gestured at the dizzying array of symbols. “I’m attempting to stabilize the quantum field distortions in our multiversal gate. Right now, the energy fluctuations are unpredictable. If I can refine the equation, I might be able to prevent spontaneous breaches.”

You stared at the equations, pretending to consider them seriously. “Mmm, yes. Of course. Looks like... numbers.”

Reed laughed—a warm, low sound that made your heart flutter.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured, his fingers brushing over your wrist as he pulled you closer.

“And yet, here you are, madly in love with me,” you teased.

His lips quirked. “Madly.”

Your heart did an embarrassingly giddy flip, but you disguised it with another playful remark. “So, what happens if you don’t solve this equation?”

Reed sighed, running a hand through his curls. “Worst case scenario? Unstable dimensional rifts. Possibly reality imploding. Best case scenario? I get a headache and need coffee.”

You gasped dramatically. “A headache? We’re doomed.”

His eyes twinkled. “Not if you stay here and keep distracting me.”

You smirked but didn’t move away. Instead, you stepped behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his back. You felt him exhale, his muscles relaxing under your touch.

“Your brain is my favorite thing,” you murmured. “Well, one of my favorite things.”

His hand covered yours, fingers lacing together. “That’s comforting.”

“What’s the other worst-case scenario?” you asked, tracing lazy circles on the fabric of his shirt.

Reed hesitated, then sighed. “The math isn’t adding up. If I don’t find the missing variable, I can’t stabilize the distortions. Which means—”

“—which means no experimental travel through the multiverse anytime soon,” you finished.

He turned in your arms, facing you fully. “Exactly.”

You studied him for a long moment. “How long have you been at this?”

His silence was telling.

You groaned. “Reed. Have you even eaten today?”

He pressed his lips together in thought. “I had coffee.”

You placed your hands on your hips. “That’s not food.”

He exhaled through his nose, amused. “I was in the zone.”

“You always say that.”

“And it’s always true.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand. “Come on, genius. You’re taking a break.”

He resisted for half a second before relenting. “Fine,” he murmured. “But only because you’re bossy.”

You smirked. “And because you love me.”

He squeezed your hand. “That too.”

You sat cross-legged on the couch in the lounge, watching Reed as he leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee. The kitchen was bathed in warm, golden light, making him look impossibly soft despite the sharpness of his intellect.

“So,” you started, “what’s the missing variable?”

Reed sighed, rubbing his forehead. “That’s the problem—I don’t know. The math should work, but there’s a fluctuation that keeps throwing it off.”

You tapped your chin. “Couldn’t it be an external factor? Something you haven’t accounted for yet?”

He hummed in thought. “Possibly.”

“Have you considered... I don’t know, the energy signature of whoever’s opening the breaches? Maybe the anomaly isn’t in the math but in the source itself.”

Reed’s eyes widened slightly. “You might be onto something.”

You grinned. “Of course I am. I’m brilliant.”

He smirked, setting his mug down before walking over and placing his hands on either side of your head, trapping you in. “You are. And now, I’m going to need your help.”

Your brows lifted. “My help? In quantum physics?”

Reed grinned. “I need a second set of eyes. Even if they’re skeptical ones.”

You sighed dramatically. “I suppose I could lend my expertise.”

He chuckled and kissed your forehead. “Then let’s get back to work.”

Hours passed as you sat together in the lab, Reed scribbling equations while you sat beside him, offering insights where you could. It was a strange dance—you weren’t a scientist, but Reed valued your perspective. He thrived on discussion, on the challenge of explaining concepts in ways you could understand.

And you? You just loved watching him work. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Reed froze.

Your head shot up from where you’d been resting it on your hand. “What? What is it?”

His eyes flickered with realization. “You were right.”

You blinked. “Obviously. But about what?”

He grabbed your shoulders, excitement radiating off him. “The anomaly wasn’t in the equation itself—it was an external force! If I adjust for the unique energy signature of the breaches, the entire system stabilizes!”

You grinned. “I mean, I did suggest that hours ago.”

He shook his head, grinning. “You did. And I was too busy overcomplicating it to listen.”

You leaned closer, whispering, “Say it.

He narrowed his eyes. “Say what?"

“That I was right.”

He sighed dramatically. “Y/N was right.”

You smirked. “And?”

His lips twitched. “And Reed Richards was wrong.”

You gasped. “A historical moment. I need this on record.”

He kissed you before you could gloat further, his lips warm and insistent. You melted into him, savoring the quiet triumph in his touch. When he pulled away, his voice was soft.

“You’re my favorite variable.”

Your heart clenched in the best way. “And you’re my favorite genius.”

Reed exhaled, resting his forehead against yours. “Thank you for keeping me grounded.”

You smiled, fingers brushing through his curls. “And thank you for reaching for the stars.”

And in that moment, with the weight of the universe pressing against him, Reed Richards knew—no equation, no discovery, no multiverse could ever mean more than you.

[polarimiufy]

part 1

you can't get your eyes off of Damian Wayne.

Damian Wayne was the volunteer at the animal shelter you were working at.

he had been there long before you arrived, with nothing in your name. you weren't from Gotham. you had no parents, no relatives, no friends and just graduated from university. moving into Gotham wasn't in your plan but you had hoped you could find a fresh start there.

when you met him, the first thing you noticed was his viridian eyes. the second thing you noticed was the frown he had on his face. he narrowed his eyes at you.

"who are you?"

you were taken aback by his deep voice. you fumbled a bit before introducing yourself.

"hmph." he turned away from you before walking straight into the staff room. you could only shoot an incredulous look at his retreating figure.

you later learned that his name was Damian Wayne, he was the son of the infamous Bruce Wayne, and the heir of Wayne Enterprise. you scoffed at this. he's rich, so what? didn't rich people learn about manners?

despite your internal reservations about him, you smiled at him when you met his eyes and he looked away. you tried not to wilt. you just wanted to be nice.

Damian was...interesting. he didn't social much with the staff members. he mostly interacted with the animals there. maybe he was like you. you noticed he liked to talk to them.

oftentimes, you asked Damian for help around the shelter. you weren't familiar with the place, and Damian had been volunteering there for long. besides, this was your chance to get to know him better. everyone knew him as the Bruce Wayne's son but to you, he was a mysterious figure. you quite liked looking at his eyes, not that you will admit it to him.

having no one to talk to in this big city, you could only find comfort in the animals at the shelter. you talked to some of your staff members sure, but no one understood what you felt. you felt abandoned, just like the animals here before.

your favourite part of the day was getting to look at the newborn kitties at the shelter. they were so small, so tiny and vulnerable you couldn't help but love them.

when you sensed someone looking at you, you turned your head to see Damian Wayne. he was currently occupying himself feeding the dogs. you noticed his ears were slightly red.

— ♡ —

you never thought that you would meet Robin but Gotham always has surprises for newcomers like you.

you had known about their existences, of course. even in your old city, there were also superheroes. Robin was...well, to put it simply, you liked him. he offered to walk you home, which was nice. you thought he would immediately leave after getting the job done.

"tt. what were you daydreaming about?"

you flinched when you heard a voice next to you. it was Damian Wayne.

"Damian! you scared me," you smiled wryly. "nothing. uh, i met Robin yesterday."

he raised one of his eyebrows, so you elaborated.

"i got too caught up cleaning the shelter so i missed my bus and had to walk home. i almost got attacked but Robin saved me."

"it's dangerous to walk around late at night. don't go home late today," he chided you before walking away.

huh...where have you heard that before?

[ozaitheestallion]

Oh y’all want a dark AU?

There’s a universe where Lu Ten didn’t die and therefore Iroh didn’t go on his massive character development journey motivated by grief that made him see the world in a new light.

There’s a universe where Iroh and Lu Ten return to the fire nation palace triumphant and with Iroh not disadvantaged by grief, there’s no room for Ozai to try and sway/get rid of Azulon to claim the throne.

There’s a universe where Zuko, who always showed signs of being a kinder, softer person, still speaks out in the war room meeting and must fight the Fire Lord in an Agni Kai for his insolence.

In this universe where Lu Ten lives, this Fire Lord is likely Azulon but considering his age and fondness for his eldest son, there’s also a decent chance that the Fire Lord is Iroh.

Best case scenario, Azulon is the Fire Lord and little thirteen year old Zuko is in the wonderful position of having to fight his grandfather who is old as hell but also a highly experienced and vicious war lord who is responsible for most of the horrors that happened during the 100 Year War. Given how Azulon treats Ozai, it’s safe to say Azulon would not be tremendously gentle on Zuko in the event he didn’t die of a stroke mid-fight, which would also not be great for Zuko.

Not so great scenario, if you subscribe to the “Ozai’s fighting experience comes from fighting Agni Kai’s on behalf of his old ass father” fan theory that’s been going around for a while now, then Zuko is back where he started and still has to fight his father. We all know how that goes.

Worst scenario, Iroh is the Fire Lord and Zuko must now fight him in an Agni Kai. Reminder that in this universe Lu Ten is alive and so Iroh hasn’t gone though his significant character shift. This is not gentle, funny, loving, tea-addicted Uncle Iroh. This is “dragon of the west, butcher of Ba Sing Se, scariest mfer in the four nations and fully drinking the Fire Nation kool-aid” Iroh.

Just some food for thought if you’re wanting to draw/write something angsty and need inspiration ✨

Btw if you come into my silly little late-night post that I made purely for fun with arguments and insults, I’ll banish you to the void just a quick heads up.