#Songs like Sunlight Au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deliasmoothie · 4 months ago

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☀️FNAF DCA x Y/N Fic Recs🌑

All of them are DCA x Reader[romantic/queerplatonic]. NSFW fics at the bottom (I like those that have plot and/or have fluff <3)

Inspired by: Pillowspaces' DCA Fic Recs.

I've read them all and I love them all sO MUCH

Click on the author's name to view more artwork/content of the fic's au!

If you see your fic, you can ask for it to be removed.

PLEASE check each fics tags before reading them.

Last updated: 13/Dec/2024 [Total: 26 fics]

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☀️Solar Lunacy by BamSara (AO3 account required)

Samebody!Sun/Moon/Eclipse x Staff!Reader

~~ [AU & Designs: @bamsara]

You weren't a technician, you weren't a security guard, you weren't a daycare assistant. You're just an employee. Staff. The ‘jack-of-all-trades’ employee with mediocre at best skills and specialty in none, tasked with doing miscellaneous jobs that robots couldn't do and human staff couldn't care to. The job is unpredictable, but it pays good and it's relatively easy.

Except for the part where all the animatronics are more sentient than you thought, and you're roped into a mystery surrounding the Daycare Attendants, who are bit too curious about you for your liking.

You don't think this was in your employee contact.

| Words: 225,814 | Chapters: 16/?

🌑Love, Death and Rollerskates by Spadillelicious

Rollerskater!Sun, Janitor!Moon, Metalstar!Eclipse x Staff!Reader

~~ [AU & Designs: @spadillelicious]

After moving to Crescent City in the 80s, you pick up a job at the local roller rink Party Planet. Ironic, considering roller skating is definitely not one of your talents.

On the bright side, you get to work with the friendly Sun. On the other hand, you also have to interact with the gruff janitor and security guard Moon on a daily basis.

But when staying after hours one day, despite being strictly instructed not to, you find out a terrible secret that changes everything you knew about Sun, Moon and Crescent City forever.

| Words: 98,091 | Chapters: 18/?

☀️Celestial Sundown by clutterspace

God!Sun, God!Moon, God!Eclipse x Human!Reader

~~ [AU & Designs: @pillowspace]

There was something slumped beneath a tree, and you had no idea what it was. The sunlight shone brighter where it laid, despite the leaves above not differing from any of the other foliage.

It was such a small thing to notice in comparison to everything else, but it brought a small hysterical giggle out past the lump in your throat as it finally clicked in place what you were seeing.

It was a god.

You are a peasant living in the middle of the woods, Sun is the god of day you brought back home with you, and Moon is the god of night tucked away in the Celestial Realm.

| Words: 83,805 | Chapters: 7/?

🌑In Deep Dreams Between the Waves by NaffEclipse (AO3 account required)

Mermaid!Eclipse x Human!Reader

~~ [AU: @naffeclipse. Designs: naffeclipse, @deliasmoothie]

You see a fish, but the fish isn’t really a fish, because he looks up at you with big yellow eyes, wide with fright. Large black pupils dart around frantically. He’s small, less than half your size, which surprises you. You know mers are supposed to be big sea monsters that sink boats or cause storms, but you don’t see a monster. You think of a baby while staring at his chubby round face, creased with fear, and his small tail.

| Words: 55,644 | Chapters: 5/5

☀️Song Fish Amid the Stars by NaffEclipse (AO3 account required)

Mermaid!Sun, Mermaid!Moon x Human!Reader

~~ [AU: naffeclipse. Designs: naffeclipse, deliasmoothie]

This is a type of sequel to In Deep Dreams Between the Waves.

A pang hits your heart, going out to the little fish struggling to escape the cruel and entrapping lagoon.

But they look like mers. Sea monsters.

| Words: 69,362 | Chapters: 6/6

🌑Sleuth Jesters by NaffEclipse (AO3 account required)

Detective!Sun, Detective!Moon, MafiaBoss!Eclipse x Vigilante!Reader

~~ [AU: @sunnys-aesthetic, naffeclipse. YN,Sun&Moon Designs: sunnys-aesthetic. Eclipse Design: naffeclipse, deliasmoothie]

“If I may, Detectives, I believe that the score is set at a tie on how many times you’ve both let me slip away under your watch.” You grin at the sun and moon like faces of your opponents in this game of cat and mouse. The narrow slice of Detective Moon’s gaze becomes threatening, where Detective Sun curls and uncurls his fingers in anticipation of whatever scheme you’re concocting.

| Words: 174,134 | Chapters: 15/15

☀️Pisces Caelestis by S_V

Mermaid!Sun, Mermaid!Moon x Human!Reader

~~ [AU & Designs: @sortvaniliekrans]

Underneath the glowing eyes, a great maw opened to hiss at you, baring several rows of needle-like fangs, wicked looking and sharp and also glowing in the blacklight. As the thing hissed, the cries started up again, more frantic this time, and accompanied by- it almost sounded like scratching?

And it was coming from behind you.

The bleeding creature had never been the one wailing.

| Words: 76,588 | Chapters: 13/?

🌑Wintersweet Spirit by NaffEclipse (AO3 account required)

Winterspirit!Sun x Human!Y/N

~~ [AU: naffeclipse. Designs: naffeclipse, @berrythefish]

Your visit to a beautiful, tucked-away mountain town leaves you curious about the beliefs of a mythical beast who watches over the peaks and snowy ranges. An ill-advised trek toward the summit sends you tumbling directly into the mythical beast's domain as you must accept his guiding hand to endure the harsh mountaintop.

He is power and brightness, and the only one who can carry you through the snow.

| Words: 34,212 | Chapters: 3/3

☀️Celestial Omens by BamSara

Siren!Sun, Siren!Moon x Human!Reader

~~ [AU & Designs: bamsara]

When you are ten years old, you find two creatures, bloodied and injured, trapped a net on the beach near your home. You save them, make friends with them, and return them to the sea, leaving you to wonder later if your friends with the Sun colored scales and fins that shone like the full Moon were real or imagined up by a childhood of loneliess.

Time passes. You hear stories of monsters, Sirens in the water, one that is a good omen if spotted, promising your safe voyage as long as you respect the rules of the ocean, and one that sinks ships and eats people for fun. Just folktales meant to scare children.

A decade later, they return the favor, though they don't plan on leaving you so easily this time.

| Words: 36,318 | Chapters: 3/?

🌑Sources of Light by JackOfAllRabbits (AO3 account required)

Alien!Sun x Alien!Moon x Human!Y/N x Alien!Eclipse

~~ [AU & Designs: @maudiemoods]

Space has always seemed so far away until now...

Your life was mundane and simple; work, eat, and sleep. Taking small joys as they come to you and trying not to worry. Then, a summer night like any other takes a dramatic turn when you encounter a pair of aliens who had not anticipated meeting a human. In a panic you find yourself swept away onto their ship and now must navigate a universe of unknowns, starting with your strange abductors and the secrets surrounding them.

| Words: 120,077 | Chapters: 15/15

☀️Signs of Life by JackOfAllRabbits (AO3 account required)

Alien!Eclipse x Scientist!Y/N

~~ [AU & Designs: maudiemoods, @jackofallrabbits]

A new scientist has been hired to the Faz Co. research facility in the heart of the desert where any number of secrets can be kept. You are full of curiosity and are especially interested in a particularly fascinating subject that Faz Co. is holding.

A certain dangerous alien. Will you get too close for comfort? Is it worth the risk?

This fic is something of a sequel fic to Sources of Light and will revolve around Eclipse. This fic can stand on its own but there might be mention of past events.

| Words: 127,034 | Chapters: 13/?

🌑Cryptid Sightings by NaffEclipse (AO3 account required)

CryptidinAnimatronic!Sun/Moon x CryptidHunter!Y/N

~~ [AU: naffeclipse. Designs: naffeclipse, deliasmoothie]

Perhaps this would scare a person, being all alone in the woods in the dark, but not you. You’re too intertwined with the paranormal and inexplicable. It’s in your blood. That doesn’t mean your heart won’t pound with terror when you face something with fangs and hungry eyes for flesh, but you don’t run away, and that’s what matters most.

You will face the monsters.

| Words: 253,823 | Chapters: 21/21

☀️What the Tide Keeps by Cipher_the_Sidhe

Mer!Sun, Mer!Moon x MerHandler!Y/N

~~ [AU & Designs: @cipher-the-sidhe]

Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Mega Water World, the premier aquarium in the world! Enjoy our state-of-the-art rides and attractions, our dazzling animal performances, and prepare to be amazed by the stars of our show: live mers!

You are a mer handler at the illustrious Mega Water World. Or, you were, until something happens to the mer in your care and FazCo buries it all under red tape. Driven by grief and guilt, you team up with a fellow handler to uncover and bring to light the company’s unethical practices surrounding the mysterious mers they keep on display.

But what do you do when your search for the truth brings you face to face with two abandoned mers wasting away in the ruins of one of FazCo's old holding facilities? The mers are hurt and scared, but you are determined to make up for your past failure. You are going to take care of them, even if it kills you. And with two traumatized mers to contend with, it just might.

| Words: 36,072 | Chapters: 3/?

🌑Charm Brought It Back by NaffEclipse

Witch!Sun, Witch!Moon, Witch!Eclipse x Human!Y/N

~~ [AU: naffeclipse, jackofallrabbits. Designs: naffeclipse, jackofallrabbits, deliasmoothie]

The boys star as the witchy brothers who return once a fated reader lights the starry candle. They simply must show their gratitude!

| Words: 26,680 | Chapters: 5/5

☀️Of Fools in Gilded Masks by CloudyVoid, CrazedAuthor (AO3 account required)

RoyalJester/Prince!Sun, RoyalJester/Prince!Moon x Princess!Y/N

~~ [AU: @head-in-the-icloud, @crazedauthor. Designs: head-in-the-icloud]

When you're invited to the Kingdom of Pleiades to try and woo Prince Sun or Prince Moon's hands in marriage along with many other suitors, you are less than enthused.

During your stay however, you get acquainted with their court jesters Dawn and Dusk; two performers with such wild personalities much different to that of royalty. Dawn with their bubbly personality and quick witted jokes, Dusk with their small pranks and sleepy like attitude. You can't help but want to spend time with them instead of the princes you now avoid.

If only you knew that Dawn and Dusk, Prince Sun and Prince Moon, were one in the same.

| Words: 20,692 | Chapters: 2/?

🌑Apex Polarity by NaffEclipse (AO3 account required)

SirenOrca!Eclipse x Photographer!Y/N

~~ [AU: naffeclipse. Designs: naffeclipse, deliasmoothie]

In the Arctic, all is beautiful and cold and lethal. You tread over ice and underneath, a dark, powerful siren stalks you. Though you try to resist, you succumb to the lure of the mer and his decision to have you.

How do you survive an apex predator?

| Words: 125,998 | Chapters: 12/12

☀️Long Road Ahead by bubbiesaur

Samebody!Sun/Moon/Eclipse x Human!Reader

~~ [AU & Designs: @bubbiethesaur]

You didn't want a PleasureBot. You didn't need a PleasureBot. But here you were staring at a box from PleasureWorks (subsidiary of Fazbear Entertainment) and cursing your aunt. Just because you were alone doesn't mean you were unhappy. At least that's what you told yourself.

But when you open the package, you get a lot more than you bargained for. There's a long road ahead for the three of you...as long as you survive the first night.

| Words: 206,115 | Chapters: 18/?

🌑(Don't) Fear the Reaper by muzzle

CampCounselor!Sun, CampCounselor!Moon x Human!Reader

~~ [AU & Designs: @muzzlemouths]

Ten years after the tragedy that befell Camp Cosmo, something stirs in the woods, growing restless. A simple phone call embroils you in the fate of six guilty counselors, haunted by their past and a vengeful shadow that won't soon let them forget.

Your own innocence is called into question when friends become enemies, placing a target on your back, and you're met with a choice: play along, or become the next victim.

| Words: 61,870 | Chapters: 7/10

═══════════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════════

☀️Product Testing by Bearitt

Samebody!Sun/Moon x Staff!Reader

You’re not exactly sure why you were chosen for this specific task they gave you, other than that you basically signed your life away in the fine print of your work contract and can’t really refuse what they ask of you but nonetheless it still makes you wonder.

| Words: 2,152 | Chapters: 1/1

═════════🔞NSFW FROM HERE🔞═════════

🔞The Pizzaplex Nighttime Mechanic by crickyluv

Same body!Sun/Moon, Glitch!Eclipse x Mechanic!Reader

~~ [AU: @crickyluv. Sun Design: crickyluv. Eclipse,Moon Design: crickyluv, deliasmoothie]

You finally got the job as the nighttime mechanic at Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex! Unfortunately, you get a double shift. At least you get to spend time fixing the animatronic you knew best: Sun!

This is a slow burn that eventually turns into NSFW. There is a TON to get to before the spice comes.

| Words: 223,793 | Chapters: 49/?

🔞I Watched You Become a Stranger & How to Lure a Handler by IcedMetalTea (AO3 account required)

Mer!Sun, Mer!Moon x Handler!Y/N

~~ [AU & Designs: @icedmetaltea]

You work at one of the few aquariums cleared to house merfolk as a handler for twin mers who live in a sort of petting pool targeted at kids, as they've proven to be harmless to humans through the years. You spend your days taking care of them and supervising their interactions with the public.

You arrive at the exhibit for your early morning shift and, as you prepare for the day's visitors, the automatic door to the room malfunctions and slams shut while you're inside. You find yourself trapped with no sources of food, and the two creatures who have a very big appetite.

| Words: 14,041 | Chapters: 2/2

🔞Demon support by Megafacts

Demon!Sun x Demon!Moon x Human!Reader

~~ [AU: @megafactuals. Designs: megafactuals, deliasmoothie]

You decide to try and summon a demon to destroy the world as a big bang to end all of humanity. Then earn the lavish life you wanted when you went to hell.

Instead you get two small demons who say they can satisfy your very desire, except the desire you called them for.

Bull. Shit.

| Words: 10,801 | Chapters: 2/?

🔞Love for the endangered by Megafacts

Seahorse!Sun x Seahorse!Moon x Researcher!Y/N

~~ [AU: @megafactuals. Designs: megafactuals, deliasmoothie]

You worked as a researchers for endangered species at a sanctuary.

One day, two of the newly discovered seahorse merfolk species come into the sanctuary after being caught in a net left in the ocean. Instead of releasing them back to the wild, the upper ranks at the sanctuary decide to use them for a breeding program.

Over the next few months you must decide to help your new friends escape or force them to spend their first mating cycle trapped inside of the sanctuary.

| Words: 28,299 | Chapters: 2/2

🔞We Can Serve You Better, Than They Can by Bearitt

RoyalGuard!Sun x RoyalGuard!Moon x Princess!Y/N

~~ [AU & Designs: @flusteredfools]

It wasn’t your fault, none of it was but you were the one who was punished and both Sir Sun and Sir Moon hated that. It was the King’s affair with the Sorcerer that caused your unfortunate fate. He played with the wrong heart, made too many promises with no intent to keep them; and you, kind, sensitive, beautiful, youngest of seven royal children, last in line to the throne, originally the King’s favorite child, you took the punishment.

A curse of lust, only to be cured by someone who truly loves you for more than what lies skin deep filling you up entirely; true love, they scoff. Every day as the sun sets, your body lights with an inner fire, every touch you feel feels hundreds times more sensitive to you and you yearn and beg for someone to hold you, fill you and ease the flames you feel burning inside.

In the King’s attempt to keep his secret and your curse hidden, he built you your own annex; a few trusted servants, staff and just you, furthest away from everyone else until you were able to find your true love and lift the curse.

| Words: 26,266 | Chapters: 5/5

═══════════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════════

🔞Reeling You In by BrainrotObsessions

Mer!Sun, Mer!Moon x Handler!Y/N

As their handler, Sun and Moon relentlessly attempted to court you, often in ways that just came out needy, as cute as it was. As much as you loved them, you constantly had to hold back from returning those affections. But over time, it was slowly cracking away at your resolve.

A new tactic is what finally gets you to break.

| Words: 12,965 | Chapters: 2/2

═══════════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════════

🔞Tempting the Stars by H_Grail

SamebodyAndroid!Sun/Moon/Eclipse x Technician!Y/N

You’re a Repair Technician that lives at the Pizzaplex, nothing weird about that. The days are filled with the hustle of making sure that the characters are in tip-top shape, well all the characters except for the Daycare Attendant.

You’ve never seen them and they have their own tech, but what happens when suddenly that tech has to take an indefinite leave of absence and you are the one that is responsible for filling in the position?

| Words: 45,815 | Chapters: 7/7

SMALL IMPORTANT EXTRA NOTE

If you have any fic you wish to recommend me, please do! Though that will not guarantee it entering this list. And do consider that, as the title says and as I stated at the start, the fics added to this list are soley X READER/YN thus the relationship between the reader and the DCA is romantic or queerplatonic to some degree or can be interpreted as so <3

#fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf dca x y/n #fnaf dca x reader #dca x yn #dca x reader #sun x reader #moon x reader #all of these are fics that I have read and didn't sleep or work cause they were just so hypnotizing

2K notes · View notes

shellshocklove · 3 months ago

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snapshot | old man!logan

pairing/AU: old man!logan howlett x female!reader

summary: short on money for rent, your joke about starting an only fans account, to earn some extra cash, goes over logan's head. but when an accident with charles puts your life in danger, logan takes you up on your offer.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! friends with benefits vibes who are also idiots in love, implied age gap, swearing, mentions and drinking of alcohol, use of pet names, logan's a bit of a grumpy dick, sex work, logan can't use a phone, logan can carry reader but he's also extremely strong, smut, praise kink, a little size kink (basically logan has a big dick), dom!logan, logan's got a dirty mouth, a little dacryphilia, sloppy blow job, facial, cum play, no use of y/n

a/n: a little disclaimer. i actually have no idea how OF work i only read the wikipedia page, so i've taken some liberties with it to fit it with the plot lol. the idea for the reader as charles' caretaker is inspired by @joelsgoldrush's fic never is a promise <- incredible fic that everyone should read! and also a big thank you to @guiltyasdave for all the encouragement on this fic!! <333 happy reading! <3

main masterlist / ao3

The coffee tasted sour on his tongue as he waited, engine running on empty, but the whiskey kept his throat warm. Behind the apartment complex the sun crawled up the horizon and split the the dark asphalt in pieces with streaks of blinding sunlight. The street lights shut off just as you walked out, the rickety door slamming shut behind you.

Watching you round the front of the limousine Logan pulled his seat forward, his rough hand grabbing the wheel as his left foot tapped impatiently on the footrest. A tickle in his throat had him greet you with a cough, and he brought his fist to his mouth.

"Morning to you too," you said, voice laced with sarcasm.

"Don't fuckin' slam the door like that– I've told you a thousand times," Logan grunted back and put the car in drive.

This was routine at this point. He picked you up in the morning after driving all night, and dropped you off again in the evening before he started his shift. Employing you took a large wad of cash out of his pocket, but at least he didn't have to worry about Charles being taken care of. You weren't a registered nurse or anything, not someone who'd had all the right references and education, but you needed money and didn't ask questions, and that had been perfect for Logan. He'd hired you about a year ago, and everything after had been routine.

When you didn't say anything back, only shifted your weight in the seat and leaned your head against the window, it pulled at something inside Logan. He couldn't deny you were a beautiful woman. He liked the way your nose curved, how soft your skin felt against his cheek every time you'd given him a reluctant hug, and he liked the way you smelled. It was primal, and in another life Logan would've had you in his bed already, but in this life, Logan was done with beautiful women.

Still early enough for the roads to be empty, Logan pushed the speed limit as he waited for you to speak – to finally say something trivial like you did every morning – some song you'd just discovered, or the plot twist in the reality program you watched every night, or how they were out of your favorite yogurt at the grocery store. He'd reply with a grunt, or with nothing at all, just letting you talk.

Out of the corner of his eye, Logan noticed how you picked at the skin around your nails, and when the sharp metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils, he heaved a heavy sigh.

"What's wrong with you?" he grumbled. A lilt of annoyance coated the words, and Logan hated how your silence had affected him. His harsh tone didn't seem to bother you, and the realization cut like a knife; biting down, Logan's jaw clenched.

"It's nothing."

Logan had to hold back the scoff he wanted to let out, "Clearly it's somethin', kid."

Finally, a reaction out of you. Pushing yourself to sit up straight, you let out a sigh as you turned your head to look at him. "My landlord raised my rent again… I'm thinking about how I'm gonna pay rent this month. I'm gonna be a few hundred bucks short," you told him.

Oh.

Gripping the wheel a little tighter, Logan couldn't help himself from asking, "You tellin' me you're quittin'?"

He couldn't blame you, he thought he paid you a fair wage, but it seemed that everything had gotten more and more expensive lately. The rides had been few and far between and the tank of gas didn't take him as far anymore. The weekends kept him afloat, along with bachelor and bachelorette parties, prom nights, and knuckleheaded business men too fancy to drive a regular cab to the airport. Had it not been for Charles' medication he'd give you a raise. Logan wasn't stupid, he knew he couldn't do this without you.

"No," you shook your head, "I wouldn't do that to Charles."

But you'd do it to me, Logan thought and let the words unsaid hang in the air between you as he pulled onto the dirt road leading to the smelting plant.

"I'll figure something out," you said, before a smirk teased over your face, that smile breaking forth the old you hidden behind this morning's melancholia. "Maybe I should start an Only Fans or something," you laughed.

"What's that?" Logan grunted, too focused on keeping his foot soft on the brake and avoiding the potholes to hear your joking lilt.

"Only Fans?" you questioned, one eyebrow raised in surprise before your eyes softened at the corners. "It's a social media platform for porn," you explained, "It's subscription based so you make an account and people pay a monthly subscription to see your content."

Porn?

Slowing down to a stop outside the gate, Logan put the limousine in park, the engine still humming.

"And how's that gonna help you pay rent?" Logan wondered, turning slightly in his seat to finally get a good look at you.

You were quiet for a second, eyes searching his face before the sound of a distant train had you looking away, almost bashful. "It's ridiculous," you muttered, "I don't have anyone to do it with anyway."

Before Logan could cough up an answer your hand found the passenger door, and a gust of sharp desert air seeped in. "I'll figure out the rent somehow… Sleep well, Logan," you told him, a wistful smile coating your features, before you climbed out the limousine and opened the gate. His eyes stayed glued to you as he drove past you, flicking to watch you close the gate after him in the rearview mirror. When you headed for the tank without your usual wave, a frown pulled at his face.

Stepping out of the limousine, Logan watched you leave, watched the way your hips swayed with new interest. Reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, he found his flask – desperate to quench this fresh thirst with the last sip of burning alcohol, smoothing his dry throat.

The cold coffee left a brown splatter as he discarded it; the coffee seeped into the sand. Inside the steeled walls he now called 'home' reeked of dust, like stepping into an antique shop, and Logan couldn't hold back his cough. Walking deeper into the plant with heavy steps, the old trinkets and equipment told a story of time passed.

So much time had passed.

Hanging his suit jacket over the back of one of the chairs Logan started working the small buttons on his shirt, shrugging it off before tossing it gently over the ironing board. Food would have to wait, he already knew the fridge wasn't stocked. Instead, he found the bottle of whiskey he'd left on the table, grabbing it by the neck before he took a large swig.

The whiskey helped, at least that's what he told himself, but his senses never dulled enough and the weight never got any easier. Sitting down heavy on the bed, Logan drank long and hard, but he couldn't keep his thoughts from trailing to you and what you’d muttered. I don't have anyone to do it with anyway.

What was it you'd called it? Just Fans? No, that wasn't right… Only Fans.

Logan remembered the first tape he ever saw; it had been the 70s, a summer in California, at some party he'd been forced to by a beautiful woman. The tape had been projected onto a wall in the living room, like background noise no one paid attention to. It had been lewd and obnoxious, but no one had seemed to mind, high as kites and drunk as skunks. Soon, Logan hadn't minded either, whisking away the woman to make his own private porn in one of the bedrooms.

Behind the woven fabric of his slacks, his cock twitched at the thought, but it wasn't the porn playing at the party, or the memory of the woman he'd fucked that filled his mind, it was you.

It was innocent at first; the way your front teeth nibbled on your bottom lip as you pondered your next move in a game of chess opposite Charles, how your eyes sparkled under the low streetlights as he drove you home at the end of the day, and how your perfume had filled the limousine and clung to his skin that one time you'd left your jacket in the passenger seat. His hand came down to rub over the growing bulge in his pants, soothing the growing ache with a hard press, pulling a rumbling moan from his chest.

Soon the innocent memories of you turned to filth. Logan's mind filled with images of you underneath him, his cock buried balls deep in your wet cunt as you withered for him. Then, as quickly as the first image had come, another took its place: of you on your knees with your mouth stuffed with his cock, gagging around him and swallowing him down like a good girl.

With each rubbing press to his cock, Logan couldn't shake the rolling images of you. It was wrong, never had he thought about you like that, never had he wanted to think of you like that, but once he'd started, he couldn't stop.

Working his fingers, it was almost instinctual as they moved to undo the button of his pants. His hand dug into his front, large hand palming himself with hard presses, as his cock hardened. Trailing his fingers upwards, stopping right above the elastic band of his underwear, his hand so close to wrapping around himself, a hint of shame pulled him out of the gutter.

He shouldn’t think about you like that.

Pulling away, like he'd burnt his hand, Logan let out a deep grumbling sigh. Leaning back on both hands, he let his head fall back as he squeezed his eyes shut. In his pants his cock throbbed with need. It had been a long time since he'd had a woman, so long since he'd felt the velvet walls of a tight cunt wrapped around him, too long since he'd felt like he wasn't a monster, if only for a few blissful seconds.

Bringing the neck of the whiskey bottle to his mouth, Logan drowned his need in temporary numbness, focusing instead on how the warmth filled his chest and dulled every ache. Falling back with a heavy bounce, he nursed the bottle in the crook of his thick arm, letting his eyes fall shut.

Logan couldn't remember the last time he wasn't tired, couldn't remember when his body didn't ache with every move. His veins bled through with rust and alcohol, and he hoped the latter made the corrosion run smoother.

His eyes fluttered shut, and the same flashing images filled the darkness. Years of fighting, years of killing, all the people he'd lost. It was the same show every night, and every night it tore a piece of him away, of his joy.

The bottom of the whiskey bottle clanked sharply as it hit the floor and a cough got stuck in his throat. It ripped and jerked in his chest, and he keeled over himself, fighting against it. When his head hit the pillow again, his eyes didn't fall shut, they trailed the walls, found the holes of blinding daylight seeping in through the holes in the corrugated metal sheets, and his thoughts found you again.

Curiosity got the best of him, and a hand dug into the back pocket of his pants for his phone. The small icons and text blended together as the screen lit up his face. When Logan held the phone a little further away the screen only got blurrier. With an exasperated sigh, he sat up, his body protesting as he grabbed his suit jacket off the dining chair, digging into the inner pocket for his new glasses.

Slumping down in the chair, his glasses resting at the tip of his nose, he tapped at his phone. He rarely used the thing outside of work, but suddenly he tapped at something that made it speak to him.

"I'm sorry I didn't quite get that," his phone said.

"Hello?" Logan spoke back.

Again his phone lit up and the voice answered. "Hello, what can I help you with?"

"What is Only Fans?"

……..

Fitting a brittle leaf between your thumb and pointer finger, you studied Charles' plants. The table always looked a mess after he'd tended to them, dirt spilled onto the table and tools thrown haphazardly about. Cupping your hand, you brushed the dirt into your hand, and discarded it into a pot you thought needed it.

Flicking your wrist, you looked at the time again. It was getting late. Usually by this time, Logan would have you halfway home already. Resorting to cleaning up the tools, you decided to give him half an hour before you'd start looking for him. He never slept in, although you could clearly see he needed it.

Logan wasn't a man to show weakness, not to anybody, rather, he showed his teeth, barking and fighting against you or anyone who dared speak to him. It had intimidated you at first, and you'd held your tongue, afraid he'd bite your head off, but in time you'd come to realize that his gruff demeanor was just that, a façade.

Charles on the other hand, senile and more and more forgetful, was the opposite of his son. On good days he beat you at chess while he told you stories about 'the good ol' days'. His imagination was vast, telling stories about the X-Men like he knew them, like he'd been a part of them, and especially by nightfall his stories would become even wilder. He'd tell you about his 'abilities', how he could read minds. He'd tell stories about Logan too, tragic ones, that if it hadn't been for the stack of comics you'd found, you would've almost said they were true.

Finding the chair by Charles' bed, you watched him deep in sleep. A heaviness could be felt in your chest as you thought about how his good and lucid days had seemed to get fewer and fewer lately. You found yourself having the same conversations with him, and once again today, he didn't want to get out of bed, telling you his head hurt.

You wished you knew more of his condition, but Logan wouldn't tell you anything other than that Charles suffered from seizures, and if he didn't get his medication the consequences would be great. The way Logan had said it to you, his voice sharp and strict, it sounded serious, and in the year you'd taken care of Charles, you'd been diligent with his medication. Not once had you experienced a seizure with him.

Reaching over him, your palm found Charles' cheek. Stroking your hand lightly over his face, you felt the prickling stubble against your skin. His comment earlier about his head, had you worried. Logan usually supplied you with Charles' medication – from where you didn't know – there hadn't been any doctor's visits or health checks from what you could recall.

Maybe Logan didn't have insurance? It was your only explanation, a reason for why he'd found a more creative way of caring for his father.

In a way you respected it, hacked an unknowing crack in Logan’s harsh façade– he cared. Only respect didn’t keep you from wanting Logan to tell you more, to open up, but wringing out more than a grunt from him was difficult. Instead, you made sure to let him know when you were running low on the pills and injections, and usually by the next day he'd hand over a new bottle.

Stroking over Charles’ cheek, another chill of nervousness ran up your back where a worry tugged at your neck.

Yesterday, after a week had passed since you'd asked Logan for more medication. He’d told you not to worry, that he’d have the pills soon, but running so low you'd had to resort to rationing Charles' doses.

Pulling back your hand, your eyes found your watch again, but before you could register the time, Charles stirred beside you. Then, an excruciating blinding pain permeated through your body. It rang in your ears and had your body shaking in agony, but at the same time you couldn't move. You wanted to scream, let out the pain that froze you to the chair, but no noise came out. When your vision started to go foggy, you thought that this must be what dying was like, but never would you have thought dying would feel this painful.

Through the ringing in your ears, a heavy creak of the tank door could be heard– or was it a trick your brain played on you in your last moments? Like the broad figure moving closer, slowly, too slowly, like it walked through water. You couldn't see who it was, but you didn't have too. Surely, your brain showing you Logan in your last moments, must've been a trick. The figure hovered over Charles, maybe it feasted on him first, reaped his soul as an appetizer before it would have you.

And just as quickly as the pain had taken you, the pain stopped.

Heaving for breath, your body fell forward, it was like the air couldn't fill your lungs quick enough. Two large palms cupped your cheek, tilting your head to Logan's frowning face. If you didn't know better you thought he looked scared.

"You okay?" he barked, your head rolling in his hands, "Hey! Bub, look at me."

You found the strength to nod your head, but Logan seemed far from convinced. He swiped his thumb over your cupid's bow, a flash of red coating his thumb and his face turned to stone, his frown so deep it looked chiseled.

Then he moved with an uncharacteristic haste, hiking you up in his arms and carrying you out of the tank. Closing your eyes, you tried to put your brain back together the way it used to be, but everything felt scrambled. When your back hit the soft mattress of a bed, you finally opened them.

Over you, Logan's large form hovered. He said something to you, but you only registered his mouth moving, your eyes glued to his pink soft lips, and your vision cleared completely.

"Drink this," he ordered, shoving a glass of water in your hands, and just like that your hearing had snapped back. "'m gonna go check on Charles– don't fucking move."

With no energy left in your body, you wouldn't dream of it. Logan watched you take a careful sip, the water lukewarm, before he left you in what you finally realized was his bed. The first sip nourished your dry throat, like you’d walked for miles in the desert without tasting as much as a drop. Surging forward, you chugged the rest of the water before you fell back against his pillow, clutching the glass in the crook of your elbow.

The smell of him on his sheets overwhelmed your weakened mind; a deep heady smell with a warmth to it, woven through with the heaviness of man. It soothed your mushy muscles, helping release the tension in your body.

The time passed differently now, fast and slow at the same time, and after an eternity and a second Logan was back. The weight of him where he sat down at the edge of the bed, had your whole body tipping towards him. His large palm found your cheek again, the rough pads of his fingers soothing over the skin.

"You doin' okay?" he asked, his deep voice filtering through a hint of worry.

"W-what happened to him– to m-me?" you managed to croak out.

Logan's heavy hand didn't move away when the furrow between his eyebrows deepened, the one that seemed to be a permanent feature on his face.

"He had a seizure," he told you, like it was obvious, taking the glass of water from your hands,

He must've caught the way your face turned, the confusion that flitted across it, one that spelled 'seizures don't affect other people'.

"Listen," he started, drawing back his hand, "There’s no other way of explainin' it to you other than tellin' you that all those stories he's told you about him– about me… they're all true."

The frown that deepened over your face at his words, must've challenged the permanent one over Logan's face. "W-what? The stories about the X-Men?"

"Yes, the X-Men– Is he talkin' a hole through your head about anything else?"

"No, but… there aren't any more mutants."

"Not new ones,” he sighed, “But we're old, sweetheart– the last there is." His voice went quieter and quieter as he spoke, a hint of sadness eating the words, before his palm found your cheek again. "You see… Charles he's a very powerful mutant, and years ago he started a school for mutants–"

"–I know all of that already Logan– he told me," you cut him off, "I never believed him, I thought he was just confused– the stories they–"

"–I know, bub," this time he cut you off, but he let the next words linger on his tongue. Drawing back his hand, his eyes found the wall behind the bed. "I never meant for you to get hurt– it's my fault. If he gets his medication he's fine, but… you ain't the only one who's a few hundred dollars short– it's been a slow month."

Before you had a chance to reply, Logan rose on his feet. "The seizures messes with your brain, so get some rest. I'm gonna get his medication, and I'll wake ya in the mornin'." Logan didn't wait for you to protest before he grabbed the car keys off the table, and left you alone in his bed.

Outside the moon climbed the sky, and the new darkness, along with your scrambled brain, had your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier.

……..

"Wake up, sweetheart."

Logan's gruff voice pulled you from a dreamless sleep; a sleep like you'd just closed your eyes. Blinking, your heavy eyelids pulled shut just as quickly as you'd opened them, leaving you with a snapshot of Logan's body hovering over you. You hummed, sleep coating your brain, while your body felt like you'd put it through the wringer at the gym.

"It's mornin'."

You tried again, blinking your eyes open with more success. Logan's black suit jacket was nowhere to be seen, instead he adorned a white tank top. Letting your gaze roll over him, you noticed the scars etched into his skin, so many scattered up and down his strong arms, and suddenly the memories of last night filtered back into your brain.

"Logan," you whispered so low even you weren't sure you’d heard it.

"I'm takin' you home, alright? I'll watch him today," he told you.

When Logan told you something, he meant it. Leaving you in his bed, it was like a replay of last night as he grabbed the car keys and black suit jacket off the table.

Slowly, you sat up and leaned on your elbows, letting the world spin for a minute. Your clothes from yesterday clung to your skin, and you felt both cold and sweaty as you got out of bed.

With each step you took every muscle ached, but somehow you managed to walk out the door. The burning light of the morning sun blinded you, and with one hand raised you shielded your eyes from the harshness while you walked closer to the humming impatient motor of Logan's limousine. Just as you'd sunk into the leather seat and managed to shut the door behind you, Logan stepped on the gas, and the smelting plant vanished in the rearview window.

When you'd finally left the dirt road behind and hit the highway, you cracked the window ever so slightly – the morning air blowing away the last of your tiredness. The closer you got to the city, the more your stomach growled. You hadn't had a thing to eat since lunch yesterday, the aftermath of Charles’ seizure knocking you out before dinner– you needed something to eat.

"Can we stop here?" you asked and pointed at a sign advertising a diner off the next exit.

"I'm drivin' you home," Logan replied, his eyes glued to the road.

"Logan, please, I'm starving," you begged with a pout.

A beat passed, his fingers tapping over the wheel as he weighed his options, then his eyes found yours where they lingered. Staring back, you didn't know what to do. Logan wasn't a man that said yes, he liked things done his way. You bit down on your bottom lip, showing off your front teeth like a silent 'please' written over your face, and Logan huffed.

The loud buzz of conversation hit you first when you stepped into the packed diner, Logan in tow. Waiters ran back and forth between the booths lining the windows, taking breakfast orders and pouring coffee, and at the sound of the bell as the door swung shut behind you, one of them looked up at you.

"Seat yourselves," she said with a smile as golden as the syrup poured over hotcakes, "I'll be with you in a jiffy."

Walking deeper into the diner, you found an empty booth in a quiet corner. Logan seemed pleased, never too keen on people, and after what you'd come to know after last night, you could understand his hesitation.

Logan. The Wolverine.

You remembered the comics from when you were a kid, remembered this one kid in your class in elementary school that had been obsessed with them, reading every issue and Wolverine had been his favorite. He was a scientist now, last you heard, and here you sat opposite the comic character himself.

"Mornin', what can I get you guys?" the waitress asked, pulling up to your table.

"Um," you grabbed at the laminated menu in front of you, your eyes scanning over the breakfast items. Everything looked good, your stomach growling loud as you took in the pictures, but then again you didn't think you'd ever been this hungry before.

"Just coffee f'me, ma'am," Logan grunted.

"Could I get a stack of the blueberry pancakes… and a coffee for me too, please?" you ordered, watching the waitress with the name tag 'Stacy' write down your order.

"That'll be all for you guys this morning?" she smiled.

"Yes, thank you," you returned her smile.

"Alright, I'll be back in a second with your coffees."

While you waited for your pancakes, Logan wasn't much company. He sipped his coffee, black and piping hot, as he leaned against the corner of the booth, legs spread wide, watching the people coming and going. In the silence between you, you decided to study him while you sipped your own coffee. He must've felt your gaze over him, from the way he clenched his jaw, but he never turned his head to look at you, instead he let you look.

When your pancakes finally arrived, you dug in immediately. Fresh, hot and deliciously pillow-y and soft, it was the best thing you'd had in a while. The blueberries weren't too sweet, cutting through the sweetness of the pancakes with a tangy taste, while the bitter taste of your coffee woke you up and filled you with new energy.

"So," Logan suddenly spoke up, almost making the piece of pancake you were chewing on go down the wrong pipe. "How you feelin'?"

"Like I'm having the worst hangover in human history," you joked, "But better now after some food and caffeine."

Logan only hummed, turning his head back to people watching as you ate your pancakes. His silence had a frown work over your features when you placed your knife and fork down to sip on your coffee. He'd been so quiet all morning, which in truth wasn't new, but there was something about him now, something about the way his scowl dug a little deeper into his skin that had you asking:

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothin'," he answered, curt and to the point.

"Clearly it's something," you pried with a tilt of your head.

Another beat passed, before he leaned forward, a cough getting stuck in his throat. It sounded worse than it was, he'd told you once. So, you sipped your coffee, your eyes flitting away like you needed to give him privacy.

"I've been thinkin' about your proposal," he finally said, and you felt your eyebrows pull together in a frown.

"Wait?" your eyes found his, "What proposal?"

"About that subscription thing– the porn," he waved his hand, and leaned back again.

"Only Fans?" you asked, keeping your voice low, "It was just a joke, Logan."

"Well, maybe it's an idea for the both of us. I need money for Charles' medication, and you need money for rent– it'll just be us earnin' a little extra on the side, a win-win situation."

Letting his words sink in, you mulled over his idea in your brain. It wasn't like you weren't attracted to Logan, in truth, you'd wanted him to fuck you for a while now, but it had only been a fantasy, one to conjure forth late at night when you slipped your hand into your panties. To have it become a reality, served up by Logan himself on a silver platter, you'd never imagined.

How could you say no?

"Okay," you said, your voice breathy as what you'd just agreed to settled in your stomach. Having a little more cash in your account every month wouldn't hurt, and getting dick regularly sounded just as nice, it had been too long. "I'm in."

Logan only replied with a curt nod accompanied by an approving grunt, "Now eat your pancakes so we can get goin'."

………

"Cold feet?"

With the limousine parked outside your apartment building, a week's worth of anticipation came to a head. You and Logan hadn't really talked much in the days passed since the diner; Logan's main interest more in you feeling better after experiencing Charles' powers for the first time. He'd let you have a few days off, to heal up, to which you'd taken the opportunity to do some research and set up an Only Fans profile. Currently it was blank, but tonight that would change.

"No," you shook your head, telling true. "You?" you asked, turning in your seat to face Logan.

Logan eyes darted across your face. He never looked at you like that, and for a moment the oddity of the situation, of what you were about to do, settled in your stomach.

"No," Logan finally decided, and reached for the door handle, “Let’s get it over with before it gets too late.”

At his movement, you reached forward and grabbed his forearm, "Wait!"

With a grunt, Logan turned. "What?" he asked, his eyes settling on you with an eyebrow raised.

"I-I have an idea," you told him, and you didn't know why you stumbled over your words. With your hand still wrapped around his arm, his eyes fell to your touch, lingering before they found yours again.

"I was thinking–" you started, retracing your hand, "Well actually… I just restarted taking birth control and I wanted to settle into it before we have sex, so I thought maybe– if you want to of course," you rambled.

"Spit it out, bub, I ain't got all night," Logan cut you off.

"I thought maybe I could suck you off– here in the limo," you 'spat' out your suggestion, your front teeth immediately coming down to bully your bottom lip.

"You want to suck my cock… here?" he repeated. Leaning back in his seat, you didn't know if he spread his legs on purpose, or if he unconsciously drew your eyes to the bulge hidden behind his slacks.

"Yeah, I mean…" you shrugged, "I thought it could be hot? Like something that people would want to see?"

"Right," Logan hummed, reminded of the invisible audience, and reached for the key in the ignition.

Leaving your apartment building in the rearview mirror, Logan searched for a more secluded place to park. The windows in the back of the limousine were tinted, impossible to look into, but you didn't want to take the risk of getting caught. After finding an empty parking lot, backing up and occupying a more private space in the back corner, Logan guided you around the limousine with a hand resting gently over the small of your back. Climbing into the back with you, his broad form filled the space.

Inside, he'd turned on the lights, the colors slowly fading in and out and casting soft shadows across his features. The leather creaked as he sat down, his spread legs already inviting you to slot between. A fleeting feeling of nervousness tickled in your tummy, the reality of what you were about to do washing over you like a wave on a stormy ocean.

Logan watched you from his seat, a picture of sin in his suit, as he slipped his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and fished out his glasses. His jacket fit snugly over his wide shoulders and he'd undone the top buttons where you could glimpse curling chest hair. The way he looked at you through the glasses, eyes dark and curious, had a warmth of arousal starting to pool in the core of yourself.

Clearing your throat, you spoke up, "I was thinking I could set my phone up here–" you pointed to the space between the leather seats and the window. "And then you could use your phone and film me?"

After a little bit of fiddling to get your phone to stay upright, you turned to Logan, your phone capturing your slow walk towards him. He sat with his legs spread wide, his large palms resting on either side of his thighs. When you reached for the hem of your shirt, his finger twitched, digging into the leather, and a toothy smile spread over your features.

Tossing your shirt you sunk to your knees and slotted between his legs. Looking up at him through your lashes, you held his gaze as you sat pretty for him, fanning out the skirt you'd worn specifically for today. He reached for his phone and pressed record when you curled your hands behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra, capturing your bare chest.

The air nipped at your exposed skin, making goosebumps ripple over your skin. Looking up at Logan, his eyes burned against your skin where he took in your breasts, his eyes glided over your bare skin for the first time and soothed out the bubbling nerves that had been brewing. When your eyes caught on the tent growing in his pants, you had to restrain yourself from surging forward, your mouth already watering at the thought of tasting him for the first time – of your wet dreams becoming a reality.

"S'pretty," he murmured, voice deep and guttural, soaked in arousal.

He cupped your cheek gently, the rough pad of his thumb skating over your skin bringing with it a calming safety. Your eyelashes fluttered as you tilted your head into his hand, desperate to feel more of the weathered skin of his hand against your body.

"Y'sure you want this, sweetheart?" he asked.

Opening your eyes, you held his gaze. "Yes, please," you nodded in his large palm, "It's the only thing I've thought about all day." And it was the truth.

"Shit, baby," he groaned in response, dragging his hand down your neck to rest heavy over the top of your breasts. "S'that so?"

Gathering your hands in your lap, you nodded slowly, your teeth caught on your bottom lip as his hand brushed over your right breast. "Thought of how you'd taste," you confessed, the phone in his hand forgotten as you focused entirely on Logan.

"Yeah?" he prompted. One knuckle brushed over your hardened nipples, pulling a quiet whimper from you– pleased he leaned back, "Take off my belt, then."

Bouncing on your knees, you leaned forward on his command, and pulled the leather belt from its loops. You did it slowly, tilting your head upwards to catch his eyes through the glasses. He helped you with the zipper, making you watch as he dragged it down.

With your eyes fixed on his hand you noticed three barely healed scars between every knuckle, and you remembered who Logan really was. The Wolverine. He caught you looking, and his hand tightened into a fist, tightening it for a beat before he relaxed it over his thigh. Leaning forward, you placed a soft kiss over his knuckles, and his hand dug into his thigh.

"Sweetheart," he breathed out, his voice strained.

In the depths of your chest you felt a pinch, a tiny stab in your heart that felt too real, too personal for what you were about to do. Willing it away, you leaned back on your ankles instead, your hands dipping into the waistband of his pants to pull down his slacks. Lifting his hips to help you ease them down, a quiet grunt escaped him, a deep sound that traveled down your spine and pooled in your core.

Behind the soft cotton of his underwear the firm hard line of his cock strained against the fabric. The sight of him, large and heavy, and hidden, had your eyes widening with lust, and a slickness soiling the gusset of your panties.

"You want my cock, don't you sweetheart?" he coaxed, his free hand finding your jaw where he cupped it, squeezing your cheeks together.

"Y-yes," you breathed out, your smile straining against his grip before you dropped your mouth open, showing him your tongue.

"There you go, baby– good girl," he praised, pressing his thumb down on your tongue and rubbing the saliva around. A soft moan caught in your throat at the praise, and behind the camera Logan's eyes darkened at his new discovery.

Wrapping both your hands around his wrist, you held his hand in place as you closed your lips around him. Slowly, you moved your head, up and down, up and down, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked on his thumb like you would his cock. Logan's eyes were intense behind his glasses, his jaw clenching tight while he stared into your own.

"Such a filthy little thing f'me– so desperate for my cock down your throat you'll suck anything, ain't that right?"

A choked moan escaped you; they way he talked to you adding fuel to the fire in your core. Between the seam of your cunt you ached, wet arousal dripping into your soiled panties. He must've watched the way you melted for him, your brain turning to mush in front of him, because when he pulled his hand away, he laughed. A deep guttural thing from the depth of his chest.

"C'mon little angel," he tapped at your cheek, "Let's put you out of your misery."

Clouded in arousal, your brain stalled at the nickname, and you felt a new gush of arousal spill between the seam of your cunt. Logan's nostrils flared and a wild darkness settled over his face.

Shifting on your knees, you leaned forward to palm him through his underwear. Making sure to flick your eyes up at him (and the camera), you dragged your finger up and down gently, seductively, before you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his clothed length. Above you, Logan sucked in a breath, his free hand coming down to pet your head and press your face firmly against his bulge.

You couldn't help but breathe him in. Breathe in the heady deep scent of man, cheap whiskey and cigars – the unique scent of Logan. When you let out the softest little sigh, you felt him twitch against you, and quickly his hand on your head traveled down to the back of your neck where he pulled you back with a harsh yank.

You yelped.

"No more teasin'–" he reprimanded and let go of you, "Be a good little angel and make me come."

Logan leaned back into the leather, his body relaxed and inviting with one hand still occupied with filming you. Watching the deep furrow forming between his brows, and the way his eyes burned your face through his glasses, you could tell he wanted to take control, make you do what he wanted.

With a curling smile, knowing full and well you had the upper hand with one of his hands occupied, you slipped your eager hands into the elastic waistband of his underwear and tugged.

A wild and wiry patch of graying hair met you first, and you felt a flock of eagerness flutter in your stomach. Tugging the fabric down slowly, you made a show of revealing just an inch at a time. When you finally reached the end of him, you felt the wet head of him graze your cheek, leaving a streak of precum, as it sprung free.

His hard cock bopped heavily in front your face, and you felt your eyes widen at his size. He was big. The hefty length of him cushioned against his balls hanging heavy over the band of his underwear. Reaching a shaky hand forward you took him in your hand for the first time and familiarized yourself with the thick weight of him. With your other hand you traced the thick veins that lined the girth of him, memorizing every ridge and freckle before coming up to thumb at the fat tip where a pearl of wetness beaded.

A mix of awe and uncertainty pooled in your chest. How in the hell were you gonna fit all of him down your throat?

"'s okay, angel," he cooed, his heavy hand back to stroke over your head. His touch soothed you, a rhythmic warmth that shed all your insecurities.

With a content sigh you leaned forward and parted your lips to press a soft kiss to the leaking tip, pulling a "There you go, good girl, open your mouth f'me," from Logan. Urged on by his praise, you got a little braver. Flattening your tongue against him you started with a few gentle, teasing licks to the tip, your tongue dipping into the slit to taste him in earnest.

Above you, a groan rumbled in Logan's chest, a sound that had you eagerly taking more of him in your mouth. Suckling carefully on the fat tip, you let your tongue tease the underside of him, humming in content when you felt him harden even more in your hands.

Letting the excess spit run down the length of him, it pooled over your hands where they struggled to wrap around the thick girth. Slick sounds came from your hands when you started to move them over the soft skin, coating him fully in your saliva with every tug.

"Shit, bub, y'look so fuckin' good around my cock," Logan's voice vibrated from his chest, "But y'can take it deeper, can't you? Take that big cock down your throat?"

Well, you would certainly try.

Your knees dug into the carpeted floor of the limousine, pressing a deep pattern into your skin. Popping off his cock, you sat up a little more and shifted your weight. Looking up at him through your lashes, you were reminded of the camera pointed at you. Looking straight down the barrel of his phone you sunk down further on his cock.

Dropping your jaw, you felt your lips stretch as his hefty cock filled your throat. All too quickly the head of him kissed the back of your throat and you had to fight your gag reflex. Pulling off with a gasp, your eyes widened as you looked up at him.

"It's so big," you told him, both of your slicked hands jerking him in a slow rhythm.

"I know, angel," he cooed, his thumb running over your cheek. Leaning forward again, you placed a soft kiss to the fat head, and he hissed, "Too big f'you?"

"No," you shook your head, smearing the head from one corner of your mouth to the other, spreading the precum leaking onto your lips, and humming at the taste of him. "It's perfect– taste so perfect," you said through a pillowy kiss to the head.

With a buck of his hips, he pushed back into your eager mouth, slipping the fat head through your swollen lips and into your flexed throat, "That's it– right where it belongs, huh?"

Fitting him as deep as you could down your throat you felt dizzy with desire, an almost overwhelming feeling; the smell of him so close, how he filled your mouth and made your jaw ache. When your nose pressed into the grayed patch of wiry hair at the base of his cock, you spluttered with need, spit soaking the length of him as you came off him with a cough.

In an instance, Logan was on you, his free hand petting your cheek as he searched your eyes, "You okay?" I wouldn't be until after, when you edited the video that you'd realize he'd dropped the phone, focusing only on you in that moment.

"Yes," you replied, looking into his eyes with a toothy smile, "I want more– I want your cum."

"Fuck," he hissed, letting go of your cheek and leaning back into the leather seat, pointing his phone at you, "Go on."

Fitting him back down your throat again, you got lost in it as you found a rhythm. With a hand stationed at the base, you bobbed your head, letting your tongue dance over the length. More saliva dripped down and pooled over your hand, slicking up his pubes. It was messy, and hot, sticky and wet. Above you, Logan muttered praises between grunts and moans, encouraging you to take him deeper and deeper.

Feeling your throat loosen with every bob of your head, you pushed down and swallowed around him. Your eyelashes fluttered as you gagged and coughed, tears starting to prickle from your eyes, but you were determined to please him– to make him feel good.

When his hand came down to wrap around your throat, his thumb skating over your neck to feel himself, your eyes rolled back in your head in pleasure – the sight of you making Logan let out a deep growl. He kept the hand clasped around your throat as he started to buck his hips, feeding you his cock in small lazy thrusts.

"Right there, angel, so fuckin' good f'me… my good girl– choke on it," he mumbled.

You hummed around him at the praise, the vibrations pulling another deep moan from him. Fucking your face, bubbling spit trickled out the corner of your lips, soaking him and the coarse hair on his balls where they slapped heavy against your chin. Slipping a hand between your thighs, you couldn't help but touch yourself through your underwear – the white cotton translucent and drenched with your arousal.

Chasing his high, Logan's thrusts started to come quicker. More and more saliva overflowed, dripping down your bare chest and slicking you up in depravity. The grip Logan had around his phone was lazy, but he made sure to capture the way the shifting colors of the low limousine light gleamed over your slicked up chest.

"Such a good fuckin' throat–" he growled, squeezing around your throat as he pushed himself as deep as he could. Your nose brushed the wiry patch of his pubic hair, and you felt yourself start to gag around him as your lungs squeezed and throat tightened. He kept you down as you spluttered and swallowed around the length of him, and when the edges of the world started to blur he pulled you off with a jerk.

Gasping for air and filling your lungs with lost breaths, the hand Logan had wrapped around your neck was now pushing your own hand away to wrap around himself. The tears on your cheek mixed with the strings of saliva on your chin, as you looked up at him through fluttering lashes. Watching him stroke his cock, your eyes widened with interest as you shifted on your knees to sit up straighter.

His hard cock pulsated and throbbed with need as he stroked. Up and down you watched his hand; watched how beads of precum drooled over his fingers, mixing with your saliva before it dripped down onto your chest. A primal feeling came over you – an urge so strong to taste him come undone and claim you as his.

"Please," you begged, the fat head ghosting against your lips with every jerk, "come for me, please– wanna taste you so badly."

Logan's grunts and growls grew deeper and wilder as he stroked himself faster. "Look at me, angel," he ordered, and when your eyes locked with his, combined with a final hard stroke, he aimed the wet tip towards your face and came hard.

The first pump of his sticky warm seed, made you flinch before a smile widened and you leaned closer. Dropping your mouth open, he came all over your face, coating your cheeks, your nose, and forehead. Thumbing at the tip, he aimed at your waiting mouth to squeeze out the last few drops, and he finally let you taste him.

Wrapping your lips around the head, you suckled around him through content hums. You were covered in his cum, claimed, feeling the sticky seed drip down the bridge of your nose. You loved the way he tasted, salty and bitter, like Logan.

When the feeling of your tongue dancing over his sensitive head became too much, he pulled away with a hiss. His phone was still aimed at your face, and a little more clear-headed he filmed the aftermath of his orgasm closer.

"Even prettier with my cum on your face, angel," he said, letting his finger drag over your skin to collect his cum.

Pretty.

"Thank you," you whispered, your throat hoarse as he fed you his cum.

You hummed around his finger as he cleaned you up, making sure not a single drop would go to waste, and when he was pleased with his work after you'd shown him your empty tongue, he cupped your cheek.

"Good little angel," he told you with a pad, and pressed the stop button on his phone.

Back at your apartment the buzz of the excitement of the night lingered as you replayed the scene on your computer. You thought about Logan, about where he was and who might sit in the seat where you'd sucked him off only hours earlier. You thought about how filthy his mouth had been, and how much it had turned you on. And lastly, you thought about how you couldn't wait to see him again, and for him to finally fuck you.

Editing the video together, the last thing you did before you fell asleep was upload. Logan had taken a photo of your hand over his clothed cock before he'd left you, a picture that was now set as your profile picture. All tuckered out, you closed your computer and fell back against your pillows, dreaming of the smell of leather and cheap whiskey.

James & Angel ✨👼 📍 Texas subscribers: 15,478

1 post: "cute girl gives older limousine driver a sloppy blowjob"

..................

hopefully this was okay? i have concepts of a part 2 lol so please don't ask for it. instead, a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and/or tell me what you'd comment under james' & angel's first video! my ask box is always open to chat <3 and thank you for reading!!

#logan howlett #logan james howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you #wolverine x reader #james logan howlett x reader #x men fanfic #old man!logan #old man!logan x reader #wolverine smut #logan howlett smut #old man!logan smut #hugh jackman #x-men smut #*writing

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rafecameronssl4t · 2 months ago

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Gang Baby || Rafe Cameron x Thornton!reader

Summary: inspired by this song since its been on replay 😛😛

Warnings: slighting suggestive content

Word count: 1,621

MASTERLIST (rafe x thornton!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

“I didn’t know your sister was gonna be here, Top,” Ryan’s voice cuts through the laid-back chatter, his tone laced with intrigue. The hum of an engine grows louder, pulling all heads toward your G-Wagon as it glides effortlessly onto the sand, coming to a stop just a few metres away from the group. The sleek black vehicle stands out starkly against the golden beach, drawing the kind of attention that was almost second nature for you.

Topper doesn’t bother turning around again, already refocused on his beer. He shrugs, his response casual. “Neither did I,” he mutters before taking another sip, seemingly unbothered by your unexpected arrival. But Rafe isn’t as composed. His eyes stay fixed on the car, his grip tightening slightly on his bottle as he watches you climb out, exuding a natural confidence that instantly commands attention.

The sunlight catches on your sunglasses as you slide them onto your head, your laughter mingling with the crash of the waves as a group of your girlfriends spills out behind you. You move with an easy grace, chatting and gesturing as you all begin unloading blankets and bags from the trunk. Unaware—or perhaps indifferent—to the stares from across the beach, you pick a spot just far enough to have your own space but close enough that the guys still have a perfect view.

As you and your friends start setting up, the group’s conversations stall, interest clearly diverted. Topper remains the exception. He keeps his gaze forward, not even sparing a glance. It’s as if he’s immune to the spell you cast so effortlessly, a talent even he couldn’t deny you had. The moment you and your friends strip off your cover-ups, revealing brightly coloured bikinis, there’s a palpable shift in the air.

The sunlight glints off your skin, highlighting the subtle shimmer of lotion as you toss your clothes onto the blanket without a second thought. You laugh at something one of your friends says, the sound light and carefree, as the group collectively saunters toward the waterline. Ryan lets out a loud wolf whistle, shattering the silence and drawing out a chorus of laughter and low whistles from the others.

“Fuck off, man.” Topper’s sharp voice cuts through the noise as he whips around to glare at Ryan. “She’s my sister. Have some respect, yeah?” Ryan smirks, leaning back against the cooler with an air of mock innocence. He holds up his hands in surrender, though the glint in his eyes says he’s anything but apologetic. “Relax, Top. No harm meant.” Topper groans, rolling his eyes as he pushes himself up. “You’re all idiots,” he mutters, stalking off toward the cooler for another beer.

The group’s laughter dies down as they return to their conversations, but Rafe remains quiet, his gaze still fixed on you. You’ve reached the waterline now, dipping your toes into the waves as they lap against the shore. The breeze catches your hair, tossing it slightly as you tilt your head back and laugh again, completely unaware of the effect you’re having—or perhaps you know exactly what you’re doing. Rafe’s jaw tenses, his fingers absently drumming against the bottle in his hand.

He forces himself to take a sip, masking his reaction, but his eyes betray him. They keep flickering back to you, drawn like a magnet, even as he tries to focus on the conversation swirling around him. "God, if only she’d let me hit," Ryan groans, his voice dripping with mock longing as his gaze lingers on you. You’re standing a little ways off, twisting your hair into a messy bun with an ease that only seems to amplify the effortlessness of your beauty.

The wind tugs lightly at the hem of your cover-up, and Ryan’s comment draws a few snickers from the group. Rafe freezes mid-sip, his jaw tightening as his eyes dart toward Ryan. He lowers his beer slowly, scoffing loudly enough to turn a few heads. "What a shame, Ryan," he says, his voice thick with sarcasm, his words aimed like a blade. Ryan turns toward him, clearly not expecting the jab. "What’s that supposed to mean?" he asks, his expression souring as he narrows his eyes at Rafe.

Rafe shrugs, leaning back with an air of practiced nonchalance, though the tension in his shoulders betrays him. "Maybe the reason she won’t is because she's got standards," he replies bluntly, his words landing with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Ryan’s reaction is immediate. His eyes widen in shock before they harden into a glare, his posture stiffening as he steps closer. "The fuck did you just say, Cameron?" he growls, his voice low and threatening, clearly not accustomed to being called out.

Rafe meets his glare with an unflinching gaze, his expression calm but simmering with disdain. "You heard me," he says evenly, not bothering to repeat himself. Ryan huffs out a sharp breath, clearly fuming but trying to hold onto the last shreds of his composure. "She said she was waiting till marriage or some shit," he snaps, his tone dismissive, as if the concept itself was laughable. "Yeah right," Rafe cuts in, his voice cold and dripping with condescension as he interrupts Ryan mid-sentence.

His scoff carries an undercurrent of anger, and his eyes flick toward you briefly. You’re still by the water, laughing with your friends, blissfully unaware of the brewing tension. Ryan’s fists clench at his sides, his anger boiling over as he steps even closer to Rafe, his face only inches away. "You got something else to say? Spit it the fuck out," he snarls, his voice taut with frustration. Rafe doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink.

Instead, a slow, mocking smirk curls at the corner of his lips as he leans forward, lowering his voice just enough to force Ryan to lean in. "I already did," he says coolly, the edge in his tone cutting deeper than anything else could. The group falls silent, the weight of the tension hanging thick in the air. A few of them exchange uneasy glances, waiting to see if Ryan will push further, but Rafe doesn’t seem to care. He grabs his beer again, taking a long, deliberate sip as if Ryan isn’t even worth his energy.

"She's a virgin, man," Ryan chimes in again, his tone laced with smug certainty as he leans back, clearly enjoying the stir he’s causing. Rafe groans quietly, rolling his eyes as Ryan keeps going, unable to stop himself. "That's what she told you?" Rafe asks, cocking an eyebrow at him, his voice low and incredulous. Ryan furrows his brows, leaning forward slightly, confusion flickering across his face. "Yeah—" "She's obviously fucking lying," Rafe cuts in sharply, his words blunt and dripping with disdain as he tilts his beer bottle to his lips.

Ryan’s head snaps toward him, his irritation flaring instantly. "And how the fuck would you know?" he snaps, his voice defensive, as if daring Rafe to prove him wrong. Rafe sets his beer down with a deliberate clink, turning to fully face Ryan. His expression is a mixture of disbelief and frustration, like he can’t believe he’s even having this conversation. "Holy shit, Ryan. Are you fucking stupid?" he says, his tone laced with equal parts annoyance and amusement.

It was almost mind-boggling to Rafe how Ryan still didn’t get it, how he wasn’t piecing things together. The blatant cluelessness was almost impressive, like Ryan was completely oblivious to what was right in front of him. The group exchanged knowing glances, all of them silently acknowledging what Rafe was talking about. But Ryan—still too thick-headed to catch on—remained completely in the dark.

Rafe let out a short, exasperated laugh, shaking his head. "Jesus Christ, man," he muttered under his breath, taking a long sip of his beer to mask his disbelief. The others could only watch in quiet amusement, waiting for Ryan to finally catch up. Before Ryan could say anything else, a voice cut through the tension. “Hey.”

Everyone’s heads turned to see you approaching, the sun catching the golden tones in your hair as your sandals softly crunched against the sand. You carried yourself with the same effortless confidence that had all their attention earlier. A slow smirk spread across Rafe’s face as he leaned back in his seat. “Hey, baby,” he greeted, his voice dropping slightly as he spoke.

You smiled warmly in return, leaning down to meet him halfway as his lips captured yours in a kiss, lingering just long enough to make the rest of the guys visibly uncomfortable. Ryan’s jaw practically hit the floor, his eyes widening in stunned disbelief. Pulling back, you placed a hand on Rafe’s shoulder casually, your gaze flickering briefly toward the group.

“You still comin’ over tonight?” Rafe asked, his tone casual, though there was a distinct possessiveness behind it as he glanced at Ryan. You hummed in agreement, nodding your head as your eyes locked with Ryan’s, who now looked utterly blank, his mind clearly reeling. The corner of your mouth quirked up slightly, amused by his reaction.

Rafe caught the exchange and snickered, leaning forward with a smug grin. “Can’t believe you told him that,” he teased, his voice laced with sarcasm as he nodded toward Ryan. Feigning innocence, you turned back to Rafe, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Tell him what?” you asked sweetly, batting your lashes as if you had no idea what he was talking about.

Rafe raised an eyebrow at you, his eyes narrowing slightly in mock suspicion, but the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth betrayed him. Shaking his head, he let out a quiet laugh, his hand finding your waist as he pulled you closer.

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pa1nrema1ns · 3 months ago

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Master and Apprentice || Sung Jin-woo (Part 1 of 3)

Siren!Jin-woo x Deaf!Omega!reader

A/N - Hello everyone! This fic was inspired by the lovely @forbidden-sunlight's siren!au. We both collaborated on this piece and it serves as a direct sequel to her imagine, so do be sure to check it out first! This story picks up right where her imagine left off.

╰┈➤ Chapter Index

🪸 Prequel by @forbidden-sunlight 🌊 Part 2: Two Intertwining Melodies 🦈Part 3: In a Sea of Fire

Content warnings: 18+ MDNI, mythical creatures au, canon divergent, a/b/o dynamics, afab!reader, suggestive themes, obsessive thoughts, slightly ooc Jin-woo (he's very reverent towards Ashborn), mentions of violence, death, and despair, forbidden romance (humans and sirens are natural enemies), eventual yandere!Jin-woo.

Word Count - 3.6k

Summary - Sung Jin-woo seeks answers about his potential mate from Ashborn in the deepest depths of the abyss.

Dividers by @anitalenia and @firefly-graphics

After what feels like an eternity, Jin-woo comes to an abrupt stop. He wasn’t tired in the slightest, but he couldn’t finish this journey unless he was in the right frame of mind. If he was going to face the sea monarch, Ashborn, then he needed to compose himself. He was his mentor’s prized disciple, after all.

Resolute in his decision, Jin-woo pinches his brow, shuts his eyes, and releases a deep, suffering sigh. He had to stop ruminating over the useless ‘what ifs’ of his current situation and focus on the matter at hand. You emitting pheromones in his presence was proof enough that you were a compatible mate, but this would be meaningless if you were unreceptive to him. It also begs the question, was humanity even capable of consorting with sirens? In search of an answer, he reminisces about the tales of old passed down by generations of his kin, as well as the many speculations made by humans.

No one knew the exact origins of his species. Most humans assumed the progenitors were Persephone’s handmaidens, punished by Demeter after Hades had taken her daughter to the underworld and forced her into becoming his queen. Some stories also claimed that seafoam birthed them, but Jin-woo scoffed at this particularly ridiculous rumor. A scholar had recently published an article on how sirens may actually be the offspring of the river deity Achelous and a divine songstress, citing notations from various mythos on this theory. In truth, reality was far simpler than any of these far-fetched narratives.

There was just no definitive explanation for the existence of sirens. They were not interchangeable with the peaceful denizens of the ocean, known as mermaids and mermen. While all fell under the umbrella of the term ‘merfolk,’ the sirens had a far more hostile and bloodstained relationship with humans.

Since time immemorial, his brethren were viewed as nothing but a scourge upon this world of humanity. Beautiful as a raging typhoon and every bit as devastating, the sirens served as harbingers of doom and destruction for those foolish enough to risk the perilous waters. Their heavenly voices were tantamount to the funeral dirges used to usher the dead into the afterlife. It would be understandable to believe that the sirens were the monsters in this baleful story. However, human nature at its core is fraught with wickedness, and men soon grew wise to the machinations of merfolk.

Odysseus was the first to survive an encounter with sirens. During his voyage to Ithaca, the cunning man had instructed his crew to plug their ears with beeswax, effectively blocking the intoxicating songs that had ended the lives of so many before them. Emboldened by the success of Odysseus’s scheme, other sailors began using this method to conquer the sea and establish trade routes. Within a matter of a couple hundred years, humans not only overcame their fear of sirens, but they also poached them. Huntsmen would capture, torture, and kill Jin-woo’s ancestors simply for crossing paths with them. Worse yet, these scoundrels would often murder merfolk solely to harvest their organs, bones, and scales. They would then use the defiled corpses as ingredients for commodities, medication, and even aphrodisiacs. It was truly grotesque, if not outright barbaric, and more than justified the ire his kind felt towards humanity. While they hunted for the noble sake of survival, men did it for bloodsport and money.

The horrific fates suffered by many of their beloved brothers and sisters particularly infuriated the alphas, with their robust constitutions and natural sense of leadership. With a thirst for vengeance, they began targeting and attacking ships, ports, and even beaches. The alphas considered any place or vehicle that harbored humans as eligible targets. The less temperamental betas remained neutral and avoided the bloodshed, opting to prey upon shoals of fish and other maritime animals instead. Omegas could not join in the hunt, as they were far too precious to lose. They were the most cherished and talented singers amongst the sirens and required around-the-clock protection because of their significant rarity. These were the origins of the current hierarchical structure Jin-woo adhered to.

After recalling the tumultuous history of his people in its entirety, Jin-woo clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white. This was so damn frustrating! Rather than granting him an understanding of his attraction, it just proved all the more why it was so illogical.

Defeated, Jin-woo raises his head, opens his eyes, and continues to swim.

Another hour passes before he finds himself at the ingress of Ashborn’s lair. His enigmatic teacher lived in almost complete obscurity. Devoid of any light, and enveloped by a suffocating aura, this nautical cavern intimidated all who dared to approach it. Well, almost all that is apart from Jin-woo. He effortlessly permeates the invisible barrier designed to keep intruders at bay and ventures into his master’s spiritual domain.

Despite being an ancient and powerful king of the sea, Ashborn made the strange decision to emulate a land-like environment in his personal chambers.

As Jin-woo manifests into the realm, his appearance gives way to a form more befitting of a land dweller. His tail separates into two legs, his scales smoothen into skin, and he loses the winged fins on his ears and back. Once finished with this metamorphosis, Jin-woo takes a deep breath. Fresh pine, grass, and flowers perfume the air as he’s greeted by a lush valley. It had been a while since he had visited, and the setting had required him to transform into a human. Interestingly, transfiguration was one of the first skills Ashborn taught him. Speaking of his mentor –

“My disciple, it is good to see you again, though you appear…troubled. Tell me, what ails you so?” A rumbling voice rings across the horizon, signaling Ashborn’s approach; the tenebrous essence of the powerful deity contrasting with the greenery of the land. He appears in front of Jin-woo as a great dark knight. Much like his surroundings, Ashborn’s current visage was nothing but an illusion. Even the bravest of warriors said that his lifelike image invoked sheer terror in their hearts.

Many speculate he possesses a massive stature, at least several leagues in height and breadth alone, with piercing eyes and endless tendrils of dark hair. Others claim he is the son of Poseidon, one of the twelve Olympians, and a God of destruction who presided over the sea. However, Jin-woo never once witnessed this side of his teacher in all the years he’s been under his mentorship. Ashborn certainly exuded dignity, but he still displayed a humble attitude. And without fail, he would always appear in that strange, armored suit whenever he was in Jin-woo’s presence.

“My teacher, I must ask for your help on an urgent matter,” Jin-woo starts, anxiously running his tongue across his bottom lip. “This morning, while I was scavenging, I stumbled across the unmistakable aroma of an unmarked omega. It…it was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. As if I was being beckoned by someone or something. I wanted, no, I needed to heed its call.”

Ashborn listens in silence, his expression indiscernible. Jin-woo continued.

“When I arrived, I was in front of a monstrosity of a ship – a yacht right by the sandbanks. At first, I assumed that someone had taken an unfortunate siren captive. But when I finally saw her–”

“You recognized she was human. Not only that, but she belongs to the lowest level of the hierarchy, an omega. Speak if I am wrong, my dear pupil.” Jin-woo lowers his head in shame, fringe obscuring his eyes. This action all but confirms it.

“I don’t know what to do or how to proceed, teacher. Everything I’ve learned about these creatures has made me detest them. But I can’t bring myself to hate her. How could this even be possible? We are not even of the same species. She’s my enemy, my prey…. At least, she’s supposed to be.” His voice lowers into a near whisper as he ends his confused rambling.

“And yet you don’t view her that way, do you child?” Ashborn poses a question he already knows the answer to but needs to hear in his pupil’s own words.

“No, I don’t,” Jin-woo replies grimly. “I yearn to know more about her. And not just that. I want to meet her, court her, and make her mine. If she’ll even have me, that is… So please, teacher, tell me if there is any meaning behind what I feel. Am I destined for something that bears no place in reality?”

Ashborn remains uncharacteristically quiet while faced with such a loaded question. All is eerily silent for a few moments, save for the cheerful chirping of the illusionary songbirds. At last, the monarch gazes at Jin-woo and gives him the answer he so desperately desires.

“It is entirely possible Sung Jin-woo, alpha of Jindo island, for I am proof of such a fantastical circumstance. My first and only love was also a human omega. A woman I devoted my entire being to over a millennium ago.”

Jin-woo’s eyes widened in shock at this revelation. His mentor had fallen in love at some point, and it was with a member of the human race? This was unheard of.

“I never knew you had a lover,” Jin-woo murmurs softly. “What was she like? Do you still remember everything about her after so many years?”

“Let me show you, my disciple. It is a tragic tale that words alone cannot properly convey.” With a wave of Ashborn’s hand, their surroundings began to morph and alter. The valley transforms into a spacious, yet quaint medieval village composed of several wooden houses with a bustling marketplace at its center.

When Jin-woo regains his bearings, he notices his mentor has also metamorphosized. A man with a sun kissed complexion, long dark hair, and a beard stands where he once stood. Though visibly unrecognizable, he was unmistakably Ashborn. A crimson cape was clasped to the pristine silver armor he wore. A paladin. Jin-woo recalls. He had some knowledge of the past lives of men through his rare excursions onto the Mainland. While disguised as a human, Jin-woo once traded in his goods for a textbook on history. He was loath to admit just how intriguing he had found it.

Ashborn speaks, his voice no longer resonating within the confines of shadowy steel.

“It was here in this village that I came across her. She was the only daughter of a peasant farmer. A strong-willed, rapscallion of a woman with a wit sharper than any blade. I can remember her beauty, her warmth, and her tenacity as clear and concise as the day we met.” He says with a wistful gaze. The scene then shifts to a woman in a pure white gown. Her eyes remained hidden, but it did nothing to impede upon her loveliness. The woman runs animatedly towards a man who looks identical to Ashborn’s borrowed likeness and leaps into his arms. The man then effortlessly spins her around before bringing her into a kiss. Jin-woo watches on, mesmerized by what was unfolding in front of him.

“I feared her rejection once she knew the truth of my identity,” Ashborn admits. “On the night we first made love, I finally revealed to her my status as ruler of the sea. However, it did not matter. She loved me wholly and unconditionally, regardless of who or what I was. Such was the strength of her resolve.” In the next instance, they return to the same valley from earlier. What differs this time is that the man and woman are there, unacknowledging of Jin-woo and Ashborn’s presence. Lost in their own special world. The woman has a flower crown on her head, and she sits on the grass, holding the man’s head in her lap. Both appear happy and at ease.

“For the first time in my existence, I experienced true contentment. I long to return to those days, but alas, our bliss did not last.”

Ashborn solemnly shuts his eyes as darkness overtakes the sky and rain falls. The man is now shown standing at a grave with an expression of anguish marring his face. The woman is nowhere to be seen, although Jin-woo knows exactly where she’s at.

“A plague was scourging the land and indiscriminately ending the lives of thousands. I tried to protect her with my magic, but it was to no avail. She fell gravely ill despite my best efforts. I discovered shortly thereafter that omegas were more susceptible to sickness than their contemporaries. If I had known beforehand, I would’ve brought her to the sea with me, away from that damned disease. But I was a fool who was willing to love and live with her as a man, not as a king. And as punishment for my hubris, an ailment snuffed out her life.”

At the end of his recollection, Ashborn’s lair returns to its original state. His mentor had also regained his shadowy exterior. The valley appears completely untouched by time, as if it were still one thousand years in the past. That’s why his lair looks like this. Jin-woo thinks as he finally recognizes its significance, It was their personal sanctuary. After a few moments of silence, Ashborn speaks.

“Although our circumstances are similar, you still have the privilege of choice. I cannot turn back time, nor can I change the past, but I am grateful. I experienced unspeakable grief, yes, but I also would have never encountered such love, tenderness, and passion had I not taken a chance on my omega. You, my disciple, still have free rein over your decision. Should you choose to pursue this woman, you have my blessing and irrefutable proof that she is a viable mate for you. If not, you will still receive my unwavering support in your future endeavors. The choice is yours to make.”

Jin-woo’s throat bobs. He feels an incredible sense of guilt at unearthing his master’s secret.

“My teacher, I apologize for prying into your past. I – I did not mean to bring up painful memories for you. I cannot imagine what you have endured. As of right now, I am not sure what it is I want, but I know for a fact I cannot give up on this human. I will need some time to contemplate and sort out my feelings. If you will excuse me.”

Jin-woo bows his head before turning to take his leave. As he approaches the exit, a sudden thought emerges at the forefront of his mind.

“Teacher, there is one more question I must ask. This human, she does not speak with words. She communicates with her hands and gestures. Is this some type of sorcery or spell that she’s casting?”

“It is most likely sign language, a manner of non-verbal communication used by humans who are unable to vocalize or hear. Perhaps she cannot speak, or has a hearing impairment, so she must express herself through other means.” Ashborn answers, curiosity lacing his voice.

Jin-woo feels his heart sinking. A siren’s serenade played a pivotal role in the mating ritual and was performed just prior to consummating an eternal bond. If what Ashborn said is true, then there is a possibility you could be immune to his song. This meant he wouldn't be able to use it on you when the time came…

He grits his teeth as he remembers your smiling face. Try as he might, Jin-woo just could not get you out of his head, nor was he willing to let you escape his grasp. You may not have realized it yet, but you had unknowingly sunk your fangs into him and the seeds of obsession were already beginning to take root. Rather than being discouraged by Ashborn’s observation, he instead finds himself reinvigorated.

“Teacher, disregard everything I said earlier. I now know what it is I must do.”

Ashborn peers into the eyes of his disciple, relieved by the determination that lights them. This was much more like the obstinate young man he knew.

“I choose to seek this omega and stake my claim, no matter what challenges may await the two of us,” Jin-woo proclaims proudly. “I will make her mine, but only if she consents to my proposal. And if not through song, then through other courtship methods. I am strong, stronger than any other alpha in my territory, and I know I can protect her from all who would wish her harm. I won’t let my mate slip through my fingers.”

“But what of maladies and the passage of time? You can fight against gods and monsters until the end of your days, but sickness or her ephemeral lifespan will not spare this young woman. In the end, your time with her shall be fleeting.” Ashborn ruthlessly counters Jin-woo’s declaration of protection.

Jin-woo bites his lip, not expecting this development. However, before he can muster a response, his mentor graces him with an answer.

“I know of one way you can overcome this. There is a recipe for an elixir known as the Holy Water of Life. It is a miraculous potion that can imbue invulnerability to communicable diseases, extend lifespan, and transform the consumer into a siren. I unfortunately did not have knowledge of such a panacea while I was with my love. Of course, I live with the regret of not discovering it sooner, as now I have no such use for it, but this does not mean I will idly stand by and let history repeat itself with my protégé.”

With a flash of light, an ancient scroll appears in front of Jin-woo. It unravels by itself to reveal its contents to him. Jin-woo’s eyes widen as he reads. Is this…?

“Behold. The ingredients for crafting the Holy Water of Life. I bequeath this boon unto you, my disciple. However, heed my warning as the acquisition of these components requires you to conquer all 100 floors of the Demon’s Castle and to defeat its king, Baran. This is a treacherous dungeon that may claim your life if you are unprepared for it, but it can also impart you with unspeakable power should you prevail.”

Jin-woo perks up at this information, his interest now fully piqued. “Tell me, master, where can I find the Demon’s Castle?”

“It hides far away, in the city of Seoul, within an incorporeal dominion. It is a flame-ridden landscape that will require you to assume the form of a human to enter the castle. Knowing all the risks it entails; do you still accept my offer?”

“I do,” Jinwoo confidently states.

“Very well,” Ashborn nods his assent, and a key materializes into Jin-woo’s palm.

“Use this key to open the gate to the Demon’s Castle. I have also implanted it with the coordinates to the dungeon’s location. You need only close your eyes and grasp onto the key to visualize it.”

Following the instructions, Jin-woo sees a map that details the exact distance from his current whereabouts to the metropolitan area of Seoul. It will be a lengthy trip, even with his impressive swimming prowess. He estimates it will take roughly half a day to arrive at his destination. Undeterred, Jin-woo presses onward.

“Teacher, I cannot thank you enough for all your help and guidance over these last few years. I give you my word; I will return alive and well, both with the elixir and Baran’s head. And then I will meet with the omega and court her in earnest.”

He departs without another word, although his promise relays an unspoken farewell between them. After some time passes, Ashborn stares at the vast skies of his domain and muses to himself.

“You have grown so much from when I rescued you from the Cartenon Temple all those years ago, Sung Jin-woo. I could not be prouder of you, my disciple. Till our next encounter.”

12 hours later...

Jin-woo finally emerges from the dark, briny waters that frame Seoul’s coastline.

After leaving Ashborn’s lair, he briefly returned home to pack and prepare for the journey ahead. Both Jin-ah and his mother were worried about his sudden departure, so he did the best he could to assuage their fears by giving them a sanitized version of the truth.

Jin-woo claimed Ashborn had provided him with a list of rare ingredients that were only available for purchase in the human markets at Seoul. He even promised to bring back a box of chocolates as a souvenir, something his mother and little sister had enjoyed during one of his return trips to the surface. He then traveled the full 413-kilometer distance from Jindo-gun to Seoul, stopping only for a few hours to rest and recuperate.

As he approaches land, he assumes the form of a naked human man and walks inland from the sea. However, Jin-woo comes to a halt when he becomes more aware of his current state of nudity. While it didn’t bother him, it would cause a lot of unnecessary trouble if any nosy beachgoers happened upon him and asked questions. It is also…pretty embarrassing to admit that he is…wobbly on these legs. Very much so.

He quickly summons his magical inventory and grabs a simple black t-shirt, boxers, fitted jeans, and athletic sneakers (‘Adidas’, the portly sales attendant had called them). As worthless as he found human decorum to be, Jin-woo needed to remain as inconspicuous as possible while he was in disguise. Once dressed, he strolled into the city. After 45 minutes, he found himself at the designated street junction on the map. Taking a deep breath, he brings forth the key, turns it, and unlocks the gate.

⚓︎ To be continued...

805 notes · View notes

sunboki · 2 months ago

Text

⎯ COUNTDOWN TO LOVE. a Christopher Bahng fiction

🎁 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. countdown to christmas, best friends to lovers! au, pining, non-idol! au, comfort, worry of unrequited feelings, slight angst, fluff, cuteness overload

WORD COUNT. 6.5k ☆ 34 minute read

WARNINGS. swearing(??), mentions of a dick(?), insecurity, usage of terms of endearment, mentions of inferiority, mention of vomit, reader is said to wear makeup on an occasion

AUG'S NOTES. this was a very soft and sweet opposition to Christmas Blues last year which, notably, was remarkably “blue” in nature. in the midst of writing i found myself worried this new approach to lighter, best-friend-to-lovers feelings would be too plain—but i had to remind myself this isn’t enemies to lovers, nor is it nearly as angsty as Christmas Blues!! though i hope their feelings can be both established and understood well, so thank you for sticking with me this far :) i hope this fuzzy piece keeps your heart warm during this cold winter<3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. It had always been natural between you and Chris. Knowing someone for almost ten years comes with that. And yet, when he confesses that he doesn’t want to keep up this cycle but pursue you one winter, you’re hesitant in thinking it will work out. Then again, you’ve never been one to deny him.

or alternatively :

Five days till Christmas, five dates to see if you feel the same.

December 20th.

“Move your arm.”

Sunday morning sunlight streams through barely cracked blinds, making your brows crinkle at the onslaught of brightness in distaste. That, along with occupying a mattress with none other than Chris Bahng.

A weekly occurrence at this rate, if not daily. And no, whatever earlier assumption about you two sharing a bed is wrong.

Totally.

Oh, he’s also pitiful to boot, evident with the loud whine heard in response as he rolls over—messy curls unruly upon just awakening.

And.. somehow beautiful, with those big brown eyes and lips the color of burnt russet parting with a highly exaggerated yawn.

But pitiful most of all.

“‘S warm—“ Chris groans out, inch-worming his way to wrap big arms around your form, beckoning you snuggled against his back with a content sigh.

“Too warm,” You scowl, squirming about in his grasp, disagreeable sorts of sounds leaving tight lips. Chris simply giggles.

“Say,” He begins, weighing his chin upon your shoulder, fingertips slipping beneath your shirt to feel your skin, tracing the lines of your abdomen, rising to rest on your belly.

A surprising lover of skin-to-skin, he is.

“What if we became something more?”

When you know someone long enough, an established sense of normalcy alternative to everybody else appears, whether that’s the plentiful times you’d heard Chris squeal like a girl after walking in on him in his boxers, or the not-so pretty nights out where he’d hold back your hair while you threw up in the bathroom a bar whose name you can’t recall.

But then again, it’s always been just that.

Nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t demand anything from you, didn't judge you. Listening with an attentive ear those days you would cry on the phone, and bring you a donut before morning classes after passing an exam.

The small things.

So it makes you wonder when you started seeing him differently. And if he felt that same way too.

A slow progression of love, like a river in its path of eroding canyons over thousands of years. Familiar, comforting. Done without a second thought like muscle memory. His fingers curling against yours in busied atmospheres, the look you both give each other when a certain song comes on.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?”

With your face peering over his monitor, wide eyes he adores peek at him from an upside down angle.

Cute, he thinks, tapping your nose with a chilled index.

Chris always keeps it cold in his apartment, partially because he remembers you’d told him you sleep better that way, partially because he loves to hear you complain about it in the morning.

As for the big question popped earlier today, he chooses to wait patiently per your request (after staring at him like he’d grown an extra pair of eyes then proceeding to smack his arm before realizing he was serious).

So, yes, you’re thinking.

And it scares Chris more than he’d like to admit.

He knows the risks, the “let’s try this” somehow turning into an ugly breakup and never speaking again.

And he can’t afford that when it comes to you, because you’ve become the most important person in his life without even noticing it.

Even if his love is one sided. Unrequited.

He’d be okay as long as he has you.

Just the thought makes him anxious, makes the clicking of his mouse arranging the tempo to become erratic in pace, head-dizzying.

“Chris?”

Until your voice finds him, and the torrential waves of his ocean go back to their slow lapsing. Calming the waters as always, trademark to you.

“New track,” He offers, eyes flickering up to you with a meek smile emphasizing the charming dimples there.

Majoring in music comes with both perks and downfalls: hours spent studying and cramming terms down his throat whilst managing personal projects, and, of course, the fleeting satisfaction after passing an exam by a stroke of luck.

But he loves every moment of it, especially having you listen to some of his favorite productions. Some he’ll strum on a guitar amidst his arranged apartment shared with Changbin and Han—roommates you’d grown quite acquainted with—in the late evening, his heart likely beating out of his chest watching your sweet face nod along.

At the moment it’s him here alone, Han having already relocated back home for the holidays, Changbin at his part time job, working lighting and electrical work at a live-house.

“Can I listen?”

Slow to nod, he beckons you closer with a wave of his hand, carefully placing headphones overtop your ears.

And yet, as your head bobs and face wrinkles up just like he does when hearing something catchy, he can’t help the grin on his face watching you.

You’re beautiful, and he’s too fond it might just be unhealthy.

It’s too easy to fall in love with you.

He has a feeling he’ll be thinking that a lot.

December 21st.

Enough.

If there was an early New Year’s resolution, gaining a lack of hesitation would have to be on the top of the list.

Of course, that would ensue plenty of compromising situations if you did things impulsively considering the amount of times you’d wanted to kiss him, but, for the most part, it would work in a sensible manner.

“Five dates.”

Last night you slept over (similar to most nights), clad in one of Chris’s old t-shirts and a pair of suspiciously clean basketball shorts for the gym-addicted man in question, Changbin, to offer you.

By the stove, Chris occupies himself with cooking eggs, lips puffed in a way downright dangerous to your “no hesitation” resolution and lack of t-shirt displaying a broad, muscled back adding to the list.

Your tongue pokes against your cheek, arms crossed over your chest.

”Five dates.. mhm.. gotcha…” Each nod from the man assures you that, no, he doesn’t “gotcha”; his attention long since drawn to what lies in a sizzling pan and the low hum of “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz rumbling from the small radio on the corner of the kitchen island.

“Chris,” You grunt, brows lifting, resisting the urge to laugh when he glances over his shoulder with that sheepish expression, all-telling.

Or maybe that comes with the years. Unspoken gestures understood without fail.

”Sorry ‘bout that,” He murmurs, and you curse every aspect of your vision being a spectator to his trapezius rippling while dishing down two mugs from the cabinet. One that you bought him, the other purchased by Han.

The latter patterned with.. odd shaped bananas he’s sworn are not the shape of a dick.

But that’s a story for another time.

Although, that’s the least of the oddities. Between the Danny Devito cheeto ornament(how they got their hands on it you couldn’t guess) added to their tiny Christmas tree and the rug in the bathroom with old stains no one talks about, you’ve decided to turn a blind eye for the sake of learning things you don’t want to remember.

“What do you think if.. y’know, before we try something new,”

You pause, scorning the sly smile on his face when turning to face you, long fingers quelling the stove’s flame momentarily.

He thinks you’re the most darling thing he’s laid eyes on, and you think he’s going to laugh at you.

”We go on five dates. And after those five dates, I’ll make up my mind.”

”Is this a part of your “thinking”?”

Jerk. He’s lucky he’s handsome.

Gnawing at your bottom lip, your face pinches.

“Yes.” The words are quiet, too hushed for your liking.

Chris doesn’t make you quiet, he doesn’t make you shy. Yet, these days you find yourself falling back into a cycle of nervous, foreign feelings when speaking. As if he’s picking you apart piece for piece.

As if he hasn’t already read every page of the book named you over and over again.

But now the pages rewrite themselves, too many filled with the word “love” and “affection” and “more than friends” and—

“Can I kiss you after those dates?”

Jerk. For the second time.

”And if I say no?”

He lights a fire under your feet. Maybe it’s the heat causing blood to rush to your ears.

Chris lifts his mug. ”Indirect?”

You scoff, he giggles, squeaky in pitch just as it’s always been. Your cheeks warm.

Because in the midst of a once-normalcy, you can feel a storm brewing. It’s unclear if it’ll be a hurricane or a refreshing rain shower, and perhaps the unpredictably is supposed to be thrilling.

Or maybe it’s doomed, and the debris left after that hurricane will lay untouched, uncared for.

So it’s the feeling of his arms wrapping around you beckoning those thoughts out of reach, holding the doubt just high enough you don’t have to see.

Hear, listen, overthink. For now, all there is to fret about is Chris, and the warmth of his hug, pulling you infinitely close against heated skin.

Then does it register to you he’s always read your pages the same, and he would for as long as you’ll give him time to reread. If they change, they change together.

How foolish you forgot such a thing. As if he wasn’t your best friend first.

“Yes, you can.”

When those five dates are over, kiss me.

His nose buried into your shoulder, he murmurs a quiet “thank you”, a satisfied hum resounding from his chest, eyes crinkling up in the corners with a smile.

“Is that my shampoo?”

If anything, you feel as if you’ve been having dates over the years you’ve known Chris as he lists out ideas from a website on his phone. Except, yours weren’t touchy feel-y and certainly not regarded as “dates”, but simple things.

Dinners, falling asleep on his shoulder (something he remembers very well), baking together.

It’s a cold day, and after his hug that squeezed every fiber of sanity from your being, you now resorted to trying to figure out what that first date should consist of.

The first of the five, pending.

“Ah,” Lips parting to exhale, you peer from the nearest window, watching hot breath fog up the glass whilst gazing out at vastly falling slow blanketing the ground a winter wonderland. A white abyss from your viewpoint.

“It’s snowing.”

A chaste pause ensues.

“Might as well go out ‘n enjoy it, hm?” His voice, paired with a grin saturated in too much mischief for your liking resounds from over your shoulder.

Unable to react fast enough, Chris, sneaking up behind you without your knowledge, hoists you over his shoulder in seconds time—now (unfortunately) adorning a hoodie over his once bare torso.

Your shocked shriek rings about the apartment in reply.

“Out of the way! We’re goin’ outside!” Chris giggles victoriously, shouting to no one in particular as your fists beat at his back upon making for the door.

The faintest gust of frigid wind has goosebumps slithering up your skin—granting the man a cacophony of “No! Let me down!”’s he seems to soak up like praise.

Well, before relenting.

Because then again, who was he to deny you? To some degree it felt like every bone in his bone dragged him close to you, trailing after your footsteps like a lost puppy.

“One of these days,” Sighing heavily like that of an old man, a firm hand pats your thigh before you’re reluctantly flopped onto the couch, glaring up at him in a manner he deems too pretty to keep from smiling at.

That same hand comes to hold your face, smushing up your cheeks and, in turn, earning plentiful laughter you simply huff towards.

“Don’t pout—“ He whines, your heart rate spiking when another hand comes down towards your hair.

If there was any restraint of yours left, it would be relinquished instantly if he so much as touched your hair—

He flicks your forehead. And proceeds to slump down beside you.

“Oh you prick-“

His hand reaches to gently cover your mouth, bringing an index to rest on plush lips of his own.

“No pouting, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Oh he’s going to get it.

Playing you like a fiddle.

And damn does he do it well.

Head tipping, your eyes flicker over his features—silently admiring such a side profile. With the perfect curve of his lips and hook of his nose, he could rival sculptures found in museums.

This was after trying to tackle him (to no avail, sadly) and curse his very existence (another fail).

Then, the mediator came by in the form of a movie night and the small sheet of chocolate chip cookies warming in the oven, scent steaming the air with a mouthwatering aroma.

Your first of five, initiated.

“Mm.. Don’t we have movie nights normally though?” The remark offered quietly, you shift closer to his body, pressing your right side to his, knees tucked beneath a blanket he’d arranged across either of your laps.

Love Actually plays on the screen ahead, but your focus couldn’t be deviating more.

Ever the attentive soul, Chris is equal in the shared admiration, honeyed irises fixed upon you in his peripheral prior to a careful finger lifting, looping a strand of hair behind your ear.

In turn, his gentle palm cups your jaw to tilt your head, sweeping an additionally stubborn hair from the other side of your face as well.

Your heart feels moments from bursting, and he looks at you as if you’re his whole world.

You are, but that was a matter unnoticed on your end.

It’s a quiet debate. Dangerous and fickle. Move too quickly and something might go wrong, hesitate and an opportunity may vanish to never be seen again. Do you kiss him? Is that how it works? Or is this a matter of “kissing on the first date”, treated like a taboo?

More so, what happens next? After the kiss?

His eyes flicker upward to yours, lacking that boy-ish, charming smile he usually dons. Instead, he’s serious, calm. Then to your lips, like the melody of a slow song, flickering with the dips and pitches of the rhythm.

Leaning in, you can’t help but comply, and every thought within your mind numbs into nothingness—

Beeep!

A sharp, acrid stench makes your nose burn, face transforming into both realization and panic upon witnessing the tendrils of smoke curling from the oven.

“Shit!”

And after frantically racing to salvage what little remained of the cookies while Chris furiously fanned the smoke detector, your “date night” turned into a shared glance, laughter, and the both of you trudging to his bed for the night, leaving the remaining bit of Love Actually for another day.

So no, rest assured you didn’t kiss him on the first date.

Maybe tomorrow.

December 22nd.

Y’know how Chris mentioned going out into the snow “one of these days?”.

That day was today, apparently.

“You don’t get it I’ll slip-“

“But you can hold onto me, yeah?” He laughs, squeaky still. Gloved hands find purchase on your hips, gently easing you forward where your back rests to his chest. His right hand shifts upward to rest against your spine, a feeling you have to swallow down wallowing in your stomach.

“Slow steps, I won’t let go.”

Don’t ever, you wish to say. Don’t ever let me go.

And not to keep me from slipping.

Maybe if you were ice skating or slow dancing this would be romantic, but the ugly, waddling manner you make down ice-coated stairs kills off any hope for swooning.

That is, until you do slip, and the man is a fraction too slow until you’re flat on your bum outside his apartment complex, heated from both annoyance and the knowledge far too many embarrassing pictures have been added to his camera roll just now.

In which.. a wonky, slightly-melting snowman comes to be not long afterward, neither of you willing to admit your creation is not “creative”, but horridly unsightly.

“I love it!”

Of course he does. Random pipes substituting as two arms and a carrot nose while Han’s fedora from 2016 awkwardly sits atop a head disproportionate from its body.

Your second date ideas offered a galaxy of possibilities, but after awakening late and coffee’s failure to open your eyes further than half-lidded, you figured today would mimic yesterday as a day spent at home.

He’d get some assignments done in the evening, and you’d probably turn on another Christmas movie while waiting to finish Love Actually in his company later on.

“We should come up with a name,” Nodding proudly at the aforementioned abomination, you cross your arms across your chest, your partner in crime brainstorming in a seriousness practically comical to the situation at hand.

“Hm.. something happy! I mean, look at his face, it’s happy, isn’t it?”

Mind you, cold, visibly dead extra coat-buttons are what stares back at you as its “eyes”, and you easily nod in feigned agreement as he takes ceaseless pictures of the thing with obvious delight, likely to send to friends and family alike.

The bottom snowball is melting, and a pipe has already fallen off what was supposed to be its arm, but Chris is beaming, and you'd rather slice off your own tongue than keep him from enjoying this moment.

Happy.

You feel as if you’d do anything in the world to see him smile.

“Eh? Who’s that?”

5pm, and you’ll probably have to pummel the door open in the morning thanks to the blizzard-like conditions outside.

Among plenty of assignments he told himself he’d fret over in the evening, an unfinished paper sits in front of Chris while his thumbs twiddle along the keyboard of his phone, your chin hooked to his shoulder to glance down at the device—a habit of yours he finds himself unreasonably fond of.

Changbin came home early from the live-house, with most events cancelled from the cold and too little work to be done, there was no need to keep workers around. Dinner beckoned conversation and knowing glances from the roommate whenever you and Chris spoke, earning a scolding scowl while he simply grinned innocently in reply.

It seemed your love was obvious to everyone but you two. How tragic.

Though, amidst photos of both your earlier wipeout (a matter you don’t mention) and snapshots of the snowman he’s currently trying to send while seated at his desk, a certain name within the text catches your attention:

Mister Sunshine.

Chris chuckles sheepishly, your brows lifting in silent inquisition.

“It’s.. the snowman’s name. I named him.” He murmurs, the back of his neck doused pink. A facet of his embarrassment.

He named the snowman Mister Sunshine.

That smile of his making an additional appearance lies responsible for an internal scream to ring throughout your body, deafening your brain despite an external silence.

And in that moment, your feelings become harder to ignore than ever.

December 23rd.

“You should get all pretty today.”

Your attention, once drawn to the different kinds of cookie-cutter molds, flickers up to him when he speaks.

As it always does, hanging onto his every word as if fearful there’d be a day you couldn’t.

Quizzically does your head tip in confusion, spurring the heat blooming by the back of his neck all the way up to flushed ears.

He waves quick hands, having been eyeing through the assortment of donuts Changbin brought home last night after his “buy one get one free sale” turned into buying a dozen at the shop by the live-house.

“I mean, ‘s not like you aren’t pretty every day, but- y’know- like—“

It feels cruel letting him futilely try explaining, but gosh is he too cute.

And hearing him call you pretty feels too good to end abruptly.

It also makes you wonder what happened to the smug-grin-wearing, playful person he could become at times. The one so confident and sure, now rosy.

An alter-ego sounded too far-fetched most days, but as for today… fairly accurate.

“What I meant is,” Turning, Chris extends the mug of coffee your way, heated glass warming your palms as you take it.

A part to your shared daily occurrences, routine.

“I want to take you out tonight. We can go window shopping, see decorations, yeah?”

Perhaps the steam of your cup is what warms your cheeks, and very quickly do you come to recall you’re the one making him wait.

He was willing to go all in from the start. And then you feel even crueler.

“Okay, tell me when to start getting ready.”

But you nod and pretend, because maybe you’re good at staving down things you know will come up anyway.

He’d always chided your procrastination.

Too long have you spent burning holes in your mirror with each scrutinizing glare, and the longer you stare, the worse what’s reflected becomes.

Chris had sent a small text proposing a forty minute window before heading out, in which ensued your frantic scouring around your room for both an outfit and coordinating accessories.

Sure, you may have known the guy since your ugliest years, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t fun to spend some extra time on yourself, right?

Your third of five dates, and you should be bouncing up and down with cheerfulness, looking forward to “getting all pretty”, dolling up for an evening with your favorite person, your best friend. And, come recent days, your admitted love interest.

But you aren’t. You don’t feel cheerful, ecstatic.

And walking out to his awestruck form doesn’t feel revitalizing, and sure as hell far from a confidence boost.

“You look.. wow.” He gapes, drinking in every article of clothing, the way you’ve got the prettiest of ribbons in your hair a crimson red, your cute socks and warm sweater.

An angel, he wants to say. That, along with many things you’d slap him on the shoulder for speaking aloud.

Worst of all? He knows your tell-tale signs in and out.

“Hey.”

His face seems to melt. Like crying, and it makes you want to cry. The sad, tiny crease of his brows, the puff of his bottom lip.

Worried.

“But, I mean,” Your voice chokes up, and you hate every bit of it, the emotions compiling to the surface—ones impossible to stave down.

You don’t feel nice. Putting on an outfit you both liked and thought you looked good in, fixing up your makeup, the little accessories to compliment certain colors, elements.

Yet, your heart still sunk when looking in the mirror, and now, looking at Chris, it feels like all that confidence is beginning to melt—salt sprinkled on the snow of the driveway.

Greater than that, it frustrates you. It isn’t his fault he’s attractive; beautiful, even, but every second by his side feels akin to a blazing inferiority, causing the already-chilled, flushed fingertips of yours to burn, your ears to grow unusually warm.

Like a child.

How irritating.

“Hey,”

His voice, like honey and pastries and all the bestest, warmest things when in need of comfort.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

The endearment isn��t teasing this time, not even in the slightest. It’s soft and delicate, an ornate vase constructed of glass, capable of breaking from a mere breath.

Standing outside his apartment, snow dappling the sky in endless flurries, it’s only you two in the world.

Your lip wobbles, but Chris always catches you before you fall.

“I’m the man honored to walk around with you tonight, hm?” He starts, thumbing away bubbling tears from your cheeks.

“You look too pretty for these tears, ‘don’t want to mess up your makeup now do we?” He cracks a feeble smile, smoothing down your brows and adjusting your scarf with utmost care from his mitten-clad fingers.

“Ah,” His face lights up with recognition. “You added the glittery eyeshadow.”

You can’t help but crack a laugh. Pitifully croaked, but there no less.

First day of high school and you’d shown up with a downright awful amount of glittery eyeshadow, looking similar to a human-disco ball with the sheer amount alone.

Chris, ever the kind soul knowing you since birth, gave you a two thumbs up, a tight smile, and a “looks great!” that’s lived as one of your best inside jokes even now.

Luckily, this time around the amount is agreeable, just above your lashes and shimmering avidly beneath falling snow.

“I did,” You whisper softly, gaze fluttering down to your shoes before flickering back up to him. “And um.. is it true? That..”

Oh this is embarrassing.

“I look okay?”

Perhaps if he says it, tonight you can believe it’s true.

This time he breaks your heart, with such a heart-wrenching smile on his face.

“You always look beautiful, ‘doesn’t matter how much you think you’re not, you’ll never be able to change my mind. Now let me take you out, yeah? ‘Can grab some hot chocolate,” He ushers, winding your arm to link with his as you make forward, his black trench coat swaying with the click of dress shoes, chilly nose finding sanctuary in a ruby-red scarf wrapped around his shoulders.

Beneath the streetlights and dark skies, Chris could be a prince if he so wished.

That’s another thing you can believe is true tonight.

Curious eyes of awaiting children and scolding mothers litter the streets, tiny fingers pointing to toys through the glass, busied chatter and shared affection blooming within a once blue atmosphere, now dappled in ribbons of color.

The transition from monochrome, like shutters of an old camera capturing technicolor for the first time.

Or maybe Chris was the one responsible for each flourish of color, painting your world the prettiest of hues.

“Do you remember it?”

His voice, honeyed, accompanied by a plume of air in requite of a warm exhale evokes a skip to your step, catching your footing on the stone sidewalk with an awkward clearing to your throat.

“The things you used to want for Christmas?” He continues, and you chose to ignore the knowing smile on his face, gaze shifting upward in hopes of recollection, to no avail.

“Hm.. Do you?” Quietly offered, a change in attention grants you momentary escape from the spotlight.

Well, before it truly does become momentary.

He never has been embarrassed easily, you’d like to add. A matter speaking for itself in the way he automatically clings to your side in response, swaying back and forth whilst singing along to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” you didn’t realize was blaring through overhead speakers above passing until this moment.

Predictably, he earns the bemused grins of passerby and your face (as an individual who does in fact get embarrassed easily, to your own dismay) growing fifty shades of crimson.

“Yah! Quit!” Though your efforts are as futile as your voice and it’s involuntarily chortled-ness, you smack at his hand no less.

Of course, he persists.

Until the sharp turn to a small, annually appearing hot chocolate truck ceases your complaining and his singing in synonymous tandem.

An array of memories come washing across you with each gust of winter wind, and you can practically hear the manner of squeakiness his voice used to be, the foam from whipped-cream topped cocoa sitting atop his top lip like a mustache. You’d always laugh at that.

When you burnt your tongue one year after the beverage was too hot and he remained resilient in his belief you could and would taste Christmas dinner.

You did not, but it was worth a try. Also worth seeing his big, hopeful eyes peek up at you excitedly.

Back then he was always shorter than you, until that fateful day in High school he arrived with a far taller stature than the pipsqueak you knew of most days.

A lot has changed since then. In more ways than one.

Seems his memory remains as sharp as ever, evident in the gentle squeeze he gives your hand—his you hadn’t even noticed was held in your own up till now.

“Get some, hm? My treat.” He quickly urges, watching you pad forward like a child to admire the menu in adoration, waving to the old woman you’d known since a child, always manning her tiny miracle of a truck.

He would keep the fact he’d looked up the hours the truck would be in town to himself. That, along with the tiny heart drawn on the side of the cardboard coffee sleeve you had yet to acknowledge, one he discovers is the old woman’s doing, her knowing smile matching his own when he looks up for silent clarification.

Encouragement.

Go for it.

He feels his palms grow clammy, internally thankful you weren’t holding hands at the moment(which was enough of a heart-attack inducing experience in itself).

The trace of lipgloss on the rim of your cup, the batting of those precious eyes.

Worst is, you don’t even know what you do. The little things compiling into something downright torturous.

And when you look up at him for that split second, his breath catches.

Ah.

He wants to kiss you.

From the scrunch of your nose when you begin to laugh to the snowflakes already dappling your lashes.

Because loving you is easy, and then it’s not. Over and over again. He’s afraid, but his mind is fuzzy and jumbled with feelings, and that small bit of melted marshmallow on your bottom lip he finds himself longing to taste. Lick up the sweetness and sink his teeth into the plush skin–

The tiniest drop of hot chocolate clings to your lips, and Chris wonders if you’d taste like it too.

December 24th.

“Hm?” His hum of confusion falls upon deaf ears, too preoccupied with a call from your mom to take note.

Something must’ve piqued his attention, though you’d have half the mind to guess what.

That is until hanging up, and curious brown eyes boring into your skull from afar transform into this itch you can’t ignore.

“Chris.”

Like an annoying older brother, he is sometimes.

Then there’s that sheepish sort of sound, the “i-got-caught” giggle testing your annoyed facade.

“Hey now,” He begins after a moment, pointing an incredulous finger your way like you’ve said something outrageous, looking like some perplexed old man whilst running a hand through his hair in an odd, cheap rendition of exasperation.

He looks more like he’s choking, but you give full points for effort.

“You haven’t put up your tree or anything? What are you, the grinch?”

Oh, so that’s what this is about.

For context, your conversation minutes prior with your mother consisted of the formalities: “How are you? Eating well? Sleeping well?” which turned into the personal portions: “Classes? Boyfriends?”

As for the last question, you’d keep her posted.

But what seemed to grab his attention most was the additional part where you not-so-discreetly told her you likely wouldn’t bother putting up decorations in your own place this year.

Granted, you spent most days at Chris’s anyway, Christmas as well. Why not skip the hassle to freeload?

Also, you weren’t aware this was chastising season, Mr. Bahng.

“You’re serious?”

Nope. All a joke, every bit.

“…I usually just stay here anyway..?”

Which was true! He knows this!

“Nuh-uh, ‘s gotta change. What if one year I go overseas to visit family and you’re here alone?”

Horribly fast, your stomach sinks, and you’re hasty to scorn the sensation.

This fear, innate and uncontrollable. That on a certain season, you won’t have that certain someone to spend it with.

I won’t, you want to say; treat the words like some totally unrealistic joke, treat his argument like a fable.

The clapping of his hands wards you from your incomprehensible nightmare.

“Alright! Let’s go! We’re decorating your place!”

This year at least, he’ll be by your side.

So you nod, as you do to most things concerning Christopher Bahng.

Love makes a person so.. strange, does it not?

Maybe that’s just you. Or him, or all of it. Who knows.

Crunching of white sheets beneath your feet keep your head from falling astray, as if dancing atop dove feathers amidst your trek to the car.

Too many thoughts, too many questions likely to be left unanswered.

The moon, in her full, glowing glory blinks down from above as a feeble solace.

Of the most beautiful of love stories. For when her lover, Sun, grows tired of arduous laboring in the day, she will arrive to establish her night so that Sun may rest for another day. A night of waiting for the one most beloved to her.

It reminds you quite a bit of yourself, oddly enough, as frosted fingertips shuffle beneath your legs to bask in the passenger seat’s seat heater as a source of warmth.

Each exhale fogs up the windows as the engine rumbles to life, and it’s a wonder you didn’t have to scrape off ice beforehand.

“Mm, in Australia it’d be so warm since ‘was summer, even on Christmas Eve. I remember one year ‘got the chance to get out there during the Holidays. Jisung sent me a text saying it was four degrees celsius in Korea and he was wearing three jackets. Meanwhile, I was outside in a tank top with Berry in twenty-seven.”

His eyes adorn the same sweet crinkle of happiness, ring-clad index tapping an inaudible beat where it rests on your knee, the other finding purchase on the steering wheel as you continue onward through late-December snowflakes.

He lights up your world without even trying. His smile, his excited talking. The way his words grow shorter and shorter the more excited he is to explain something.

Nerd.

You love every second of it.

“And what I said about Australia earlier.” Chris begins quietly, sparing you a glimpse. His palm squeezes your knee gently, and you want to shout, jump, do something to alleviate the scream wishing to claw from your throat in reply.

Since when have you become so susceptible, so easy?

Simple. Since you fell in love.

Or, more like when you realized you were in love.

This was nothing new, after all.

“You wouldn’t be alone here over the holidays. I’d take you with me.” His eyes squeeze shut momentarily in thought, tone this quieted whisper you have to crane to discern.

“Back in October, during my birthday. Do you know what my wish was?”

A wordless look of wonder urges him on, thumb smoothing along your skin in a tender rhythm, never to break.

“One of these days, I’ll take you to Australia with me. Home with me.”

“So my first love can meet my last love.”

The second portion is barely intelligible, as if it were a mere whisper in the night.

You wonder if it was a figment of your imagination.

Nevertheless, the less-than-inviting (compared to Chris’s), pale glow of your flat’s porch light eventually comes into view, and either of you clamber from car doors with evident struggle—abundant layers against the chill making for an awkward toddle to your snow-muddled doorstep.

Quick to retrieve the boxes from your attic, the both of you get to work. Chris frets over shoveling snow from your front porch, and you set to Christmas-ifying the interior.

It’s domestic, almost. His humming from the front door to songs playing on the speaker inside, the slow transition from your usual flat to a festive explosion.

Then, of course, the tree.

In which you awkwardly shift your weight from foot to foot while awaiting his assistance, only for you to make eye contact and want to shrivel into a ball and never come out.

Again, shy. It’s bizarre.

“Hm.. You wanna put up the star?”

After far too long trying to figure out the logistics, a makeshift (albeit lopsided) tree resides in your living space, a few ornaments here and there clothing the sad excuse for a normally grand view.

But it’s yours, together.

You think with that knowledge alone it could’ve been a single sprout and would have been your world all the same.

His traces, everywhere. Both of your hands clutching onto each one you can grasp.

However, spontaneity comes back to haunt you. This time in the form of his hands curling around your hips, giving you a chaste countdown before you’re lifted up to place the star on the very top.

Good luck not having a heart attack, huh.

Miraculously, you don’t. Neither do you combust or squeal or any of the wild thoughts racing through murky depths of your brain.

Instead, you’re placed on the ground once more, his index and thumb taking the side of your top to gently adjust back down where it had ridden up.

Like a gentleman.

Shoot.

He makes it hard, doesn’t he?

Leaning to prop his chin on your shoulder while you admire the twinkling lights, you’d like to believe it was a hallucination that he pressed the most imperceptible, tiniest peck to the clothed junction of your neck and shoulder before pulling away.

“C’mere,” His words fall a near murmur, having to lightly tug at your wrist to truly garner your undivided attention without blood rushing to your face.

As for him, he simply had to pull you from the tree for the sake of his own wellbeing, the sight of warm lights reflecting in eyes he’d easily get lost in making each swallow harder to manage.

That, and there was.. a surprise of a sort. The sweep of a hand on the way out from his apartment, the fretful (clumsy) fastening of this so-called surprise under the guise he was clearing your porch.

Which he was, respectfully.

Just with a little something extra involved.

Nonetheless, oblivious to his plan, you follow along, anticipating some sad copy of Mister Sunshine to be made from fallen pine needles and buttons.

So when he points upwards, nothing short of a roller coaster occurs in your chest.

A spider, a roach, something scary—

A mistletoe.

Right above your head.

He’s got this giddy, nervous grin wobbling on plush lips, eyes searching yours like some little boy seeking a reaction. And you feel like you’re staring at elementary schooler Chris all over again.

At his cheery face knowing he’d be getting ice cream on the way home, when you lied about being able to taste Christmas dinner with a burnt tongue.

A single lightbulb flickers orange, illuminating the mistletoe residing just beside.

Finally not-burnt cookies sit in their container back at his apartment, Love Actually long since completed. Your snowman, named Mister Sunshine, occupies the complex’s front walkway, and too many mugs of hot chocolate have been downed these past few days to count.

When your own place gets lonely, a tree you had put up together keeps you company, so that those nights alone this winter won’t be so cold.

“Can I..?”

Chilled temperatures nip at your nose, and you feel like crying listening to the softened manner he asks, the tentativeness in the way his hand reaches to cup your cheek.

The sound is more like a plea, and you’d be beyond embarrassed if it was anyone but Chris.

“Please.”

And beneath that mentioned mistletoe, Chris kisses you for the first time, and December 25th makes its slow approach above the horizon.

When becoming more grows scary, Chris holds your hand to remind you there’s nothing he won’t step into with you. No matter the doubt, the fear.

It seems this winter you won’t be lonely. Because you won’t be spending this Christmas alone, nor many to come.

He’ll make sure of that.

One day till Christmas, four dates till you told him you felt the same.

You never got to five anyway.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @allaboutsan, @velvetmoonlght, @minij-one

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rose-tinted-kalopsia · 3 months ago

Text

≡;-꒰ 𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑬!𝑿𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑹 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑯𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝑩𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝑴𝒆.

╰┈➤ ❝ prince!xavier x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni | kinktober '24 day 16 (21…)

tags : long fic, pwp (with plot), porn with feelings (LOTS. OF. IT. because xavier), based off of the lightseeker myths but not lore-accurate, canon divergent borderlining on au, jeremiah as a side character, master/servant, prince/knight, forbidden love, secret relationship, devotion, angst (with a happy ending), sort of a fix-it, self-doubt (both), slight jealousy, miscommunication, arguing, teasing, sexual tension, needy xavier, making out, heavy petting, oral (both), vaginal sex, cum shot, slight somnophilia (you wake up to him eating you out), make-up sex, praise, use of “your highness” “my liege” “my prince” “my light” (from reader), use of “my queen” “my lady” “starlight” “angel” (from xavier). lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : ~9.7k

an : SO THIS IS LATE (i was supposed to have finished this on the 16th…) BUT… HAPPY (BELATED) BIRTHDAY MY BELOVED PRINCE !!! every time i revisit his lightseeker myth something in me dies <3 but despite the terrors i will continue to write xavier in soft and tender ways because i love him oh-so-very-much, and hopefully you can feel that through this. this is absolutely my beloved baby fic and probably one of the favorites i have ever written (up there with dlmly and ewflss), so i also hope that you’re able to love it as much as i do! (ALSO as usual the song adds to the feels so have fun w it i guess !! :D)

taglist : under the cut !! (SIGN UP HERE)

AO3 / KINKTOBER MASTERLIST / KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

Of love and admiration that goes far beyond devotion.

Your body felt thick with sleep as you awoke. Limbs still a little heavy, only barely breaking through the last vestiges of your dream… You were barely aware of the rustle of sheets from below, a hand going up to shield your eyes from the sunlight. The curtains had been opened—something you were usually responsible for at the start of the day, whether or not you had slept in your own room.

Not that this was your room.

Soft, silken sheets of a far higher quality of your own; lavender-laced curtains… Dead give-aways.

This was the prince's room.

And last night, he was all over you.

In you.

The heat of his body was flush against yours, all his touches both intentional and needy, sultry movements of his hips to thrust himself deeper, and deeper, and deeper… Slowly the details began to flood back into your memory, effectively having your body heat up at just the thought of it. And then you heard it—you felt it. Nimble fingers trailing over your thigh, something wet, and slimy, a familiar feeling as he languidly licked a stripe up your core.

With a gasp, your hands reached down, finding purchase in those soft tufts of white-brown hair you loved so much.

“Xavier—?!” Still groggy with sleep, you could feel the haze in your own voice, but you blinked yourself awake at the sight below you.

Xavier’s eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief.

He had his hands prying you open, spread for him to see the very evidence of your arousal, and rested his cheek against your thigh. As if to make a point, his tongue darted out to give another lick—almost like a test. And you noticed that his face had already been covered with your slick.

“Good morning, angel,” he murmured with a smile. He had the audacity to nuzzle against your skin, quite obviously taking delight in the way your face flushed a bright red.

“H- how long have you… ah—”

You gasped as he pressed your thighs against your chest, spreading you more obviously open for him to enjoy. Again he leaned back down to lick at your folds, circling the tip of his tongue at your hole, and you jerked with the slight sting of sensitivity.

Sensitivity that couldn't have been there, unless…

“H-hey! Xavier… Wh— H-have you been doing this the whole morning?!”

He chuckled this time, hands moving to massage gentle circles at your thigh. You could see him run a thumb over the red mark he’d left on you just last night, and a shiver ran through your spine at the touch. “Should I… not do that?” he tilted his head. Slowly, his fingers began to move back closer and closer to your glistening heat. Your breath caught in his throat; he looked so innocent despite the way he would easily pull you into the palm of his hand.

“No, it’s not that, just… I-I didn’t think you’d wake me up like this…”

He smiled. “Mm.”

This time, he let your legs rest back upon his mattress, and he slid up your body, the familiar heat of his skin melding with yours.

“My lady…” he murmured. His eyelashes fluttered against your cheek lovingly, lips barely touching your skin, teasing a kiss before resting his forehead against yours. “Ahh… It’s just, I like staying between your legs. It’s nice. And… I like tasting you. And when you cum, I like watching the way you flutter…”

His voice was so soft. He spoke so genuinely, despite the mirth laced into his voice, despite the dirty words that fell from his lips. He could say it like it was normal.

He had come to be like this with you.

Not that being used to it by now made you feel any less embarrassed about it.

“My prince, please,” you huffed, feeling your face heat up. With a whine, you poked at his chest, effectively getting him to roll off of you and settle for pulling you into his arms.

You savored the moment.

His arms wound tightly around your shoulders, and despite the more indecent way he’d woken you up, there was comfort in being so close to him, comfort in waking up next to him. His presence, as always, exuded warmth in every possible way—you didn’t mind when his leg slid up and around you, pulling you closer, closer, locking you in his embrace.

Xavier was clingy.

And later today, he would be back in a meeting with his parents, not at the academy with you. And that was enough of a reason for him to be even more so.

“My liege…” you murmured into his chest, nuzzling against him to offer some form of comfort back—at least, as much as he always gave to you.

He shook his head.

“Not that,” he mumbled.

You smiled,

“My prince?”

Another shake. “Not that, either.”

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, leaning in for a quick, feather-light kiss.

“Xavier,” you whispered.

And he smiled.

“Xavier,” you said again, with more conviction, feeling your heart flutter at the way his eyes seemed to shimmer. “Xavier.”

“Just Xavier,” he murmured. “When I’m with you… I’m just Xavier.”

Your eyes closed for a moment as he placed a loving kiss on the tip of your nose, and then you chuckled. “Okay, Xavier,” you emphasized his name to appease him, ignoring the frown that formed on his face when you pulled away. “You have your duties, and I have mine. We should get up, no?”

“It’s early,” he huffed.

“You need to be early.”

“But I want to stay with you…”

“And I want to lay in a bed of roses. We don’t always get what we want, Xavier. Not even the Prince of Philos.” You grinned this time, leaning back down to return his earlier kisses with a tap on his nose. “Up. You know we can spend some more time together when you’re free again. Besides… I, too, have those training sessions to get to…”

With a groan, he sat up with you, almost pretending to be sleepy by making a show of rubbing his eyes.

You scoffed. “Oh, come on. As if you hadn’t been clearly wide awake and working me up between my legs… You woke up earlier than me!”

“That's different,” he insisted. “That was relaxing for me. Just as last night, you’re always the most wonderful when you—”

You shoved him by the shoulder with a laugh, finally standing up from the bed and making to go and shower. You weren't surprised at the huff of indignance he let out, but you paid no attention to his sulking. The running water felt cool against the your skin—it was a nice contrast to the heat still coursing through your veins. Different from his touches, naturally, but welcome nonetheless, especially since he'd been quite busy with your pleasure mere moments ago.

Not that you hadn't enjoyed it.

Every brush against these marks on your skin had you tingling, flashing memories in your head of how his teeth would nip, how his tongue would glide over you… how he'd painted his release all over you, the sheer bliss at feeling such of the extent of the love the two of you shared.

You did enjoy it.

And if he had been craving it, you couldn't deny that the same was true for you.

With the shower tap closing and the curtain being drawn, you stepped out of the shower to gaze at your reflection in the mirror.

This was what it was like to be his.

You thought that you wouldn't trade it for the world.

There was a smile on your face as you stepped out, casually covered in one of the spare robes he kept neatly to the side for nights you would spend over with him. "Xavier, if you aren't up from your bed yet, you really should—"

Your gazes met.

For a moment, the air seemed still. His eyes raked over the shape of your body, almost so to have you loosening the grip that held his robe together.

"A shame… If only I could mark you where they could see…" You watched as he made his way over to you, wrapping his arms around you in that same, familiar manner, and burying his head into your neck. “Mm, you’re just so beautiful."

And you couldn’t help it.

You leaned back into him, allowing his hands to trail back down over your body, loosening the robe, the pads of his fingertips grazing your skin to leave goosebumps in your wake. Again. Just as he had done that evening. Each careful caress all over you, pressing into your skin as if to leave another mark of his love—nothing visible this time, but rather felt, for though the bruises below your collarbone could have sufficed, he would always be keen on doing much more than that.

Now, his hand made it between your thighs, tracing over your folds and almost dipping inside—

Almost.

“Your Highness,” you whined at him, promptly snatching his hand away.

The puppy-like gaze he gave you could have made you melt—in any other circumstance.

“Your Highness,” you repeated, firmly. “Hands off, be a good boy.”

Something like a smirk graced his features. “Are you ordering me around?”

“Yes.”

“A knight to her prince?”

You scoffed. “A lady to her lover.”

And at that, his expression softened.

Those were not often words that you said out loud.

Lover—a word so sacred, a word so pure. To call yourself the prince's lover was near suicide; a knight such as you could never truly be befitting to stand beside him at the throne.

It was not something you did often.

Xavier knew this.

"If that's so," he said gently, "then I'd be inclined to yield."

You shook your head slightly, and then before he had the chance to speak—or do—anything else, you stepped away from him to sift through his closet for one of those suits he’d always worn on days like this. With a pointed look you held it out, and it was near comical how his eyes lit up with barely-contained joy.

“Will you be helping me dress, then, my lady?”

As with anything Xavier said, his words carried with it an air of earnest innocence. Yet even the simplest things had your heart rate spiking if only for a moment.

“You do not need my help to dress…”

“Mm, perhaps so… But I would like it.”

"An order?"

"No, but a request. From a gentleman to his lover."

He followed you only to lean in and nip at your earlobe, and it was one last means to tease before he stepped back from you only to take his turn to shower.

Cheeky.

That was one way to describe him.

Xavier just did things, and said things, and you had to wonder if all princes were every bit as lofty as he could be, but—truly, how could you say no to that?

You wrapped his robe back around you a little more tightly, mumbling under your breath about how unfair he was, before reaching for your own uniform.

Having been carefully kept aside with last night's activities, Xavier had taken to neatly folding them up by the bedside table.

It made you smile.

The Prince of Philos was ever kind.

And though dressing yourself meant putting to rest the last remnants of his touch, it brought you back to the reality of what you were. Just as you'd said just earlier—you had your duties, and he had his. No matter that you were His Highness's closest aid, the fact remained that the two of you lived different worlds. At times, it was difficult to comprehend just how you'd gotten this far… And yet, last night was more proof of it than you could ever hope for, more proof of it than you could ever dream of.

You carefully arranged your skirt, looking towards the mirror in the room to adjust the fit of your uniform.

This was what it looked like to be his.

The door to the bathroom opened.

With another turn, you padded the room to give him a little kiss on the lips, before making through with your promise—

His hand grabbed your wrist, and he smiled.

"Just one kiss?" he spoke, and his eyes danced with mirth. You could tell that he was teasing.

You rolled your eyes. "What would you prefer me do?"

"A little more. Please?"

Xavier was clingy.

You knew that he had every reason to be, and perhaps that was one of the reasons you indulged him so easily.

Or, perhaps, you had need for it just the same as he did.

His arms locked around your waist, drawing you close as the soft touch of his lips against yours made you melt.

He was gentle, this time—not quite the neediness he'd displayed earlier in the morning, but he kissed you with such tenderness, such love, that it took a while before you were able to separate and… process.

Cheeks flushed, you took a step back from him and turned back to his closet to gather his clothes.

From then on, there was silence.

Towel off as he slipped on his underwear, you were careful with your movements, his trained eyes watching you fit his shirt over his torso. You didn't dare meet his gaze, not like this—instead, you remained adamant on giving attention to dressing him, fingers nimbly fixing the cuffs of his sleeves, trailing up to the buttons…

Perhaps, it was the silence that made this feel more intimate than it should.

Perhaps, it was the obvious pull you had over one another, still quite unable to get over the night that you had shared.

There was proof of it, too—not only on your body, but on his. Small, red marks on his chest, littering around like specks of starlight on his pale skin… You couldn't help but reach out to touch them, running your fingers over him in a manner reminiscent of the way he'd done with you, and…

Ah, you thought—this was difficult.

He was neither saying anything nor doing anything, simply allowing your exploration of his body, yet you cleared his throat and deftly brought his shirt to a close. Your hands fixed the clasps and pins on his collar, and as you handed him his trousers, you reached over to gather his coat.

"You know… I am not to train with you today," he spoke, quietly. The first word he'd spoken since.

"…Mm." You slid the coat onto his arms, and watched as he rolled his shoulders back to adjust its fit. "I know that. They've called you to the palace."

"I may be gone, for, perhaps, the entire day…"

You buttoned up his suit, carefully beginning to place the little pins and tassels, and you couldn't help but wonder just how it was that he wore these without feeling an ounce of discomfort—or, at least, showing it.

"I know that, too."

"Starlight."

You looked at him.

"The brooch is on wrong."

You faltered.

"…I know that, too."

He smiled as he watched you fumble with such a simple, menial task, and while your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, his hands met yours to help you with it.

"Let me. Before you prick yourself with it."

When you stepped back, you watched him turn to the mirror with any last-minute fixes, and reached towards the table to slip on his gloves.

Looking at him like this, you felt a lump form down in your throat.

It was different from seeing him in uniform—like this, he looked every bit the part of the crowned prince of the nation. Handsome, charming, gentle… Just like every prince should be.

And just as earlier, you felt your heart tear in uncertainty, the reality of his stature laid before your very eyes.

You spoke, and your voice was quiet.

"Your Highness."

He didn't reply. You could see a small frown on his face in the mirror.

"Your Highness." You tried again.

"No."

Ah.

"Xavier."

He looked at you, then.

As if he'd been sure of what you'd been thinking; as if, although he wouldn't speak of it, he would reassure you that you were his, and he was yours.

You let out a slow breath.

"Thank you."

Your head bowed the slightest, gaze averting to your feet.

"Even just to stand a half step behind you, protecting you… It would have been enough. Yet still I have the privilege to bask in your love. Enough, that… Even amidst all this secrecy, I—there's nothing I could want more."

You saw soft footsteps make their way towards you, and when he spoke, his voice was gentle.

He spoke in this way to comfort you.

"If your vow is to protect me," he murmured, "then mine is to protect you. If your vow is to love me… then, so, too, will my vow be to love you. You are not behind me. You're with me."

A finger placed under your chin nudged your gaze upwards, blue eyes once again latched onto yours.

"Whatever the meeting they've called me for, nothing will change. I'll be by your side, always. Believe me."

And believe him, you would. Because it was all that you've ever done. You didn't know how to do anything else.

—

"Waiting on His Highness?"

You turned as a figure hoisted himself over the stone balustrade you were sitting on, settling down beside you. Familiar brown curls and the same uniform that you were wearing, he was easily recognizeable. His gaze angled towards the front as he leaned back, legs stretched and hands supporting him in his seat. "Geez… It's not everyday you get to see students littered around at this hour, but I must admit. There's some pretty views out here!"

He swung his feet a little, a satisfied smile on his face as he observed the entrance of the academy bathed in the glow of the sunset.

But when you didn't say anything, he turned his head to look at you, blinking curiously. "No, but really. It's Xavier, right?"

This time, you smiled.

When you turned away from him, you, too, looked at the front, scanning the gate and listening for any of those telltale hooves of horses, or rhythmic footsteps of palace guards…

Anything to signal Xavier's return.

"He's been at a meeting," you shrugged. And you tried to keep it under wraps that this was much later than you'd expected him to be occupied, you tried to keep it under wraps that you'd been feeling a little disappointed that he wasn't back yet.

Keyword: tried.

Perhaps it was a curse that the Vice Captain was just as observant as the prince himself.

"Hmm, but you've been out here for a while…" You could feel his gaze on you, almost scrutinizing, if you'd believed Jeremiah to be like that.

But you knew him a fair amount. He'd been your training partner on multiple occasions, and he had quite the reputation for being on the friendlier side amongst the Starhunters. Despite his more dramatic ways of framing things, he'd always meant well—both for you, and for Xavier. And while he didn't know of the relationship the two of you shared, a little part of you was fond of him for all he's done to help the prince nonetheless. You'd felt as if, that way, he's helped you, too.

A pause, a little hesitation, before you sighed. "Mhm. Not quite sure when he'll be back, but, you know… It's a little bit expected for me to be out here when he does. I suppose."

Not that you minded. You'd want to wait up for him, too.

"Do you… fancy him?"

Jeremiah's question made you freeze.

"I'm sorry?"

"Prince Xavier. Do you fancy him?"

His tone was not one that was accusatory, but purely laced with curiosity. Again, though you didn't look back on him, you could feel his gaze steely on you.

"W- what makes you think…? I'm—I'm just his knight."

"Well, and his training partner."

"You've been my training partner, too."

"Not as much as he has, though… Haven't you shared the same teacher?"

You looked at him with a huff, and that smirk on his face almost made you regret that decision.

"Jeremiah—"

"Look. I'm not gonna pry, because if you do like him, then that's on you… and him, I guess. But I've seen the way you look at him. Maybe nearly everyone else seems to think you hate each other, but it's always seemed the opposite case from what I've observed."

"Why are you bringing this up, anyway?"

The light in his eyes seemed to flicker away, his mouth pressing into a thin line. "I heard rumors."

His answer was short.

Vague.

With how the conversation was going, you'd think those rumors to be speculations of your relationship, but it didn't add up—Jeremiah had just said it seemed you two had an unspoken rivalry.

In your head, you could thank Xavier's constant invitations to spar with him for that.

"What… rumors?"

"Well, the meeting. He's been summoned to the palace, right? There's been talks of an arranged marriage, and… Well, you know. I have my suspicions about the meeting being related to that."

Oh.

Something in his words stirred uncomfortably in your stomach, and your gaze moved from his face back down to your feet.

An arranged marriage.

Of course there was an arranged marriage.

"We both know Xavier's of Royal blood." Jeremiah continued, but his voice carried a softer tone, and he nudged at your arm in a means to somehow lighten the mood. "I mean, we all know that. And, you're an official knight, and everything, so I'm sure you know that really well. So, it's just… like that."

You let out a slow breath.

"…Yeah. It's just like that." You could mumble out the words, yet saying them out loud did little to soothe the discomfort—instead, it made them sound all the more real.

Whatever words he'd said to you this morning, whatever words he'd said to you the night before—sweet words, loving words… He meant them, you knew that he did. But that wasn't the issue. Because often times, even a prince had truly too little of power to act against the monarchy—and Xavier wasn't even on good terms with his family in the first place.

If a marriage had truly been arranged, he'd have had little say in the matter.

Neither did you know if he truly would sacrifice so much just for you.

"You okay?"

Jeremiah pulled you out of your thoughts, and only then did you realize the way you'd been carelessly wringing your hands in an effort—that clearly failed—to distract yourself.

You offered a sheepish smile, "Yeah."

And while he seemed doubtful, he no longer pushed.

Instead, he got up.

"Well, anyway. Just food for thought. Listen, I'm not going to stop you from liking him… But just be careful, okay? I'd advise you not to get too attached. For your own good. As your friend, I care about you, too, you know?" He gave you a reassuring pat on the back, and then he stretched.

There was a wistful smile on his face.

"Geez, I know how it feels, though. There's just something about being so close with a member of Royalty. When it dawns on you, you really realize that you're worlds apart…" he shook his head. "You know what they say. Perhaps the prince is like a star in the sky, meant to be adored from afar."

You placed your hands nearly on your lap, and watched him move back over the balustrade and onto the path of the corridor. "Leaving?"

"I'd stay and keep you company, but His Highness might get the wrong idea," he laughed, shaking his head.

And though he made to walk away at that moment, he paused.

With a little wink, he gestured to you—"Though, hey! Nice fighting today! Always a pleasure to train with you."

You rolled your eyes, but a smile peeked at the corners of your mouth. "Go flirt with your other girls, Jeremiah."

He grinned. "Flirt? No idea what you're talking about, milady!"

And in a few moments, he was gone.

You turned back to the gate, running over his words like a record.

Perhaps the prince is like a star in the sky, meant to be adored from afar.

And maybe, you realized, Jeremiah was exactly right.

But you wondered who would have been lonelier that way—the star at the top, or its gazer down below.

That night, you walked to your dorm alone.

—

The pattern repeated itself.

Several days had already passed, and night after night you would find yourself waiting at the front of the academy… to no avail.

You could go to the palace yourself.

It wouldn't be unwelcome; you were not forbidden, nor was it unusual.

Yet, something in your deepest instincts told you not to.

And the rest of the knights had nothing to say about his whereabouts.

"So you're still waiting."

You didn't need to turn around to see who was talking; this was a voice you'd come across much more often as the evening neared.

"As his knight, I would," you replied, plainly.

And again Jeremiah moved to sit beside you, would spent a couple of minutes out of his day to keep you company for a while.

You'd suspected this to be similar.

Yet—

"Not this time."

Instead of actually sitting down, he offered his hand for you to take, and only then did you look at him inquisitively.

"Huh?"

"Well, it almost looks as if you haven't done anything for yourself lately. I'm just looking out for you!"

"But, if the prince comes back and I'm not present to greet him—"

"He'd be back with palace guards with him—"

"But I promised I'd—"

"Miss, with all due respect, I don't think His Highness would have wanted you to wait on him like this everyday, either."

Your mouth shut.

Jeremiah had an eyebrow raised, a very pointed expression on his face that made you feel a little sheepish.

In some ways, he was right. You had been prioritizing awaiting his return, and as a result of that, your own personal joys had fallen a little bit neglected. These days, your trainings and classes were the only joys you could find—little sparks of conversations here and there, and occasional check-ins from Jeremiah himself, too, but…

You found that it was difficult to find all that much joy without him.

You knew it was stupid.

You knew it was dangerous.

If Jeremiah had been right, and Xavier had gotten caught up in the plannings of an arranged marriage, then, you—what was your place, but that of a knight?

A knight, whether close to His Highness or not, was not truly required to wait after hours simply for his return. Not that you were overstepping your boundaries, but it was not a duty that was needed. You had been doing this of your own accord; using duty as some feeble excuse both for yourself and for others.

Jeremiah had warned you not to get too attached.

You knew, deep within your heart, with all the love that you had for him…

It was already too late for that warning.

The least you could do, you supposed, was take it easy, just a little bit.

Slowly, you stood up, using his arm as leverage to stand, before dusting off the skirt of your uniform. Your expression softened. "Yeah. Right. A few moments… A few moments shouldn't hurt."

"Of course it shouldn't!" he scoffed. "Come, quickly. I've heard from Sarah that you haven't had any starbread for days now, and it's supposed to be your favorite. She's worried about you!"

The last time you'd spoken to Sarah had been yesterday. She had been your training partner that day—one of your other friends amongst the Starhunters, a headstrong individual you enjoyed spending time with.

And she'd been right.

Perhaps, you'd barely eaten much the past few days, but it had included your avoidance of the cafeteria's starbread your friends had known you to adore.

Unintentionally, of course.

But now that Jeremiah has mentioned it, you suddenly missed the fluffy taste that melted in your mouth, and a small smile formed on your face as you allowed the male to drag you towards the cafeteria.

It was past dinnertime.

It would be closing soon.

"Okay, stay put. Don't you dare think of going back there just to check on the gate again. I'll be quick and get you one!"

It was his own way of offering you comfort.

—

You saw him.

Jeremiah had gotten you your starbread as it began to rain, and while you were able to offer a thank-you in return for his kindness, he was off in the direction of his dorm area with a barely-discernible mumble of panic.

The raindrops were loud.

You watched his figure retreat before you looked out of the stone hallway, pattering drops making splashes onto the ground.

Uncomfortable.

Rain had never been your most favorite thing in the world.

The star-filled sky was less visible now, a gloomy mist seemingly covering the campus you'd grown so fond of…

You saw him.

Before a split-second decision to step out into the rain, an umbrella was placed over your head.

You saw him.

"…Xavier."

—

The walk was silent.

Everything was silent.

Nothing more had been spoken as you walked back to his room, nothing more had been spoken as he reached for a towel to dry off your hair.

The warmth of his touch.

The warmth of his presence.

You felt as if you could melt at it, your eyes tearing up at the mere scent of his cologne that you'd spent days—weeks—without it near you.

Without him near you.

But you didn't speak.

Not even as he tried to meet your eyes, not even as he set the towel aside to hand you his robe—his robe—the very same robe you'd used on the day that he'd left.

Instead, he was the one who spoke first.

"You should take a shower, since you've been in the rain. You'll get cold, and uncomfortable…"

Still, his voice was soft.

It was almost as if everything could go back to normal like this—like nothing had changed, and this was still… Xavier.

This was still Xavier.

He'd promised nothing would change.

You believed him, didn't you?

"I'll… boil up some tea for you in the meantime."

He was taking care of you.

He'd been in the rain, too.

He had barely dried his own hair.

He walked over to open the bathroom door for you, before moving to search for the tea you'd always particularly liked.

But you were supposed to be the one doting on him.

"A prince…" Your voice was soft, barely a whisper, as you looked down. The soft carpets of his room allowed you to sink into the flooring, taking comfort in the feeling. "A prince should not be doing so many favors for his servants."

There wasn't a reply.

He'd paused, though—the rustling had stopped. you could tell.

You didn't raise your head to look at him.

"…Angel?" he murmured.

Ah.

"Since when… did you think about things like that with me?"

And this time, you didn't reply.

—

Your mug.

He'd saved your mug.

And in it was, as he promised, tea well-prepared in your favorite flavor.

Yet, it was still quiet.

He'd been sitting on his bed, reading, once you'd come out fully changed—he, too, had prepared one of his sleepwear for you to use for the time being, and though you were practically swimming in it, it was comfortable.

It smelled like him.

Slowly, you padded your way across the room to sit beside him, your mug in your hands as if to warm you. The rain hadn't stopped, pelts of raindrops hitting the window with no signs of stopping anytime soon. The view outside was just as gloomy—you could hear the gale of the wind hitting the panel, and you were more than grateful to be inside a building.

He shifted. The book was placed down.

"How have you been?"

You felt an arm wrap around your waist, and—and you couldn't do this.

Not like this.

Nothing will change.

But not like this.

"Xavier…" your eyes closed, and your voice pleaded with him not to pretend.

"Xavier, please. Not like this."

Not like this.

He pulled away from you, but your chin tilted upwards—there they were.

Those blue, blue, crystal blue eyes.

"Starlight. Are you okay?"

"…No."

It took every ounce of your strength just to whisper.

"What is it? If you need—"

"You were gone."

He blinked, looking at you carefully as you spoke.

"How long?" Your gaze dropped back to the ground as he released you. "Do you know how long it's been? It's been weeks."

"Angel…"

"I waited. I waited. But I hadn't heard a single word about you from anyone, and I thought—I thought, maybe, you wouldn't be returning anymore—"

"No… no, that's not it, angel, I simply got caught up with the matters at hand…"

You knew it was true.

You knew you were likely being unreasonable.

Yet the frustration building in your chest did little to help you.

"But you could have let me know somehow!"

This time the cry you let out felt choked out; unnatural. As if you couldn't understand why so much of you hurt, when this could easily be resolved if you could talk about this normally, and yet—and yet—and yet—

"It feels… It feels like you've been avoiding me."

Xavier didn't reply, and you took the chance to look up at him.

"I haven’t seen you at all since then. Since your meeting. It’s almost as if you’ve been avoiding me, so just, tell me I'm wrong. I heard from Jeremiah that—"

It was Xavier's turn to frown.

"Jeremiah? Have you been spending a lot of time with him? I saw him with you when—"

"That's what you get from that?! Just the mention of his name?!" you cried. "It's not even—he’s been keeping me company, Xavier. You know, like a friend? Like someone who cares?"

"…He gave you the starbread."

You buried your face into your hands.

"I'm trying to have a conversation with you!"

"I just wanted to—"

"Xavier… Did you even want anything from that night?"

You heard him draw in a breath. The silence that followed was deafening, the air around you delicate—as if your question had torn through the thickness of all that tension, and now… Now, it could almost shatter.

"This… is that what this is about?" he whispered. "Do you regret it…?"

There was concern in his eyes when you looked at him. And it felt real.

Just as real as the memories from that night, just as real as the marks he'd littered all over your skin, just as real as the fullness of him that you'd felt deep, deep inside you.

The first time.

The first time you had ever dared to go so far.

…You didn't regret it. You shook your head, despite the way your lower lip trembled as you prepared to speak again.

"I could never."

Your voice was barely a whisper.

"I wanted it. Of course I wanted it, Xavier, but… But did you?"

Yet you were met with another silence, and the very fact that there was no immediate reply had your heart shattering to pieces.

His answer did nothing to repair it.

"I wanted it," he murmured. "I did. But… I don't know it it's something we should have done."

Your head shot back up to look at him again, and this time, the tears you'd worked so hard to hold back began to fall.

"I can't believe you."

With trembling hands, you stood up, mug almost haphazardly placed back on his nightstand.

"How could you… how could you be so unsure about it when you… When we… We had sex, Xavier, and you…"

"My lady, you know that's not what I mean. I told you… You can always stay with me. You mean everything to me, it's just… It is not so simple right now. Give me time to sort this out."

"But how does that help us now?! Do you think doubting everything right now takes away the fact that it happened?"

"Angel—"

"You can't call me that right now!"

"But we knew this would happen. We both knew it, these risks, the complications of being in this relationship. We're not supposed to be together."

We're not supposed to be together.

In every sense of the phrase, you knew he was right.

You could have waited until he was king.

You could have waited—you could have waited.

You could have waited until he could act without the bars of higher authority.

Neither of you did.

You knew as well as he did that a secret love carried with it the risk of being torn apart.

We're not supposed to be together.

No, but you loved him.

And it was selfish of you.

But you did.

And hearing those words from his mouth felt something akin to a sword being stabbed to your chest.

We're not supposed to be together.

A final straw.

We're not supposed to be together.

"…I see."

You turned around and walked away.

—

This time, it was your fault.

You'd keep your responses short, limit them to greetings whenever you could. Though you would stay by his side whenever necessary, you wouldn't tilt your head up to gaze at him, wouldn't step a little bit closer. It had been days since your argument, and you had been the one to avoid him—or, at the very least, avoid him as much as you could.

You were a knight in service to him.

It wasn't as if you never saw him after that, but you'd kept your distance.

Perhaps you just needed time.

Xavier had asked for it—he wasn't stopping you, wasn't trying to breach the distance, kept the air between you stale just as you had been doing.

Perhaps he needed time, too.

The reality of your relationship was heavy, both on you, and on him—but, you knew, most likely more on him than you in the first place. He wasn't sharing the burden with you, after all. You knew you'd acted too rashly on your frustration that night. But, in this situation… With this atmosphere… Things couldn't go back to normal with just a good night's sleep. They wouldn't. Perhaps the both of you knew that.

You approached him first. The clocktower—he often went there to be alone. It was quiet, and peaceful… and in the evening glow of the moon, a certain sense of melancholy settled over it. Xavier rarely had moments of rest, not as the prince of a nation… Yet, here, you could see little glimpses of the person he wished himself to be.

The clocktower was a little sliver of freedom for him.

"Xavier."

You called him out, voice soft and carried by the breeze. When he turned, the flowers gathered in his hands brought a skip to your heartbeat.

Ah, he…

"I… didn't know how to give them to you."

Blues and yellows. Not particularly a bouquet, but almost enough to be one—small flowers circled around in his hands, tied by a dainty little ribbon…

Forget-me-nots.

The representatives of the planet of Philos.

Fidelity. Faithfulness. Love.

A promise.

"I'm sorry."

Those were the words he spoke as you approached to take the flowers in your own hands.

"No… I'm sorry."

You sat down on the brick-lined surface, him taking the spot beside you, and—you couldn't help it. Eyes closing, you leaned against his shoulder, nuzzling into the soft warmth you had come to love so much. His response was immediate. Fingers reaching up to run through your hair, loving strokes and a kiss against your forehead…

You missed this.

"Do you think…" you whispered, peeking upwards as you settled into him, eyes moving over the stars in the sky.

It was a quiet, clear night. The stars were plentiful.

Perhaps the prince is like a star in the sky, meant to be adored from afar.

Your hand reached out towards the stars, and your fist closed—you could imagine flicker of light in your hand, but you knew it wouldn't have been a star itself.

"Do you think… The stars are our of reach?"

Xavier held you close, nuzzling into your hair.

He didn't speak.

"You only ever see them when it's dark. When the sky is clear. It feels… fleeting, even for something we see every night. Temporary. As if they could sift through your fingers, if you could ever think to hold them…"

Your gaze moved from the sky and back to him, shifting to see him more clearly.

You didn't stop him when he dipped his head into your neck, placing soft, gentle kisses over you skin.

"Xavier," you said again, quietly. "Do you… think about me that way? About us?"

He let out a slow breath. It brought goosebumps to your skin, and you had half a mind that he'd intended to leave a mark on you right there—but he pulled away.

Brilliant blue eyes back on yours, and something like a wistful smile gracing his features.

"To be honest… I do."

It was an answer you expected.

He pulled you back to lean against his chest, and then, too, did his eyes drift upwards towards the sky.

"Because of how things are, it's very easy to end up losing someone you care about. I could make one wrong move and lose you. But… above everything else… there's no sense to the meaning of living if you aren't here with me."

You closed your eyes. The steady thrum of his heartbeat allowed you to hang onto his words, lulling you into the security you felt in your arms.

"If the stars are fleeting, my starlight… Then, I'd do my best to follow wherever you go. I'd want to." He sighed. "I'm sorry."

He said it again.

Something in your heart told you that his next words would be difficult to digest.

"You were right. I was avoiding you a little… but only because I didn't know what to do. I know there have been rumors. If you've heard them, then… you're hearing from me now that they are true."

"…Your engagement."

"An arranged one. I have yet to offer my acceptance of it."

A wry smile made its way to your lips.

So Jeremiah was right.

Yet as it stood—none of this had ever been anything he'd wanted.

The first time you met, you'd spent several years into your formal trainings without him.

The first time you met, you had your destiny laid out before you.

The first time you met, you pledged wholeheartedly, deep into your heart, that this was the man you would vow to protect.

But the first time you met, Xavier hadn't smiled at all.

He was the prince of Philos.

Rumored to ascend the throne, rumored to lead the country—he was, and always had been, held in such high, prestigious regard…

But the first time you met, Xavier hadn't smiled at all.

He'd never wanted any of this.

He didn't choose which family to be born into; he didn't choose the path that he now walked upon with chains around his ankles.

He didn't choose to be betrothed to someone else.

"I still choose you."

He chose you.

And yet the pain in his voice could only tell you that it wasn't an easy choice—

He chose you.

Because he would willingly chase after something so fleeting.

Perhaps, it was in a similar way that you had chosen him.

He let out another sigh, and his face buried into your hair. "I have little say in the matter, even if my heart had already made its choice long ago. I no longer know what to do. It's frustrating… and I'd distanced myself because of it."

This time, you shook your head.

"The truth is," you laughed a little bit, more at yourself, more out of pity, "I'd been selfish on my part as well. I know… I know that we'd started this together. I know that we've known from the very start that things might not go the way that we want it to… but…"

This time, it was you who sighed. "But still, I, too, choose you. I want you. And… I've always wanted you to know, that—this love, I have, for you… It's more than this situation calls for, and enough for me to believe that things will work out."

"Angel…"

"I think, maybe it's because I feel so strongly that I'd gotten so frustrated. Because sometimes… Sometimes, it feels as if you don't believe I could love you so much… that it would be easier for you to let me go now than to force me to go through all of the turmoil of seeing this through, when—when it is already too late for that."

Slowly, your turned your eyes back to look at him.

"My prince… it's too late for that."

His hand moved to silently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the intensity of his gaze nearly causing you to falter, but you didn't.

You couldn't.

You—

You had chosen him.

"Xavier, I love you. I choose to love you, and I choose you, and I choose everything else that comes with this choice, and… I know, I know that you love me back. I have never doubted it. But… Your Highness, believe me. I can love you the same way… I can love you just as much. Trust me to do so, and don't keep me in the dark about it. Please. Your Highness, believe me."

His forehead rest upon yours, and you knew that it was not easy for him to agree with you.

Xavier—always so willing to give you all of his love… yet when it came to him, he didn't know how to accept it.

And instead of words, his lips pressed back onto yours, hand gliding upwards to pull you into this love he had that he could only show you this way otherwise.

Your eyes closed, and he whispered:

"Please, my lady… Could you stay with me again?"

—

Warm water ran over your skin, a lull of comfort.

You weren't used to this—the way his arms, wet from the shower, wrapped around your torso, lavishing soap onto your arms, your chest… He was so gentle. The way he rubbed into your skin was soothing, already enough to make you melt.

And though the air around you stayed silent save for the rushing sound of water, you've never felt so… relaxed.

Xavier had insisted.

He'd claimed that you had spoiled him far too many times for him to count, and the least he could do was return the favor somehow.

But you didn't believe him, not really. You thought he always spoiled you. Even a glance your way was enough to fill you with joy—he just didn't know that. Despite all that you'd said at the clocktower a few moments ago, it was difficult to explain to him how much you loved him.

You leaned back, a soft sigh of satisfaction leaving your lips. As the motion put you back under the spray of the shower, your eyes closed, and he promptly reached out to lower the pressure.

This time, his hands were in your hair, gently easing your head back, rubbing his fingers into your scalp. It took a moment for him to reach for the shampoo, before he was spreading the bubbles over the top of your head.

Cherries.

The scent made you smile.

It was his shampoo he was using on you, and you found that you didn't mind at all—this was his scent.

This was what it… felt, to be his.

Careful touches massaged the soapy, sweet-smelling bubbles into the hair, precise with the pressure and precise with his movements. He was dedicated, and delicate—just right, just perfect.

In the end, he truly knew you just that well.

And his hands slipped down from under your hair, rubbing in circular motions. The pressure of the showerhead had been turned back up again, and while one hand took to shielding your eyes from the rinse of your shampoo, his other slid down to caress you.

To feel you.

Something told you he was holding back a little, both at his own expense and at yours—yet his hands stroked over your body under the pretense of rinsing, motions becoming a little more sensual with every second that passed. His thumb rubbed your hipbone, up and down, up and down….

And then his hand made it between your legs.

Soft caresses on your inner thighs, an occasional squeeze here and there…

By now he'd finished rinsing your hair, and rinsing the soap off of your body, and his chin rest on your shoulder.

He had both hands free.

One running over the side of your body—your arms, your waist, before moving up to cup your breasts… while the other edged tantalizingly close to your core, the heat of his touch almost making you want to press your thighs together.

Almost.

He pulled away.

That smile on his face was familiar—satisfied, and knowing, and just a little bit proud of himself. And up close like this, you could see every spark of joy in the depths of his eyes, every inch of skin you wanted to kiss. His hair stuck to his forehead, eyelashes wet with little droplets.

When your eyes met, he chuckled. It was a sound that echoed beautifully in his little shower space, warmth spreading through your chest almost immediately.

It was a blur from there. You'd hardly remembered it.

Shower aside, you'd found yourself straddling his hips, his body splayed out beneath you. Familiar silken sheets that adorned his bed rustled in disarray, and with a groan, his hips bucked up into you.

The gaze that he held was unique, only to you.

One of love—of want—of need.

"Beautiful," he whispered. "My starlight… you are beautiful."

Though his breathing was shallow, he reached up, cupping your cheek.

And you smiled.

"So are you, my prince." A slight, almost testing grind against his throbbing cock had his breath hitching, and his hand falls back down to grip the sheets.

Your eyes softened.

"Xavier…" you murmured. "Are we sure of this? For you, right now… is it worth it? Do you think so?"

He pulled you down for your lips to touch, an ever so slight peck—one to reassure—and he smiled back.

Soft.

Knowing.

This time, certain.

"It's worth it," he spoke. His voice rang true. "You're always worth it, angel." His hips rolled up against yours, and you could see the way he cherished the gasp you let out. "You always have been… you always will be. You are worth every pain and every struggle I might have to bear. So much so that if I am to die by your hands, then so be it. It would be an honor."

A slow breath fell from your lips, and you hadn't realized until that moment how much you'd been holding in. You shook your head, despite the giddy smile that had since formed on your features.

"Silly," you let out an airy laugh. "My liege, such devotion from a prince shouldn't be directed at his servant…" when he frowned, you reached over to ease the furrow of his brows, "…but rather his servant towards him."

This time you gathered his hands to pin back against his pillows, rolling your hips once more, sliding your folds over his cock—and you let out a shaky sigh.

"I'd say it back," you whispered. "You are worth every pain and every struggle I might have to bear… I would lay my life for you, my prince. My heart, and my body, and my soul… are all yours. And it is an honor."

You smiled, "Your Highness, believe me."

This time, he does.

You could see it in his eyes, in the way the tension in his body had melted away.

And when he smiled, you nuzzled against him—

And you slid down his body, taking his erection into your hands.

"A-ah, angel, what are— oh—"

You watched the tips of his ears flush bright red as you kissed at his thighs, grazing your thumb over the tip of his cock. The pre-cum that had oozed out had you spreading it over his shaft, coating him with wetness—and you took your time. Every movement was slow, and careful. You enjoyed his reactions, every little sound he had no choice but to let slip through.

"Angel—angel, please—"

A soft chuckle.

"An order?" you murmured.

He groaned as you leaned in to place tiny little butterfly kisses around his tip, and your eyes crinkled with delight.

His hips jerked—"N-no, just… a req—a request—" A gasp. "From… F-from a gentleman t-to his— his lo—ov—ahh—"

You could laugh with glee at how responsive he was, and, almost as if rewarding him for it, you opened your mouth, molding your lips around him and slowly sliding him into your throat.

The moan that he let out was beautiful.

Continued slow movements, you began to move your head up and down, up and down.

It didn't take long.

Perhaps it was the tease; perhaps it was how much he'd been holding back all this time—his hips lifted up slightly, pushing himself deeper into your throat, and your eyes shut.

"A-angel!" he cried. "Oh, my— my lady, oh— mnh, s-so good—"

Your hands ran delicately over his thighs as you sucked, bringing your head up to the tip and circling your tongue around it before taking his cock back into your throat.

His groans grew more frantic, his hips stuttered.

And then before you could think, and just as your fingers had wrapped back around his cock, every intention to stroke his length, his hand was firmly placed on the back of your head. He began pushing you—you'd take him deeper, as deep as you could, his hips rutting up into your mouth in a desperate frenzy.

You moaned around his length as your eyes closed, and you could feel the way he was throbbing.

"Ple— please— please, angel, starlight, I want— want to be inside you—" His voice was becoming hoarse. Less coherent.

He was losing himself in the pleasure, just as you'd wanted.

"Hnng— angel, please, I mis— m-miss you so bad, miss how warm, I— haah— ahh—!"

He cried out your name, his thrusts becoming more frantic.

And you pulled away.

"W-wait…!"

You wiped the slick off of your mouth and cherished the protest he'd only barely choked out. "You asked," you panted. "You asked me… You…"

You didn't finish your sentence.

He had spoiled you enough—you would comply with his every requests, and spoil him.

In an instant your warm, wet walls sank down onto his length with a lewd squelch, greedily taking all of him. You leaned forward, moaning—"Xavier. Xavier… Xavier…"

He choked on his moans as you began to bounce over his cock, desperation just as well matching the way he fucked up into you.

Not enough.

Your movements were frantic, a messy chase of your highs—

But your legs could give in.

Not enough. Not enough.

"X-Xavier…" you whimper helplessly, voice shaky, distorted with the movements of your hips. "Mnnh… Xavie… Please—please, Y-Your Highness— my light, my everything, my— my prince, make me cum—!"

His actions were quick.

You sank into the mattress as his figure caged you between his arms, hovering over you, panting, panting—you squealed as he began to slam his hips into you, and this… This was enough.

Despite every rough slam of his cock deep into you, he leaned in to whine into your ear, occasionally turning his head to pepper your face with kisses.

Gentle enough—desperate enough—loving enough.

"Xavier!"

With a final cry of his name, you crashed, trembling around him and clasping his arm so tight that you were sure your nails had dug into his skin to leave a mark.

"Xavier… Xavier…"

Your chest heaved, and your hand fell limp back to your side as he kissed you.

He kissed you, and kissed you, and kissed you—his hips losing their pace, before he—

"M'gonna—gonna— nnh—! Ah!"

He released all over your stomach, shooting his cum out onto you, leaving a sticky mess on your body as he hung his head.

Arms on either side of your body, he desperately tried to catch his breath before he could look at you.

"Ah… ahh… haah… Th-that… Y-you were so…"

You smiled, reaching up to run your hands through his hair. "Very good," you murmured, all praise. "You made me feel so, so good."

He sat up, looking at you as his expression contorted into one of pure, unabashed adoration.

You almost rolled your eyes—"We have to shower again…" you sighed, though the smile never left your face.

He shook his head.

He took a few moments before he'd come back with a wet towel to wipe you clean, and then—as if having spent every ounce of his energy—fell on top of you like a weighted blanket.

"Xavier—!"

"Mmn. Let's cuddle first…"

He spun you over to have you back on top of him, and cradled your figure close. Your head rest upon his chest.

"My Queen."

Your eyes widened.

"My Queen."

He repeated it, firmly—surely.

His head buried into your hair, and you heard it again.

"I believe you. I do, and I will, and you—you will be my Queen. I will make sure of it. Beside me, with me."

A slow, shaky breath—

"Your Highness, believe me."

an : have you figured out yet that i love phrase repetition

taglist! @interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network @hunters-association @ononpetitecroissant @darlingdummycassandra @milkandstarlight @thoupenguinman @valyvinny @rafayelsheart @jellyroom2 @chemiru @ywnzn @pepprrmint @angel-jupiter @rafayelsgf @spotted-salamander @love-and-deepstrays @oharasmommymilkers00 @rafslvr @keioxo @theanbitchless

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

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earth4angels · 5 months ago

Text

a beginner's guide to stealing a heart modern jacaerys targaryen x fem!reader.

synopsis: opening the most popular flower shop in town came with its perks — everyday business and a cute regular customer who comes in every week with a new excuse for the sake of new flowers or so he says. tags — fluff, loser jace, aged-up characters. jace is 25, reader is 23. slight cursing, florist au. benji/davos and aeron are little matchmakers. confessions through flower meanings, slow burn. love at first sight, soulmate au.

a/n: thank you to @jacesvelaryons for the inspiration and for those that dragged me out of my jace drought era. this one is for my flower girls.

jace nation taglist (open!) : @jacaerysgf @hxtd @benjinotes @imissyoudarling @rinisfruity14 @ambrosia-v-black @littleblackcatinwonderland @smurfelle @nanaldy @bryscorner @star611 @astrxq @reyndaisy @intheheartoftheking @gracexthoughts @nixtape-foryou @starrgurl46 @ethereal-athalia @stelleduarte @chuuritoz @melsunshine @frombloodandfire @still-jon-snow @velaryonbastard @vee-mage @vividxpages

The sign was now flipped, shining against the rays of sunlight, you took a deep breath as you stepped back — the welcome-in sign now staring right back at you. You smiled, your fingers interlocking in front of you as you bounced on your feet, the joy running through your veins.

“Alright, you can stop bouncing now, let me take your picture!”

The sound of your best friend of many years made you turn, your cheeks still blazing with the amount of laughter and smiling you were emitting all morning.

“I won’t take it if you’re not with me Benji,” your tone sounded demanding, but Benjicot knew better than to know you were serious. He rolled his eyes, the camera in his hands was now in someone’s ownership. He snapped his head towards the thief finding himself face to face with his boyfriend, Aeron Bracken.

“Alright now! Get closer!”

Benjicot playfully nipped his boyfriend’s finger causing Aeron to burst out laughing, you smiled from the sidelines, your heart pounding as if it was ready to jump out of your chest. This moment, you wish you could frame it forever.

Benji threw you over his shoulder causing you to laugh as you started to throw weak insults at your best friend who laughed with you, Aeron did not hold back and used the opportunity to snap multiple pictures.

In the middle of September, when the sun was setting and the chill of the wind began to pick up, to you it felt the warmest. You had your best friends help you open a business you sacrificed so much labor in — Everlast, was now yours and open for business.

The flowers scattered around your desk as your rummaged through the mess of your laces and twirls. You began to curse under your breath when you couldn’t find the note your client had left you, indicating instructions of what flowers they wanted and by when.

“Ha! I found you,” you muttered as you looked through the invoice, mumbling again you began to work. The flower shop had a soft, welcoming aura that made anyone that walked through the door smile. You worked quietly and quick, humming to the song that currently played through the store.

Dringgggg!

You heard the door of your shop open, “I’ll be right with you in a minute!” you exclaimed as you snipped off the bottom of a rose with scissors. You did not hear a reply, you took it as the client was looking into the flowers.

You stood, taking off your thick gloves off, facing the stranger that walked through the door with a smile on your face you paused before welcoming them.

In front of you stood a man, he had short brown curls that reached his chin, and his eyes sparkled like rare gems, if you looked closely, you would see the way his eyes had a mixture of different shades of brown. He was tall, average, but taller than you are slightly. His lips were plumped and shiny as if he applied lip balm. He was very handsome which caused you to clear your throat as you shook off the mid-pause you had made.

He stood in front of the front desk moving side to side as his fingers tapped silently onto the glass of your desk. He seemed nervous.

You bit your lip slightly, your smile never falling off your face, “Hi, welcome! How can I help you?”

His eyes widened, and quickly darted around the room as if looking for something, he opened his mouth to speak but then closed it. You noticed his cheeks got red as it spread across his nose. You tried hard not to laugh, so you spoke, saving him from any more trouble.

“Are you looking for a particular flower? I have many that can suit your tastes,” you spoke softly, leaning forward just a little to show the now red-faced male some of the popular bouquets you had.

He suddenly raised a shaky hand and pushed his hair back, licking his lips he spoke, his voice bringing you to a state of comfort, you found it odd that this stranger had such impact on you. His voice touched you deep, wrapping you in warm hug.

“I u-um,” he cleared his throat, coughing, “I’m looking for flowers f-for my um…” he paused as he yet had not looked towards you, his eyes still looking around, searching.

“M-my mom. Yeah! My mom. I’m looking for flowers for her, an arrangement of a sort,” he spoke fast, stumbling over a few words. You quirked up an eyebrow, finding him adorable.

You opted to saying a thought you should’ve kept in your head, but your mouth ran quicker than your brain, “Your mom?”

The tip of his ears to the bridge of his nose became so red his eyes became more brighter, as if the blush on his skin enhanced the color of his eyes. You pressed your lips tighter holding in a giggle that was threatening to erupt — the stranger was too cute.

You smiled, your lips stretching wide as your chest rumbled with a soft chuckle, “Alright, Mr. Buying - Flowers - For - His - Mother on a Wednesday morning, let me show you our arrangements”

He followed behind you in stumbling steps, his fingers fidgeting, the curls that sat on top of his head spread forward covering the caramel eyes you were starting to enjoy.

“Okay, so we have these, they do range from a reasonable price, but it does change due to the flowers you’ll want to add or the decoration of course,” you were smiling, explaining the flowers you created for display, Jacaerys only looked down on you, his heart thumping in a rhythm that made him feel invincible.

You picked up a bouquet, smelling the fresh aroma of its petals, the smell of fresh lilies, and sunflowers wrapping you like a summer evening. Jacaerys only thought you looked beautiful, as you stood with a flower bouquet in your hands, your hair spread behind your shoulders, the jumper you had on, you were a dream.

“Is it for a special occasion? Birthday?” your voice knocked him out of his thoughts as he scrambled to think of another excuse, he used the most generic one he could think of.

His eyes avoided yours as he looked behind you at the rows of flowers, he opened his mouth to speak, his voice sounding like a haunted door, he cringed — clearing his throat he spoke again, “U-um, just because. F-Flowers should show how one feels n-no?”

You bit your bottom lip again - a habit you were trying to get over -, your eyes narrowing, the stranger in front of you was strangely attractive, odd but you couldn’t help feeling a flutter inside your stomach.

“They do actually. A color and a flower explain what we feel, every flower speaks its definition, it’s delicate, fragile and if given with true emotion, the flower lasts longer than its expectancy.”

You spoke with longing, Jacaerys tilted his head trying to read you. He did not know why he came into the shop in the first place, he just wanted to connect with you someway. You always opened the shop with steps that made you look as if you flew against the wind, a smile so bright it bought warmth in his heart.

Every morning as he went for a cup of tea and coffee for his best friend, he saw you across the street, flipping the welcome sign towards the street with a bright smile, it was then one day he decided to answer the curiosity of an unknown connection he felt towards you, to tighten his hold on the magnetic pull that pulled him to stand where he is now.

You sighed, shaking your head at the thought of your mother’s voice as she reminded you how every flower held a story yet to be told by the owner that bought them. You faced the stranger again, smiling softly.

“Any ideas what you’d like to purchase today?”

The stranger gulped as he yet again avoided your eyes, searching around he sighed, “I’m afraid I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

Finally, you released a laugh bringing Jacaerys’ poor heart to skyrocket, “That’s fine, most men don’t know what they’re purchasing when they enter a flower shop — you’re in luck however.”

Jacaerys knew if he looked at you, he would never look away anymore, so he leaped forward, taking a chance. He faced you, his eyes capturing the beauty of your eyes, as if the force that connected you both wrapped him, he gasped softly. You were more than beautiful, your eyes spoke of stories he wanted to know, a mystery he would spend hours trying to understand.

You were also mesmerized, the caramel eyes that now locked with yours had you gripping your flowers. The breeze of the AC you had on the store suddenly felt warm. The stranger captured you in ways you weren’t sure if it was meant to happen.

“Why?” he asked, the flush on his skin still kissed his entire face.

You breathed in, before smiling again, “You have me.”

His cheeks were now blazing with a red color you grew to fall in love with, he looked away with a small smile on his lips.

“Truly, I am in luck then.”

You nodded, tapping your fingers into the glass table for a couple of seconds to think of your next move. Finally, you moved around your desk standing in front of him.

“Okay, so I made these fresh bouquets just this morning, because they are for your mother, I can give them to you cheaper than usual, a gift from me to you, as well for first time purchase!”

Jacaerys with blazing cheeks, quirked his lip in a small smirk, he found you beyond adorable, special with a heart full of dedication for the passion over flowers and aiming for success.

“You’re amazing,” he mumbled, dazed. You stopped mid-sentence, your eyes wide as the same color he had on his cheeks spread on your own.

“What?”

Jacaerys paused, then as quickly as the flush on cheeks came, the paleness overtook it, he took a step back. He was cursing himself for speaking his thoughts out loud. He ruined the chance to talk to you more, dammit.

“What?” he repeated after you to disguise what he had said. You were blushing; your stomach filled with endless flutters. You watched as he struggled to make a cover for his embarrassment his curls did no effort to help him hide, however. The blush on his face was now a cherry red, if it was not for your own blush and struggle to hide your shyness, you would have started laughing or joked about it.

"I-I'm sorry, I was talking about the flowers, how they are beautiful and amazing, yeah," he spoke fast again, he had now relied on grabbing a random bouquet beside you, examining it, smelling it, hiding the fact he wanted the ground to bury him alive.

You ignored the way your heart was beating miles per second, the way your smile never wavered from being stretched softly across your face. This stranger had you feeling so... warm.

You leaned against the wood of your flower stand, nodding, your mouth opening to a silent 'ah.'

"Well, um... what's the occasion? That way I can help you organize the perfect flowers," you muttered, your cheeks feeling hot, so your hand waved some cool air that made no change.

Jacaerys lifted the bouquet, "This is perfect I think," his voice wavered, unsure, curiosity peeking through the thought. He stopped when he heard you laugh, a sweet sound that almost made him start giggling as well.

You wheezed, "I think not."

He paused, his head tilted to the side, "Why not?"

Between the giggles, you acknowledged the bouquet he had in his hands, "Unless you want to let your mother know you are so sorry and are in a deep grief, then I strongly suggest you put it down and let me help you find something different."

His eyes widened, and he rushed to put the bouquet that held red-spider, and red poppies down delicately back onto the shelf, if Luke had seen this, he would have never let it down, "I did not know... it meant that."

You chuckled, "It's not your fault, many don't know but you have me to walk you through the process," you cleared your throat to stop the giggles, "Okay, so what's the reason, is it her birthday? What do you want to convey?"

You saw him struggling again, his eyebrows creasing, his lips forming a small pout, in his thoughts, you allowed yourself to observe him; he was tall, beautiful, and his entire face was still blazing, held constellations of freckles that had you admiring how befitting it was.

"How much I love her," he spoke shyly, "I haven't seen her for a month due to work, so I want to tell her I love her."

Your heart tugged at his explanation, yearning for the love he felt for his mother, longing for your own mother that you knew was not there for you to wrap your arms around. Your eyes stung, blinking the aching away, you spoke as you moved towards your desk again, "I know the perfect flowers."

Your eyes that once held a brightness to it, faded to a sad glint. Jacaerys wondered what story conveyed behind your sad eyes, in the moment he decided the glimmer that your eyes had looked so much better than the dullness making a home in your gaze.

You prepared a bouquet of 14 tulips and peonies, wrapping them in a scented butcher paper with your store's logo. You sprayed a special fragrance to enrich the color and scent, finally tying a white ribbon around the bouquet.

Your smile returned, feeling wholesome again, looking at your work you admired the beauty before catching the stranger's eyes again who was observing you entranced in your element. Jacaerys never felt this feeling before, you were calming, patient, dedicated to your craft, loving and you never faltered a smile - you were perfect.

"There you go, all ready to be hugged by your mother," you sighed in completion.

Jacaerys never took his eyes off yours now, it was evident he wanted to know more about you, to discover your quirks, to know what made you sad and what didn't. His nose was suddenly enamored with a sweet scent - the flowers you prepared.

"Why these?" he softly questioned, it was as if the flowers spoke to him, he admired every detail your soft hands put into it.

You smiled, looking away you talked as if you were looking into a memory, "Tulips represent perfection, royalty, a mother's job is to look after us, struggling quietly to see our dreams come true, I think the tulips represent your mother's patience, as she knows you work hard, and she is rooting for every step you take."

Jacaerys heart felt as it stopped, as if a force pushed against his chest making him short of breath, your words hitting him deep within the walls he tends to keep up. The love he held for his mother was underestimated, they always disagreed over his future, his mother always wanting the best for him and Jacaerys, holding an ego of wanting to show he could do anything comes into play. You unintentionally read through the dynamic his mother and he had. He had never admired and fell for someone this quick before.

He stood, saying nothing as you spoke again, "Peonies mean beauty and elegance, it never hurts to remind your mother how beautiful she is, and how she holds herself with such class guiding you and if you have siblings forward."

He breathed in, his thoughts consuming how admirable you were, "Wow... well um," he began to stutter again, "Th-thank you."

You proudly smiled, "No, thank you for letting me help you."

Jacaerys matched your smile, both of your hearts beating fast, cheeks covered in a similar hue of red. Time did not exist in the moment, as you stared at him with wonder and him with endless admiration and love. Jacaerys knew it was too early for love, but he welcomed the feelings that came knocking on his door like summer taking over the coldness of winter. He welcomed the warmth, the flutters that occurred in his body, the urge to suddenly go outside and scream from happiness.

The bell of your door rang, you did not bother to check who it was as you continued to look at the male in front of you, a question on your tongue urging to spill out.

"Y/n! Let's go to lunch, Aeron cooked a fancy dish he wants you to try!" Benjicot dragged his feet towards you, his arms stretched out to gather you in his arms to lazily lean against your back.

You snapped out of your daze, as Jacaerys jumped from the loud voice of your best friend, clearing his throat he took out his card to pay for the flowers. Benjicot whistled lowly, "Damn, you must be filthy rich huh?"

Your eyes widened, and in a reflex you through your elbow back to hit your best friend in the stomach, a smirk crawling into your face as you heard your Benji released a loud yelp.

"I am so sorry for my best friend, he clearly was not taught manners," you hissed the last word towards your groaning best friend who whined about how harsh you were with him, "I'm sorry again..."

Jacaerys felt relieved knowing that you both were just friends, however, the question still remained, was your heart taken? He shook his head as he waved you off, "It's okay, no harm done."

You ran his card on the tab, and you felt Benjicot leaning against your back again, ignoring his whining you faced the smiling man, "Do you want your receipt?"

Benjicot observed the situation rather quickly, making it a conversation he would have with his boyfriend about how adorable you were with your first crush in a while. You probably did not even know you were growing an affection towards the rich man as Benji called him now. He smirked, a plan forming in his head, he just needed to consult his lover.

Jacaerys shook his head, the curls moved slightly across his eyes, and your fingers twitched to run through them, "It's okay. Thank you again for all the help."

You smiled softly, "It's no problem, please come again, and let me know if she likes them," you nodded your head towards the bouquet, "Give them to her with a lot of love, okay?"

He did not want to leave, wanting to stay to talk to you, to listen to your soft voice and hear you talk about flowers if that was all you wanted to talk about. But he saw the way your best friend was eyeing him, inspecting him with his narrowed eyes, almost like a lion eyeing his prey. Jacaerys suddenly felt naked. He definitely did not want to cross your best friend if he wanted to get to you.

"Definitely, thank you again."

Smiling brightly, you waved as he took small, longing steps towards the breeze of the peak of winter.

"Have a good day!" You shouted as he waved at you outside the shop.

Benjicot mocked you, "Have a good day!"

He enjoyed the small stutter you began your nagging with, as well as the deep flush your cheeks had. So, you did develop a crush. He chuckled evilly; this was certainly gossip he was going to have a blast telling Aeron before bed tonight.

You slapped his shoulder, "That was rude Ben!

He whined again, "Ow! I didn't mean for it to be a loud thought!"

Your eyes glared at him but held no ill intention, “You could have scared him away!”

Benji stopped his whining before he slowly looked at you, his eyes now holding suspicion, with a glint of mischief, “Oh yeah? You sure that was it? Suddenly so protective of him…”

You paused, caught red-handed, swallowing to get rid of your suddenly dry mouth, “Okay…” your hands started to wave around another habit of yours when you got nervous, “He was kind of cute…”

Benji laughed loudly, boasting so loud that had you shying away as you smacked his shoulder again, now it was your turn to whine, “Stop!”

“Oh, wait until I tell Aeron!” Tears pooled in his eyes as he continued to laugh loudly, “You have a crush on a client!”

You shushed him as you moved to lock the door of your flower shop, making a note to customers you were off to break and will be back.

“Shut up! I just thought he was cute!”

“Yeah, so cute that you gave him a big discount, right…”

You rubbed your eyebrow, your face covered in what felt like hot fire, you wanted the floor to swallow you. You pushed him out the door as both of you welcomed the chilly evening. Your whining echoing through the air as your best friend’s loud laughter bought warmth to the cold giving it a perfect combination.

༻❁༺

You never saw him again, your heart yearned to see the handsome stranger again. It felt as if it was forever since you saw him, you were tempted to search social media to find him. However, you were exaggerating, it was only a week since you saw him, a week and a half. You truly were in deep for a stranger who probably forgot all about you.

You mopped the floor of your ship with hips swaying softly to the beat of your favorite band playing. Too entranced with the errand you were doing, the stranger you longed to see again walked in again, he leaned lightly on one of the flower shelves, his face holding a soft grin.

Jacaerys couldn’t wait anymore, he had to see you again, to talk to you more. He cleared his throat, watching as you jumped, your eyes wide capturing the whole of his heart. Oh, you were so beautiful.

“Seven hells…” you muttered, holding tightly to the mop, “I am sorry! I didn’t see you.”

You rushed to look presentable, suddenly regretting you didn’t wear something better than your overalls. He continued to smile softly, ignoring the blush that spread across his face again. He walked towards the glass table again, this time with a better excuse to why he was there.

“It’s okay, I came in quite unexpectedly and quiet, I’m sorry for scaring you,” he stumbled with his words, mentally slapping his head for sounding so nervous around you.

“Ah…” your smile trembled; you were nervous to see him again. Suddenly you remembered, “Oh! Did your mother enjoy the flowers?”

He looked at you with a gaze that made you want to hide, and it was not out of fear, but rather you couldn't explain why his gaze made you feel so... full. As if he laughed at an inner thought, he released a small chuckle, looking away to look at your store, surprised you added twinkle lights making the shop look more welcoming.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat, "She loved it a lot, thank you."

Your body felt liberating, feeling a surge of pride. You clapped your hands together as you jumped lightly on your toes, "I am so glad she loved it."

He locked eyes with you again, this time, the stranger that you now needed to know his name, held glasses over his eyes. You figured you loved to see him this way, his glasses were made for him, and his curls were tussled as if he was constantly running his hand over and over through them.

He wore beige loose jeans with sneakers, his muscular upper body covered by a white t-shirt wrapped with an embroidery vest. He looked beautiful.

Your words suddenly blurred as you couldn't figure out what you wanted to say next, so stupidly you asked, "Um... why are you here?" You slapped your cheek lightly realizing that came out rude, "Oh my, I am so sorry... I did not mean it that way!"

Jacaerys laughed, this time he was more confident, he was going to make it a mission to know you more even if it meant drowning his and Cregan's shared apartment with flowers.

"It's okay, um so I truly loved the flowers and was wondering if you had flowers for..." he paused as he thought for an excuse, "... my younger brother... he won his baseball tournament."

You tilted your head with a million questions that occurred at that moment, the stranger was odd - but you never neglected service especially when the stranger smiled timidly towards you.

"Of course, roses will be your best friend! I hope your um... brother, enjoys the bright red color."

Jacaerys felt like a child again, crushing on his first-ever person, at this rate, he was going to make you think he was weird for buying flowers every week. But, if this meant he was going to see you more often, talk to you, hear you talk about flowers, and watch your face light up with so much devotion, he was open for the challenge.

Biting the inner side of his cheek, he nodded, "I know he will."

Yeah, Lucerys will definitely tease him and probably eye the bouquet of flowers with disgust, questions in his eyes as to why his older brother gave him flowers. Not to mention, Lucerys did not play baseball, and he definitely did not win any tournaments. He played guitar and was in a band.

You moved to the fridge where you kept fresh flowers ready to be prepped. As you took out twelve roses to wrap them in your regular butcher paper, Jacaerys leaned too close to watch you, not watching the weight he was pressing onto your desk.

One moment, he was watching you with a small smile, his heart overwhelmed with the beauty you beheld as you worked quietly. And one moment after the other occurred, the weight of his elbow shattered the desk.

You screamed and snapped out of your bubble. You scrambled to grab your flowers before you looked at the male who began cursing loudly, jumping side to side as he held his bleeding arm.

"Oh my god, oh my god," you panicked watching the blood that seeped out of his arm. You breathed in and held your breath to avoid the nausea that was crawling up your system, you and blood were never a good combination.

You moved to grab a clean rag and rushed towards the male who now held teary eyes. Pressing a warm towel to his wound you grabbed his hand to press it against your hand, "Hold still! Press the rag towards your wound!"

He whimpered, embarrassed out of his mind, he could not believe he made a fool out of himself in front of you to make matters worse.

You grabbed your keys and rushed to push him out the door. You winced as you saw the puddle of blood on the floor of your shop. You would make Benji clean it for you, your mind was occupied with the injured male.

Jacaerys protested he was okay, but with the adrenaline that was running through his body, he did not see the big chunk of glass in his arm. However, you did, and you felt wobbly.

"Oh god..." You wanted to puke now.

You drove fast to the clinic nearby, rushing to get the still protesting male out of the car to the lobby, his face was pale but if you looked enough, he was completely embarrassed. You breathed hard through your mouth, avoiding breathing through your nose.

If this did not make you run for the hills and ban him from ever stepping into your shop, he would not know what to do. Cregan and Lucerys would have a field trip teasing him for being this idiotic.

As he sat in the clinic bed, his arm now wrapped in gauze, the color of his cheeks now returning back to normal, he groaned slamming his hand against his face. He had ruined his chance with you.

You knocked on the door softly, walking in with soft steps towards him. Jacaerys had his eyes wide open, his mouth opening to a small 'o'.

"How do you feel?"

Jacaerys wanted to bury himself deep inside the earth's crust and never appear, "U-U-Um, idiotic? Embarrassed. I promise to pay for the damage I caused. I am so sorry! I promise to pay you!"

You snorted when you heard his fast scattered speech again, he was too cute. You placed a hand on his shoulder stopping his apologies, "How about you heal first and then we'll talk about how to hold your strength back Mr. Hulk."

Please kill me, Jacaerys thought as he watched you chuckle, shaking your head as you tapped his shoulder softly.

༻❁༺

Benjicot and Aeron laughed loudly together. Benji had his arm wrapped around his boyfriend's neck, Aeron giggled into his chest as you drank your glass of wine, cheeks red again.

"So, wait, after that, he ran away?" Aeron questioned as he giggled.

You groaned into your hands, before nodding, "Yes! I went to fetch him some snacks because you know blood loss or something, and I was told he paid for everything and left!"

Benji scoffed, "Well at least he paid but," he snorted, a laugh building in his throat, "Shattering a glass table? You truly had him mesmerized darling."

You threw a piece of your garlic bread at him, he laughed as he moved to the side to miss your hit, "Oh shut up! He was just embarrassed, besides glass tables are fragile! It was bound to break anytime soon."

"Right, right. Calm down, protective girlfriend, I was only teasing," Benji stuck his tongue out, blowing a raspberry. You imitated him, flipping him a finger instead as he winked, "You wish darling but unfortunately, I don't like sharing."

You moaned in disgust, "Ugh Benji! Keep the bedroom stuff private!"

He snickered, "What? I'm only saying!"

Aeron who watched in the embrace of his boyfriend smiled softly at the childish antics of you both. There was nothing better than being in the presence of both of your energies, this was home to him.

"What are you going to do when you see him again?" Aeron asked quietly watching carefully how you blushed and shrugged your shoulders.

"Attend to him like a regular customer? I don't know."

Benji made eye contact with Aeron, and a silent agreement came across their silent conversation.

༻❁༺

"Thank you so much for coming Fleur, I hope your wedding is the best dream. I will place an order on those arrangements you asked for and I will deliver them to the reception first thing in the morning!"

Your regular customer smiled as she hugged you, thanking you for everything you have done for her. You will never ask for anything better than to watch the happiness on your client's faces with every rose you gave them.

As you waved her goodbye, a tall male entered behind her, he was blonde, with a short stubble. You were confused as to who this was, you had never seen him around before. The male looked at you up and down, a small smirk forming.

Eyebrows scrunched together, a frown forming on your face, you calmy and politely asked, "Hi, how can I help you?"

"So, you are the girl that has my good old friend freaking out that he made such an idiot of himself?"

Your face features switched from a slight anger to confusion to realization, "Oh? Oh!"

Cregan smirked, "I came on behalf of him to bring you a brand-new table, before you protest, Jace had said to physically fight you if you denied his apology. So please, allow me to bring it in, I truly do not want to lock you in the bathroom or something."

You started to argue as he moved towards the door to grab the desk, "Hey! No!"

Cregan clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "Ay. Let me bring it in, please. Allow my fool of my best friend to get a piece of calamity, he has been embarrassed for two weeks now, and trust me, he gets annoying with that ramble of his."

You bit your lip, "Okay... fine. I will allow you to replace my table, but please tell him there is no need. And I send all my friendly encouragement for him to get better."

Cregan thought you and Jacaerys would definitely make the cutest couple, he can spot all the similarities already. His foolish friend just needed to grow a good set of balls to ask you out. He simply waved you off, "Will do."

Cregan moved fast and quietly, he never said a word to you after that. He did however observe you, he was curious to why his best friend was so deep into you, and then he realized, the way you handled yourself, spoke, and thought… made you stand out to the many girls that threw themselves to Jacaerys.

With a final push and a wipe across the clean glass, Cregan stretched his arms upwards to release the balls of stress that formed in his shoulders.

“Alright, there you go. If you see Jace, please tell his clumsy little self to stay away from glass and anything breakable.”

You laughed, so that was his name. Jace.

“Will do, please let him know it’s okay. It was an accident, and I will be happy to see him again if he plans to pick up the flowers for his brother’s tournament present.”

Cregan’s face turned confused, tournament? Luke did not play sports. He paused to question what you were talking about until he realized the stunt his friend did. His face turned from confused too humorous. He laughed as he nodded, walking out the door not saying a thing to you leaving you more confused than ever. Cregan and this Jace were truly odd people.

Jacaerys was truly a lovesick idiot.

༻❁༺

It was now December; you were thankful of your business blooming upon everyone. You had business every day, especially with formal events coming up, and everyone wanting to decorate their homes with pretty flowers for the festivities. You couldn’t ask for anything better.

Jace, who you finally found out his real name, Jacaerys, was a regular. After overcoming his embarrassment and shyness of coming face to face with you after breaking your desk — came by every week for fresh flowers. You wondered if he truly had a big family, as every bouquet was for an aunt, uncle, brother, half brother, sister who was also a cousin… you were confused by his odd family tree but never questioned it.

On a Thursday afternoon, before it was time to close, he came by again, excitedly you welcomed him. Your heart never failing to beat fast as you saw him walk in.

“Hi Jacaerys, how are you?” you watched as he sighed, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose slightly. Your finger twitched to fix them.

“Alright, a lot better now that I am here though,” he muttered shyly, you grinned hiding your blush behind your hair.

“Right, so what can I do for you?” You pulled your regular butcher paper, and some scissors ready to prepare flowers for him.

Jacaerys was now running out of excuses, Cregan was beginning to get annoyed with the excessive amount of flowers that now consumed their home.

Rhaenyra was constantly confused to why her son always walked in with a dazed smile on his face and a new fresh of bouquet. She was beginning to question if he was stealing these bouquets but she knew better than to assume her son stole anything. Her mind automatically went to the question of whether his son was in love and she hoped that you were a kind girl with a big heart because Jacaerys needed someone to love him massively, and with Jacaerys came a big family that meant the world to him.

“Well, it’s my dad’s birthday tomorrow and you’re the best at making the best flowers. He needs some color in his office,” he said, his smile trembling as a glint of mischief flashed across his eyes.

As you moved to grab the perfect flowers you paused, “Wait…” You turned towards him, your head titled to the side with a very confused expression, “Your dad? You said two weeks ago that it was your dad’s birthday?”

Jacaerys entire face couldn’t get anymore redder than it already was, he began to stutter, “Yeah. It was my step dad’s birthday, now it’s my other dad’s birthday, biological!”

Your expression did not falter, “So you have three dads? Because you also mentioned before that you wanted flowers that spoke of the ocean, your father Laenor loved the sea.”

Please kill me, seven hells please. Jacaerys did not know what to say then, “Yeah well… you see… my mom remarried a lot,” he chuckled nervously.

You raised an eyebrow, “Huh… well the more dads the better no?” You poked jest at him, pursing your lips to hold in a grin.

He nodded fast, “Yeah, amazing!”

Jacaerys loved his family but it was quite chaotic with many family members running around.

“Hm…” You hummed as you moved to prepare the flowers, a regular routine that Jacaerys never got tired of. He enjoyed watching you be in your element.

For a while, in a comfortable silence, you held the bouquet out towards him, “Here we go!”

Jacaerys did not know how much more excuses he can come up with just to come to talk to you. He was going to make every second of it be worth it.

“They are beautiful, thank you for being amazing yet again.”

Your cheeks became warm again, you waved your hands around to push his compliments away, “Ah, no you’re exaggerating. I simply enjoy flowers and making people happy, it’s no problem at all.”

Jacaerys put money on the counter, smiling he shook his head, “You’re amazing, never forget that.”

As you were going to give him a receipt, the lights turned off, the music coming to a stop. Your face held an expression of shock, “What the -“

If you took time to observe the situation you would have seen the way Aeron and Benjicot ran with keys in their hands, having locked the door shut, with the lights off — all the while giggling.

You sighed exhaustively, rubbing your eyebrow you looked at Jacaerys ashamed, “I’m sorry… might be a power outage. I’ll give you a receipt when you come around again.”

He waved it off, his eyes scanning around, “It’s okay. Do you need any help in here?”

You moved to the power grid hoping to fix the problem, shaking your head you responded, “No it’s okay, I’ve got it! Thank you Jacaerys.”

Jacaerys hesitated but he sighed inevitably, he had to yet again leave you. He moved towards the door finding it locked. He tugged the handle with more force finding it completely shut. Jacaerys opened his mouth to question why it was closed till he held you yelp loudly. He rushed towards you.

“What? What? Are you okay?!”

You hissed as you stuck your index finger in your mouth to help relief your finger of the sting. Wincing you looked at Jacaerys whose eyes looked panicked, worried.

“Just got zapped by the electricity I’m guessing.”

Jacaerys pulled you away from the power box, “I think you shouldn’t touch it anymore, and just wait till a professional comes to check it.”

You sighed, slightly pouting, “I can’t stay without power…”

He looked down your lips, tempted to place a kiss on them. He breathed deep through his nose to avoid thinking of you that way. He had to take it slow.

“Jacaerys?”

Jacaerys hummed, his hand covering your injured fingers, playing with your soft hands unintentionally. You did not find it weird but rather inviting, you enjoyed heavily his touch on yours and you wanted the feeling to be permanently, but you did not want to scare him away. You shyly muttered under your breath.

“Why are you still here?”

He looked at you calmly, he scratched his eyebrow, pushing his glasses upwards, “The door is locked.”

“It can’t be I don’t have the keys… Benjicot took them.”

Jacaerys shrugged, "Well... the door is locked and there's no way out I'm guessing?"

You groaned loudly; this day could have never been worse than it was already. You were very scared to be this close to Jacaerys, you did not want to explore the feelings you felt for him. The feeling was euphoric and wholesome, and it made you listen to love songs and automatically think of his caramel auburn eyes that reminded you of fall. What made this whole situation more terrifying was the possibility of your feelings not being reciprocated.

Boyfriends, love in general never ended well with you. It was rather disastrous, being reminded of your ex who Benjicot broke his nose so bad he had to get surgery to fix the broken bones. You winced rethinking your experience with your ex-lover.

However, that made you appreciate the friendship you had with Benji, he protected you where you couldn't, he was your shoulder, your shield, and most definitely your soulmate in the form of a best friend. Having his friendship never had you lonely, and with him came Aeron, who you would never trade for anything in the world.

Aeron was your calm, your best friend who took you on car rides and cried with you to songs on the radio or songs that you connected with the aux. Aeron was the one who took you in his arms and held you until your system was relieved of all the pain and stress it had going on. While Benji was the vengeful one, Aeron was the one that said, "karma always comes back to kick ass."

You took Jacaerys into your small office, which was decorated with small plants, your office was warm, the small rays of light from what winter greedily would give as compensation for the cold.

"I'm sorry it's messy, I usually don't have time to clean in here," you moved some of the files out of the couch you had inside your office.

Jacaerys took the time to observe the space, it matched you. It was soft, loving, and warm, as were you. He felt a pride surge him, he got to know another piece of you without trying. You loved working and you were independent. You liked to have your own space and to be alone at times.

"It's alright, I don't mind," he said as he went around to look at the photos you had around the room.

He stopped to look at the photos of you and your parents, to the photo when you first opened your shop. He looked at your smile, the way it lit your entire face making it more ethereal, the way your eyes crinkled full of youth and innocence. The relationship you had with your best friend was special and if he was to compare, he would automatically think of his relationship with Cregan.

Another trait of yours, he captured. You were devoted. You loved hard and with your entire being.

He huffed a small laugh as a loving grin splattered on his face, his heart couldn't have picked a better person to be protected with.

He heard you talk in hushed whispers through the phone, whoever it was, he figured had you stressed as you tugged your hair back in a chunk hold. He felt the urge to run his hands through your hair, to soothe your worries. He made himself comfortable on the couch as he watched you pace back and forth.

"Ben, you come in here right now!" You whispered harshly hearing the small giggle he released, Aeron in the back was giggling heavily.

"Confess, ask him on a date, and stop the constant back-and-forth flirting you guys have every time he comes in," Benji said as Aeron yelled over him.

"There's no way a guy would buy his family flowers EVERY week, either the guy is planting a whole damn garden for Landing's townsfolk or he's actually insane."

You peeked at the said man, your heart giving a short stop when you realized he was already staring at you, his face gave no emotion but his eyes, he was observing you, taking every detail of you in.

You cleared your throat, "C-can you give me a minute?"

Jacaerys noticed your stance became hesitant compared to the confidence you always had. He stood slowly, "Yeah, of course."

As soon as he closed the door behind him, you watched as he leaned by the window of your office, his eyes scanning around again. You shook your head stopping yourself from gawking at him as you turned towards the call again.

"You have 10 minutes to get over here and give me my power back as well opening the door!"

Benji snorted, "And you have 10 minutes to get your shit together and ask him out, he seems like a nice guy, weird but he matches you."

You began to protest as you heard Aeron in the background again, the voice bringing you calamity as usual, "He likes you. No other guy would spend $40-$60 every week for flowers, it's like Ben said, either he's insane or he's planting a garden for the town to see."

You sighed loudly, your eyes following the male outside your office, the sound of your heart thumping loudly through your eardrums. Jacaerys was odd, but he was dedicated, he was funny, kind, and clumsy but something inside you wanted to know every layer that made him who he is now. You wanted to run your hands into his curls, to have him wrap his muscular arms around you, to kiss those pink plump lips of his.

He spoke very little of his chaotic family, and you wanted to know more. He was loyal and dedicated, he was soft-spoken, and he had a heart so big that only spoke wonders of his family. For once, you wanted to know if the harmony of your heart could match his, if for once the quietness of your home could be filled with his laughter and random chattering.

"I'm scared," you whispered to your best friends who chuckled simultaneously.

"You are ready, your heart is ready, allow it to be loved. Take it slow, at your pace, he seems the guy that would do anything to see you happy. Before you ask, I approve, I will just let him know that if he fucks up, I will beat the shit out of him," Benji warned through the phone.

You could not see, but if you did, you would have seen the way Aeron slapped his boyfriend's head to Benji whining before leaning down slightly to kiss his boyfriend's lips.

"Okay," you chewed on your bottom lip nervously.

Aeron encouraged you, "Anyone would be happy to have you in their life, if I wasn't gay and dating this big loser next to me, I would have fought to have you."

You laughed as you heard Benji exclaim a loud, "Hey!"

Aeron continued, "We will be there soon, we're actually in the cafe next door, so we will be there. But y/n?"

You were distracted as you locked eyes with Jacaerys who never took his gaze from you. Blinking with flush cheeks you answered with a waver in your voice, almost in a soft squeak, "Yeah?"

"Try. Allow yourself to be happy and to share your adventures with another that isn't us okay?"

You did not give him another answer as you hung up the phone, you took a deep breath and walked confidently toward the taller male. Opening the door, you leaned against it as you spoke lightly your eyes never leaving his, "Benji, my best friend will come in a second."

Jacaerys nodded softly, not speaking a word as he continued to see you.

"What do you do with all those flowers you get every week?" you boldly asked him; you licked your bottom lip as you slowly bit into it. Jacaerys went from your eyes to your lips, a carnage urge rising.

Jacaerys had two options, either he lies, or confess his true intentions. Cregan over a round of drinks on a Saturday night teased him as to why he was suddenly reading books about flowers and their significance. He avoided your deep stare for a second before he confidently turned towards you.

"I keep them, as for some, I actually do give them to my family members. By the way, they love the special touches you add to every single bouquet."

"So, every bouquet is for a different family member?"

He hesitated, "Uh..." the tips of his ears turned red, his fingers beginning to twitch, "Yeah?" He answered unsure how to answer the question.

You nodded, not believing him. You recalled Aeron's words about Jacaerys and how no man would ever put effort into buying flowers for every member of their family.

"As we wait, I can prepare you the flower bouquet for your um..." You paused, testing the waters, "I forgot, for who was it again? What was the occasion?"

Jacaerys is oblivious to the test you are giving him, "My sister! She loves flowers, so anything I know she would love them."

Your nose crinkled as you held your laugh, gotcha.

"You're a good man Jacaerys."

He beamed, his cheeks blooming to the regular red color you have fallen for.

Aeron and Benjicot had arrived at the shop, they were each sporting little mischievous smiles. You only shook your head at them, they walked into your office shouting a small hello to Jacaerys who took a step back at the glare Benjicot was giving him as he looked at him through the window of your office.

You wrapped two bouquets this time, Jacaerys was confused.

"Y/n?"

"Yes, Jace?"

"Why are there two flower bouquets?"

You were in the middle of writing a note before placing it inside of the bigger bouquet. Your stomach was turning itself inside out as you took a small breath in before locking eyes with the boy that now lived in your dreams, making you wake up every morning in hopes of seeing him stumble through your door.

"This one is for your sister," You chuckled thinking how you caught him in the middle of his excuses, "... And this one is for you. A gift of a sort, for coming in and purchasing from me."

"Y/n, I can't accept this, let me pay you for it," he was talking so fast you laughed, stopping his hand that struggled to get his wallet to pull out his card.

"You can and you will," you affirmed as you pushed the bouquets into his hands, his eyes looked as if it was ready to fall off his sockets.

"I uh-I uh, uh, uh," he stuttered to the point he almost fell straight into the flower shelf behind him.

Laughing you held him by the elbow, "It's okay. Take it as a token from me please?"

Aeron and Benjicot were having the time of their lives, laughing loudly behind the closed door of your office. This was better than watching a sit-com at home.

"Okay, okay," he muttered, grabbing the flowers, he walked hesitantly towards the door.

You walked him out, and as both of you welcomed the chill cloudy day, both of your noses began to blossom with frost, and your insides never felt warmer.

"Take care, Jace."

His name never sounded heavenly than your mouth, he wanted to surround himself with your warmth. He wanted to gather you in his arms and press a deep kiss that left you breathless. Slowly, time will have him holding you in his arms as he proudly pronounced everywhere how lucky he was.

He turned towards you, shyly, with a small voice asking, "Can... Can I hug you?"

You did not hesitate to slightly move your head up and down, and it was as if the world stopped rotating. If this was how heaven felt like, you would live in peace. He was calm, and you were erratic, it was like the moon hugged the sun and made an explosion to loud and beautiful. Two different souls combine together.

You hugged him tightly, smelling the fresh scent of lavender, and fresh laundry, with a touch of cologne that almost made you bury your face into his chest. As for Jacaerys, he held you closely, burying his face into the crook of your neck, smelling the floral scent with a touch of vanilla. Almost, like a small whisp, a soft sound of relief came out of his lips. He was the happiest man in the world.

You both let go with an intention that you never wanted to let go.

Jacaerys smiled with a new touch, it brought you to smile back at him, both of your hearts connected in a way that neither of you was scared to explore what beautiful harmonies it would create.

Unwillingly, a string that wrapped both of your fingers together, separated. You knew that he would return, and till then, you hoped with an open heart ready to love, you'd be expecting him.

༻❁༺

As he gave Baela her bouquet, his smile never left his face. Baela looked confused as to why Jacaerys would give her flowers.

"Uh, Jace? What's the occasion? Am I dying?"

Rhaena laughed, "Relax sister, Jace has been giving everyone flowers as of late."

Baela raised an eyebrow, a confused look still on her face, "Um? Why?"

Jacaerys held onto his bouquet until he spotted the cream envelope stuck between the flowers. Rhaenyra who watched her children debate why Jacaerys was suddenly a flower boy, smiled internally, her boy was too adorable.

He ran up to his mother, gave her a kiss on her cheek, rushed to say goodbye to everyone, and jumped into his car to drive back home.

Luke sneezed, "I don't know about you all, but this corny version of my brother and him constantly smelling like flowers is making me feel so... grossed out."

Rhaenyra tsked, "Wait until you find a partner that will make you become a fool, then we can talk about being gross darling."

Baela shrugged, "I truly don't care however I will say, whoever got his heart in twists and turns, makes the most beautiful arrangements and I want more. He better not fuck this up."

Rhaenyra hissed as small Viserys yelped out a small 'duck'.

"Baela! Language!"

༻❁༺

Cregan was sitting by the couch, a can of beer in his hand as he calmy watched the sports channel. Jacaerys quickly opened the door, slamming it shut as he ran down the hallway into his room, the bouquet of bright, pretty flowers in his arms left a flowery scent in the room.

Cregan eyed his best friend in confusion, before he sneezed, "Oh for god's sake Jace!"

All he got in return was a loud, "Sorry man!"

Cregan only muttered to himself, finding himself eyeing all of the floral arrangements around the sitting area. He shook his head, snorting.

༻❁༺

Jacaerys sat by his bed, the flowers now sat in a vase by his bed. In his hands sat the cream envelope that he was too afraid to open.

"C'mon Jace, open it."

With trembling fingers he opened the envelope, your nice cursive writing welcomed him, and immediately he began to smile widely. As his eyes scanned the words you wrote, his eyes began to look at the arrangement you had given him. His heart never felt this way, if he could give you the world, he would gladly do it, some way. You were the best flower of all the garden, and by the gods, he loved you.

The note that you made held a phone number, and with a small note that explained your heart best, had Jacaerys throw himself onto the bed, all the while screaming a loud 'YES!"

Flowers are meant to describe what we feel, and every flower has a meaning and a reason why we gift them. And for you, I feel so many things that it is impossible to choose what flower fits you. If you get a chance, find the meaning of the flowers and then come find me.

PS: Next time, remember what excuse you came up with to get flowers, you're a terrible liar. with so much adoration, Y/n.

As Jacaerys rolled around in his bed with a big smile on his face and small laughs escaping his mouth, the flower arrangement you made blossomed, finding a home in a chilled season. Lilies, Lilacs, with bright Camellias sat on his desk with a confession of love from you who waited patiently for him to crack your code.

#jacaerys velaryon #𓇼 nattie's works #house of the dragon #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x you #jace targaryen #jacaerys targaryen x reader #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #davos x aeron #modern!jace #modern au

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amethystarachnid · 16 days ago

Note

Hey! I wanted to request Loki x reader fanfic. Can it be arranged marriage with slow burn au where the reader is a princess of a small kingdom who never thought she'd be marrying into a higher kingdom let alone Asgard. So is surprised when is betrothed to loki. She tried to give him benifit of doubt but we'll he acts like an ass and she decides to give it to him back equally. They both banter and throw sarcastic jibes during the courting period and after the marriage but over time they become friends and then lovers. Maybe She calls odin out on his bullshit and bias towards thor, and all the fun family dynamics with frigga and thor.

Thank you! And wishing you a happy new year!✨🍀

THE ROYAL LOVERS

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, some angst and some fluff

ᯓ★ Requests status: open (only by asks)

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 11k (I dont think I can make it more slow burn than this lol)

ᯓ★ Summary: just what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

You sit in the grand hall of your father’s castle, the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the cold marble floors. The room feels heavier than usual, the weight of your father’s words pressing down on your chest. Betrothed. You turn the word over in your mind, trying to make sense of it, trying to figure out how this has become your reality.

“To one of Asgard’s princes?” you repeat, unable to mask the disbelief in your tone.

Your father nods, his expression grave yet tinged with pride. “Yes, daughter. This alliance is a great honor for our kingdom. A union with Asgard strengthens our position, ensures our prosperity, and secures peace for generations to come.”

Peace. Prosperity. You’ve heard these words countless times before, always in speeches or during court gatherings when foreign diplomats visit. Now they’re being used as the justification for altering the course of your entire life.

You swallow hard. “And which prince?”

A pause stretches between you, long enough for your heart to skip several anxious beats. Your father finally answers, his voice calm, though his eyes betray some unease. “Prince Loki.”

The name settles over you like a shadow. You’ve heard stories of Asgard, of its golden spires and indomitable warriors. Tales of its princes, too—Thor, the golden-haired god of thunder, beloved by all, and Loki, the sharp-tongued trickster whose reputation is far more ambiguous.

You straighten in your chair, forcing yourself to remain composed despite the storm building inside you. “I see. And when am I to meet this... prince?”

“Soon,” your father says. “King Odin and Queen Frigga have agreed to host a meeting at their palace. You will accompany me to Asgard in three days' time.”

Three days. That’s all the time you have to prepare yourself for the encounter that will determine your future. You nod stiffly and rise from your seat, excusing yourself from the conversation.

Once you’re alone in your chambers, the weight of it all crashes down on you. You pace the room, the rich fabrics of your dress swishing around your legs, your mind racing. Betrothed to a prince of Asgard. It sounds like something out of a storybook, but you’re no naïve dreamer. You know enough to understand the realities of political alliances.

Still, you can’t help but wonder: why would Asgard—a kingdom so vast and powerful it dwarfs your own—be interested in such a union?

Three days later, you stand before the shimmering Bifrost Bridge, its prismatic light almost blinding. The sight of it steals your breath, though you quickly compose yourself as the Asgardian guards usher you and your father toward the grand palace that looms in the distance.

The palace is even more magnificent than the stories described, its golden towers piercing the sky, its halls adorned with treasures from realms beyond your imagination.

You feel small here, insignificant. But you refuse to let it show.

In the throne room, King Odin sits atop his gilded seat, his presence commanding, even intimidating. Beside him stands Queen Frigga, her beauty and poise as striking as the rumors claimed. The sight of her eases your nerves slightly; she seems kind, her gentle smile a stark contrast to the stern expressions of her husband and the guards flanking the room.

And then you see him.

Prince Loki.

He stands a step behind his parents, dressed in sleek black and green, the golden accents of his attire catching the light. His dark hair is neatly combed back, his pale features sharp and angular. There’s an air of arrogance about him, a cool detachment that only adds to his enigmatic aura.

Your father bows, and you quickly follow suit, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor.

“Your Majesties,” your father begins, his voice steady. “It is an honor to stand before you. I thank you for welcoming us into your home.”

Odin nods curtly, his single eye fixed on your father. “We are pleased to have you here. This alliance is of great importance to both our realms.”

Frigga steps forward, her smile warm. “And you must be the princess,” she says, addressing you directly.

You lift your head, meeting her gaze. “Yes, Your Majesty. It is a privilege to be here.”

Frigga’s smile widens, and for a moment, you feel at ease. But the feeling is short-lived as you catch Loki’s gaze. He’s watching you, his expression unreadable.

“Loki,” Odin says, gesturing toward you. “This is the princess, your betrothed.”

The words hang in the air like a thunderclap. Loki’s lips curl into a faint, almost dismissive smirk. He inclines his head slightly but says nothing.

You suppress the urge to bristle. Fine, you think. If he’s going to be curt, so be it.

Frigga notices the tension and steps in, her voice soothing. “Why don’t the two of you take a moment to speak privately? Get to know one another.”

Your father nods in agreement. “An excellent idea.”

Before you can protest, you’re being led to a nearby chamber, Loki following behind you at a leisurely pace. Once the door closes, you turn to face him, your hands clasped tightly in front of you.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence is thick, uncomfortable.

“So,” you begin, forcing yourself to sound calm. “It seems we are to be married.”

Loki leans against the nearest wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Indeed. Though I must admit, I find the arrangement rather curious.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Curious? In what way?”

He shrugs, his tone casual but laced with condescension. “Our kingdoms are not exactly equals. One might wonder what my father hopes to gain from such a union.”

The words sting, but you refuse to let him see it. Instead, you smile sweetly, matching his tone. “Perhaps he hopes I’ll teach you some manners.”

Loki’s eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he regains his composure. “Manners? How quaint. I wasn’t aware my betrothed was a tutor.”

You take a step closer, meeting his gaze head-on. “And I wasn’t aware mine was a child.”

His smirk falters, and for a moment, you think you’ve won. But then he chuckles, low and amused. “You have spirit, I’ll give you that. It’s almost endearing.”

“Almost?” you echo, tilting your head. “I’ll take that as a compliment, though I doubt you intended it as one.”

Loki studies you for a moment, his green eyes piercing. “You’re not what I expected.”

“And neither are you,” you reply, refusing to look away.

The tension in the room is palpable, an unspoken challenge hanging between you. Finally, Loki straightens, his expression unreadable once more.

“This should be interesting,” he says, his voice quiet but carrying an edge.

You don’t respond, watching as he strides toward the door and leaves without another word.

When you return to the throne room, Frigga gives you a knowing look, as if she can sense the clash of wills that just occurred.

“I trust you had a productive conversation,” she says gently.

You offer her a polite smile. “It was... enlightening.”

Loki says nothing, his expression calm but his eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place.

As the meeting concludes and you prepare to return to your chambers at Asgard for now, you can’t shake the feeling that this is only the beginning of a battle of wits and wills. And for the first time since hearing of the betrothal, you find yourself almost looking forward to the challenge.

The news spreads faster than you’d expect. Within days of the announcement, the realms are abuzz with the most unlikely engagement of the century: Loki, the so-called “trickster prince” of Asgard, and you, the princess of a modest but proud kingdom.

You learn of the reactions secondhand—your father shares reports from neighboring realms, some of which range from incredulous laughter to outright disbelief. Even within Asgard, whispers fill the air. Servants, courtiers, even the warriors of the great halls exchange furtive glances as you pass, clearly wondering how and why such a union has come to be.

You, however, have no answers for them.

Forced to stay in Asgard for the duration of your courtship, you find yourself in a whirlwind of carefully orchestrated meetings, formal dinners, and—most excruciating of all—dates.

The first one is planned with all the subtlety of a lightning bolt. Frigga herself announces it over breakfast, her tone pleasant but brooking no argument.

“The two of you will take a walk through the gardens this afternoon,” she says, her serene expression giving no indication that this is a royal decree rather than a suggestion. “It’s a lovely day, and I’m sure you’ll find the fresh air invigorating.”

Loki, seated across from you at the lavish dining table, barely looks up from his plate. “Invigorating,” he echoes dryly, his tone implying that being dragged into the sunlight is the last thing he finds appealing.

You sip your tea, determined not to let him ruin your mood. “It sounds delightful,” you say, forcing a bright smile.

When the time comes, the “walk” is as awkward as you anticipated. The gardens of Asgard are, of course, stunning, with vibrant flowers and towering trees that look as though they were sculpted by the gods themselves. But the beauty of your surroundings does little to ease the tension between you and your betrothed.

“You seem thrilled to be here,” you remark as you stroll along a cobblestone path, glancing at Loki. He walks a step ahead of you, his hands clasped behind his back and his expression neutral.

“I’m beside myself with joy,” he replies without missing a beat.

You roll your eyes. “If you hate this so much, why not just tell your parents you’re not interested? I’m sure they’ll understand.”

Loki stops, turning to face you with an arched brow. “You think I haven’t tried? My father, as you may have noticed, is not particularly accommodating when it comes to matters of ‘duty.’”

You shrug. “Neither is mine. But at least I’m trying to make the best of it.”

“Ah, yes,” Loki says, his lips curling into a smirk. “You’re positively brimming with enthusiasm. Tell me, is sarcasm a custom in your kingdom, or is it just your natural talent?”

“It’s a survival skill,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. “Particularly useful when dealing with insufferable princes.”

Loki laughs—a genuine laugh, though he quickly masks it with a cough. “Touché.”

The rest of the walk is less tense, though the banter continues. By the time you return to the palace, you’re both mildly annoyed but also—if you’re honest with yourself—mildly entertained.

The dates that follow are no less eventful.

One afternoon, you’re coerced into accompanying Loki to the library, which he claims is his “sanctuary.” You quickly learn that by “sanctuary,” he means a place where he can hide from people and indulge in his penchant for mocking their intellectual inadequacies.

“You know,” you say, trailing your fingers along the spines of ancient tomes as Loki lounges in a nearby chair, “if you put half as much effort into being pleasant as you do into being smug, you might actually be tolerable.”

“Why would I aim for tolerable when I can achieve perfection?” he counters, not looking up from his book.

You grab the nearest volume and plop it unceremoniously onto the table in front of him. “Here. Enlighten me, oh wise one.”

Loki picks up the book, glances at the title, and smirks. “A Beginner’s Guide to Asgardian History? How quaint.”

You grin, leaning on the table. “Well, I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you with anything too advanced.”

For a moment, his eyes meet yours, and you swear you see a flicker of amusement there. Then he closes the book with a theatrical sigh. “Very well. Sit, and I’ll educate you—though I can’t promise you’ll retain anything.”

By the end of the afternoon, you’ve learned more about Asgardian history than you ever thought you’d care to know. And, despite his constant teasing, Loki is an excellent teacher.

Another date—a “ride” across the Bifrost on enchanted steeds—proves to be even more chaotic.

“Have you ever ridden a horse before?” Loki asks as you mount your steed, his tone suggesting he already knows the answer.

“Of course,” you reply confidently, though your grip on the reins betrays your nerves.

As the horses take off, galloping across the shimmering bridge, you quickly realize that Asgardian steeds are not like those of your kingdom. They’re faster, stronger, and seemingly unbothered by the laws of gravity.

You let out an involuntary squeal as your horse leaps into the air, soaring above the bridge for a heart-stopping moment before landing gracefully.

Behind you, Loki laughs—an infuriating, delighted sound. “Having fun, princess?”

“Shut up!” you shout, gripping the reins tighter.

By the time the ride is over, your hair is a mess, your heart is pounding, and you’re thoroughly mortified. Loki, of course, looks as composed as ever.

“Well,” he says as you dismount, his smirk firmly in place, “that was exhilarating. Shall we go again?”

You glare at him, brushing strands of hair from your face. “Don’t push your luck.”

Despite the constant banter, you find yourself… not hating his company as much as you expected. Loki, for all his arrogance, is undeniably clever, and his sharp wit keeps you on your toes. He’s also surprisingly observant, occasionally making remarks that reveal a deeper understanding of you than you’re comfortable admitting.

For his part, Loki seems to enjoy sparring with you, though he never lets on too much. There are moments when his smirk softens, when his eyes linger on yours a little longer than necessary. But just as quickly, he retreats behind his usual façade of indifference.

The days pass, and the courtship continues, much to the amusement of the palace staff and the frustration of your parents.

“They’re impossible,” Odin mutters one evening after dinner, watching as you and Loki exchange yet another round of playful insults.

“They’re perfect for each other,” Frigga replies with a smile, her gaze warm as she watches the two of you.

Perfect. You wouldn’t go that far. But as you lie awake in your chambers that night, replaying the day’s events in your mind, you can’t deny that something about Loki intrigues you.

And though you’d never admit it, you’re starting to think that this arrangement might not be so terrible after all.

The day of your wedding looms ever closer, and Asgard hums with preparations. The golden halls are adorned with garlands of flowers, banners bearing the crests of your kingdom and Asgard hang side by side, and the palace is abuzz with activity. Servants scurry to and fro, courtiers gossip behind jeweled fans, and Frigga oversees every detail with her characteristic grace.

You, meanwhile, feel like a tightly coiled spring, caught between nervous anticipation and the persistent irritation that comes from dealing with Loki.

If the prince’s attitude was difficult before, it’s positively maddening now. You’re not sure what changed, but he’s been colder, more distant, his biting remarks sharper than usual.

One day, as you’re walking through the palace gardens, you decide to confront him.

“Alright, what’s your problem?” you demand, stepping in front of him and blocking his path.

Loki arches a brow, clearly unimpressed by your attempt to corner him. “You’ll have to be more specific, princess. I have so many.”

You cross your arms. “Don’t play coy. You’ve been acting like an even bigger ass than usual lately, and I want to know why.”

His lips curl into a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You flatter me with your concern.”

“I’m serious, Loki.” Your voice softens, though your gaze remains firm. “If I’ve done something to upset you, just tell me.”

For a moment, his expression falters, and you think he might actually answer you. But then his smirk returns, colder than before.

“Perhaps I’m simply preparing you for the reality of being married to me,” he says, his tone light but laced with something darker.

Your stomach twists, but you refuse to let him see how much his words sting. “Fine,” you snap. “Be an ass. See if I care.”

You storm off, leaving him standing in the garden, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

The tension between you only worsens with the arrival of Thor.

The golden-haired prince returns from a long mission, his presence immediately commanding attention wherever he goes. Thor is everything Loki is not—open, friendly, and effortlessly charming. He greets you with a beaming smile, his blue eyes sparkling with genuine warmth.

“You must be the princess,” he says, clasping your hand in his large, calloused one. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” you reply, returning his smile.

“Of course!” Thor’s laughter booms through the hall, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. “I can see now why my brother is so reluctant to share his time with you. He must be afraid I’ll steal you away!”

You laugh politely, though the comment catches you off guard. Before you can respond, Loki appears at Thor’s side, his expression carefully neutral.

“Thor,” he says smoothly, his tone deceptively light. “How delightful of you to join us. I see you’ve already met my betrothed.”

“Indeed, I have!” Thor claps a hand on Loki’s shoulder, grinning. “She’s delightful. You’re a lucky man, brother.”

Loki’s smile tightens, and you swear you see his jaw clench. “Yes,” he says, his voice a touch colder. “Lucky indeed.”

From that moment on, Loki’s demeanor shifts even further. He grows colder, more distant, and his once playful banter becomes outright cutting.

During a dinner with Thor and the royal family, you find yourself on the receiving end of one of his more caustic remarks.

“Tell me, princess,” Loki drawls, leaning back in his chair. “Have you been enjoying your time here in Asgard? Or is it too overwhelming for someone from such... modest origins?”

The table falls silent, all eyes turning to you. Thor frowns, clearly disapproving of his brother’s behavior, while Frigga gives Loki a sharp look.

You take a deep breath, forcing a smile. “Oh, it’s been lovely,” you reply sweetly. “Though I must admit, the company has been a bit... mixed.”

Thor bursts out laughing, while Loki’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“Well played, princess,” he says, his voice low and icy.

The tension between you only seems to escalate as the days pass, culminating in a heated argument the night before the wedding.

“You know,” you say, standing in the middle of the grand hall where the ceremony will take place, “if you’re so miserable about this marriage, why don’t you just call it off?”

“And bring shame to both our kingdoms?” Loki replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I think not.”

“Shame?” You scoff. “Oh, please. Everyone knows you don’t want this any more than I do.”

“And yet here we are,” he snaps, his eyes flashing with anger.

The argument spirals, both of you hurling insults and accusations until you’re both breathing heavily, standing far too close to each other.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The air crackles with tension, and you half-expect Loki to say something cruel, something to end the conversation once and for all.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he steps back, his expression unreadable. “Goodnight, princess,” he says quietly, before turning on his heel and walking away.

You’re left standing alone in the empty hall, your chest tight and your mind racing.

The day of the wedding arrives, and you wake with a mixture of dread and resignation. You’re dressed in an elaborate gown, the finest your kingdom has ever produced, and escorted to the ceremony by your father and a contingent of Asgardian guards.

The hall is packed with dignitaries and guests from across the realms, their eyes fixed on you as you make your way down the aisle. At the end of it stands Loki, dressed in black and gold, his expression a perfect mask of calm.

As you approach, you search his face for any sign of emotion, any hint of the man you’ve gotten to know over the past weeks. But he gives nothing away.

The ceremony proceeds smoothly, the vows exchanged without incident. But as you stand before the gathered crowd, your hand resting in Loki’s, you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted between you.

When the officiant finally declares you husband and wife, Loki leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “The games begin, princess.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “Bring it on, prince.”

The crowd erupts in applause, oblivious to the battle of wills raging between the two of you.

And as Loki leads you down the aisle, his hand resting lightly on yours, you can’t help but wonder what the future holds for this strange, tempestuous union. One thing is certain: life with Loki will never be dull.

The wedding feast is a blur of golden light, laughter, and endless toasts. Your smile is painted on, your cheeks aching as guests from every realm offer their congratulations. Loki plays his part impeccably, charming the crowd with his wit and occasional glances in your direction that are just shy of affectionate.

Inside, you feel like a tightly coiled spring, wound tighter with every passing moment. You know what comes after the feast. The thought sits heavy in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

The hour grows late, and when the last of the guests have finally departed, you’re escorted to the chambers that have been prepared for you and Loki. The halls seem longer than usual, the distance to your destination stretching endlessly as your nerves build.

When you reach the door, the servants offer you both polite bows before disappearing down the corridor, leaving you and Loki alone.

He opens the door, gesturing for you to step inside. His expression is unreadable, though his usual smirk is noticeably absent.

The chambers are stunning, of course—richly furnished and illuminated by soft, flickering candlelight. But all you can focus on is the massive bed at the center of the room, its silken sheets and embroidered pillows looking more like a throne than a place to rest.

Loki closes the door behind you, and you hear the faint click of the lock.

You stand frozen in the middle of the room, your hands clasped tightly in front of you as you stare at the bed.

“Well,” Loki says after a moment, his voice breaking the tense silence. “I suppose this is the part where we consummate the marriage.”

Your stomach flips, and you force yourself to turn and look at him. “I... I know,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

Loki studies you, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. Then, to your surprise, he sighs and moves to the nearest chair, sinking into it with an almost theatrical air of exasperation.

“Let’s make one thing perfectly clear,” he says, resting his elbow on the armrest and propping his chin on his hand. “I have no intention of forcing you—or myself, for that matter—into anything tonight.”

You blink, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he replies, his tone dry, “that we don’t actually have to do anything. All anyone needs to know is that we sayit happened. As long as we both stick to the story, no one will be the wiser.”

Relief floods through you, so sudden and intense that your knees nearly buckle. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” he says, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “I find the idea of spending the night in awkward silence far more appealing than the alternative.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, nodding quickly. “Alright. I... I agree.”

“Good.” He stands and moves to the other side of the room, unfastening his cloak and draping it over a chair. “We’ll sleep in the same bed—appearances and all that—but I promise to stay on my side. You won’t even know I’m there.”

You hesitate, glancing at the bed again. “Alright,” you say softly, your voice steadier now.

Loki changes into a loose tunic and trousers while you slip behind a screen to remove your elaborate gown and don a simple nightdress. When you emerge, he’s already lying on one side of the bed, his back to you.

You climb in cautiously, keeping to the very edge of your side. The mattress dips slightly under your weight, and you can feel the faint warmth of Loki’s presence, though you’re careful not to look at him.

The silence stretches between you, heavy but not entirely uncomfortable.

“Goodnight, princess,” Loki says after a while, his voice quiet but laced with his usual sarcasm.

“Goodnight, Loki,” you reply, your lips curving into a faint smile despite yourself.

The next morning, you’re awoken by a knock at the door. Loki groans softly, rolling onto his back but making no move to get up.

“Come in,” he calls lazily.

The door opens, and a group of servants enters, carrying trays of breakfast and fresh clothing. They’re followed by Frigga, who takes one look at the rumpled bed and your mussed hair and smiles knowingly.

“I trust you both slept well,” she says, her tone light but her eyes sharp with curiosity.

Loki sits up, running a hand through his disheveled hair and flashing her a lazy grin. “Like babes in a cradle, Mother.”

You flush, quickly busying yourself with the tea that one of the servants has placed on the bedside table.

Frigga’s gaze lingers on the two of you for a moment longer before she nods, clearly satisfied. “Good. The court will be eager to hear that the union has been properly sealed.”

You nearly choke on your tea, but Loki remains perfectly composed, raising an eyebrow at his mother. “Of course,” he says smoothly. “They needn’t worry about that.”

Frigga gives him a pointed look, then turns to leave, her skirts sweeping gracefully behind her.

When the door closes, you let out a shaky breath, your cheeks still burning.

“Well,” Loki says, leaning back against the headboard with a smirk. “That was convincing enough, wouldn’t you say?”

You glare at him, though there’s no real heat in it. “You could have warned me she’d ask.”

“And deprive myself of the pleasure of seeing you flustered?” He grins, clearly enjoying himself.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

The rest of the day is a whirlwind of public appearances and well-wishes from guests and courtiers. You and Loki play your roles to perfection, standing side by side and accepting congratulations with polite smiles.

But every so often, you catch Loki’s eye, and there’s a flicker of something there—something you can’t quite define.

As the sun sets and the festivities wind down, you find yourself wondering if this strange, tentative partnership might become something more.

The passing weeks blur in a mix of royal duties, public appearances, and private moments that seem far too fleeting. You and Loki settle into an unexpected, but not unwelcome, routine. It’s not one born out of affection, nor of any deep romantic feeling—at least not on your part—but something else entirely.

It’s friendship, of sorts, though it has an edge of guardedness on both sides.

Loki is still as sarcastic as ever, his barbed words often making you want to throw a pillow at him, but there’s a subtle shift in his attitude. He doesn’t try to make you uncomfortable, nor does he push you into situations that force your discomfort. Instead, he lets the two of you share moments of quiet companionship, moments that pass without him demanding anything more than just… being together.

At times, you even catch him offering a rare, genuine smile when the two of you exchange witty banter, the edge of coldness in his eyes softening for just a moment before it’s hidden away again.

It’s those moments—small, fleeting—that make you begin to wonder if there’s more to Loki than meets the eye.

But then, every time Thor is around, Loki retreats into himself. His demeanor hardens, his eyes become colder, and the playful teasing he once directed at you disappears, replaced by something almost resembling disdain.

It’s frustrating. You had grown used to Loki’s sharp wit and dry humor, but around Thor, he becomes a stranger. It’s as though he’s a different person entirely.

It’s in those moments that you realize just how much Thor’s presence affects Loki. The way his brother’s easy charm and warmth seem to have earned him the favor of everyone around them, especially their father, Odin.

The stark contrast between the two brothers becomes painfully obvious during family dinners.

On this particular evening, you’re seated at the grand table in the palace hall, flanked by Frigga on one side and Thor on the other. Loki sits at the far end, his posture rigid and his eyes fixed on his plate. The tension between the two brothers is palpable, though it’s subtle, buried beneath layers of carefully crafted politeness.

Frigga chats lightly with Thor about his latest battle, her soft voice carrying through the room. You listen attentively, though a part of you can’t help but glance over at Loki.

You can feel the weight of his silence, the way he seems to withdraw into himself whenever Thor speaks. Loki only offers the occasional half-hearted comment, his tone distant, as if he’s not really a part of the conversation.

Frigga, ever perceptive, seems to notice as well. She glances between Loki and Thor, her expression one of quiet concern.

“Loki,” she says gently, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken understanding, “is there something you wish to add?”

Loki straightens slightly but doesn’t look up from his plate. “No, Mother. I’m simply… observing.”

You can’t help but notice the way his jaw clenches, his gaze still fixed on his food as though he’s avoiding looking anyone in the eye.

Thor, ever the optimist, tries to break the tension. “Come now, brother. Surely you have a better tale to tell than mine. You’ve always been the more… creative one when it comes to storytelling.”

Loki’s eyes flicker toward Thor, but the look he gives his brother is colder than you’ve ever seen it. There’s something there, something unspoken that hangs heavy in the air between them.

“I have no tales to tell,” Loki replies coolly, his voice flat. “Not tonight.”

The silence that follows is thick, awkward. You shift in your seat, unsure of what to say, and Frigga clears her throat, clearly attempting to shift the atmosphere.

“I’m sure Loki has many stories to share when he’s in the mood, Thor,” she says, giving her son a kind smile. “But for now, perhaps we should allow him the peace to enjoy his meal in silence.”

Thor seems to take the hint, though there’s a flicker of confusion in his eyes as he nods. “Of course, Mother.”

But you notice the way he glances at Loki one last time before he turns his attention to you. He smiles, his usual warmth returning.

“It’s good to see you again, Princess,” Thor says, his voice easy and kind. “I trust you’ve settled in well?”

You smile back, grateful for the change of subject. “Yes, thank you, Thor. Asgard has been… more than welcoming.”

Loki stays silent, his fork moving absently as he pushes food around on his plate. You try not to let your gaze linger too long on him, but it’s difficult to ignore the way he seems to withdraw further with each passing moment.

Later, after the dinner has ended and the courtiers have dispersed, you find yourself walking the halls of the palace, your thoughts a tangled mess.

Loki’s behavior continues to trouble you. It’s clear that there’s something between him and Thor, something deep and unresolved. You can sense it in the way Loki acts when his brother is near, the way he retreats inward, shutting everyone else out.

And then there’s Odin. You’ve seen it too—the way the Allfather seems to favor Thor in ways that Loki could never seem to earn. The way Odin’s praise comes effortlessly to Thor, while Loki is left in the shadows, forced to fight for every scrap of recognition.

You’ve begun to notice the small things—the way Loki’s expression shifts when Odin speaks to Thor, or how he watches them both with an almost painful intensity when they stand together.

It’s hard to ignore the dynamic between them. Loki’s desire to prove himself to his father, to gain his approval in a way that seems perpetually out of reach, is something you can’t help but empathize with.

But you don’t know how to talk about it, how to approach him without making things worse.

That night, after the dinner, you retreat to your chambers, the silence of the room settling around you like a weight. Loki is already there, seated on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he stares out the window.

The flickering light from the torch on the wall casts shadows across his face, making his expression seem distant and closed off.

You hesitate in the doorway, unsure of what to say. But the longer you stand there, the more the words seem to push their way out.

“Loki,” you begin, your voice tentative, “I know things have been… difficult lately.”

Loki doesn’t turn around, but his shoulders tense at the sound of your voice. “Difficult? You mean the constant parade of Thor’s victories and Father’s adoration?” His words are sharp, laced with bitterness.

You step further into the room, your heart aching at the venom in his tone. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you say quietly. “But I can see it, Loki. I can see how much it hurts you.”

For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then, Loki sighs deeply, rubbing his temples as if trying to stave off a headache.

“I don’t need your pity,” he mutters. “I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

You take a careful step closer, your voice soft. “I’m not pitying you, Loki. I’m just… I just don’t want you to feel alone in this.”

He laughs bitterly, his shoulders shaking as he turns to face you. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t understand what it’s like to be cast aside, to never be good enough no matter how hard you try?”

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you look at him. “I don’t know what that’s like,” you admit, “but I know what it’s like to feel like you’re constantly trying to prove yourself to someone who doesn’t even notice.”

Loki’s gaze flickers briefly to yours, and for a moment, there’s a crack in his armor. But it’s gone almost instantly, replaced by that familiar coldness.

“I don’t need your sympathy,” he repeats, though there’s less conviction in his voice.

“I’m not offering you sympathy,” you reply firmly. “I’m just saying… if you ever want to talk about it—about anything—I’m here, Loki.”

He stares at you for a long while, his eyes unreadable. And then, with a quiet sigh, he nods once, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, princess. But I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

You nod, though your heart aches at the weight of his words.

“I’ll be here when you are,” you say softly.

Loki doesn’t answer, but the silence that falls between you is… less heavy somehow. Less lonely.

You’re not sure what the future holds for the two of you, but in that moment, you both find a small measure of peace.

And for now, that’s enough.

The days following your conversation with Loki are a strange blend of light and shadow. The weight of your words lingers in the air between you two, but there’s an undeniable shift. It’s subtle, at first—a slight softening in the way he looks at you, a rare but meaningful smile that occasionally plays at the corners of his lips.

But it’s clear, too, that there are walls around him, walls that are not easily torn down. You don’t press him further, content to let him open up in his own time, if at all.

Then, one evening, when the palace is quiet and the rest of the court is engaged in a distant gathering, Loki surprises you.

You’re walking down one of the many hallways, heading back to your chambers after a rather dull meeting with various nobles, when you hear his voice.

“Princess,” he calls softly, his voice carrying through the silence of the corridor.

You turn to find him standing a little ways down the hall, leaning against the stone wall with his arms crossed. There’s something different in his stance—less guarded, more… open, though he still holds that impenetrable air around him.

You raise an eyebrow. “Loki? What’s the matter?”

He shifts, a subtle but noticeable tension in his posture as if he's deliberating whether or not to speak. Finally, after a beat of silence, he steps toward you, his footsteps soft on the stone floor.

“I… I’ve been thinking about our conversation,” he says, his voice quieter than usual.

You give him a careful look. “What about it?”

Loki glances down, avoiding your eyes for a moment before meeting your gaze. “About my father.” His voice tightens slightly, but it’s not the usual bitterness. It’s something more raw. “You were right. I… I’ve been carrying a lot of things for a long time.”

You wait, not wanting to interrupt, giving him space to speak.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever told anyone this, but…” Loki exhales slowly, his breath shaking as if he's letting something go for the first time. “I’ve never felt like I was enough for Odin. For my father. Not in the way Thor is. Not in the way that he needs me to be.”

You step closer, drawn in by the vulnerability in his voice. “Loki…”

He shakes his head, as if frustrated with himself. “I’ve always tried to do everything he wanted. Prove myself, be the son he wanted. But it’s never been enough. Every time I think I’m close to earning his favor, Thor does something. It doesn’t even matter what. Odin just… adores him.” Loki’s words come out with a sharpness, like they’ve been pent up for years, and yet there’s an unmistakable sadness there.

You want to reach out, to comfort him, but you don’t. Not yet.

“Thor…” Loki scoffs, though it’s not with malice—more a mixture of frustration and helplessness. “He doesn’t try. He just is. And Odin… he praises him for every little thing. Meanwhile, I’m left to pick up the pieces, to try to carve out a place for myself. But nothing ever works.”

A knot forms in your chest as you listen to him. It’s impossible to ignore how deeply Loki’s words cut, how much he craves the recognition and love he feels he’ll never receive.

“I know it’s not Thor’s fault,” Loki adds, almost as an afterthought, as if the words pain him. “But sometimes, I just… I can’t help but resent him.”

There’s an ache in his voice that hits you like a physical blow, and without thinking, you step forward and place a hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Loki,” you say quietly. “I can see how much this hurts you.”

His eyes soften for just a moment, a flicker of something—something like gratitude—before the walls go back up. But it’s a start.

“I know you understand,” he mutters, his gaze dropping. “It’s just… hard to admit, even to myself.”

The silence between you two stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels like a shared understanding, an unspoken bond that has formed between you.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” you say softly, stepping back a little but keeping your eyes on him.

Loki looks at you, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he gives you a faint smile. “Thank you.”

It’s more than he’s ever said to you in any of your interactions, and it makes your heart flutter, though you don’t show it.

“Anytime, Loki,” you reply, your voice steady, though your hands are trembling ever so slightly.

The next day, Odin makes his usual rounds through the court, his presence like a weight hanging over everyone. He speaks with courtiers, listens to reports from the generals, and gives out orders. But as usual, his praise for Thor is effusive, his voice rich with admiration.

It’s when you’re walking through the hall toward the council room that you catch the conversation between Odin and Thor. They’re speaking loudly enough for you to overhear, and you can’t help but wince as Odin lauds Thor’s latest achievement.

“Thor,” Odin says, his voice full of pride, “you’ve done the kingdom proud. Truly, your battle strategies are unmatched. I’m so glad to see you take your place as the leader Asgard needs.”

Thor laughs, clearly pleased, though there’s no sign of arrogance in him. “Thank you, Father. But I couldn’t have done it without the support of my allies.”

Odin waves off the sentiment with a chuckle, his voice warm. “Your humility is one of your finest qualities, my son.”

And that’s when it hits you—how blatant the favoritism is. How obvious it is that Odin is always quick to praise Thor, but Loki, despite his brilliance, is always left in the shadows.

Your chest tightens with the unfairness of it all. You’ve heard whispers before—how Odin has always placed Thor on a pedestal, how his approval has always been out of reach for Loki.

You’ve seen it yourself, in the way Odin looks at his sons. Thor, with his easy smiles and loud boisterousness, is clearly the favored one. Loki’s quieter, more calculating nature doesn’t seem to earn him that same adoration.

And something inside you snaps.

You’ve had enough of watching Loki suffer in silence. Enough of the obvious bias that Odin so openly displays.

With a deep breath, you step forward, deliberately interrupting the conversation between father and son.

“Lord Odin,” you say, your voice steady and louder than you expect. Both Odin and Thor turn toward you, surprised by your sudden interruption.

Odin’s eyes flicker over you, but his expression remains neutral. “Princess,” he greets, his tone polite but distant. “What is it you need?”

You take a step closer, finding the courage you’ve never had before to speak your mind. “I think it’s time someone pointed out something that’s been bothering me for some time,” you say, meeting Odin’s eyes with unwavering resolve.

Thor looks at you, clearly surprised, but Odin’s expression doesn’t change.

“I’ve noticed,” you continue, “that you never seem to acknowledge your sons equally. You give Thor praise, constantly sing his virtues, while Loki…” You glance over at him, who stands with his arms crossed, looking more uncomfortable than usual. “Loki deserves the same recognition, and it’s time someone said it.”

Thor’s eyes widen at your words, and Odin’s gaze sharpens, though he doesn’t immediately respond.

“Princess, this is a matter between my sons and I,” Odin says, his tone calm but with an edge that warns you to back down.

But you don’t. “It’s a matter of fairness,” you say, your voice unshaken. “Loki is just as capable, just as brilliant, and he deserves the same respect as Thor.”

For a long moment, there’s silence, a heavy, thick silence that seems to hang in the air. Odin’s eyes study you carefully, as if deciding whether or not to chastise you.

But then, to your surprise, he lets out a slow breath. “Perhaps you are right,” he says, his voice thoughtful, though still carrying the weight of authority. “I will consider your words, Princess.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest as you turn to leave. You know you’ve probably made a powerful enemy, but for once, it feels worth it.

As you walk away, you can’t help but glance back at Loki, who is now watching you with a look of surprise—and something else, something softer.

Later that night, you’re in your chambers, lost in your thoughts when a quiet knock at the door pulls you from your reverie.

You open it to find Loki standing there, his usual composed demeanor in place, though there’s something different in his expression.

“Loki,” you say, surprised to see him. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to thank you,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “You didn’t have to do that. But you did.”

You shrug, trying to appear casual despite the flutter in your chest. “It was the right thing to do.”

“I know,” he replies, his tone soft. “But that doesn’t make it any less… meaningful.” He hesitates, then takes a step closer, his eyes meeting yours. “You’ve… you’ve done more for me today than anyone has in a long time.”

The words settle between you, and for a moment, everything is quiet.

You don’t know what to say. But somehow, it doesn’t matter. The air between you is charged, but calm, like a storm that’s waiting to break.

And then, without thinking, you step forward, closing the distance between you.

Loki’s breath catches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. His hand brushes yours, tentative but warm, and that’s when you both understand.

You look into each other’s eyes for a moment, the words unsaid but understood, and then you kiss—softly, tenderly, as if this moment, this connection, is something you both desperately need but never quite expected.

It’s gentle, quiet, and everything in between, and for the first time in a long time, you feel as though the walls between you are starting to fall.

The day after you stood up to Odin, something subtle but undeniable changes between you and Loki. The lingering tension that had once surrounded him, the cold barrier he had erected between himself and everyone, especially you, seems to soften just slightly. He still wears that aloof mask he’s perfected over years of deflecting people’s attention, but there are moments when he looks at you differently—like he sees you, really sees you, as something more than just the princess he was supposed to marry.

But of course, Loki is Loki, and despite the small shifts, he’s still a master of maintaining distance. He keeps his emotions locked away as tightly as his wit, but you’ve begun to notice the cracks. Maybe it’s in the way he lingers a little longer when you’re together, or how he catches your gaze in passing, holding it just a little longer than necessary.

Despite the changes between you two, the world around you continues to spin, and your role as the Princess of Asgard, as Loki’s wife, only grows more public.

The next day, after an awkward breakfast with Frigga, where she kept giving you knowing looks and you were pretty sure you heard her suppressing a sigh, you find yourself walking through the gardens, trying to escape the subtle whispers of court life.

As you stroll among the flowers, you hear footsteps behind you. A familiar, booming voice calls your name.

“Princess Y/N,” Thor’s deep voice rings out, and you stop, turning to face him.

Thor looks even more like the golden child of Asgard today, his wide smile blinding and a glimmer of guilt in his eyes. “I’ve been meaning to thank you, for what you did yesterday. Defending Loki like that.”

You tilt your head, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I never saw it, you know?” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “The way Father favors me and how much it’s hurt Loki. I’ve always thought he was… I don’t know, distant, difficult. I didn’t realize I was a part of the problem.”

You blink, a little surprised by his sincerity. You’ve never seen Thor look so humble, so… vulnerable. It’s a stark contrast to the loud, boisterous warrior he usually presents to the world. “You didn’t know?” you ask softly.

He shakes his head, his broad shoulders slumping a little. “No, not really. And I’m ashamed to admit it. But I never thought about how he might feel when all the praise I get… it takes away from what he deserves. Loki’s clever, more than anyone gives him credit for. I see it now. I see how I’ve made him feel… less.”

Your heart aches a little. There’s so much more to Thor than the world gives him credit for, and perhaps there’s more to Loki’s pain than you even realized.

“Thor,” you start, your voice a little unsure but kind. “I think you need to tell him that. He needs to hear it from you.”

Thor gives a tight nod, the look in his eyes both heavy and sincere. “I will. But… I wanted to talk to you first, because I didn’t want you to think that I… I didn’t care.” He pauses, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I know you’re in a difficult position, Y/N, especially with Loki…”

You shrug lightly. “It’s not difficult. He’s my husband, Thor. I have a duty to him, yes, but I also want to see him happy. I don’t want him to feel this way anymore, either.”

“I understand,” Thor says with a soft smile. “And I promise you, I’ll try to make things right between me and Loki. But thank you. Truly.”

He offers a warm, brotherly smile and pats you on the shoulder, making you smile back, a little touched by the earnestness in his voice. It’s rare to see Thor so serious, but in moments like this, you realize just how much he cares about his family—even if it’s a little too late.

As the conversation dies down, Thor bids you farewell, walking off in the opposite direction to presumably find his brother. You remain in the gardens for a few more minutes, deep in thought. There’s a strange, almost bittersweet tension in the air now, an unspoken understanding of the dynamic between the brothers.

The next day, you find yourself walking the palace halls when you catch sight of Loki. He’s talking to a group of Asgardian nobles, but the moment he notices you, his demeanor shifts instantly. His sharp, emerald eyes cut toward you, his mouth forming a thin line. He says something to the nobles, and they scatter quickly, leaving him alone in the corridor.

You pause for a moment, unsure of how to approach him. But before you can decide, Loki walks toward you, his footsteps purposeful. You can feel the chill of his presence before he even speaks.

“What was that, then?” Loki’s voice is cool, his usual aloofness cloaking his words.

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

His eyes narrow. “You and Thor,” he sneers slightly, as though saying his brother’s name leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “You two spent an awfully long time together yesterday, didn’t you? Talking about me, no doubt. What was it this time? His concern for my well-being?”

You bite your lip, taking in the sharp edge of jealousy in his voice. You feel a slight pang of guilt, but you stand your ground. “We talked about you, yes. But it wasn’t to criticize you, Loki. It was about… understanding.”

Loki scoffs, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, and his gaze shifts toward the floor. “I see. Understanding.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, your voice softer now. “You don’t have to push everyone away. Not me. Not him.”

Loki’s head jerks up, and his eyes flash with something unreadable. “I push people away because I know how this ends, Y/N. Thor always takes what he wants. He took Father’s love, and now he wants to take you, too.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, the raw, vulnerable emotion in his voice twisting something deep inside you. You take a step toward him, but he recoils slightly, his posture rigid.

“You don’t have to be afraid of that,” you say, your voice barely a whisper, but there’s certainty in it. “Thor won’t take me from you. I won’t let him.”

Loki’s eyes flicker toward you, the flickering of something darker in his gaze before he presses his lips together in frustration. “How can you be so sure?” His voice cracks slightly, and you don’t know how to respond, except to step even closer to him.

His face softens for a fraction of a second—just long enough for you to see how fragile he really is, how deeply the idea of losing you, losing anything, is etched in him. You place a hand gently on his arm, your voice even softer now.

“I know because we talked. Thor and I. He knows the way you feel, Loki. He’s going to make things right between you two. You don’t have to push him away.”

Loki’s jaw tightens, and you can see the battle within him, the struggle to trust his brother again. But then, something shifts in him, and his gaze softens, if only for a moment.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Loki admits in a low voice, the words barely audible, as though he’s afraid of speaking them too loud, afraid of what they might mean.

You reach up, gently cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin, and he leans into your touch. “You won’t lose me, Loki. I’m not going anywhere.” Your voice is steady, and you see his breath hitch slightly as his emotions threaten to overwhelm him.

He looks away quickly, his throat tightening, but the tremor in his shoulders betrays him. “I don’t deserve you,” he mutters, barely holding it together.

“Don’t say that,” you reply firmly. “You’re not perfect. None of us are. But you deserve all the love and respect in the world. And I’m here, Loki. Always.”

He looks at you then, his expression softening with that familiar vulnerability you’ve seen fleetingly in the past few days, but it’s stronger now, more present than ever before. Without thinking, you pull him into an embrace, wrapping your arms around him tightly. For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, his body stiff in your arms, but then he exhales slowly, his breath shaky, and finally, he holds you back.

The weight of everything between you two finally lifts, and the walls crumble a little more. The steady rhythm of his breathing in your arms is all you need to know that he feels safe.

Later that night, when you retire to your chambers, Loki follows you, a quiet presence in the doorway.

You look at him, feeling something deep inside you—a need for closeness, for reassurance that everything will be okay. “Stay with me?” you ask softly, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you see something like relief wash over his face.

“I don’t think I can ever go back,” he says quietly, his voice laced with exhaustion, vulnerability.

You reach for him, and without another word, Loki walks into your arms, settling beside you on the bed. You pull the blankets up around both of you, and without a word, you curl up against him.

His arm drapes around you naturally, and you breathe in the warmth of his presence, the security of knowing that, no matter what happens, you

’ve found something real between you two.

“Thank you,” Loki murmurs softly, as if you’ve given him everything he’s ever wanted, even when you haven’t fully realized it yourself.

You smile, tracing circles on his chest with your fingers, whispering back, “No need for thanks. Just stay here, with me.”

The night deepens, and the world outside your chambers is cloaked in quiet, but inside, there’s an unmistakable warmth that envelopes both of you. Loki’s arm around you feels like the most natural thing in the world. As the minutes pass, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. There’s a comfort in the silence, in just being close to him. You feel safe here, as if this moment is yours and yours alone, something you both can keep in the quiet intimacy of the night.

Loki doesn’t speak, but the occasional brush of his lips against your temple is all the words you need. Each kiss is a small promise, gentle and soft, as though he’s trying to tell you everything his voice cannot. The warmth of his lips against your skin lingers long after he pulls back, and the weight of the past few months—the distance, the uncertainty, the doubts—slowly begins to dissolve. You realize now that it was never about the marriage contract, nor the obligations that bound you together; it was about this—this connection between the two of you that had always been there, waiting for the right moment to surface.

You kiss him back, tentatively at first, but as you feel him pull you closer, your kisses deepen. They’re slow and deliberate, as though you both want to savor this, to make sure it isn’t just a fleeting moment but a beginning. His lips are warm and soft, and every time they meet yours, there’s a spark—a connection that has been years in the making, one that now feels as though it’s blooming into something beautiful, fragile, and new.

The kisses grow longer, more meaningful, as if both of you are learning how to express the things you’ve kept hidden for so long. Loki’s hand gently cradles your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, as if memorizing the feel of your skin. He deepens the kiss slightly, and you meet him with equal fervor, the world outside fading away until there’s nothing left but the two of you, tangled in the quiet intimacy of shared tenderness.

When the kiss finally breaks, neither of you moves, just breathing in the same air. Loki’s forehead rests gently against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath, still heavy with emotion.

“Stay here,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with something you can’t quite put into words. It’s a question, but more than that, it’s a plea—a quiet request for this peace to last.

“I will,” you reply softly, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. And you mean it, more than anything. You know that, in this moment, everything between you has changed.

The night goes on quietly, both of you finding comfort in each other’s presence, the soft and tender kisses gradually fading into the warmth of shared silence. It’s a perfect peace, a moment of vulnerability and connection that neither of you had ever expected but now can’t imagine living without.

As the days pass, the dynamic between you and Loki shifts. What once seemed like a forced relationship, something borne out of duty and circumstance, is now something more. The distance that once existed between you two has shrunk, replaced by an ease that only comes when two people begin to trust each other in ways neither expected. Your interactions are now filled with light touches, shared glances, and quiet smiles. There’s a softness in Loki’s demeanor that wasn’t there before—a gentleness that’s slowly replacing the walls he’s built around himself.

You see it in the way he looks at you, the way he seeks out your presence even when there’s no need for it. There’s an undeniable shift in his behavior, one that others notice, too.

Frigga, ever observant, notices the change in the air the moment she steps into the palace halls. She smiles knowingly when she sees the way Loki watches you during breakfast, his eyes soft and full of affection. It’s the first time she’s seen him like this in a long while—less guarded, more present. She watches you both from across the room, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and relief. For all the missteps and misunderstandings, she’s always known that the two of you could find something real.

Thor, too, sees the change, though he’s not as subtle in his observations. He slaps Loki on the back one afternoon, his booming laugh echoing through the palace halls. “Well, well! Looks like someone’s finally figured it out,” he teases, a wide grin plastered on his face.

Loki stiffens at first, but then the corner of his lips quirks up, a smirk that’s less mocking and more content than it’s ever been. “What do you mean?” Loki asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t play coy,” Thor says, his tone playful. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. It’s about time, brother.”

Loki sighs, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I’m not in the mood for your commentary, Thor.”

But even as he says this, there’s a subtle flush to his cheeks, a fleeting moment of embarrassment that makes you chuckle softly. Loki’s pride may be as sharp as ever, but there’s a vulnerability there too, one that he tries to hide behind his biting sarcasm and quick wit.

As the days go by, your connection to Loki only deepens. The two of you spend more time together, finding moments of quiet solace amid the chaos of palace life. You talk—about everything and nothing at all. You learn more about each other in those quiet, unspoken moments than you ever did in the months before. It’s in the way he brushes your hair out of your face when it falls in your eyes or how he looks at you when you laugh at something absurd he says. It’s in the way he remembers small details about you, like the way you take your tea or how you always tie your shoes in the same knot.

The change doesn’t go unnoticed by the people around you. The courtiers whisper about it, the nobles gossip behind their fans. They notice the way Loki looks at you when you enter the room, how his eyes soften when you speak. They notice how the two of you sit together at dinner, heads close, sharing small private jokes no one else seems to understand. The shift in the way he treats you is almost palpable, and it doesn’t take long for the rest of the palace to catch on.

But the real surprise comes from the children.

It starts innocently enough. One evening, as you walk through the palace gardens with Loki, you hear giggling in the distance. When you look around, you see a group of young children playing near the fountain. They stop as soon as they notice you, eyes widening before they run over to you, their faces alight with excitement.

“Princess Y/N!” one of them exclaims, a little girl with bright red hair. “Is it true that you and Prince Loki are really married now?”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by the question, but before you can answer, another child chimes in.

“Yes! I heard you two are so in love!” The child’s voice is full of awe, as though this is the most magical thing they’ve ever heard.

Loki scoffs, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes. “I assure you, we’re simply fulfilling our duties. Nothing more.”

But the children aren’t convinced. They gather around you, bombarding you with questions. “When will you have babies?” one of them asks innocently.

You blush deeply, not quite sure how to handle the question. Loki looks absolutely mortified, but there’s an amused edge to his expression.

“Well,” you start, unsure of what to say, “we haven’t really discussed that yet. But we’re very happy.”

“Oh, I bet you are!” another child giggles, clearly not taking you seriously. “You two are always together now. You must be so in love!”

Loki looks at you in mild horror. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

You laugh, feeling the warmth in your chest spread. “I think we’ve just become a fairytale, Loki.”

The children’s excitement doesn’t end there. The next day, they’re playing again, this time reenacting your supposed “love story” with elaborate costumes. They insist on calling you and Loki the “Royal Lovers of Asgard,” and you can’t help but smile at their innocent enthusiasm. It’s impossible not to see the joy they find in the idea of your relationship, an idea that, in their eyes, is full of magic and wonder. The way they view you both—so wrapped up in this imagined romance—is innocent and sweet, and it makes you realize how far you and Loki have come.

As the days go by, the children’s stories spread throughout the palace. The courtiers begin whispering more frequently about the Royal Lovers, and soon enough, even the servants are in on the tale. You and Loki have become the subject of countless stories, both real and imagined. The court’s expectations of your relationship have shifted, but for the first time, it feels like you’re not just playing a part anymore. You’re both actively shaping this life, together.

And for all the teasing from Thor and the gossips from the children, there’s a part of you that feels proud of what you’ve built. It may have started as a duty, a contract forged by fate, but now it feels like something more. You and Loki are no longer bound by obligation alone. There’s affection, there’s trust, and there’s something deeper—something far more real.

It’s not the fairytale the kingdom expected, but it’s yours. And somehow, that feels perfect.

part 2 with royal kids? ;)

257 notes · View notes

joelalorian · 11 months ago

Text

Fall Into Me

dbf!Joel x f!reader

The first TLOU fic I ever read was a dbf!Joel story and it left an indelible mark on my soul. Unfortunately, I never bookmarked it so I have no idea which one it was. It's only natural that I had to try my hand at one at some point. So, here we are.

Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Story is inspired by the song Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk. Chapter titles will be lyrics from the song.

Word Count: 4.1k

Series Warnings: Mature to start, but will ultimately be Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. There will be angst, drama, fluff, humor, romance, smut... basically, the works. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname from her dad, which will be explained at some point.

Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Chapter One: The Day That I Met You

If you asked him over a decade ago where he’d be now, Joel Miller would not have placed himself as a single father to a tenacious pre-teen desperately trying to keep things afloat. He spent too many hours in the week working to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. He would be lost without the help of his brother and the few friends he had. He had no social life to speak of and could not for the life of him remember the last time he went on an actual date.

No, back then, Joel thought he’d be living the good life in ten years’ time – traveling, going out with the boys, maybe have a girlfriend or wife. Basically, just getting to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Don’t get him wrong, though. He was still living a good life; it just was a different sort of good than what he hoped for back in the day.

He loved his daughter with every fiber of his being. Sarah was the best damn thing that ever happened to him, his entire world, and he wouldn’t change the past ten years for anything. He bent over backwards doing whatever it took to make his little girl feel cared for, happy, and loved. He just wished there was a little energy left for something for himself at the end of the day.

Joel Miller was drained. Mentally, physically, and emotionally.

He awoke with a groan as the bright sunlight broke through the gap in his curtains. It was Saturday – his birthday – and he hoped to sleep in, at least a little. Between the brightness of the morning and the stifled sounds of clanging pans and voices carrying up the stairs from his kitchen, sleeping in was not happening.

He hauled himself out of bed with a groan worthy of a man twenty years his senior and stretched out his limbs to ease the achiness in his bare back and chest from too much manual labor. Throwing on a pair of well-worn sleep pants and a faded tee shirt, Joel slipped from his bedroom and down the stairs. He moved rather quietly for a man of his size, stealing a moment to lean against the entryway into the kitchen and watch as Sarah and Tommy worked together making breakfast.

The counters were a mess of spilled pancake mix, eggshells, and… was that coffee dripping over the edge and onto the floor? It was a toss-up on who made the bigger mess, his ten-year-old daughter, or his grown ass brother. Still, Joel could not stop the smile spreading across his face as he watched them laughing and teasing each other. That, right there, was the reason he worked so hard, why the loneliness was worth it.

When Tommy flipped the stovetop off, Sarah turned to find her dad smiling goofily at them. “Happy Birthday, Dad!” she exclaimed, launching herself at his chest. Her lanky arms wrapped around his neck as he lifted her off the ground in a big bear hug.

“Thanks, baby girl,” Joel replied, pressing his lips to her forehead in a quick kiss before he settled her feet on the ground.

“We made you breakfast!” Sarah declared, gesturing toward the disaster zone formerly known as his kitchen.

“I see that,” he chuckled, voice still slightly rough with sleep.

Tommy turned with a smirk, hands grasping two plates filled with bacon, eggs, and pancakes. “Take a seat, brother. Let us take care of you on your birthday.” Placing the food on the small dining table, Tommy roughly patted his brother’s shoulders. “Don’t worry ‘bout the mess, I’m on cleanup duty after we eat.”

“We expectin’ company? That’s a helluva lot of food,” Joel grumbled. He needed coffee, stat.

“Yeah, JB is comin’ over to see ya before heading to the airport. His daughter finished grad school over the summer and is moving back home.” Tommy set more food and a full mug of dark roast coffee in front of his brother. The scent alone made Joel perk up a little.

The Millers hadn’t met you yet, having only become friends with your dad through work after you’d already left for college on the east coast. Your dad had a good decade on Joel, but he and the Miller brothers got on like a forest fire from what he told you. With visits home always short and rushed, busy catching up with family and your own friends, there was never time for your dad to introduce you all. Now you were coming home for good and would have plentiful opportunities for spending time with your dad and his friends.

“Speak of the devil,” Tommy muttered as the doorbell rang. Sarah bounded to the door to greet your dad with a hug. In many ways, the girl reminded him of you when you were young, and it always brought a smile to his face.

“There he is! The man of the hour. Happy Birthday, buddy!” Your dad, John, or JB as the Millers called him, ruffled Joel’s already mussed hair, leaving a few locks standing straight up in further disarray. Pulling a 12-pack of beer from behind his back, your dad set it on the table in front of Joel, topped with a little red bow. “I gotcha a lil’ something to celebrate.”

“Good man,” Joel replied with a chuckle. “Have a seat and help me eat all this. Tommy just told me your lil’ girl is coming home, finally.”

Your dad’s face lit up even more at the mention of you coming home. “She’s not so little anymore, but I sure am glad she’s moving back here. Said she had enough of the east coast, but I think she just missed her ol’ man.” After wolfing down some food, he added, “Think we could host a small barbecue here this coming weekend to celebrate? Your backyard is way nicer than mine and you got the pool and all.”

“Not to mention that fancy ass grill,” Tommy chimed in.

Swallowing a long sip of his morning go juice, Joel nodded. “Of course. Invite whoever you want. I’m looking forward to finally meeting your daughter.”

“Me too!” Sarah added. She heard a lot about you from your dad and hoped you were as cool in person as he made you out to be.

Joel’s mind started spinning upon hearing his daughter’s excitement. With her school hours being so different from his typical work hours, he was spending a small fortune on after school care for Sarah. She was still too young for him to leave home alone, especially on those days where he’s stuck late at a job. He was barely scraping by as it was and couldn’t really afford the cost of after school programs. Perhaps…

“JB, ya think your daughter would mind watching Sarah during the week while she’s home. Drop off and pick up from school and keeping her company ‘til I get home from work? I could pay her – it wouldn’t be much, but better than nothin’, I imagine.” He watched Sarah’s eyes light up at the suggestion and knew it was a good choice.

“I’m sure she’d love to. She wasn’t planning on finding a real job until after the holidays, so I know she’ll be free during the day,” your dad replied. “I’ll talk to her about it on the ride back from the airport and let you know.”

Three suitcases and a carry-on bag. That’s all you had left from six and a half years of pursuing higher education in North Carolina. You sold or gave away anything that did not fit into your luggage or hold sentimental value of your time away. Now, you were moving back home to save some money before you had to start chipping away at the mountain of student loan debt you accrued.

You loved learning, always have, but you were relieved to be done with school. Equipped with a bachelor’s degree in earth sciences and a master’s in education, you felt like a real adult ready to take the world of middle school by storm… well, starting after the new year, maybe. For now, you needed several months of limited to no responsibility to recoup your mental and physical energy. That last couple years of school really burned you out. Not to mention the last-minute rejection of a teaching position you thought was in the bag…

Anyway, you were better off leaving North Carolina behind and returning to Austin. You missed your dad something fierce and his particular brand of caring for you was exactly what your weary soul needed. It was you and him against the world, just like when you were a kid.

You flight was smooth and uneventful, yet you were relieved to deboard the plane. Something about being stuck in a tin can at the mercy of someone else’s ability to keep the thing from plummeting to the ground really aggravated your anxiety. Flying was something you would never enjoy; it was merely a means to an end when you wanted to travel long distances.

The journey to baggage claim was a slog with the crowd of passengers all heading to the same place. You were wondering how you’d wrangle three large suitcases by yourself when you caught sight of your dad. His broad smile took over his face when he spotted you, rushing over to sweep you up in a big bear hug.

“Hey Spud, how was the flight?” he asked as you waited for the baggage carousel to begin moving. “Looks like it was a full plane.”

“It was, but the flight was good. I’m really glad to be home.”

“Me, too, kid.”

You settled into a comfortable silence, watching various pieces of luggage pass by on the carousel. Your bags were scattered, and you had to wait several cycles to get all of them. Your dad lugged the final suitcase over the carousel with a grunt. “Jesus, what you got in this one? Bricks? A body?”

“That one has my gaming system and half a closet full of clothes,” you replied with a laugh.

Before long, everything was loaded into your dad’s truck, and you were heading back towards town. The radio hummed at a low volume as you both chatted about everything and nothing all at once.

“Hey, so I know you said you weren’t looking for full-time work until after the new year, but I have a proposition for you.” Your dad’s eyes stayed focused on the road, and you merely quirked a brow waiting for him to continue. “My buddy Joel – you know the one I told you about? Well, his daughter is ten and he needs some help with the school run and after school care. Our work hours aren’t exactly the same as elementary school, you know?”

You nodded, remembering all the times your dad spoke to you about Joel, as well as his daughter and brother. Despite never meeting them, you felt like you already knew their whole life story. “So, he’s looking for a nanny or something? I could do that. It would keep me from getting lazy while I navigate getting my Texas teaching certificate.”

Your dad grinned, one hand patting your leg. “I was hoping you’d say that. Joel will pay you, of course, but just… don’t expect much. It ain’t easy for him being a single dad trying to keep everything afloat.”

Again, you nodded, a soft smile creasing your lips. You knew all too well how challenging it could be for single parents, having grown up with just you and your dad. Much like what your dad told you about Joel’s experience with the mother of his child, your mom split when you were barely a toddler. Things weren’t always sunshine and roses, but your dad sure did his best to make sure you had a great life. Honestly, you wouldn’t trade it for the world, that life with your dad. You had a feeling it was much the same for Joel and his daughter.

“I’m happy to help, even if he doesn’t pay me. I’m sure his daughter will enjoy having a female influence in her life if nothing else. What’s her name again? Sarah?”

Your dad’s eyes twinkled with pride. “Yup, that’s it. I’m proud of the woman you’ve become, Spud.”

A mist of tears prickled your eyes as you mumbled out a “Thanks, dad.” After a beat, you added, “Must you keep up with that nickname?”

“Of course. You’ll always be my little Spud,” he laughed as you rolled your eyes. “Oh, by the way, we’re going to the Millers on Saturday for your welcome home party.”

“What’s all this?” Joel questioned as Tommy and Sarah placed a heavy, wrapped package on the table before him along with a few smaller presents. The remains of a birthday cake sat nearby, having been delightfully devoured by the Millers while celebrating Joel’s birthday.

“Just a little somethin’ from me and Sarah,” Tommy replied, a boyish grin alighting his handsome features.

Joel gazed between them with curiosity. Not big on celebrating his own aging, he rarely got big gifts. “You wanna help me open this, nugget?” Sarah’s eyes lit up, small hands reaching to tear the wrapping paper into shreds. It only took a few moments for the contents to be revealed, leaving Joel confused at the modern contraption sitting in front of him. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“You play video games on it, dumbass.” Tommy harumphed as he began a diatribe on the features of the gaming system – he had one just like it at his place and it provided hours of entertainment when he didn’t feel like going out. “I figured it would be a good hobby for you since you never want to join me in going out.”

“Huh,” Joel grunted in return, brows furrowed as he read the instructions on how to setup up the machine. His attention was diverted by Sarah shoving the smaller parcels into his lap.

“Here, dad! These go with it.” Together, they tore into the wrapping paper to find several video games, a few of which were family friendly. The final gift was a spare controller for the gaming system so he and Sarah could play together.

Despite still being unsure that the gift was a good fit for him, Joel was grateful to Tommy for the effort. “This is too much, man. You shouldn’t spend this kind of money on me, Tommy.”

His brother waved him off. “I found a great deal and you never get anything for yourself, brother. You deserve something to indulge in. Believe me, you’ll have fun with this.”

The rest of the evening was spent with Tommy setting up the system and showing the father-daughter duo how to play some of the games he picked out. The living room filled with lots of laughter and teasing, and Joel found himself really getting into the fun of the video games.

After tucking Sarah into bed, Tommy showed Joel a game that was too violent for the little girl but entertaining for the men. The game was set in Washington DC which had been ravaged by a brutal pandemic and the main character was part of a group of agents fighting off nefarious gangs trying to take over the city. Joel caught onto the gameplay quickly and the two men found themselves building the loadout for Joel’s character, taking out bad guys, and chatting well into the night.

At two in the morning, the pair looked at each other with bleary, red-rimmed eyes and finally called it a night. Joel directed Tommy to crash in the spare room as he shuffled off to bed upstairs.

It didn’t take you long to get settled into your dad’s house. It wasn’t the home you grew up in and you only visited a few times after he bought it. After years living away on your own, you thought it would be an adjustment being under his roof again, but it wasn’t. He understood the need for personal space and never hovered unless you were hurt or sick. He gave you the downstairs bedroom – it was the largest in the house, with an ensuite bath and huge walk-in closet.

“Dad, no! Why in the world is this not your room?” you questioned when he placed your bags on the brand-new, king size bed he had delivered the week prior.

“Hell no, Spud. What do I need all this space for? I like the upstairs rooms better – the light is all wrong in this one anyway.”

You looked around, holding in a giggle. The room faced south, giving you just the right amount of natural light all day. That’s what your dad didn’t like. He preferred to live like a bat in a cave with blackout curtains and limited lighting.

“Alright, well, I love it. The natural light is perfect for me. I can actually put some plants on the windowsills. Thank you!” You kissed his cheek as he left you to get settled.

You spent the week rearranging the bedroom how you wanted it, setting up your gaming system, and putting all your clothes into the walk-in closet. Your dad hadn’t done much with the room other than furnish it, so you made a few trips to the store to get a bathroom set, floor lamps, and wall décor to make the room your own.

Before you knew it, Saturday morning dawned bright and warm. The day of your welcome home gathering arrived, and you would finally get to meet the Millers. An excited energy had you moving about your space in a flurry, tidying up and getting ready early. You’d seen some photos of the Millers that your dad sent you – Sarah was adorable with her dark, springy curls, and Joel… Joel was handsome, in a broody, overworked kind of way, with dark, riotous curls and big, warm chocolate eyes. Kind eyes, you called them.

“Hey Spud, you ready?” your dad called from the kitchen as you put the finishing touches on your hair. It was pinned up, leaving the smooth skin of your neck bare. The sundress you picked hugged your curves in just the right way, falling just at your knees in a flow of lightweight material. In early October, Austin was still hot, and you hoped the Millers’ yard was shaded.

“Bring a swimsuit! They have a pool!” he yelled as you grabbed the last of your things. Turning back to your closet, you grabbed a dark green one-piece suitable for family-friendly swimming and tucked it into your bag.

“I’m ready!”

Your dad smiled at the sight of you. “Let’s go then. We’re heading over early so you can officially meet the Millers and we’ll help them setup before everyone else arrives.”

“Sounds good. Who all’s coming anyway?” Your eyes widened as your dad rattled off a list of people he invited, including his work buddies and some of his and Joel’s neighbors. He would have invited some of your old friends from high school, but you all lost touch over the years. The party was turning out bigger than you thought. Your heart swelled with how happy your dad was to have you home for good.

The Millers lived in the same neighborhood, only a few blocks away, so close you could have walked if not for the scorching sun. The drive took only a few minutes before your dad pulled into the driveway of a two-story home similar to your dad’s, with simple landscaping and two wooden rocking chairs on the wide porch. Lovely and quaint, the house made you more curious about the people who lived there.

“Dayum! Get a load a JB’s daughter, Joel,” Tommy called from the living room, leaning over the couch to look out the front window. “She’s smokin’ hot!”

“Dammit, Tommy. Stop spying on ‘em,” Joel growled, sneaking a peek over his brother’s shoulder to do a little hypocritical spying of his own. Breath caught in his throat at the sight of you and he couldn’t break his gaze away, even as JB led you toward the front door.

“What was that about spyin’, brother?” Tommy teased, practically dragging Joel away from the window as a knock sounded against the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”

Tommy opened the heavy wooden door revealing the pair of you standing there, matching bright eyes and wide grins greeting him. “Well, hello there, beautiful. I’m Tommy.” Reaching a hand toward you, Tommy completely ignored JB, who just scowled at him.

“Nice to meet you, Tommy,” you replied, offering him your hand and name in return. Joel’s scowl matched your dad’s expression as Tommy held your hand for several beats too long.

“Back off, Tommy,” your dad grunted, swatting at the younger Miller brother. “This here is Tommy’s brother, Joel. The one who actually owns this house and the better Miller, if you ask me.”

“Ain’t no one askin’ you, old man,” Tommy’s smart mouth shot back at your dad.

Joel ignored both men, eyes like dark pools as he gazed at you, awed at how small and delicate your hand felt in his. “Howdy, darlin’,” his voice rumbled from his chest. “Come on in. There’s someone else lookin’ forward to meeting you.”

Leading the way through the kitchen into the backyard, Joel felt the heat of your gaze burning his back. Were you checking him out? There was no way. You were beautiful and likely in your early twenties. He felt ancient, though he was only in his early thirties, the hard labor of construction work having taken its toll on him.

“Hi Dad!” a young, sweet voice called from a small swing set where a precious little girl entertained herself. “Who’s this?”

Joel introduced you to his daughter, leaving the two of you to get acquainted as your dad called him away.

“You were away at college?” Sarah questioned, motioning for you to take a seat on the swing next to hers.

“I was,” you replied. “But I’m back for good now.”

“That’s good. What grade did you get to? I’m in fourth grade.”

You thought about it a moment. “I guess it would be 18th grade. But you stop counting grade numbers after 12th and start using different words to describe what year you’re in during college.”

Sarah listened raptly while you explained the different terms, what you studied in school, and what kind of job you were hoping to get.

“You want to be a teacher?” she asked, awed.

“I do! I want to teach middle grade science.”

“I love science! Maybe you could be my teacher when I get to sixth grade!”

Joel returned with your dad and Tommy in tow to find you and Sarah having a blast. The little girl sat in your lap as you kicked your feet out, swinging as high as you could, singing some camp song you remembered from your youth.

“See? Told ya she’d love to spend time with Sarah,” your dad said to Joel. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, staring at the two of you with a glazed look in his dark eyes.

Shaking himself off, Joel turned to your dad. “Guess I better work out some details with her.” He stepped over to the swing set, taking a seat on the empty swing and hoping to the heavens above that it held his weight. He struggled internally on how to start the conversation and was just about to blurt something out when his amazing daughter saved the day.

“Dad! She wants to be a teacher! A science teacher! Isn’t that cool? Did you ask her about watching me yet? I think she’d love to.” Sarah rambled on excitedly, amusing you and Joel. Turning to you before Joel could chime in, Sarah turned to you with baby cow eyes, adding, “You would love to, right?”

How could you ever resist that look? No one could. Both you and Joel were powerless as you nodded, and the offer became official. Cell numbers were exchanged and before you knew it, you had a job starting Monday.

Hours later, slightly drunk on spiked fruit punch and buzzing with energy, you thanked Joel for hosting the barbecue and giving you a job. You kissed his stubbled cheek, forcing thoughts of how attractive he was as far down as they could go. You could not develop a crush on your boss. “I’ll see you Monday morning, bright and early!” you declared before following your dad through the front door.

TBC

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel x female reader #the last of us #tlou #dbf!joel #Fall Into Me #pedro pascal #eventual smut #eventual romance

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lotsoflola · 1 year ago

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early mornings - j. jaehyun

summary: a slow, lazy morning between you and your boyfriend genre: relationship au warnings: fluffy smut, like sickly sweet fluffy smut, so self indulgent icl word count: 1.8k author's note: first ever imagine on tumblr, hope you guys like

it was quiet when you woke up that morning.

not silent. a low rumble of the early traffic rose from the streets to your apartment window, left slightly open because your boyfriend insisted it was too hot to sleep without some air in the room. you protested, like you always did, but he insisted that he could keep you warm in his arms. and he wasn't wrong with that. a whisper of wind tickled the curtains, letting pockets of weak winter sunlight gently illuminate the room.

not silent. birds chirped softly outside, all in harmony with each other, mother nature at her best. that was partly the reason you begged jaehyun to move in with you, and not the other way around. yes, he had the bigger and more luxurious apartment, but you lived further away from the centre of seoul, away from the hustle and bustle of businessmen and playboys. your place was on the outskirts, near enough that everything was close to you, but far enough that nature was all around you, and you got to wake up to bird song.

not silent. your boyfriend's breath fanned just under your ear, sound so gentle it was almost sending you back to sleep. you head was tucked under his, arm slung over your hip, slid underneath the baggy t-shirt you had 'borrowed' from him, pulling your back into his chest. you couldn't physically be closer together, legs tangled together like you were frightened something or someone was trying to pull you apart. it felt like that sometimes, when he was away for weeks at a time and the timezones didn't match well, it felt like the universe was trying to tell you something. but you never let it sway you. you knew you loved him. you always would.

you felt him stir behind you after just a few minutes, probably because of the quickly rising sun brightening the room. his thumb shifted slightly, and goosebumps followed wherever his touch went. he always loved how responsive you were, how much you craved his touch, how much he affected you. he was your drug, your addiction you couldn't live without. you craved him, and he loved that you did.

"morning, sweetheart," he rasped, voice hoarse and thick with sleep.

you just hummed in response, settling further into the cushions, his gentle touch the only thing filling your mind. you stayed like that for a while, the knowledge that the other was there and in your presence enough to satisfy the mind.

he planted a soft kiss into your head, still felt through the tangles of your bed hair. "still awake?"

you hummed again. "still awake."

you felt his hand rise, inch by inch, up your chest. his cold touch trailed up the valley of your breasts, chest held tense as you held your breath, trying to anticipate his next move, use every piece of knowledge you had collected over the time you've known him to try and work out something, anything.

"jae-," you whined as his hand finally brushed over your right nipple, touch featherlight, nowhere near enough of what you wanted, what you needed.

he left out a soft chuckle, breathy and carefree. "tell me what you want, sweetheart."

you shook your head. "too tired, baby. don't do this now."

jaehyun loved to tease, loved to see how far he could push you, how close you could get to the edge of pleasure and pain. but on mornings like these, where your brain wasn't fully awake yet, at least not enough to enjoy the thrill of his teasing, you just wanted him, in any way he could give to you.

he didn't say anything, but seemed to understand your drift, fingers coming together to pinch your nipple, and the feeling was so so so good that your arched your back away from him, letting out a whiny moan. it was so basic, so simple, yet when it was him, it was like the heavens were shining down upon you, filling you with complete and utter euphoria.

his other hand joined in on your other breast, doubling the pleasure, and you could physically feel your breaths getting shallower.

"more, please jae," you whined, "need more of you."

he let out a playful scoff. "only been touching you for a few minutes and you're already a mess, huh? god, i love you-"

whatever he was planning on saying next was cut short as his lips attached to your neck, instantly sucking against your sweet spot, the place that he knew could turn you on all too well. your hips brushed against him, feeling the growing length of him against your ass. he groaned into your skin, biting down ever so slightly, while a hand slid down your stomach and started fiddling with the waistband of the panties you had slept in.

he groaned as he felt the material, the same lace he had fucked you in earlier in the week. the feeling brought him back to that time, he could remember every second of that night. the way your legs wrapped around his head as he went down on you, the way your tongue swirled around the head of his cock as you returned the favour, the way you rode him like your life depending on it - all the memories added to the feeling growing in his boxers, and he knew that he just had to fuck you soon, or it felt like the earth would stop spinning round the sun.

as soon as his fingers brushed over your clit he chuckled, pulling them out and admiring them. they glistened in the weak sunlight, the sparkle catching your eye as he brought it towards his mouth, licking off your juices.

"fuck, sweetheart," he practically moaned at the taste, and at you grinding down against him, desperate for contact. "taste so sweet, and i haven't properly touched you yet."

"baby, baby please," you whined, grabbing his wrist and bringing it down to where you needed him the most. "need you, baby. need you so fucking much."

he chuckled softly, but gave into your begging, fingertips tracing loose circles against your clit. "you're so beautiful, you know that? fucking prettiest girl in the world."

you turned your head slightly, and he did the same, so you could meet each other in a loving, sloppy kiss, tongues swirling around each other as he kept the pace on your clit, moaning into each others mouths.

the feeling was only emphasised when he dipped two fingers into you, with ease due to how wet you already were, curling them up against that spot inside of you, and if you thought your moans were loud before, they were deafening now, even with the muffling of charles' mouth. you disconnected the kiss, throwing your head back against his shoulder, quick shallow breaths against your boyfriend's neck as he kept doing what he was doing. and god was he good at it; he knew your body like the back of his hand - no better than that. he was the only man you had been with who could have you crumbling within minutes, or even seconds, and you loved him that little bit more for it.

it had only been a few minutes and you could already feel your orgasm fast approaching, but there was no need to tell jaehyun. he already knew, judging by the fact he was speeding up his fingers, his thumb now firmly settled on your clit.

"close, pretty girl?" he almost teased, planting a kiss on your forehead.

you nodded as best as you could, in too much pleasure to even answer him, just able to moan as your hips bucked slightly against his hand. and you let out the least holy sound in the world as you finally came undone on his fingers, body tensing then relaxing in jaehyun's arms. he slowed down his movements as he carried you through your orgasm, before slowly sliding them out and back up to his mouth for the second time.

you could only focus on calming your breaths, but your boyfriend had other ideas, pulling his now hard dick out of the boxers he slept in and dragging it through your slick. you turned your neck around, grabbing his jaw and pulling him in for a thanking kiss.

"love you, love you so much baby," you panted, whimpering as his dick began to push into you slightly. "want you to fuck me, fuck me however you want."

and how could he ignore such a sweetly spoken invitation, finally sliding himself entirely into you, letting out a deep grunt as he got fully inside. you couldn't even speak, a choked moan coming out of your throat as he began to move back and forth.

"씨발, 자기," he always ended up speaking in korean when he first fucked you, claiming that he was in so much pleasure that he literally couldn't think in english. "네가 내 주위에 있을 때면 난 항상 기분이 좋아."

you chuckled, your korean good but not quite that good. "english, jae. can't understand you."

"i said," he thrusted especially hard then, your mouth falling into an 'o' shape naturally when his dick brushed the spot he knew all too well, "that you feel so fucking good wrapped around me."

his hands wrapped around your body, holding you as close as physically possible as he kept the pace up. both of you knew you weren't lasting long - you because you were already so sensitive from your last orgasm, and him because he was so in love with you that he never lasted that long when he was fucking you.

"not gonna last long, sweetheart," he panted, fucking into you faster than ever, "you feel too good."

"neither, baby, i'm gonna cum, i'm gonna cum, fuck-"

as you said that you came on his dick, and the way you squeezed around him triggered his own orgasm, releasing inside of you as both of you guys collapsed against each other, thin layer of sweat covering both you bodies, him slowly sliding out of you. you somehow found the energy to turn yourself around, so you could see him properly for the first time this morning.

"you're so pretty," you muttered, hand rising to cup his cheek, post-orgasm glow adorning his cheeks.

he blushed slightly, making a natural smile pull your cheeks up. "the same could be said for you."

the jobs for the day could wait, you two just needed a moment to stare into each others eyes, to show each others love for each other, and to snuggle yourself into your boyfriend's arms.

#nct smut #nct imagine #nct x reader #nct drabbles #nct 127 smut #nct 127 imagine #nct 127 x reader #jaehyun smut #jaehyun imagines #nct jaehyun smut #nct jaehyun x reader #jung jaehyun x reader #jung jaehyun smut

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chocsra · 7 months ago

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✧ "MY KIND OF WOMAN"

☆ summary ↺: finding out that your crush, chuuya nakahara's type is the complete opposite of you, his close friend.

☆ content ↺: small oneshot, fluff, highschool au, other mentions of bsd chars (+gin, tachihara, hirotsu & dazai)

☆ song ↺: my kind of woman by mac demarco <3

☆ w/c ↺: 2k

sometimes, you felt unsure of yourself.

your parents and the people around you assured that there will be someone—no, plenty of people that would love you and your personality. you were rowdy, energetic and outspoken. very honestly yelling about cringe phrases in public. loved ones around you such as friends, would often shush you or swear you're going to be the death of them.

no—you weren't really weird, just humourous, mischevious and cheeky. yes, sometimes, it affected your love life. nonetheless, the people in your life always said there is someone out there who wants someone exactly like you. you are the ideal in someone's heart.

it made you wonder if others accepted their partner's flaws because they love them, or love your significant other for their flaws.

"man, i don't know."

your eyes roll at the guy beside you, sweating in his basketball uniform and adjusting his sports headband as you two sat at the foot of the bleachers. "very helpful, chuuya."

he was wearing red.

his uniform was red, his hair a colour of copper—but in sunlight he could be mistaken for ginger. and he had this look in his eyes, a look you can't but admire. it was full of passion, but he always suppressed his emotions. chuuya never expressed his emotions well.

and that's how chuuya nakahara was, a complete idiot. you were talked your ear off back then by him geeking out over a girl he likes but can't seem to express it well. though you get teased by him for keeping your head deep in the books when it comes to romance, you found yourself comforting him at 3am when he can't get his mind off another girl, who probably broke his heart.

that was the past when you were both new to highschool, of course he wanted a girlfriend. which was especially difficult since he was best friends with the basketcase of the school—dazai osamu. well, even he had girls liking him, which was surprising since he's not exactly friends with this thing called deodorant.

"well, why would you see flaws in somebody you love and think it's something to be changed?" the boy inquires, chugging his waterbottle. "when you don't love them, flaws shouldn't matter, and when you do love them, their flaws should be part of the reason you do."

cute, you thought.

"that's how it should be!" — you pause, waving your hands all over the place trying to express yourself, "but not everyone thinks like that, y'know?"

he chuckles, "well, unlucky for you, some people's flaws can be unbearable." you shoot a glare at your friend, "the hell is 'unlucky for you' supposed to mean?"

chuuya snickers, "nothing." he looks up at the gym's ceiling, eyebrows scrunching when he sees the numerous dodgeballs stuck up there. how did that get up there? he thinks for a second. you wrinkle your nose in distaste, "—asshole." he quickly averts his gaze from the ceiling, to your scrunched up face.

"hey!"

after settling down from trying to flick each other's foreheads for an extended period of time, you squish your cheek onto your palm. "since we were on the topic of relationships, what is your type in a girl?" you ask casually, the usual hustle and bustle of basketball boys and their friends watching screaming in the gym. "my type in a girl?.."

he thinks for a second, finger tapping on his chin.

"i like elegant girls, girls who are super classy." he smirks, closing his eyes with confidence in his answer.

your eyes widen a bit,

—you were nothing like any of those things.

"well, my type is tall guys." you quickly retort, the redhead almost pouts, before refraining it to a scoff.

"chuuya, we need you on the court, man!" a firm call back runs from one of his teammates, "oh shit," the redhead quickly gets up, setting his waterbottle.

"see ya later, idiot." his lips curve up in a slight smile, ruffling your hair gently before returning to court.

this day sucked already.

"i've been good today.. i burnt 15 ants instead of the usual 30."

chuuya felt is eye twitch, standing near the incinerator with his childhood friend, dazai osamu. "i really fuckin' wish we weren't neighbours."

he remembers back then when his mother would tell the boy to play with his neighbour, dazai. unfortunately, he managed to stick with him forever and ever.

the brunette ruffles his wavy brown hair, crouching down to fiddle with a few new ants. "so what's new, midget?" chuuya almost swears he throws his lit lighter onto the kid right there, before scoffing, "don't call me that, bastard." the bandaged student looks at him blankly, as if he knew the redhead was bothered.

chuuya sighs, "okay, well, [y/n]'s been kinda off lately, and she won't tell me why."

dazai sighs, letting go of the ant he's been holding. "what did you do this time? if a woman is acting off, it's 100% your fault." the ginger scoffs in response, "well, our last conversation was at the bleachers. she asked me what my type was and i responded with elegant and classy girls, and she hasn't been the same since. she even said after her type was tall guys!"

the brunette smirks again, snickering devilshly for a good hot minute. "what the hell? cut it out, man. you're scarin' me!" chuuya protests, before dazai asks him:"you told [y/n] that you like elegant girls, and you have a crush on her?"

the redhead pauses and thinks about that statement for a while, "yeah, what's wrong with that?" he tilts his head in confusion. "you're so inconsiderate, chuuya." dazai hums, "[y/n]'s the polar opposite of elegant and classy."

it suddenly hits chuuya like a brick — but he still rummages to work against that statement.

"dude, you're wrong! she's got a super classy smile, and really elegant hands. even the way she moves is elegant. and—" dazai shoves a bandaged hand in his face, "please, i don't wanna hear it."

"if you want her to actually like you back, tell her that she's your type, and whatever you just said right now." dazai gets up, patting the dirt off his ass. "or, be like me, and invite her to a double suicide date."

chuuya closes his eyes in disdain, "kill yourself." the teenager smirks, "you don't have to tell me twice, slug."

"you don't understaaannndddd!!" you whine, playing the flute despondently at band practice. the girl beside you purses her lips, before writing in her pocket notebook — it's just his type. and i think you're elegant in your own way.

you pout at reading that, before sluggishly getting up. "thanks, gin..." you thank, before another redhead flashily enters band practice. "sorry for being late, mr. hirotsu, somethin' came up." your band teacher nods, before tachihara, an outspoken second year, strides up to you and gin.

"what's up with her?" the boy asks, before sitting down and fiddling with his trumphet. gin writes down — [y/n] found out chuuya's type was the complete opposite of her. tachihara looks for a moment, before laughing: "pfft.."

gin, a super pretty but androgynous second year then tells him to shut up by smacking his shoulder, earning a yelp from tachihara. "eek! well, listen, that guy is total shit anyway.. besides his super cool motorcycle, and killer smile, and his super cool motorcycle.. damn, wish i could get somethin' like that."

"shut up, tachihara." you mumble, as he scoffs dramatically, adjusting the bandage on his nose. "shouldn't you just continue talking to him? him having a type doesn't mean he doesn't like you." the redhead reasons, before reading the sheet music. "yeah but, now i think of all the girls he used to like.. and i'm nothing like them." you frown, slumping again onto the desk.

"y'know what they say.. the past is past, like how i thought gin was a boy." tachihara shrugs, frowning when he sees the middle finger she shoots at him, "i'm telling your brother you did that to me." he quips, before gin clears her throat, her silky raven hair tied back in a ponytail. "he'll beat your sorry ass." she says in the girliest voice possible.

tachihara yelps before your band teacher, mr. hirotsu reprimands you three for slacking off, frowning as you guys apologize, tachihara whispers: "point is, just talk to him." the boy says, as gin nods. "—unless you told him that you liked tall guys after, that would send him into cardiac arrest." he concluded, you gulped in slight guilt.

gin whispered in a gentle tone, "did you actually?.." you don't respond and frown even more.

"damn, you suck." tachihara finishes, yelping as the teacher yells at him again. "sorry, sir!"

it was another day, well, end of the day.

most students already went home, but you decided to stay at school to study for a bit. unbeknownst to your knowledge, it was raining heavily, and luckily for you, you had no umbrella. you sigh, jamming your earbuds in before walking out of the roof you covered yourself in.

except, upon your first step outside, you still felt no rain.

then, you saw chuuya's umbrella covering you. "hm?" you turn to him, surprised. "hey, you shouldn't get sick before my game, idiot." he chuckles as you two walked in the rain, under the same umbrella. "no way!" you smile.

an awkward silence came over you two. "uhm, about the other day," the boy starts off as you immediately flush — of course he noticed that you were upset. "hey! it's nothing serious, i—" chuuya shushes you by successfully flicking your head. you yelp, "ow.." rubbing your forehead. the boy swallows thickly, "i wanted to correct myself, actually."

raindrops. they moved at a steady pace, falling onto his black umbrella above you two, onto the pavement, and onto the cars passing by. you looked over at chuuya, who never followed dress-code, who had his button-up and tie neatly ironed. he strangely followed the dress-code perfectly today. "elegant and classy's not my type, actually."

you pause, thinking for a second. "then what is?"

"good question, actually." chuuya quips, adjusting his tie. he was completely confident when speaking, but you couldn't help but stare at the nervous quivering of his slender hands. "y'know that question you asked about flaws? it made me think that somewhere out there, every person is who someone has been exactly looking for. everyone in the world is someone's ideal type." he explained, inhaling sharply.

"—and i, uh," chuuya's words strained his throat, his cheeks are blazing and he has an odd coordination when walking. "you're my— ugh,"

cute, you thought, before internally slapping yourself.

"you're my kind of, mm, seriously?" the redhead stutters, rubbing two fingers against his temple, exhaling sharply. "you're my kind of girl, and—"

you felt a raindrop hit your cheek, it was cold and quick. but this feeling, it was slow and cherishing. warm, like a sunny day in a field of flowers, or another resting day of keeping your head in the books. after moping around for days, maybe tachihara was right. the whole ordeal was stupid, just like chuuya.

"—i like you too." you cut him off.

chuuya almost drops his umbrella in shock, as an abundance of rain water splashes onto you two. "shit!" he curses, feeling shitty for ruining the moment, but you laugh, extending out your hand to his, smiling brightly.

his lips curve into a smile, "okay, maybe this isn't that bad." chuuya quips, intertwining your fingers into his, before pressing a gentle kiss to the spot on your forehead he flicked earlier.

today, it felt like running through a field of flowers on a sunny day, even though it was raining and you got sick the next day. but it only felt that way because you had him next to you the entire time.

—in truth, he was your type too, and no, tall men were never your type.

✧ chocsra™

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lelengerine · 5 months ago

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pairing. jaemin x reader

synopsis. what do you do when your feelings for your best friend start becoming not-so-platonic anymore?

genre. childhood best friends to lovers au, just jaemin realizing his feelings, pls imagine them living in a small town near the beach 🙂‍↕️, gender neutral reader, lmk if there's anything that was missed!

wc. 1.2k words

notes. inspired by holyland - wave to earth! such a good song and i highly suggest reading this while it plays as bgm >< this won the poll i had up yesterday so yay! likes and feedback are highly appreciated!

m.list

the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the sand as you and jaemin walked side by side, the rhythmic crash of waves the only sound filling the silence between you. the air was warm, a soft breeze tugging at your clothes, and your laughter echoed across the empty stretch of beach as you nudged him with your shoulder.

“come on, jaem, you’re still so slow,” you teased, jogging ahead a few steps, turning to face him with that playful grin he’d grown so fond of. you never changed, he thought. always light, always glowing, even when the rest of the world felt heavy.

jaemin’s steps slowed, and he watched as you spun around in the sand, your arms outstretched like a child, completely carefree. the sight of you bathed in the fading sunlight—hair tousled by the breeze, your face flushed from the sea air—did something to him. there was a pull, a weight pressing on his chest that he couldn’t shake. he stopped in his tracks, eyes tracing the curve of your smile, the way your laughter rang through the air, unburdened and effortless.

maybe i’ve been walking along with grief… can’t find the love within my heart.

how long had it been like this? how long had he been chasing after things that didn’t matter, only to realize that what he wanted most had been right beside him all along? the realization settled over him like a wave, gentle yet unrelenting, washing away the distractions he’d been clinging to.

he was in love with you.

the thought hit him with a clarity that left him breathless. all those moments—sharing late-night snacks, lying under the stars, trading inside jokes that only the two of you understood—he hadn’t realized what they truly meant until now. jaemin’s chest tightened, a quiet fear gnawing at him. what if he’d already lost his chance? what if you didn’t feel the same way?

“jaemin?” your voice broke through his thoughts, a soft question laced with concern. you’d stopped spinning, eyes wide as you tilted your head at him. “you okay?”

he blinked, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “yeah, i’m fine.” but even as he said it, the words felt heavy, like they didn’t belong to him.

you moved closer, the sand crunching under your feet. “you’re so weird today,” you murmured, a teasing lilt in your voice, but there was something more—something searching, like you knew there was more to his silence.

jaemin’s gaze drifted away from yours, back toward the horizon where the sun was sinking lower, its golden light reflecting off the water’s surface. he swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. how was he supposed to say it? how could he put into words everything that had been building inside him without unraveling the delicate balance of your friendship?

can you settle down my soul? and take me back to the days of old with you.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “it’s just… i don’t know. being here makes me think about a lot of stuff.”

you raised a brow, folding your arms over your chest as you took a seat in the sand, motioning for him to join you. “stuff like what?”

jaemin hesitated, the weight of his confession hanging on the tip of his tongue. he dropped down beside you, his fingers absentmindedly drawing shapes in the sand. “stuff like… how things have changed. how i’ve changed.” his voice was quieter now, laced with uncertainty.

you didn’t say anything, just waited patiently, eyes locked on him, like you were giving him all the space he needed to figure out what he wanted to say. and maybe that’s why it was so hard—because you always knew him so well. you could see past his smiles, his jokes, even his silence.

i’m laying in the grass, a daydream in the sun… i’m back inside your peace.

he’d always thought that was enough—just being close to you, being your best friend, the person you turned to when the world felt too big or too lonely. but somewhere along the way, that had changed for him. being near you wasn’t enough anymore. he wanted more, craved it in a way that scared him.

“i’ve been thinking about us,” jaemin admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it louder would make the truth too real. “about what we mean to each other.”

you tilted your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. “we’re best friends, jaem. we’ve always been.”

he nodded, but his chest tightened. that was exactly it—best friends. the words felt too small, too limiting for what he felt. “i know. but… i think i’ve been lying to myself about what that means for a long time.”

your brow furrowed, confusion clouding your expression. “what do you mean?”

jaemin’s breath hitched, and he could feel his heart racing, the fear clawing at him again. but he couldn’t hide it anymore—not from you, not from himself. “i think i’ve been in love with you for a while now.”

the confession spilled out, unplanned and raw, leaving him feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way he’d never felt before. his eyes darted to yours, searching for any sign of how you might respond. would you laugh it off, tell him he was imagining things? or worse—would you pull away, leaving a gap between you that couldn’t be bridged again?

oh, holyland… watch your breeze take over me, just like we used to be.

but you didn’t laugh. you didn’t pull away. instead, your gaze softened, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. the sound of the ocean, the distant cries of seagulls, even the wind—everything fell silent as you stared at him, your lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out.

“jaemin…” you finally whispered, your voice tender, unsure. “why didn’t you ever tell me?”

he laughed weakly, the tension easing just a little as he shrugged. “because i was scared, i guess. scared of losing you.”

a silence hung between you, but it wasn’t heavy—it was contemplative, like both of you were trying to find the right words in a sea of emotions that had been unspoken for too long.

let me float in your arms… so come back to me.

then, you reached for him, your fingers brushing his. the simple touch sent warmth through his entire body, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t pulling away. not this time.

“i’ve been waiting,” you admitted, a small, almost bashful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “waiting for you to say something. because i think… i’ve felt the same for a while too.”

his heart soared, a quiet joy settling into the spaces that had once been filled with doubt. he couldn’t help but smile—a real one this time—as he pulled you into his arms, holding you close as the waves lapped at the shore behind you. the weight he’d been carrying for so long seemed to dissolve, leaving only the warmth of your embrace and the quiet certainty that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, casting the world in shades of pink and gold, jaemin knew with unwavering clarity that whatever came next, he was ready. as long as it was with you.

#nct fluff #nct dream fluff #nct angst #nct dream angst #jaemin #jaemin fluff #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct dream imagines #nct dream drabbles #nct x reader #nct dream x reader

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 3 months ago

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Chapter 14: Don't Be A Bundt Cake

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy, Miscommunication Trope

Word Count: 13.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Talks of Death, DENIAL, Idiots in Love, Pining by the Reader (and SB, but he won't admit it) Depressing Thoughts, Mentions of sexual assault/rape (not detailed at all, really just in passing) Talks about weed, Sexist comments, Ben makes derogatory comments, Threatening Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Spotify Playlist 🪴

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N: I am so sorry this one took me a bit longer. The writers block was fighting me the whole way, but we are very closely nearing the end of this series and the moment the reader and Ben stop being so stinkin' stubborn.

Reader POV

You lean your forehead against the cool window, watching the world flash by in a flurry of color. The wooded forests had vanished hours ago and all that was left were the yellowed sprawling fields of corn and grain and family farms that were laid sporadically along the interstate. Each one a little world that caught the flecks of golden sunlight as the sun began to peak above the horizon.

The bus rolled smooth and steady over the weathered pavement towards it's destination and was filled with an odd assortment of people young and old. There was man with a brightly colored parrot that had been singing "It's A Small World After All" since you left NYC, a woman with a little boy playing with an iPad and who refused to turn down the volume no matter how many times his mother asked him to, a group of teenagers a few seats up that continued to pass around a flask, and due to how far back you were sitting on the bus an uncomfortable smell emanated from the bathroom each time the door was opened.

But you didn't notice any of it.

The only thing on your mind were the events that happened almost twenty hours ago. They continued to circle your mind, playing over and over again like a perverted cassette tape making you sink further into the worn cloth covered seat at the back of the bus. The images were haunting, some new and some old, but all the more still horrible to re-live.

The song "Nights In White Satin" floating into the backseat of your family's car, the flash of unnatural light you knew was never lightning, the caskets at your parent's funeral covered in flowers that were much to pretty to lay on something so morbid, Elijah's body succumbing to the poppies that ripped him apart, the proud sneer on your brother's face when he admitted to killing your parents, Darren's broken and bloodied body strewn in pieces over the street with the creature standing over him with a dripping red maw, the ruined building that housed "Please Don't Die" reduced to nothing more than rubble, and the look on Ben's face when you turned your back on him and fled the scene.

For some reason that particular image seemed to cling on to you and refused to fade. You'd never seen him look that way, almost… helpless and a little fearful. In all the time you'd known him, Ben had never looked at you that way. Sure you'd seen him proud, angry, cocky, lustful, mischievous, but never fearful. And you were sure that it wasn't an emotion that he was used to feeling, but that begged the question… why?

Why was he looking at me like that? Why wouldn't he let me go? And what was he afraid of?

The creature curled in your lap snorts something in it's sleep, turning it’s head further into the cradle of your elbow to shut out the brilliant early morning sunlight. It was now the size of a toaster and had warranted several odd looks whenever you got off to change buses, but you didn't care.

You weren't sure about anything anymore. Everything your brother confessed to you made you feel like you were living a lie and the revelation of exactly what your powers could do- take life from plants to heal yourself, create whatever the hell it was on your lap, and speak to plants… it scared you.

You thought for so long that you knew everything about your powers, that you were in control, but now you weren't sure.

You felt different, as if something had unlocked deep down that you couldn't shut up again.

You'd felt different after you killed Elijah, but this was more alive, weaving and twisting in the pit of your stomach. You felt more connected to the earth, to the world outside the bus even though you were divided by glass and metal. You could feel the energy that thrummed through the body of the creature on your lap, bending to your will, the life force of the plants it was formed from molding with you, becoming a part of you.

You felt so different than the person you had been before Darren entered the shop, so uncertain, and there was only one place you wanted to be when you felt like this… home. You couldn't wait to run up the worn front steps of your grandmother's house and into her arms. She always knew what to say in times like this.

And you desperately needed the comfort of her embrace.

The phone in your pocket buzzes again and you flip the screen to see the ridiculous selfie Annie and you had taken on Halloween last year. The one that you'd both spent dressed up as the two brothers from your favorite paranormal tv show. It wasn't the first time she'd called. Annie had called and texted you more times than you could count over the past twenty hours but you didn't answer her. You didn’t want to.

It was the first time that you didn't want to talk to her, but talking to her meant that you'd have to re-live all of it again and you were clawing at the last shred of sanity you had left to keep it together.

The overwhelming waves of emotion kept pummeling you, dragging you deeper beneath the white surf. Each one brought the memories of what happened surging over you and were followed by everything that Darren said to you. Years of taking care of Darren and doing whatever he wished were tearing at your soul, years of giving up little things in your life to make him happy, and years of taking care of a man who you thought cared about you, but hated you enough to kill your parents and try to kill you too.

It made your skin crawl. Each time your brother told you that he loved you was an even bigger lie and now that you knew the truth and saw him for what he was, it felt like you were drowning. The darkness that ebbed just on the edge was begging you to leap into the abyss, but you were resisting the best you could.

The tears had stopped falling miles ago, but you couldn't stop the memories or the emotion that formed a cold ball in the pit of your stomach.

A sigh works it's way up and you pull your legs on the seat underneath you, jostling the creature on your lap that raises it's head for a moment to blink it's black eyes at you sleepily.

It was surprisingly docile right now, especially considering that twenty hours ago it had ripped your brother to shreds. In fact it seemed to understand how upset you were and had spent the better part of the last twenty hours rubbing it's head against your arm as if trying to bring you some comfort. It was settled on your lap, the weight of it a comfort, almost like a weighted plushy that gave you something to focus on.

"It's alright buddy." You whisper, scratching him under his chin. "We're almost home."

The phone in your jacket pocket buzzes again, but when you pull it out to turn it off, you catch a glimpse of the screen, and you hesitate. Because this time it's not Annie who's calling, it’s Ben.

The picture that flashes on the screen under the contact name "Gramps" is the picture of Mr. Fredrickson from Up. It always made you smile whenever he called you and you saw the picture because Ben did often remind you of him. He was certainly just as grumpy as Mr. Fredrickson and just as out of touch, but you thought it was cute.

Your thumb hovers over the answer button and you think about talking to him.

But what would I say?

You weren't sure what to say to him, or why you wanted to speak to him so badly, why you wanted him to be sitting here on the bus with you as you went home, and why you wanted him to hold you against his chest while you allowed yourself to break, but you did. You wanted to feel his awkward shoulder pat and his awkward version of hand holding and you wanted to hear him try to tell you to "buck up" or whatever he thought that a comforting word should be.

He's really not the best at that.

You smile to yourself at the memory of how he tried to comfort you back at the hospital, but the longer you sit there and look down at the picture on the screen the worse you feel.

Maybe that scared you more than your newfound powers, how much you were realizing that you needed him, how much you depended on him when things got too much for you to bear. The memory of him appearing as soon as you needed him back at the shop, another of him grabbing Darren and throwing him into the street as soon as Darren insulted you comes in a flash, and finally followed by the memory of Ben carrying you out of Elijah's office while you curled into his chest. You couldn't remember too much from that moment, in fact you'd thought that Ben had kissed you on top of your head, but you ascribed that to the haze of pain you'd been in from your broken arm.

What you did remember was how wonderfully warm he was after you'd been trapped in that damn freezer and how nice it felt to be in his arms. Another memory of Ben sleeping on the couch at the hospital bubbles up and you feel something in your chest begin to crack open. And you try your best to tell yourself the same thing that you always do when you feel like Ben might care more about you that he was letting on.

Ben doesn't want that. He's made it perfectly clear. He doesn't want a relationship. He's only wants one night, that's why he goes out with all those women-

You hesitate, thumb still hovering over the answer button as you do, the memory of the week you'd spent at the apartment with him flickering in the back of your mind. The week where he refused to leave you alone in the apartment, where he refused to do any jobs for Butcher, where he took care of you the best way he could, when he sat with you on the couch and made you laugh with his ridiculous movies, and the week where he hadn't had one date.

Your finger itched to answer the phone, but you couldn't, because you didn't want to feel this way about Ben, not when he'd told you countless times that you kept romanticizing him, not when he told you that he didn't want a relationship, and not when you could feel yourself beginning to fall for someone you thought was the wrong man.

For just a moment you tried to pretend that it was different, that he was different, but you didn't want to. It only made it hurt more.

The phone stops ringing, but the pit in your stomach still gapes open at you and for the first time in twenty hours you feel tears begin to fall. You didn't know why you were crying about this, why the thought of not picking up Ben's phone call seemed to hurt more than everything that had happened, but something made it hurt.

The bus driver announces over the overhead that you're reaching your final destination as he takes the exit for your hometown. The familiar buildings that line the streets are sheathed in a honeyed glow from the sun, the long shadow of the bus darkening them momentarily as it rumbles down the small streets to the bus station.

When it rumbles to a stop at the bus station you wait for everyone else to get off, trying to summon the strength to stand, and swipe the back of your hand across your face to rid yourself of the remaining tears.

The bus station was about a thirty minute walk from your grandmother's house, and you still hadn't called her. You didn't know what to say, didn't know how to tell her that Darren was dead and that he was the reason why your parents were dead.

The creature crawls up your body to drape it's warm body over the back of your neck as you stand. It wasn't bothering to hide, besides the people in your hometown already thought that you were odd because you were a supe and you'd always welcomed it. You give him a scratch on top of his head and his warm tongue flicks on the bottom of your earlobe as if thanking you before it curls further into the side of your neck, seeking warmth.

The first few steps on solid ground are shaky, but you find the strength while taking in a deep cleansing breath of the outside world, letting the gentle warmth of the sun and the tickle of the autumn breeze pull at your coat. You hadn't stopped at your apartment before coming here, instead you had stumbled your way to the bus station covered in dust, flecked in blood, and demanded the first ticket back to Illinois. It was lucky that the next bus was leaving immediately, because you didn’t want to spend another second in NYC, not when all you wanted was to be home.

Plus you were worried that someone had recorded what exactly happened outside the plant shop and you didn't want to get arrested.

It was self defense anyway. Maybe Jake would represent me in court.

The thought of Jake makes you twinge. You hadn't checked to see if he was alright before you ran from the scene. Not to mention you'd destroyed the shop he'd put all his life savings into after he stopped being a lawyer.

Oh fuck, what if he sues me? He can't exactly sue Darren…

You hear someone call your name and you open your eyes.

Your grandmother is standing in front of the same baby blue pickup truck that she'd had longer than you've been alive, wearing a long multicolored skirt and a pressed white blouse tucked elegantly into it. Her silver hair is loose and long, curling over her shoulders in gentle waves. She looks the same way she looked one week ago when she left, and you've never seen anything so beautiful in your life.

You're running before you can stop yourself, crumbling into her warm embrace, with more tears streaking down your face, but she doesn't mind.

"Shh. It's alright honey." She whispers, rubbing her hand over your back, her embrace steady and surprisingly strong. "Let's go home."

Her home is the same as it's always been. A two story Victorian house painted in a happy yellow shade, with a white wrap around porch and two white rocking chairs sitting empty on the front porch. You'd spent more nights than you could count rocking silently beside her with a crochet project in your lap listening to the rain fall and soak the world outside, while the plants sang praises with every gentle bend beneath the heavy droplets.

You could barely remember the home you spent in your early years with your parents, not when you'd spent most of your childhood spending the night here and after your parents died living here permanently. There was still a large oak tree were a wooden swing swung in the slight breeze on the left side of the yard, a gardenia bush that stretched as high as the second story on the right side of the house and brushed it's soft leaves against the sunshine colored outer walls, a garden filled with both flowering plants and herbs that perked up on both sides of the front yard as you walked up the path, and a cobblestone path that Annie and you had spent hours of your shared childhood covering in chalk art.

Neither of you were good, but when the rain would fall and smudge the clean lines, you'd jump in the puddles that pooled along the walkway singing the lyrics to ABBA's "Cassandra" not quite understanding what it meant.

Standing here outside your house made you miss Annie and feel worse about not calling or texting her back, but you didn't feel like talking about what happened and you were sure that Butcher filled her in. The only thing that you wanted was to collapse in your bedroom upstairs and curl under the comforters.

Despite everything the house was a welcome sight, but at the same time it was different. You could feel the plants calling out to you, asking for you, bending towards you just to touch your shoes as you walked by. You'd never felt so connected with them before, not even when you were in your apartment or working at the shop. It was overwhelming.

And although a part of you was frightened by it, another part of you rejoiced in it. You didn't feel alone, didn't feel weak, and you knew that you never would ever again.

The creature nuzzled into the side of your neck with a sigh, soaking up the sun's healing rays as you walked up the front steps with your grandmother following behind you silently. She hadn't spoken since she picked you up at the bus station and you hadn't supplied anything in the ten minute car ride back to her house.

You didn't know where to start and you were still trying to process everything yourself.

The inside of her house was just as cozy and warm as it was the day you moved out. There were photos of your parents and you covering the walls (Darren's had been placed in the closet long ago), half-finished knitting projects sorted in different baskets on both the dining room table and the living room coffee table, spools of yarn were strewn over the couch sorted by color, and the fresh smell of gardenia wafted through the open windows on the breeze.

It was home. This was what you'd been missing the moment everything began to crash over you, but as you stood there in the familiar living room it felt like something was missing. Something tugged at the back of your mind, but you couldn't put your finger on it.

There was something or rather someone that should be here, but you didn't know what or who. And your mind supplied Annie, but you weren't sure that's who you meant.

"Let's have some tea." Your grandmother says from behind you and you feel her soft hands come down on your shoulders to steer you through the familiar creative chaos and into the large kitchen at the back of the house.

The kitchen isn't spared from the madness, it rarely was. There are boxes upon boxes of cookies in different stages of being packaged all over the counter, dirty bowls and a measuring cup stacked in the sink, and a large opened bag of chocolate chips spilling over the flour covered kitchen island.

It wasn't unusual to find the kitchen or the house in a state of chaos, your grandmother always said that a house should look lived in and that the mess was part of the fun of any major project as long as you were responsible enough to clean it up.

"Bake sale?" You ask as you sit down in the breakfast nook, uttering the first words that you'd said to another human being in twenty hours.

The next breath that you inhale was supposed to be cleansing, but you can still feel a weight pressing down on your chest, the same one that settled in the moment everything happened with Darren.

You contemplate again how you're going to tell her that Darren is dead and was the reason why your parents died.

Damn it Darren.

"Mhmm." She hums, filling the well used red kettle. "Annie's mother practically cornered me in the supermarket yesterday and begged me to make cookies. I love Annie, but her mother needs someone to pull that stick out of her ass. It's been up there for so long that I'm sure it's rotten."

The creature crawls down from your shoulders and down your arm to sniff at one of the chocolate chip cookies nearest you. It hadn't eaten since…

Darren.

You wince slightly at the thought and hope that you hadn't created something that needed and craved human flesh. The last thing you wanted to unleash on the world was Audry two especially in the wake of Homelander.

Truthfully you were waiting for the guilt at killing your brother to come, but it never had and you wondered if it ever would.

Probably not. He deserved that, he killed our parents, he tried to kill me, he tried to kill Ben.

The thought of Ben again makes a lump form in the back of your throat. You didn't know what was happening to you only that you felt guilty for leaving him like that, for yelling at him to let you go, and just vanishing on him when he probably thought that you were going back to the apartment.

He doesn't know where I am. Maybe that's why he tried to call, because he got back to the apartment and couldn't find me there and he was worried. You press your lips together. Yeah. Worried. Right.

"Honey?" Your grandmother says in a soothing voice

You look up from the box of chocolate chip cookies that you didn't remember picking up. Even the creature is looking at you with an expression that you can only explain as worry.

"Yeah?" Your voice shakes slightly.

She's leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, head tilted slightly to the side, her beautiful grayed hair pulled up in an elegant bun, but in her eyes you can see genuine concern. "Fuck." She sighs after a minute.

You blink in surprise. It was the first time that you'd ever heard her say that word in your entire life.

"I shouldn't have left." She breathes. "I told Ben to look out for you. I told him, that little bastard was bound to show up again and what did he do? He left you at that plant shop alone with no protection!"

You'd only seen her really angry a handful of times in your lifetime. Like you, your grandmother often had a gentle disposition and didn't get angry unless the situation called for it.

I mean, Darren admitted to killing our parents and then got fucking ripped apart. But how does she know about any of that? I haven't told her…

"How did you know that he left me there? Did Ben call you?" You ask putting down the box of cookies.

An odd expression crosses her face, as if she's contemplating something. "No." She hesitates again. "I saw it."

"No." Your grandmother hesitates. "I saw it."

"You saw it?" You repeat, confused.

What's going on?

"Too late of course, but I'm a little rusty. I was able to warn Ben that Darren was coming back. That's how he got there so quickly or rather-" She shrugs sheepishly. "He got there in time to make sure that Darren didn't get you to forgive him. Which you shouldn't have at all, but I know he's always had a talent for manipulating you."

"What?"

Is she saying what I think she's saying?

Instead of explaining further your grandmother walks out of the kitchen, leaving the kettle behind on the stove and you in a state of utter confusion.

Is she saying that she can see the future? Because that would mean that she's a supe and there's only one supe in history that I know of that can do that. A supe that no one has seen in over forty years.

You can hear her open the door to the closet under the stairs and the sound of her sifting through all the junk that the two of you had shoved in there over the years instead of finding the right place to put it.

When she comes back into the kitchen, she's holding a giant cardboard file box that you'd never paid attention to each time you opened the closet to find something. Your eyes shift from the box to her still not comprehending exactly what she was saying.

"I probably should have told you this a while ago, but…" She trails off and nods her head at the box before turning back to the kettle on the stove that has begun to scream. "I kept putting it off."

The box is old, worn at the edges, and theres a musty black fabric beneath a collection of yellowed photographs. You pull out the one on top to examine it.

Ben is standing there in his full Soldier Boy regalia outside of Vought tower and the woman standing next to him is Soothsayer. The outfit she wore was familiar, a black-skin tight suit with a blind fold tied over her eyes.

Soothsayer was a supe who could see the future and who was apart of Payback, a supe that had vanished a year before the mission in Nicaragua and no one knew where she went. There were rumors that she'd died and that she'd been a Russian spy, but you'd never believed them. You'd heard Butcher talk about how he tried to find her when he was trying to figure out what happened to Soldier Boy, but he never had. Said that the trail went cold.

But now you knew where she went, because she was standing directly in front of you.

She's Soothsayer? Holy fuck that's why Ben kept accusing her of cheating in the poker game because he knew that she could see the future.

"You were Soothsayer?" You gasp. "But why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell me?"

She continues to measure the tea leaves. "I didn't tell anyone."

"Grandpa didn't know? But he was alive when you were a supe?"

Your grandfather had never spoken about a history with supes that you remember.

"No." She turns to look at you, a hurt expression crossing over her face for a minute. "Well, I know that I said I was going to have tea, but if we're going to talk about this I'm going to need something a little bit stronger."

Your grandmother opens a cabinet under the stove an pulls out an enormous bottle of scotch. Truth be told you'd never seen her drink more than just a glass of wine, to see her like this was about as shocking as seeing a polar bear sunning itself on a Florida beach.

"Do you still want the blueberry tea or do you need something a little stronger?" She looks back over her shoulder at you as she pulls down a glass for herself.

"I think I need something stronger." You answer honestly.

Learning about everything Darren had done was one thing, but finding out that your grandmother used to be a famous supe and that she never told you about it was another thing. It was like looking at another person. You'd always loved your grandmother's gentle way, her care for her community and her family soft, but now you weren't sure you really knew who she was.

She sits down across from you and hands you a glass of the amber colored liquid. There's a heavy silence that hangs between the two of you as she tries to find a way to start. The photo of her and Ben is laying on top of what you realize is her uniform inside the box and she smiles down at the photo, just a little twitch at the corner of her lips.

"I met Ben when I was twenty three years old." She begins taking a sip from the glass. "Legend 'discovered' me. I had the injection of Compound V maybe two years before that, not when I was born, but I hadn't gotten popular. Other powers were much more flashy and by then there were so many heroes coming out of the woodwork that someone with the ability to see the future didn't seem as marketable."

There's something reflected in her blue eyes, the same eyes your father had, that you can't place. "I had just moved to New York, I had no money, and the way I was getting it was by pretending to be a fortune teller and betting on some sports events on the side. It wasn't hard to prove that I could see the future, the past was more difficult, but Legend somehow stumbled into my shop and figured out that I was a supe. And he didn't think I was too bad looking so he helped me get big."

"You pretended to be a fortune teller?"

She snorts into her glass. "Mhmm. People really will believe anything if they're desperate enough and back then there was so much turmoil going on with Russia that people were scared and wanted to feel comforted. My job provided some of that."

"But why did you walk away from it if you were such a big hero." You ask. "Everyone knew your name, you were-"

Your grandmother raises an eyebrow at you and you fall silent so she can continue. "When I got onto Payback that's when everything exploded for me, the films, the commercials, the ridiculous ads." She sighs. "That's also when I met Ben."

You take a sip from the glass in front of you, sputtering slightly. It was stronger than you were expecting. "And you two were-"

Please don't say dating, please don't say dating, please don't say…

"Friends. Just friends." Diana sits back against the back of the breakfast nook, sinking into the navy blue pillows. "But he is almost as charming now as he was then."

You cringe at the thought of Ben coming on to a younger version of your grandmother.

She taps her glass with her index finger deep in thought. "But I think that I was the only person that Ben actually talked to, the only person that he was comfortable being around."

"What do you mean?" You ask confused. "Didn't he talk to Countess and to Legend?"

Her expression hardens at the mention of Countess's name. "He didn't talk to her the way he talked to me. Ben is difficult, he always has been and I think that most of the people he meet him write him off as this asshole with a chauvinistic look on the world, but he's not. At least, not all the time. There are so many people that he's met that are never willing to take a chance on him. To trust that there is really something beneath all of that bravado."

It was what you had been thinking for the past week, that there was more to Ben than he was willing to let people see, but you were slowly realizing that Ben was letting you see those parts. In the quiet moments at your shared apartment when he sat with you while you read or made you laugh or walked you to and from work you saw another side of Ben that you never saw when he was around anyone else. The guilt rises again when you think of how you ran from him, how you turned your back and left him standing there to clean up your mess.

I shouldn’t have done that, but it was all just so overwhelming and I didn't want to talk to anyone.

"I think that Ben is the most loyal friend I ever had. No one ever seems to believe me when I say that. That we were just friends, but nothing happened between us."

"You didn't date? Or sleep together?" You ask cautiously. It was difficult to imagine Ben being friends with a woman and not having a sexual relationship with her.

Well. We're friends, but that's different.

The last thing you wanted to think about was Ben and your grandmother having sex.

I would need so much therapy after that. You sigh. Yeah, because after all the shit I've been through and found out about my life in the last twenty hours, the knowledge that Ben fucked my grandmother is what's going to push me over the edge.

"No." She shakes her head with a small smile. "About a week after I met Ben, I was running late to a movie shoot and I stepped off the crosswalk without looking. There was a car coming and I didn't see it. Ironic isn't it?" She laughs at herself. "I can see the future and I didn't see a car coming, but your grandfather did and he grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked me onto the sidewalk, saved my life. And the second my eyes locked with his I saw our future. I saw our wedding, our first house, I saw our son take his first steps and I saw how much I would love him and how much he would love me." She clears her throat for a minute, her fingers tighten on the glass, and her gaze drops to the wedding ring on her left hand. “The future is never set in stone, it’s fluid. It morphs and shapes with your decisions, but in the future I saw, I was so happy. And I didn’t want to lose that.”

Your grandfather had passed a few years ago, but you knew it weighed on her everyday. She had spent the week after he died in her room not saying anything to anyone. And sometimes she'd look out the window into the backyard with an odd expression, but you knew that meant she was thinking of him.

Growing up you'd seen how in love the two of them were, more so than your parents. Seen the flowers your grandfather always brought home just because he was thinking of her, watched him do little things around the house without being asked, saw how they never walked away angry from one another, and seen the soppy expression he'd get when he watched your grandmother move around the kitchen baking with a grace that you'd never possessed.

You reach across the table to touch her hand and she takes it gratefully.

"I didn't want to tell him that I was a supe, and at the beginning I thought I could balance it all, but then Ben started dating Countess." She takes another sip from her glass. "She hated me."

"What? Why?" You ask. The creature crawls across the table to sniff at the glass in front of you, before it snorts and falls into your lap, curling into a ball.

"Countess was a bitch." Your grandmother says mirthlessly, her expression hardening. "She wanted to possess Ben completely. Only loved how famous he was, how popular it made her, and he threw himself at her feet, in his own way, not understanding that love didn’t look that way. He’s never had a good example of it in his life. And she never understood that Ben and I were just friends. By then I had been dating your grandfather for a few months and things were getting serious. It was about a year before everything that happened in Nicaragua."

She presses her lips together as if remembering what happened to Ben there. "She was jealous, possessive, and she came to me one night. Ben was out of town for a film so she knew we wouldn’t be interrupted. She threatened to tell your grandfather who I really was and threatened to kill him.” Her jaw sets. “My powers were never really as offensive as hers were. And she said that Ben wouldn’t ever protect me over her because he loved her and would do anything to make her happy. So I left and I never looked back.”

And here I thought I couldn't hate Countess any more than I did for what she did to Ben.

“You didn’t talk to him ever again?” You wonder out loud.

She left without telling him goodbye?

“There was the occasional phone call. Sometimes Ben would ask me to see who was going to win a ball game or something so he could make a few bucks. He stopped by to say hi a few times because he was in the neighborhood. One time he brought your father a baseball glove that was way too big for a one year old.” She snorts, the memory flashing in her eyes. “I always thought Ben would be a good dad some day. But I think seeing your father was when Ben realized how much he wanted to have kids. And I think seeing the way your grandfather treated me made him start to feel conflicted about Countess. But he respected that I walked away, he saw that I was happy.”

“But what about Nicaragua?"

A dark look crosses her face followed by something that looks suspiciously like guilt. “I saw what they were going to do to him.”

“What? But why didn't you tell him what they were planning? Why didn't you-"

"I tried." She snaps, shoulders tense, but then they drop. "I called Ben, but Stan answered. By then your father was turning two, your grandfather had opened up his practice, and Stan threatened me, he knew where we were and knew everything about us. So I kept my mouth shut and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

You could feel your heart breaking for her.

Ben was her best friend and she had to sit by and watch them do that to him. She saw what they were going to do and they were going to kill her for it, kill my family for it.

The anger that surges in your chest makes the creature in your lap stir and grow a few inches, but you tamp it down before it gets bigger than a small dog.

“Does Ben know?” You ask her to distract yourself.

You didn't want Ben to hate your grandmother for this, didn't want him to hate her for something that wasn't her fault.

She nods. “Yes. I told him everything.”

“When?”

“The moment I saw him in your hospital room. I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I wasn't expecting him to be there, but it all poured out of me. I was so surprised to see him there. I hadn't seen a future where he came back."

“Was he mad?”

I mean… he didn't seem mad when I woke up, not to mention he was upset when she left to come back to Illinois.

“Not at me.” She shakes her head. “He knew how much I wanted a normal life and how much I loved your grandfather. He doesn’t blame me for any of it.”

“Good. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

The glass in front of you is still more than half-full but you don't want to risk another sip of what you're sure is gasoline packaged to look like Scotch. Your grandmother reaches to pour herself another glass.

“I didn’t want to until you were ready.”

“And when would that be?”

Your grandmother shrugs. “Maybe on my deathbed.”

You weren't angry for her not telling you, more surprised, but now that you knew everything about her it was hard to see her the same way you had.

You snort. “And no one knew?”

“Your dad figured it out.”

“How? When?”

“The moment you made that strawberry plant grow from your high chair.” She shakes her head with a smile. “It skipped a generation. Don’t know why, but you got it all somehow.”

“I was never injected?”

“No. That was a lie your father created. He knew that your grandfather didn't know and he knew that I didn't want your grandfather to know."

“Darren thought I was.”

“I know.”

At the mention of your brother's name, you watch her expression harden and she takes another swig from the glass in front of her, not flinching as the liquid goes down her throat.

“Did you see everything that happened?” You ask in a small voice.

You still weren't 100% sure how it was her powers worked, but you figured that she was able to see some of what Darren did and what he said.

“Yes.”

“You heard everything Darren said?"

“Yes.”

You chew the inside of your cheek for a minute hoping that she didn't take it as hard as you did. “Did you know that he killed them?”

“No.” She breathes, rolling the glass between her hands for a moment. “The night they died, I got a vision a few minutes before the car ran off the road. I was the one who called the police and who told them where to look, but I never saw that it was Darren or that it was anyone causing the accident. All I saw was the three of you in the car. I should have known.” Her voice breaks.

“It’s not your fault.” You squeeze her hand.

“And it’s not yours either.” She squeezes your hand back.

The memories are beginning to float up from the recesses of your mind and your teeth clench together as you try to keep them at bay.

“I know.” You breathe. The memory of the ruined shop flashes through your head. “I didn’t know that I could do something like that.” You gently touch your healed right arm and glance at the creature that is nibbling on the edge of the cardboard box with its sharp splinter-like teeth. “I feel so different and I don’t know how to go back to the way I was.”

“I don’t think you ever will.”

"Really?"

The thought was unwelcome. You were hoping that all of this was going to blow over, but you knew it wouldn't. Your powers had changed. There was an energy that thrummed in your veins now, stretching out of the house to the plants that grew in the garden. You could feel them all if you concentrated.

She frowns. “When you told me that you were working for Butcher I was worried about you getting involved in the supe world. I didn’t want that life for you, didn’t want you to suffer the way I did-“

“Was it really that bad?"

“Not all the time, just at the end. But I think that’s why I loved your grandfather so much. Because he was different than all the supes. He was down to earth, not just normal but-“ She shrugs. “I think Compound V does something to our minds, makes them more susceptible and when you’re surrounded by people using their powers and thinking that they’re gods it’s easy to lose who you are. I was glad I left when I did."

“Great." You huff, thinking about how your powers had grown exponentially since you killed your brother. It was scaring you to think that you would reach a point where you acted like Homelander, where you saw yourself as a god and killed anyone who stood in your way.

As tired as the stereotype of you only being able to make the flowers grow, you liked doing that. You liked healing plants, tending to them, and helping them grow. For you it had never been about using your powers the way that you had to kill Elijah and your brother and had always been about spreading a little more joy and love like your grandmother did with her kindness in her community.

Your mind flashes back to the first night that Ben stayed with you in your apartment and he'd asked you why you worked for Butcher and told you that he thought you "didn't fit."

Before you hadn't. You knew that. You weren't intimidating to look at or fueled by revenge or had a bone to pick with supes. You'd joined because you thought it was the right thing to do and because you wanted to be closer with Annie. She had been so involved in the supe world and you'd felt like you were losing your best friend. When in reality being at "Please Don't Die" was the only thing that felt natural for you.

You could feel yourself changing and you weren't sure that you wanted to and you weren't sure if you were changing for the better. Deep down you still felt like you, despite everything Darren had revealed, but your powers were greater than you'd thought they could be.

“No.” She squeezes your hand pulling you out of your head. “I don’t see you losing yourself in this.”

“You’ve seen-“ Your eyes widen.

“The future yeah.” Her lips twitch up at the ends in a smile. “It is what I do.”

“That’s so weird.”

You hadn't meant to say it, but you really didn't want to know too much about your future.

Well, not all that much. Maybe just a little.

“You of all people have no right to judge what’s weird. Not with Godzilla sitting in your lap.”

"Godzilla" yawns, flashing a mouthful of his pointy teeth, before settling back down on your thighs.

You smile for the first time in twenty hours, but then it drops. “I don’t like losing control. I thought I knew who I was but now I don’t-“ The emotions were bubbling up again, chest tightening, and lungs beginning to gasp for air. “I don’t know who I am anymore or what I am or what I can do and-“

“There’s nothing wrong with not being in control.”

“But what if I hurt someone? What if I kill-“ You body shakes as you think about all the important people in your life, Annie, Hughie, Butcher, Kimiko, MM, Frenchie- and then your mind stutters on Ben.

“Your powers are growing and there’s nothing to be afraid of or ashamed of. If you’re afraid of them it won’t get easier for you. You have to embrace the fear to see the lights that line the path through it.”

"I killed Darren, I killed Elijah-"

"Not because you lost control. You did it because you were protecting yourself and protecting your friends."

"But-"

"Who is it that you're scared of hurting? Annie?" Her expression turns sympathetic. "Annie is a supe and understands what it's like to lose control. None of us are in control all the time and it's ridiculous to believe that you won't lose control at least once."

Your throat clenches tightly, because when she asked the question you didn't see Annie's face, you saw Ben's. You knew that it was probably ridiculous to worry about hurting a guy with a nuclear reactor stuffed in his chest or a guy who'd been through every torture known to man, but you were. And you weren't entirely sure if you meant hurting him with just your powers.

Tears crest and fall down your cheeks as you sit there, throat thickening. "I don't want to hurt Ben."

"He's a little more indestructible than us sweetie." She cracks a smile, but you can't smile back and you don't answer because you're unsure how to.

She sits back against the breakfast nook and sighs, examining your face and slowly realizes what you mean. "Ben is complicated. He always has been. I like to think that most of it, is his father's fault. Has he told you anything about him?"

You shake your head.

"He was a dick. Made Ben think that he was a disappointment his whole life. I don't think that Ben has had someone love him unconditionally since his mother died. And loving Countess only made it worse for him. Her love was jealous, possessive, and I don't think that he's really come to terms with what real love should look like." She lets out a breath, tapping her index finger against the glass. "I never saw him as more than a friend, but I do love him. It's not a crime to love him."

"I don't love him." You say it immediately.

"Why not?"

"What?" You sputter. "I don't know what you're-"

"Tell me why you don't love him." Your grandma says methodically, as if she's trying to talk you through it.

"Because I-" The pressure was back in the back of your throat and you couldn't quite meet her eye. "Because-" You scramble for the answer, trying your darndest to keep your heart from clenching in your chest. "I want what you and grandpa had, what Annie and Hughie have, and what my parents had. A strong relationship with someone who sees all my flaws, the little parts, and the darkness and still choses to fall in love with me anyway. I don't want just one night I want every night. I want something real and Ben has said countless times that he-"

"So you've talked about it with Ben?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Only because he kept trying to sleep with me and I told him that I didn't want to have sex with him." You reply exasperated.

"You don't?"

"Gran!"

"What? He's attractive."

"It doesn't matter. None of it does. Because Ben has said that he doesn't have relationships, that he doesn't care about feelings, or emotions." Saying the words that Ben had told you countless times made something inside begin to shrivel up and die. "And I do. And I don't want to manipulate him into being something he's not or force him into a relationship that's doomed from the beginning. Ben is Ben. He's not changing or-"

"He has." She interrupts.

"What?"

"The Ben I saw in your hospital room is not the one I knew." She says it so matter of fact that makes it hard to breathe. "And neither was the one that I saw in your apartment when I stayed with you. I mean he is in essence Ben, but-"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"He is changing. Not completely, but he's acting differently than when he was with Countess. I mean, I saw all the things he did for her. The way he was around her."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because he loved her."

The words make your heart seize in your chest. "Ben doesn't love me. He's my roommate and my friend-" It was the same thing that you kept telling yourself on repeat to beat back the other feelings that you hadn't quite identified yet. "And he's told me that he doesn't want a relationship and that I should try to meet other people."

That last part was a lie, but you honestly didn't know where she was going with this conversation or why it was getting so hard to breathe.

"Have you thought that maybe Ben doesn't want to love you because he's scared?"

"He doesn't love me and Ben isn't afraid of anything."

"He is. It might not look the same way on him as it does on everyone else, but if you pay close enough attention you can catch it." She hesitates. "And I think if you pay attention to you, you'll see what it is that you're afraid of too."

What does she mean? What the hell am I afraid of? Ben isn't afraid of anything, he's practically shouted that from the mountaintops like Julie Andrews.

"I already told you what I'm afraid of."

"I'm not talking about you hurting someone honey. There's something else that you refuse to admit to yourself because you're scared." She smiles sadly at you. "You should though, because when you embrace it, what comes after is really beautiful." There's a far off look in her eyes and you realize that she'd seen something further ahead that she wasn't letting on.

"And it's all I want for you. To be happy." Your grandmother stands from the other side of the booth "I think you need some rest. You drove all night long and I doubt you got any sleep. And I have to package all of these before Annie's mother calls down the four horsemen of the Apocalypse on me."

"Wait-"

"Please sweetie." She lays her hand down on your arm. "I think you'll feel a little better about all of this when you've had some rest." Her fingers raise to push back some of the hair that's fallen forward into your eyes. "Hmm?"

You didn't want to rest, you wanted to talk about this, but you knew better than to argue with her. Not to mention she was right, you hadn't slept.

"And when you wake up I'll make your favorite for dinner, alright?" She smiles, but there's something behind it that you can't place.

"Okay."

And this time you don't argue with her. You go up the worn staircase that you have your entire life and collapse onto your bed, wondering exactly what it was she saw your future hold, and what it is that you won't admit to yourself.

Soldier Boy POV

There was no light in the apartment save from the burning red tip of Ben's blunt and the bluish glow emanating from the tv that caught the dips and sharp edges of his face. But it was nothing more than background noise.

His hand absentmindedly stroked along Bean's back, his eyes focused on the ceiling above the couch. He hadn't moved in hours. It had been over twenty four hours since everything that happened at the plant shop, since you'd summoned a creature from the depths of the store, since Darren had thrown Ben through the plate glass windows of the bakery, and since Ben had last seen you.

He didn't understand why you hadn't let him take you back to the apartment and why it was that you had to leave. Ben hadn't liked the feeling that stabbed him in the chest when you turned your back on him and ran away. He'd felt the urge to comfort you the way he'd watched Hughie do for Annie in the car a week ago, but you hadn't let him.

Instead all he'd done is stood there and watched you run, still covered in dust, rubble, and blood. Worse was you hadn't let him check you for injuries and Ben hated the thought that you were hurt somewhere and he didn't know where you were.

You were so much more fragile than he was. He was realizing that more every day, was acutely aware of it after everything that happened with Elijah. Honestly, sitting there in the hospital with you laying there asleep with nothing that he could do, but wait for you to wake up had been agony. Not to mention that looking at the bruises around your throat, over your eye, and the bright green cast only made him feel worse. He'd never felt so helpless in his entire life and he hated it. Because Ben wasn't some helpless damsel in distress, he was a man and a man shouldn't wait on anyone or feel out of control, or at least, that's what he told himself.

Ben hears someone walk down the hallway outside the apartment and he perks up to listen, hoping that it's you finally coming home. Ben's mind stutters on the word "home." He'd lived many places in his life, apartments that felt more like way-stations, and the drafty cold mansion back in Philadelphia where he grew up, but neither felt like home. And although he hated how small your apartment was, it was the first place that Ben liked living in. He was starting to understand the word home.

But the feet keep moving past the apartment and Ben sinks into the couch cushions. Even Bean seems to be disappointed. "It's alright buddy." Ben mutters. "She'll come back."

But he wasn't sure.

Ben also wasn't used to feeling this way. It was close to the way that he felt when he went to Boston and was sitting in that damn hotel room waiting for something to happen and he still didn't understand what it meant. He didn't understand why he couldn't stand it that you weren't back yet. It made him feel like a woman waiting for her husband to get home from work when he told her that he was "running late." He'd tried to distract himself by looking at some possible prospects on Tinder, but just like the week after you'd come home from the hospital and just like the date he had in Boston, no one held any appeal.

His mind was awake and roaming around, pacing back and forth. The blunt was supposed to help, but it hadn't.

His phone chirps and Ben picks it up to look at the screen, but it's not you, it's Jake.

Jake: I know that I'm not your favorite person, but thank you for what you did.

Ben huffs and turns his phone face down on the couch once more. "What a fucking pussy."

When you left Ben had realized that Jake was still inside the building and as much as he wanted race after you, he understood that you'd be even more upset if you'd killed Jake. So Ben had tromped back through the building and found him trapped beneath some rubble. Jake was okay, just unconscious, but Ben had carried him out and put him on the sidewalk before he high tailed it out of there. The last thing that he wanted was to be caught with a shredded body outside a ruined building.

I didn't do it for him. I did it for her. Ben thinks to himself, looking down at the text message.

As much as he hated the thought of saving your future boyfriend, he didn't want to see what it did to you if you found out that you killed Jake, so he'd done it to avoid watching you cry again.

Ben didn't understand why he hated watching you cry.

Women cry. They're damn emotional all the time. He tries to reason with himself taking a puff from the blunt pinched between his thumb and forefinger. And she fucking cries way too much.

The image of you crying outside of the shop in the wake of everything that happened pricks something under his ribcage. Fuck.

Ben didn't feel remorse for what happened, well, the only thing he regretted was not getting there sooner and getting to fuck Darren up himself. When Diana had called him to tell him that Darren was coming, Ben had practically ripped the apartment door off in his haste to get back to you. He hadn’t wanted to leave you at the plant shop, but Butcher had told Ben, that he had a possible location for Darren, but it came up empty and Ben had been at Butcher's apartment chewing him out for sending him on a fucking wild goose chase.

It only made Ben more angry to allow Darren to speak to you, but he was trying to let you handle it even though he wanted to handle him. But it had brought him an unholy amount of joy to throw Darren in front of that minivan and to watch that creature tear him apart while the final whitish blue pulses of electricity jumped and crackled down the street making the streetlights shower sparks everywhere.

But Ben was more upset that Darren had been able to land a few hits on you before you killed him.

Ben remembered the giant lizard that crawled out of what was left of "Please Don't Die" and felt his lips quirk up into a smile. As much as he hated the entire situation, Ben couldn't help but feel a little surge of pride at what you'd done to your brother. He'd never seen you look so powerful standing there in the street, your eyes glowing a brilliant green, arms outstretched, and the ground trembling around you as the world begged to be unleashed.

Of course he'd been just as surprised as you were at the fact that you'd healed your broken arm. He wasn't sure if you'd noticed it yet, but you looked different too. There weren't as many lines on your face and your hair was more springy, the few silver hairs that Ben had noticed in passing were no longer there.

He wasn't sure what that meant, but there was something that felt suspiciously like hope tingling in his stomach, hope that you weren't as fragile anymore and hope that it meant you wouldn't die.

When Diana had told Ben that her husband had died, he saw the pain in her eyes when she said it, saw her relieving the memory, and for some reason as soon as she said that he was dead, the first thing Ben thought about was you. Ben hadn't considered his inability to age as much in the past, hadn't cared about outliving anyone before. Seeing Countess as an older woman had made him more aware of it. Looking at the woman who he once thought he loved, had showed him what that was like. Not that he had a problem with daring older women, Ben always thought that women really did get better with age, but it was what came next that Ben wasn't fond of.

And for some reason thinking that one day he'd wake up and see the marks of age on your face or one day he'd wake up and he wouldn't be able to annoy you or hear you yell at him made his chest tight.

Ben takes another hit of his blunt. The longer he sat there the more then unnatural feeling stirred in the pit of his stomach, thrumming through his veins, the feeling that he was trying to avoid. He thought that the joint would calm him down, but he found himself jumping at every creak and footstep in the apartment building, perking up each time and hoping that it was you coming home.

He didn't know where you were. You hadn't answered any of his texts or calls and Ben was ashamed at how many times that he had tried to call you.

Get a fucking grip. He'd thought to himself when he typed out another text message to send you, stopping himself from sending it.

But he'd been so desperate to hear from you that he'd actually gone to talk to Annie who seemed upset that she couldn't get ahold of you either. When Hughie and Annie had seen how upset Ben had been, Hughie had laid his hand on Ben's arm and told him not to worry. Ben had yelled at him that he "wasn't fucking worried and to mind his own business" and had shaken off Hughie's comforting hand before stomping out of the shared apartment.

No one else seemed to be as concerned about finding you. Butcher, MM, and Frenchie were all deeply involved in trying to figure out the cover-up for what happened outside the plant shop. By some miracle no one had caught a picture of your face, but there was little they could do about Darren's body that had been strewn across the street. Annie was having to deal with the repercussions at work, trying to handle what the news was calling a "super villain threat."

Personally, Ben thought that since they froze Homelander, the Seven looked weak and Ben believed that the superhero team that represented America shouldn't look weak. Of course before Ben had also thought that they looked like a bunch of pussies and again felt himself sink deeper into the couch when he thought about what his supposed son had become.

He shakes off the feelings he has about it and his thoughts turn back inevitably to you.

Ben wasn't used to thinking about someone as much as he thought of you, but each time he settled back into the apartment and you weren't there he was hyperaware of how quiet it was.

Maybe I should call Diana. She might know where she is.

As soon as Ben thinks that, his phone begins to ring, but Ben doesn't bother to look at who it is before he answers it.

"Hello?" Ben huffs out a breath of smoke that hangs in the air in front of his face, catching in the bluish light coming from the television.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The voice on the other side of the line yells at him.

"Di?"

"Yes it's me. Who did you think it was? Santa Clause?" Your grandmother snarks.

"Why are you calling me and why the fuck are you so mad? What did I do?" Ben answers slightly annoyed.

As much as you got under his skin, your grandmother had been the same way. He actually thought that it was amusing that even before he figured out that she was your grandmother that he had often compared you to her in his mind. You had the same mannerisms, the same defiant and stubborn attitude that drove Ben up the wall, and you were just as beautiful as she was.

Ben was okay with admitting that he was attracted to you. To him that felt normal, it was the other feelings that he was conflicted about, the ones that he'd never felt before stirring in his chest that made him feel "too emotional" and "woman-like."

Truthfully, Ben was sure that if your grandmother had given him a shot that maybe he would have felt that way about her too. She was the only person that Ben actually trusted in the 80's, the only person that was brave enough to call him out on all his shit. You did that now. But he liked her husband also, so Ben was content with letting her go. He liked how happy that Henry, your grandfather, had made her. He knew that she wasn't happy as a supe and seeing her so happy and in love made Ben feel something that was close to happiness.

And it was seeing the way the two of them were together made Ben wonder if what he had with Countess was the same thing. Because he did have feelings about her that were different, but each time he went to visit Diana and saw your father playing on her lap he felt that there was something missing in his life.

It was the same way that he thought something was missing when you weren't in the apartment, but Ben hadn't realized that yet.

"Because I don't understand what the hell you're doing!" Diana replies and Ben honestly doesn't know why she's angry with him.

"About what?"

"My granddaughter."

Ben sits up the blunt in his fingertips forgotten. "Is she there with you?"

"Yes." Her voice softens for a moment.

Ben relaxes and leans back onto the couch, sighing in relief. "Good. That's good." Relief swelled in his chest when he thought about you staying with her, safe.

That's what she meant when she said that she wanted to go home. Home is with her grandmother. Ben stopped the next thought before he could go there.

The thought that home wasn't with him.

Ben was trying not to think about that or think about you hating him. He didn't think you did, well, didn't think you did anymore. At first it really was touch and go, but now he was almost eighty percent sure after you'd told him more than once that you weren't afraid of him and didn’t hate him that you sometimes wanted him around.

"No, not good."

"What do you mean? Is she okay?" Ben's grip on the phone tightens so hard that he's sure that he hears the screen cracking.

"No."

"What happened?" Ben's voice is a growl, the feelings of relief evaporating as soon as they had begun to bloom in his chest. He mentally calculated how long it would take him to get to you.

"Her entire life fucking fell apart and where are you? Not here!"

Oh. Ben relaxed a little bit.

"I don't need to be there." He says on an exhale of smoke.

"Yes you do!" Diana presses.

"No, I don't. She a big girl she doesn't need me there, she's-" Ben takes a puff from the joint.

“If you were any denser you’d be a Bundt cake Benjamin!” She says exasperated.

"What the fuck are you talking about doll? I am not-"

“Let me guess." She interrupts and Ben can imagine her tapping her foot. He hated when she did that. "You’re moping around smoking a blunt on the couch probably with a glass of something that you're hoping to numb whatever the hell it is you're feeling."

Ben's eyes shift to the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table that he hadn't touched in a few minutes.

“I’m not fucking moping and stop spying on me!” He snaps back at Diana.

He hated how well she knew him. She was his best friend in the 80's through all the shit, she had seen him at his worst and at his best too many times to count.

“I don’t have to use my powers to know what you’re doing. I know you Ben.”

"Sorry to disappoint you sweetheart.” Ben grits his teeth, temper flaring hot. “But if you know me as well as you fucking say you do then you then you know that this is-“

“You avoiding your feelings by acting aloof and brooding like a fucked up version of Mr. Darcy.” She interrupts.

She certainly hasn't changed.

“I am not avoiding-“

“She needs you here Ben.” Diana stamps her foot, the same way you do when Ben pisses you off, and Ben can hear it.

“She doesn’t need me! She said that she wanted to go home, that she didn’t want to be here with me! I tried to-“ Ben shouts back standing up. It was the exact thing that he'd been thinking for the past twenty four hours, that you didn’t need him and that you didn't want to be any where near him.

That last thought made an uncomfortable sensation prickle in his gut when he thought it, because all it did was remind him of how you acted when the two of you first met, when you didn't want him to live with you and tried your darndest to make him go away.

He didn’t want to and he wasn't sure why that was.

“Try harder.” Diana interrupts him again and frankly it was pissing him off.

Ben clenches his jaw. “I think that you’ve confused me with someone else baby.”

“Don’t you 'baby' me Benjamin! We both know that you’re doing what you always do when things get hard for you.”

“And what’s that?”

“You pretend not to care and shut out everyone who tries to care for you. Not to mention you drown yourself in drugs, booze, and women.”

“She doesn’t care about me!” He spits.

“She does!” Diana snaps back. “And believe it or not she needs you here and she wants you here.”

"But-"

"Ben please." It was the first time that he'd heard Diana sound softer and almost pleading since the conversation started. "Don't do this to her. She's worth more than Countess and all those other women you've fallen into bed with."

"Do you really think I don't know that?" He roars. The answer surprises himself. "Do you think I don't know that she's different?"

Wait what?

"If you know that, then why aren't you here?"

He hesitates.

Everything you said to him the night of the party comes roaring back. You looking beautiful in a dress that made his throat tight, and you telling him that you just wanted to be friends and that you understood that he wasn't the type of guy to have relationships. He didn't understand why it stung a bit when you said that, but it had.

Ben thinks about the week that the two of you spent together after Diana went home, when he tried his best to take care of you, distract you from everything that happened with his movies, and would sit with you and try to make you laugh. He'd never wanted to take care of someone before.

Not to mention he kind of liked the way you laughed. He wouldn’t admit that to anyone, but each time you did, it made him want to laugh too. That had never happened to him before. But he wanted to make you laugh to forget everything that happened with Elijah. His fist clenches when he thinks of exactly what Elijah tried to do to you and it makes him feel so mad that he feels close to spontaneously combusting. Ben might not be the best role model when it came to women, but he couldn’t imagine the type of man who would force himself on someone else.

It had made him angry when he thought that you were suggesting that he would try something when he first moved in, because he wasn't that type of man.

Ben was trying to be better for you. He wasn't admitting that, but he really was trying to be better. He didn't understand why. You'd told him countless times that you didn’t want to be with him, that you wanted to be with someone else like Jake.

Ben frowns when he thinks about the man he'd pulled from the rubble of the shop. And again thinks to himself that you should be with someone different, someone who was a supe and could understand you. Ben had seen how difficult it was for Diana when she was keeping her supe life a secret from your grandfather and he didn't want you to have to do that with someone.

"Because I'm not-" Ben begins to say, but he holds his tongue. It was too honest, too raw, too unlike him to admit this to anyone.

Because I'm not this guy. Because I'm not the one she wants. Because I'm not some knight on a white horse. Because she's everything right with the world and I'm just a fucking asshole who sleeps on her couch.

"Ben." Diana breathes and he can practically hear her pinching the bridge of her nose. "In all the years I've known you, you've never done what you did for her with anyone else. You carried her out of that warehouse, you stayed with her in the hospital even after she woke up, you took care of her when she came home, you protected her from Darren. You can't ignore all those things."

"I'm not ignoring them. She's my friend." The word sours in his mouth as he says it. "And she would have done the same thing for me." He knew it was true.

She's a good person and she wouldn't let me chase her away if any of that shit happened to me and I told her to leave me alone.

"Yes she would. Because she cares about you." Diana sighs.

"She doesn't."

"Why don't you believe me?"

"Because she's told me what she wants!" Ben shouts so loudly he can feel the room shaking. "She wants to be friends-“

"Because she doesn't think that you want a relationship you nitwit!"

"I don't." Ben spits the words before he can stop them, but as he does something tightens at the base of his throat.

"How is it that it's been forty fucking years and you're still able to dance on the grave of my last nerve?"

Ben chuckles. "I missed you too sweetheart."

She sighs into the phone again making it crackle in Ben's ear. "She needs you.” Diana repeats. “And I think you need her too.”

His temper was flaring again, the thoughts that his father pressed into him surging up before he can stop the words. “I don’t need anyone. I’m Sol-“

“If you say that you’re Soldier Boy, I’m going to reach through this phone and slap you silly.” She snaps. “And you do need her, but you’re still just too stubborn to admit it.”

“I-“

“Ben I know that everything that happened with Countess was fucked up, but my granddaughter she-“ Diana pauses before she changes the thought. “You say that you know she’s different, but right now you’re treating her the same way you treat all those other women.”

“I’m not-“

“My granddaughter has decided you’re important to her and once that’s happened it’s hard to make her let go. You saw the way she was with Darren and that guy was a manipulative asshole. Imagine what she thinks of you.”

“I-“

“Stop making excuses!”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say!” Ben shouts.

“And I don’t need to! Think what you want Ben but if you’d stop acting so stubborn and so ridiculously blind to what’s right in front of you. I promise that what comes next is worth the risk.”

“Don’t go all fucking mystical on me doll.”

“And don’t go all macho- no feelings asshole on me! So stop being so damn stubborn, get on a plane and get your ass here.” She retorts. “Don’t fuck this up Benjamin because if you do I’ll fuck you up.”

The line goes dead.

Ben sat there for a minute in the silence still holding the phone up to his ear, listening to what your grandmother said to him ring around in his head for a second.

No one ever spoke to him that way. In fact, Ben had never allowed anyone to speak to him the way that she did, well, not until you came along. You reminded him so much of her that it was astounding and he wasn't going to admit that maybe it's why he liked being around you so much.

Ben frowns at what Diana said, thinking about the unusual feelings that were swirling in the pit of his stomach. He felt wrong and the feelings were odd for him. He hadn't felt anything remotely like this ever in his life, not even for Countess.

And although Ben refused to be afraid of anything, the feelings he was having scared him. He didn’t understand and he wasn't sure that he wanted to. He wasn't sure that he wanted to see where this ended up. He felt like he was in too deep.

As much as he wanted to go to you like Diana ordered him to, he wasn't sure that he should. Something was holding him back, digging it's heels in and refusing to budge.

But why do I feel like-

His phone rings and he doesn't look at the caller ID when he picks up, expecting it to be Diana again, yelling at him.

"Di I-"

But it's not Diana.

"Hello Ben. It's nice to hear your voice again." The familiar voice says, sounding calm and collected.

"What the fuck do you want?" Ben snarls.

"I thought it was time the two of us had a chat.”

A/N: At this point Diana is really just trying to give both Ben and the reader the kick in the pants they need. And yes I know another cliffhanger, but you know you love it. 🤭😉 We are quickly reaching the end of this series, but that means the confession scene is coming and I am so excited about it!!

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, likes, and comments are not required, but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know. 😊

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 11 months ago

Text

DEAR SPRING, STAY FOREVER ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO, SHOKO IEIRI

synopsis; just another mellow breakfast shared between you and your lovers, in the wake of a new spring.

word count; 3.8k

contents; sashisu/reader (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, all of u are whipped, lots of petnames, literally just breakfast fluff, it ended up kinda sugucentric on accident (not my fault btw he just really loves making breakfast for u that’s on him), also ended up kinda sappy at the end (that’s on me), implied no curses au, they’re in their twenties but it isn’t specified, everyone is eepy and in love <33

a/n; a little breakfast fic bc i love mornings and i love them :33 (tagging my beloved sashisu soldiers @catchuuu @staryukis i am making breakfast for both of u btw ☕️🥞) pls listen to spring thief by yorushika it’s the most sashisu song ever

as always, suguru is the first of you to make it into the kitchen.

he’s humming. it’s soft, a low lull of his voice, beckoning you closer like the call of a siren. sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, fiddling with a pan, sizzling and simmering and breathing in the scent of pancakes; it pairs well with the espresso steam from the coffee pot to his right, the vase of hydrangeas by the windowsill.

it’s a sunny morning. the perfect setting for the start of your day, an atmosphere you can savour, like the gradual sipping of your soon-to-be morning cup of coffee. somewhere outside your vision comes a morning symphony, chirps and songs by cicadas and robins. splotches of sunlight splatter against the windows, the kitchen table, the floorboards — illuminating the man in front of the stove.

something in your chest constricts, when you look at him. a tenderness uprooted, a fondness watered and trimmed, a hungry plant only satiated at the sight of this; the back of his head, raven locks cascading down his broad shoulders in obsidian waves, hair put up into a lazy half-down bun. a little messy, a little too breathtaking for words. wearing a black turtleneck that hugs his waist just right.

you should be used to it, by now. suguru has always been an early bird, always the first to rouse from his slumber, only ever contended by shoko and her occasional bouts of sleep-deprivation. he’s always waiting for the three of you, just like this — in front of a sizzling pan, adjusting his glasses by the kitchen table, cooking or reading or simply reminiscing. content to stir in the peace and quiet of the morning hours, before the world wakes up.

and he’s always taken to preparing breakfast for the four of you, always ready to greet you with a smile and a cup of freshly made cappuccino. he enjoys taking care of you, all three of you. always has.

(it wasn’t any different back when you were kids. suguru was always the first one in the dormitory’s kitchen, messing with the rusty french press or making a grossly bitter smoothie for himself. he was snarkier, more roundabout — but no less thoughtful. grumpy little shoko would always get the last bitter pumps of espresso, and sleepy little satoru would get a french toast if he asked nicely enough. and you?

you got to see them, be with them. that alone would’ve been enough. the steaming cup of cappuccino left on the kitchen counter — a little too tailored to your taste to be a mere coincidence — was always nothing more than an added bonus.)

the soft humming falters, for no more than a beat or two. suguru shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and suddenly you can’t resist the temptation.

with clumsy steps, heavy feet weighed down by a sleepy sense of numbness, you stumble towards your target. it’s a familiar waltz, five steps to reach him, a warmth that spreads throughout your body in tandem with the curl of your arms around his waist. slumped against him, cheek squished against his upper back, you hold your breath.

silently, you wait. one, two, until you hear the familiar roll of his breath; a delighted little sigh that slips from his parted lips.

when suguru cranes his head to get a glimpse of you, his amber eyes are leaking adoration. a sense of liveliness, a joyous spark — like a firefly, the flicker of a rusty lighter. he looks well-rested, dark circles long faded, only the dimmest remnant of them still visible beneath his eyes.

he holds your gaze, steady and kind, and then he’s leaning forward; eager to press his lips against your waiting forehead. glasses slipping ever so slightly down the bridge of his nose. the kiss is chaste, familiar. warm, warm, a faint heat that simmers in your chest, a tiny firework of a feeling. even the metal of his piercing feels warm on your skin.

you melt into his spine, fingers searching for a pair of hands that find yours first — his thumb rubbing tender circles over your forearm. practiced, memorized, that familiar waltz of motions. he lingers against your skin, breathing in satoru’s favorite strawberry shampoo. you’ve been stealing it for weeks now.

suguru’s lips curl up into something amused, still not quite willing to part from you.

but then he does. turning towards the stove, reaching for the coffee pot with one hand, the other securing your own and lacing your fingers together. he gives them an affectionate squeeze, still resting on his lower stomach. a silent greeting that he always ends up voicing anyway.

”g’morning, love,” he croons, a little raspy, but sweet and nice. honeyed and deep, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. you hear him pour something into a cup. ”how did you sleep?”

all you can give him is a tired grunt, stretching your limbs out, blinking sluggishly to shoo away the drowsiness. suguru knows what to expect; he simply smiles, endeared, pouring steamed milk into your favorite cup. with a clink of his spoon against the ceramic, he adds the foam, stirring it carefully.

then he’s shifting his weight, angling his face towards yours, and pressing the rim of the cup against your lips — not before blowing on it gently. he watches as your eyelids flutter, waiting for the hum of contentment he’ll hear once you have your first sip. and he gets it. the rich aroma stirs you into a more awakened state, and a single taste of the creamy foam has you standing up a little straighter, humming in sleepy delight. suguru smiles, crow’s feet hidden behind his glasses.

you accept the cup with a grateful squeeze of his palm, and he makes sure it’s steady in your hold before he faces forward again. another sip, and your throat feels a little less dry, your mind a lot less sluggish. so you answer his previous question.

”… slept well,” another tiny sip. it’s hot, warming you up from the inside. ”i would’ve preferred waking up to you, though...”

a low chuckle bubbles up in your boyfriend’s throat. it makes you want to pout, but you smile instead. traitorous lips.

he’s looking at you again, unable to help himself, reaching over to brush some loose strands of hair away from your face. ”aw, ’m sorry,” he coos, teasingly, sickeningly sweet. ”but then you wouldn’t have woken up to a fresh cup of coffee, hm?”

now you really are pouting. he shifts, until you're standing chest to chest, and kisses it away. twice, for good measure. he must be in a good mood.

he usually is, at this time of year. when the air starts smelling of honeydew and snowdrops, and he’s awoken by barking dogs, luscious sunbeams splattered on soft bedsheets, the pitter patter of sudden spring rain. when the apricot trees outside your apartment complex begin to bloom; a flurry of sickly-white kisses pressed against your windows, sticking to the locks of your hair. it gives him an excuse to run his fingers through it. even when shoko whines for him to cut it out, and satoru purposefully shakes the branches to make the tiny white petals even harder to find. he must like having his hair ruffled like a misbehaving dog.

they make suguru sigh and sigh, exasperated, but there’s always a smile waiting somewhere out of view. he’s not very good at hiding it.

(he likes the apricot trees. likes watching them change shape, colour, likes waiting for them to wither and blossom and turn into fruit.

once they’re ripe enough to pick, i’ll make marmalade for us.)

the morning waltz continues. while suguru continues to flip his pancakes, you sleepily decide to set the table. fondness erupts behind his eyelids at the gesture, small as it is. you stand on your tiptoes to reach the highest shelf, just to grab satoru’s favorite mug; one you all got him for his 19th birthday, a heartfelt message of world’s okayest boyfriend etched into the front. it was meant to make him pout and whine, but you’ve never seen him drink out of anything else at home.

you place the cup on the table with a soft thunk, along with plates and cutlery. suguru has already brought down a cup for shoko, seated on the kitchen counter next to him, soon to be filled with the same rich espresso he always drinks. he’s waiting until she joins you both, so it doesn’t end up going lukewarm. there’s nothing shoko hates more. you can practically hear that grumpy scoff, see her cute little frown.

your sleep schedules differ from day to day. suguru is always up early, satoru always sleeps in. shoko fluctuates between the two. you usually end up rousing from your slumber whenever the bed starts feeling a little too empty — a fact you doubt they’ll ever quit teasing you about.

that differs from day to day, too. sometimes you sleep with suguru, sometimes the other two, sometimes all three. you have your separate rooms, but always end up with your limbs intertwined one way or another; even if one of you comes home late or falls asleep on the couch watching tv. satoru can’t sleep without hugging someone, and suguru can’t fall asleep unless he knows you’re all sleeping well. shoko isn’t picky, but you know she feels safest when she’s linking elbows with you, or touching pinkies with suguru, or snoozing on top of satoru’s chest like a weighted blanket. as for you…

you’ve gotten way too used to their touch to ever go without it. last night, you ended up in suguru’s room, tucked underneath his chin, while satoru snuck into shoko’s bed to convince her not to pull another all-nighter. you’re assuming it worked.

”mm, smells good. you makin’ pancakes?”

a bubbly, groggy voice spills into the air, just as a light breeze flits in through the window. soothing, refreshing. you turn your gaze towards its source.

and there they are. sleepy satoru, and grumpy shoko, the former clinging to the latter like an overgrown koala. satoru seems to be in high spirits, calling out to you with a smile, blue eyes glimmering like a sunny sky; but you can tell he’s tired by the way he’s stretching out his limbs, only wearing a pair of pyjama pants. and shoko is silent, blinking drowsily, twitching when his loud voice buzzes in her ear. she makes no move to push him away.

suguru gazes at them with a smile, in tandem with you, nothing but fond. loving, in the way the amber of his eyes gleams and swirls with promises of something everlasting. he’s a little intense, honestly. but you wouldn’t have him any other way.

and, admittedly, your sleepy little partners are a sight for sore eyes.

shoko meets your gaze, and finally decides to shake off the man with an arm over her shoulder. said man huffs, but makes no move to follow her when she stumbles into your arms.

her limbs find their way around your midriff, her chin to the curve of your shoulder. her hair is loose, almost as long as suguru’s, messy and brushing against your cheek. your hand goes to smooth down her back, the fabric of her oversized shirt, soft and laced with the scent of laundry detergent. she yawns, right by your ear, lips jutted out into a small pout, and something in your chest returns. a hungry plant, drinking up her raspy voice, the glimpse you get of that mole beneath her eye. her stretch marks, when she pulls away and her shirt rides up enough to expose her thighs. little lightning bolts.

”morning,” you chirp. she presses a tiny kiss against your cheek, dangerously close to your lips; sometimes you think she does it just to tease you.

”hey, how come i didn’t get a morning kiss?”

shoko turns her head, finding satoru’s accusing stare. he’s pouting, tilting his head, already making his way over to suguru. but she only rolls her eyes.

”you’re such a baby.”

”you know you love me!”

suguru stifles a puff of laughter, leaning back against the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the marble. watching his partners with barely contained delight. satoru notices, grinning softly, throwing his arms around his boyfriend’s neck.

satoru’s kisses are always sloppy. you hear that drawn out mwah! even without looking at the pair, even without seeing his lips against suguru’s jaw. a phantom warmth sprouts on your skin.

”good morning, handsome,” he purrs, low and rumbling through his chest, pressed flush against suguru’s — their heartbeats mingling together. soft skin against smooth fabric. there’s mischief in those aquamarine eyes, something teasing, and it makes suguru want to return the favour.

”good morning, baby,” he presses his lips against satoru’s cheek. voice muffled against his soft skin, silky and deep. ”you kinda smell.”

a moment passes. the calm before the storm.

satoru blinks, barely registering shoko’s dry chuckle from behind him — and then furrows his eyebrows together like an irritated cat. a scandalized noise builds up at the base of his throat, and he glares at the man in front of him, frustration only growing when he notices that suguru isn’t returning the favour. his gaze is still fond, like an artist admiring a marble statue, drinking in his pouty boyfriend’s fluffy hair and droopy eyes and rosy lips. flattering, but the damage has been done.

”oh, i see how it is,” he withdraws his arms and takes a step back, crossing them with a hmph. ”bullying your sweet boyfriend first thing in the morning, huh? have you no shame?”

”sorry. you just look really bulliable today.”

another offended little noise. he turns on his heel, messy strands of hair swaying with the movement, glaring at shoko instead. ”unbelievable. i feel neglected in this household.”

you huff out a breathy laugh, taking a seat by the kitchen table while your lovers bicker. sipping from your cappuccino in silence, soaking up the mellow morning mood. until you feel satoru staring at you; eyes like marbles, big and bright, rich with mirth. his pout fades away, and he closes in on you with a smile. troubles forgotten.

before you can greet him, he’s leaning down to leave a fat kiss on your forehead — messy, uncoordinated, but loving. a coo on the tip of his tongue. when he’s this close you can see his dimples, those tiny freckles that only come out in the light of the sun.

you feel him smile against your skin, pulling back to speak. parting his pretty, glossy lips. ”and good morning to you, my dearest.”

he’s silly.

your lips bloom into a sweet grin, honeyed nectar on your teeth. he’s illuminated by the light streaming in through the window, a little disheveled, with his cute bedhead and bare chest exposed. a giggle slips from your lips, and your voice carries a melodic lilt, coming out as a soft croon. ”good morning, sunshine.”

satoru blinks. just once, before the telltale signs of his excitement start to show; his face brightening, breaking out into a cheshire grin, something sweet in the way his eyes crinkle. like folded origami, like messily cut fruit. citrusy and smooth.

before you can protest, those strong arms are reaching around your waist — hoisting you up into his arms with a coo of c’mere. he spins you around, just once or twice, and chuckles at the way you let out a sleepy yelp. even after stilling, he doesn’t put you down, only guiding your legs to wrap around his middle; his naked chest and muscles pressed flush against you. he’s warm, one large palm on your back and the other on your thigh. he touches you like it’s muscle memory, every ridge and dip, every part of you he’s already long mapped out. honestly, you don’t understand how he can get so excited this early in the morning.

but who are you to complain, when it means getting smothered like this?

”oh, and i smell great, by the way,” he suddenly huffs, directed at the partners behind him. he’s quick to smile down at you, tilting his head and searching for approval. ”don’t i, baby?”

for a second, you’re tempted to join in on the teasing. some part of you wants to. unfortunately, it loses against the parts of you still mesmerized by the splotches of white inside his pretty eyes, those cute little freckles. so you nod.

”yeah,” you breathe. inhaling, taking him in, sunlight and strawberries and laundry detergent. ”you smell like spring.”

his smile continues to blossom, turning sweeter by the minute. brighter than the sun. he throws a victorious glance behind him, delighting in the simultaneous roll of their eyes — before finally putting you back down. he wastes no time in plopping down on the seat to your right, dragging your chair closer to his, until they’re pressed against each other. curling a leg around yours. so clingy in the morning.

suguru and shoko are quick to join you. they blink slowly, sipping on their cups of espresso, a rich aroma spreading throughout the kitchen. it blends well with the plates of pancakes suguru scoots towards you, drizzled with the syrup satoru likes. he’s attentive, making sure you’re all comfortable, rising to his feet when shoko asks for a single cube of sugar. she’s started to mellow out a bit, no longer as grumpy, soothed by the bitter taste on her tongue. and satoru keeps your leg locked in place beneath the table.

it’s hard not to feel nostalgic, like this. when spring is blooming just outside your window, when all three of them are just the same as you remember. some things have changed, sure, but they’re still so unapologetically them. loud voices, rude eye-rolls, teasing comments and all.

they munch on their pancakes, sip on their coffee, and you chat about what to do when you all get home. what movie to watch, what food to order, what food to make because suguru doesn’t think you’ve been eating enough homemade meals lately. bickering and bantering. smiling.

(it feels like high school every day.)

shoko is the first to leave. she glances at the clock on the wall and stutters out a string of curse words, a mutter about being late. suguru plays dumb when she accuses him of not reminding her on purpose. she kisses you again, right under your jaw, and lets her clingy boyfriends give her one kiss each on the lips — despite her protests that they’ll mess up her lipstick. then she’s heading out.

”goodbye, doctor!” satoru calls, cheery even as your girlfriend rolls her pretty eyes.

”don’t call me that yet,” she snorts, adjusting her scarf. ”there’s still a good chance i’ll drop out. or cheat my way to a doctorate.”

so she says, but you all know her. you catch that glimmer of amusement in her eyes, something smug in the way she straightens her back. a little embarrassed, maybe. but the faith you have in her makes her glow.

then it’s satoru’s turn. he’s whinier, about it, ignoring the alarms on his phone on purpose. suguru has to bribe him, promising him kikufuku and take-out and an extra tight hug when he gets home. only then does he get up from his seat, untangling his leg with yours.

”do i have to?”

”yes, you do,” suguru tuts. ”the kids have an exam today. be responsible.”

another pout. but he listens, slipping on his sunglasses, putting on a coat and stealing a sip of your coffee that only makes him grimace. he has you both kiss the taste away, and you indulge him, because he’s silly and stupid and yours.

and then it’s just you and suguru. he has a day off, and you don’t have to leave until later. the kitchen falls silent, back to a mellow morning rhythm, that quiet waltz of motions and sunshine. suguru pours you more coffee, gazing at you from across the table, and you thank him with a smile. he adjusts his glasses and flips through the morning newspaper; absently, you wonder if shoko and satoru would’ve teased him for it.

what the four of you have is an odd arrangement. but that’s what all of you are, anyway; a little odd.

and as you sit there, serenaded by cicadas and morning birds, senses caressed by cappuccino foam and apricot blossoms and a hand holding yours over the table… you think to yourself that even if everything shattered around you — if the earth stopped spinning or the stars crashed through the roof of your apartment — you’d probably still keep on living. you’d do it, if only to continue chewing on these memories, these mornings, like savouring the faded flavour of an old piece of gum. over and over again, until you can’t tell where your teeth end and where the gum begins, so that you’ll always be able to taste it on your tongue. for the rest of your life.

it’s melodramatic, yes, but they are too. you’re sure suguru is pondering a sentiment even more dramatic, right now, even heavier with devotion. something so sappy you’d have to hide your face in your hands and beg him to stop talking.

and, lo and behold, he suddenly speaks up.

“are you happy?”

the question breaks you out of your silent stupor. you look up from your plate, his amber eyes already taking you in, drowning you in fondness. he’s smiling, and he’s looking at you like you’re spring personified. the silver of his lip piercing catches the light of the sun. a couple apricot petals are stuck in his hair, woven between his raven locks.

you blink. inside your chest, something unfurls, twists and turns, grows and withers all at once. a whole garden of love, just for them.

you lean forward, elbows on the table, and brush through his bangs. petal caught between your fingertips. when you lean back, you’re smiling.

“yeah,” you answer, truthfully. inhaling the scent of spring. “i’m always happy when i’m with you.”

a breeze caresses your cheek, your hands, and the whole apartment smells of apricots. suguru seems pleased, returning to his cup of lukewarm coffee, a little clink of ceramic against porcelain that strikes you as distinctly heavenly.

soon, you’ll have to leave. you’ll have to manage without their jokes and banter and touches, without them, for a grueling number of hours, one tortuous lecture after another. but they’ll be waiting once you get back — and tomorrow, you’ll have breakfast again, just like this. forever and ever. you never want the coffee to run out, never want the apricot trees to wither. you want to stay greedy for a long time to come.

and you’re sure they feel the same.

the sun lets her golden hair flow throughout the city, melting rivers and warming benches. she falls across shoko’s lecture hall, sneaks into satoru’s classroom, kisses her way up suguru’s neck. you let a sigh slip past your lips, and the sun breathes it in again — a vein of joy awoken, slumbering inside your veins.

and you smile.

(it’s springtime, now. a little warmer.

here’s to another year together.)

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