#also I would once again like to note that the entire dream was sweet and fluffy and absolutely full of domestic bliss

[coles-scythe]

Hiii didn't get to mention it this morning bc I wasnt feeling great but I had a dream last night about being Bruce's boyfriend. Also Hulk's because he care me too. Held me gently like hamburger. The polycule is coming together in my brain as we speak.

[florencemtrash]

He Feels Safe With You — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel's sleeping habits begin to worry you, but after a conversation with Cassian, you realize you've misinterpreted the entire situation.

Warnings: Major fluff. Like tooth-rotting sweetness. Sleepy Az.

Author's note: I should be sleeping because I have work tomorrow but instead I've chosen to write this oneshot and I have no regrets.

It was starting to become a problem now. 

You cocked your head to the side, cradling a cup of tea in your hands and watching Azriel as he continued to sleep soundly in your bed. You had the windows cracked open and the early Autumn breeze swirled indoors with the scent of lavender, bergamot, and the strawberry jam you’d slathered over your toast. You checked the time once again on the glossy marble clock face. The arrow-shaped hour hand clicked ever closer to 11am, the minute hand close to overtaking its competitor. 

10:55am and Azriel was still asleep. 

The sheets clustered loose and low around his waist, mimicking the curling of his shadows up and down the ridges of his spine and across the delicate membrane of his wings. His wings hung loose and relaxed, stretching off the edges of your bed and caressing the floor with a lover’s touch. You blushed at the sight. When you and Azriel had first started courting each other three years ago, you’d thought through the mechanics of housing an Illyrian warrior in your bed — should you buy a new bed frame and mattress? Did you even have space for it in your apartment? The answer had been no to both, and yet Azriel loved when your daytime activities ended here instead of at the townhouse. If he cared about having to walk sideways to avoid the bookshelves in the halls or having to crouch to avoid the overhang above the staircase, he didn’t mention it. 

Three hours ago you’d woken up beneath the gentle weight of his wings, untangled yourself from Azriel’s greedy limbs, and crept down the stairs to your kitchen, bleary eyed but well rested. But that was three hours ago! Since then you’d brushed your teeth, washed your face, and eaten breakfast, and still the Shadowsinger hadn’t stirred. You were beginning to question whether he truly was the Spymaster of the Night Court as you sat in your velvet chair and admired your lover. You traced all the subtle movements of his body as he muddled through dreams you could only wonder at — the creasing of his brow, the slack line of his lips as he breathed, the twitching of his fingertips as he reached for some phantom object. 

The clock struck eleven and you sighed, gathering your plates but leaving Azriel’s pile of toast, butter, and honey alone. You also left the teapot and its mismatched cup, blowing magic over its lid in a silent command to keep its contents hot until Azriel awoke. 

“I’ll be down in the shop,” you whispered to his shadows, trusting that they would relay the message when their master finally decided to grace the daytime with his presence. 

One by one, shadows slipped off Azriel’s skin, curling around your ankles and wrists in a silent plea to stay. You shook them off like one might a needy child, promising you’d only be two floors down. 

The artists’ corner in Velaris was an eclectic array of compact townhouses, each outwardly dressed in their unique, dazzling finery. Your townhouse was squished between a painting studio and a luthier’s. The painting studio’s owner seemed intent on changing the color of the wooden sidings every other day and the drawings scribbled over the windows every other week. Today it was periwinkle blue to match the hydrangeas overflowing from the window boxes. 

You nodded in approval as you flipped the apothecary sign over from “Much apologies, please try another time” to “You’ve caught us! We’re open!” The blue would match your tulip yellow sidings and the clean white accents of the luthier’s. Last week it had been red and that had looked gods-awful. 

You busied yourself in the shop, crushing up lavender and herbs and boiling mugwort in fire-stained glassware in between flurries of customers until the medicinal stench in the air grew thick and strong. You were used to it by now. It smelled clean. Like home. 

You were finishing tying up a bundle of teabags when Cassian came in carrying a sturdy wooden box under one arm like it weighed five pounds instead of fifty. You snapped out the wrinkles of a cloth bag, dropping the teabags and five vials of sleep serum for the nightingale-winged nymph in front of you. 

“Four feathers and three strands of hair, as we bargained for,” you said, sliding the bag across the counter. 

The nymph nodded in approval, extending out a wing and shoving her fingers into the pillowy softness. She tested for loose feathers ready to pull.

“You’re a godsend, Y/n, has anyone ever told you that?” She pulled out three feathers, closed her wing, and started testing the feathers on the other side. “Finnigan’s was asking me for ten. Ten! Can you believe that? If I hadn’t found you in time I’d have been reduced to a plucked chicken.” She was much less precious about her mousey brown hair and yanked out three strands at random. “Oops, you get an extra strand today,” she sang, dropping the feathers and hair into the jars you held out. 

“Well it’s a good thing you found me then, Moricka.” 

“Honestly! I understand he’s got a large studio space he’s renting in the thick of the Palace, and even I will admit the ambiance is rather professional—” 

Cassian raised his brow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his scarred lips as he continued to stand motionless in the doorway. It was true your space was more… homey than Finnigan’s, but your expertise shined in intimate spaces. You liked the control and the familiarity that came from running a smaller business and you wouldn’t give it up for the world. 

“But I do think the success is getting to his head. You both studied under Lady Madja so I don’t see why—” 

You nodded absentmindedly. It was always like this with Moricka. The songbird in her made it difficult for her to stop talking, but at least her voice was pleasant. 

She threw her hands up in the air before finally catching wind of another presence in the room. Cassian waved at her with a wink and an orange blush creeped onto her full cheeks. He tended to have that effect on fae with his towering size and the wild beauty of his chiseled jaw and smattering of scars over his cheeks and brow. 

“Oh… oh dear, I didn’t realize you had another customer. Oh my goodness I’ve been talking your ear off all this time and you’ve been too kind to say anything. You’re a godsend, Y/n. A godsend! I don’t know what I would do without you, although I should really be letting you go now.” She grabbed her things and sidestepped the range of Cassian’s wings, trying and failing now to gawk. “I’ll see you soon enough again I’m sure.” 

“I’ll be here.” You sighed in relief when the doorbell rang behind her petite frame, the inoffensive smile you offered all your customers sliding off your face like oil on water. Cassian chuckled, dropping the box onto the countertop with a dull thud. 

“Long day?” 

You pulled out a stepstool and began rummaging around through the box, pulling out jars of squid ink, bark trimmings, buttons, and one particularly nasty jar containing a large eye suspended in yellow goo. “It’s not even three.” 

“Did I stutter?”

You tapped the glass and the eye swiveled around to look at you, pupil enlarging and constricting with a stutter. “Yes, yes very good,” you muttered your praise and Cassian fought hard not to shiver. He had a stomach for a great many things, but some of the specimens you handled tested his resilience.

“Thank you for bringing all of this. You’ve saved me a great deal of trouble.” 

“Perhaps you could do the same for me and tell me where my brother is? I’ve been looking for him all day.” Cassian leaned forward on the counter, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Are you holding him hostage, Y/n? Are you using your feminine powers to bring the poor male to his knees? I must admit, I didn’t imagine you as the kind capable of kidnapping. Or shadow-napping, shall we say?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m hardly holding him hostage.” You gestured down the hallway past the bookshelves and the cases of empty glassware where the light from the staircase glowed like an iron eye. “He’s upstairs sleeping.” 

Cassian furrowed his brows, stepping around and past you. He kept his wings tucked closer to his shoulder blades, careful not to upset the cramped organization you maintained in your shop. 

He smirked. “Still? Are you sure you didn't work your feminine powers last night?” 

You glanced out the store window. A few fae lingered outside the coffee shop across the street clutching takeaway boxes against their chest as they chatted and sipped their drinks. The street was otherwise empty. For now, you wouldn’t have to deal with any customers. 

You looked back at Cassian. “I actually wanted to ask you about that.”

His brows furrowed. “About feminine powers?” He'd meant that as a joke.

“Gods, Cassian let that go.” You wrung your hands. “I wanted to ask if Azriel was alright? Has he seemed… normal to you?”

“I don’t know, has he?” Cassian lowered his voice, sinking into one of the stools by the clear glass medicine cabinet. “From what I can tell he seems well. Happy.” 

Although happy was an understatement. Ever since you’d stumbled into their lives with Madja’s accolades and your wry humor, Azriel had been a goner. You’d pulled emotions from him as deftly as a spinster with a pile of wool, reduced him to a reverential, lovesick mess, and imbued his existence with a color not even Feyre could mix up. Which made it all the more confusing why you looked so nervous.

“You’ve seen more of him than I have, Y/n.” Cassian said. He braced his elbows against his knees, turning serious. The faint bags under his hazel eyes hinted at sleepless nights spent fussing over Neera. It was their fault really, any daughter of Nesta and Cassian was destined to be restless and particular.

“He just… he’s been sleeping more. Falling into bed early, but waking up late. Sometimes we’ll be reading together or just existing side by side and when I turn to face him, he’s dead asleep on the couch.” 

Cassian’s lips twitched, slowly stretching into a smile. You plucked a hemp bag off one of the wall shelves at random, tossing its contents into a mortar and beginning to grind just so you could have something to do with your hands. 

“At first I brushed it off, but it’s gotten to a point where I’ll be talking to him — mindless things, but regardless — and I’ll catch him dozing off. He’s always very apologetic after but I…” The mortar and pestle clattered to a stop. “I worry that he’s growing bored of me. Or that he’s sick in a way I can’t help.” 

“Y/n.” There was a smile in Cassian’s voice, and indeed when you looked at him, his teeth were glistening in the soft afternoon haze. His eyes shined knowingly, as if the answer were obvious.

You paused. “Yes?”

“He feels safe with you.” 

You blinked once. Twice. 

“Pardon?” 

Cassian tipped back in his seat, knocking his head against the cabinet with a rattle of jars and glass as he laughed. “He’s sleeping so much because he feels safe with you. It’s probably why he prefers to spend time here instead of at the townhouse and why he’s still dead asleep while we’re sitting here gossiping about him. Three years ago you couldn’t even whisper his name in a crowded room without him appearing from the shadows as if summoned.” 

You felt heat rise in your cheeks. “Oh... I see.” 

Cassian was grinning. “Y/n, I promise you he’s not bored of you. Azriel sleeping is a good thing. The gods know he could use more rest. I think he might be the worst of us when it comes to taking care of ourselves.” 

Something about Cassian’s words had a crack splintering in your chest. You knew about his past. You knew of the horrors burned into the ruined skin of his hands and the weight his duties deposited on his shoulders.

And here you’d been worried over him sleeping past noon. 

Shadows slipped down the stairs, pooling around your feet in a neat circle and kissing the exposed skin of your ankles. Azriel followed closely behind, still wearing his rumpled hair and pants and a shirt he’d hastily shoved his neck and arms into. He hadn’t even buttoned up the slits below his wings, opting to let the fabric swing free and loose and expose flashes of skin as he walked. 

He jutted his chin out in acknowledgement of Cassian and then folded himself over your back, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and dropping his face into the crook of your neck where he breathed in the scent of lemon and lavender and medicine. 

“You weren’t there when I woke up,” he said, frowning. There was a slur to his words.

“It’s past three, brother.” 

Azriel snapped his head up in surprise, squinting at the window and the afternoon sunlight streaking in. The pale cobblestones shone like they’d been drenched in honey. 

“What?” 

Cassian rolled his eyes, patting Azriel’s back fondly and mussing up your hair before walking towards the door. He flipped the sign from “You’ve caught us! We’re open!” to “Much apologies, please try another time.” 

“Goodnight, you two!" He called from over his back. "Remember we’re meeting at Rhys’s for dinner tonight.” He turned, bracing his arms against the top of the doorway and leaning forward like he meant to share a secret. “8pm sharp. Don’t be too late or we’ll get the wrong idea about what you two are up to.” He winked, then whistled down the street, letting the door close on its own behind him. 

Azriel sighed, going back to nuzzling his face in your neck. He peppered the sensitive skin there with kisses. 

“Will you be coming back upstairs then?” He murmured hopefully. "Now that you're finished with work?"

You bit your lip and decided rather quickly that the world would not end because you closed a few hours early. 

You led him up the stairs, past the kitchen and living room on the second floor, and then up to the third floor — your bedroom. The window was still open, the hustle and bustle of the city and the smell of coffee from across the street wafting in. Steam no longer poured from the lip of the teapot, so you knew Azriel had had something to drink, and where you’d left toast on his plate this morning lay only crumbs. 

Azriel dropped to his knees, untying your laces and helping you out of your boots. Then he straightened and tugged at the belt loops of your trousers, silently asking for permission before unbuttoning them and sliding them off your legs. Your shirt, then his shirt, and then his trousers joined the pile of crumpled clothing on the floor.

He gently pushed you back onto the bed, falling face first after you with a sigh. This was his favorite position to sleep in — you comfortable on your back and him laying with his hips slotted in between your legs and his head resting over your heart. 

You sank your fingers into his velvety, black hair. His hums of satisfaction flowed through your body, lighting every nerve with a comforting buzz. 

“Azriel?” You asked him, before sleep could finally claim him once more. 

“Hmmm?” 

“Do you feel safe with me?” 

He pressed his face further into the soft flesh of your chest, bringing his arms up and around your waist before allowing his wings to do the same. The thin membranes glowed red as hot coals, blocking out the most offensive rays of light from outside. 

“When I am with you, I forget that I was ever that boy whose hands got burned. When I am with you, the hundreds of years I spent feeling alone and worthless in this world melt away into nothing. When I am with you — when I am in this place that smells and feels so strongly of you — I can imagine a future that is good and pure and perfect.” He sighed deeply, seemingly ignorant to the pounding of your heart and the waves of feeling flooding your system. “So yes, my love — my Y/n — I do feel safe with you.”

“I feel safe with you too,” you murmured. “I love you, Azriel.” 

You kissed the crown of his head, earning one last smile and a slurred, “I love you, Y/n,” before his jaw went slack and the room went silent save for the mixing of your breaths and the stirring of shadows.

[hwallazia]

ANT!FRAGILE – 최산

synopsis . in which you pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.

pairing . choi san & fem!reader

genre . smut (mdni!) fluff at the end, comfort, established relationship, idol!au, and a poor attempt of comedy.

taglist . @bro-atz @purplenimsicle | apply to join my taglist ♡

word count . 3,1k

DISCLAIMER! unprotected sex (wrap before tap!), bath sex, slight degradation? (reader’s referred as “dumb girl” once), dirty talk, softdom!san, sub!reader, dacryphilia?, slight overstimulation, hickeys, size difference, bulge kink, cow girl position, petnames (princess, love, darling & more), teasing, squirt, suggestive language (yn tells wooyoung to kill himself, jokingly! they’re two very friendly friends ;)), coachella san (as a warning itself, yes).

NIC’S NOTES this took way too long for no reason at all (⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠￣⁠;⁠) but here it is! my brain rot of coachella san (ofc with teeth rotting fluff at the end bc i’m the one writing it) also, lowercase is intentional! (again, too lazy to write it properly;;)

you should’ve seen it coming after you found out that your boyfriend, san, would be performing at an event as important as coachella. not that you were complaining though.

you knew how much your boyfriend loves attention, how much it turned him on to hear the fans scream for him, and how the cameras adjust their lens to zoom in on his face or his toned muscles from dancing and moving from side to side. there were constant conversations in which san would ask you “should i wear this?”, “if i unbutton a couple of buttons will i get a reaction from atiny?” of course, you’d tell him dismissively that no matter what he does, he’d always get a reaction from everyone, from you especially.

but taking off his shirt in the middle of a concert? really?

you had already seen him without clothes on the upper part of his body, of course, —and also without clothes down there, but let’s omit details—. the thing here’s that you knew how cautious he was with his clothing, always trying to cover what was most important. but this surprised you, and immensely.

it is, in fact, a sight for sore eyes. but a certain level of jealousy invaded your body; you liked to think that you were the only one with the privilege of seeing his well-worked body. but now millions of people and locals would have photos and videos of your shirtless boyfriend on stage. you definitely couldn’t accept it, even though the entire internet already knows exactly what ateez’s choi san looks like underneath the expensive fabric that covers him at concerts.

you were fully aware that this was his job, and that he was paid for it, but did it really have to be him? why not any other member? maybe seonghwa? or mingi! what about him? he also has a pretty active and... desperate fanbase. it was obvious that more than one fan would pay to get, at least, a glimpse of his abs. so, with so many options, why was your boyfriend the exposed person?

but of course you couldn’t show up in his dressing room with a jealous expression clearly decorating your face, you had to act like the sweet and tender girlfriend you were and put jealousy aside for a moment. your boyfriend had just finished performing on a dream stage for any artist, you couldn’t ruin his night because of a little scene.

you weren’t a jealous or toxic lover; you were a conservative one. you liked knowing that you were special to san and you expected exclusivity from him; consequently, he would receive the same treatment. but you should’ve expected it when you started dating choi san. he’s an idol and that's his job: to cause, in any way, the attention of the fans which, consequently, would keep them afloat or flying through the charts.

but, that was an indelible feature of yours. therefore, in some way, you would make it noticeable.

you hit your knuckles a few times, with moderate intensity, against the modern metallic door decorated by a gold star that highlighted your boyfriend’s band name. you watched as the handle turned slightly and opened the door wide, managing to discover wooyoung with a foaming glass of champagne that found its rest in the palm of her hand. behind his figure, you could see mingi sitting on a noticeably comfortable leather couch next to yunho, both of them clinking their glasses together with a clink; yeosang and seonghwa taking a selfie in the mirror and jongho and hongjoong talking animatedly, perhaps about the upcoming scenarios you thought.

“what the hell are you doing here?” wooyoung said, looking at you confusingly. you narrowed your eyes slightly at his quick lack of courtesy.

“good night to you too, wooyoung. you were incredible out there.” you replied sarcastically, hoping he would finally greet you properly.

“oh thank you so much. but seriously, what are you doing here?” he asked once again.

“what do you mean what am i doing here? i came to congratulate y’all for the show because you totally killed it. all the atiny around me went absolutely feral because of you guys.” you praised, and wooyoung grinned nicely. jongho and hongjoong came up behind him, intrusively joining the conversation.

“well thank you very much, yn.” jongho responded and you gave him your purest smile, truly meaning your words.

“but i also came here to congratulate my boyfriend personally?” you interrogated since his figure wasn’t appearing in your visual field.

“that’s why i was asking! damn, you really don’t listen." wooyoung sentenced, his gaze being comparable to that of a mother scolding her daughter. “as soon as the concert was over, he changed and went to the hotel to see you. he thought you’d be there.”

“but i don’t have a ride home, and my phone died” you explained, doe-eyed as you waited for wooyoung, or any of the boys, to take the hint and quickly take you to the hotel to your boyfriend.

“you could just ask for it, you know?” wooyoung tsked, but finally surrendered to your big, brown eyes with a sigh. “give me two seconds to look for the car keys. i’ll take you there.”

and that’s what he did as fast as lighting since he knew they’d only have that night all for themselves before flying back out to korea. the next day would be full of promotion of their songs to the locals and their stage in coachella, so san wouldn’t be able to even spend a bit of his day with you. 

during the ride to the hotel, wooyoung spoke, “hey just don’t tire him out since we have quite the amount of work to do tomorrow.”

“you know, you could say something like ‘have a nice time together’, ‘take care of him’, ‘call me if you need anything-” before you could continue, he interrupted you briskly. 

“oh hell no. the both of you are responsible adults who know how to take care of themselves without someone else’s help so don’t even try to bother me tonight because i’m exhausted as shit.” he confessed, hands adjusting their position on the steering wheel when cornering.

“oh so now you’re saying i’m a burden?” you asked ironically, knowing wooyoung would catch it was only a joke.

“oh you do know how to think!” he smiled looking away from the road for a bit to lock gazes with you. wrinkles decorated the corner of your eyes as you closed them a little.

“go kill yourself.” you huffed.

“shut up, you love me,” his puckering lips sent a flying kiss to you. he stopped his words briefly, “actually you kind of have to, since i’m taking you with your beloved boyfriend.”

“touché” you agreed. 

the ride to the hotel was quick and calm since you were talking and joking animatedly with wooyoung. and when you least expected it, the car stopped moving. consequently, you turned to look out through your window, yellow lights, and gold decorations hurting your eyes with how beaming they looked, even when it was one in the morning.

“here we are.” wooyoung turned to look at you, his sincere eyes transmitting warmth, “remember what i told you-”

“yeah, i got it mom,” you answered, rolling your eyes vexingly. the man gave you an annoying gaze, so you replied, “what? you’re acting as if you were my mother! chill out, for fuck’s sake. as you said, both of us are responsible adults who know how to take care of ourselves.” you used his own words as a weapon to defend yourself against his exaggerated concern.

“whatever. just go,” he unlocked the car’s door so you could get out of the car once you finished your little conversation. “he’s been a pain in the ass lately because he hasn’t had time to see you.”

“imma get going then,” your hand approached the car door handle and finally opened it and got out of the vehicle. “thank you, woo. i owe you one.”

“you owe me way too many to count ’em” wooyoung wheezed. “but yeah, we’ll add it to the list.” he gave you one final smile, which you reciprocated sweetly.

you finally closed the door and watched wooyoung make his way back to where coachella was taking place, he’d probably go to enjoy the rest of the night’s stages with his members. you genuinely wished for him to do well and arrive with the boys safely, but now you had something more important to do: pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.

after you saw wooyoung getting lost on the dark LA highway, you turned around and ran towards the hotel to get into the elevator and quickly dial the floor of your boyfriend’s room.

once there, before your brain could think about it, your legs moved on their own and guided you recklessly toward the door. you hit your knuckles against it a few times, but there was no response.

“sannie? it’s yn. are you there?” you mutter softly against the door frame. another moment of silence came in response.

remembering your boyfriend had given you the key card, you pulled it out of your coat and faced it against the handle. after a soft peep sounded, you opened the door. just to be greeted with a dim-lighted room.

you wandered around the room, looking carefully at the floor so as not to bump your feet against any furniture or step on any item of clothing that, perhaps in a hurry, had been forgotten on the carpeted floor. you kept repeating your boyfriend’s name until the silence stunned you. the dazzling city lights illuminating what the poor little lamp that rested on the nightstand could not illuminate.

suddenly everything went silent. until you heard, in the back of your head, a faded tune. you quickly recognized the melody and started humming the song, the lyrics of the weeknd’s starboy being the only thing you could think about.

once again, you knocked a few times on the door, this time receiving a response from the other side. a dull “who is it?” was heard. “it’s me, love. yn.” you replied.

“oh, babe! come in!” he said happily, you could imagine the adorable smile drawn on his lips.

you turned the handle gently. and lord, didn’t the scenery you were greeted with turned you on.

your boyfriend’s toned body resting on the bathtub, lavender-scented bubbles covering most of it, his nipples being exposed to the fresh bathroom air that would soon turn into a heavier one, and his arms resting on each side of the tub. a serene, yet excited, expression decorating your boyfriend’s gaze.

“hi, beautiful,” he welcomed you. his eyes becoming crescent moons due to the effect of his beaming smile.

“there they are, those beautiful eyes i love so much,” you mumbled, walking right next to him to caress his left cheek soothingly. “how’re you feeling, champ?”

“alive as fuck,” both of you giggled at his response, your loving gaze locking with his for a moment of comfortable silence. suddenly you felt his hand fondling yours.

“mind joining me here?” his sharp eyes turning darker than they already were as they looked at you. fortunately for your boyfriend, you were willing to give him the moon and the stars that night.

you still can’t explain how you ended up on top of san, the water covering up to your navels, while he moved his thumb masterfully over your clit and his fingers repeatedly entered your cunt. his phalanges stretched you deliciously, causing several moans and moans from you.

“is that the spot, sweetheart? you're shaking so much.” his voice was hoarse and deep as the ocean, causing dizziness to affect your common sense.

“y-yes, don’t stop, please- ahh! ngh...” you could barely answer.

“sorry, love.” he announced before stopping his movements, drawing a annoyed, pathetic whine from your swollen lips. before you could insult him, he spoke first. “’wanna feel your tight cunt cumming around me, pretty.” during his brief pause, a pitiful cry from you was heard. “will you let me?”

“yes!” you answered desperately, “y...yes, i’m all yours, sannie. use me.”

san let out deep groan, which resonated inside your ears and made your heart jump out of your ribcage for a second. you rapidly adjusted yourself so you could reach the height of his crotch and massage his veiny, prominent erection, then align it to your entrance.

“go down slowly, don’t want my pretty girl to break.” he expressed, his soft, low voice driving you insane. still, you looked at him with cocked eyebrows.

“break? hah. surely, coachella drove your ego up to the clouds.” your eyes stabbing daggers into his. his hands found a home on your hips, slightly drawing them down to insert his cock inside you. your hand landing on his bare chest stopping his every move.

“nah. it’s just that you’re kind of fragile after all.”

you knew he was messing with you, provoking you. if there was one thing he always reminded you of, it was how strong, determined, and passionate you were, and it was one of the many features that made him fall deeply in love with you.

“let’s see who’s the fragile one here” you went down without warning on his cock, surprisingly touching your cervix all at once. a moan was snatched from both of you. your shaking body began to move carefully up and down him.

“f-fuck, yn- mm,” you heard a strangled moan from your lover, his lower lip was caught in between his teeth.

“f-fragile? that’s y...your- ah! your shit ass cock.” you manage to respond, notoriously provoking him.

“i don’t think it’s a shit ass cock, beautiful- ngh.” he panted, “just look how full you are.” he held your hand delicately despite the momentary brutality and placed it over your belly, a small lump formed there, “full of me, and my shit ass cock.” san breathed, kissing your collarbone, leaving cute lovebites in it. “you cry and beg for it every single night, hun. what does that have to say about you, hm?” a pitiful whine left your lips, demonstrating san that you were truly incapable of formulating coherent words. you were just too fucked out.

“well, lemme tell you,” he continued. “you’re just a dumb girl who needs to be fucked by a big fucking cock, otherwise, you don’t stop whining.” he said profoundly, his voice stimulating all your senses at once as he absolutely ravished you. “isn’t that right, princess?”

“i- ah! sannie, pleeease.” you blubbered, your eyes shedding the most precious tears.

“i asked you a question, darling. and i expect you to answer.” he sentenced sternly, grabbing your jaw and mushing your cheeks together. a pout was, therefore, formed on your lips.

“yes! yesyesyes, you’re right. i just need and think about being fucked by your big fucking cock-” you acknowledged, immersed and lost in the feeling, feeling like he was fucking you just like the first time.

“you’re such a cutie when you whine for me.” he chuckled while you, on the other hand, couldn’t hold back your screams anymore. his eyes stuck to your bouncing breasts, and your parted lips.

“what happened, princess? is it too much?” he cooed at you, looking at you adoringly, his eyes beaming at the sight of you.

“n-no,” you tried with all your might not to stumble over your words, but it was almost impossible since your thoughts were interrupted by the intrusion of your boyfriend's cock into your tight cunt.

“no? let’s see if it is now,”

your bastard boyfriend directed his hand toward your vagina, his ring finger and middle finger deliciously touched your clit. san watched as you exploded inside, his cock was bringing you closer to an abysmal orgasm that you doubted you could withstand, but you were a masochist, and despite all of this, you continued to go up and down on his cock sloppily.

“san! i’m s-so close- fuck!” your frowned eyebrows, reddened cheeks, swollen lips, and arched back made san float, he couldn’t worship you more than he already did at that moment. he was internally so grateful that you were his. only his to kiss, to hug, to fuck, and to adore.

you had had many guys behind you in the past, and they all promised the same thing: ‘i promise you the moon and the stars’, but absolutely none of them reached the level that choi san reached, who promised and delivered to make you see the stars, the moon and– fuck, he made you see the entire milky way every time you were with him.

“go on, babe. let it out for me, i got you,” he hid his face in the crook of your neck when you slowed down bouncing, and then he lifted it up. his lips brushed your neck, a position which he took advantage of to lick and suck on the side of it, adorning it with some nice and new hickeys next to the ones he did some moments ago.

san did everything he could to give you a good orgasm, a strong one, but pleasant. he loved seeing your expression as you had reached the peak of pleasure, a squirt erupted between your bodies, causing strangled moans to come from both mouths. your walls became tighter, squeezing out every drop of cum held in san’s hard cock. you felt how a strip of that viscous, white essence warmed your insides even more. the feeling even being comfortable in some kind of way.

“see? i didn’t break, idiot. hah,” you huffed out a sigh, looking at that beautiful face that you would never get tired of.

“mhm, you’re always so strong and beautiful. aren’t you, my love?” he reacted breathlessly as he stroked your cheek, as if it were the finest diamond.

“always, and only for you,” you wrinkled your nose as you looked at him foolishly in love.

you turned and felt stupid every time you were around this man, but what could you say? you weren’t complaining at all.

that man was capable of loving you in all your facets, in all your states and moments.

you were also grateful that choi san was yours, and solely yours.

“well, big boy,” you started, settling into his chest with him still inside you, keeping you warm, “i’m very proud of you and your achievements, love. you really brought home the trophy.”

“actually, you came here all by yourself.” he flirted, a cocky smile causing a giggle to ring inside your ribcage. “hm. thank you, princess. but the actual trophy is you and will always be you.”

you hid your face with your hands, splashing a little water unintentionally, “don’t start being all mushy, you softie. i’m gonna cry otherwise,”

he laughed, his voice causing your skin to vibrate lightly. “okay okay. wanna finally wash up?”

“can we just... stay like this? just for a bit,” you closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth your boyfriend provided you.

“of course, princess. whatever you want,” he held you in his arms safely, making you sleepy. two minutes of silence filled with tranquility and love passed, until san started talking, “remember you’re always my trophy.” he muttered lowly with his honey-dripping voice.

“babe,”

“hm?”

“shut up.”

| masterlist

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

Of All Things, I Became an Aranara

You always imagined that if you woke up in the world of Genshin, the possibilities of being a Visionless wielder of elements and a slew of romantic shenanigans would lie in your wake. But when you instead find yourself in the body of an Aranara with romance likely out of the question, your only conclusion is that the gods of reincarnation isekai hate your guts.

cw. you're an aranara

pairing. scaramouche/wanderer x reader, cyno x reader, kaveh x reader, candace x reader (separate)

notes. don't feel like being an aranara today? well go ahead and go to the series masterlist and see what your life could be if you were something else in genshin.

While you would have preferred being human, you have to admit there are few things better than turning into an Aranara. You've most assuredly been given Genshin non-humanoid pretty privilege with beautiful powers concerning plants and dreams to boot.

An even bigger benefit is that you can talk, so communicating with humans in this world will be a cinch.

The only thing you can really complain about now is that you aren't really able to handle salt and spices the way you used to. But to be honest, if that's the only thing you have to complain about, you'll gladly settle with being one of the musically-inclined leaf children of the rainforest.

All of whom are your friends despite the predicament you've found yourself in. You may have technically lost the isekai 50/50 but you feel like you've won in a lot of ways too.

Scaramouche

Ironically enough he was one of the easiest individuals on the list to befriend. Why? You met him when his memories were completely reset to zero and he had a much more sweet and calm demeanor

Considering the sharp-tongue Scaramouche you're used to, it honestly gave you whiplash

Still, you couldn't bring yourself to leave the guy, bright eyed and full of wonder. It was the constant abandonments and perceived abandonments that turned Scara into the person he came

You accompany him when he regains his memories, after which he assumes that now you know the extent of his true character and the things he's done that you'll leave him now. he even encourages you to do so, shooing you away

you plopping your small self across his shoulder and telling him he's your best friend means a lot to him, even if he tells you in response that you're an idiot but you can do as you wish

Before and after regaining his memories, Scara is very clingy. Before regaining them, he slept with you nestled to his chest much like a child would a teddy bear. Afterwards, he considers it too soft and embarrassing to do so but if you snuggle up against him well, he won't stop you

Once you got lost while exploring and when you didn't come back within the time he expected you to, he grew quite panicked and nearly turned the entire forest upside down trying to find you

When he did, you were promptly scolded for making him have to look for you. What's the matter with you? Don't go traveling somewhere unfamiliar or you'll just make him have to waste time backtracking to look for you

(He was scared that you had gotten eaten or hurt or worse, that you decided to no longer travel with him, leaving him to be alone all over again)

Whenever he has nightmares, you turn his dreams into ones much happier. He tells you to stay out of his head but he appreciates the fanciful worlds you craft for him

You're also quite handy when he needs to avoid his new fanbase from the Akademiya. Taking him to the dream world to avoid talking to people is quite a useful trick of yours

But as it turns out, Scaramouche is quite popular with the Aranara and they all love to indulge him. So you kinda have some competition

You can't believe you're actually getting jealous of Aranaras. Wow, how the mighty have fallen

Cyno

A son of the desert who grew up in the rainforest, Cyno heard of stories regarding the Aranara but he never thought they'd be real. But as far as he is concerned, you're as much a citizen of Sumeru as he is

So Cyno quickly rolls with the punches and treats you accordingly with respect. Talk about a win!

But as far as you being a travel companion? Cyno isn't entirely sure since his work concerns apprehending wayward scholars and their affiliates. It's dangerous, so unless you can prove yourself to be sturdy enough to protect yourself, he'll tell discourage you from following him

Of course, he can't rightly force a creature of Dendro and dreams from doing that anyway if you stubbornly continue on with him

Thankfully, you can set his worries aside when you show not only are you adorable, but resourceful, using your powers of Dendro to apprehend criminals attempting to flee the scene when Cyno arrives (all while staying hidden in the realm of dreams. You're not trying to put a target on the back of every Aranara after all)

That aside, you don't really have any troubles with Cyno. When he rests by campfire, he will make sure you stay a comfortable distance from the flames and will teach you about GI TCG and will even tell you a joke or two (or three)

Cyno is a reliable companion. He'll protect you if you are under his protection but he doesn't make you feel less than because you're not human either

But when he isn't in work mode, he is very sweet and even let's you wear his headdress from time to time as long as you are careful with it. In return you place flower crowns atop his head

Is another protective companion. As one brought from the desert to the rainforest for the sake of experiments, Cyno knows what could happen should those at the Akademiya find out that Aranaras are more than just a tale for children

So he always makes sure you aren't sighted by those he cannot trust

Kaveh

Meeting Kaveh was a bit of an accident as you had to help disentangle from a mess of vines

For someone blessed with the power of Dendro, he isn't really one who naturally has an affinity for plants

As such, he is embarrassed when you find him in this situation. Embarrassed and quite amazed to find out that Aranara aren't just stories. One getting him out of a mess like this isn't really how Kaveh ever imagined meeting one back when he was a child

That aside, Kaveh straightens himself out, thanks you and honestly he tries to be polite about it but he has plenty of questions about your being an Aranara that you can't really answer outside of lore you got from the game

You tell him that you'll look out for him when he is prancing about the rainforest so he can avoid these sorts of mishaps in the future which he insists is unnecessary

But you're not trying to be stuck living in nature forever, you want to make sure you have guaranteed safety. It also helps that if you're going to attach yourself to a human in the game, they aren't just some random NPC. A player character comes with a certain level of stability you appreciate

Kaveh's too good an opportunity to pass up and Mehrak is quite cute too. Win-win situation

Out of everyone here though sadly, Kaveh treats you most like a pet. Something no one wants to get from a hot guy even if you understand why he treats you so

At least he gives you plenty of sweets to eat?

You become a surprising point of comfort for Kaveh when he grows frustrated with his roommate. You tend to use your powers of Dendro to weave flowers through his hair during those moments and listen when he vents

You think his kindness does him more harm than good and that he tends to be his worst critic, so you tell Kaveh to be kinder to himself

Candace

A desert really isn't the place for an Aranara but you stubbornly decided to try your luck at it anyway against your better judgement (and the advice of your fellow Aranara)

But a couple of near death experiences aside, you think you made a good decision when you get to Aaru Village. The children there are very sweet and fascinated by you, having never seen an Aranara themselves

So you become quite popular among them, making them all sweet dreams and becoming a sort of... Guardian, one might say

You also help maintain the few plantlife of Aaru Village from Sabbah's flowers to the ajilenakh trees

It isn't much work but it's honest work

Candace thought nothing of it, thinking it was cute for the children of the village to have something to talk about

Then she ran into you trying (and failing) to get some food from the storage and that is how you were discovered by the actual Guardian of Aaru Village

Despite that little mishap, Candace is sweet to you and presents to you the same rules she gives all guests of Aaru. She also appreciates you helping with the children

So she doesn't disagree when you label yourselves as a sort of duo protecting everyone in different ways

Candace seldom has time to rest or enjoy any sort of personal time, so you try to be her invisible company in the day and you pester her to take breaks

You'd threaten to keep her contained in vines to make her take a break but you know she is infinitely stronger than your own abilities

How else can she fight monsters for hours at a time without tiring?

Still if you're at that level of desperate to make her rest, Candace promises to take more breaks along the day and rely more on her fellow guards

[scarfacemarston]

Natasha Romanoff A-Z Fluff Alphabet

As requested! Please think about "liking" and reblogging! These posts take time. Feel free to request anything else.

A - Affection (how do they show affection to their s/o)

Natasha is more subtle in her affection - but not always! She tends to be more jovial and more likely to grin, one that reaches her eyes, when she's with you. She might playfully punch you on the shoulder, lean on you, or pull on your wrist. Sometimes, it's whispering sweet things in your ear, showing up with your favorite takeout after a long day, or a snuggle session, but in general, she gives love through acts of service for you.

B - Best Friend (what are they like as a best friend?)

She doesn't have many friends, which is by choice. However, she doesn't expect people to give her a chance to be a friend. It's why she's so touched that Steve reveals he trusts her in Winter Soldier. She has proven to be ride or die. Even when she disagrees, she would rather value the person and their relationship over being right, as seen with Clint in Civil War. She's the type that you can vent to at any hour of the day, or if you're hurt, she'll ask who she has to kill. She has contingency plans upon contingency plans, so if you need help with an issue, she is almost guaranteed to have a solution.

C - Cuddling (do they like to cuddle? And how would they do it?)

Cuddling is unusual for her because it rarely happened to her growing up, but also, as an adult, she was always "taught" that cuddling could lead to sex with a target. Cuddling for the sake of intimacy and comfort wasn't on her radar. She's not exactly touch-starved, but she does enjoy cuddling once she gets used to it. She loves to spoon, with her being the big spoon, regardless of your height.

D - Domestic (do they want to settle down? How good are they at cooking and cleaning)

I will go into this in more detail later, but commitment is new to her. The idea of someone wanting her for HER despite everything she has done is new to her, but she does find herself craving stability and domesticity. Her time in Ohio was the best time of her life, and she'd love to have that again. Nat can do the "stereotypical" cleaning and cooking. She was taught it in the Red Room as it was part of the perfect housewife image. However, she does not like that this role is always assigned to her. She thinks it's entirely sexist for people to assume she's going to do all the domestic tasks because she's a woman. In a relationship, this is very much so different. She doesn't make special meals on her own unless it's her choice to share with the Avengers. For her, it's usually something quick and easy. She doesn't care other than that, but she does try with you. She is also very tidy; again, things are utilitarian in her apartment, but she appreciates that you are livening up the place. 

E - Ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

This….is not Natasha's best moment; honestly, it would likely hurt quite a bit.

She is the most likely to be very businesslike and more like speaking to a co-worker than a former lover. However, it is also possible that she simply disappears or leaves a note. It is not a happy headcanon but a possible and realistic one. Now, if you were dating her later in her life, like around the time of Infinity War, she is far less likely to do this.

F - Fiancé (how do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Natasha is very much a novice to love. She knows how it works and how to get people to fall in love with her, and she believes she's been in love before. However, putting this all into practice in a "normal" relationship is difficult for her, but once you've earned her trust, she is a very committed partner, and she would put her entire heart into it. She doesn't think she'll ever be married, even if she dreams of it. She thinks it's a pipe dream, but the more you talk about it with her, the more likely she is to hope.

G - Gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Natasha is capable of great gentleness, but the problem is feeling secure enough to show this as she tends to spook. She struggles greatly with emotional availability. Her gentleness is very subtle and more likely reserved for privacy with you. This is for both emotional and physical gentleness. 

H: Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?) 

She's not really a hugger, no. Physical affection was deeply discouraged for her growing up, and even being undercover in Ohio, she struggled with hugs and "normal" affection. (Of course, that never stopped Yelena from giving her tackle hugs.) She is the type to give a hug when she believes it's truly needed and will be useful. It is a very thoughtful and deliberate gesture from her. Ex: Hugging Steve after Peggy's funeral or hugging Clint in I.W. With a romantic partner, her first inclination is not to give a hug, but she would try to anticipate your needs and affection style. She's likely to hold you from behind or something similar rather than give you a hug.  Her hugs are very tender and gentle but almost protective.

I: I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It would take months, but more likely a year or more before she says it. She will show it in other ways, but to say it would take a long time. She's had very few actual relationships, so she is admittedly new to love. 

J: Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they're jealous?)

Natasha would appear completely neutral. You wouldn't be able to tell unless you really were looking for a sign, and even then? Good luck with that. However, she may make a teasing comment or two, but she's not the type to actually entertain jealousy. She's very secure that way because she knows what she's worth and the work the two of you put into your relationship. However, she might still sneak an arm around the waist or give a "reminder" kiss. 

K: Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you?)

Kissing the Black Widow is as magical and enigmatic as you can imagine. She knows what she's doing, but the difference is she cares whereas before, they were all marks. The cheek and lips are her main targets, but she knows about all your secret sensitive areas and is not afraid to use those against you in public. 

L: Little Ones (How are they with kids?)

Natasha loves children and is lovely with them, as seen with the Bartons, but she still feels as though she's too cold and too robotic. She would love to have a family of her own to give them the life she never experienced. She's happy to be an aunt, but having her own children would be extremely meaningful.

M: Mornings (How are mornings spent with them?)

Natasha is up early as hell. She has always been this way, thanks to the Red Room. She gets up early, grabs a coffee, trains, and reads reports for the day. She's usually up at 6:00 am. However, she will often make you breakfast and place leftovers in the fridge for you to enjoy later. Occasionally, she'll pack a snack to help you through your day. Expect a sticky note with a good morning message if you aren't awake for her to give you a proper goodbye.  When dating you, she doesn't exactly sleep in more, but she will stay in bed to cuddle a bit later while working on her phone. 

N: Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nat tends to struggle with insomnia, most of it stems from an overactive mind. It's not anxiety, per se, but her mind is always in overdrive, thinking of contingency plans, other Avengers business, her 'real family,' or her life with you. She will usually settle down with tea and a book before sleeping. Sometimes, you have to take the book from her and turn off the lights for her to get the hint. She swings between preferring her space to sleep or cuddling. It depends on her mood. 

O: Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

This is Natasha Romanoff we're talking about. She is incredibly slow to reveal anything about herself. She doesn't lie about her past, per se, but she gives half-truths or very vague answers before eventually letting you in to reveal more about her life. She will never tell you everything; you must be okay with that. That's simply part of her rules. To pry would be disrespectful and would be a turn-off for her. She can be encouraged to share things but not be pried.

P: Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Nat has the patience of a saint in most areas. Yes, she has things she won't tolerate, but for someone to actually anger her would be quite difficult. Someone would have to be blatantly cruel or foolish for her to get angry, and even then, her anger is biting and cold, not raging. This woman handled the downfall of SHIELD, the Accords, and Thanos' snap fall out and held herself together quite well for all of it, even when there were times she would be in the right to be beyond angry. 

Q: Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every detail in passing, or do they kind of forget? )

Natasha was trained to remember things. Her memory might as well be photographic. It doesn't matter if it's a band you mentioned liking once or off-handedly mentioned disliking cilantro in passing; she will remember. That can be a negative, though, if there is an argument because she will remember exactly what you said. HOWEVER, she hates to fight, so she will put conflict resolution above all else.

R: Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

When you accepted Natasha for who she was after telling you some of her darkest stories one night after suffering nightmares. She had told you about Budapest and some of the early missions she completed for Russia - memories that still haunted her with events that she wasn't proud of. Instead of spurning her, you had soothed her instead. You didn't pity her or try to say that "everything was going to be fine." You acknowledged her and told her she was worthy anyhow. That meant everything to her, as she had expected the worst. 

S: Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?) 

Nat's protectiveness can be almost startling. She is practically paranoid about your safety. In fact, you might have to talk to her about toning it down if you can ever find out the extent of her protection, which is unlikely. She is more likely to be overprotective when she's out of town. 

Natasha doesn't need protection, and she would prefer that you don't think that way toward her, either. However, she does appreciate that you look out for her by reminding her to eat, get enough sleep, slow down on work, etc. 

T: Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, and gifts?)

Natsha's thoughtfulness is off the charts. It's one thing that makes her such a good friend and partner. She will spend weeks planning something for you, whether it's getting the highest-quality ingredients to cook you something or finding the best way to whisk you away to a nice weekend away somewhere. If you collect something, you know she's been on eBay or using other channels to get you something nice to add to the collection.

U: Ugly (What would be a bad habit of theirs?)

Nat sits or lays down in horrible positions, which causes her bone and joint pain later on in the evening. Her flexibility is her friend and foe. 

V: Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Natasha is well aware that she's stunning. She knows she doesn't have to do anything to have people admire her or envy her. However, on average, she spends far less on her looks than Yelena. She knows what she likes to wear, and that is usually a mix of sleek and utilitarian. She doesn't spend a lot of time on fashion, but she understands trends. She tends to wear what she wants and applies light makeup, but this is not a priority for her.

W: Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Yes, but she would acknowledge that something would be missing without your presence. However, she's been alone for longer.She is used to being alone or playing second fiddle to someone else. That doesn't mean she enjoys it, but she is used to it.

X: Xtra (A random headcanon for them)

Nat is a secret, cozy game fanatic. She loves Animal Crossing the most and will play it with Yelena and a few of the other Avengers who have it. (Steve, Bucky, and the Bartons, mainly.) Scott Lang tried to friend her, and she left him on read.

She's not as interested in the farming games, but she'll play them. She likes the ones with a unique premise. 

Z: Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

She tends to wear a T-shirt or tank top and shorts to bed, but she does have the occasional weakness for silk pajamas.

[seaspringangel]

sparrow in the storm — ais

summary: ais becomes a sanctuary for not only one, but two little sparrows.

word count: 1.1k

content warnings: gn!reader ✦ established relationship ✦ fluff ✦ mild mild suggestive themes ✦ reader wearing ais’s yukata cuz its their god given right

notes: a while ago, @hollana sent me cute ask one + ask two and @danger-bird made adorable fanart for it. they really made my entire month! so this is dedicated to them :) this is also a birthday gift for @danger-bird, as today is their birthday today. i hope they have a wonderful celebration!

The bright melody of birdsong carried you out of the haze of your dreams.

So soft and sweet it was, it wrapped around you like a silken blanket, a touch warmer than the drowsy heat emanating from the fabric of Ais’s yukata that covered your entire body at the moment.

The birdsong was serenading in your left ear, so you languidly turned in that direction, your nose immediately brushing against the thigh of the Monster sitting upright beside you, cross-legged. You peeled your eyes open, and your world delicately smudged red from the eerie glow radiating from the waters of the Seaspring.

Between the cradle of his red horns, an actual sparrow was nesting in the darkness of Ais’s hair.

You stare at the bird for a few seconds, watching the crystalline rain droplets gather like gem clusters on Ais's head. “So you’re finally replacing me, it seems.”

Eyes closed, Ais smirked. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

You roll your eyes so hard that it's a miracle they didn’t become lodged in your skull.

You sat up and yawned, idly fidgeting with the bandages wrapped around your arms. “When did you even get a real sparrow, anyway?”

“She flew in with the storm,” was Ais’s soft reply, and you listen to the din of rain thundering the rooftop of the Seaspring like a barrage of fists striking down from the heavens, the cloudy light seeping in from the outside painting his bare chest in translucent silver splashes. “She was weak. Couldn’t leave her out in the cold.”

You smiled a bit as the bird, still singing its merry little song, fluttered down from his hair to nuzzle against his face. She truly adored him, no different than any other creature that falls in love with Ais when they cross his path. “So you let her nest in your hair?”

“Nothing is stopping you from making a nest yourself, sparrow.”

You roll your eyes yet again. Ais is the only one alive who can make you feel heavenly tenderness and agitation that burns hotter than any hellfire. “You do realize I’m not a real bird, right?”

Ais opened his eyes and turned his head to fully regard you then. Your heart skipped a beat once, twice, and a third time as he looked you up and down slowly as if caressing you with the sharpness of his eyes. You pulled his yukata tighter around your body, suddenly becoming shy. It was almost hard to breathe when his eyes went warm like that and became lovelier than crimson jewels glittering in the light of golden sunshine.

Ais hummed thoughtfully. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You blink owlishly at him. Then, incensed, you promptly smacked his shoulder, hot irritation and a sickening sense of warmth going to war inside you. “You are so incredibly annoying.”

The bastard began to chuckle, and his new songbird had the gall to chirp alongside him as if she were laughing at your embarrassment too. How dare that cute, feathery homewrecker?

…Okay, maybe you were a little jealous, but you would quite literally swallow a thousand teacup shards than ever admit to that, so you opened your mouth to say something particularly acerbic and snarky when suddenly Ais pursed his lips and whistled a colorful melody, cupping his hands together.

You and the bird both reacted as if Ais plucked the string of some latent instinct in your bodies. The bird fluttered down to rest in his large waiting palms, and you couldn’t help but be drawn in by his gravitational pull and the need to be near him and soak up the rest of his misty heat like a flower drinking the last dredges of summer rain.

You press into his side and watch Ais’s calloused thumbs gently smooth through the dandelion fluff of the bird’s feathers, the little thing happily thrilling all the while, before looking up at his face and feeling your heart melt instantly.

There was a certain radiance to Ais when he cared for something or someone. It was like trailing fingers along the surface of iridescent water, yearning to crack below the glowing surface to discover the beauty underneath. You know what you’ll find in those waters will make you feel whole again.

There was a softness to his gaze, a look you knew he reserved for you and you alone, especially when he thought you weren’t looking, embers sparking from the depths of his eyes, keeping you warm when you couldn’t do it yourself. You wanted him to look at you like that always, and you wanted his hands, the same hands that cradled the singing sparrow with a practiced gentleness, the same hands that held you with the same reverence, to always hold yours until the whole world rotten away.

“She has your eyes,” Ais murmured, resting his cheek on top of your head. You softly snorted but did not offer a rebuttal this time. You can let him have his delusions just this once. “You think she’ll let us keep her?”

You nod, and after he lets the bird fly back to her rightful place upon his head, you let him pull you into his lap. “I don’t see why not. It’s safer here than out there, even if it’s the scariest place I've ever slept in.”

Ais chuckled against the crown of your head, a rich sound that sent decadent shivers up your spine. “Y’know, I never had two singing sparrows live with me before. This is going to be nice.”

You snort softly against his chest. He was pushing it with this ‘who is the real sparrow’ contest. “Uh, what kind of song do I sing? I don’t consider yelling at you all the time to be particularly soothing.”

Ais hummed. “You sing a different kind of song, not the kind made for polite company but for my ears alone. I like how needy you sound when I -“

This was a learning moment to stop taking his bait.

You jerk your head back far enough to make contact with his sternum, and he lets out a short huff of startled breath. You pull his yukata over your face, desperately trying to hide the savage scarlet burning of your cheeks. “I hate you. I’m going back to sleep. Don’t wake me up ever again. Have fun spending time with your new lover.”

Even when struggling to catch his breath, Ais still dared to chuckle at your red-hot embarrassment. You would’ve enjoyed the sound of his laughter if you didn’t want to strangle him to death.

Soon, the sweet melody of birdsong, the torrential storm outside, and Ais’s heartbeat—a firm and steady drumbeat against your ear—lulled you into a soft, safe dream where everything you desired was within reach.

[queenshelby]

Sweet Possession (Part 7)

Pairing: Very Dark! Thomas Shelby (32) x Innocent! Reader (19)

Warning: Age Gap, Smut

When you returned to Arrow House unwillingly,  the mansion that was once a symbol of love and safety never felt so cold and lonely. Thomas' eyes, cold as ever, drilled into yours as he greeted you with a deep look without uttering a word. He didn't have to. His message was loud and clear: he always had the upper hand.

You tried to suppress the shiver running down your spine as you glimpsed at the stern expression on his face, realizing that your hope for escape had been nothing more than a fleeting dream. The weight of your current situation bore down on you heavily, forcing reality to settle in.

"Come inside and have something to eat. You must be hungry, Love," he then said , making an attempt to act on his usually endearing nature. Even after all that had transpired, his voice carried a warmness that somehow made you forget about the contents in the lockbox, if only for a moment.

But you knew better. You knew that beneath the facade of charm and wit lay a man whose intentions were far from romantic or kind.

"I am not hungry ," you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Thomas frowned at your response as he lead you inside and helped you to take off your coat before handing it to one of the maids, which is also when you noticed several more men inside the house : some familiar, others not so much.

"Suit yourself ," Thomas said as he escorted you to the dining room, leaving your words to hang in the air. His sudden shift in demeanor was enough to make you feel uneasy and confused. You made a mental note to keep your guard up and be careful about what you shared with him.

"I am sorry," you stammered nervously as he pulled out a chair for you at the dining table while the men who were in the house earlier scurried away as your husband and you sat down to eat, giving you a feeling of being constantly watched. 

"For what, exactly, are you sorry for, Love?"  Thomas asked as he sat down opposite you, the distance between you and him feeling wider than ever before. You swallowed hard, desperately trying to find the right words to explain.

"For leaving, of course," you said after a moment of silence, your voice shaky. "I shouldn't have done it without telling you first." 

Thomas regarded you for a long moment, his face unreadable.

"It's in the past now Y/N and I trust that you won't leave like this again, eh?"  Thomas said, his voice low and gravelly as he leaned forward, his intense blue eyes locked onto yours.

You couldn't help but feel a shiver run down your spine at the menacing tone in his voice. But you knew better than to argue with him, especially after what had been revealed to you in the past two days. Thomas Shelby was not a man to be trifled with and you knew that you would have to tread lightly if you wanted to stay on his good side.

"Of course not, Thomas. I promise," you murmured quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Good ," Thomas replied, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I'm glad we understand each other."

But despite his seemingly kind words, you couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had settled in your chest. You knew that Thomas was capable of anything, and you couldn't help but wonder if this whole situation was just another one of his twisted games.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur as you forced yourself to eat and make small talk with Thomas. Your mind was racing, trying to make sense of everything that had happened.

You felt like you were living in a nightmare, unable to wake up and escape the twisted reality that had become your life.

Thomas Shelby, the man you loved and trusted, had turned out to be someone entirely different from who you thought he was. He was manipulative, controlling, and dangerous. 

"I am really exhausted Tommy, I might just head to bed," you muttered softly after a few hours of having forced yourself to keep him company. As you looked up at Thomas, your voice was trembling slightly, and you tried to hide the fear that was steadily building up inside of you.

Thomas's eyes softened as he looked back at you and for a moment, he seemed almost human.

"Alright Love. I will join you shortly, eh," he said, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You forced a similarly weak smile and nodded as you stood up from your chair, excusing yourself and making your way up the grand staircase to the sleeping quarters.

Once inside your bedroom, you hastily closed the door behind you, feeling a small sense of relief wash over you. You took a deep breath, leaning against the heavy wooden door, trying to calm your beating heart.

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, but you held them back, not wanting to give in to the fear and sadness that had taken over your heart.

With a shiver, you walked to the large mirror in your room, studying your reflection. Your long hair was disheveled from the long train ride and your big eyes looked tired and anxious.

You dreaded the moment at which your husband would join you tonight, just like every other night, knowing that his needs had to be satisfied.

Saying no to him now after what you did was not something you could afford , even though the thought of him touching you made your skin crawl. You couldn't help but feel a sense of disgust towards yourself, for allowing things to go this far.

You had always enjoyed the intimacy between you, feeling attracted to him, but now it had become something else entirely. It was as if you were living with a stranger, someone who held all the power and control over you and you hated the thought of him seeking to be intimate with you. 

Eventually, after contemplating your options for a while on how to get out of sleeping with your husband, you went to bed, realizing that you had none. You lay there, stiff as a board, your mind racing with thoughts of escape and freedom that seemed like impossibilities now.

You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable and, soon enough, the door opened with a creak. Thomas stepped inside quietly as you pretended to be asleep, wondering if your charade would be successful. You heard his footsteps as he moved closer and closer to the bed before stopping short next to you, a sigh escaping his lips.

You could feel him strip down to his clothes, the bed shifting slightly under his weight as he climbed in beside you without making any attempt to initiate anything.  

Minutes passed and still, you felt nothing but cold sheets and an even colder presence beside you but, just as you thought that you could actually go to sleep, your breath hitched as a hand slid across your waist, tracing the curve of your hip before settling on your thigh.

Tommy moved closer towards you and his touch sent a shiver down your spine, causing you to freeze. 

As if sensing your distress, he whispered in your ear, "I know you are awake, Love . Let's not play games, eh?" he told, his hand sneaking up to slide under your nightgown, gently caressing your smooth skin. You could feel him harden against your backside, his desire for you palpable. As much as the thought of being close to him made you uncomfortable now, you knew better than to protest.

Your mind raced, searching for a way to escape this situation, but all your thoughts were pushed aside as his hand moved beneath your panties.

"Relax, Love. You're so tense," he murmured in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. You could feel his body press up against yours, his erection now obvious. "I won't hurt you, eh? I would never fucking hurt you," Tommy told you as he circled over your clit. 

Feeling helpless and defeated, you let out a sigh and allowed your body to soften slightly. You didn't want to admit it, but his touch did sent a shiver of pleasure through you, and you couldn't help but moan as, without warning, he slipped a finger inside of you.

"That's it , Love," he whispered in your ear, his hips rocking against your ass as he began to move his finger in and out of you at a steady pace before wasting no more time and withdrawing it from your slick folds.

You laid there quietly, trying not to make a noise as he pushed down your panties, completely exposing you. You felt vulnerable and exposed. His hand came down to squeeze your ass roughly, before moving to your pussy once more, parting your lips with his fingers and rubbing your clit in slow circles.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groaned as he continued to stroke your clit. Despite the fact that you were still uncomfortable with the situation, it was impossible to deny the pleasure building inside of you.

Soon you felt the head of his cock brush against your entrance and then he slowly pushed inside of you, filling you up completely.

Tommy let out a deep moan as he buried himself to the hilt within you, pausing for a moment before pulling out almost completely and then thrusting back in with more force, making you gasp as he did so.

He continued to fuck you roughly, his hips slapping against your ass with each powerful stroke, his breath hot and heavy against your shoulder blade as he leaned in close.

"Fuck, you feel so good, Y/N," Thomas murmured in your ear as he continued to pound into you from behind. His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you back onto his cock with each thrust.

You stifled a moan, not wanting to give him the satisfaction  of knowing how good it felt. But as he sped up, you couldn't help but let out a small cry of pleasure.

"That's it, Love," Thomas groaned, "You are mine. My fucking property."  Thomas's voice was ragged and deep, sending shivers down your spine as he thrust into you from behind. 

"Say it!" he demanded gruffly, his fingers digging into your hips as he continued to thrust into you with a relentless pace. "Say you're mine!"

His command was met with a soft whimper, your mind reeling from the force of pleasure coursing through your body. You tried to resist, but it was no use - Thomas had you pinned down and at his mercy.

"I'm yours!" you cried out, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them as you came, hard and fast, crying out loudly in pleasure. 

Thomas let out a low growl of satisfaction as you finally conceded to his demands.

"That's right, Love. You are mine," he said, his voice dripping with lust as he continued to piston in and out of you. His fingers gripped your hips tighter, pulling you back onto his cock with every punishing thrust until, suddenly, and unexpectedly, he stilled, groaning loudly. 

"No, stop," you gasped as you tried to wiggle away from him, realizing what was happening, but it was too late . He was already filling you up with his release, his movements slowing as he rode out the waves of pleasure coursing through him.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hot breath panting against your neck and his seed pouring into you as he filled you up to the brim.

Your body was still spasming from your own orgasm, responding to his touch even though your mind was screaming in protest. You couldn't help but think about how much you wanted to push him away and wipe him off of you, but your muscles were still trembling from the force of your release.

As Thomas slowly pulled out of you, you turned over onto your back and looked up at him with a mixture of anger and disgust.

"You came inside me," you spat out, wiping his essence away from your thigh as if it was of any use now.

"I did," he replied nonchalantly, a sly smirk playing on his lips. "Because you are my fucking wife after all," he added as he leaned down, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. You couldn't help but recoil at his touch, the thought of his seed now inside of you making your skin crawl.

He knew that you were not ready to become a mother , but it seemed like he didn't care. You wanted to shout at him, to scream and hit him for his actions, but you held back and simply turned around , climbing out of the bed with a grimace.

You hurried to the bathroom, needing a moment to gather yourself together and trying to wash away the lingering feelings of disgust you felt towards Thomas and his actions - but more importantly, towards yourself for allowing it to happen again and again.

As you stared at your reflection in the mirror, tears started running down your cheeks again, but this time, they were not from fear or despair- they were angry tears. Angry at the situation you had been placed into, angry at yourself for being too weak to stand up against it. Angry tears for the fact that, despite all of this, you somehow craved him. 

Tags:

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[piningforstan]

Too Sweet

Summary: Stan has lied and cheated and fought his whole life, and he’s not exactly sure when he had time to do whatever it took to deserve you.

Pairings: Stanley Pines x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: mention of an age gap, suggestive adult content but nothing graphic, fluff with some light angst

A/N: Inspired by Hozier’s song by the same name!! I seriously need an edit of Stan to it

Also, an age gap LI with Stan (like they’re in their 30s or 40s) just really does something to me. Stan mentions “women” once in the story but otherwise I wrote it with the intent of being GN.

A shift of the mattress roused him from his fitful sleep. Stan cracked open an eye. The flickering alarm clock told him that he’s only been asleep for a few hours, he vaguely remembered creeping into the bedroom sometime after three. Dreaming peacefully then, free of punishing nightmares, you now stood with your back to him, stretching your arms up over your head.

His gaze traveled appreciatively from your head to the slip of skin revealed by your t-shirt lifted ever so slightly. Pale morning light slanted into the room in thin bars thrown across your face. You hum to yourself as you pull on your bathrobe and shuffle into the bathroom, Stan watching you from heavy lidded eyes the entire time.

A groan climbed up his throat. He threw one arm over his face.

What was he doing?

He didn’t miss the time when he would wake up alone, head muddled by alcohol. He missed the time when he did not feel so goddamn guilty. Your presence reminded him constantly that you were too…good for him. He had lived a long, shitty life and it never bother him — his decisions, his lifestyle — when he was by himself. But now you were here.

Not only were you younger than him, you had never done a fucking bad thing in your life. You went to bed at a decent time and always woke up early to watch the sunrise, you faced everything with unflinching enthusiasm. You smiled and laughed and danced without inhibition or regret. And, worst of all, you looked at him and loved him in spite of his mistakes and wrongdoings.

When the bathroom door opened he quickly pretended to be asleep again, the knot in his stomach tightening as you stopped to press a kiss on his cheek on your way out.

By the time he actually woke up, he didn’t even want to acknowledge the time, Stan shuffled into the kitchen to find his family immersed in a heated debate. Mable stood on her chair with Waddles on the table, gesticulating wildly while you and Dipper argued with her.

Upon spotting Stan, Mable cried out, “Grunkle Stan! We need your help.”

Stan scratched his chin. “What is it, kid?”

“If Waddles was going to wear pants —”

“They would be like this, right?” You intervened before Mable could finish, drawing a line around the pig’s midsection then gesturing towards his back half. Dipper nodded, signaling his approval.

“No, no, no, no,” Mable said, “it would be this way. To cover all his wittle wegs.”

She indicated the imaginary pants around his entire body, covering the entirety of his lower half. Stan stared in disbelief as the debate lapsed into an argument once more.

“I need coffee,” he grunted.

Without even stopping, you pressed a steaming mug into his hand, then raised your eyebrows expectantly.

Stan sighed. “Why is the pig wearing pants? That lucky son of a gun has been naked since the day he was born.”

“Just hypothetically,” Dipper said.

Turns out, Stan’s opinion wasn’t actually needed. Rather, you and the twins set to speculating about the possibility of pig pants without including him. Eventually he just collapsed into one of the ancient chairs and sipped his coffee, willing his headache to go away. He noted affectionately how passionate you were about this topic of choice, always ready to leap into whatever strange scheme his family concocted.

After some time Mabel loudly exclaimed that she was going to knit pants for Waddles to “prove everyone wrong!” and the debate dispersed. Dipper stormed off muttering, leaving Stan alone with you.

You looked still deep in thought as you collected your own now cold coffee and sat back down. You poured in about half the container of sugary creamer.

“You should’ve been on my side,” you sniffed. Stan knew by the hint of a smile on your mouth — god, your mouth — that you were teasing.

“My policy is always no pants,” Stan said. “No doubt about it. No pants.”

You rolled your eyes. “Clearly.”

Stan shifted in his seat, grinning at you. He never bothered putting on pants in the morning, just his reliable ol’ boxers.

“Hey, you’re lucky I’ve got these on. Anyways, you weren’t complaining last night by —”

“FORD!” You quickly exclaimed.

Stan’s grin only grew more pronounced as his brother strode into the room. If Ford had heard the tail end of your conversation, he didn’t mention it. More often than not Sixer was so completely in his own world that he barely knew he had company.

Stan liked how your cheeks were still pink as you bid Ford good afternoon. Afternoon. Fuck.

Panic spiraled through him.

“I’ve got a tour to give —”

You waved your hand while sipping your coffee. “I rescheduled it for…” you consulted your phone, “thirty minutes from now. Better hurry, old man.”

“Thanks, kid. You really saved my bacon.”

“Again,” Ford muttered.

Stan shot him a glare but still hurried out of the kitchen to get changed. He glimpsed Mabel in the living room, crisscrossed on the carpet, measuring Waddles for his pants. The pig snorted pleadingly in Stan’s direction.

“Women,” Stan said, “always making guys like us put on pants.”

Stan would have to be his brother to count on his fingers how many times you anticipated something he needed. The coffee. The tour. A distraction for the tourist when the googly eye of one of the exhibits popped off. A redeeming interpretation of his reaction to Waddles’ pants after spitting out his beer. Then, to top it all off at the end of the day, encircling your arms around his middle and sagging into him. His heart surged with profound emotion.

“Ah, c’mere, kid,” he mumbled against your hair. You smelled like home.

Stan held you tight. Too many times he had let the good things in his life go, slip right through his grip. He was determined not to lose you too.

He fumbled to find the words he’s been meaning to tell you all day. “I, um…thank you. For today.”

For every day.

The words stuck in his throat.

“For what?” You blinked at him. The need to protect you, to preserve your happiness and well-being, seized him so strongly that it took him several moments to compose himself.

“Ya know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Saving my ass. Yer, uh, too sweet for me. Ya know what I mean?”

How many more times would he say ya know? Did he know any other words?

Your face lights up anyways. “I love your ass. I will always save it. Don’t want anything happening to it.” You squeezed said ass playfully and he smirked in response. “But seriously, Stan, you don’t have to thank me. I love you. That’s what you do for someone you love.”

Stan bristled. No matter how long he had been with you, after several months of skittering around each other, he wouldn’t get used to those words leaving your mouth. His parents had never uttered them, nor his brother. Hell, he rarely said it, can only remember saying them to you.

If he ever said them to anyone else — any past lovers or ex-wives — it was in a placating nature, never like this. Never real.

“Anyway, you do lots of things for me too,” you tell him.

“Do I?”

You lay your head back on his chest. “I always fall asleep before you do and you always make sure to tuck me in and refill my water when you come in. You make me laugh and you make me feel safe.”

You kept listing examples but truthfully he had stopped listening. Stan realized he did do these things, things that he didn’t even think about doing, he just did.

“—maybe you’re just too sweet for me,” you finish, drawing him back.

“Ha!” Stan laughs. Hopefully it’s more convincing than it sounds to his own ears, self-deprecating instead of secretly pleased. “Better not let anyone else hear you say that or I’d have to give them a knuckle sandwich.”

“THEY FIT!”

You closed your mouth. Whatever you were going to say is swallowed by the sounds of Mabel’s excitement. Stan smiled at you as you grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the sound of Mabel’s demands — come here! come here! — and Waddles in his new pants.

He committed everything about you to memory as you stooped down to admire Waddle and commend Mabel for her hard work. Stan knew that you would fit in perfectly with his family. He never would’ve guessed that someday he couldn’t imagine his family without you in it, couldn’t even conjure a day without you there.

Maybe you were too sweet for him.

But he was sweet on you.

[mannaima]

I was thinking about a dark joel x reader with smut she's innocent and still kind of sheltered from the world (doesn't go out that much) maybe because her father is the leader (of fedra or something), then one day on the rare occasion she happens to be out and Joel sees her and he has to have her and he has an unhealthy obsession to make her his. And he manipulates her into having sex with him then he tells her "you're mine forever".

My Best Friend Joel(part one)

Summary: Joel sees a pretty little thing and takes advantage of a girl who knows nothing better.

Authors note: WOOOOO this is so hawt. Dark! Joel is a such a sleazy little bastard when he wants something, and this time all he wants is a sweet girl to warm his DICK!!! Also have u seen that tiktok that says Pedro Pascal would guide u thru it,,,,,,, Yeah. This is kinda based on that LOL.

I also decided I wanted to make this a two parter. Create tension. Hehehehe

Word count: 4.3K

Warnings: Dub-con(ish) ( joel manipulates), age gap (reader is 19 and Joel is 56), stalking, generally creepy Joel, reader has no idea how friendship and joel takes advantage of this by making her think suckin dick is how you say hello.

“What do we do when someone knocks at the door and doesn’t use our secret knock?” 

“Hide in the cupboard.”

“Good. Do we ever look out the windows in the daytime?”

“No, we do not.”

“Well done. Lastly, where do we never go?”

“Outside.”

Your father kissed your forehead, his FEDRA uniform draped his body as he waved off, shutting the door behind him as you locked the many different locks. Your father had instilled the fear of the outside world to you since day one, you were to never leave the home under any circumstance. When you were small, you listened to his long list of rules, you didn’t so much as peek through the curtains as long as the day was bright. But as you got older, you slowly began to understand less and less of your fathers worries. He told you stories of the zombie-like creatures that lay beyond the walls, the people fighting for something as simple as sleeping pills. You were fascinated at first, but it slowly began to bore you. You grew tired of the home you spent your entire life in, not even being able to go to school throughout your youth. Even now, at nineteen years old, you were old enough to have your own apartment, but your father insisted on just one more year, he told you it wasn’t safe.

You looked through the sheer curtains, watched the people walk along the dirty and destroyed streets. Dirty, tired, exhausted, and yet you envied them. You wanted the feeling of freedom, even if it meant that freedom guaranteed you danger. What was the point of living if you didn’t experience fear once in a while? You sighed, and continued to watch the people below you, you didn’t care anymore. Just once, you wanted to feel the fresh air, hear the chattering of people up close, maybe even meet a friend. But your dreams stayed dreams for so long it didn’t seem possible to even see the outside. You stood up from your seat next to the window, in anger, you were tired of being cooped up. You paced around the room, your mind conjuring up the idea to escape, even just for one day. You finally decided on a decent enough plan.

You would leave, just for a few hours. You could wear a disguise, maybe a head covering and large enough jacket, and explore. Feel the air and make a friend. You would leave thirty minutes after your father left, and leave the door unlocked. Nobody had ever tried to knock on your door for the past nineteen years, so why would someone do it now?

You nodded to yourself, the pieces of the plan finalizing in your head. You walked to your bedroom and began to plan an outfit, something practical but also not to draw attention. You settled on a pair of bootcut jeans with a plain t-shirt, covered by a large jacket, and a black scarf worn over your head. You had seen enough people every day to understand the average outfit, you nodded once again to yourself. This was perfect.

-------

“Alright sweetie. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, they have me working the night shift. Be safe alright?” 

“Yes father.” You nodded, and he kissed your forehead and you waved him off. The night couldn’t have gone any slower, your mind racing in excitement. You hadn’t accounted for your father working an extra long shift today, so that gave you even more relief in leaving. You had to make sure you got home no later than 4 pm, a quick glance at the clock showed it was 10 am. Leave at 10:30 am. You had plenty of time, you didn’t have to worry. You paced around the home, too anxious to sit down and wait, you checked the clock periodically, hoping for it to be time soon. The second the clock hit 10:20, you marched into your room to put on your clothes. Slipping on every single garment, you finished with a pair of red converse, your breath hitching in excitement. As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t help but feel a tinge of guilt. You were betraying your fathers rule he made for your safety. But the other side of your brain told you that he couldn’t keep you here forever. You shook your head, as if to rid the thought rotting your brain, and you took one last look at the clock on your wall.

10:30.

You had to go now.

You made your way to your front door, hand shaking as you reached for the knob, why were you so nervous? You’ve waited your entire life to do this, can't stop now. You pushed open the door, and your eyes shut a little due to the brightness. You closed the door behind you and descended down the stairs, very carefully. You were in awe, you had never felt so small in your life, the world being so big around you. You wanted to run, frolic, and enjoy the wonder of the outside world. You didn’t care how destroyed it all was, how the cracks in the streets made people trip, or the smell of firewood that burned through your nose. No, it all felt like such a privilege, you had never known such freedom.

You walked among the people, trying your best to blend in, make yourself appear as normal as possible. Your biggest fear was being mugged or hurt, and then your father would never let you out of his sight again, maybe even tie you to your bed. You smiled, a rare joy among the faces of the depressed, no more were you a prisoner.

Vendors selling shoe laces, patches of cloth, and other things you didn’t quite understand, but still appreciated nonetheless. You wanted to get a closer look at a small doll-like figure made of cloth, so you reached your hand out to grab it. As you did, another hand did as well, causing you to both flinch.

“Oh. I’m sorry sir.” You noticed the hand was much larger than yours, with hair that began to go slightly gray.

“No, my fault sweetheart. Go right ahead.” You peered your head up to look at him, right away you noticed he was much older. He was dirty and had a look of an unknown emotion. 

“Thank you.” You quietly said, before reaching to take a look at the doll, small, and it had a small smile on her face. It was made out of scrap clothing or cloth, and it had a strange texture, yet it was so cute to you.

“Five ration cards, miss.” The vendor told you, and you immediately froze. Ration cards? You didn’t know what that was, having never known about stuff like this. 

“I. I- Um. Sorry.” You slowly began to put back down the doll, embarrassed of your actions. A hand pushed your hand back, however.

“Here you are sir.” The large man next to you handed the vendor some cards, leaving you confused.

“I- Uh. Thank you sir.” You looked up at him, holding the small doll to your chest. You hadn’t had a doll since before. Ever.  

“It’s not an issue at all, sweetheart. I take you don’t have a job?”

“Haha. Yeah, I guess you could say that.” You didn’t really know what to say, but he nodded at your answer.

“So where you off to?” You both walked into a direction you had no clue of, but you just shrugged.

“I dunno. I was just walking around. Just exploring.” You were not confident in your answers, unsure why this man stuck to your side. 

“You don’t know?” He questioned you. You stopped and debated your next move. 

“I-I’m gonna go home.” You turned on your heel, and walked in the opposite direction, leaving the man to watch you go back. You were scared, mostly, you didn’t know how to respond, and he was a stranger! You collected your breathing, as you were hyperventilating. Your feet hit the gravel heavily, you couldn’t wait to get home. You finally entered your home and slammed the door shut, making sure to lock every single lock. Slamming your bedroom door open, you tore off your clothes into a box under your bed. You groaned, in defeat, maybe your dad was right after all. You were too scared of the outside world, and the people asked so many questions! Overwhelmed, you decided to slip on a large shirt and go to sleep. Cuddling up under the sheets, your eyes slowly fell into slumber

—-------

Over the past few days, things were normal. Well, at least your version of normal.

Your father came home, but he was much more distant these days, not even giving you the usual spiel every morning, just leaving. You assumed he was more stressed as “smugglers” became more frequent. You didn’t understand it all, but every day you watched the people below, wishing you were them.

Knock. Knock knock. Knock. Knock

You stood up from your chair by the window, confused, as it was still day time, why was your father here? It was the secret knock, but it was far too early for him to be home. You warily made your way to the door, taking your time to unlock the many different forms of protection. As you opened the door, a foot was placed between the doorframe and the space open. You looked up, and you were met face to face with the man from earlier.

“Let me in, sugar.” You stood in shock, allowing him to push past your hold, and allow him in. He shut the door, loudly, behind him.

“Lovely home you have here…” He trailed about the apartment, hand rubbing against furniture and knick knacks.

“W-what are you doing here?” You backed up slowly, your mind racing, how did he know the knock? That was between you and your father only. 

“Can’t pay a visit to a friend?”

“I-I. I don’t understand...” You tried to hide the fear in your voice– keyword, tried. 

“Aw c’mon don’t act like that sweetheart. I see the way you look out that window, I know you’re all lonely here. I know you need someone. And that someone is me, darling.” He sounded deranged, the more he spoke, the weirder you felt. Why did he know so much about you? But, he was right, you were lonely. With no friends to call your own.

“How did you know the knock?” He chuckled and walked closer to you.

“Don’t worry about that sweetheart. Now, how about we go out?” You raised an eyebrow at this suggestion.

“Out?” He was close enough to touch you now, his boots slamming against the floorboards. He was putting his arm around you now.

“Yeah. You drink?” You shook your head, causing him to chuckle.

“‘Course you don’t. Well we can go back to my place and talk, I could make you some food. I got some books you could read.” He pulled you close to him. You looked up at him, a small smirk was on his face as he looked down. You slowly nodded, feeling your insides warm up. A friend! He might’ve been a little creepy, but he seemed so nice. You slowly pulled yourself out of his grip, his arm going up as you moved.

“L-Let me change, first.” You rubbed your hair nervously, and he took a seat, legs spreading wide.

“Take as long as you need to, sweetheart.” You nervously smiled and walked to your bedroom, your nerves making you forget to close the door all the way. You didn’t notice the eyes that watched you remove your shirt and pants.

—-------

You walked by the side of the larger man, you felt so small compared to him. You blurted out the first thing on your mind.

“You never told me your name.” He looked down at you, a small smile creeping on his face.

“Joel. What about you, sweetie?” You told him your name, to which he nodded. You kept looking around at all the people, some giving you a strange look. Joel eventually wrapped his arm around you, keeping you close to him. People never stopped staring at you, it made you slightly insecure. You knew you would stand out. Joel began to rub circles into your back, as if he knew what you were feeling.

Step by step, you grew closer to his apartment, making you nervous, what if you did something wrong? You never had to deal with people. As he pulled out a small key to unlock his door, your heart was thumping in your chest. 

“Home sweet home.” He let you enter first, and you took in the sight around you. It was much dirtier than yours, but not entirely his fault. Everything seemed to be used, or very old. You kept quiet as you eyed the room.

“Come, sit.” He said, very authoritatively. Your feet began walking towards him without any thought, you learned to obey commands like that with your father.

“You want any water?” As you sat, you muttered a small ‘yes please’, which prompted his hands to come up to your chin, making you look at him.

“What was that, sweets?” Your eyes widened slightly, he was very close to your face.

“Y-Yes Joel, please.” He let go, a satisfied smile on his face as he turned around to fix you a glass. Was this friendship? You didn’t know it would be so touchy, but I guess that was normal? You watched him pour the water into a small glass, your eyes fixated on his figure. 

“How old are you, Joel?” You swung your feet in the chair you sat in, waiting for him to come back.

“Well aren’t you curious.” He walked back with a glass of water for you, and a smaller glass of brown liquid for him. “I’m fifty-six. How ‘bout you?”

“Nineteen…” You didn’t realize he was much older than you, he was older than your father!

“Quite a big girl. And you don’t have a job?” Shaking your head, you felt slightly embarrassed.

“My dad won’t let me go out. Never got to go to school, or have friends even. You’re my first.” Joel’s cock twitched at your choice of words, but his demeanor remained nonchalant.

“That’s a shame sweetheart. You’re old enough to have a family, and your dad still won't let you leave?” You looked down, saddened at the reality.

“Does he know you left the house today?” You shook your head, prompting Joel to stand up.

“Such a bad girl. Leaving the home with a stranger.” He drew closer to you.

“I thought you were my friend.” A chuckle left his lips.

“Right. But you still left without permission. That makes you so naughty.” He lifted you up from your seat and made your legs wrap around him, making you jump a little at the touch of his hands against your ass. His face was so close to your own.

“Mmmm. You’re so pretty.” Your face was red, you felt tingly. His lips got close to your own. He placed them on top of yours, you just looked at him while his eyes closed and his tongue moved around. He pulled away and looked at you. He smiled to himself.

“You’ve never kissed anyone, have you?” You shook your head, and he brought you close to his face.

“Move your lips with mine, open your mouth slightly when you feel my tongue.” He whispered to you, softly. Again, he placed his lips against yours, but this time you followed his movements, his mustache tickling the top of your lip, making you giggle. He smiled against your lips before swiping his tongue against your bottom lip. You opened your mouth for him, as he said, and his tongue pushed through your mouth. His tongue swirled with your own, drool coming down your chin. You stayed like this for a while, his hands on your ass, holding you up, your mouths connected one another. He finally pulled away, your body feeling weird as you watched a trail of saliva connect the both of you. Joel put you down on the floor, allowing you to stand.

“Do friends usually do stuff like that?” Joel stayed quiet, for a moment, before nodding.

“Yes, but only friends like me and you. You can’t do that with anyone else, understand?” You nodded, his head patting yours.

“Good girl. Let's get you home before your daddy finds out you left.” 

“Okay Joel.”

—------

You had made it home before your dad came back, sighing in relief. Over the past few days, however, Joel managed to come shortly after your dad left. You two would go over to his home, talk, do more “friend stuff” as you liked to call it, and he would drop you off.

Today was no different. He knocked, normally, and you knew it would be him. Opening the door, his smile made one appear on your face.

“Joel!” You gave him a large hug, face buried into his beefy chest. He laughed and ruffled your hair.

“Hey sweetie. Look at you, all ready.” he pointed to your outfit as you pulled back, and it made you giggle. You wore jeans, a tight white shirt and a dark green zip up jacket.

“Mhm! I was waiting all morning for my dad to leave so we could hang out!” He laughed and bent down a little, to get to eye level with you.

“Where's my kisses, huh?” You smiled and closed your eyes to kiss him, his tongue slipping in, as you two sloppily kissed for about a minute. He pulled back up and wiped his lips, face looking very satisfied. You giggled at his expression.

“Let's go then, sugar.” He held out his hand for you to grab, which you did, and he led you out of the apartment.

The entire time walking to his home, you never failed to get weird looks. Joel gripped your hand, but you stared at your feet to try to ignore the looks.

“Don’t worry about them sweetheart, they’re jealous.” He led you to his apartment, and let you in. You walked towards the table but he stopped you.

“Come to my bedroom.” Your face was a little confused, but you trusted Joel. Without him, you would be friendless and still alone in your bedroom, rotting away. Following him to the bedroom, you noticed how different he was acting. He seemed more touchy, much more than usual, his hand rubbing your back as you walked in the room, and touching your leg as you sat down.

“I’m gonna teach you something important today.” You paused, very curious to what he was talking about.

“About what?” Your head cocked to the side.

“Male anatomy.” You stared at him with wide eyes, very intrigued at what he was talking about. Your father never taught you much about your own body other than periods. Let alone talking about the male body.

“Okay.” He smiled at you, his hand now on top of yours. He placed it on his lap.

“This right here,” His hand began to move around, your hand feeling a soft body part not attracted to anything. It moved around with your hand, which made him tense. “This is a cock. It’s what men use to go to the bathroom. But it has another purpose. It makes me feel very good.” You were so curious, but as your hand moved at the puppetry of Joel, the body part began to get stiff and harder. Joel groaned under his breath.

“And when I get excited, it gets hard.” You hummed, very intrigued at the idea of that happening.

“Do you wanna see it?” He whispered, your hand still moving against it. 

“Y-Yeah…” He moved your hand to the side and undid his belt, undoing the buttons, and finally unzipping his zipper. Moving his boxers out the way, his cock sprang out, making you jump. It was so. Big. Your eyes widened, you had never seen anything like this before.

“Woah… It looks. Big.” He chuckled at your comment, his cock twitching slightly.

“Give me your hand.” You looked at him, giving him your hand as he held it in his. He put your hand against his cock, your fingers wrapped around it. It was so warm. He moved your hand up and down, the head of his cock disappearing and reappearing under his foreskin. He groaned once more, you looked away from his cock to look at him, making sure it wasn’t hurting.

“Is this okay?” You were unsure of it all, worried that he didn’t like it.

“More than okay, baby. Fuck, you do this so good. But I know how you could make this better.” You stared at his features, his Adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed, his eyes staring at your moving hand.

“How?”

He moved your hand and lifted you up from your seat on the bed, and placed you on the floor, ordering you to be on your knees. Your face was now at eyes-level with his cock, and you could see it much closer. The base was covered in hair, some gray ones mixed in between the black ones. There was a little bit of liquid dribbling out of a small hole at the top of it.

“Come here, princess.” His hand grabbed a fistful of hair, gently, and pushed you towards his cock. 

“Put your mouth on it. Kiss it like you do me.” Your eyes never left it, it was so large and warm, you remained curious about it. You brought your lips to it, and gave it a small kiss. He groaned, the grip on your hair slightly tighter. You began to move your lips across it, and you swirled your tongue around it, making Joel groan louder. You kept doing that, small amounts of drool tracing down his cock, the tip as wet as could be. Joel seemed to grow impatient or was just really excited because he slowly pushed your head down his length. Your mouth felt filled instantly, stretching to accommodate his size. You got no more than three inches down before you started to gag. You tried going back up, but he kept you down there.

“Stay like that, sweetheart, be a good girl for me.” You sputtered and drooled, gagging once more. You had tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but his hold on you was tight and firm. Eventually, he pulled your hair, making you move back up, making you cough from lack of air.

“You’ll get better at that eventually.” Joel grabbed your hair once more, and pushed your mouth back on his cock. He bobbed your head up and down, making sure not to go further than what you couldn’t take. You were drooling so much, his entire cock became wet over how much drool there was. His groans filled the room, bed creaking over how fast he moved you. You shut your eyes and tried to ignore the pain in your jaw, wanting to please your friend Joel. He suddenly pulled your hair back, very roughly, and his free hand began to jerk off in front of your face. You didn’t have time to question it before a semi-white liquid poured all over your face, and almost in your eyes. You flinched and closed your eyes as more of it sprayed on your face, jumping in surprise at each flick. It was warm, and the small amount that got into your mouth was salty. After Joel’s long moans seemed to quiet down, and you no longer felt sprays on your face, you opened your eyes to meet Joel’s. His hand reached your chin as he made you look slightly up towards him.

“Fuck… You look gorgeous sweetheart.” Your cheeks flushed at his words, you felt so confident whenever Joel complimented you. He got up for a second, then handed you a small rag.

“Wipe your face sweetie.” You took the rag, and noticed his cock was still out. While still large, it was smaller now, and more floppy, not as stiff as before. He pulled up his boxers and buttoned up his pants again. He sat down in front of you, your face now clean from his release. He pulled you up to sit on his lap.

“What was that at the end?”

“That's called cum. It happens when I get really excited and I reach the end. It feels really good.”

“Can I do that?”

“Well, not the same way I do. But yes, you can cum too. Not today though, that’s a lesson for another day.”

“Okay Joel….” You smiled and buried your head into his large chest, his hand petting your hair as you snuggled into him. You really liked Joel, your best friend. 

[boundinparchment]

Autumnal Delights

Modern AU-esque. In which you and Sunday visit an apple orchard and create something delicious. Sunday/GN Reader, established relationship. Written for @owlespresso's Autumn Festival collab! On AO3 here. kudos, comments, and reblog are appreciated

The air was crisp and fresh, a reprieve from the oppressive summer heat that carried the slightest sweetness.  Dirt crunched under foot as you stepped off the line of people, two paid bags in your hand.  Sunday hung back from the clusters of people, instead taking a picture of the orchard map and stepping away to research the variations listed on it.

The first attempt at this had gone rather poorly.  That day, it was muddy and the harvest wasn’t that good.  Most of the remaining selections were picked clean and he’d torn a sleeve reaching to prevent you from falling.  He couldn’t fathom why people willingly picked their own fruit when it meant such an ordeal.

And so you planned better.  Made sure the weather was ideal.  You arrived as early as you could.  He was still a little uneasy but prepared.  More rugged but still stylish shoes joined a light modern jacket and while he still wore slacks, they were more durable than his suit pants.  You could tell by his wings that he felt at ease, and when he cast a warm smile as you approached, you saw a fraction of a flutter skin his cheeks.

“We’re all set,” you said, holding up the plastic bags.  “We can pick as many as we can fit.  Where should we start?”

Sunday assessed the map again, this time marking up the photo, drawing a loop around certain patches that ended at the entrance.  He showed you the result.

“This allows us to hit every grove that has the types you need—Granny Smith, Golden Delicious, and Honeycrisp—while also providing the most variety and enjoying the entire area,” he explained.

He pointed to particular groves along the way.

“I, for one, would love to try this…Keepsake variety,” Sunday said, making a note.  “It is apparently sweet and aromatic.”

You stifled a laugh as you looked over the grove listings.  “Sounds a bit Ludacrisp if you ask me.”

Your companion shook his head and shot you an enigmatic smile before you began to head towards a particular grove.  Sunday extended his arm and you took it, nestling your hand in the crook of his elbow as you surveyed the orchard, the trees absorbing much of the surrounding chatter.  The sky was clear and vibrant, a sharp contrast against the greenery.  Grass rustled as you walked and when you came to the grove with Granny Smiths, both of you began assessing the best options.

“Was there ever anything like this on Penacony?” you asked.  “Not apple picking, necessarily, but…did any dreamscape ever have its own seasons, ever emulate certain qualities from other planets?  The Charmony Festival is once in an Amber Era but…”

You plucked one apple, and then another, dropping them into one of the bags.  Sunday reached up above you and, after examination, pulled it from its perch with a snap, leaves shivering from the vibration.  It joined the others with a hiss of friction against the plastic.

“The Moments of Oasis and Scorchsand both have certain qualities that would allow for it, but considering they are still parts of a dream and one is asleep…it makes for a poor substitute compared to the feeling of the sun pouring down and the tickle of leaves or hearing genuine laughter and excitement,” he said.

Sunday’s words sat with you for a moment as you watched his eyes skim the tree, looking for a suitable candidate.  The morning sun glinted off of his halo and made his silver hair sparkle.  He was clearly trying to be present and cognizant of the moment, focused not only on being efficient but enjoying the day.

You moved on to the next section, looking for Golden Delicious next, every once in a while pausing and taking in a particular view or scent or sensation.  Along the way, you came across trees with irregular shaped apples, red coloration over yellow skin.  Sunday checked the map and paused, careful in his section.

“So these are Keepsakes…” he murmured.  “Quite vibrant.”

You held out the other bag, still empty, wordlessly offering your assistance.  Two bags made it easier to keep the apples you needed for baking separate from what you considered the edible options.

He picked three but paused with the third.  His hand hovered over the bag before it pulled it back, wings folding in careful consideration before he let the apple join the others.  

“I don’t know if I’ll enjoy them.  It seems quite wasteful to take up space if there’s another type you would like.” 

“The whole point is to try something new, not just get what we need for baking, Sunday.  Pick what you think you might want to eat,” you replied, adjusting the bag to lay a reassuring hand on his upper arm.  “Don’t hold back all because of a possible what-if that might not be the end result.”

Sunday leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.  You felt his words of gratitude against your skin more than you heard them as his wings grazed your cheeks.  You continued on until both bags were bursting; the smile on his face during the drive home was worth every aching bone in your feet.

The next day, you tied an apron around your waist and assessed the haul closely, ingredients laid out and recipe card nearby.  It was an old thing, a copy of a copy passed down over the years, boxed at the corners with a coffee ring marring an edge.  You knew it by heart by now.  But you wanted Sunday to have the full experience.

He was already neatly folding up his sleeves and pulling them up so they stayed without constant checking.  Much like yesterday, he was wearing clothes that wouldn’t need dry cleaning and could handle the inevitable mess.  You couldn’t help tracing the lines of his hands up into his forearms, shaped from his time adventuring on the Express.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sunday caught you watching him and his wings fluttered as pink crossed his cheeks.  You smiled and mouthed an apology, only for him to step behind you, hands on your waist as he nestled into your neck, feathers tickling.

“I am always flattered by your admiration, my beloved, but you shouldn’t allow yourself to be so easily distracted.”

With a peck to the curve of your neck, Sunday pulled away and plucked his own apron from the nearby rack, ready to start.

You washed the apples together before you began to peel them.  At first, you expected to have to show Sunday how to hold the small knife and angle it just below the surface; he surprised you, picking up both with practiced ease.  The skin came free in long, curling ribbons that were pushed aside to be baked separately.

“It wasn’t often but I used to do this for my sister,” Sunday said when he caught the curious tilt of your head.  “Peeled and cored, with the skin left to be given to the visiting birds and other creatures in the gardens.”

There was more to the simple tale, you sensed, but you remained quiet and waited until he finished an apple before pressing a clean hand to the space between his shoulder blades.  Chances were, like all things, he stopped not because he didn’t want to, but because of his growing duties as Family Head.  

He said nothing else but cast you a soft smile before you stepped away to take care of the dough.

Butter, flour, baking powder, salt, were whisked together as Sunday continued peeling, humming as he went.  You added ice-cold water to the dry mixture, mixing with a fork before you reached over and pre-heated the oven, the soft pop of the ignition barely audible underneath Sunday’s melody.  Often, he wasn’t aware he was doing it but had said that it was a reflex when he was content, relaxed enough to focus his thoughts elsewhere.  

You didn’t recognize the tune but swayed softly as you sprinkled flour across the counter and began to roll out the dough.  Your heart skipped as he continued, his humming only broken by the snick of the apple corer and slices dropping into the ceramic bowl nearby.  

With the dough tucked into the pie dish and pricked with a fork, you turned your attention back to Sunday, who was finishing the last apple.  All of them were uniform and perfectly peeled, the air smelling tangy and sweet.  Baking took a specific exactitude that seemed to fit him like a glove and he measured each ingredient out precisely as needed.  You, in turn, stirred the apples to coat them, pausing only so Sunday could add a liquid after each thorough mixing.  Lemon juice, and then water, and then flour for good measure.

“Wouldn’t that upset the flavor balance?” Sunday asked.

“It’ll keep the filling from being too runny,” you replied.  “Otherwise it can ruin the crust, too.  Can you pour this into the pie dish?  I have to start on the dough for the top latticing.”

You made quick work of the second batch of dough, and rolled and cut strips, showing Sunday how to weave them between one another.  Here, too, you watched his precision at work as he kept the strips equidistant, spacing them perfectly.  Even after the edge of the dish was finished, both of you were left with a sizable amount of dough.

“We could decorate it a bit,” you offered.  “There’s enough here for a braid around the edge, maybe?”

After a beat, Sunday said, “I have an idea.  If you’d permit me?”

As soon as you nodded, he was undoing the ties of your apron, shooing you from the kitchen.  Your face must have carried a look of concern, eyes darting to the oven, because Sunday only chuckled and wiped a stray dusting of flour from your cheek, smile steady.

 “The recipe is very exact about the rest of the baking process, don’t fret.  I’ll come get you when it’s finished.”

With no other choice, you retreated from the kitchen, the smell of cinnamon and cloves and apples and butter wafting through the entire living space.  The timer went off roughly an hour later and Sunday retrieved you after you heard the oven open and close, the corners of his lips quirked upwards, proud in his triumph.

He covered your hands with his eyes and led you back out into the kitchen, chuckling softly when you mentioned how thick the scent was.

“That was your handiwork, you picked the arrangement.  I merely measured,” Sunday said, the tip of his nose nuzzling the back of your head.  “Okay, you can look now.”

His warm hands pulled away and you gasped at the golden perfection.  The edge of the pie had a vine-like pattern and small flowers dotted the cross-sections.  Tiny leaves were placed along the edge, carefully shaped to look like some of the leaves you picked up and pressed earlier in the season, the first leaves to fall this year.

You turned around, beaming.  “It’s so pretty I don’t want to eat it!  You have to have the first bite when it’s cool, I insist.”

Sunday, instinctively, was about to protest and defer to you as he always did, thinking of the joy of others; he paused when you shook your head and his wings relaxed, his face turning pink again.  It brought him delight to see others partaking, you well knew, but why deprive himself of the same?  He, too, deserved to feel the excitement and joy of his hard work every once in a while, not just witness that of others.

A compromise was reached—a shared first piece—and you swore you knew no greater joy than his expression, eyes closed as he ruminated on every flavor, wings fluttering with exuberance.  Warmth spread through you as you took a bite, sugary spice running along your tongue with buttery crispness from the crust.

Next time, you reminded yourself silently, he had to try it with ice cream.

[tj-dragonblade]

[FLUFFBRUARY FIC] A Sweet Romance Beginning In a Queue

Rated: T Word Count: 4551 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2024, fluff, human AU, rain, writer!Dream, professor!Hob, song-based meet-cute, clumsy metaphors

Notes: This is springboarding entirely from Bus Stop by The Hollies; shoutout to @valeriianz for suggesting this song would make a great Dreamling fic many many months ago. I thought Fluffbruary Day 3 would be a good opportunity to bang it out real quick but uh. It didn't want to flow, so I've just been rolling additional days into it all month. Also went a wee bit off-script from the song but. I'm pleased enough with what it's turned out to be. Prompts listed at the end.

Summary: Bus stop, wet day, he's there, I say, 'Please share my umbrella'

On AO3

It's the first day of the new term and the sky is overcast, threatening rain as Hob steps off the bus at his connecting stop. He's got his umbrella and his overcoat and his bag is water-resistant; his stop on the other end is very near the college and he's feeling well-prepared should the weather follow through on its threat.

Which of course it does, not half a minute later, and Hob deploys his umbrella with a sigh. There are a handful of other people waiting at the stop who do the same.

And one who does not.

He's pale and pretty, and tall, and dark—dark trousers, dark peacoat, dark hair, which is well on its way to getting thoroughly soaked as the skies open up in earnest. He appears to be lacking an umbrella entirely. Hob, who these days makes conscious effort to be a Good Samaritan whenever he can, and who also maybe thinks that attractively-pale men dressed in black who forget their umbrellas are worth at least a 'hello', moves quickly.

"Share my umbrella? Please." He's holding it over the guy as he speaks, but they'll have to squish up a bit to get maximum benefit for either of them.

"…Thank you," the guy says, shuffling closer; their shoulders touch. He is stiff, awkward, and yeah okay Hob can understand; courtesy in rainy weather or not, they're still complete strangers.

"Hell of a day to forget your umbrella, yeah?" Hob rolls his shoulders and shifts, putting himself more or less back-to-back with the guy so they fit better.

"Quite," comes the answer. His voice is low and rumbly, pleasantly dark without being bass-deep; it's oddly appealing.

Hob shrugs. "We've all been there. And hey, I'm glad to share."

"Again. Thank you." There's a touch more warmth this time, and Hob smiles to himself.

They pass a moment in silence, save for the drumming of rain against the umbrella and the splashing of cars in the street, and then the bus is pulling up to the stop. The guy steps toward it, first in line, and Hob follows with the umbrella, then lets the other three people board ahead of him.

Which means, once he's boarded and tapped in, the only open seat is serendipitously next to his slightly-soggy goth stranger. Who makes eye contact and holds it as Hob approaches, scoots just that little bit closer to the window to make clear he doesn't mind Hob taking the seat beside him, and Hob is quietly thrilled at the subtle welcome.

"Are you a conversationalist, or a ride-in-silence enthusiast?" he asks, as the bus lurches into motion.

"Ordinarily, the latter," the guy admits, glancing briefly at Hob. "But, as I stormed out with neither book nor earbuds, and I find myself with a chivalrous seat partner, perhaps I could be persuaded to the former just this once."

"Very kind, thank you," Hob says, with a smile. "'Stormed out' doesn't sound promising; feel like unburdening to a friendly ear? I'd be happy to listen, if so. Or find something else entirely to talk about if not."

His stranger turns to the window, watching the rivulets of rain trailing over the glass; there is a brief lull before he speaks. "I find myself creatively blocked, and my sister's attempts to be helpful. Were not." He sighs. "I left the house to clear my head, before saying anything truly unkind."

"Smart," Hob agrees. He could listen to this guy talk all day, his rumbly words and his dark-velvety voice.

"'Smart' would have been making certain to grab more than just my phone and wallet." There's a pretty little scowl accompanying the words, that rosy mouth plumped out in the faintest pout visible in his reflection in the window, and Hob is smitten.

"That may be, but then I'd hardly have had reason to say hello, and we'd both be sitting here reading our books politely ignoring one another. Silver lining?"

"Perhaps," the guy says, but it sounds agreeable enough. Hob likes to think he's a decent judge of unspoken communication and that he could tell if he was being a bother. Currently his stranger is glancing over Hob's bag and his attire with a curious and observant eye, posture reserved but not closed off, and Hob figures he's doing alright.

"Where are you headed, then—work?" the guy asks.

"Yeah, I teach at the college, medieval history, now and then a class in medieval lit too."

The guy's attention goes from merely polite to genuinely interested. "Oh?"

"Yep!" Hob's heart rate bumps up a notch at the light in those (gorgeous) blue eyes; the sudden intensity of this stranger's focus is heady.

He's turned in his seat, angled to somewhat face Hob, gaze bright, expression open. "I imagine that is a difficult sell to many students."

"Oh my friend, you have no idea!" Delighted with his good fortune, Hob launches into tales of his most recalcitrant classes and the victories he's won in inciting and maintaining student interest. He's good at talking, and enjoys doing it, and this pretty stranger is paying genuine attention to him, and so Hob prattles on enthusiastically as the bus trundles steadily through the rain.

~ "This is me," Hob says, as the bus pulls up to the college stop. "It was delightful chatting with you, and I hope your day improves from here!"

"It already has, thank you."

The tiny smile that the stranger offers in parting buoys Hob's spirits all the way to his office.

~ Tuesday is miserably wet again and Hob checks for his stranger at the bus stop, hopeful (yes alright, perhaps he's got a bit of a crush), but there's no sign of him. It's earlier than it was yesterday though, on account of his 8 a.m. lecture this morning, so there's no reason to think he'd be there again. Plus he'd talked about 'storming out' and 'clearing his head'; it wasn't like this stop was a daily transfer point the way it was for Hob.

Chances were good they'd never cross paths again.

~ Wednesday it's less a downpour and more a light shower, but it's still enough that an umbrella is practical.

And Hob is absolutely delighted as he steps off his first bus to see that Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Emo is there again, and again without an umbrella, hunched ineffectually into the collar of his coat and resembling nothing so much as a disgruntled wet cat. He perks up distinctly as Hob approaches with his umbrella angled forward in offering.

"You gallantly come to my rescue yet again." He tilts his head and glances up through lush black lashes, just this side of coy. "I thank you, sincerely, Mr…?"

"Hob, I'm Hob. Just Hob. You can call me Hob." Not his most suave, certainly, but this blatantly-flirtatious greeting atop his own delight has somewhat stolen his functioning brain cells.

"Hob," the guy repeats, unhurried, like he's savoring the taste of the name in his mouth, and smiles just a little bit. "You may call me Dream."

"Pleased to run into you again, Dream." Hob dimples brightly, delighted with the turn his day has taken, delighted that they've made proper introductions. "How was the head-clearing, the other day?"

"Effective." The guy—Dream—crowds close under the umbrella (Hob's largest, which he had pulled out yesterday just in case) and smooths the clinging water from his hair with one hand. His (damp) shoulder is firmly pressed against Hob's and his profile is absolutely beautiful, this close. Hob tries not to stare.

"Got your creativity flowing again, did it?"

"I managed to finish a very troublesome chapter Monday evening, yes."

Hob perks up at this new tidbit of information. "You're a writer, then?"

He gives a short nod, staring out into the rain, then glances sideways at Hob. "I have you to thank for my progress, also."

"Me?"

"The stories you shared…you inspired a direction for the scene that was plaguing me. I came out yesterday, with intent to thank you, but you were not here…?"

His voice lilts up just a touch on the end of his sentence, curiosity expressed without actually voicing the question, and Hob just smiles. "Yeah, Tuesday's my early-morning class. Sorry I missed you."

"No matter. I have now left the house three days in a row and my sister is distressingly pleased about it. She says it is good for my mental health."

"And what do you think?"

He sighs, heavily. "She is not incorrect." He glances sideways at Hob again, eyes narrowed prettily. "But I am not going to admit it to her."

Hob laughs; he can't help it. "You are so completely valid for that," he says, and when Dream smiles in return his spirits soar.

~ "Remembered your umbrella this time, I see!" Hob ignores the little pang of disappointment; just because he doesn't need to share his umbrella with Dream this time doesn't mean they can't still have a conversation.

"My sister reminded me, yes," Dream answers, and then to Hob's great surprise he lowers and closes the umbrella. "But I would prefer to share yours, if you're amenable." His eyes flick up, just a hint of hopeful uncertainty showing there.

"Of course." Hob moves close, brings his umbrella over Dream's head, heart thudding in his chest with delight. He hopes the great spreading grin on his face doesn't put Dream off; he can't quite get it under control.

If Dream notices, he gives no indication. "This routine is working well for me," he says, and it takes Hob a second to cotton on to what he means.

"What, catching the bus in the rain every morning?"

"Yes," Dream says serenely. "The company is. Refreshing." The corners of his mouth tilt up the smallest bit.

"Nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," Hob says, making a valiant effort to sound normal while something warm blooms in the vicinity of his heart. He shifts the umbrella, making sure they're both still sheltered.

"Writing flows more easily when I return home after our morning conversations," Dream says, as if this is something they've been doing for weeks instead of just days. "I shall have to credit you in my author's notes."

Hob laughs, absolutely delighted. "That is extremely flattering, my friend, but wholly unnecessary. But if I'm at all helpful? I'm glad."

One day maybe he'll ask if he can see Dream's writing, when they've been acquainted for more than a week; one day further, perhaps, he'll ask him on a date. It certainly seems he'd be amenable, but Hob knows himself and his tendency to rush in full-tilt and tells himself there's no harm in just. Seeing what happens, for a little while.

~ "Share my umbrella?"

Dream looks askance at him, hair fluttering prettily across his forehead in the breeze. "It is not raining, Hob."

"Well no, but. Bit windy, isn't it? Wouldn't want you to suffer any windburn. Umbrella makes a decent wind-break." He has oh-so-smoothly said 'wind' three times in ten seconds, and it is the flimsiest of excuses to begin with, but Dream only smiles as if he's said something profoundly wise.

"Indeed. Truly, I am fortunate to receive your continued chivalry." He crowds in close to Hob, who angles the umbrella behind them to keep the wind off, and smiles.

~ The other patrons at the bus stop are giving Hob weird looks as he opens his umbrella, but there's only one person here whose opinion matters.

Dream tilts one eyebrow up, amused. "The sun is shining today, Hob Gadling. Yet still you offer your umbrella?"

"It's tradition, at this point. And besides—got a very fair complexion, haven't you? Bit of shade will do you good."

"…As you say." His smile is radiant as the sunshine, and Hob's heart thumps happily. "Thank you."

~ It's been about a month since that first meeting when Hob leaves campus for the afternoon and finds Dream waiting at the college bus stop. The morning's rain has cleared throughout the day but now rises again as a light drizzly mist; Dream is huddled into the meager shelter offered over the bench while pulling out his umbrella. Hob hurries over with his own already deployed, playing into their established pattern.

"Fancy meeting you here?" he greets, smiling. He's delighted to run into Dream outside their developed routine, and the way that Dream kind of blooms to see him is very satisfying.

"Hob. At last," Dream smiles, ducking under Hob's broad umbrella.

"Been waiting long?"

"…Somewhat. You see. I have. A question, I would like to ask you. An important one." The gravity in his tone is clear, and Hob might be worried if it wasn't so plainly obvious that Dream was nervous. "But I do not know your schedule, beyond your morning commute, and so…"

"Have you just been hanging around half the day waiting for me to show up?" Hob is equal parts appalled and delighted.

Dream meets his eyes briefly, glance flicking away again too quickly to interpret as anything other than confirmation. "Perhaps."

Hob laughs, aware he should possibly be alarmed by what any normal person would read as stalking behavior but utterly charmed by it instead. "Your patience has its reward, then. What was it you wanted to ask me?"

"I…ah." Dream colors prettily, the faintest pink flush across his cheeks as he stumbles over actually speaking his question, and Hob is rapidly escalating from 'charmed' to 'enamoured'. "I am not. Good, at—at—"

"Obviously it was important enough to identify my most likely location and wait hours for me to show up, right?" Hob cuts in gently. "Go ahead. I promise I won't judge you." He can hear the fondness seeping into his own voice, and apparently so can Dream. He lifts wide eyes to Hob, lips pressed together resolutely, and heaves a fortifying breath out through his nose.

"I wish to ask. Would you like to have dinner sometime. Or. Or coffee, perhaps."

The bus pulls up at that exact moment, disgorging a single passenger; Hob barely hesitates before waving the driver on.

"That was our bus?" Dream states, lilting up in such a way that it's clear he means Why did we not board, why are we still standing here?

"Well, yes," Hob agrees, very aware of the size of the dopey grin on his face. "But you see, a very dear friend of mine has just asked if I might like a bite to eat with him, and I know the most amazing little spot right around the corner."

"That. That is 'yes', then? Now?" Dream seems delightedly flummoxed, and it ratchets Hob straight up to 'besotted'. How could Dream think he'd ever say anything else? Although it occurs to him belatedly Dream might have other obligations for the evening.

"Well 'now' is certainly 'sometime', yes? If you're free, that is. If you've something else you have to do—"

"No. Nothing else," Dream cuts him off, and the warm smile spreading over his face makes Hob's heart skip a beat. "There is nowhere I should like to be more, just now."

Of course not, not when he'd dedicated the bulk of his day to waiting for Hob just to ask him out. "Wonderful. Shall we?" He offers his arm, angling the umbrella to keep the misty sprinkle off them still.

Dream tucks a hand into his elbow and falls into step beside him.

~ "Wanna try mine?" Hob offers, plucking a crispy slab of cheese from his plate with a bit of everything on it and holding it out, other hand cupped underneath. They are talking over plates of halloumi fries; Hob had gone for his favorite—smothered in pomegranate molasses and za'atar yoghurt with pomegranate arils and fresh mint garnish—and Dream had taken his drizzled in honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds.

"Thank you, I am fine," Dream says, rote politeness in his voice but curiosity in his eyes, and Hob arches a brow.

"Worried you'll have to spend a month stuck with me for each pomegranate seed?"

"That would hardly dissuade me," Dream replies, with a sweet little smile that hits Hob straight in the gut. "Very well, since you offer so generously." He leans forward, grasps Hob's wrist instead of the proffered food, and bites through the warm-crusted cheese while Hob's still holding it, lips brushing Hob's fingers as he pulls back.

He chews, making a contemplative face, and gently plucks the rest of it from Hob's hand while Hob is still scrambling to reboot his poor blue-screening brain and not make a fool of himself.

"Do you know," Hob blurts, grasping for anything, "whatever Persephone might have eaten in the underworld, it would've bound her there the same? It wasn't just because it was a pomegranate?"

"I did know that, yes," Dream replies, and Hob feels the flush of having said something fairly stupid rising into his face. "The pomegranate is a tidy choice for enumerating the months she stays below, I think, with the countable seeds." He plucks one of the ruby-red arils from the cheese that Hob had given him between two delicate fingertips and places it in his mouth, eyes on Hob in a way that makes him lose his brain again.

"Yes that's. Good point," Hob tries, and thankfully Dream pops the rest of the halloumi fry into his mouth without any fanfare or continued eye contact.

"I can see why you like this," Dream says, once his mouth is empty. "It is a wonderful blend of flavors. But the honey-sesame remains my favorite." He takes a bite from his own plate, and Hob tries not to fixate on the casual way he licks the honey off his rose-petal lips.

"I wrote an alternate version of Persephone's story, once," Dream says then, eyes not exactly meeting Hob's or even on his face, darting between his shoulder and his sternum and dropping back to his plate. "I made it her choice; they met and fell in love long before the abduction, which was closer to an elopement. She ate the pomegranate seeds deliberately so as not to be taken away from the partner she had chosen. In my version, it was the pomegranate specifically that would bind her."

"That sounds brilliant," Hob says, feeling a little starry-eyed; Dream has never really talked specifics about his writing before. "I'd love to read it sometime."

"It. Was many many years ago, before I ever considered publication," Dream admits, barely glancing up at Hob, still a little skittish. "I thought it a unique idea at the time, but there are dozens of Persephone remixes to be had and I have never felt it warranted the effort of reworking it from my current skill level or attempting to publish."

"Well for what it's worth, your version is the remix I'd be most interested in reading," Hob says, utterly sincere, smiling from ear to ear. "If you ever wanted to share, that is." He bites into another halloumi fry and speaks around it. "I would never pressure you to let me read your stuff if you don't want to. But I'm always interested."

"…Thank you." Dream covers his awkwardness with another dainty bite from his own plate, a hint of pink dusting across his cheekbones. When his mouth is empty again, he offers, "Mostly I have written. Romance."

"Oh?"

"Not under my own name. But yes."

"See it's fascinating that pseudonyms are so prevalent through the ages, and for so many reasons," Hob starts, and as the conversation turns in this new direction Hob does not miss how Dream relaxes to have the focus shifted from the vulnerable personal glimpse of himself he'd offered.

And Hob maybe falls a little bit deeper.

~ It's still lightly raining three hours later; they've talked about so many things, they've had dessert and then had coffee since neither of them were ready to leave yet. It's dark by the time they finally head back to the bus stop; Dream presses up against Hob's side beneath the umbrella and Hob thrills at the warmth, the closeness, the graceful slide of Dream's hand into his and the way he doesn't let go until the bus shows up.

~ It's raining again the first time Hob kisses Dream, pulling him close beneath the umbrella outside the theater, one finger tipped beneath Dream's chin; the kiss is tentative, but Dream's mouth is warm and the way he lists gently forward has Hob coming back again, soft and sweet and smiling helplessly.

~ Three straight days of rain are clearing on the afternoon that Dream takes Hob to the bookstore and leads him to the romance section, points him to a shelf in the 'M's where there are a dozen or so titles by Morpheus, mononymous. Hob doesn't make the connection for a second, and then he does.

"Is this you?" he asks, reaching for one of the hardbacks, and sure enough there's Dream's photo inside the dust jacket, solemn and styled and somehow less authentic than the Dream standing nervously next to him.

"Yes," Dream confirms, and soft warmth floods Hob's chest. Dream has been very reserved about his writing—"It is one thing to publish for strangers, but I find it…much more difficult to share, when it is someone whose opinon matters to me personally," he'd said once, and being trusted, opened up to like this—Hob is not oblivious to the privilege of it.

"You've certainly written a lot," he says, warmth and fondness curling in his chest. "And you're okay with me reading any of these?"

"Yes; however—" he reaches into the messenger bag slung over his hip, withdraws a large clear envelope with what looks like a manuscript inside. "If you wish to read my writing, I would have you begin with this." He hands it to Hob.

Hades and Persephone: The Morpheus Remix the paper proclaims through the plastic, and Hob looks up at Dream, delighted. "Is this—?"

"It needs a proper title." Dream shrugs, hunches into his coat a little bit. "I would like—perhaps you might help me come up with one, as it was you who inspired me to revisit and update it."

Hob cannot for the life of him stop the broad smile that overtakes his face, is not even trying. "I would be honored."

~ It is raining buckets the night that Dream comes home with Hob, and even the umbrella is not enough to prevent their getting a bit wet. But that's alright, Hob thinks, with Dream's eager mouth warm and hungry on his as they move in the direction of his bedroom, it's not like their clothes were staying on anyway.

He lays Dream gently in his bed, covers him with his own body, makes love to him with slow and ardent urgency while the rain lashes against his window. Later, after, when the winds have calmed and thunder rumbles soothingly in the distance, he holds Dream curled against him, asleep, and he thinks. He thinks about umbrellas, and shielding, and guardedness, and how Dream has slowly gifted so many of his vulnerabilities to Hob; he thinks about the duality of potential in that realization, the power it gives him to either harm or protect, and vows to himself that he will always be Dream's metaphorical umbrella when it's within his capabilities.

~ It's sprinkling just a little when Hob realizes that he's going to marry Dream.

It's early Autumn and they're at the park; Dream is under his own umbrella (look, sometimes sharing just isn't practical, as much as Hob still loves faithfully carrying on their schtick), scattering peas and grapes for the ducks and Hob is hanging back, watching him with an aching fondness in his heart.

Dream is beautiful, and thoughtful, and engaging. He is guarded and private, but so warm and emotional and giving once he has let you in. He is smart, and witty, with the driest sense of humor and the most endearingly terrible laugh and Hob has fallen desperately in love with him along the way.

He watches as a particularly bold duck comes close and snaps up the pea that had fallen directly at the toe of Dream's boot; watches the soft delight that steals over Dream's face, and he knows.

~ It is the following Spring before he asks. They are at the bus stop where they first met and it's a bright sunny day; Hob's got the umbrella up and they're shoulder-to-shoulder beneath it. Dream is animated, excited, talking about his editor's latest feedback on his Persephone remix (The Seeds of Fate, they had decided to call it), and Hob is listening, very much interested but so so nervous. The little velvet box on his pocket is weighty, not physically of course but he can't stop touching it, hoping Dream will say yes, believing Dream will say yes.

At last, Dream turns to him, a little wrinkle of concern between his brows. "You feel…distracted; is everything alright?"

Hob smiles at him, entirely and wholeheartedly in love. He hooks the hand holding the umbrella with Dream's so their fingers are tangled together around it; he leans his forehead against Dream's, closes his eyes. "I have a question, I'd like to ask you. An important one." It's a deliberate echo of how Dream had asked him out more than a year ago; Hob can picture the way Dream smiles to recognize it, can feel one eyebrow lifting against his own.

He takes a deep breath, pulls the little box from his pocket and clicks the lid open. "Will you marry me?"

It's a quiet request, pitched low so the other couple people at the bus stop don't overhear, so that if Dream does wish to say no, he won't be under the public pressure of strangers to say yes for appearances' sake. Not that Hob expects him to say no.

He hopes he doesn't say no.

Dream pulls back and Hob opens his eyes, meeting the surprise and delight and disbelief in Dream's. Dream looks down at the ring in the open box in Hob's hand, touches a fingertip to the velvet-covered lid delicately, looks back up at Hob with joy blossoming in his face.

"Do you mean it? Truly?"

Hob swallows down the nervous lump in his throat, squeezes gently where his hand is tangled with Dream's around the handle of the umbrella. "More than anything," he murmurs, entranced by the gathering shine of happy tears in Dream's eyes. "Marry me. Please."

Dream makes a joyful little noise, wrenches his hand free and throws both arms around Hob's neck, kissing him soundly. Hob manages to snap the ring box closed and swing the umbrella low, wraps both arms around Dream's waist and kisses him back.

"Yes," Dream breathes wetly when they part a moment later. "Yes, of course yes, a thousand times, yes."

~ They marry in the park in August, the clouds high and the breeze warm. Hob puts up the umbrella when they reach the crux of the ceremony; he holds its history over them while they say their vows, while they slip rings on one another's fingers, and then they seal their marriage with a tender heartfelt kiss beneath its promise of care and protection.

= Started: 2/3/24 Drafted: 2/24/24 Posted: 2/25/24

Fluffbruary 2024 Prompts Day 3: umbrella seashore mist Day 4: camera lush beau Day 5: rescue inertia lullaby Day 6: tie embarrassment* dessert Day 7: potatoes blue glass Day 8: shower blessed layer Day 9: urgency kneel rural Day 10: flush angel owl Day 11: reflection water apology Day 12: graceful volcano blanket Day 18: suave cologne gradual* Day 19: teacakes flood feature Day 20: smooth glitters queen Day 23: rhythm chalk humor Day 24: spring fuzzy silky

*The word did not get used but the concept is very much in there

✨✨✨ Sequel: Love Rain Down On Me ✨✨✨

[37sommz]

❁ : she's dreaming . . .

✼. masterlist — taglist — request. ✼. genre: angst & suggestive (18+). ✼. wc: 3.6k.

it’s been weeks since michaela has thought about that night in tuscany. but with the season freshly over, the guilt starts to the submerge her. and all at once, jenson is everywhere and nowhere at all. 

✼. warnings: suggestive but not smutty. language warnings. not proofread (lol). mclaren papaya mentions.

✼. notes: she’s kind of an asshole in this one but you would too if you have jenson!brain. angst again bc i have no self-control. the true honest beginning of the jenson arc is here!! experimenting with the formatting a little bit idk how i feel though.

000.⠀⠀DECEMBER 14, 2020    ›    Monaco.

"Mm, you're so fast," Olivier murmured into her ear, his breath hot and ragged.

Michaela's eyes snapped open, the racing of her heart not entirely from passion but the echo of her fastest lap point from Abu Dhabi yesterday. She pushed him away gently, laughing at the odd choice for dirty talk the Frenchman had chosen. Under the soft moonlight of their Monaco hotel room's balcony, she leaned the full weight of her body against his stronger, half-naked form.

"What's so funny?" Olivier asked, a playful smirk playing on his lips. "It's true, you're so fast."

Michaela couldn't help the smile that tugged at her own lips. "You're so odd," She quipped, tracing her fingers along the taut muscles of his abdomen. She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the unspoken tension between them.

Olivier leaned in, kissing her neck gently. "Seriously though, baby," He said, his voice dropping into a more serious tone, "I'm so proud of all you've accomplished this past season."

Michaela giggled once more as the bliss of Mediterranean air swirled and enveloped them in a haze that tottered between love and lust. His hands were everywhere and committed to nowhere all at once as she released the smallest of whines in anticipation of his next display of passion.

Her eyes fell upon the McLaren team's official merchandise laid out on the nearby table—she had worn it earlier today on their flight as she had gone straight from their factory in Surrey to her vacation in Monaco. The polo, though a symbol of hope, was also a stark reminder of the conversation she'd been trying to avoid. Olivier had been much too eager to take it off his girlfriend of a year and Michaela pretended not to notice though it stung nonetheless.

"Your new McLaren gear, I see," Olivier said, his hand pausing mid-caress as he followed her gaze to the shirt. "You're really going to wear that papaya orange next season?"

Michaela stiffened, feeling the joy of their intimate moment dissipate like mist in the early morning sun. "What's wrong with papaya orange?" She asked, trying to keep the defensiveness out of her voice.

Olivier rolled his eyes. "It's not exactly my color, chère," He mentioned with a laugh, his hand still playing with the strap of her lingerie. "But if you’re contractually required to wear it, I guess I’ll put up with it."

Michaela's smile faltered. "It's not just about the color, Olivier," She said, her voice firm. "It's about my future in the sport. This is a big deal for me."

If Olivier heard her, he gave no indication of any kind. His hands continued to caress his girlfriend's skin as his lips wandered the expanse of her shoulders and up her neck.

Michaela pushed the topic away, the moment feeling too delicate to be sullied by their ongoing argument. Her thoughts grew hazy as his touch grew more insistent. But the nagging feeling remained regardless. Was it really so hard to support her dreams?

Their bodies intertwined, Olivier's hands explored the curves of her body, setting her alight with a passion she knew was genuine. Yet, her mind was elsewhere—replaying moments from her second Formula 1 season—the smell of rubber, the roar of the engines, and the sweet taste of success at her third-place finish in Tuscany.

It was that podium finish, the first for a woman in history, that had brought her to Jenson's arms. The English former champion had congratulated her, and she had been drawn to his easy charm and the understanding in his eyes. The memory of that night grew clearer, the whispers of betrayal echoed through her mind like the rustling of leaves in the Monaco night.

Her cheeks flushed with a mix of arousal and guilt as Olivier's hands grew more intimate. The scent of the champagne they had gotten drunk on just moments earlier wafted through the air, a cruel reminder of her infidelity. She closed her eyes tightly, willing the image of Jenson out of her thoughts. But his touch remained etched in her skin, a silent confession that grew louder with each breath she took.

"Are you okay, darling?" Olivier asked, sensing the sudden tension in her body.

Michaela took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts of Jenson to the back of her mind. "Yeah," She lied as she forced a smile. "Just a little tired."

Olivier's eyes searched hers for the truth, but she averted them, focusing instead on the horizon where the last signs of daylight kissed the water. "You're sure?" He whispered, his voice laced with concern.

Michaela nodded, her throat tight with the weight of her secret. She didn't want to ruin the night—not yet. But the conversation had left a sour taste in her mouth, one she couldn't ignore. "Let's just enjoy tonight," She murmured, leaning into him again. She turned to face him head on, willing her hands to travel the length of his well-defined chest to cradle his face in her hands.

Olivier could not help but notice the plea in Michaela’s eyes, his own filled with a hint of doubt. But he kissed her deeply, his tongue seeking hers in a motion as fiery as the passion that had brought them together. The tension between them melted away as they gave themselves over to the moment. Their bodies synced in a rhythm as familiar as the purr of an engine, each movement speaking volumes in a language only they understood.

Michaela's guilt weighed on her like the gravity of indecision, but she pushed it aside, focusing on the here and now. The sound of their breathing grew ragged, their skin slick with sweat, and the world outside their love faded away. For a brief moment, she was free—free from the pressures of her new contract, free from the whispers of doubt, and free from the haunting memory of her indiscretion with Jenson.

As the night grew darker and the air grew thicker with the scent of their love, Olivier whispered sweet nothings into her ear, his voice a gentle comfort that seemed to resonate with the distant waves. But his words were hollow echoes of a support she desperately craved. With each moan of pleasure, she felt the gap between them widen, the truth of her actions with Jenson a heavy burden she wasn't ready to share.

Finally, unable to contain the storm brewing within, she pulled away before either of them could finish, her eyes searching his for something—anything—that could make this right. "Olivier, can we talk?" She asked, her voice small and trembling.

Olivier's eyes stilled upon hers for a moment before nodding, his own smile faded into a look of concern. "Of course, chère." He stood to his full height, totally unprepared for the ensuing conversation.

Michaela took a deep, shaky breath, the cool Monaco night air raising goosebumps on her flushed skin. "Every time I talk about my future with McLaren, you get so... distant," She began, her voice tight with emotion. "I can't help but feel like you're not as excited for me as you say you are."

Olivier's expression shifted into a mix of confusion and defensiveness. "What are you talking about?" He asked, reaching for her hand. "I've supported you every step of the way."

Michaela's gaze dropped to their intertwined fingers. "But you don't get it, do you?" She said softly. "You don't get what this means to me."

Olivier squeezed her hand gently, his brain scrambling for understanding. "I'm trying, Mickey," He said. "I really am."

Michaela felt a lump form in her throat. "You shouldn't have to try," She whispered. "You should want to be there."

Olivier's brow furrowed as he sat beside her on the balcony's chaise lounge, the moon casting shadows across his concerned features. "What are you saying?" He asked, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration.

Michaela took a deep breath, the scent of the ocean mingling with the faint smell of the city's nightlife. "I'm saying that every time I bring up McLaren, you change the subject or make a joke about it," She replied, her voice growing stronger with each word. "It's like you're not really here for me."

Olivier looked genuinely surprised. "I just don't want to lose you," He admitted, his voice low and sincere. "When you're in the middle of the season, you're so focused on winning that I feel like I'm just... an accessory."

Michaela's eyes widened with shock. "What? No, you're not," She protested, though the sting of his words resonated deep within her.

Olivier looked away, his jaw clenched tight. "Maybe not now," He said, "But what about next season? With McLaren, you'll be even more consumed by the sport. I won't be able to compete with that."

Michaela felt the anger simmering in her chest, her eyes flashing with intensity. "Is that what this is about?" She demanded, her voice rising. "You're jealous of my career?"

Olivier sighed heavily, running his hand through his hair. "No, Mickey," He said, his voice weary. "It's not about being jealous. It's about feeling... irrelevant."

Michaela's anger tapered off, replaced by a sudden rush of sadness. "I'm sorry you feel that way," She said, her voice cracking. "But my career is my life. You knew that going into this."

Olivier's expression grew dark. "But what about us?" He countered. "Is there no room for me in your career?"

Michaela felt the sting of his words. "Of course there is," She said, her voice thick with mounting emotion. "But you have to support me. That's what being in a relationship is about."

Olivier leaned back, his expression unreadable in the moonlight. "And what about when you're too busy with your races and your parties?" He asked, his voice accented with a bitterness she had never heard before. "What happens to us then?"

Michaela felt the weight of his question like a gunshot to the stomach. She knew she couldn't give him the answer he wanted to hear—not without admitting the truth about that night in Tuscany. "You've never wanted to go with me," she said, her voice whispering. "How could I know you wanted to be there if you've never been excited, Olivier?"

The tension grew thick as the silence stretched out between them, the only sound the distant hum of the city below. Olivier took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in the moonlit air. "You're right," He finally said. "I've never felt truly welcome."

Michaela's eyes searched his, desperation pooling in her heart. "That's not true," She protested. "For fuck's sake Olivier, you've spent more than enough time with Giovinazzi, Gasly, and Sainz. How could you be unwelcome?"

Olivier shrugged, his eyes on the sunset. "It's not the same," He murmured. "They're all your colleagues. I'm the boyfriend. The one who's supposed to be there through thick and thin, but every time you win, you're in the arms of some other man. Every time you sign a new deal, you're wearing their colors, not mine."

With a grunt he lifted himself from the chair. Hastily he slid the door to their room open, trekking inside without as much as a glance towards his girlfriend. Sighing to herself, Michaela grabbed hold of the dreaded papaya polo, throwing it on and adjusting her lingerie underneath.

"Where are you going?" She called out as she stepped into the room.

Olivier didn't respond. He was already at the mini-bar, pouring himself a drink, the amber liquid sloshing into the glass with a sound that echoed in the room. His broad shoulders were tense, and his back was to her, a clear indication of his mood.

Michaela felt the anger build within her, but she knew this wasn't the time for accusations or defensiveness. She approached him slowly, her heart hammering in her chest like a drumline. "I didn't mean for it to be like that," She spoke with a tremble in her voice.

Olivier took a swing of his drink, not turning around. "It's just the way it is, isn't it?" He said, his voice cold and distant.

Michaela stepped closer, her heart pounding. She could feel the distance growing between them with every beat. "No, it's not," She insisted, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You can come with me to every race, every event. I want you there."

Olivier downed the rest of his drink, his eyes never leaving the floor. "Do you?" He asked, his voice barely audible. "Or do you just want me there so you don't feel guilty?"

Michaela felt the force of his words like a slap to the face. She stepped back, her hand falling to her side. "What are you talking about?" She asked, her voice shaking.

Olivier turned to face her, his eyes dark and accusatory. "You tell me," He said, his voice low and menacing. "What happened in Tuscany? Why couldn't you answer any of my calls that night?"

Michaela's breath hitched in her throat. The memory of Jenson's arms around her, his whispers in her ear, flooded her mind, inescapable. "Olivier, that's not what this is about," She said, her voice strained.

He took a step closer, his eyes piercing hers. "Isn't it?" He demanded. "Or is it because you found someone else to fill the void when I couldn't be there?"

Michaela felt the blood drain from her face. She hadn't expected the conversation to turn this way—not here, not now. "What are you saying?" She whispered, her voice shaking.

Olivier's gaze was unwavering. "I know you, Mickey," He said, his tone even. "You don't do well with being alone in your big moments. And when I couldn't be there for you after your big day..."

Michaela's eyes grew wide with horror. "You think I cheated?" She managed to choke out.

Olivier's jaw tightened. "Did you?" He asked, his voice a knife's edge of accusation.

Michaela took a deep breath, her eyes searching the room for escape from the accusation. "Olivier, please," She begged, her voice shaking. "It's not like that."

He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "Isn't it?" He asked, his voice a low growl. "You tell me, Mickey. Did you or did you not spend the night with someone else when you should've been celebrating with me?"

"Celebrating with you?" She suddenly scoffed, remembering the circumstances that led to her fall in the first place. "Was I supposed to spend the night locked away in my hotel room getting drunk with you on Facetime?"

Olivier's eyes searched hers, looking for the lie she knew he wanted to find. "It's not like you to avoid me, especially after a good race," He said, his voice strained.

Michaela felt the tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, straightening her spine. "I needed to be with someone who understood," She finally confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Olivier's eyes grew wide with shock, his handsome features contorting with disbelief. "Someone like who?" He spat out, the venom in his voice palpable. "Huh?"

Michaela took a shaky breath, her heart racing as she met his gaze. "Jenson," She whispered, the name leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

Olivier's eyes narrowed into slits, his fists clenching at his sides. "Jenson Button," He said through gritted teeth. "Your fucking teenage crush? Must have been a dream come true." The words left his mouth with an element of disgust. He reached for the bottle of alcohol again, pouring himself another glass.

Michaela felt the tears finally spill over her lashes as she watched him. "It was one night," She insisted. "I was just so... happy, and you weren't there."

Olivier took a long pull from his glass, the liquid fire burning down his throat. He slammed it down on the table, the sound echoing through the suite like a bullet. "One night," He repeated, his voice thick with anger. "That's all it takes to replace me, huh?"

Michaela felt the sting of his accusation, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "It wasn't about replacing you," She said, her voice trembling. "It was about feeling seen and supported."

Olivier scoffed, turning away from her to refill his glass. "That's bullshit," He spat. "You're just saying that as an excuse."

Michaela felt the rage build within her, a rage fueled by his accusation and her own guilt. She stepped closer to him, her eyes blazing. "How dare you?" She hissed. "You have no idea what it's like to be me. To be the first woman to stand on that podium. To be the most scrutinized athlete in a sport that's been dominated by men for decades. To be torn apart for the whole world to see every single time I step outside."

Olivier's expression softened, the anger in his eyes slowly giving way to something else—regret. "I do know," He said, his voice hoarse. "I see it every day. The way you're treated, the way they look at you." He took a step closer, reaching for her, but she stepped back, the gap between them feeling like an insurmountable distance.

Michaela wiped at her tears, her eyes glaring. "You don't know shit," She said, her voice shaking. "You don't know what it's like to be me. You don't care what it's like to be me."

Olivier's hand fell to his side, his shoulders slumping. "Michaela," He began, but she cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand.

"Don't," She said, her voice thick with emotion. "Don't you dare try to act like you understand."

Olivier took a step back, his hands rising in surrender. "I'm sorry," He whispered. "I just..."

Michaela didn't let him finish. "You just what?" She challenged, her voice shaking with emotion. "You just don't get it? You just don't care?"

Olivier looked at her, his eyes pleading. "Michaela, baby," He started, but she was already shaking her head.

"Don't call me that," She said, her voice cold and unforgiving. "Not now."

Olivier's hand fell to his side, his eyes peering into hers. "What do you want from me?" He asked, his voice filled with pain. "What can I do to make this right?"

Michaela took a deep, shaky breath. "You can't," She said, her voice cold. "Not unless you truly support me. Not unless you understand that my career is as much a part of me as you are."

Olivier's eyes swelled, the depth of his love for her clear despite the anger and hurt that clouded his features. "I want to," He said, his voice honest. "But I need you to be honest with me. To include me."

Michaela felt the anger drain from her body, leaving only the heavy weight of her secret. "I know," She whispered, her eyes dropping to the floor. "But I was scared."

Olivier took a step closer, his hand reaching out tentatively to cup her cheek. "Scared of what?" He asked, his voice gentle.

Michaela leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against her cool skin. "Scared of losing you," She admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "Scared that you wouldn't understand the pressure, the need for... something more."

Olivier's hand dropped from her cheek, his eyes unable to pull themselves away from her. "More than what?" He asked, his voice tight with unspoken fears.

Michaela took a deep, trembling breath. "More than just being my boyfriend," She replied, her voice a whisper. "Someone who understands the thrills and the agony. All of it."

Olivier's expression grew solemn as he took her in, his thumb gently brushing away the tears that trailed down her cheek. "I want to be that person," He said, his voice earnest. "But you have to let me in."

Michaela looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I don't think I can."

Olivier's hand stilled on her cheek, the room growing colder despite the warmth of the night outside. "Why?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Michaela swallowed hard, the pull of emotion weighed down on her chest. "Because it's not just about the racing," She said, her eyes never leaving his. "It's about the parties, the sponsor events, the constant scrutiny. And you... you've never been a part of that."

Olivier's jaw tightened, his thumb brushing away another tear that slipped down her cheek. "So, what are you saying?" He asked, his voice a mix of anger and sadness. "That I'm not good enough for you?"

Michaela's eyes gazed into his, the pain in her heart reflected in her gaze. "No," She said, her voice a whisper. "It's not about that. It's about you being you. And me being me. We can't do that and exist in this world together."

Olivier's hand fell away from her cheek, his eyes dropping to the floor. "What does that mean?" He asked, his voice thick with unfamiliar emotion.

Michaela took a deep, shaky breath. "It means that my world is changing," She said, her voice wavering. "And I don't know if there's room for us in it."

Olivier's eyes tore themselves from the floor and back to her face, the pain in his heart mirroring the ache in hers. "Is that what you want?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Michaela's heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces, the weight of her words heavy on her chest. "It's not what I want," She said, her voice trembling. "But it's what I need."

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[daydreamingupandaway]

Okay y’all, I just finished episode 5, here are some of my thoughts on it!

SPOILERS

-Bruh this bald bitch Xavier is getting on my NERVES. Like I get why you did what you did but you REALLY had to go to get some space girlfriend instead of helping your X-Men? Like I think Magneto KNEW he was going to space because he even mentioned how Xavier went with his Shi’ar Queen- that’s WILD

-Also I didn’t think I realized the magnitude (heh heh, get it?) of what Magneto did until this episode. He does realize he’s probably killing an assload of mutants too right? Like bro has good points but I think killing thousands of people including mutants and like the entire planet may be a tad too far

-Why were they in space when Xavier met with President Kelly? Did I miss something?

-I wasn’t surprised that Rouge joined magneto, but Roberto joining threw me through the loop. I get why, I just didn’t expect it. I mean I’m proud of him though. I wish there was more time before the final battle so we could see Roberto interacting with Magneto and Rouge since we’ve only ever seen him and Jubilee together. (more in next bulletin point about those two) I just feel like there could have been more character interactions in general here. Too much was focused on just fighting. Like how the hell did we go from having 12 hours to 1 so quickly? The fuck????

-More about Rouge, loved her talk with Professor X, you tell ‘em Rouge! Also I love that she wore Gambit’s jacket, I thought it was really sweet.

-Roberto worrying about hurting Jubilee? AWKDKGBDLFN MY HEART AHENGELFKDK like I don’t really know how J feel about romance with them but their friendship and stuff is so adorable and then to have it break like that! Like of course Jubilee would be mad! Roberto effectively went against her family!

-My Queen, my absolute GODDESS storm returned! Yay! I loved the little sister moment Jean and her shared. She had some super cool fighting scenes though, I love how they animate her abilities. I don’t like how my QUEEN GOT MURKED AGAIN WHAT THE FUCK!!!!! So unfair

-Real talk why the FUCK did they send Wolverine to confront Magneto? Honestly Magneto could have done what he did at the end at literally any point, dude was playing it nice. Also, my Morphine loving ass really wishes there was a goodbye scene between Morph and Logan. I mean K know he’s gonna be okay though. It’s Wolverine. I hope we actually get to see more of his healing abilities, we never get too see those….. I mean he is going to be okay, right? My heart cannot take Logan dying he’s like one of my favorite X-Men. Honestly I feel like X-Men 97 haven’t really been doing him right. But it’s pretty much the Scott and Jean show so, go figure

-More on Morph: they got called THEM again!!! That made me so happy! :) but I was a little bit confused when Rouge said something along the lines of: “Morph barely joined our team for 30 minutes and we threw them to the wolves” what does that mean? Am I missing something? Is it from the original show? Because I didn’t watch it so if someone could explain please do!!

-As for Cable, it was really cool to see his powers get shown off! That was awesome. I like the interaction he had with Scott too. Honestly ever since they introduced Cable I was hoping for a Deadpool cameo, hopefully for season two. A girl can only dream.

-Then onto Nightcrawler! Once again my dude has AWESOME GOATED fighting skills!!!!!! We love him. I was surprised he didn’t really try to talk Rouge down during the battle but that fight was way too fast paced. I really liked the scene with the Rosary. I don’t really know why since I’m not religious or anything, I just thought that it was a nice touch.

-Gonna do Scott and Jean in one I guess. I liked the fight between Jean and Mr.Sinister. I think it’s crazy that she could telepathically communicate with Scott that far away. That’s cool. I hope Cable doesn’t kill her. On another note, I love Scott and Jean. Like this show has done WONDERS for Scott’s character but why does EVERYTHING have to be about them?! They’re like the only two characters that got like any character time the entire episode!

-And then because apparently I decided to do everyone I might as well say stuff about Beast, next I’ll do Magneto. (Can you tell this wasn’t planned at all and I’m just rambling lmao?) anyway, Beast was pretty chill here. I always like the little quips he throws out during a fight, and I like that he’s friends with Forge. He is a very swag dude. I’m a little surprised to see him hanging around near the reporter still, especially since she was revealed to be a sentient bot thing and like Roberto said, she somewhat chose to be turned into something that would fight against mutants. But beast is a very peaceful and forgiving person, so I suppose it makes sense.

-Finally, Magneto! Fun fact throughout this entire thing I kept spelling it magneato because I think he’s mag-neat-o (I should be burned at the stake). Well, I would say that if I didn’t think he was a FUCKING IDIOT! Bro another PLANET?! Please tell me how he was planning on loading every mutant up to another planet. I would LOVE to know. There were different ways he could have gone about it, but NOPE. Also- LEECH ACTUALLY DIED?! CKDIFNSKGKELGL SOBBING ACTUALLY SHED A TEAR- like I don’t know what I should have expected but I’m still sad about it. So I guess a huge part of this is a product of grief not just for Genosha but also Leech. God that’s so sad bro-

Forge- unfortunately not much to say here :( I do hope he’s okay though! He’s a really good pilot and very smart!

Overall, I just think this episode was way too rushed. I wish there were more character moments. I mean the professor isn’t dead? Hell I would have punched that old man in the face! I really think the first season should have been longer. I know people disagree but I just want to see more things between other characters that don’t feel so rushed. That’s all I want. I want to see more of my faves instead of having them constantly thrown to the side.

[seospicybin]

HOMESICK.

The next chapter of Haven.

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

Synopsis: After being separated by the distance, Chan learns to build a new home with you. (11,7k words)

Author's note: Sorry it took a long time for me to finish it. You can definitely read it without reading Haven first. It's a sweet fic of domestic romance with Chan. Swear to you there's no angst in it. Happy reading!

What makes a home?

Well, it takes two to build one.

It started with the need for each other's presence in life.

"My bed feels so empty without you," he said into the phone.

You chuckled in response, "or maybe your bed is too big,"

You heard the faint sound of piano playing in the background, "the neighbor is playing the piano again?"

"Yes, here listen," chan held out his phone on the balcony so you could listen to the piece of piano.

"You heard that?"

"Yes, it's Nocturne by Chopin," you said to him.

"It's so nice," he sighed.

"Yeah," you also sighed.

"Gosh, I miss you so much," he softly said.

And you felt it too, how the distance between you drained the life out of you the longer you were away from each other.

"I miss you too," you said back and wished that saying it would lessen the ache of being away from each other.

It became a habit of him calling you whenever he misses you, or you miss him, or when something reminds any of you of your shared memories.

And this habit only made this longing for each other more intense, turning all the wants into needs.

Until one night none of you could take it anymore.

"Come back to me," he said with so much desperation in his voice like a wayfarer who had traveled long without water.

"I need you here. Come back!" He said again.

It was either of relief or joy, but you cried because he wanted it as much as you did.

"Move in and mess my place again," he said.

You laughed into the phone, "yes, okay," you answered without thinking because your heart yearned for him, to be in his life again and him in yours.

"I'll wait for you at home,"

"See you at home," you said to him knowing that those words wouldn't just be empty words anymore.

If you ask again, what makes a home?

You always thought that when you found it, your heart felt it, that sense of comfort you didn't get anywhere else, an instant serenity like you're exactly where you belong. Your heart felt lighter but full at the same time, lighter because you know all your weariness disappeared in an instant, and full because your heart filled with warm feelings.

You felt all that as he hugged you.

After a year of being separated by miles and miles of distance, you came back home, to him and the heart that beats inside his chest where your home truly lies.

"Welcome home," he whispered into your ear.

And you hugged him tighter because it felt like a dream still.

"Chris..." you muttered into his chest then looked up at him.

You had thought over and over about your decision to move in with him, not that you doubted him but it was a big decision that required you to move abroad but also left your job and life back there to move on to new things entirely.

"Thank you for coming back to me," he sincerely said.

And that was enough to convince you that this was the right decision.

The year you had spent away from each other was excruciating, tormenting, raging storms and dark days, the distance did nothing but made you both vulnerable and restless, you didn't need each other to merely exist but something just didn't feel right.

It was nice to go out of the house once in a while but if you were away too long, it dawned on you, the homesickness.

"I'm so happy to be home," you said and the agonizing pain of being away from each other disappeared at that moment.

The sound of the piano welcomed you back into Chan's apartment and you went to the balcony to listen to it loud and clear.

They played Beethoven's Piano Concert No. 5 and it couldn't be more a perfect piano piece to play on such an occasion.

Chan came up from behind and wrapped his arms around you, "it feels complete now,"

You put your hands on his and rested your head on his shoulder, your head tilted upward at the night sky dotted with stars.

"No, it isn't," you disagreed.

You pressed a kiss on his lips and he gladly returned the kiss.

"Now it is," you said against his lips.

He smiled at you and sank his mouth in yours while tightening the hold around you, not letting you go again.

Having you on his bed again felt like a dream.

The shape you took against the white sheet, there's nothing like it.

For this one night, he wanted to make sweet love to you.

He touched you so tenderly as he would to a flower with so much tenderness, fingertips trailed your smooth skin and raised goosebumps all over you.

"You're even more beautiful than I remember," he murmured with eyes following his hand squeezing the flesh on your waist.

You never felt more loved and admired in your life, but he did more than that, worshipping every inch of your body like you were a goddess.

His mouth endlessly whispered sweet words into your ear.

"You're so heavenly."

"My hands can't stop touching you."

"Gosh, I miss kissing these lips."

"My love..." he sighed with so much delight and contentment.

The sex was slow and steady, continually thrusting into you with the same depth and intensity. Mouths incessantly kissing you, hands clasped with fingers slipped between the spaces of your fingers, perfectly like they were made for you to hold.

Chan was overwhelmed, it felt as if he had sex for the first time all over again and it was because of you, you made it all happen for him.

You rested your head on his chest with him resting his back against the headboard, your legs tangled together under the duvet and your foot rubbing his shin.

He kissed you so tenderly and seemed won't stop doing it, "I can't believe you're here," he said.

"I can't believe I'm here," you repeated.

It all still felt like a dream to you, it was only hours ago you have separated miles away from each other but here you were, cuddling with him on the mess of his bed.

"I can't believe you're doing this for us," he said with utmost sincerity and a bright smile.

But you smiled at the word 'us', which was the word that means so much more than just a part of English vocabulary, it means having and owning, you and him, together at last.

"I trust you," you said.

"I trust us," you corrected, lacing your hand with his.

You knew the future was distant, not within reach but you gradually approaching it, things are inevitable, good or bad. You didn't want to think of what the outcome would be, you put your faith in you and him, on the word 'us' and hoped that the word etched in both of your tombstones.

Chan kissed the back of your hand then placed it on his chest with his heart beating under the skin and bones, "I trust us," he said back.

If you want to build a home, you started by having a strong foundation: trust.

-

"You don't have to work, I'll provide for both of us," Chan confidently said to you while serving you a plate of breakfast.

You cooed in awe, "wow, that's very tempting!"

You slid the plate closer in front of you and took a sip of your juice before picking up your spoon.

"It's just an option!" He said with a shrug and that foolish grin of his.

He sat next to you with his plate of breakfast in front of him but his hand rested on your thigh, "you don't have to worry about the interview," he assured you.

"You'll do great!" He kissed your cheek to manifest his words into you.

A little before you left, you applied for a job at an art gallery and secured an interview. You forgot how nerve-wracking a job interview could be but once you have done it, it felt so relieving, and surprisingly, you didn't worry about anything else after that.

Chan came home for dinner, smothering you with kisses the moment he stepped into the apartment, only letting you go as your lungs shriveled from running out of oxygen.

"You're cooking dinner?"

You nodded.

"How's the job interview?"

You put your hands on the collar of his shirt, "You'd better wash up and back in five minutes, dinner is almost ready," you told him.

He smiled and pecked your lips, "yes, ma'am!"

The neighbor started playing their piano early that night, they played Piano Sonata No. 12 by Mozart, the piece began with a soft key then switches to an even softer key, and you let the calming piano music wash over you.

"How is it?" You asked as he ate his dinner without saying anything.

"It's so good that I can't stop eating," he praised, wiping his mouth with a napkin to kiss you on the cheek, a compliment to the chef.

He drank his glass of water and paused eating, "so, the interview?" He picked up the conversation you had earlier.

"I just got the call a little before you came home," you said.

"And?" He leaned forward, eyebrows wrinkled in curiosity and anticipation.

"I got the job," you announced with a smile.

Chan smiled like he knew it was going to happen, that he was right, you did great like he predicted that morning.

You both stood outside on the balcony and listened to the neighbors playing Franck's Piano Quintet.

Chan held you from behind, putting his hand around your waist and the other hand trailed down your arm with his fingertips lightly rubbing your skin.

It was so nice to stay in a moment like this with you, encased in comforting, warm feelings like all the problems in his life are a world away. Just you and him in your iridescent little bubble, sharing touches and syncing your breathing, hearts beat as one.

He angled your head to meet his and didn't waste time capturing your lips in his.

"Are you going back to the studio?" You asked, knowing that he likes to keep himself busy in there.

He shook his head, "why would I want to be anywhere else but here?" He asked back with a smile.

He didn't want to be anywhere else but here, close to you with his hands touching your soft, warm skin for as much as he wants and have you the way he wanted.

On the bed with your legs spread open for him while he pushed his cock deep inside you and it mesmerizes him still how you take him well every single time.

"Always tight for me," he murmured.

You locked your legs around his waist while his hands reached for yours, holding them while he pounded into you, his eyes fixated on the way his cock slipped in and out of you.

"Chris..." you breathlessly called his name.

"I love how you call my name," he said between his groans, picking up the pace at how easily you riled him up just by calling his name.

When he cum, he slowly pulled out and heard you whimpering at the sudden emptiness. He rubbed your abdomen, waiting to see his cum leaking out of you and when it did, he sighed in satisfaction.

You sat up on the bed and saw his cock still firm despite just cumming inside you a moment ago.

You scooted closer and rubbed the tip of his cock slick with both of your bodily fluids, so softly with your fingertip.

"How are you still this hard?" You asked in pure curiosity.

"I could make love to you every night and it will never be enough," he boldly stated.

It's that easy for him to make your heart flip and aroused at the same time.

"There's no use for me to stop you, huh?"

You already knew the answer without needing him to say it and that was why he laughed, his tongue poked his cheek and he had no idea how attractive that looked on him.

You kissed him with your hand wrapped around his length, positioned yourself to let him enter you one more time, eased down on him with your eyes closed, and felt this cock stretch you again.

It seemed to take him by surprise that Chan wasn't prepared, he gripped your waist so hard you were sure he left crescent marks on your skin.

You put your hands around his neck and hastily kissed his open mouth, moving your hips in a circular motion to feel his whole length inside you.

"You feel so good inside me," your voice broke at the end of the sentence, feeling his cock engorged inside you.

He couldn't speak, his head was foggy with immense pleasure to process your words and respond to them.

"So good, Chris," you cooed, softly grinding back and forth on his lap.

And just like that, you made love to him or either he made love to you, every night was the same except that the pleasure doubled every time your bodies collided and your needs were fulfilled, ever-growing, insatiable.

His alarm clock rang at the crack of dawn, you jolted awake but he hurriedly turned it off and cuddled you back on the bed.

"It's my alarm, you go back to sleep," he whispered to you along with a kiss on your bare shoulder.

Sleep was easy when his touches worked wonders to put you at ease and his kisses were soothing and comforting.

You woke up a while later with him pacing around the bedroom, collecting his things, and putting his shirt on.

"You have an early schedule?" You mumbled while rubbing your eyes.

"A radio interview," he shortly replied.

He climbed onto the bed, brushed your hair away to caress your cheek with a tender look on his face, "I'll be back at dinner time,"

You nodded with a sleepy smile.

He went on to kiss you on your closed mouth because he knew you didn't like kissing in the morning without brushing your teeth.

He pecked your lips again before getting off the bed, slung his backpack on one shoulder then left.

You clutched the duvet to cover your bare chest and shifted on the bed, still drowsy and it was still too early to get ready for work.

"I forgot something," Chan walked back into the bedroom and climbed onto the bed to kiss you.

"I love you," he said and sneaked a quick peck on the lips.

"Good luck on your first day at work!" With a long lingering kiss this time.

You smiled even though you were running out of breath from the kiss, "I love you,"

"Have a good day at work!" You returned.

He took your hand and kissed your knuckles, reluctantly letting it go before he left the bedroom again for real this time.

I don't think I can have dinner at home

It's alright, love

But I'll come home as soon as possible

See you at home

And he was glad that you were waiting for him at home this time for real.

He got home a little after midnight and saw you were sitting on the bed, painting your toenails with blue nail polish.

"Do you need help?" He asked, put his backpack on the desk, and took off his hooded sweater.

You outstretched your hands to hug him while sitting on the bed, "hey, baby," you properly greeted him.

He then sat next to you and pressed a kiss on the side of your face, "How's your first day at work?"

"Long," you shortly replied with a sigh.

You looked so adorable looking sullen like that he couldn't help but kiss your pouty lips.

"Let me do it for you," he offered, taking the small bottle of nail polish from you and lying on his stomach with his head looking over your feet.

"Even your toes are so cute!" Chan praised as he focused on the task at hand.

You watched as he carefully and intently painted your toenails one by one until they were all polished in cobalt blue color.

"How are we looking?" He asked.

You looked down at your feet, wriggling your toes, and smiled, "Well done!"

He looked at you with a grin, satisfied with his work. He then started blowing air on them, making you softly laugh at how it tickled you.

Chan looked over his shoulder and saw you with a questioning look on his face.

"My feet are sensitive," you informed.

That came as new information to him and one that would come in handy when it comes to giving you the right touch.

"You would love some foot rubs then," He proceeded without waiting for your answer and started giving you foot rubs, slipping his fingers in the spaces between your toes and gently massaging it, teasing your sole and making you giggle.

Chan got a little mischievous and planted a soft kiss on the bridge of your foot.

"What's that for?"

"I just wanted to kiss it," he answered, lifted your foot in his hand, and kissed your instep.

You knew he has something planned in his mind for you and you could only watch what he'll do next.

Chan made a long trail of kisses from your ankle to your inner thigh, not stopping even though his head was between your legs, forcing you to spread your legs open for him.

You put your hand in his hair and softly scratched his scalp, "Chris?"

He put a soft kiss on your inner thigh, "yes?"

"I have bad news for you," you said.

His head snapped at yours with eyes widened in slight shock, "what?"

"I'm on my period," you told him with a grimace.

He sighed with eyes closed, that was the last thing he worried about. There are so many things he can do to be intimate with you, it doesn't have to be always about sex. He can touch you, caress you, touch you, cuddle you, and at times, maybe that wouldn't be enough for him but as long as he's with you, it will always be more than enough.

He crawled over your body and hovered above you, pressing his full lips on yours.

"But I still can do this, right?"

You answered by returning the kiss, "have as much as you want."

-

A new home needs some adjustments and Chan is aware that he hasn't adjusted yet.

Sometimes he forgot that he shared a place with you, he was so used to living alone and living in his way. It resulted in a few conflicts, and disputes. The issues varied from financial issues to trivial things such as he forgot to take out the trash.

And this morning, he found you giving him the glare with your hands carrying the basket of laundered clothes.

"Let me guess," Chan grabbed his chin between his fingers, "I forgot to take out the laundry from the dryer again?" He asked with a grimace and a guilty expression on his face.

You nodded with a thin smile.

"I'm sorry," he grumbled, taking the basket from you and carrying it to the bedroom.

"I told you, let me do the laundry for us," you said, taking a piece of clothing from the basket and folding it.

"I'm sure you're already tired from working," Chan said while also folding his clothes on his lap.

"And you don't?" You raised an eyebrow at him with a triumphant smile.

Chan knew you'd just won the argument.

He didn’t think of it when he asked you to move in with him, that you and he would have something to argue about but funny enough, Chan enjoyed it. When he got mischievous, he would bother you until you get so annoyed. 

And sometimes, you make each other mad and he would be the one who makes up with you first because he couldn't stay mad at you for long.

On bad days, the argument heated and things went all over the place, you would be the first one to leave or tell him to leave you alone to avoid saying things you don't mean to say to each other.

But at the end of the day, everything was solved with a deep talk and ended with a kiss.

On the other hand, you like seeing him mad. He looks so hot doing it and you wondered how is that possible.

He would get quiet, jaws all clenched which only accentuates the shapes, and his eyes giving you an intense stare, letting you know he was indeed not satisfied with something.

This was no time to be horny, you bit your lower lip to hold the urge to just throw yourself at him and instead, slowly came up to him.

He sat on the single sofa and played with his phone, you decided to sit on his lap and rested your head on his shoulder.

"Why are you so mad?" 

He didn't answer, his eyes stuck to his phone screen and made his face glow in bluish light.

"He's just a colleague from work, we had a few glasses of wine and he insisted on sharing a cab. That's all!" You explained the whole thing in a soft tone with a hand rubbed down his chest.

He still didn't answer but furiously typed into his phone.

He looked like a sulking little kid and it was adorable to you, you couldn't help but let out a low chuckle.

"Chris?" You called.

He didn't even turn his head at you.

"Baby?" You tried calling with a pet name and still failed.

"My love?" Again, with another pet name he usually called you with.

"Channie?" You rarely called him by that name but at that point, you were willing to try anything.

Chan finally turned his head at you and you held yourself from smiling out of triumphant, batted your eyelashes, and pouted at him instead.

"I'm sorry," you sincerely apologized, then buried your head in his neck.

You put your hands around his neck and hugged him, staying like that until he melted into your embrace, holding you back with a hand rubbing the small of your back.

You looked at him and muttered, "I love you,"

That seemed to dissolve his anger away and his eyes turned tender, "I love you," he said back.

You smiled because it always felt nice to hear it or have him say it back to you, there was nothing that came close to the happiness it brought to you.

You kissed him first and he returned the kiss with the same passion, hungrily even.

You broke the kiss to catch a breath.

"Why are you so jealous? You are hotter than him," you said.

You hastily kissed his lips for a second then brought your mouth close to his ear, "and oh, when you're mad like that," you softly groaned.

"So hot, I think I get a little wet," you intentionally turned your voice low and sultry.

Chan smirked at you with his tongue slightly poking out from the corner of his mouth, "only a little?" He asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Why don't you check yourself?" You dared him.

And you shouldn't dare him in the first place, that earned you a few slaps on your inner thighs as he fucked you relentlessly with your legs wide open for him.

Chan is not the type to hold grudges but when he was given the control, time, and space for it, he will do it.

Your hands locked in his death grip as he pinned them by the wrists on your abdomen.

He thrust into you so hard it reverberated throughout your body and your head hit the headboard each time he rammed himself into you.

"Isn't this what you want, mmh?"

You were a moaning mess and tears squeezed out of your screwed-shut eyes, overwhelmed by the sensations. You were unable to respond to any of his words but kept whimpering in a mix of pleasure and pain under him.

Even when you were cumming, Chan didn't slow down but kept thrusting into you and a loud moan ripped out of you.

He placed his mouth on yours to muffle the noises you made and gently bit on your lower lip, making you yelp in pain.

It was the first time that he gets so rough with you but still was a gentleman about it after.

He endearingly caressed you and touched you with so much love, kissing your face as he repeatedly asked, "are you okay?"

He wiped the tears from your eyes with his knuckle, "are you hurt?"

You shook your head, "I'm alright."

He kissed your lips and your cheek after, "still like it when I'm mad?"

You nodded.

He chuckled and pulled you close, wrapping his hands around you, and planting small kisses that made your heart flutter.

"I'm sorry," you apologized to him.

He smiled at you, "it's just me. I hate seeing you with someone else."

"I told you, you're the most beautiful for me," you assured him.

"Yeah?"

You eagerly nodded.

"And you're the most beautiful to me," he said back as he looked deeply into your eyes.

And you like the way he looks at you like you're his most prized possession like you're the only one existing in his world, like you're wholly, truly his.

It was wrong to think that the makeup sex was the only best part of it.

-

Chan likes how you invaded his life.

Your warm smile replaced the void that usually welcomes him home, your laugh filled the quiet in the room, your scent clung to the bedsheets, and your body became his comfort pillow.

He couldn't look around his place without seeing a trace of you, instead of feeling like he doesn't belong there, he feels quite the opposite.

He feels at home and he believes that's because you're in it.

It was very unusual of him to come home early that day and it was even rare of him for wanting to cook, he planned on greeting you home from work with dinner.

He heard you unlocking the door and he waited for you to notice him standing by the threshold with his arms open.

The surprised look on your face tells it all, you were happy to see him that you immediately crashed yourself at him.

"You're home early!" You exclaimed as you threw your hands around him.

He lifted you off the ground and hugged you tight, "I'm cooking dinner," he told you.

"Really?"

"What's with the surprised tone?" He narrowed his eyes at you.

"Nothing," you answered with a sly smile.

He let the conversation slide and kissed you, a long kiss that makes up for the hours of not seeing you. You let him as you always do, letting him deepen the kiss and have as much taste of you as he wants.

You gasped when he broke the kiss, "go get changed," he said.

He gently squeezed your waist, "I'll prepare dinner."

You nodded and obeyed his words without complaint, went to the bedroom while Chan made his way back to the kitchen.

He stirred the soup he was simmering on the stove and added a few seasonings to perfect its flavor.

What you said to him earlier got into his head that he started to doubt his cooking.

"Babe, can you come here and taste it for me?" He shouted as he kept stirring the bubbling soup.

"Just a minute!" You shouted back from the bedroom.

"It only takes a second," he said back to urge you to come to the kitchen.

"Coming!"

You came behind him and he scooped a spoonful of the broth, he blew on it first before feeding it to you.

"A little bit more pepper will do," you suggested.

Chan sprinkled some into the pot and stirred it, having another taste test with you.

"Good?"

"Perfect!" You replied.

He triumphantly smiled and held your face to kiss your lips, he was expecting to feel any sort of clothing on you but instead of that, his palm met the warmth of your skin.

That was when he realized you came to the kitchen half-naked.

"What are you doing?"

You were covering your breasts with your hand but then you didn't feel the need to since he has seen everything. Also, you didn't want to miss a chance to tease him.

"I was barely dressed when you called me here," you explained.

He gave you the unsatisfied look on his face but it could be two things, mad or aroused, you couldn't tell which but he looks so hot nonetheless.

You took a step back to give him a better view of your body only dressed in white shorts.

"Also, you're not the only one who can walk around the house topless, you know," you said with a playful grin and kept walking backward in the direction of your bedroom.

It's something unexpected like this that keeps things exciting in your relationship and your body will always be enticing to him.

He rested one hand against the kitchen counter and tipped his head to the side, "Oh, is that so?"

You nodded and said, "I can do what I want with my body."

You teased him more by cupping your breasts in your hands.

"They're mine!" He said in the most possessive way.

You shook your head, "no, sir. These are not your property!"

He pointed his spatula at you with a deadly glare on, "pull your pants down!"

"No!" You refused while lingering in the doorway of your bedroom.

"I said pull your pants down!" He ordered once again, louder.

"No!" You answered with a daring smirk and ran into the bedroom without closing the door.

Chan turned off the stove and ran after you, chasing you into the bedroom while you squealed in fear and excitement.

"PULL YOUR PANTS DOWN!!!"

"NO!!!”

-

However, these unexpected things can also come unpleasantly.

Just like that day when you urged him to come home, he could hear that you were in distress and needed him. He couldn't just drop everything and go, but he tried to make it work, put everything on hold and he'll be back to it after.

You were looking rather anxious as you rushed toward him the second he stepped into the apartment.

"Did something happen? Are you hurt?" He asked while rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head.

He sat you down on the sofa and held your hand, you looked wan and shaken, and your eyes usually filled with glints looked empty that night.

He squeezed your hand to let you know that you weren't alone, "I'm here, my love, it's okay," he assured you with a hand cupping your jaw.

You weakly smiled and held his hand back, "I don't know how to explain this but I'm a week late to my period," you began.

Chan already knew where this headed but it would be wise that you and him to be on the same page about this.

"Have you taken a test?" He asked.

"I'm afraid to do it alone," you sounded so small when you spoke.

He could feel that you were severely anxious and he understood why you needed him. He wrapped his arms around you, taking you into his embrace to offer you the comfort and safety that you needed.

"I'm here and I'll always be here for you. I'll take responsibility for whatever going to come," he murmured to the top of your head.

"I love you," he kissed you on the forehead.

He waited by sitting on the bed as you took the pregnancy test in the bathroom, he got nervous as well. He tried not to think further ahead, he wanted to focus on being present for you.

A few minutes later, you got out of the bathroom and he got up to walk up to you. You hugged him and rested your head against his chest.

"I was so scared," you mumbled with a long sigh of relief.

Chan took it that the result is negative, and he felt a little sad about it then again, he can't be selfish about this.

"I know, baby," he said and kissed the side of your face.

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, "I'm not ready yet, Chris," your voice broke at the end of the sentence.

He tightened the hold around you and stayed like that for a long time, just holding you with so much love.

"I feel bad because I know you want this," you spoke into his chest, right to his heart.

"No, no, no..." he whispered to you, "you give me more than what I asked of you."

He then held your face with both hands and tenderly kissed your lips, "and I know I'm irresistible but I think we should be careful from now on," he said with a playful smile.

You softly chuckled and kissed him back, "okay."

Chan took it as his job to always remind you on taking your birth control every day. He would send a text at one point in the day to make sure you did.

"Did you take your birth control today, babe?"

"Take your pill today, beautiful!"

"Don't forget to take your pill, my star shine."

Along with other questions on whether you have taken your meals or not. He knows he has to take part in it too by resisting a little whenever the urge came up.

It was easy to say but seeing your body and not touching it was a different thing.

Especially when he came home after a long day and saw you still awake in bed, looking so effortlessly beautiful barefaced with his t-shirt on while sitting against the headboard.

A piece of classical music was playing from your phone and that was why you didn't hear him coming into the room.

"Hey, beautiful girl," he greeted as he put his backpack down on the table.

You glanced up from your book to find him standing at the end of the bed, "hey, my beautiful boyfriend!"

You immediately put your book away as he got on the bed and crawled to you, "let me guess... Chopin?"

"Nope," You put your hands around his neck.

"It's Valse Sentimentale by Tchaikovsky."

Chan leaned in close and grazed the tip of your nose with his, "did you just speak French?"

"Yes, I did."

"Hot!" He murmured and kissed your lips.

It was one of those nights he feels needy for you, he wanted to selfishly make love and be one with you. He kissed you so hard to let you know how much he wanted this.

"Did you take your birth control today?" He asked when he let go of the kiss.

"Yes," you answered.

"Good girl!" He praised you and placed his plump lips on your neck.

He dragged his mouth close to your ear next then softly whispered, "I want to cum inside you tonight."

You turned your head to look at him and he believed you already sensed how much he needed this but first, he needed to know if you consented to this.

"Okay," you said with a smile.

He gave you a long peck on the lips, "I'll go shower first," he said.

When he returned to the bedroom, the lights were dimmed and soft music playing from the portable speaker.

The sight of you bending over the bedside table to light a scented candle welcomed him.

You already changed into a revealing night dress that he could see your naked body through the flimsy fabric and it was safe to say you weren't wearing anything underneath.

The towel hanging low around his hips wasn't enough to cover his hardening cock.

You turned around to find him ogling over you and you walked up to him, trailing his glistening wet body with your hand.

You didn't hesitate to place your mouth on his neck and tasted his freshly showered body, "mmh..." you delightfully hummed.

"You smell so good," you spoke so low it was almost like a whisper.

Your hands slid down his sides until you met his towel, "we don't need this," you said, proceeding to take it off of him.

It has always been him who takes control but that night he wanted you to have control, he wanted to be taken care of by you.

He obeyed when you told him to get on the bed and lay face down, he didn't ask any questions when you lather your hands with fragrant oil and started to massage him.

"You're so tense," you said as you knead on the tensed part of his back.

Chan couldn't say much when you gave him just what he needed.

"Turn over, love," you sweetly ordered.

He complied and lay on his back, seeing you smiling at him as he rested his head on the pillow.

"That was so good," he commented and pulled you by your neck to kiss you.

You smiled against his lips as your hand started to roam around, feeling his taut muscles under your fingertips. You placed a hand on his chest to stop him from getting on top of you.

"Let me take care of you tonight," you muttered.

How could he say no when that was what he wanted and you were giving it to him with a soft smile on your face?

You began by kissing him then made a long trail of kisses from his face down to his chest, stopping by to give a soft lick on each nipple.

The hair brushed his body as you continued your trail of kisses down his body tickling him and at the same time, inexplicably arousing him.

When your hand finally met his swollen cock, he let out a low gasp from his parted mouth. He closed his eyes to feel your soft hands pumping his length, doing it so carefully to give him the utmost pleasure.

You gathered all of your hair to one side of your shoulder and kneeled next to him as you took him into your mouth, little by little.

You paused a few times to catch your breath and kept doing it until you took all of him inside you.

The night dress you were wearing rode up as you bent down over his crotch, exposing your sex to him.

He used the opportunity to knead on your ass cheeks and eventually, teased on your wet core with his fingers.

He could feel the noise you made, vibrating against his cock and it drove him to the edge.

After a moment, you let go of him with a loud popping sound. You lifted the hem of your night dress as you positioned yourself on top of him, kept holding the dress lifted with one hand while the other aligned his cock to your entrance.

He watched as your face reacted to his cock slowly entering you as you kept easing yourself down on him, you took him well every time.

You let out a low giggle once you took all of him, "so good, so good inside me," you murmured with your eyes closed.

Knowing that you enjoy pleasing him only aroused him more that he wanted to pin you on the bed and fuck you all night. But that wasn't the plan that night, he would let you please him your way.

You rested both of your hands on his chest and looked into his eyes, "Ain't I a good girl? I take you well every single time," you lowly said.

He brushed your hair to the side and held it there, "such a good girl for me," he praised.

You smiled in pride and started to roll your hips in circular motions as low moans escaped your slightly parted mouth.

You set a steady pace as you moved back and forth against him while Chan was drowning in the pleasure you brought him.

The thin strap of your night dress slid down your arm, sending your breast spilling out of it. You shot a look at him and asked, "want to take care of it?"

He was more than willing to do it for you. He got up while you settled yourself on his lap without pulling out.

Chan licked his lips before taking your breast in his mouth, sucking on the flesh. You suppressed your painful yelps as his teeth nibbled on your nipples and did the same with your other breast.

He got impatient and took the nightdress off of you in a blink of an eye and he didn't wait to bury his head in between your breasts as you kept moving on him.

You slipped your hand into his soft curls and held him close, "Chris..." you softly called his name.

He looked up at you with his head still between your mounds.

"Someday you'll breed me, yeah?"

He sank his mouth on your neck as you kept talking to him, "I believe it would easy for you, mmh?"

That, he believed is true, getting you pregnant would be a pleasure to him therefore it would be an easy task for him.

He hastily kissed you on the lips and filled his hand with your breast, "I want to see these full of milk," he said against your lips.

His hand moved to your stomach and rubbed it endearingly, "I want to see you with a baby bump," he added.

You seemed to like the ideas too from the way you clenched around him. He knew you wanted this too but you need more time for that.

You briefly kissed his lips, "someday, baby, someday," you promised him.

Someday might be a few months later or takes years, however, he liked the sound of that. Someday sounded possible, full of hope.

You looped your hands around his neck and picked up the pace, "for now, fill me up," you told him.

"Fill me up with your seed!"

Your eyes fiercely stared into his black orbs as he stared back at you with eyes heavy with lust, "will you do that for me?"

"Yeah, yeah," he repeatedly answered with ragged breathing.

"Will you cum for me?"

"Yes."

You pressed a hard kiss on his lips, "you're close, mmh?"

"So close," he shortly replied.

You kept moving at a steady pace, sending him to the edge where he could plunge into the high that would take him soaring to cloud nine.

The words you kept muttering to him gave him the push he needed.

"Cum for me, baby!"

"Chris, oh!"

"Fill me! Cum inside me!"

An ecstasy-like feeling surged through his body as he reached his high, he pushed his cock further into you to plant his seed deep inside you.

He continuously grunted as you cooed at him, "yeah, baby, I can feel it inside me."

Chan kept grunting while you started to hold him and slowly took him down from his high by kissing him, placing touches on his body to keep him in intimacy.

"Look at you, letting me take care of you," you cooed with a sweet smile as if you didn't just fuck him real good.

He couldn't contain his feelings in a moment like this he felt like he could move a mountain for you if you asked him to, "I love you so much, you know that?"

You kissed the palm cupping your jaw, "I know, Chris."

He held you tight and stayed like that for as long as he could, bonding through touches and bodies becoming one with you.

He turned over to lay you down on the bed to let you rest and slowly, he pulled out of you. Some of his white seed leaked out of you and kept dripping, seeping into the bedsheets.

"You came so much," you said with a sly smile.

He would be lying if this didn't get his cock hardening despite he just cummed a few minutes ago.

"Maybe you should refill it," you said as if his mind was see-through and you saw that he was thinking it.

Most of the time, unexpected things came as temptations he can't resist.

-

How do you even begin to describe what Chan means to you?

He's your home and you like living under his roof, one that protects you from the blazing sun and keeps you warm on winter days.

As time passed, a home went through so many things, storms, rains, and summer heat. Then a house would need a few fixings and you fixed what you could.

In the home you built together, you started to see a crack in the foundation, a small one that you could only see through a magnifying glass, small but it bothers you so much.

With a little understanding, you got it that not all of us can be perfect human beings. We all have flaws that we try to hide, so you put a rug to cover the crack so no one couldn't see it.

"You came home late lately," you hated to sound so demanding to him but he had been absent from most of your days that you started to feel things aren't right anymore.

"I'm sorry, I'm busy," he came with the same answer to every question you asked him: Why he's late to your anniversary dinner? Why he forgot to buy you the cheese you need for the pasta you cook? Why did he keep forgetting to do the favor you asked him? Why why why?

Way before you decided to start this relationship and moved in with him, you knew that he would always be busy with his work. You understood and accepted it, but what you didn't know is that he would keep everything to himself.

His kisses are lovely, his hugs are warm, his touches comfort you, he cares for you, he worries you, and he lays next to you every night yet he wouldn't share what keeps him up all night.

"Why are you still awake?" You asked, placing your head on his chest.

"I have a lot on my mind right now," he replied with his hand brushing your hair.

"Want to share with me?" You knew you can't force him to talk if he didn't want to.

"It's something you shouldn't worry about," he said.

You tried to be an understanding partner to him so you didn't push him further and thought that you've tried your best, you did enough by it.

"I'll be the big spoon tonight," you said.

"Huh?"

You turned his body to the side and put your arms and legs around him, spooning him from behind.

"You're so big, baby," you groaned as you struggled to wrap him in your arms, "I can't hold you."

Chan chuckled in response and helped you to put your hands on his chest instead, then he put his hand on top.

"This is nice," he softly hummed as his body relaxed against you.

You nuzzled your nose into his hair and drank his scent, "my big baby," you cooed.

He turned his head to capture your lips in a kiss, "I love you," he sweetly murmured against your lips and his love confession still sounded as sweet.

Somehow, even if you have covered the crack with the prettiest rug, it bothered you still.

-

Chopin's Prelude in E Minor was playing from the neighbor's balcony. Which is a very fitting piano piece that sounded just as hopeless as you were. The end of the piece is particularly sad as the melody seems to just fade away into nothingness.

Chan came home late again that night.

You heard his footsteps outside the bedroom, probably having a drink in the living room like he always does lately. You got up from bed and decided to come to join him, who knows that he might like the company?

"Channie is home!" You surprised him with a smile.

He smiled seeing you, holding out his hand for you to take, and sat you on his lap, "why are you still up?"

You curled up on his lap, resting your head on the crook of his neck, "come to bed," you mumbled.

He rubbed your bare back with his knuckle and glided his hand down to the curve of your ass, gently squeezing the flesh there.

"Chris..." Your voice echoed as you called his name.

"Yes?"

You put your chin on his shoulder to look at him, "you know you can tell me anything," you assured him that you are more than eager to listen to whatever he wants to share with you.

He let out a deep sigh and stared at the ceiling, resting his head against the headrest of the sofa, "I'm just tired..."

You looked at him and he looked rather exhausted, you didn't want to pick a fight when he was like this but unfortunately, you got to the point that you couldn't let this go on anymore.

You got off his lap and sat next to him, "What's going on with us?"

The question seemed to wake him up and he sat up straighter to face you, "I know I haven't been here much and I'm sorry, it's just me," he apologized but was overly vague about the reasons why.

"What is it?"

"It's just..." he deeply sighed again and let out a long breath, "I'm just so tired with work and everything."

Again, it was very vague and didn't answer your question.

"Is there anything else, though?" You tried again, speaking calmly to him to not make him feel pressured.

"No, just that," he shortly replied.

Your heart sank, you were disappointed with the answer he gave you and all these things you kept to yourself started to burst out of you.

"I don't understand why you're doing this. I don't understand what this is ab—" you stopped yourself from talking.

A lump was forming in your throat and it grew bigger as you thought of ways to tell him how you've been feeling about all this.

He got defensive all of a sudden so he grabbed your hand and made you turn to look at him, "what are you saying?"

"I'm starting to think that I'm crazy..." you kept swallowing the tears rising inside you.

"You're saying everything is fine but all I'm getting from you is distance and anger," you got choked on your words and took a deep breath to calm yourself.

"I'm not—" Chan pinched the bridge of his nose, he was probably trying to not snap right then and there.

"Where is this coming from?"

You looked at him even though you knew he could see your glossy eyes, "you keep me guessing everything so I started overthinking things and doubting myself..."

Tears rolled down your cheeks, "you make me turn into someone that I'm not."

He held both of your hands on your lap so tight his knuckles turned white, "I never asked you to be anything—"

You hated how he made you a very demanding person that asks anything from him when all you wanted is to be someone he can rely on. You tried so hard to provide a safe space for him but it seemed like it was never enough for him.

You let go of his hands and got up from the sofa, "I don't want to talk," you said, ending the conversation early before any of you said things you don't mean to.

It came as surprise to him as well that he stayed quiet and stunned by what just happened. You didn't wait for him to stop you, you got in bed and started crying.

Frustrated over how things turned out, it was alright a few minutes ago but it was the calm before the storm.

You could only wait and see if the house still stands strong in the morning.

-

The house survived.

But the crack in the foundation grew bigger and the rug could only cover as much.

You were packing things when Chan came home, you didn't know for what because it was past dinner time and he didn't say he will come home early.

You haven't talked since last night but he kissed you before he left this morning.

You turned around to see him walking into the bedroom and he saw the suitcase, "are you leaving?"

It was heartbreaking to hear that, he thought you'll be leaving because of the argument you had.

"The director wants me to bid for a painting," you quickly explained before he got the wrong idea.

He sat at the end of the bed, "For how long?" 

"3 days," you replied.

"When will you be leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning."

There was a silent hang in the air after and it was suffocating, how the two of you have so much to say but at the same time, none of you wanted to risk the relationship.

"Want to talk about last night?" He asked.

But you weren't ready for that, you weren't sure how you feel about it yet but ultimately, you wanted to talk about it when you're prepared with whatever you get at the end of it. Good or bad, you weren't ready for it.

You sat next to him on the bed but avoided looking at him, you stared at your feet instead, "I don't like who I am right now," you told him.

"I need time to think," you added.

Chan nodded in agreement, that it was best for the two of you to take time for yourself to think things through and the work trip just happened to come at the right time.

"Let's do that, yeah," he said with a defeated sigh.

When it was time to go, you dragged your suitcase in the direction of the door and Chan followed you from behind.

He looked miserable in a way that reminded you of that day when you left him to go back to your home country.

It was painful but it was the right thing to do, you both needed the space to grow, reflect on yourselves and find a way to overcome this.

He went to hug you and you hugged him back, exchanging the warmth that you both need in a time like this.

He went to kiss you after with both hands holding your face as if you were a fragile object.

"I love you," he muttered as if he put the essence of him in it and gave it to you to keep.

"Come back safely," he said as he let go of the hug but kept holding your hand in his.

And when you left, you took a piece of him with you and he hoped for you to return it because a home is not a home if no soul is living in it.

-

It was the distance that separated you once and it happened again for the second time.

But this time, he got separated by the distance he created himself.

Firstly, he didn't mean to do that to you. He was used to keeping things to himself and he wasn't aware that what he did drives you further away.

He understood why you felt that way, if only he told you everything, you wouldn't keep guessing what he keep inside him.

Secondly, he didn't want to burden you with this. He's willing to go through the pain for both of you.

When he thought about it again, he knew it was wrong to keep you in the dark and made you keep guessing your way in. He was wrong to do that when all you've been doing was being open to him, you even let yourself be vulnerable around him because you trust him, trust that he would never hurt you.

Trust is hard to earn yet you gave it to him anyway, and he didn't do the same to you.

That was the part he did wrong. He had been taking you for granted.

And these past two days without you only bringing back those excruciating days of being so far away from you.

The empty bed, the quiet space, the stillness that lingered in his apartment felt like a void without you.

He longed for you.

Even when he was home, he felt homesick because his true home is you.

He went home knowing that you'd be already home and probably asleep in the room, tired from the trip.

When he sat on the bed next to your sleeping figure, God... He was beyond grateful that you came back to him.

He touched you there to feel your heart beating under his palm and accidentally woke you up.

You sleepily smiled at the sight of him.

"You're home," you croaked.

"I am home," he answered without a beat.

He caressed your face and looked at your face, pouring all of his admiration through his tender gaze.

He didn't want to hide from you anymore, he wanted you to have all of him, wholly and completely.

"Can we talk?"

You rubbed his forearm, "okay."

Chan brought you a glass of water while you waited on the sofa, he insisted on doing it for you when you could do it yourself.

"Thank you," you muttered and took a little sip of water.

Chan didn't sit next to you but kneeled in front of you and took both of your hands with his head tilted up to look at you.

"I am so sorry," he began.

He rubbed your fingers as he spoke, "I didn't know what I did would hurt you this much."

He licked his lips to continue talking, "I do that. I'd be upset about something and not be able to say it. When someone senses there's something wrong, I'd deny it."

He sighed in regret, "it's a bad habit of mine."

You looked into his eyes and turned his hands on your lap, letting you hold them for him.

"I don't want to do that anymore," he stated and it's a decision he must take to save the relationship.

"And I want to tell you everything."

He needs to start to learn to share his burden because a relationship goes both ways.

You smiled at him and opened your mouth to speak, "these past few nights that I spent by myself made me think a lot."

You interlaced your fingers with his and continued speaking, "how you've been treating me and I thought... why do I love you?"

Chan felt breathless as if someone emptied the air in his lungs, anticipating what you'll say to him next.

"There are no logical reasons for that question because I don't need one."

You took a breath and cupped his face in your hand, "but I trust myself. I trust my feelings. That my love for you is real."

Chan finally let out the breath he didn't know he was holding, knowing that you still love him means a lot to him.

But still, he needed to hear the rest from you.

"I'm not going to try to be anything other than who I am anymore and I hope you can accept that."

"I can. I will," he repeatedly nodded to convince you.

He brought your hand close to his mouth and placed a long kiss on the back of your hand.

"You know, I can feel the fear that you carry around and I wish there was something I could do to help you let go of it," you said with your hand going in his hair and softly scratching the back of his head.

He shifted his attention back at you, eyes never straying away from yours even just for one second.

"Because if you could, I don't think you'd feel so alone anymore," you finished with a soft smile.

Your hand went in his hair and softly scratched the back of his head.

The moment that being said, Chan felt like he was the luckiest man in the world to have you. You are so many things to him and he's glad to find that in someone, in you.

"Gosh, you're beautiful!" He muttered heartfelt praise at you.

"Thank you," you muttered back in gratitude and a sweet smile.

"Can I kiss you now?" His eyes filled with hopeful glints.

You chuckled at him and gave his hair a ruffle, "since when did you ask for permission first?"

You held his face in your hands and softly landed your lips on his, giving him the kiss that he badly craved.

A kiss that rejuvenated his soul and gave him a will to go on, a kiss that sets everything back to square one and starts anew.

You both smiled at each other as the kiss ended.

Chan then rested his head on your lap and let you play with his hair, tangling his soft curls around your fingers.

"Can I be the little spoon tonight?" He asked.

"Absolutely!"

He grinned like a little kid and without warning scooped you up from the sofa, carrying you to the bedroom.

You giggled into his neck as he sneaked a kiss on your temple.

"You're too big," you groaned as Chan pulled your arms and wrapped them around him, struggling to make your hands meet. He took your leg next and put it over his waist, he wanted to be cocooned in your warmth.

"This is perfect!" He sighed the moment he successfully put your hand on his chest and put his hand on top.

His other hand went to caress your thigh and doing it so tenderly as if he was caressing a sleeping kitten.

"This isn't Chris," You playfully remarked with your head resting so close to his.

Chan was enjoying the comfort of your cuddle to provide a verbal answer, he responded with a hum and little noises.

"This is Channie," you added.

"Mmh," he cutely responded with a tiny nod.

You lowly chuckled into his ear, "Baby Channie!"

If he heard that from someone else, he wouldn't fancy it as much when it was you who called him by it. He turned his head to look at you and kissed you.

"My big baby," you cooed at him with a quick peck on the lips.

It felt good to be in someone's embrace and not think that he was weak for doing that.

All this time, he always thought that he needs to be the one in control and be the one who takes responsibility for everything, be the bigger person, strong, brave.

As he stayed there feeling small in your embrace, he knew for certain that you were stronger, braver, and bigger than he thought. You had been through so much in this relationship yet you were still here for him.

This home that you built together is only as strong as your relationship and the two of you make great, sturdy pillars.

-

The sun was out but that wasn't the only thing that woke you up.

Chan's fingertips trailed down your spine and you gasped as you felt his warm lips on the nape of your neck. He noticed that you were awake, proceeded to kiss your cheek, and brought his mouth close to whisper in your ear, "Is it too late to have the makeup sex now?"

You silently smiled and squinted through your eyes to see the time, you have to go to work in under two hours. You calculated it in your head if you have time for what he wants.

"No," you answered and spun your head to meet his gaze.

"But I don't think we have enough time for that," you added with a pout.

His hand got ahead of the conversation and started to cup your sex, "we'll make it alright," he assured you.

"You think so?" You slurred.

He captured your lips in a hungry kiss, "mmh."

Chan was undeniably gorgeous with the pale sunlight shining down on him, making his sculpted abs appear more defined and his pale skin glowed.

Not to mention, he was thrusting into you slowly and each thrust went deeper than the previous.

It was never just sex with him when he put all of him whenever he did it. He didn't need to say anything, his body tells it all.

His hand firmly holding you yet he tenderly touched you in the right places. His intense stare told how much he desired you yet his eyes filled with admiration for you. His passionate and deep kisses told how much he wanted you yet his lips never ran out of sweet praises to mutter to you. His strong body held you without feeling like he was holding you back.

As he was making love to you, he made you feel like you're the only one he's giving all of his body and soul to.

When he cum inside you, he did it as a way to claim you.

"Take all of me," he murmured.

He hastily kissed you while he pushed his cock further inside you as he was still cumming, "take all of me, baby," he repeated.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and kept him close all the while you were feeling his cock twitching, engorging inside of you.

"You're mine," he breathlessly said against your lips.

"I'm yours," you said back.

"I love you."

"I love you."

Chan didn't let you go because what's more important to him is not the sex but the cuddles after. This is what took most of the time you had left to get ready for work.

"Stay," he said as he pressed a kiss on your lips with his arms caged you in between.

"I can provide for us," he casually said.

You smiled against his lips and gently pushed him away, "why don't you stay?" You aimed the question back at him.

Your hands cupped his face, "I can also provide for us," you added with a sly smirk.

Chan got quiet for a moment and nodded in acknowledgment, "okay, that's fair," he said in defeat.

When you returned from the bathroom still in your bathrobe with your hair already styled and your make-up done, you found Chan already picked your outfit for you.

He spread it on top of the bed, shirt, skirt even the matching underwear he wanted you to wear that day.

"Breakfast will be ready in a minute!" He announced as he saw you come to the kitchen to pour yourself a cup of coffee.

You went to give him a quick back hug but that wasn't enough for him, he turned around to give you a proper hug and a kiss.

A hand slipped under your skirt to knead on the ample flesh of your ass, "have you taken your pill?"

You nodded, "last night."

He kissed your cheek, "good because I want to cum inside you again tonight," he said.

You burst out laughing and exclaimed, "Chris!"

"What?"

"The day has just started," you stated an obvious fact and that you just had sex barely an hour ago. You couldn't lie though, the way he shamelessly and openly let you know how much he wanted you made you tingling inside.

He slyly grinned at your words, "I picked that underwear for you so I can take it off of you later," he said.

The fresh coat of lipstick you applied after breakfast went to waste because Chan wouldn't stop kissing you.

"We'll be late," you reminded him yet didn't stop him from placing another kiss.

"Just one more," he pleaded and gave you a long, lingering kiss that takes your breath away.

You didn't need to check yourself in the mirror to know that the lipstick faded on your lips. You quickly wiped it off of him, not letting him out of the door with your lipstick smeared all over his lips.

You both walk hand-in-hand to the elevator and waited for it to arrive.

"I'll be home for dinner tonight," he said to you at the same time the elevator chimed open.

"I'll order dinner," you said.

"Sounds great!"

He tightened his hold on your hand when someone else got into the elevator and pulled you to be as close as possible to him.

"Keep your eyes on me," he whispered to you.

You chuckled at his silly warning and decided to prove your loyalty to him by scooting closer to his side and then linking your arm with him.

You watched as his grin grew wider on his face like a kid who got his candy.

-

This is Chan's least favorite part of the day.

After the elevator arrived in the lobby, you had to part ways because you'll be taking a taxi to work while Chan headed to the gym nearby by walking.

It was like the hours he spent with you weren't enough for him and will never be. He wanted to stick with you all day if he could.

Wasn't it clear that he was so in love with you?

He got so weary every time he has to let you out to the world, knowing what it can do to a beautiful thing like you.

He grabbed your hand to stop and softly kissed you on the cheek, "be careful!"

"I will," you replied with a smile.

But of course, you could easily sense his worry but knows how to put him at ease, "I'll call you when I get there."

Trust. He trusts you, therefore he has nothing to be worried about. Slowly, he let go of your hand and set you free but kept you closer to his heart.

"I'll see you at home," you said with one final kiss on his lips even though you are the one who made a home for him.

Chan smiled for he was thankful for you and the stars that aligned his path with yours, destined him to meet you in this lifetime.

"I'll see you at home!" He muttered back as he knew he couldn't find a place like this again: a home in a person.

As he watched you leave and walked further away from him, Chan felt homesick already.

-

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[bitterbutblue]

firefly <3

i'll come closer to you slowly, very slowly ☆ firefly x fem!reader

~ WAAA this one was the second most popular one in the votes! unfortunately i have had to make some changes (literally the entire plot and idea) because i have recently began yearning again and its such a crazy feeling im gonna write abt it.. anyways this is a short one but i got a ROBIN FIC COMING.... YAYYY ROBIN ~

song: very, slowly - bibi ~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

It's suffocating when she smiles. But it's also soft like a song on the train on your way home. You could only sit next to her as she hums her favourite song by Robin. At this point you could recite every lyric and every note even though you've never actively listened to that song yourself.

"Want one?"

You snap out of your train of thought, looking up at her. You could feel your heart leap when her eyes meet yours because who knew you could fit the entire galaxy, the sun's rise and it's setting in eyes and nothing but eyes. She holds up a small cake, tilting her head to the side like a lost puppy and you want to hold her so close she becomes part of you. She's already a part of you though, you knew that. You know that from now on no matter what happens, some part of you will always end up going back to her. Some part of you will always see the Dream's Edge and think about purple eyes and sunsets. Some part of you will see oak roll cakes and think of Robin's top song on a Monday evening.

"I got one for you."

The cake is by no means your favourite. It's rough, tastes like wood and barely sweet enough to be a cake. It's more like cardboard, but you'd never tell her that. You just take it anyways because, well, who were you to refuse her? Her smile already has you feeling so weak in the knees and you know if she asked you to do anything you'd agree immediately.

"Thanks."

You can't control the small tremble in your voice. You are just hoping the smile you shot her doesn't seem too forced.

"Hey!"

The familiar voice has your heart stuttering in your chest as it falls down the familiar chasm. The golden eyed girl runs up to you two excitedly and you see the way she straightens up, the way her eyes brighten as she shows the smile she only ever shows when she's around.

"Stelle!"

You can only watch as she gets onto her feet, walking over to Stelle to engage in a conversation that she seems to be more interested in than with any conversation she's ever held with you. It sucks. It hurts and you knew you had no chance to begin with from the moment you laid eyes on her but you couldn't fight the urge that is wanting to get closer to her. Wanting to know her and be someone to her.

You knew you'd never be anyone to her.

Who are you without her, though?

She finds herself lost in the golden girl's eyes. The golden girl who you know you could only stare at from afar, wishing you could be maybe just half of who she is so that she could finally look at you.

For once, maybe.

Just once, in the way you want her to look at you.

You hate the smile she smiles at you is nothing like the smile she smiles at Stelle. You hate how she always brightens up in ways she never brightens up around you. You hate, not her, but yourself. You knew you would get hurt getting into it, but like a drug you go back to her because you can't stay away from her warmth.

When Stelle touches her shoulder, you wonder how warmth can somehow feel so cold.

"Firefly?"

"Hm?"

She smiles at you but it's muted. You can tell it's muted because you've memorised all her smiles and movements. You know what each little wrinkle of her nose means and what each little twitch of her lips means. Now you can only watch as she falls in love with someone who you could never be.

"I need to go."

"Oh!"

She smiles.

"I'll see you later?"

Stay away, would you?

For your own good.

"I'll text you."

But you can't.

You could only walk away, fully aware of how you could now disappear and she really wouldn't mind because all she could focus on was the golden girl who you hated but also loved. You hate her because she is everything you want to be. You love her because she is everything you want to be.

She would never focus on you as much.

Fuck.

But you knew you'd always go back.

[dr3amlab]

4. wicked games, dm.

SUMMARY — Y/N Gorgon and Draco Malfoy have a long history of mutual hatred. You see, the two of them have been pulling pranks on each other since their 1st year at Hogwarts, to the dismay of their close friends and supervisors. However, after a prank left Y/N completely out of her mind, she decides that she'll pull her cruelest prank yet on Draco by pretending to be his secret admirer.

PAIRING — Draco Malfoy x reader

GENRE — series, enemies to lovers, rival, comedy (?)

WORD COUNT — 2191 words.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — thank you so much for the love !! I've never thought that this would get any attention, really 🥹

PARTS. 1 2 3 4 5 6 finale

TAGLIST — @hopefulfuturenovelauthor​ @charlenasaxen​ @johnmurphys-sass​  @alittlebitofinsanitea​ @islayedyourmom @dramatic-long-coats @louieblue2 @born2222die @nikki-89 @jamlessgucciswegsunshineot7 @slashermadness

IV. AMORE, AMORE.

My dearest Draco, 

I think of you daily. It’s true. I think of you when I see green apples, books or even when I smell an expensive cologne. You probably don’t have a clue why, and trust me, neither do I.

I want to know everything about you; your favorite color, your favorite song and even your favorite season. However, i can't.

You see, i can't keep writing you these letters. I feel like i'm burdening you with my feelings, and it makes me feel horrible.

So i've decided that from now on, my feelings are mine to keep. 

This is my last letter.

I'll love you always, 

your secret admirer.

It was past midnight and you could see the moon shining brightly on your mirror. This night was a peaceful night, one of the most soothing you had known for a while, and yet, you couldn’t sleep. And as you couldn’t find a peaceful state of mind, you asked a question that plagued your mind to Athena who was also undoubtedly awake, "Athena," you started, "do you think I’ll ever forget draco?" , "what do you mean?" you could hear Athena shuffle in her bed, "Draco. Will I stop having feelings for him? Will I eventually forget him?" you clarified.

"I can’t tell you exactly, y/n," Athena spoke softly, "though, my mother once said  to me that you never forget your first love, they live in you forever," you could almost hear her smile through her words, "even if you move on, they’ll always have a special place in your heart," she continued, "as bad as it sounds, you’ll always compare your other lovers to your first because you’ll think that no one will ever be as perfect as them."

"So, i’ll never stop loving Draco?" you asked again with a shaky voice, "you’ll stop eventually," she said, "but your heart will never stop smiling at the thought of him," Athena yawned, signaling that morpheus was finally taking her in her embrace, "sweet dreams y/n," she whispered loud enough for you to hear.

You wished Athena was wrong for once. You hoped and prayed to Merlin that you’d wake up having no feelings for Draco Malfoy. Hell, you even hoped to wake up with an amnesia so you could forget the entire existence of the blond boy, even if it meant you’d lose your most cherished memories. How dare he? How dare he make your heart feel like it’s about to explode? 

Draco Malfoy was a heartless criminal that surely deserves a spot in Azkaban for he ruthlessly stole your heart and occupied your every thoughts without any permission. You wished to say that you hated every fiber of his being, but you knew that it wasn’t true.

"Tomorrow, I’ll give him one last letter," you thought, "then I’ll be done with him." You made yourself comfortable in your bed, "goodnight Athena," you finally replied.

On one side of the class, Draco was reading the latest letter he received from his admirer with, at first, a pleasant expression on his face but his face progressively got bitter as he got to the end of the letter, "What the fuck," draco whispered not so quietly as Theodore, his seat mate, heard him, "oi! What’s with the profanities," Theodore scolded teasingly, "man, shut up. I’m literally not in the mood for your bullshit," draco carped, "woah, dude, calm down! I’m just joking," Nott said in a dry tone, not really understanding the sudden outburst of his friend. 

"What are you even mad about?" Theodore snatched the paper out of Draco’s hand, "what is this? A love letter?" Nott cleared his throat preparing his voice to read the letter aloud, "My dear—" But before he could start teasing his friend, the latter snatched the paper out of Nott’s hands, "what’s wrong with you Nott? I literally told you that I was in no mood to deal with your jokes," Draco snapped grabbing the attention of all the students in the classroom who were previously chattering.

On the other side of the classroom, you were watching the scene unfold. You observed their little quarrel from the beginning, and you saw how draco seemed disappointed as soon as he finished reading the letter. You should be proud for your plan turned out exactly how you wanted: Draco took the bait, and was apparently smitten by his secret admirer. But why did you feel the opposite? 

'Horrible' was an understatement to describe how you felt right now. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t your brightest idea to write those letters to Draco because: The boy was losing his mind more than you wanted him to and you had realized that you actually like draco, and you would’ve preferred to stay in denial because those newly discovered feelings were not doing you any favor. 

"I feel horrible Athena," you whispered as you laid your head on your desk, "well, you can’t say that I didn’t warn you," she spoke in a singsong, "shut up please! Don’t rub salt in my wound," you whined, "you mean his wound," she rectified, "look at him, he's a thousand times more affected with this joke than he should've! Geez, I wouldn’t want to be Theodore right now," she tut-ted, "the poor guy just wanted to  cheer his friend up and now he’s getting insulted!"

You put your head back up to look at the two boys who were still arguing, "I wouldn’t want to be present when he’ll find out," she spoke, "find out what?" you replied tiredly. Athena frowned her brows in confusion, "that it was you who wrote the letters," she said in a hushed voice so only you could hear. Your face went instantly white, "fuck, fuck, fuck!"you put your head in your hands, "what am I going to do?" you whined, "he’s never gonna take my feelings seriously now," you mumbled. Athena looked at you sadly and rubbed your back as an attempt to console you in the midst of the chaos that was still going on. 

Never in your life you would've thought that you'd be worried to death on knowing if Draco reciprocates your feelings or not. Life is such a funny thing.

"Where is Slughorn anyway?" Athena tried to change the subject. "He’s like 10 minutes late, what is he—," she stopped mid-sentence when she saw the said teacher come Into the classroom, "Oh, speak of the devil! There he is." The teacher sighed with exasperation as he saw the commotion that was happening in his class, "Alright class please calm down," he said in an a voice that lacked authority voice for the boys continued to argue. "Please calm down!" he shouted and this time, he earned the silence he wanted with a bonus of startled expressions from the students.

Slughorn smiled with satisfaction, "First and foremost, I apologize for my tardiness," he said, "and for my little outburst. "He placed the books he was holding in his arms on his desk, "Now, let’s start the lesson shall we?" Slughorn smiled, "Can anybody remind me what we talked about last week?" An eager student raised their hands to answer the professor.

Draco heard their answer, yet he didn’t listen; he was too engrossed in his thoughts. Malfoy didn’t know what to think of this situation, why were they leaving him? Why is it that all the persons that say they love him always end up leaving him? He didn’t understand, was there something wrong with him? Could he fix his flaws? Draco knows that he’s far from being perfect, but then again no one was, so why is it that nobody wants to accept him as he is?

The blond boy couldn’t pin point the emotion he was feeling right now, was it fear? Disappointment? or maybe even sorrow? Draco couldn’t describe the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he sure can tell when he feels like utter shit.

Draco got pulled out of his thoughts by Theodore’s elbow nudging him. The blond boy looked at his friend confusedly, wondering why he called him out. Theodore pointed his chin in front of him and Draco looked away from Nott’s eyes only to meet Slughorn’s, "I’ll repeat my question. What is amortentia?" Draco couldn’t understand what the professor was talking about as he had spent most of the lesson feeling sorry for himself, "Amoretentia?" He mispronounced, "No, Draco, it’s—, " the professor got cut off.

"It’s only the most powerful love potion in the world." Granger replied with a hint of a cockiness in her voice, but only according to Draco, "it’s supposed to smell differently to each of according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and—," Hermione stopped mid-sentence and the girl looked like she made shocking discovery. 

"Shocking isn’t it, Granger?" Slughorn laughed, "How about you Malfoy, what do you smell?" Slughorn offered the potion to Draco for him to sniff. At first Draco was reticent but after a few seconds of reflexion, he took the  flask from the professor, "I smell vanilla, violets, and— strawberry cake?" Draco recognized that smell. There was no doubt in his mind that it was the scent that wafted from the pink envelopes. Draco’s heart frowned again, "if only I knew who it was," he thought.

"And you, Gorgon?" Slughorn offered you the flask which you took in your hands carefully, "Books, green apples," draco’s ears perked up at your words, "and—," you met Draco’s eyes and you felt a feeling of fear wash all over you, "and that’s it." You glared at Draco hoping to keep the appearances up. You almost gave it away but he didn’t notice anyway or did he?

"Alright!" Slughorn took the potion from your hand, "Amortentia is considered to be a powerful and highly dangerous potion. Despite its power, Amortentia does create actual love. The potion is—," Slughorn explained but neither you or Draco were interested in what he was saying  as you two were too busy giving a black look to each other, "Do you think he caught up?" Athena whispered to your ear, "I hope not," you answered as you broke the eye contact with Draco to look Athena but you still felt Draco’s narrowed eyes on you.

Perhaps the meteorologists weren’t the experts they claimed to be or perhaps, the weather was merely unpredictable for they didn’t warn the students of Hogwarts of the Cyclone Draco that was currently ravaging the hallway of the school looking for a person in particular.

"Sasha, there you are!" Draco’s shadow engulfed the younger boy leaving no light, "M-Malfoy," Sasha stuttered and Draco laughed, "S-Sasha," he mimicked, "you already know what I’m here to ask you," Draco gritted his teeth, "so spill the beans and don’t you dare waste my time," he menaced.

"I already told you that I can't tell you draco," the Hufflepuff cried, "I promised! I’m sorry but it’s not my place!" Draco poked his tongue in his cheek and turned away his gaze from the trembling form of the boy. "Promises are meant to be broken, aren't they?"Draco replied coldly as he got closer to the younger boy.

"Listen." Draco grabbed Sasha by the collar, "You’re going to give their name right now," Malfoy demanded once again but the boy shook his head vigorously and the blond boy sighed.

Malfoy released his grip on Sasha’s uniform collar and the latter fell on his buttock making him hiss with pain, "Sasha, Sasha," draco tut-ted, "I didn’t want to come to this," he faked a sad expression on his face, "I really appreciate you, y’know." The younger boy’s face displayed pure horror as he saw Malfoy reach for his wand, "But hey," Draco sighed, "Silly me to think you’d cooperate."

Draco pointed his wand towards Sasha, who was still on the ground, "Cru—,"The older boy started, "Okay! Okay! I’ll tell you please don’t do that," Sasha yelled, "I’m not sure Sasha," Draco shrugged, "Plus you know I’m not scared to say the cursed spells," Malfoy put up his hand again signaling that he was about to say the curse again, "Cruc—," he repeated, "Y/N!" the boy said while shielding himself from the potential curse that draco was about to cast. "Y/N, that's the name," Sasha said with a jerky breath.

Draco smiled satisfied that the boy caved in as he lowered his wand, "Of course it was her," he mumbled.

"Alright Sasha," Draco said as turned his heels to leave, "Loved talking to you, » Malfoy smiled, "See you around bro!" Draco emptied the hallway leaving a young boy that was probably going to be scarred for life.