#also what are guests. who are they. are they out there?

[kenyummy]

✰ 01. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 01. sparkless life.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: guys i couldnt resist posting criesssss . also master is used as a gender neutral term!!!! couldn't be bothered to put master/mistress every time so

prev. ✰ masterlist. ✰ next.

When you wake up, your eyes are permeated by a hard light. Your eyes are squinted hard and you're having a difficult time getting your eyes to focus.

Your brain is fuzzy and feels like melted candy in your head. What was going on, again...? This bed... it's really comfy. It's like laying on a bed made of clouds, fairy dust, and your hopes and dreams.

(Nothing like your lumpy mattress back home... May told you it built character.)

You reach your hand up, to try and block out the harsh glare directed right into your retina. It dims in a second, and for a moment—you think you've finally developed mutant powers of telekinesis. You sit up—only to discover you were not actually the one who turned off said lights.

"Apologies, Master [name]." An older man with a distinct British accent stands in the door—a few feet away from the bed you're resting on. "I did not realise you had awoken already. I would've turned down the lights, if I was aware."

You blink, surveying the room around you. It's big. Unfamiliar, as well. Modern. Really big. Wait, did he just call you—

"Master [name]?" Your mouth moves faster than your mind, and your brows furrow deep. "What... where am I?"

The older man looks genuinely puzzled at how defensive your stance is. "Oh dear. Perhaps you did end up getting lead poisoning. Or a concussion. ... No matter. This recent amnesia is common within traumatic injuries."

He clears his throat with strict elegance and straightens his posture, "[name]. I believe you were attacked in an alleyway, when your brother found you. You were in the hospital for a few days, and brought back here—back home—this morning. You're currently in one of your father's guest rooms. The doctors said you were healing miraculously fast."

You hiss lowly. You really hope they hadn't gotten a blood sample—you haven't had the best of experiences with people getting your blood.

"You seem to be alright now. A bit..." He looks at your exposed, scarred shoulders. "Scuffed up—but better than when Master Jason had found you."

Your brother... Jason...? Who even...?

What's going on here?

Your heart seems to skip a beat as the calculations start going off in your head. A world you had never heard of... a place you'd never seen before—perhaps you weren't on a different world, and like you had suspected... it was definetly some multiverse shenanigans again.

You knew you should've made Jess take that mission instead of you. Damn. You and your dumb rivalry with Doc.

But you couldn't understand why this random man knows you. He speaks as if you've lived a life with him—like he's known you since...

You chew down on your bottom lip. "... This is... my home. I live here, don't I...?"

You play with words cautiously, speaking slow and methodical. It only serves to confuse the man even further.

"Yes, you... do? Master [name], perhaps you should go back to the hospital. You're sounding rather frazzled—"

You almost jump up, out of the sheets, "Uh—no! I... I'm fine. My head's just a bit... messed up right now. Sorry."

It's not—after that flashbang, you're feeling fine. Your shoulder only burns with a stretch whenever you put too much pressure on it—but you're completely okay otherwise. But you don't think you should let him know that just yet.

"If you insist, Master [name]." He bows his head. "Do you require any further assistance?"

You blink, considering your choices.

Eventually, you land on the safest option. Search your surroundings. Find out what's going on here before going all Spider-ham on them. For all you know—they're super skrulls waiting for the right moment to strike. You need to be smart about this.

"Yes... I would like to go to my room... could you... walk me there?" You don't meet his stern gaze. "I'm not sure I'm able to walk on my own two feet just yet. I'm sorry."

You don't see how his stare softens at your words. "Of course, Master [name]."

He walks over to the edge of the bed and steadies you with a hand on your shoulder as you shakily stumble out of the bed. It's bouncy enough to launch you forward slightly—and it takes every muscle in your body to stop your Spidey-instincts from taking over and jumping backwards.

He slips your arm within his and steadies you as you both slowly walk out of the large guest room. If this was a guest room—you wonder what your room looked like.

The hallways weren't anything to sneeze at, either. Decorated with contemporary art pieces—sleek and so shiny you could see your face in the tiles below your bare feet. You felt so out of place—the civilian clothes you sported since you got here still dressed your body, and it wasn't even close to fitting in.

As you stumble down the halls with a bit of overdramacy, a man suddenly appears from around a corner. Deep black hair and the brightest blue eyes you'd ever seen. His smile is wide and he waves enthusiastically, "Hey, Alfred! I got back from Blüdhaven after uh—I heard what happened."

"Hello, Master Dick. It's lovely to see you back home again." Alfred nods his head. The man in question—Dick, apparently, which makes the immature teen in you giggle—gives you a sorrowful expression.

But... doesn't say anything past that. He continues small talk with Alfred—and you're left propped up in the older man's arms with a lost expression.

Did he... just blow you off?

One—that was pretty rude. Two, did he not just say he came back after he heard what happened? Not to toot your own horn or anything—but you'd assume being shot kind of counts as a "what happened".

You press your lips firmly together. This was getting awkward for you, especially seeing how comfortable this huge Dick (yeah, you're taking it and running with it) seemed to be with leaving this sickly, wounded (maybe you're being a tad dramatic) person to stumble like a baby fawn, in silence.

Alfred, however—catches sight of your one-sided tension, and abruptly ends his conversation. "My apologies, Master Dick, but I must help [name] to their room. I would love to continue this conversation at a later date."

"Oh yeah, no sweat, Alfred." He gives the older man a gleeful thumbs up. Then, his eyes meet yours. "Get better soon, okay?"

You avert his stare and only nod in response. Well, at least he noticed you were there. You're still in mild shock, but you somehow manage to keep a pleasant expression. With one last small smile, Dick walks away—where, you don't really care about.

Alfred slowly helps you up a flight of stairs. He only breaks the silence after you find yourself standing in front of a room with a faded name on it. Your name. "... All these years, and only now, you've suddenly changed. I wonder..."

His words are cryptic, but his expression even more so. What was he talking about? "... Huh?"

A small smile fades on his face. "Ah... no. It's nothing. I was thinking out loud. Call me if you need anything else, Master [name]. I am at your service. And please... get better soon."

Somehow, it sounds nicer when he says it. You smile a little, and give him a nod.

"Thank you..." You test out his name on your tongue. It feels natural. "Alfred. I'll try my best."

He leaves with a curt nod and not another word. You finally slide the door open, and take a look around.

You step inside, and it's like you've entered a whole new world, again.

It's... small. Not by regular standards—it's almost double the size of your room at home—but compared to a guest bedroom in this overly massive home... it's rather small. Like a closet, more than a bedroom.

It's empty, too. Your room at home is decorated with posters and trinkets of your favourite shows, pictures of you with Harry and MJ (sometimes even the four), and memorable items you've collected with your friends and family over the years.

Memories. You had memories.

There is nothing here.

It's like you're standing in a blank slate—in a world where you are nothing and yet everything you've ever had. It sends a chill down your spine.

You walk barefoot across cold wood and take a seat on the bedsheets. Bare white with a unicorn print. Something a young child would use. It looks pretty scuffed up. Old. The mattress creaks under your weight and you wince.

There's a bookshelf just opposite to you. There's not much in it—in fact, it's smaller than small and is almost completely empty. There's nothing but school textbooks and thick novels. And...

It catches your eye almost immediately. A little pink slip in the midst of deep black and brown colours. You stand up—ignoring the creak that follows—and walk over to the shelf.

You slip the book out, and immediately take in its cover. Pink, and with your name in wonky cursive. It's rather dusty, as if it hadn't even been touched in years.

You flip open the cover. Big bubble letters spelling out My diary flash you and you quickly flip the page before the glitter sears into your eyelids.

The first entry is there. Exactly seven years and two months ago. It's nothing like those entries you've seen on those corny 2000's TV shows for tweens—nor is it like those aesthetic journaling girls on Pwinterest.

It's something, familiarly, you. A short clunk of text about your day, on days that had some sort of exciting event going on—something you'd undoubtedly do. It almost makes you grimace.

This whole multiverse thing might be worse than you thought.

Two days ago I moved into a new house. My mom said she couldn't take care of me anymore, and I had to live with my dad. I've never seen him until today, but he's really busy, so we don't talk much. Alfred is nice to me, and his cooking is really yummy.

There's a little sketch of a baked dinner—and despite your pre-tween art skills, it does seem rather tasty looking.

You flip the page. The next entry is a week after the last.

I still haven't talked with dad yet. But I did meet two new people. Alfred said that they're my new brothers. Mom never wanted any more babies, so I was very excited to meet them! Jason is fun to play with. He's really bad at hide and go seek, though—I always win! Dick is fun too, but he's busy a lot, like dad. But he always makes time for me and Jason. I really like it here.

There's a small picture of three stick people holding hands. One is significantly short than the other two—labelled with your name above. The one on the left to you is Jason, with black curls and a wide grin. The one on the right is labelled Dickie, much taller than the other two and with shaggy black hair.

The drawing is innocent. Cute. Wholesome, if you will. There's even heart stickers pasted (and peeling, by now) between each of your heads.

You flip the page with a small, fond smile. The next entry is three days after that one.

Dad played with me, Jason, and Dickie today. He was really bad at hide and go seek too—but Dad and Jason chased each other all around the house before I caught both of them. I was so happy I won today! Dad took us all out for dinner, even Alfred. Alfred said he only came because I always look very happy when we're together. The dinner was really yummy!!!!

The drawing underneath is a picture of what looked like a smaller version of you, standing triumphantly with a little tiara on your head.

You flip the page. This time—there's a significant gap between the dates. This was a whole 5 months after you last wrote in your diary.

I don't know where Jason is. Dad and Dickie look really sad. They've been really busy for a long time, and we don't play much anymore. The only times I see Dad is at dinner. But we don't talk. Sometimes he doesn't eat dinner, either. Alfred still puts my drawings on the fridge, and he says that Dad and Dickie are just sad now, and they'll be better soon. I miss Jason. I want him back home.

There's no silly-looking drawing to go underneath this entry. This Jason—apparently the man who saved you—seemed rather fun-loving, despite whatever happened to him. You wonder what it was.

You flip the page, again. This entry was 3 months after the last.

I miss Dad, and Dickie. Dickie told me he had to go away for a bit, because he has something important to do somewhere else. Dad is busy all the time. I haven't seen him in 4 days. I don't play with anyone but Alfred now, but he's not that fun to play with, because he's so serious all the time. Dad tells me to go on my iPad and not bother Alfred when I'm bored, but I miss them.

Next one is 2 days after.

I met a new boy today. Dad told me he's my new brother. I was pretty excited because he's my age. But he didn't want to talk to me. He said he was too caught up in important stuff, and that I should just come back later. But he looked real annoyed when saying it—so I didn't come back. He didn't say anything, so I don't think he cared.

A week later.

My dad is Batman, and my new brother is Robin. I'm freaking out. He never told me—I saw them sneaking out one day and I got really mad. Why didn't he tell me? Did Dickie and Jason know? Was I the only one who didn't? Tim got mad at me when I started yelling. I felt really sad so I hid in my room to get away from them. I've been here since. Alfred brought me dinner, but I'm not hungry.

So... this Batman who you saw before, is actually your dad? In this world, this is your father? You almost drop the diary in shock, but you can't tear your eyes away. You can't stop reading.

The next few entries don't catch your eye—it's all teen angst about how you're sick of how busy your dad is, how annoying Tim can be, how Dick won't even visit your room anymore—until something else catches your eye.

3 years later.

Jason is back. He's back home. I don't know why, but he's back. I was so excited to see him again—everyone else has become so busy and won't even talk to me. Nobody else has time for me, but Jason did. But he looked different. He's way older than me, now. He won't even look at me. I tried to hug him but he just put a mask on and walked away. Why is everyone doing this to me? What did I do? It's not fair.

Your writing grows into chicken scratch near the end—as if conveying your frustration. You skim through a few more entries. More teen angst. More about how you can't even hold a conversation with your siblings anymore.

Some were sweet, like how you met some people, unnamed, and treasured their friendship so deeply, but they were few and far between.

I met a girl today. She's my sister now. Her name is Cassandra, and she has very pretty eyes. I tried to talk to her, but dad got pretty mad at me because apparently she doesn't like to talk much. How was I supposed to know that? She didn't even look at me as dad pulled her away. Who even is she? Why does my dad like her better than me? It's not fair.

You're bitter. You're upset, and so, so bitter. It's so abundantly clear that as time went on, you became progressively more and more spiteful. It was rather sad to watch.

This stupid little kid tried to kill me. Claimed I was unworthy. I couldn't give less of a shit what he thinks—but my family couldn't give less of a shit about me. They said he's troubled, that he needs patience.

The new few words were less than family friendly. Unkind? Definitely. Deserved? Possibly.

I can't believe this. I'm so sick of this. I want to get out. I can't take this anymore. Jason kills people now, but Bruce still loves him. Even Steph and Babs get more love from Bruce than me. They're not even in the family, but they're better. Because they're superheroes, they're better. Maybe I'll be a hero myself. Maybe then, they'll see me.

You flip the page. That's the last entry. The last page of the book—but behind it, there's a page made of sticky notes on the back cover. Your eyes widen in shock at what you see.

It's all...

"Spidey," you read out the name atop this pasted page in a low whisper.

Your fingertips trace over the detailed drawings. Your costume. Though not made of nanotech—the suit was intricately designed with spider patterns falling all around your arms and legs, with a large spider torso. It looked somewhat like Silk's suit.

Web shooters, with thorough calculations on how much you'd have to bulk up to swing without taking your arm off (which, by what you're reading, was humanly impossible for a regular you), and detailed explanations on what the web fluid was made out of.

More environmentally sustainable than your ones. You'd have to take these notes back home.

It wasn't like your family would go looking—you can't help but think, chewing on your cheek. This was incredible. You must've been a real genius to figure all this out.

Back home, you had Reed and Tony help you with all your spider stuff. Sure, you were the one who came up with all the base ideas and constructed it all yourself—but they helped out a lot with all the technicalities. But to come up with something like, from what you can tell, all on your own...

It was nothing short of incredible. And your family had no idea.

You snap the book shut, eyes narrowing down at the ground. Your Aunt May never would've treated you like this—and if you were correct, this other you must be with your aunt right now.

Good for her, you think. Maybe she'd be happier there, anyway.

A sudden knock at your door brings you out of your stupor. You slip the book away quickly as Alfred opens the door, bowing his head slightly. "Master [name], dinner is ready. If you're feeling better, please come down."

The prospect of a family dinner leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, especially after all you've read from this diary. No matter. You don't know how this you behaved before, but you have bigger issues to deal with than becoming a copy of this sad child.

But despite everything... Alfred really did seem to care for them—for you. You nod, smoothing out your cami. "Thanks. Let's go."

You and he both head down the stairs, and you finally come face to face with the family you've heard so much about.

They're all grinning from ear-to-ear, laughing about something that "happened on patrol" as you take a seat at the end of the table—beside a blonde girl who you think was called Stephanie—chewing on the food.

It was good. Really good. Almost as good as Aunt May's meatloaf. The thought makes you feel a little homesick, but you persevere. The hard glare given to you across the table by this small kid (definitely Damian) isn't helping, though.

Dick catches the look and follows his little brothers gaze to you. He doesn't say anything about it—only ruffles the boy's hair, chuckling, and asks why he seems so glum. The child hisses and starts trying to stab the man with a steak knife, to no avail—of course.

That was the last time you were even glanced at for the rest of the dinner. You almost can't believe it. How could somebody really fade into the background like that? How could such a family let it happen?

How could they be so ignorant? You lose your appetite soon enough, and stand up. The chatter dies down for a second. Stephanie—being the closest toward you, gives you an uncomfortable smile, "Are you not going to finish? You were out for a while... you need energy to get back up and do..."

Whatever it is you do at home, you guess that's probably what she was thinking. Who said you hadn't gotten a telepathic mutation?

She doesn't finish her sentence. You'd just met these people and already you were sick of this. Seriously, you don't think you could get any more uncomfortable if somebody strapped you to a chair and tossed you down a dark well.

You miss the most fantastic of fours you know. They'd never do this to you. Sue was far too sweet.

You shake your head, plate held tight in your hand. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. There's much more important things out there in Gotham, isn't there? Besides—I have more than enough time to heal. Not like I'm doing any hero stuff, huh?"

Your laugh lacks any kind of humour, and you walk out in your typical Spidey fashion. The chatter doesn't spike up for a good ten minutes until after you leave.

You meet Alfred in the kitchen, and he's doing countless dishes alone. There's a stack of plates almost as tall as he is. You roll up your sleeves.

He gives you a confused look. "Master [name]? I have told you before, you—"

"I don't care what you told me." You say, suddenly—but you backtrack when you realise how flat your tone was. Cheeks flushed, you correct yourself, "Ah—sorry. I meant... I don't care what you told me, because it doesn't matter if you don't want help... I'll offer it anyway, you know? I can't help it. It's how I am."

It's why I'm Spidey. Not because I have powers. Not because I'm good at swinging around. Not even because the costume is awesome.

It's because you can't help but help others. You have the power to do so—now it's your responsibility.

You take a sponge, and douse it in dishwashing liquid. You scrub down a porcelain plate beside Alfred in silence.

The pensive look on his face was now replaced by a small, fond smile.

we getting into the typical diary entry stuff okokokkkk but. love interests next chapter. smirks let me cook!!!@

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if you asked to be on the taglist but aren't there, your account couldn't be tagged for whatever reason. im not too sure how tumblr works, but if you manage to fix it, ask me again!!!

[buckyschair]

AFTERGLOW

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: A sequel part to Flirting, which follows our dear reader (an archivist from Day Court) and the events post-hook-up with Azriel. Don’t worry, his busybody family could never be too sidetracked with running their court to prevent them getting involved in his love life– and, thanks to the properties of transference, yours! Have you stumbled upon something real here with him? Or will it be over before it’s begun? Only Azriel’s shadowy attachment style and maladaptive coping mechanisms will tell! Spoiler: the sex is good. 

read part one on tumblr here

A/N: From the bottom of my heart, what the fuck was I doing when I started writing this fic in the second person present tense. Copy editing this was a nightmare. I am completely demoralized. The only thing that can cure me? Your comments and kudos, baby! 

Content Warnings: porn with plot, kinda switches between your POVS, female reader, Rhys and Cass and Mor being dickheads (affectionate), smut (featuring aftercare <3), mutual masturbation, thigh riding, unprotected PIV sex, explicit language, alcohol, yearning, idiots to lovers, no use of Y/N

Disclaimers: 1. I’m woman enough to admit that I don’t know how the magic system works in this universe. Who has what powers? None of my business. Yet, somehow, this same author spent an hour researching exactly how people with penises like to masturbate. And that’s showbiz, baby! 2. It’s also not my business where these people live. I haven’t read ACOSF yet so I have no idea where they’re all supposed live so just pretend Az has his own place and they all share a house too idk the river house is new and confusing to me kthxbyeeee

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~14k 

Read on AO3

It’s surprisingly domestic, how the morning unfolds in a post-coital haze, breathy moans lapsing into quiet conversation about pillow preferences and the day's looming demands. You’re seriously so glad you went dancing last night, especially since your fun solo night out was cut short in favor of mind blowing sex with Azriel. The male lies beside you, your body tucked into his arm on his massive bed, the pair of you lingering after another round of bliss. You’re reluctant to emerge from your shared cocoon, but you know you can’t stay forever. 

“I don’t know about you, but this is my ideal morning,” Azriel comments lazily.

You murmur something noncommittal. 

He raises himself up on one arm to look at you, affronted. You see the disbelief in his poised face, his quiet accusation: How could it get better than this? It’s sharp enough to uncover your grin as you answer: 

“A bath?” you propose.

Azriel presses a kiss to your temple before grumbling his way out from under the covers. 

“Anything for my esteemed guest,” he says sarcastically.

“I’m so honored,” you say, eyes rolling behind his back as he disappears into the washroom. 

“I saw that!” he calls from inside.

You give him a rude gesture from your place under his sheets, and you hear his chuckle echoing through the open doorway as he draws you a bath. Even his laughter sounds like a whispered secret. You treasure the sound, storing it away in your memory. 

You’re half hoping he’ll join you in the bath, but he leaves you to wash alone once you finally emerge from his bed. Water sluices across your form as you cleanse yourself of the hard earned sweat and stain. While the stickiness washes away, the warmth of your experience remains; an invisible mark at odds with the pale bruises blooming on your chest and thighs. His soap smells of citrus and cedar, a salty scrub that rejuvenates your flesh and invigorates your senses. It was the scent you’d caught in his pillows as you’d been pressed into them this morning. You wipe the images from your mind, clearing your head with some effort. 

When you emerge from your much needed bath, wrapped in a towel, you find your things laid out neatly for you atop his fresh sheets. You pick up an oversized shirt included in the pile. Your brow arches in silent question towards the male currently fussing with dirty sheets. Thankfully, he’s donned some undershorts, so you could expect to keep it together for at least a full conversation. 

“I couldn’t find your shirt,” Azriel confesses, apologetic. He tells you that he looked all over his room while you were bathing, to no avail. 

“Aren’t you a spy? I can’t believe you couldn't track it down,” you laugh as you slip into his tunic. It smells clean, and you’re a little put out that it doesn’t have his aroma. He throws a pillow at you, and you barely catch it before it smacks you in the face. His pout only makes you laugh harder. 

He apologizes again about your top, but as you slip your skirt back on, you remind him that you weren’t protesting last night when he threw it gods know where. His ears burn as he imagines it falling out the window, landing somewhere in the city below, perhaps much to some stranger’s confusion. 

“Not that it would be out of character for this place, with Rhys and Feyre being the way they are,” he concludes, cracking you up again. 

You come to stand before him, in your odd new outfit, short tight skirt and long baggy shirt. Now that you’re dressed, you aren’t sure of what comes next. So far, he’s directed your morning routine, and you’re suddenly dreading the inevitable moment when you have to leave. His eyes are taking you in, and you have no idea how his heart stutters at the sight of you, freshly bathed in his soap and dressed in his clothing. He has half a mind to take you back to bed, if Rhys hadn’t just been in his head reminding him of their upcoming morning appointment. 

Before you can ask him what the plan is, your stomach growls loudly, demanding. 

You curse your traitorous stomach as you walk through the grand halls alone in search of a meal, disoriented since he’d kissed your temple again right after dispatching you to the kitchen. He’d offered to get the two of you food, but you told him he should bathe first. Truth be told, you just needed a moment to get your bearings. This morning was far more normal than you were expecting, and it unnerved you how easily you’d fallen into a mock domestic routine with the warrior. 

Soon enough, you find a well stocked kitchen, exactly where Azriel had explained it would be. You shouldn’t be surprised that his directions were so clear, given the male’s strategic mind. 

You do find yourself surprised, however, that he’s allowing you to wander unchaperoned and barefoot through his court’s inner dwelling. The thought had warmth blooming in your chest as you set water to boil on the stove before looking around for some proper kind of tea. 

Before you know it, you’ve lost yourself to snooping through the full cabinets, inspecting jars and baskets of dry goods as you assemble your small feast. As an archivist, you can’t help admiring neat collections of any kind. You’re as endlessly fascinated with the contents of cabinets as you are with stacks of manuscripts. 

The distraction is why you don’t notice the approaching footsteps until a sarcastic voice calls you out of your reverie. 

“Az? Is that you?” 

You freeze your snacking at the unfamiliar male voice in the hallway. 

“What the hell, brother. So tell me why you tapped out earlier than anyone last night– without saying goodbye, might I add– and yet you’re the only one late to training this–” the voice cuts off as he finally spots you through the door frame. 

“Oh,” the Illyrian stumbles before quickly recovering, “Hello.” A boyish smile breaks upon his face as he takes in your state, dressed in his brother’s shirt over a skintight skirt. 

“You’re not Azriel,” he observes keenly. 

He offers you a wide grin, which you return sheepishly at first but then with real humor. 

“No, I’m not,” you laugh, realizing this must be Cassian. You introduce yourself briefly before adding, “He’ll probably be late this morning.”

“I bet he will be,” Cassian quips, but before he can question you further, you excuse yourself with your tea while it's still hot. 

“It’s nice to meet you!” he calls after you, your name ringing down the corridor. 

Cassian shakes his head once you leave, speechless for a moment before he contacts Rhys. You won’t believe this! he projects excitedly, thrilled to have some gossip on his brooding brother for once. 

You can’t hide your giddy blush when you return to Azriel’s room to eat. He takes the tea with quiet thanks, laughing at the mischief you’d gotten up to in his absence, and even more so at your impression of Cassian. His chest warms at your brief brush with his family. You enjoy a peaceful meal sitting in his chair by the window while he tidies his already very clean room, noting how fastidious he is in his motions as he dresses and styles his hair for the day. 

Once he’s run out of ways to drag out his morning routine, he turns to you with a serious but soft expression. 

“Can I see you again?” Azriel asks. If all logic didn’t defy it, you’d say he sounds nervous. “Perhaps on a real date?” 

“A date?” you ask coyly. You don’t bother to hide your smug delight at his words, feeling like you’ve just won a prize. “Yeah, I think I’d like that. A lot.” 

His resulting smile is so bright– for a second it transports you back to the grand archival library in Day court, where you’d soak up the blinding noon light that would stream in through the tall arched windows. You could always rely on its warmth for a reprieve from your dusty, tedious tasks. You imagine Az must feel similarly in this moment for his shadowy expression to break with such radiance. 

It calms your sorrow at leaving the brilliant palace, confident that you might very well see it again soon. You enjoy this flight more, as he carefully maneuvers through the city’s sky, the journey less disorienting in the daylight. He leaves you on the steps of your accommodations near the library with a lingering kiss and a promise to see you again the next night. 

Once he leaves, your mind goes into overdrive, cataloguing all that had occurred and trying to figure out what exactly drew you together. If there was any sort of common thread, it was invisible, but you felt its undeniable pull all the same. 

You’d have to do some further research, you decide, on Illyrians, and on shadowsingers. And perhaps on sex positions with winged fae. And maybe you should buy a new going out top… though you certainly wouldn’t be returning this new one anytime soon, you think, smoothing Azriel’s shirt down as you step inside your little place. 

You happily plan your list of tasks and activities, unaware of the shadows that slip inside after you, ready to report back to their master, who is equally anticipating your next meeting, even as he arrives unforgivably late to training, only to face the torment of his nosy family. 

Azriel bears their prying questions and bold threats with characteristic stoicism, cracking only to say that they’d better play nice, offering scalding threats of his own lest they scare you off. Deep down, he thinks with pride that you could probably actually handle them in their full chaos.   

After all, he’d felt something shake loose in his chest this morning as he’d laid watching your sleeping form. He recalls how he’d felt last night, when you were backlit and glowing above him. The magnetism that had sparked, a gravity he stepped into fearlessly when in battle, that now gave him pause. Later, when he had a moment, he would examine it more intently, but even at this glance, he felt it strongly.

He swallows his smile as he falls into the motions of sparring with Rhys, feeling that familiar thrill. He’s found a real contender in you, he should have known it from the moment he saw you squaring up back at the club. Azriel can’t wait to see things through with you. 

Hours later, recalling that excitement feels like mockery, as he ponders what one possibly does for a first– second?– date. He curses himself for having such a premature reaction, rather than applying a more rational process to the situation. He’d met you once. He told himself he hardly knew you.

But even as he had that thought, he brought to mind all he’d absorbed about you. Your life in Day, your dedication to your people, your reverence for things of antiquity. His mind wandered to your shared experience, how he’d seen you come alive and undone under his touch. Your small reactions, your fixation on his wings, your quickness to humor. He couldn’t convince himself that he didn’t know you at all. Still, surely many fae knew you better than he could, after just one night. 

The thought fills him with an ugly emotion; he didn’t like that someone else might know you better than he. Azriel scolds himself for his juvenile envy. He hadn’t earned special intimacy with you. Yet , he amends. 

He is a master of spies, and foremost of a scarce population who could wield shadows as easily as any blade, and the trusted right hand of the most formidable High Lord in history. Even in his own right, he is one of the most powerful Illyrians in existence, he reminds himself as he sets to the task of planning your date. 

Azriel is determined to show you a good time. He thinks back to how organic, how right your brief time together at Rita’s had felt. 

How badly could this go? 

✸✸✸ 

“You’re an idiot. I knew you were an asshole, but honestly Az, I hadn’t pegged you as an idiot,” Cassian scoffs, his raven locks shaking derisively. “I don’t know why I expected better.”  

Azriel just glares at him. He should have known it was a mistake to come to Cassian for advice. 

He looks to Rhys, hoping to find more level headed counsel. The three of them were cooling down from their morning sparring the night after his much anticipated date with you, ransacking the kitchen to refuel. Unfortunately, Rhys’ expression isn’t encouraging, the High Lord barely concealing his amusement. 

Azriel sighs, supplicating the ceiling for better guidance. He knows that their strenuous exercises aren’t solely to blame for the distant throbbing in his skull. 

“Quit it with the hysterics,” Rhys teases. 

Azriel levels him with a stare, his shoulders tense and his shadows in pandemonium. 

Rhys sighs, relenting, “So, you were saying you took her out to dinner?” he prompts diplomatically. 

Azriel nods. He had picked you up about an hour after you’d gotten out of work for the day. You’d been elegantly arrayed, but still casual, since you weren’t sure what he had planned. Your wide smile upon seeing him had left him winded as you’d taken in his generous physique. He’d been drinking you in too, and the sight of those same chunky boots on your feet had had him smirking. 

You’d playfully bared your teeth as you laid your hand on his waiting arm. “See something you like, soldier?” you’d teased. 

“Very much so,” he’d responded honestly. 

His candor had struck you off balance with more punch than any sweet talk or sass could have packed. His eyes held the same intensity that they’d burned with the other night; the same intensity that you’d started to doubt in your memory, thinking you must have imagined it in your blissed out daze. 

“You clean up nice, too,” you’d recovered. 

He’d mirrored your blush then, his red dusted cheeks relaxing you as he’d guided the two of you along the Sidra into the center of town. 

The restaurant had been nice, not too nice, but comfortable and intimate. You’d been thrilled with the menu, the seafood more exotic and the spices more daring than what you told him you were used to back in Day. Perhaps he should have commented more of his own thoughts, but he was so satisfied just to listen to your chatter. 

“Dinner was good,” Azriel shares.

Rhys and Cassian share a look at that. They were probably holding a conversation mentally on the side, analyzing and strategizing. 

“Well, don’t bore us with the details,” Rhys prompts sarcastically. 

Azriel swallows his retort, reminding himself that these were his brothers. As much as they pissed him off, they were his family, and they wanted the best for him. They wanted him to be happy. 

“What else do you want to know?!” he groans.

“Did you fuck her?” Cassian deadpans. 

Azriel just sputters in response. He is quickly losing faith that his brothers will be any help, if that was the best Cass could do. 

“No!” Azriel balks. 

“What do you mean no!” Rhys shouts, as Cassian curses and shakes his head more, this time hiding his face in his hands. 

“I mean, we… we did sleep together that first night,” Azriel amends, with a meaningful look at Cassian, who stops snickering. “But not last night.” 

“Why the hell not?” Cassian demands. 

“Is that all you can think about?” Az hedges. He honestly didn’t know why you hadn’t slept together again. He had certainly wanted to. Fuck, what he wouldn’t do for another chance to taste you, to take you back to his place– his real place this time, not the House of Wind– get you in his bed and run his hands over your thighs, and up, up, to brush his thumb through your soaking folds– 

“Brother! You’re one to talk, you’re the one going stupid at the thought of her right now!” Cass’s accusation has him cursing and forcing his mind back to this maddening conversation.  

Rhys regards him with a knowing look which does little to comfort him. The two males across the counter share another meaningful glance. Azriel runs his hand through his hair, he was going to lose his mind if they kept up their silent conversation. 

I’m right here, assholes, he projects into their minds down the bridges Rhys had established centuries ago. Typically, they reserved their use for business, but clearly the High Lord and his Commander had no qualms using their privileged mental bridge to serve their busybody purposes. 

Rhys has the decency to cringe, but Cassian dismisses his insult with the ease of one perfectly aware of his gold certified status as an ass. 

“What did you do to her, Az?” Cass scorns. 

“Okay. So dinner was good. That’s a good start,” Rhys interjects, suddenly playing the diplomat again as his brothers’ fists begin to curl. “What did the two of you talk about?” he prompts helplessly. 

“Just… things.” 

Cassian swears again at Azriel’s curt response, and even as his temper flares, Azriel sees how weak his answer is. “Okay! Okay. We… Well, she talked about her life back in Day. I asked her a lot about her work, and how their recovery efforts are progressing.”

Rhys nods, encouraging him.

“And I asked how she felt about the security of Day, since a myriad of threats remain unchecked, after everything, and since they don’t discriminate between courts but could affect any of us-” 

Cassian groans, and Rhys winces. 

“What! She cares about her people, I was trying to be attentive!” Az defends.

“Brother. It sounds like you were doing recon,” Rhys gently explains. 

Az opens his mouth, then closes it.

“You grilled her about the status of her court’s border security,” Cass adds bluntly. 

“I did not… grill her,” Azriel manages. “I just… fuck. Fuck!” he lets out. “Damn it! I was asking her about her interests,” he helplessly repeats. 

Cassian and Rhys just look at him with pity. 

He scowls, accepting that the dinner conversation was perhaps not as free flowing as things had been at Rita’s. Still, he’d have sworn that you’d enjoyed the evening. He looks up at his brothers, desperation written on his face. “What do I do?”

“Did you make plans to see each other again?” Cass asks hesitantly, a rare sign that he’s taking this seriously after all. 

“No,” Azriel admits, “but she did say she’d like to see me again,” he adds, much to his brothers’ relief. 

Rhys claps his hands together, capturing their attention, his shoulders squaring as he assumes his role as their sovereign strategist. “Alright. We can work with that,” he claims. “How do we go from here? What are the facts?”

“First, we have established that Az is an idiot,” Cassian chirps helpfully. 

“Right,” Rhys confirms, and Azriel just rubs his temples. This was just like their young days at the training camp, only without the license to punch Cassian for mouthing off. “What else?” 

“She wants to see him again.” Azriel opens his eyes and flashes a grateful smile at his brother, who ruins the moment by adding suggestively- ”Or at least she wants to see part of him again.” 

Rhys sighs, mentally reaching out to Feyre to tell her that she’ll have to handle their mid-morning appointments solo. Everything okay? she responds. He replies wordlessly with the scene in front of him, his brothers bickering over their breakfast, Cass creating an impressively explicit insult with a chocolate pastry and Az returning in kind. 

By the afternoon though, the three males have come up with a respectable plan to salvage Azriel’s tenuous connection with you. 

✸✸✸ 

You’re surprised when you see a shadow slip along the stacks toward your spot barricaded in a corner of the Night Court’s library, poring over some dense tomes. They’re full of oblique explanations that reference texts that are equally inaccessible, even to you in your expertise. You’d just about decided it was time for a break when you see the shadow approach. 

It curls around your hand in an affectionate welcome. As warmth flares in your chest, a note materializes, a welcomely legible message compared to the books you’d been buried in. You look around, despite the silent and largely empty library. 

No one is present to witness your blush as you lightly stroke the first line. The note is addressed to your name in a neat script. 

I’m writing with regard to my concern that you’ve had too grand an impression of my court , it reads. You can hear Azriel’s wry tone in the clear letters. 

First the high class of Rita’s, then the dizzying heights of Velaris’ fine dining last night. You smile at his dry, self deprecating words. Your heart thunders as you continue reading. 

I’d like to amend this most grievous picture with a far less elegant evening. Would you be available to join me for dinner tonight? Same time, and meet me at my place instead. 

Please respond at your leisure. I would very much like to see you again–

–He’s included an address and signed merely with an initial, a sloping A , that you trace as you mull over his words. 

His place? That last line too, I would very much like to see you again , seems less neat than the rest of his writing, almost hastily scrawled. As if it had been an afterthought. Or as if he’d been nervous to pen it? 

You shake your head at his shadow twirling around your wrist, the messenger seemingly in no rush. You’d been confused after your date with the shadowsinger, and now even more so. He wanted to see you again. 

The date last night hadn’t been bad. You’d certainly had worse experiences. 

He had shown up right on time to pick you up from your doorstep, sweetly admiring you as you’d shakily locked up your place. When you’d caught his hungry gaze, that still novel thrill had shot through you, and you couldn’t help your smile. You’d been excited, and that feeling remained sparkling in your chest as you’d wound your way through the city towards the spot he’d picked out. 

The meal you’d shared had been amazing, you were impressed with the whole affair. Azriel had looked indecently handsome in a soft black tunic and sleek charcoal pants, his siphons simmering ultramarine. You’d noticed he wore heavier leather boots… 

“Nice boots,” you’d complemented with a small smirk. 

“Thank you,” he had spoken sincerely, without marking your innuendo. 

You’d meant it as a small temperature check, delicately referencing your previous frenzied hook up where you’d neglected to take off your shoes for the first couple rounds. 

Either Azriel had missed your meaning, or he was establishing a boundary. You didn’t imagine the spymaster missed much, so you took it as an indication that he didn’t want to explicitly discuss what had happened between you. 

Even that was confusing, since his eyes had still gravitated towards your lips, followed the movements of your throat, and beheld you with a ferocity you couldn’t tear yourself away from. 

You held your tongue, though, about the research you’d done on how to get freaky with a winged individual. Honestly, that was probably for the best, you reflect, given how your sources were anecdotal at best. But damn! You’d done your due diligence, and you were hoping it would come in handy eventually. 

Azriel had been kind to the staff, who did their best to conceal how unnerved they were by his presence. He’d been perfectly well mannered, you’d enjoyed picking his mind about court security and his entertaining stories about his family. Overall, it had felt like your conversation at Rita’s, free flowing and comfortable. You trace the evening in your mind now, finding it more complex than the books you’d been dissecting all morning. 

You were used to speaking your mind, so you had planned to tell him directly that you’d like him to fuck you again, please and thank you . 

And when he hadn’t responded to your lingering touches, or your meaningful looks, you figured it was the same pattern as last time; where his respectful attitude demanded he unleash his passion only slowly and incrementally as the night progressed. After he’d walked you home and you’d told him what a great time you’d had at dinner, you’d even gone so far as to invite him up to your place. 

But he had declined. 

The male who you thought had been undressing you with his eyes the whole way back had dodged your invitation, citing an early morning. You’d been so blindsided that you’d just accepted it. 

Azriel had kissed you then, confusing you more as his hot mouth worked yours in a riveting connection. Then he had simply pulled away, his hazel eyes molten in the dark.  

“I’d like to see you again.” 

You cringe, recalling your words to him as he’d bade you good night. But he had seemed to practically preen at that, his shadows making lazy, arrogant circles around the horns at the apex of his wings. 

So, all things considered, perhaps this note before you shouldn’t be a total surprise. 

You’ll just have to talk directly with him, you reason. And the best way to do that will be to see him in person tonight. You briefly pen your enthusiastic agreement to send off with the shadow before returning to your work, heart a little lighter. 

Azriel smiles as his shadow appears, depositing his note with your neat reply. 

I look forward to seeing you tonight. Should I wear my boots? He laughs, spine tingling at his memory of you and those godsdamned shoes. He makes a note to remember to take them off of you tonight. If he’s so lucky… 

✸✸✸ 

Azriel considers himself luckier than he deserves when you actually show up at his place that evening. You look resplendent, he thinks, starlight dusting your hair. Much to his embarrassment, his shadows swarm you the instant he opens his front door to your confident knock. He silently curses them and wills them to behave. 

“They say hello, as well,” he says after greeting you. 

“Hello to you too, then, you handsome little devils,” you flirt shamelessly with his shadows.

“Don’t encourage them,” Az chides affectionately, watching them as they double back to twirl in your hair and brush along your cheek. “They’re insufferable enough as is.” 

You just laugh at their antics, flattered by their attention. 

Quite frankly, you’re charmed. You couldn’t find any information on shadowsingers in your brief search on the topic. You aren’t sure how they work or how they speak to him, but you do know that you like them. The more you interact with them, you can sense their personality. 

“You look beautiful,” he offers. 

He takes your jacket, manners impeccable as he crisply hangs it on the back of his door.

“Thank you,” you blush, slyly admiring his wings as he’s turned away. “You don’t look half bad yourself.” 

You’re fooling no one. Azriel looks good. Really good. He’s handsome enough to win a best dressed contest naked, but this outfit works for him too. His sleek vest is a deep green, the first hint of color you’ve seen on him. It complements his eyes well, bringing out their gold. You’re enjoying his exposed forearms too, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

You had caught the faint scent of citrus and cedar as you’d brushed past him to step inside. Your body is activated by the scent, recalling how it had lingered on his pillows. Overwhelmed by the pleasant picture, you swallow the memory. 

Before he can catch you checking him out, you catch a mouthwatering aroma. 

“Did you cook?”

His bashful look has your heart melting as he leads you to his kitchen. Indeed, the male had cooked a glorious meal. The dishes themselves aren’t particularly rich fare, but the volume is definitely more than two can pack away. He's gone all out.

As you marvel at his production, it strikes you how surreal this is, how extraordinary. You’re here. In his kitchen. The famed shadowsinger has made you roast fowl from scratch. 

To distract yourself from the absurdity of the picture, you focus on the details. There's herbs tied up in bundles hanging from his shelves. You get a glance inside one cabinet as he grabs a bottle of wine, and, unsurprisingly, their contents are very neat.

“I’m impressed.”

“That’s the general idea,” he winks as he pours you a nice glass.  

This was one step of his preparation for the evening. One key element of a winning battle was the location, situating your forces in the most optimal position. Now, his simple task is to figure out how to build a beautiful, long lasting relationship with a brilliant female out of a fancy goose carcass and herb potatoes. He grits his teeth. The night isn’t nearly over yet. 

You accept the drink with thanks.

“So, this is your place?” 

Azriel just nods. 

“So, did you rent that palace temporarily, or?” you try again. 

“Oh, that was the House of Wind.”

You raise your eyebrows at the lack of explanation. “It sure was windy.”

He catches your question then, “Oh- sorry, yes. It’s essentially our, that is, the court members’, public house-” he launches into the explanation you’d been looking for. 

You’d imagined he would be more comfortable in his own home, but he seems uneasy. The male remains as inscrutable as ever. You hadn’t realized how much you usually rely on nonverbal cues to read people. He is so reserved– by training– and also obscured– literally, by shadows. 

As you chat amiably about the city and its organization and his confusing housing situation, he leads you to his sitting room. You were surprised at your nerves even as you converse easily, typically you weren’t so easily ruffled. Then again, it’s been a while since you’d been so swept up by someone. 

“It’s nice,” you say, looking around the room. 

“Yeah? You like it?”

“Yeah,” you nod. It’s cozier than the palace was, the sweeping views exchanged for a comfortable and surprisingly cheerful atmosphere. The furniture is cushy, but practical, sturdy. 

“I know it’s not much like the palace,” he reads your mind. 

“No, I like that it's cozier. I just don’t know how you fit in the door,” you joke, gesturing vaguely at his scale, between his muscled form and looming wings. He laughs at that, and you banter back and forth about what a pity it is that there’s such a lack of Illyrian sized accommodations. Your shared laughter fades into a silence only broken by the crack of logs burning slowly in his hearth, crumbling voicelessly into embers. 

You let the moment stretch, taking the moment to appreciate the relaxed evening ahead of you, unwinding from your long day at work. 

Azriel, meanwhile, is counting the remaining threads of his sanity on one hand. Give him a fistfight. Give him an enemy regime to infiltrate. But gods save him from making conversation with a female he likes. He thought the relaxed setting would be more casual, but his chest is still tight as he tries to behave normally. Maybe this was a bad idea…

The pleasant silence continues to grate on Azriel, until he crumbles. “We can eat whenever,” he says, breaking the spell. He curses himself for his cowardice, sidestepping whatever was growing in the lingering quiet between you. 

“This is nice, though,” you say into your wine, undeterred. It really is good stuff. You aren’t a sommelier but you know a drinkable vintage when it hits your tongue. 

“Yeah,” he relaxes somewhat into the couch next to you again. 

Hazel eyes meet yours, the fire from the hearth flickering in their reflection. You really are enjoying the peaceful atmosphere with him. His hair is styled a little differently than you remember, the waves flopping in a charming swoop across his forehead rather than brushed back. Your gaze dips to his lips, damp with wine. His pupils expand almost imperceptibly as they track the movement, like prey scenting a threat. 

A loud knock interrupts your mooning. 

Azriel frowns, one of his shadows streaking off to investigate the front door. His scowl deepens before his scout even returns, as the knocking continues, adamant. 

“One moment,” Azriel says reluctantly, with an apologetic look as he stands. You nod, your attention on his tense form, his wings obscuring the door as he whips it open. 

“What are you doing here?” you hear Azriel hiss. 

“Rhys has no good wine left,” Cassian whines as he brushes past Azriel at the door. “Oh, hello again!” he says to you with a winning smile as he emerges from the entryway, somehow edging around the imposing shadowsinger. 

“Hi,” you say quietly, but not weakly, looking to Azriel for your cues. His face is unreadable, a dark storm clouding his features once more. 

“Wait up, you brute!” a female voice speaks, and Azriel’s face darkens further as a stunning female pushes her way in. You recognize her from the bar, she was one of the group Az had pointed out as his family. Mor , her name surfaces in your mind. She was the one who brought them all to Rita’s frequently. 

You could guess why she might prefer that particular spot, as her eyes rake over you. She flicks her hair flirtatiously. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she says boldly, extending a hand as you rise from Azriel’s couch, making your way to join them at the front of the room. You tell her your name, and she flashes you a smile, all teeth as she bites her lip. 

“Mor,” she offers. 

“Yes– it’s nice to meet you officially. Azriel has told me a bit about all of you,” you admit. 

“Really?” she says with genuine interest, looking at the shadowsinger curiously. Her mind seems to be working at top speed as she takes in the two of you, him sulking by the open door and you standing comfortably by the entryway to his sitting area, your glass of wine by his couch half empty. 

“Yes, well,” Azriel begins, trying to reel in his invading family, “we were just about to eat, so–”

“Yes, why don’t you join us!” you suggest. You miss Cassian’s shit eating grin and Azriel’s shocked expression as you turn to Mor. 

“We would hate to intrude,” Cassian lies. He’s schooled his face into one of total propriety, a convincing facade only to you. 

“No, it’ll be fun!” you encourage, finally looking to Azriel. 

You feel bad to take charge, but he is giving you no clues. Welcoming his family seems like a safe play. Even if they were crashing your date, you would be lying if you said you weren’t curious to get to know them after the bits and pieces Az has shared. 

Plus, you’d seen the way his eyes had flashed with alarm when you’d glanced at his lips. Maybe he’d be glad of the diversion... 

“If you insist,” Cassian drawls at the same time as Mor asks “What’s that smell?”

You grab her arm cheerfully to lead her into the kitchen, eagerly sharing about the enticing meal Az had prepared. 

Azriel grabs Cassian, holding him hostage in the entryway as the two females disappear into his home. “This was not the plan!” he spits in a furious whisper.

“It wasn’t your plan,” Cassian corrects in his most infuriating tone: superiority. 

Azriel just growls at him as they move inside, shooting him a look that says Don’t fuck this up for me . 

Cassian’s silent reply comes with mock innocence, Who, me?  

Azriel’s lethal retort is snuffed out as he registers your laugh from around the corner. “Be nice!” is all Az manages before he steps into the kitchen to investigate what potentially devastating story Mor is telling to make you laugh like that. Why did Cassian think that he needed babysitting? 

His anger bluffs as he takes in your red face, your grinning laughter directed at him. He can’t bring himself to feel upset when you’re giggling like a fool in his kitchen.  

“Did you really steal this wine from Amren on a dare?” you wheeze gleefully, hefting the open bottle with newfound interest. 

He mirrors your grin, “What kind of spy would I be if I admitted to it?”

You and Mor squeal at his response, she starts yelling at him that Of course he did it, he could never back down from a dare , and Cassian is laughing now too, butting in to tell you his side of the story, to explain his most elegantly devised dare, as Mor slaps his chest and reminds him about the many shots that had contributed to its flawed design. Azriel takes in the scene, so chaotic and so not what he had planned. You catch his eye from across the small room, your eyes shining with mirth. 

You seem perfectly at home, pouring two extra glasses of wine for your unexpected guests. He shakes his head affectionately, surrendering to the new program for the evening. 

As he sets the table for you and his family, he tries to remember why he was so angry just moments ago. That fire has faded to warmth, calm radiating from his chest at the familiar scene before him. 

Cassian seats himself first, and then Mor insists on sitting next to you, so Azriel ends up facing you across the table. You give him a small smile, a brief look meant just for him, as his brother piles food onto his plate with gusto. You see Azriel swallow his annoyance, his face betraying that he’d cooked those fucking rosemary potatoes for you, not Cass. They’re passed to you next, and you see him relax as you dish yourself a generous portion. As the dishes rotate, the smell of the simple feast nears heavenly. 

The chatter pitches higher too, Cassian asking you about Day and Mor describing the miracle that must have resulted in Azriel’s culinary art. Question after question is posed to you, apparently they find you as fascinating as you find them. 

This is nothing like you’d pictured, you think, as insults and compliments are exchanged around you. And you had pictured it, what meeting Azriel’s family would be like. What else were you supposed to do with yourself last night, having been declined sex after a nice date? 

It had been a clunky vision, more so based on your experiences with the formal dinners you’d attended for work than with meeting a partner’s friends and family. 

You’d struggled to picture how you could possibly connect with his inner circle, elite as they were. The daydream had been promptly abandoned after you’d failed to conjure anything remotely pleasant. Azriel was always charming as ever in the imagined scenarios, but you’d not factored in the wholly unpretentious warmth he has with his closest friends. 

You see that tenderness now as he rolls his eyes at the two imposing faeries, the pair of them representing a significant part of his family. A memory flashes in your mind at the sight, a memory of tenderness when he’d been admiring you in bed that morning a handful of days ago. But they'd all known each other for centuries. You’d known him for a handful of days. Was it foolish of you to dream that you’d earn a place in his world? You thought of the small case of belongings you’d brought with you from Day. Suddenly, it felt paltry, lacking, especially as you pictured your friends and work back at home. 

But who cares if your presence here is inconsequential in the long run? It matters to you that you are here now, and you’re pretty sure it matters to Azriel. You reaffix your smile, deciding to enjoy the moment you’re in. 

“Azriel is a total ladykiller,” Mor cackles, and you regret having zoned out during this particular story. Azriel snorts at her words, but you blush at their partial truth. 

“Yeah,” Cassian catches your attention by speaking your name in a questioning tone, “Can you fight?” 

“Only verbally,” you confess, a little nervous to admit it to your current company of seasoned warriors. 

Cassian grunts in acknowledgement, nonjudgmental. He narrows his eyes, humor dissipating as he assesses you. “We can work with that,” he decides, suddenly sounding serious. “I can teach you the basics, but Azriel might want to show you the more advanced maneuvers himself,” he says with a wink. 

Azriel blushes and glares at the innuendo, while Mor laughs around her bite. Yet the depth behind Cassian’s proposal strikes you. His offer assumes that you’ll be sticking around. 

“I’d like that,” you accept, smiling at the general next to you. 

Azriel feels his chest go weightless at your words, like he’s soaring high above the atmosphere. He flashes his brother a grateful look before clearing his throat. 

“Don’t go easy on her, Cass. She’s lying,” Azriel warns, with a mischievous glance at you. Your shadowsinger has certainly lost whatever hesitation he had earlier, his bold words matching his newfound audacity. “She was totally squaring up with some dipshit at Rita’s before I intervened.” 

You gape at him as Cass and Mor squawk. The two of them launch into an intense interrogation, demanding the full story. 

As you recall the evening in question, you feel yourself precariously close to an embarrassing blush. The mortal blow comes when Azriel laughs, the sound noon-bright and ringing, buzzing loud as gossip.   

Eventually, after several more glasses of wine, with empty plates to match, Azriel disentangles you from Mor and Cassian’s endless chatter. You’re reluctant to see your new friends leave, and the amused male only successfully ushers them out after you make Cassian swear to keep his promise to teach you to fight. Content, you wish everyone a good night and thank them for their warm welcome to the Night Court. 

Once the door closes, Azriel heaves out a good natured sigh. 

“What were you and Mor whispering about just now?” you pry, still giddy in the wake of your departed company. You liked them a lot, and you like who Azriel became around them, as laid-back as a seasoned spy could be. 

“She was telling me how my head might end up on a pike if I don’t watch myself,” he responds drily, and you notice him rub his temple harshly with a knuckle. 

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out.

His brows furrow, “Why?” 

“I totally invited them to stay when it wasn’t my place,” you explain, shaking your head in regret. “Did I totally ruin our date?” 

“Well I ruined the last one,” he says with humor, “so it was your turn.”

“What? No you didn't!” you defend him. 

You’re shocked by his candid words. The date had been a bit awkward at the end, but it wasn’t a disaster in your eyes. 

“Yes, I did.”

“What do you mean?” you search as you walk back into the kitchen to start cleaning up, “Like how we didn’t have sex?” Azriel chokes, his humor vanishing as you continue, “I was going to ask about that, but I figured it was a topic we should address privately.”

“Thank you for that small mercy,” he recovers. His shadows betray his agitation, floating jerkily around his shoulders in a confused dance. 

You realize with a start that he’s nervous. The war hardened fighter is unnerved by a conversation about sex. 

You’d really meant to ask earlier, but it wasn’t going to happen in front of Cass and Mor. The conversation at dinner had been enthusiastic and expansive, lighthearted at every turn. You’d assumed its levity was due to the fact that you were new, unfamiliar company. Now, seeing Azriel fight demons to self-reflect, you wonder if he ever really opens up to anyone, even his closest family members. 

In all fairness, you aren’t exactly thrilled to talk about it either. You're nervous too, painfully aware that there’s an obvious explanation as to why he didn’t sleep with you again. 

 The male sighs again at your inquisitive look, his hands scrubbing over his face like he can wipe away his confusion. His brows furrow. “I honestly don’t know why we didn’t,” he says quietly. 

You’re surprised at his answer. You’d expected more substance. 

“I wanted to, you know,” you admit, pride be damned. If you were going out, you wanted to leave all your cards on the table. 

“Really?” He mirrors your surprise. “I did too. I wanted you so badly, it scared me.” 

You look at the battle scarred warrior, unimpressed. Even slouching, which he never did, he would still stand at least a good head above you. 

You ask with disbelief, “ I scared you ?”

“Well… not exactly like that,” he explains, and he reaches out carefully to grasp your hand in his large palm. “I guess I was being… cautious. I wanted to be respectful.” 

His words shatter something fledgling in your heart. That was practically code for I’m trying to be nice, I don’t want to lead you on .  

“Oh.” You drop his hand, bracing yourself for the dreaded sting of rejection. 

As he sees your expression harden, Azriel curses himself inwardly. This isn’t going the way he’d strategized it at all. His forehead creases as he desperately tries to remember the points he and his brothers had mapped out to help him with this exact conversation. Maybe Cassian was right to spare him from being alone with you, if he’s fucked it up this quickly. 

Azriel thinks back to the previous night, when he had declined your invitation to come upstairs. He’d seen the chill on your face, a chill from his own closed door. You hadn’t pushed his boundaries. Rhys had pointed out to him that from his behavior, you probably couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Hell, even from inside his own head, Azriel was struggling to work out his thoughts. 

The gravity of his attraction to you is concerning. It was a dangerous thing, the weight of it as great and terrible as a sword in his hands. 

He wants your affection, he realizes. The trouble is: asking the spymaster to share his innermost secrets is like asking a busybody to keep just one. It went against his nature. 

He pictures you as you were when he first saw you, gearing up for a fight at Rita’s. You’d been fearsome as ever, confronting the challenge rather than running. He wills himself the same bravery. He is a fearsome warrior, he absolutely refuses to allow mere emotion to make him a coward. 

“I need you to understand something,” Azriel breathes, his wings tight as his expression. “I can’t do this if it’s just sex.” 

You set down a dish heavily, your once sun-soaked heart breaking. 

“If you, uh, don’t want this, that’s, that’s fine. I respect that,” you affirm, even as you’re reeling.

But then Azriel is shaking his head and wiping under your eyes, which you belatedly realize with embarrassment must mean that you’re crying. He’s trying to tell you how he feels and you’re crying on him. Gods! Get it together! you berate yourself. 

“No, no, no. Angel, look at me,” Azriel panics. You meet his gaze, and you see a tenderness there, as ripe and sweet as the summer plums you used to pick with your mother as a child. “Shit, I’m doing this all wrong,” he curses. 

“I can’t do casual,” he confesses, head still shaking, eyes gone glossy. 

“That’s okay, I get it if you don’t want this–”

“No! No, you don’t get it,” he interrupts, swearing and speaking your name with exasperated affection. “I do want this. I want you .”

You gasp, teeth kissing the air as he continues. 

“I want you. You said it wasn’t your place to invite them to stay tonight, but I want it to be your place. Fuck, I want to see you every day. I want to come home to you, and to know you’re waiting for me when I’m gone. And some days I want to wait for you too, and get jealous of the books you spend your time with.”  

You try to say something clever like What the fuck? or Huh? but you’re too shocked to do much more than stare open mouthed as he lays out his emotions for you. At least you’ve stopped crying. 

Azriel is looking at you as if you were personally responsible for every ounce of goodness he’s ever witnessed. It scares the shit out of you. How could he say all that? He doesn’t even know you. It doesn’t help that three seconds ago you thought he was going to kick you out. 

“Why me?” you finally manage. 

“I’ve never felt this way before,” he says, unblinking. 

In a total inversion of all Azriel had ever known, he felt an overwhelming impulse to bare his soul to you. You’d never been scared of him, even when he’d put on his most frightening persona at the bar. You’d taken his identity in stride, you’d even used it to flirt. 

He wants you to know him, he realizes. All of him. Even the darkest parts, the cruel, mean pieces with which he wouldn’t want to burden anyone but himself. For some unknown reason, at this moment, he can think of no greater honor than your involvement in his world, his reality, ugly as it may be. He hopes you’ll want it. 

He takes your hand and places it on his heart, gripping it over his chest. When he speaks, his voice is ragged, tender and raw. 

“You must know. You burn me,” Azriel confesses. “Surely you feel how you burn me.” 

What you feel is your heart in your throat, pulsing erratically at his words. The naked truth on his face frightens you. 

Your free hand reaches out to caress his high cheekbone as your mind whirls. His eyes close at the contact, his lips parted in silent prayer. 

“I feel it too.”

When your thumb brushes the edge of his bottom lip, those hazel eyes flutter open again. The energy between you is thicker than it was moments ago, something fresh set smoldering in his gaze. His chest heaves under your other palm. 

“You do?” he gasps, and you nod, words failing under the enormity of your emotion. 

He’s equally choked up, so he opts for actions instead, pulling you against him to capture your lips in a messy kiss. It’s all wine-breath and teeth, but it’s perfect. 

Your uncontrollable smile forces you to break away, and when you do he’s smiling at you just the same. His joy is infectious. For a long moment, you just smile at each other like fools, breathing each other's air in the sacred ambiance of the dim kitchen light. You linger in the quiet awe in the wake of your confessions.

When your mouths reconnect, the kiss turns feverish. It’s insatiable, your desire for him, as you suck his tongue, earning a satisfying whine from the hulking Illyrian. 

“Shit,” he groans as he lifts you.

You gasp as your weight shifts off your feet, and he sets you against his counter before reconnecting your panting mouths.  The insufferable Illyrian pushes one of his thighs between your legs, capturing your muffled groans with his warm mouth, tonguing away your soft cries. 

“Make me yours,” you whisper.

“Shit, baby, I think I’d do anything you ask if you say it just like that,” he whines against your mouth. 

He pulls away, standing between your legs like it's a place of special honor. 

“Bedroom?” he begs, shining with unchecked joy.

“Yes,” you eagerly agree. “We can break in the kitchen counter later.” His laughter rattles down the hallway as he carries you to his room. 

Once you’re through the doorway, his movements pause. A tender note hums to life amidst the excitement of your newfound connection. There’s a tender look on his face as he regards you with equal parts lust and affection. It’s a serious step for him, to have you here in his most personal place. 

You’re distracted by the new space as soon as he sets you down, fascinated with his room– his personal room, not the one kept for him at the House of Wind. It’s sparsely decorated, too, but there’s knick knacks and weapons lying around in characteristically organized fashion. 

“A lot of weapons…” you comment, humor bubbling up from your delight at the novelty of his affection and attention. 

There’s several swords on the wall, artfully placed in the columns between windows, and knives and spears are displayed in tasteful and accessible ways. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was compensating for something. Is that a halberd? you think. The last time you saw a halberd was in an illustration on an ancient manuscript. 

“What do you do for work again?” you joke.

He laughs, “I’m afraid the tools come with the trade.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that, but, I mean, seriously. That one?” You gesture above the balcony doors, where a grossly oversized sword rests. “Come on, Az!”

“Come on, I bet your place is full of books!” he counters.

You just scoff, so he knows he’s right.

“Come here,” he says, fondly. “You can inspect my quarters later, you freak.”

“Your freak,” you correct. 

“My freak,” he agrees. 

With that, Azriel grabs your waist, and pulls you in for a sumptuous kiss. The wine on his tongue goes right to your head, while the warmth of him goes due south. You pull away to tug meaningfully at his shirt, but he just follows to place expert kisses along your jaw. His work is so severe that you gasp–

“Shit, Az, I'm not paying you!” 

“Are you calling me a whore?” he answers playfully, unfastening his shirt at the back under his wings. He sucks on his teeth, pulling away to look you in the eyes. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, actually. The payment didn’t go through last time–”

“Oh, no–”

“–yeah, so if you could, perhaps, pay in hard gold this time, that would be–”

“Ah, okay. Could you do a payment plan?–” the two of you banter while he shrugs off his vest. You relish the view of his exposed chest. 

He plays into your shameless ogling, flexing to show off his whorling tattoos and the dark hairs trailing down beyond his leathers. The faelights surrounding the room cast a glow through the thin membrane of his wings, softly limning his form with warmth. You laugh at his peep show, but the sound is pitchy with your arousal. The toned male blushes. His easy humor may have returned, but vestiges of his shy personality still remain. 

You whistle softly, continuing to torture him with your attention. His blush deepens impossibly. He’s just so easy to tease, and when he reacts like that, it's easier still to justify. 

“Your turn,” he says, voice gravelly. 

“What first?” you muse suggestively, smoothing down your dress. 

“Boots,” he chooses. 

Before you can toe them off, Azriel sinks suddenly to the floor. The sight of him on his knees before you sends a thrill up your spine. 

Azriel, this most fearsome Illyrian, is totally surrendered to you. Heat throbs through your abdomen at the sight. He’s looking up at you through his lashes, his throat bobbing in anticipation as he pants below you. You haven’t even touched him yet, but his passion is evident, his eyes wild.

He gently grabs the back of your shins. “May I?”

“Please.”

He effortlessly unlaces your boots with capable hands. 

“I’m surprised you want them off,” you tease as he grasps your hands to steady you as you step out of them. 

“You look so sexy in them,” he agrees. “I am making a real sacrifice here, for your comfort.” His hand skims up the back of your calf, brushing your dress over your knee with his thumb. He places a kiss directly on your knee, heat flaring in your stomach at the soft brush. 

“You look sexy in this too,” he compliments. His eyes never leave yours as he hauls himself up, you dress falling back to cover your legs. 

“Would you be mad if I asked you to take it off?” His tone is toying, but his eyes are pools of hot desire. 

“Don’t be an ass,” you rasp, mad only with anticipation. 

Azriel slips two fingers under the straps on your shoulders, kissing your chest as he tugs them down your arms. You’re honestly impressed that he finds the hidden zipper at your side. Nothing escapes him, does it? 

His hands come to brush along your freshly exposed skin, whispering praises into your hot flesh. After he peels off your dress with zeal, you raise a finger in warning. 

“Be careful with that. I actually want it back!”

“I promise I won’t lose it this time.” 

“Your promise is nothing to me! You never found my shirt, huh?” 

“No,” he confesses with an exaggerated air of regret, blowing out his lips in sympathy. Your eyes narrow at his suspicious behavior. 

“How do I know that you didn’t just steal it like a creep so you could jack off with it or something?” you say with mock sensuality. 

“I wish,” he hums, thumbing the discarded material of your shimmering dress as if you’ve given him a brilliant idea. “Honestly, that would have helped me out the other night.”

Azriel freezes, his eyes widening as he realizes his slip. Your grin mirrors his horror at his admission. A dull ache blooms anew below your stomach. 

“Did you touch yourself to the thought of me?” you breathe. 

“Maybe.” 

His voice is thick even as he squirms under your riveted look. His wings flutter briefly before relaxing as he spots the excitement on your flushed face.  

“Fuck,” you groan. “That's hot. Please don’t be embarrassed, that’s so flattering!”

Your words do nothing to prevent the hot flush spreading across his cheeks and chest. You push him to the bed, giggling when he falls onto the cushions dramatically before unceremoniously shucking off his pants. 

He makes grabby hands at you, and you melt at the sight of him, disheveled and unarmed, and as excited as you were. He pulls you towards him, bringing you to rest on his bare thigh. 

You kiss his sternum, looking up at him through your lashes. 

“I want you to show me.” 

Azriel pauses, and his breathing goes a little uneven. 

“Show you?” he repeats, his eyes blown out as you rub encouraging circles into his shoulder from your perch on his thigh.  

“I want you to touch yourself,” you purr. “Show me how you like it.”

His brows twitch, his eyes going predatory under heavy lids.

“It might be your last opportunity for a while, since I’m gonna be pretty fucking jealous of that hand if it steals too much time in my territory,” you admit with a meaningful glance towards his crotch. 

He laughs at that, but it doesn’t dampen the flame in his vision. 

“Okay,” he murmurs devilishly. “Get comfortable.”

It will be a cold day in hell when Azriel denies such a request from you.

He makes a show of shifting to rest comfortably against the cushions, his wings extending lazily to drape across the pillows and trailing to the floor. The wide expanse of his chest shines in the low faelight, his swirling tattoos prominent even in the dimness. The hard ridges of his muscles contract rhythmically in time with his powerful lungs. His nipples are hard, he shivers in the slight chill as he rubs a hand through his dark hair, tugging roughly. 

You come to rest just above his knee on his left thigh, essentially kneeling in the center of his bed. The slight contact has you boiling as you watch him trail a hand along his torso, one hand still teasing his hair. Your focus trails his toned abdomen down to his prominent arousal. 

“Well you won’t have to use your imagination, like I did, for the first part,” he begins lowly, “because, if you must know, I was already this hard before I could get out of my leathers.”

  If you weren’t dripping already, you are now. You’d been joking earlier, but this show really was worth some hard gold. Anyone would kill to see the fearsome Illyrian splayed out like this. 

Azriel hisses as he strokes slowly down his abs, his chest rising and falling in a tortured cadence. After some time stimulating himself in this way, his moans become breathy. 

With one hand, he deftly pulls himself out of his undershorts, and you can’t help yourself from reaching out to slide them a little further down his hips. Your mouth falls open at the sight of his sharp hip bones and the delicious stretch leading to the base of his heavy cock. 

Its red tip bobs temptingly at your knee, but you restrain yourself. You shift slightly, looking for some relief, and your knee accidentally brushes the edge of his wing. His hips buck involuntarily, a whine falling from his lips at the contact. 

“Shit, baby,” he cries. He hasn’t even touched himself, but his dick is straining against his stomach. 

“Sorry,” you say weakly.

“Liar,” he growls, seeing the hunger in your gaze. 

You shrug, unapologetic. Let him see what he did to you. It was his funeral at the moment.

He was focused on you, indeed, eyes roving around your naked form as he flexed his thigh beneath you. You start to circle your hips, your breasts bouncing with the sudden movement, until you hear him hum in pleasure. He was getting off from the vibration. 

“Don’t cheat,” you scold. 

He just whines, reluctantly stopping his thigh flexes. 

“Good boy. I’d hate to have to punish you, baby,” you warn.

You meant it playfully, but his breathing falters and his wings twitch. Interesting. You file the information away for another time.

His fingers catch your attention as they come to play with the soft underbelly of his cock, just under the head. He used two fingers to rub small circles on the tender flesh. The spot was right where it had landed on your tongue when you’d taken him in your mouth briefly the other night. Again, interesting. 

“This- this is supposed to be erotic,” Azriel struggles, “and you’re studying me like, like…”

“You’re a very compelling study,” you inform him in your most sensual voice as he struggles to speak.

“Fuck,” he says, “don’t tease me.” 

But you see the effect your praise has on him. His fingers finally circle his length fully, pulling short strokes at the head. The whimper that falls from your lips would be embarrassing if it wasn’t so melodic in company with his grunts and moans. His expression is so unguarded, lit as it is by ecstasy. 

“You’re doing so good for me,” you murmur. 

The shadow singer's back arches off the bed at one particularly harsh tug, his rhythm never faltering. His accuracy is almost uncanny. He must have honed the art of his pleasure with the same rigor and precision as the rest of his work. The test of the room fades as your focus is wholly captured by the male sighing below you. You’re obsessed with the unholy picture of his hand wrapped around his cock.

His shadows shift along his wings in time with his strokes. Sluggishly, you realize they must be stimulating him as well. The thought renders the ache at your core unbearable. 

Even through his euphoria, Azriel is receptive to your every expression. He sees your frustration.

“What do you need, angel,” he hums. 

You respond reflexively, your hips grinding into his thick thigh. Your face heats as you register the motion. It was just what you needed, though. You certainly didn't want him to stop what he was doing, his fist pumping wickedly.  

“Go on then,” he purrs.

The desire in his eyes encourages you to resume the motion, rocking your pelvis against the solid muscle of his thigh. 

“You look so perfect,” he praises. 

“And you’re sex incarnate, Az.”

You position yourself further up his thigh, balancing on your shins as your knees brush his wingtips again. You’re rewarded with a throaty groan for your flirting. The sight and vibration of your riding his thigh has the male slowing his hand, and gripping at the base of his cock. You’re not faring any better. 

You brace yourself against his chest with your arms, both of you sensitive to the barest touch. The slight pressure on his chest has him hurtling towards the edge again. As he holds off his own strokes, he sends his shadows towards your form, your makeshift rules be damned.

The sighs you breathe are far from a complaint. His shadows lick up your form with tender phantom touches, and you feel the pleasure build in your core. Your rhythm starts to slip as you chase your release. His sculpted thigh should not be making you feel this good, but you start to see stars and you know the male can’t be fully mortal.

“That’s it, baby, let go,” he pants, as enthralled with your euphoria as he is with his own. 

You barely register his praises as your orgasm shatters you, his shadows licking along with the pleasure racing through your body. As the waves wrack you, he drinks in your scrunched features, the soft cavity of your gasping mouth. You meet his eyes as you hurtle over the edge, the image of his carnal devotion seared into your mind. It would be unnerving if it wasn’t such a reflection of your own feral interior.   

“That was so hot,” Azriel praises. 

“Pervert. You were supposed to be giving me a show,” you pant, frowning as you catch your breath. 

“I think I gave you a proper show, if that was your reaction.” 

He’s earned a smug attitude, you figure. Your vision is still a little blurry, but you feel his shadows and fingers rubbing soothing patterns along your upper thighs. A different warmth blooms as you cool down from your blistering orgasm. 

As you marvel at the intimacy of his gestures, Azriel’s head is clearing enough to fully appreciate the sight of you in his bed. 

He had been on the brink of the most mind blowing orgasm of his life, yet he doesn’t even care about the urgency he’s feeling from his dick as he commits the image of you in his room to memory. It feels so right to have you here, just like it felt right to share a drink with you at Rita’s, and to sit down for a meal with you with his family. 

Azriel reflects on the thought he’d had days ago, how he’s fallen into the gravity of powers like this before, but never in such blissful hues. His mind flashes back to battles he’s fought, the enemies he’s faced. Every time, the contact of such powers results in a brief conflict, a decisive end. The conclusion is inevitable; the force of the challenge undeniable in its strength and direction. This attraction, though. What to make of it? 

The intensity is similar– his current adrenaline certainly feels like he’s just seen someone draw a sword, but it’s different. Your power was a challenge, but an invitation too. 

The feeling is like the gravity in his gut at the beginning of a flight, when he’s leaping off of a cliff, that brief tension borne in the short moment between the stability of the ground and the strength of his wings. The feeling is prolonged, like he’s suspended there with you. 

He finds that he doesn’t mind it so much, with you there, caught up in it just as much as he is. Besides, he’s tired of keeping everyone at arm’s length, he decides. He’s always loved flying, even if he came to it later than the others. Why should love be any different?

“Can you fuck me now?”

Your unsubtle words break his delicate reverie.  Oh, he’s in serious trouble, he thinks as he sees you bite your lip. 

“I’m not going to last,” he warns. 

“Same here,” you admit. You were already feeling overstimulated, you doubt you’ll last long at his pace. “I want to feel you though.”

He presses a messy kiss to your mouth, savoring the moment. You’re just as unhurried, glad to linger in any moment with the gorgeous male below you. Strong hands guide you to straddle his hips, his legs bent slightly to support your lower back as he leans against the headboard. 

When he finally enters you, he groans lowly. 

“Fuck, I’ve missed this.”

Your response is garbled by your euphoria. What you feel is euphoric relief, his cock filling you with a satisfying burn. Despite his size, the pain is minimal, your wetness helping him slide in easily. He grips your forearms, bringing your hands to anchor on his shoulders. 

“It’s like you were made for me,” he slurs, delirious already. 

The position is intimate. As he begins to rock you over his hips, your focus falls to explore the stunning male. Azriel is so fucked out already, raw from having edged himself earlier. His body is slick with perspiration, his face set in concentration, eyes blown out. Your hands on his shoulders are broiling with his heat. 

His dark hair falls limply against the cushions, and his wings are hanging loosely, like he has no extra stamina to hold his posture. He meets your gaze, and the eye contact somehow feels even more intimate than the position you’re in. He seems entranced. The agony on his face is underscored by his attention fixed on your every move. It's like he’s seeing your soul, plucking the thread of your need and following it faithfully. 

Using his broad shoulders as leverage, you start to fuck yourself on him. You’re rewarded with a stuttering groan as his hips thrust in time to meet you. Your head falls back in pleasure when your clit is ground deliciously against the coarse hair at the base of his pelvis as you bounce on him. Between his thick cock and his hard abdomen, you're perfectly stimulated. 

The room becomes thick with the heat and scent of your sex. All of your senses are riveted to the male below you, to the pleasure being delivered to your core. Soft sighs and deep groans fill the air as you fuck at an agonizing pace. 

His hands release their death grip on your hips, moving to explore your thighs and chest. The rough sensation of his hands over your skin is fuel to the fire of your appetite. 

Desperate for somewhere to release your energy, you lean forward to connect your mouths. He hums in delight at the sudden kiss. You taste his sweat and his fervor, and it’s intoxicating. 

When you pull away, his lips are shining with spit. Azriel looks like a male possessed. 

“Shit, angel. Can we do this, like… all the time?” he begs. 

“We haven’t even– even finished, and you’re– you’re thinking about doing it again?” you manage. 

“Can you blame me?” he retorts. He emphasizes his words with a particularly vicious thrust that has you gasping. 

“Please,” you cry. “We had better do this often.”

“ Awesome ,” he cheers breathlessly with a small smile to himself. 

Your heart sputters at the sweetly boyish comment. Here he was, inside you, and he was excited at the idea of fucking you again later. It isn't just your body either, which was a major plus, but he likes you . Earlier he’d confessed that he wants more than sex. He wants to bring you into his life in a more serious way too. 

You envision yourself bringing some belongings here, working at the library during the day, dining with Azriel and his family in the evenings. And at night, he would bring you here, to his bed, where he would ravish you. You relax into his body further as you realize you’ll have many opportunities to fuck him. He’d gotten excited earlier when you’d suggested some kinkier things. And, sure, he’d laughed when you’d joked about fucking in the kitchen, but he’d not seemed opposed. 

“Are you with me?”

You blink, coming back to the present. If you were going to blame him for getting excited about future sexual escapades in the middle of fucking, you were guilty too. Thankfully, your body kept up the rhythm on reflex, cause you were just miles away in a diaphanous dream of your mutual future. 

“There she is,” he smiles at you fondly as he rocks you mercilessly onto his cock. 

His stamina was impressive. Despite your fatigue, arousal has your body pulsing with adrenaline. The familiar pressure mounts in your abdomen as you grind onto him. 

As he eases your pleasure along, he’s transfixed by the sight of your bodies meeting, your hips swallowing him into your soaking hole. The feeling of your nails scraping at his scalp plunges him further into rapture, the slight sting heightening his sensitivity. 

“I’m close,” you warn him. 

“I’m with you, angel,” he pants. “Come on, baby.”

You abandon your bouncing to grind selfishly against him, chasing your bliss. He’s content with the debauched sight and the warmth of you around him. When your hand tugs his hair again, his dick twitches. Then your fisted knuckles brush his wings ever so delicately and his hips lurch, his shadows rioting. 

Azriel is dangerously on the edge, but he’s determined to watch you unravel first, his competitive and generous spirits united under his indecent desire to see you come undone. Even as he appears depraved, he feels devoted. Your ecstasy was his own. 

One last delicious shift of his cock scraping your walls, and your release staggers you. Your eyes flutter shut as crystalized bliss shatters over you. His scent envelops you, the salt of sweat mixing with tangy citrus. It transports you to a realm of bliss, where the only presence is yours and his, a delicious meeting of your senses. 

The agonizing image of your ecstasy has him spilling inside you, his whines cresting as he climaxes. His teeth scrape yours in a sloppy openmouthed kiss. You ride out your orgasms, hips jerking erratically, waves of pleasure ebbing languidly. 

You’re left with a warm buzz, even the discomfort of your stickiness feels rather like sweetness as you take in the glorious male. When your eyes catch, his lips curl into a smile. Your heart skips a beat at the tender sight of him spent and glowing beneath you. His shadows bleed into the cushions, baring him to you completely. 

“Can I lie down?”

“Please,” he shifts to help you off of him. 

You hiss as he slips out of you. “Sorry,” he mumbles, concerned. 

“You’re good.”

“Are you okay?” His shadows rove over you, assessing for damage, and he winces at the mess between your thighs. You laugh at his concern, waving it off. 

“I feel great. Just overstimulated,” you assure him as you curl into his pillows, your muscles grateful for the break. He nods and kisses your temple. The gesture is endearing, even as your thighs burn. You pull him down to rest next to you. 

His eyes never leave yours, monitoring your movements and drinking in the image of you snuggled into his bed. You reach out to trace his features, avoiding the intensity of his gaze. It isn’t uncomfortable, you’re just so overloaded already; you aren’t sure you can handle its palpable energy. His skin is soft under your fingers, the fleshiness of his sharp face surprising you. Azriel hums under your soothing touch. 

The unmistakable sentiment in his gaze has you melting into the comfort of his cushions, utterly relaxed. After all the uncertainty of the past few days, the surety of this moment is crisp, intoxicating. Nothing was guaranteed, of course, but you like your odds with him. You'd never been one to back down from a challenge. 

“I thought you were going to ask me to leave,” you confess into the tender silence of the aftermath.

He frowns. “When?” 

“Before,” you explain. “Right before you told me how you felt.”

He groans, regret clouding his features. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t made things easy for you. I definitely didn’t want you to leave.” 

You shrug. You’re here now, what was passed is past. “You’re worth a little torture.” 

“Why did you think that?” he asks, ignoring your lighthearted response. He avoids your eyes, fidgeting absently with the edge of the duvet. 

“Well,” you begin, unsure of how honest to be. You opt for full truth, the words rushing out of you. “You didn’t fuck me! I was throwing eyes at you all night and things were going well–”

“Things were going well? Do you really think that?” he interrupts. “‘Cause Cass said I ‘grilled you on border security’.”

You snort at his air quotes. 

“Well, yeah,” you frown, recalling the conversation, “but only after I asked you about how recovery efforts were going here, which is kind of a killjoy topic anyways.”

“We suck at this,” he decides brightly. 

“Excuse you!” you leap to defend yourself. “I'm amazing at this– anyways! Totally not the point. You didn’t respond to my hints, so I thought maybe you’d changed your mind, and that you weren’t into me.” 

Azriel shakes his head, and his rough fingers tenderly brush your hair away from your face.

“You were way off target, cause I’m totally into you. Remind me never to hire you for intelligence,” he teases, the words affectionate. 

“In my defense, you are kind of hard to read,” you admit.

He hums, not denying it.

“Holy shit! See? I was just about to tell you off and you slithered out of it!” you look at him, equally impressed and incredulous at his evasive skills. 

Now it's his turn to be unnerved, clearly caught out by your acute perception. You’re satisfied with yourself. 

“Wow. Okay, I'll take it back, you’re hired,” he dodges. You don’t take the bait. His words make you think about his long career in intelligence. Suddenly, it makes perfect sense how he struggles with expressing himself verbally. He knew firsthand what the wrong words falling into the wrong ears could do. Pair that with whatever other… unique emotional baggage he has going on… shit. He’s probably actually very well adjusted, given everything he’s experienced. 

Shit. She’s good , he thinks as you watch him silently. It was a classic technique, one he used often in interrogations. 

He sighs. “Alright. So you may have picked up that I’m… guarded.”

“ No ,” you say with sarcasm. 

“ Yes ," he laughs, before groaning and sitting up to look you in the eyes as he continues. “I’m sorry I wasn't upfront about how I felt. Like I said, I can't do casual. So I didn't know what I was doing. I was trying to protect myself from, well, doing what I did, and spilling my guts to you.”

“You were very brave to do that,” you tell him seriously. 

He rolls his eyes.

“No, I mean it,” you press, suddenly sure of your recent revelation, desperate to assure him. “I’m glad you decided to trust me. I’m honored.”

You really are. Every glimpse you’ve gotten into his inner world has only deepened your affection for him. Strangely, you feel like you fit into his world, as new as it all is to you. 

Occasionally in your work, you would come across a book from the archives, and it would be just what you needed for your project, even though you hadn’t known it had existed. What a thrill it always was, to find a gift in the world, unasked for and unplanned. The same sweet serendipity floods your senses now, as Azriel’s eyes shine with emotion. 

“I might need you to be patient with me,” he whispers, like the words are too dangerous to handle in the open.

“Of course. Whatever you need,” you promise him. 

With that, you press a kiss to his lips, thick with feeling.

His hand grips your jaw, holding you there to convey the depth of his adoration. He strokes your face fondly.

You pull him close, and he envelops you in his strong arms and soft wings. You lay there for a while, nestled in the security of his warmth. 

“Bath?” he offers eventually.

You hum thoughtfully. “Honestly? I’m too tired to move.”

“I’ll carry you.”

A luxurious soak later, Azriel slips one of his shirts over your clean, drowsy form. Drained as you are, you keep yourself awake to watch him towel his hair dry from your place on his duvet. 

You exhale abruptly, and his attention fixes on your drawn brows. You raise them as you finally ask the question you’ve been deliberating. 

“I was just thinking… you have libraries here, right?” you search meaningfully. 

“Yes, we do,” he answers casually, lips curling into the beginnings of a smile. “There’s one just down the hall, actually.” 

“Huh?”

“Why do you ask?” Azriel continues coyly, coming to stand before you. “Are you thinking of settling down here, or something?” 

“I said, huh ?” you repeat. Does he have a home library? Oh, you’re a goner. 

“Come on, I’ll show you.” 

You shake your head in amusement. “You are so full of secrets,” you accuse.

“Full of surprises,” he corrects, rewarding you with a wide grin. 

You wonder if you’d ever reach the last of them, you muse as the lovesick Illyrian moves to make good on his words. You imagine you never will, but it sounds like a nice fate to die trying. 

After all, it seems like you’ll be needing a new hobby, now that you’ll have to give up recreational flirting. Azriel is happy to keep you occupied. 

✸✸✸ 

Later, when the night was deep, the stars shining brightly with the soft promise of new beginnings, Azriel remembers a threat that he needs to make good on. 

I’m gonna fucking kill you guys , Azriel projects to Rhys and Cassian. You’ll never see me coming. It will be long, and painful. NEVER mess with my plans – never again!

Well! Rhys' response arrives instantly, dripping with sarcasm. That sure was a delayed reaction… I hope you’ve had a productive evening.

Cassian’s reply is more direct. You’re welcome, brother dearest!  

Despite his vexation with his brothers, Azriel smiles into the dark, content as he is to have you in his arms. He thinks dimly of your face under the flashing lights at Rita’s, how close he had come to losing his nerve to speak to you, how grateful he’d been to have an excuse to talk to you, and how foolish he’d felt when he left you alone on your doorstep after your last date. 

His racing mind quiets as he traces your features, sleeping soundly in his bed. He has no intention of letting you go this time. 

_

A/N: I hope y’all enjoyed!! I really fell in love with these two. It was so fun crafting their dynamic in part one, I had to expand the plot a little to allow their connection to develop more in this one. Sorry to make you read like 9k of plot and banter before the sexy part! 

Here’s a little of my thought process behind this part 2: The more I thought about it, I just realized Azriel can’t do casual relationships. 

In the books, it’s heavily implied that he pined after Mor for centuries, so like he’s a truly long-suffering loverboy. It would actually be so out of character for him to casually date. Even if he were to turn a new leaf and pursue someone, he's too guarded, too high profile to be comfortable with just a fling. If he’s in, he’s all in. 

So I was like how do we break the ice? I imagined that Cass and Rhys could sense how invested he was in Reader, and that they knew he’d flounder in his attempts to approach it casually. Devotion and quiet intensity are just so key to Azriel’s personality. I wanted to explore what it would look like if he felt the green light from someone - personally I think it would unlock some of his private nature and allow him to safely express his feelings (which we see him try for the first time here!). Normally, I don't like it when fics have a love confession after one whole date, but in this case it just felt right.  

Not to write a thesis and spend hours critically thinking so that my premises perfectly align to support my porn with plot LOL just girly things :) 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

now wait just a second...

asdvasvyosdviavias I know I haven't commented at all about the 5th anniversary songs or the stories that go along with them, but... I HAVE to comment on Savanaclaw's because it made me do a double take OTL

So the previous dorms (Scarabia, Ignihyde, and Octavinelle) have its dorm members split up to practice on their own before regrouping and then practicing their respective dorm's song together. Savanaclaw does the same thing--but, um... Leona phones up Ruggie and instructs him to go and secretly record the other dorms practicing their own routines. He wants to confirm that the direction of their performance is different than that of the other dorms. Ruggie goes and does it, but then accidentally lets it slip to Jack, who of course scolds his dorm members for doing something so unsportsmanlike. THEN LEONA TELLS HIM IT'S NOT ILLEGAL SO IT'S FINE???? And Jack goes along with it because technically his dorm leader's right 💀 But then when they're done practicing, Leona tells Yuu + Grim to make sure no one sees their practice. What a hypocrite 🤡 Whatever it takes to win, I guess????

(I want to point out that in Octavinelle's section, Azul chides Floyd for dancing in the hallway because it's such a public space; what if other dorms see them practicing??? Which, of course, is really ironic considering the fact that Ruggie is actually secretly recording them. Funnily enough, the recording cutscene has Ruggie catching Azul on video, not Floyd.}

While it's not out of character for him to resort to these kind of tactics, Leona's oddly SUPER invested in making his mark on an industry he doesn't seem to care much about 😂 I seem to recall him taking issue with Rook's suggestion that he audition for VDC/SDC in book 5. Leona calls the competition a "kids' show" even though it's described in-universe to be very respectable, attracting guests from all over, and is even responsible for launching careers in the entertainment industry. He also seems to resent that Vil is there (even though Vil is the Pomefiore student Ruggie happens to record practicing in Blazing Jewel).

Is the sudden interest in winning a similar competition where Vil is still present (in Blazing Jewel) considered a canon divergence, since event stories don't always match up with main story content? Or can we assume that Blazing Jewel takes place after VDC/SDC (ie mid-March/Twst JP anniversary/NRC Founding Day), and Leona may have changed his mind since then? Though I guess maybe he's okay with Blazing Jewel and not VDC/SDC since he's in charge of his own group in the former and Vil is in charge in the latter. Has he really changed much if he's only willing to compete if he's the boss/j Guess it’s a matter of pride? In any case, Leona seems to really be gunning for victory in the ongoing event--I'm guessing not because he gives a rat's ass about singing and dancing, but just because he wants to prove he his dorm is the best one + have their handprints taken down in entertainment history.

P.S. To NO ONE'S surprise (least of all mine), Savanaclaw's song is about overturning an unfair world and capturing a "bright light" (which I assume is the crown/being at the top). The song name, DIADEM, even refers to a jeweled crown or headband worn as a symbol of sovereignty. If the song wasn't already assigned to them by some third party, I'd have accused Leona himself of having written those lyrics 💀

[outsideratheart]

It started as a lie (Leah Williamson x F1!Reader) - SNIPPET

A/N: Sorry, Sorry, Sorry. I know it’s later than I said but here’s the a snippet of my upcoming Leah fic.

It wasn’t often that you found yourself in London if not for work but tonight was different. You had been invited to The Emirates as a guest of the club to watch Arsenal play Manchester United. It wasn’t something that was at the top of the list especially when you were preparing for the final races of the season. Still, here you were cheering on the Arsenal.

After the game finished your manager tells you that there’s someone that wants to meet you before escorting you into a conference room.

There at the longer than normal table sits Leah Williamson who you found out minutes before the game had suffered a shoulder injury which would sideline her for the rest of the year.

“Y/N, I believe you know Leah Williamson” your manager turns your attention to the blonde.

“We’ve met briefly at Silverstone this year. She was in Aston’s garage” you said a bit sourly.

“I was a guest" she says which earns a nod of the head from you.

The two of you sit in silence as your managers seemingly discuss something mentally. You can see them looking at each other then their eyes go to you and Leah.

Subtly you steal a glance at the woman beside you and it takes everything in you not to stare. Leah was at the forefront of women's football and it seemed that her face was all over your socials not that you were complaining. Leah on the otherhand felt very nervous in your presence. The energy that radiated from you was unlike anything she had felt before. 

"You are two of the most popular and influencial women in sport right now" Leah's manager tells you.

"Multiple brands want to work with you but all of the big ones say the same thing" your manager looks at you when she says this because she knows you know what is about to say.

"They cannot invest or have someone be the face of their brand if they do not know who that person is" you finish her sentance with an evident annoyance in your tone.

You push your chair back and begin pacing the room. This is not new information but you still cannot figure our why you are once again being told this only tonight it's at The Emirates.

"Y/N" Leah has a gentle look on her face "come sit down and they can tell us why we're here" 

"Sorry Leah, I don't like-"

"Not knowing? Me too"

The two of you find a small level of comfort know that the other also has no idea why they were here nor did they like not knowing.

Your managers a share a look thats says 'this is a good sign'.

"As I was saying before you interupted" you mumble an apology which earns a chuckle from Leah "Brands what to know the people who are representing them and you two are very secretive with your personal lives"

This didn't come without reason. You and leah were under a huge spotlight and it lead people to believe that had a right to know everything about you. This is something both of you disagreed with. If it is related to the track or the pitchen then yes they can know but everything else is off topic.

"You are also two of the most marketable athletes in the world right now. We wouldn't be doing a good job as your managers if we didn't want to act on this" Leah's manager, who's name you still don't know, says.

You didn't know this woman but you didn't like what she was saying. If Leah's sharp intake of breathe is anything to go by then she wasn't happy about it either.

"I have a feeling neither of us are going are going to like what you're going to say next so why don't you get to the point" this had already pissed you off and you didn't even know what this was.

"I'm with Y/N. You are both dancing around which means you know we won't like it"

The managers once again remained silent which was a mistake on their point. The longer they leave you and Leah waiting they know the worse the reaction will be.

"We think you would both benefit if you were to be seen more together in public"

You didn't understand what the blonde's manager was getting at. 

"Is this your way of asking for garage passses? Being in Mercedes' garage would be much more fun that Aston's" you laughed. If this is all they wanted they could have asked. This meeting really wasn't neccessery.

"Leah will be in the garage much more often but not as your guest, as your girlfriend"

"What the fuck?" Leah was shocked at what she was hearing and she wasn't the only one.

"Leah's right. What the fuck. She isn't my girlfriend, tonight is the first time we have met"

The two of you were beyond confused and growing more agitated.

"We have been talking about this for a while now and the two of you will start a relationship or you will as far as the public is aware. The fans will eat this up and sponsors will love the two of you together"

"Don't get me wrong, Leah you are beautiful but my focus is on my career. I am near the end of the season and am battling Lewis for the championship"

"Thank you" Leah wanted to blush at the compliment but there were bigger things to adress "You know I'm focusing on this season and the Euros are next summer"

Your manager's knew that you two would fight the decision and that is why they aren't asking for your permission. 

"We both know you are focused on your career but that is why this makes sense. You are both very similar. Please try this"

"What happens?" You ask. You weren't happy with this but you always made sure to find out all the information before making a decision.

"Do we go on a date, see if this is a good match and go from there?" Leah also wanted to know the logistics of this stunt.

"Not exactly. The contract would be for just over one year" Leah's manager explains.

"The two of you will be, as far as the public knows, exclusive until the end of next year's Formula 1 season"

There were too many things in the two sentences that didn't sit well with you. Contract and one year were the two big ones.

"I'm am focusing on winning the championship and you don't think I can do that without being in a relationship?" you looked your manager dead in the eye as this question was aimed directly at her.

"and as for you, sorry I never got your name" you turned your attention to Leah's manager "Leah is going to captain England next year and you think now is the best time to start a relationship, a fake relationship?"

The woman beside you liked that you were thinking of her and truth be told you were much better at voicing your opion that she was. Leah was at a complete loss for words.

"We suggest you tell a couple of friends, ones that you trust, so that they can help sell the relationship. The strategy is to do this on social media"

Strategy. Clearly the two of them have thought long and hard about this arrangement,

"I won't tell my parents. They would expect better of me and I cannot lie to them" Leah explains.

"but if you—"

"You heard Leah, no parents. You have brought this to us and make it clear that is isn’t a choice. What is a choice is who we lie to because that is what you are asking us to do. Also, no contract”

All of you agree the terms and what the next year will look like. Leah will come to as many races as she can, including the next two seen as though she cannot play and the physio’s instructions right now are no physical activity. You will try to make it to as many Arsenal or England games which will be little due to the race schedules. 

Tonight has been a lot for both you and Leah so when the evening comes to a close you are both glad to be going home. 

“Leah, maybe Y/N could take you home tonight?” Her manager suggested.

“So that’s why you were insistent on picking me up. For the record I don’t like being tricked” Leah was clearly just as mad with her manager as you were yours.

“We have just met, don’t you think this is a bit much?” You understand that in the future this might be regular occurrence but right now it all seemed like a lot.

The two of you are met with silence once again so the two of you just nod. An awkward silence fills the halls of the emirates as you walk to the small and exclusive car park within the stadium. Truth is neither of you knew what to say to the other. You were strangers but somehow you were suppose to be a couple when out in public. 

“I’m sorry you have to do this” Those are the words that you say.

“Don’t be. I get why this is happening and whilst I wish it wasn’t, there are worse people to be fake in a relationship with”

“Wow, that’s quite the compliment. Thank you so very much”

Leah playfully shoved you.

“What I’m saying is that I think we could get along well. As for the faking it, well I’m sure we have both wore a mask in front of the public before. This is like that only different”

What she said wasn’t a lie but this felt so much more than having a smile on your face when you are anything but happy on the inside. 

The two of you exit the stadium and can see fans standing by the doors. you weren’t in the best mood so the last thing you want to do is stop but Leah grabs you hand. Something you don’t expect so you pull away.

“Physical touch is not your thing, look at us getting to know each other. It would be good if the fans got photos of us leaving together, don’t you think?” She said quietly as not to be overheard.

You shake off the comment about physical touch and reply to the second part of her sentence.

“Ok, let’s go over” 

Given that you were at The Emirates with one of the faces of the team you choose to give Leah space as she spoke to the fans. For a brief moment you watched her as she gave the fans her full attention. You knew this before but she really was one of her good ones, one that was way too good for you.

“Yes, that’s her. She’s a little bit shy” This got your attention and caused you to blush ever so slightly  “Y/N, come here. This girl, Sophie, is a big fans of yours” 

You never were the best with fans. Surely you gave them your time, took as many photos as they wanted and signed whatever they put in your hands but the social aspect of it is something you struggled. Leah on the other hand took to it with ease. You knew that people picked up on your shyness but they often saw it as you being rude. Maybe your manager hoped Leah could bring you out of your shell a bit and make you more approachable. This thought caused you to shake your head because it was already working.

The two of you talked to the fans for a couple of minutes before walking towards your car, a Mercedes-Benz SL Pagoda. You didn’t have many cars in London but this is one of the very first you bought when you joined the team 5 years ago.

“Any chance I can drive?” Leah ask even though she knew the answer.

“No, no you cannot. Let’s me see how you drive your car before I let you drive one of mine”

“One of? Just how many cars to do have?” 

“In London or in total?”

That gave Leah all the information she needed to know. 

The two of you found yourself in silence only this one wad slightly more comfortable than the other. you gave Leah the AUX lead as you got in the car. She spent the entire drive on her phone whilst you focused on the road. When you pulled up to her house you didn’t know what to do. Do you do the chivalrous thing and open her door or is that too much? By the time you finished overthinking that act wasn’t an option as Leah had already gotten out.

Before she closed the door she leaned back down.

“I know this isn’t what neither of us want but we can do a year. FYI I am going to tell Georgia Stanway, Keira Walsh and Lia Walti”

Leah was much more prepared than you. Perhaps that is what she was doing on her phone.

“Ermmm… I haven’t really thought about it but I’ll probably tell Lewis and Charles, maybe Lando if I decide I can trust him with this”

The blonde nodded.

“I guess I’ll see you at the weekend” 

“You will. I’ll be the one driving the really fast car” Why you said that, you have no idea. Was it your way of sounding confident or funny? If Leah’s chuckle is anything to go by then it was the latter.

[kingofbodyrolls]

Say I Do (m) | jjk

*this is a re-upload since I deleted my old account 🫣

You and Jungkook tease each other at your wedding reception.

→ Pairing: jungkook x female reader (no Y/N and unnamed) → AUs: non-idol!au, wedding!au → Genres: smut– like it’s just smut, nothing else 🤣 → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!) → Word count: 5.2k → Warnings/tag: unprotected sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, public sex, handjob, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, slightly rough sex, choking, biting, spitting, ass grabbing, impreg kink, degrading names (whore used once). → Author’s note: I made this for my lovely friend Lua (@letjungcoook7)!!!! SURPRISE!!!! I hope you like it! I was inspired to make this because of our chat, and I just want to say that you are so fucking lovely, sweet and kind 💖 I really hope this isn’t too much, but I just had too 🥹 I really wanted to make it dirty, but it ended up being more sweet instead, I’m sorry! I would talking to you and I just wanted to let you know that I adore and treasure you 😘 Honestly Lua, I just wrote this to tell you how beautiful you are– mind, body and soul. Thank you Lua, I love ya 💜 This is just something very short while I work on ‘My Heart’s Home’. But I hope you like it, and please let me know what you think: my inbox is always open, and I love to hear from you, even a reblog/comment will put a big smile on my face 💜 Also!!! This is written from Jungkook’s POV (well I tried, lol). And normally I don’t describe the reader/MC, but she does have a tiny bit description in this, but I still feel it’s vague enough. But if that isn’t your thing, it’s completely fine 🙂 This is not proofread (because I’m too lazy for that right now). → Read on AO3? [link] 

Rising gracefully to his feet, Taehyung's infectious enthusiasm fills the room as he declares, “I propose a toast!” His radiant smile sweeps over the myriad of guests you meticulously invited to your wedding—more than a hundred souls sharing in the joy of your love story. 

As he prepares to speak, Jungkook can't help but marvel at the grandeur of the occasion. Despite his personal inclination towards a more intimate celebration, he wouldn't dream of denying you this moment, surrounded by the warmth of friends and family who have come together to witness the union of two hearts.

Despite Taehyung's earnest attempt to capture Jungkook's attention with a throat-clearing preamble, Jungkook finds himself inexplicably entranced elsewhere. Even in the midst of one of his closest friends delivering a heartfelt wedding speech—something he should be wholeheartedly absorbing—but it’s hard. As hard as his dick that you’re palming over his dress pants.

The tantalizing dance of your hand sends ripples of pleasure through him, an intoxicating distraction that eclipses all other thoughts. It's an artful symphony of sensation, each movement crafting a masterpiece of desire within him. The struggle to concentrate on anything else becomes an exhilarating battle. Fuck. 

You, the mischievous enchantress, wield your allure like a potent spell. 

A tantalizing awareness of your own danger courses through your veins, and you wield it with an expert finesse. Every knowing glance, every sly smile, is a calculated move in the game you effortlessly play. You've mastered the art of ensnaring him, wrapping him around your finger with a magnetic force that compels him to dance to your whims. It's a dangerous dance, but he willingly succumbs to the intoxication of your charm, embracing the thrill as much as he cherishes the intoxicating love he feels for you.

What the fuck is Taehyung saying?

Taehyung’s words dissolve into a meaningless buzz, drowned out by the illicit symphony you're orchestrating beneath the table. The audacious zipper sliding down and the tantalizing exploration of your hand over the fabric of his boxer briefs command all of Jungkook's attention.

Profanity trembles on the edge of his tongue, but it's lost in the overwhelming sensation that eclipses any coherent thought. Your stealthy touch renders him blissfully oblivious to everything else unfolding around him.

Suppressing a low, guttural sound, he clenches his teeth, using every ounce of willpower to stifle the moan building in his throat. As desire courses through him like a wildfire, he willingly parts his legs, a silent invitation for you to explore more boldly, granting ample space for the electrifying touch of your hand over the hardened length of his cock.

He marvels at your audacity, finding it both exhilarating and daring that you'd embark on such a provocative escapade during your wedding reception. Yet, deep down, he acknowledges that it's a reflection of the wild spirit that has always defined your relationship. It's a shared affinity for dancing on the edge, reveling in the allure of danger, and delighting in the thrill of engaging in activities that should, by all accounts, remain private. It's a facet of your relationship that has always been magnetic, drawing you both into a world where the risk of being caught only adds to the intoxicating excitement.

In the blink of an eye, your hand deftly maneuvers beneath the fabric of his boxers, sending a shiver down his spine. A hiss escapes his lips as your long, slender fingers confidently envelop his cock. The warmth of your touch is both a balm and an inferno, and he instinctively tilts his head back in the chair, a silent plea for discretion. 

As he surrenders to the delicious sensation, he can't help but cast a furtive glance around, fervently hoping that the clandestine ballet unfolding beneath the table remains a tantalizing secret shared only between you.

Despite the uproarious laughter echoing through the room in response to Taehyung's speech, Jungkook remains oblivious to its contents, ensnared the choreography of your hand beneath the table. 

The mirthful ambiance only fuels his curiosity, surmising that Taehyung must have delivered a punchline or shared a humorous anecdote. Meanwhile, beneath the table's concealment, your hand skillfully traces a tantalizing path along his hardened cock, drawing a hushed hiss from Jungkook's lips. 

With a steely resolve, he masks any trace of emotion, locking his features in a stoic facade and maintaining an impressive silence. His determined effort is not just to conceal the electrifying sensations your actions are evoking, but also to safeguard the clandestine intimacy you both share from the prying eyes of the unsuspecting guests. 

Every fiber of his being is a coiled spring, resisting the urge to yield to the pleasure that threatens to unravel beneath the veneer of his restrained expression. 

As his gaze shifts towards you, he's met with an unexpected sight—there you sit, an image of demure elegance in your exquisite white gown. 

The fabric caresses your curves in all the right places, accentuating the allure of your figure. The daringly low neckline teases a glimpse of the captivating silhouette of your bosom, leaving him momentarily breathless. The off-the-shoulder design unveils a generous expanse of your soft, tender skin, a tantalizing sight that aligns perfectly with his preferences. 

Despite the provocative allure of your attire, your outward appearance betrays no hint of the illicit affair transpiring beneath the table. If he didn't intimately know the secret you were concealing—your hand discreetly exploring the realm beneath his pants—he'd be fooled by the serene facade you present, seemingly absorbed in the captivating rhythm of Taehyung's speech.

In a silent plea of gratitude, Jungkook revels in the fact that the attention of the guests is fixed on Taehyung's speech, sparing him the scrutiny of prying eyes. 

Little do they know, the real spectacle unfolds beneath the table, where your touch becomes an exquisite torment. 

Every movement of your hand is a tantalizing dance, a blend of ecstasy and torture that threatens to unravel him. With a teasing finesse, your soft fingers caress his frenulum, tracing a path towards the depths of pleasure. The deliberate slide over his slit elicits a shiver of pure ecstasy, leaving Jungkook teetering on the precipice of desire that you expertly navigate.

Your hand envelops him, a cocoon of warmth that intensifies with each skillful stroke. The pleasure coursing through him is undeniably exquisite, a testament to the mastery of your touch. Yet, a lingering awareness tugs at the edges of his consciousness—an impending climax that threatens to unravel the careful threads of restraint. The exquisite sensations you evoke compel him to desperately anchor his thoughts, to redirect the intoxicating focus from the captivating dance beneath the table to Taehyung's speech.

The challenge lies not just in resisting the magnetic pull of pleasure but in maintaining a semblance of composure, navigating the delicate balance between the ecstasy you're orchestrating beneath the table and the public façade demanded by the occasion.

“We’ve been friends for so long, how many years is it now, Gguk?” As Taehyung poses the question, a hushed anticipation envelops the room, and all eyes converge on Jungkook. 

Fuck. 

All eyes are on him and he can’t think— he’s mind is clouded with thoughts of you. 

Taehyung– Fuck. How long have they been friends? 

In a sudden stumble of recollection, he breathes out, “17 years,” the weight of the shared history resonating in the room. Yet, the gravity of the moment is unexpectedly intensified as you administer an assertive squeeze around cock. Fuck.

With a chuckle that slices through the tension, Taehyung seamlessly continues his discourse, effortlessly reclaiming the attention of the room and redirecting every wandering gaze back to him. A collective exhale echoes in Jungkook's mind, a silent gratitude for the timely diversion that spares the clandestine spectacle beneath the table from becoming the unwitting center of attention. 

Relentless, you maintain the rhythm on his dick, displaying an unwavering determination that hints at an intention to push him to the brink, right under the unsuspecting gaze of the gathered guests. 

As the divine caress of your hand propels him perilously close to the edge, a surge of urgency overtakes him. Desperate, he turns his face towards you, eyes silently pleading for respite, but your gaze remains steadfastly elsewhere. 

Frustration wells within him, and he attempts to use his hands to guide yours away, only to find your grip tightening in response. The conflicting forces of pleasure and restraint collide within him, his muscles tensing as a hitch in his breath betrays the precarious precipice upon which he teeters.

Leaning in, you bring with you a halo of your natural sweet scent, an intoxicating allure that wraps around him, overwhelming his senses and leaving him slightly dizzy. 

Your lips, soft and plush, delicately find his cheek in what appears to be a tender gesture to the outside world. To the unsuspecting onlookers, it's a simple, sweet kiss on the cheek. 

Little do they know, in that same moment, your daring move involves not just the gentle press of your lips but the subtle exploration of your other hand slipping under his boxers to fondle his balls.

Fucking hell he’s gonna come.

Ecstasy courses through him like a wildfire, an imminent eruption fueled by the intoxicating cocktail of your skillful touch on his balls, warm breath teasing his ear, and the relentless grip on his pulsating desire. The threshold between pleasure and release narrows to a perilous edge, and he finds himself teetering on the brink, held captive by the maddening symphony of sensations you've orchestrated. 

Despite his valiant efforts to remain attentive to his friend's speech, the sheer mastery of your pleasure-inducing touch proves insurmountable. Every deliberate stroke, every strategic squeeze of his balls, propels him further into the abyss of ecstasy. In a moment of surrender, he can no longer contain the torrent of desire, and ropes of his essence surge forth from his throbbing dick. His lips bear the weight of a stifled moan, as you keep stroking him through his orgasm.

Beside him, your chuckle is a symphony of sweetness interwoven with a hint of mischief, a melodic backdrop to the ongoing crescendo of pleasure you expertly administer through his orgasm. 

As he traverses the realm of oversensitivity, a low, guttural grunt escapes him, drawing the curious gaze of Taehyung, engrossed in his ongoing speech. Though momentarily caught in a gaze of questioning inquiry, Taehyung forges ahead, resuming his speech with a peculiar stare, unwittingly oblivious to the spectacle unfolding beside him.

Thank fuck both of your parents aren’t seated right next to you. That would have been utterly mortifying and embarrassing.

With a deliberate finesse, you retract your hand from his crotch, guiding it gracefully over the table, where you nonchalantly employ a napkin to erase any lingering evidence. Seated there, you adopt an innocent facade, a picture of angelic composure that conceals the fact that, mere seconds ago, your hand delved into the forbidden realm beneath his pants. 

With an audible exhale, he reaches for a napkin, hastily attending to the aftermath on his pants. The damage is fortunately minimal, thanks to your deft intervention that efficiently captured most of his release. Smart girl.

But a mischievous spark ignites in his eyes, a silent vow echoing beneath the surface - oh, he's going to get back at you for that, you little minx. 

As the notes of the classic wedding waltz envelop the room, Jungkook marvels at the surreal reality—he gets to call you his wife now. The ethereal glow surrounding you transcends the physical, a radiant aura that has always defined you. Despite your humble protestations about your own beauty, he's captivated by the undeniable truth: you've always been, and continue to be, an enchanting vision. Countless times you've confessed to feeling otherwise, but in his eyes, you're a masterpiece. In this moment, as you dance together, you're not just a part of his world; you are his entire universe.

Gazing into the pools of your sweet, doe-like eyes, their exquisite almond shape captivates him, holding his attention in an unbreakable trance. He contemplates the nuances of your beauty, from the enchanting curvature of your slightly upturned nose to the endearing moments when he can't resist playfully poking it during your teasing exchanges. Every inch of you, in his eyes, is a masterpiece, and he pledges to vocalize his admiration every day, a ritual aimed at etching your beauty into your own consciousness. 

He dreams that with each affirming word, he'll weave a tapestry of self-love around you, until the day you see yourself as he does—undeniably, breathtakingly beautiful.

As you dance, your eyes ablaze with an unmistakable love, he luxuriates in the intensity of your gaze. A daring current of desire propels his hand, gliding with deliberate intent down your body until it boldly claims your ass. 

Uninhibited, he seizes it with audacious confidence, the bold move oblivious to the watchful eyes surrounding you. A soft, mischievous squeeze elicits a sweet chuckle from you, a harmonious note in the symphony of shared amusement that reverberates through the party, as the crowd collectively succumbs to the captivating allure of your uninhibited dance.

As the soft strains of the music envelop you both in a waltz, your heads draw nearer, the enchanting melody echoing the tender dance of your hearts. With the song nearing its end, he seizes the moment, leaning in intimately close to your ear. The hushed promise that escapes his lips carries a tantalizing undercurrent, his warm breath grazing your skin as he vows, “I'm going to get you back for earlier, babe.”

He senses the subtle shiver coursing through you as his touch lingers, a silent testament to the shared electricity between you. As the final notes of the song fade into the applause and cheers of the crowd, seizing the perfect moment, he leans in, embracing you in a sweet and passionate kiss. 

As the rhythm of a more upbeat song invigorates the dance floor, he seizes the opportunity to whisk you away from the lively crowd. Amidst the pulsating beats and the vivacious laughter of the guests, he guides you outside the building, their merriment gradually fading into the background.

In the crisp night air, he asserts a sudden dominance, pressing you against the sturdy wall. His gaze, infused with an unmistakable hunger and need, locks onto your beautiful eyes, creating a magnetic tension that reverberates between you. 

“You are a little minx, you know that?” His words, not laced with anger but rather a dangerous undercurrent of arousal, hang in the charged air. Your chuckle, a sweet symphony that further stirs the tempest within him, prompts a hiss as he succumbs to the magnetic pull, diving fervently into the captivating abyss of your mouth.

The kiss intensifies, a collision of passion that is both hard and rough, fueled by an undeniable need. In the urgency of the moment, he can't afford to wait, the impatience palpable in every fervent press of lips. 

You envelop him in the embrace of your arms, fingers intertwining at the nape of his neck, while your gaze rises to meet his. In the depths of his eyes, once warm brown orbs now transformed into pools of near-black intensity, a reflection of the potent arousal coursing through his veins. 

Your hand embarks on a daring journey, descending to the front of his pants once more, and the response is instantaneous – hardness reignites, a testament to the insatiable flame you kindle within him. Desire for you pulses like a constant current, an almost permanent state of arousal that defies logical explanation. Whatever enchantment you cast upon him, it's an irresistible force that weaves a tantalizing spell, leaving him perpetually captivated by the mystique of your touch.

Breaking away from the embrace of your soft lips, he wears a smirk laden with both warning and allure. “You're playing with fire, babe,” he remarks, the subtle edge in his voice echoing the intoxicating dance of danger and desire that swirls between you.

In a hushed whisper that flutters against your ear, he breathes, “You've been a naughty girl.” 

The words, laden with an undercurrent of sultry authority, send a shiver down your spine, awakening a cascade of tingles that traverse the landscape of your entire body. 

Descending to the delicate expanse of your neck, he peppers it with soft, almost teasing kisses, each touch a prelude to the symphony of sensations. Then, in an abrupt shift from gentle caresses, he bites down, coaxing from you a loud moan that resonates through the air—an intoxicating sound that echoes in the depths of his desire, a melody he'll never tire of hearing. 

Continuing his explorative journey, he ventures further south, his lips descending to the curve of your breasts. With a deliberate tenderness, he places a kiss atop the soft expanse of your tender tits.

Gracefully sinking to his knees, he gazes up at you with a mischievous smirk, the air thick with a heady mixture of desire and anticipation. His tongue darts out, grazing his lips in a provocative dance of anticipation, signaling the imminent exploration of pleasures yet to unfold. 

With an assertive grip, he seizes the front of your dress, drawing it away in a swift, purposeful motion. Despite the abundance of fabric, he deftly bunches it up with ease. “Hold your dress, please,” he directs, handing you the end of the gathered fabric. 

“Hmm. Nice lace stockings, and that girdle—what are you doing to me?” he murmurs, his voice a tantalizing blend of desire and fascination. His gaze lingers appreciatively on your beautiful thighs encased in nude stockings adorned with lace at the top, fastened to a concealed girdle on your waist.

His eyes widen with a mix of surprise and arousal as they land on your wet and glistening pussy, the evidence of desire trickling down your thigh. “Oh my god. You're not wearing panties?” he breathes out, his voice carrying the weight of both revelation and anticipation. A subtle lick of his lips betrays the intensity of his reaction.

A playful chuckle escapes your lips as you hover above him, and without a moment's hesitation, he immerses himself in the intoxicating warmth of your desire. His lips eagerly find their destination, tracing a decadent path from the delicate folds to the pulsating essence of your clit. 

The sensation ripples through your body, igniting a shiver that becomes an involuntary response to the electrifying dance between tongues, pleasure, and the shared yearning that binds you together.

He embarks on a tantalizing journey of tongue and suction, starting with teasing caresses that send tremors of anticipation through your body. His hands, strong and purposeful, find purchase on your thighs, holding you in a firm grip as he orchestrates a symphony of pleasure with his skillful tongue, creating an intoxicating dance that blurs the lines between sensation and desire.

A throaty moan escapes your lips as his nose delicately brushes against your pulsating cl*t, his tongue delving as deep as its voracious hunger allows. The exquisite sensation of his exploration elicits an involuntary clenching around him, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

Your thighs, unable to withstand the intensity, succumb to a tremor, trembling beneath the intoxicating caress of pleasure that consumes you.

His dexterous fingers ascend to your throbbing clit, and with a skillful touch, he sets in motion a rapid dance of pleasure, causing your entire body to quiver with newfound intensity. The quickened rhythm of your breath becomes a symphony of desire, a telltale sign for him that you're teetering on the precipice of ecstasy.

Eager to reciprocate the pleasure you bestowed upon him within the confines of the reception, he fervently laps at your tender folds. Simultaneously, his fingers engage in a deft dance around your throbbing clit, orchestrating a symphony of sensations that echoes the pulsating rhythm of desire between you.

With the harmonious fusion of his skilled tongue and nimble fingers, he orchestrates the unraveling of your senses. As ecstasy courses through you, your body convulses in euphoria, your walls clenching around his tongue, and the pulsating rhythm of your clit intensifying under the spell of his fingers. 

Waves of pleasure surge through you, causing your body to quake, and in the throes of ecstasy, you release a high-pitched, strained moan that bears his name—an intimate symphony of pleasure that lingers in the air.

Breathless and overwhelmed, you gasp out his name, a plea woven into the words, “Fuck, Jungkook. I can't stand up anymore.” As he gracefully withdraws from your core, his gaze rises to meet yours, locking in a shared moment of intensity.

He chuckles, the rich timbre of his laughter lingering in the charged air. “I know, babe. Do you want me to fuck you against the wall?”

You draw in a sharp breath, and he keenly observes the subtle clench of your hand, the fabric of the dress tightly gathered within your grasp. 

“Fuck yeah,” An unbridled affirmation escapes your lips, a primal declaration of desire. As he rises to his feet, a surge of urgency propels him to capture your mouth in a hungry kiss. The taste of your own release lingers on his lips, creating an intimate communion of shared pleasure that binds you together in the aftermath of passion.

As he engulfs you in a fervent kiss, the symphony of desire playing out between you, his hands deftly navigate the zipper of his dress pants. With a purposeful movement, he unveils his throbbing cock, stroking it in rhythmic cadence. 

His hands, driven by a primal urgency, seek out the contours of your ass with a possessive intent. “Jump up, babe,” he commands, the resonance of his voice weaving a spell of anticipation. As you obediently jump, he effortlessly lifts you, cocooning you against the wall. 

In a brief struggle against the bulk of your dress, both of you grapple with the fabric, pushing it away from the front of your entwined bodies. A shared chuckle hangs in the air, a lighthearted interlude in the midst of fervor. But as the fabric yields to your efforts, Jungkook seizes the opportunity, moving in with an insatiable hunger to bite at your neck once more. 

With a sultry whisper, he breathes, “I'm gonna fuck a baby into you, would you like that, hmm?” 

The words, pregnant with promise, glide against your ear, and the responsive clench of your legs around his waist speaks volumes. A knowing chuckle escapes him as you endeavor to pull him even closer, the shared desire resonating between you in the charged space.

“Please,” your plea, a desperate yet fervent entreaty, escapes your lips, a poignant melody of desire that resonates in the charged air. The subtle smirk that graces his lips is both a testament to your undeniable need for him and an acknowledgment of the power he holds over your cravings.

With a deliberate touch, he locates his throbbing cock with one hand and skillfully aligns it with your dripping entrance. The tantalizing dance begins as he teases your slick folds with the head of his pulsating dick, creating an electrifying friction that amplifies the anticipation between you two. 

“Gguk, please,” you plead with a mixture of desire and frustration, your voice echoing the urgent need for him to bridge the gap between anticipation and fulfillment. However, he remains steadfast, skillfully teasing your slick folds without granting the entry your body craves. 

With a desperate plea escaping your lips once more, he finally relents. The moment stretches with anticipation before he forcefully thrusts his thick cock into your eager pussy. The collision is met with an audible impact as your back forcefully meets the wall.

He forgoes the customary pause for adjustment, intuitively aware that you relish the exquisite stretch when he enters you so abruptly. Without hesitation, he plunges deep into your core, reaching the furthest recesses, his thick length grazing against your cervix. 

“You’re so big, the stretch feels so good!” 

You gasp breathlessly against his body, overwhelmed by the sheer size of him. The intoxicating stretch sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, a visceral reminder of the intensity between you two. Determined to fully immerse yourself in the sensation, you pant against him, actively striving to ride the wave of pleasure, desperate to fuck yourself on him, the relentless pursuit of ecstasy evident in every ardent movement.

He establishes a relentless rhythm, driving into you with a force that resonates against the unyielding wall of the building. The symphony of your combined panting echoes in the air, a melodic accompaniment to the unbridled passion unfolding. Jungkook, captivated by the primal symphony, savors every delightful noise escaping your lips—a harmonious blend of desire and surrender, heightening the intensity of the fervent connection shared between you.

As he thrusts into you, each powerful motion striking your cervix, he elevates the intensity by trailing one hand up to your neck. With a gentle yet possessive touch, he wraps his fingers around your throat.

He knows you like it dirty and rough, and fuck he does too. 

His taunting words, laced with a playful yet provocative tone, cut through the charged air. “Did you enjoy the little game with your fingers down my pants while Tae was making his speech?” The rhetorical question hangs between you, a teasing challenge that elicits a subtle clenching reaction around him. 

In a sultry revelation, he whispers, “'Next to your bridesmaid and your parents. You naughty girl.” The hand steadying against the wall takes a firm hold of your ass, squeezing the soft flesh with deliberate intent. A resonant moan of pleasure escapes your lips, harmonizing with the rhythmic cadence of his thrusts as he skillfully targets your sweet spot. 

“So naughty,” he breathes, punctuating each fervent thrust with a rhythmic intensity that sends shivers down your spine. “You enjoy getting off in front of your friends, huh?” His words, infused with a seductive blend of desire and provocation, become a tantalizing soundtrack to the relentless grind of his dick into you.

“And getting me off too? Whore,” he seethes into your ear, the heated accusation leaving a scorching trail of desire in its wake. Your response, a shiver against his body, fuels the intensity of the moment. 

As he continues to fuck you with an unrestrained force, your breasts bounce in a mesmerizing rhythm that captivates him. So fucking perfect.

“Stick your tongue out,” he commands, his eyes intently fixed on you as you obediently roll out your tongue, anticipating the act you relish. The charged moment lingers, pregnant with expectation. With a deliberate move, he spits on your waiting tongue, and you, the embodiment of submission, dutifully swallow it.

Damn it, he knows he won't last much longer if he continues to be entranced by the rhythmic bounce of your enticing breasts—they possess an almost hypnotic allure over him. And that tongue of yours, oh, it's pure seduction. 

“And you can't even wait until we reach our hotel suite to be fucked. So fucking needy, and I love it,” he declares, a blend of admiration and desire lacing his words. The deliberate clench of his fingers around your throat follows, a subtle yet potent assertion of control. His gaze remains fixed on your eyes, watching with a predatory intensity as they dilate even more.

As he tightens his grip, the sensation of his fingers constricting around your throat elicits a primal response—your walls clenching around his cock. The synchronized symphony of pleasure and control intertwines, and a guttural groan escapes him, an audible testament to the ecstasy coursing through his veins. 

Driven by an insatiable desire, he redoubles his efforts to fuck you even deeper.

“My filthy wife,” he pants into your ear, the possessive term dripping with desire, a declaration that ignites a primal response within you. The sultry proclamation elicits a moan of his name from your lips, a vocal affirmation of the all-encompassing pleasure coursing through your body. His acute awareness of your nearing climax manifests in the rhythmic clenching around his dick, a tangible sign of the intimate dance between you two.

“Fuck, Gguk. I'm so close again. Fuck!” you pant fervently against the curve of his neck, the words laced with desperation and desire. He senses the mounting intensity in your voice, a symphony of passion reaching its crescendo. 

Yet, he's attuned to the nuances, recognizing the subtle signs that your body, though on the brink of ecstasy, bears the weight of fatigue, having navigated the day in those tantalizing heels. 

“You crave an audience, don't you? Want people to watch you, to hear you,” he moans into your ear, the words a sultry declaration that fans the flames of desire between you two. The acknowledgment of your shared exhibitionist desires ignites a fresh surge of pleasure, prompting an instinctive clench around him.

“Then scream my name, let everyone in the damn party know how damn good I'm fucking you,” he commands, the intensity of his voice sending shivers down your spine. As your walls clench with even greater fervor, pulsating around his dick, a wave of your liquid envelops him, transforming the intimate connection into a slippery dance of shared pleasure.

You unleash his name with a primal scream, the sheer force of your ecstasy reverberating through the open air outside. Your head drops against the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in the haven of his embrace as the waves of pleasure cascade over you.

He relentlessly thrusts his dick into you, the urgency palpable as he seeks his own release. “I'm gonna give you a baby, just like we've always dreamed of.”

“Ahhh, fuck, yes!” The exclamation bursts from your lips, a little too loud, as an uncontrollable surge of pleasure courses through you. Your teeth instinctively seek refuge on his shoulder, sinking into the firm flesh in an unbridled act of both ecstasy and restraint.

“Fuck, babe, I'm gonna come,” he confesses with a guttural moan, each subsequent thrust punctuated with the desperation of impending release. His rhythm stumbles, an involuntary response to the intensity building within him as he hurtles towards the precipice of his orgasm. And then it hits him.

The rhythmic bounce of your tits in his face, the soft and sweet scent that envelops him, and the melodic cadence of your voice—all converge to cast a spell on his senses. In the midst of your lovely moans, he succumbs to the intoxicating blend of sensations, unleashing a torrent of white-hot semen deep inside your spent pussy. 

Panting and gasping, you both struggle for precious breaths, bodies slick with the sheen of sweat acquired in the throes of passion. Amidst the shared exhaustion, a mutual chuckle reverberates between you, an intimate exchange that encapsulates the postcoital atmosphere.

With your head nestled against his, you gaze into the depth of his eyes and confess, “I love you, Gukkie.” The words, tender and raw, bridge the physical intimacy you've just shared with the emotional vulnerability of a heartfelt declaration.

“I love you too. Every damn inch of you, you're so beautiful,” he pants, a declaration infused with both desire and admiration. As he smiles at you, the post-passion glow accentuates the sincerity in his eyes, turning the exchange into a powerful affirmation.

He'll never tire of professing his boundless love and adoration for you, vowing to weave those sentiments into the fabric of each passing day. The promise to remind you, with unwavering devotion, echoes in his commitment to articulate his love every damn day.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex @rapmonjoon94 @parkitrighthere

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[stuckonmark]

CRUSH DIARIES. lee jeno

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 00 — the crushes

ღ crush #1 mark was yn's first crush ever. their mom’s were best friends, which led to them meeting and becoming friends. although she was always shy around boys, mark made her feel safe and understood. however, mark never really saw her as anything more than a friend, and when she confessed to him in middle school, he gently turned her down, saying they’d be better off as friends and he was right. yn is mark's absolute best friend in the whole wide world. they laugh about it all the time now because the memory is funny to look back on.

ღ crush #2 jaemin was one of the popular guys in school—player, confident, and always surrounded by a group of friends. yn found herself drawn to him because of his outgoing personality and the way he lit up a room when he entered. despite the difference in their social circles, yn had a soft spot for jaemin. she admired how he never cared what people thought of him and how he’d occasionally show a softer side, like when he helped her with a school project. however, jaemin wasn’t the most emotionally available, and his flirty behavior led yn to believe he was just playing around.

ღ crush #3 haechan was the charming, athletic jock that everyone loved to be around. he was always cracking jokes and making everyone laugh, and yn found his sense of humor irresistible. yn and haechan would often bump into each other at school events, and while they didn’t really hang out much, there was always a playful flirtation between them. yn liked the idea of dating someone who could make her laugh and feel carefree. however, she was never sure if he liked her back, and haechan was always the type to talk with every girl, making her unsure about his intentions.

ღ crush #4 jaehyun was her older brother's best friend. they grew up together and he treated her like a sister. he was very caring, sweet, and protective of her. yn thought she was ready to confess to him, so she planned everything out. finally, jaehyun had come to her house to see her older brother, but this time, he came with a guest. he came over with the intentions of introducing his new girlfriend. yn was absolutely heartbroken and pretty much tried avoiding him at all costs.

ღ crush #5 jeno and yn met each other in high school. the two were in the same big friend group, but they weren't too close. yn liked him because of how he treated people, how kind he was, and of course, how cute he was. they talked to each other from time to time, but they liked each other from a distance. as they were getting closer, jeno completely disappears one day. no one had ever heard from him since then. yn was devastated when jeno was gone. something about him was different from all of her other crushes. that was until a new kpop group, dream, debuted. jeno's disappearance was because of his training to become a kpop idol.

previous — m.list — next

notes. this isn’t normally in a typical smau, but i thought i’d write it so y’all could get an understanding of the crush backgrounds hehe. also unfortunately nct dream does not exist in this universe 😓 BUT DREAM DOES!!!!

taglist. open! @sibwol @dudekiss3r @dilflover44 @jae-n0 @mmjhh1998 @cookiehaos @wumutititititi @gomdoleemyson @222brainrot @hollxe1 @sacdepixie @mrkified @kukkurookkoo @haechology @purezitas @urlocalbeaner5 @awktwurtle @toroufriteh @holyhaech @njmluvr @desssss-0 @iluvkyo @samoyed-23 @haesluvr @monniemoody @nahyuckers @skibidihan @sunghoonsgfreal @chenlezip @n0hyuck @httpsxnox @grassbutneo

[kpop---scenarios]

Friends To Forever

Pairing: Vernon x Reader

Summary: You are Vernon are best friends, or were until you confessed. But life has a funny way of working out.

Warning: Smut [Oral; m. receiving/f. receiving, unprotected sex etc.] 18+ ONLY. MDNI

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: This was hard to write, but I'm TRYING to get back into it after not writing for so long. Please be nice, I was on the struggle bus, lol. Also, this is for @iridescentxstars and I hope you atleast semi enjoy it and it wrecks you A LOT.

“Did you hear that?” You whisper to your date, the sound of footsteps slowly making their way through the kitchen towards the living room. The sound of the familiar voice startles you.

“Y/N! Why won't you answer my calls!?” You hear. You recognize the voice immediately, before he even rounds the corner and into your line of sight You sit up, half moving away from the guest that sat on your couch next to you.

“Oh fuck.” You murmur, seeing your best friend, Vernon walk into the living room, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees the man next to you.

“Who's this?” Vernon asks. He didn't know you were dating at all and you had been trying to keep it that way.

“Uhh.” You chuckle. “What are you doing here?”

“Well you've been ignoring me. I missed you. I thought we could hangout.” Vernon says, shrugging his shoulders, his eyes never leaving the man sitting beside you. “You didn't answer my question. Who is this?”

“This is my… friend, Chan.” You say.

“I'm her date.” Chan laughs. “We were actually just going to be heading out soon.”

“Your date? You're going on a date?” Vernon scoffs. “What the hell?” He partially yells. His brows furrowed, anger slowly replacing the calm and happy he was moments ago, you were sure you knew why. You watched as Vernon's eyes darted between you and Chan, noticing the lack of distance between the two of you. Vernon looks down, seeing Chan's hands slowly making its way towards your thigh.

“What are you getting mad about?” You ask. “I'm single, I'm allowed to date.”

“You told me you loved me.” Vernon reminds you, bringing you back to that day, a month ago, where you had confessed to your best friend.

**

“Y/N?” Vernon questions, seeing you standing at his front door in the middle of the night, soaking wet from the rain. “Is everything okay?”

“I'm sorry to dump this on you… but I just can't hold it in anymore, Vernon. I love you. I'm in love with you. And it's okay if you can't or don't reciprocate the feeling but I just needed to let you know.” You breathe, rain water dripping down your face and body.

“I -.” He pauses. “I don't really know what to say.” He whispers.

“Just tell me if you love me or not.” You say.

“I do love you, of course I do, you're my best friend.” He smiles. “But…” he trails off.

“But what? Just tell me Vernon, I can handle it.”

“But I'm not in love with you. I'm sorry y/n.” He says. You had been half expecting that answer but you had also hoped that maybe you would have been wrong and he would tell you that he loved you back.

“I see.” You say, forcing a smile. “All good.”

“I hope that we can… still be friends?” He asks.

“Friends.” You sigh. “Why?”

“You're my best friend. I don't want to lose you over some… silly feelings, you know?”

“Silly feelings?” You question. That felt like a stab to the heart. “Um, sure, friends. Yeah. I'll uh, see you later.” You mumble, turning around, heading back out in the rain, hoping it would wash away the ache you felt in your heart.

**

“Yeah, and?” You ask. “You told me you didn't feel the same. So what am I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for you?”

“I don't know.” He sighs. “I just didn't expect you to move on so fast.” He mumbles.

“What do you want from me, Vernon?” You ask. “I don't get it. You tell me that you don't feel the same, so I move on, but now that I'm actively moving on you're upset?” You say, your voice slightly elevating as anger begins to take over.

“Am I supposed to be happy about this?” He asks. “You told me you loved me, y/n. Love! And it hasn't been very long since then, so how can you be dating already? I wasn't aware one could move that fast.”

“Am I going fucking crazy? What the fuck, Vernon. What do you want from me! You don't love me! I'm not going to sit around waiting for the day that maybe you might love me back.” You yell.

“Well you're supposed to!” He yells back.

“Why!? Why can't I be happy?” You yell. “Chan makes me happy.” You say, smiling back towards Chan, who's sitting there looking uncomfortable.

“I wanna make you happy.” He whispers.

“Oh my god, you do make me happy. You're my best friend, of course you do.” You whisper back.

“No!” He sighs, rubbing his hands on his face. “I want to be the one to make you happy.”

“I'm so confused. You groan. You were ready to pull your hair out of your head. What the fuck was he talking about?

“I'm just gonna go.” Chan murmurs. He places a kiss on your cheek before heading for the front door, leaving you alone with Chan.

“I'm sorry, I'll call you later.” You call out.

“Don't call him. Please don't call him.” Vernon tells you. He's looking down, twiddling his fingers.

You sigh, loudly. “You're being weird. And you're not being honest with me. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. You want me to be happy but you don't want me to be happy with someone else. You love me but you're not in love with me… what the fuck do you want?”

I want you. That's what I want.” He tells you, lifting his head to look you in the eyes.

“You have me.”

“I want more.”

“What more can I give of myself?”

“Fuck it.” He sighs. “I love you!” He yells. “I'm in love with you. I've always been in love with you! It's been you and me since day one and there's not a day that's gone by that I haven't been in love with you. Not even in the month that you've been dodging me.”

“Why?” You cry. “Why didn't you tell me that night? Why didn't you just admit your feelings? Why did you tell me you didn't?” You ask.

“I-I don't know.” He whispers. “I didn't want things to change. I was scared to admit it. I'm a fucking coward, I don't know.” He sighs. “But I'm telling you now.”

“You're telling me now that I've moved on? Is that the only reason that you're telling me now, is it because of Chan?” You ask.

“Maybe. I don't know. But I know that I do love you.”

“You can't just come in here a month after I confessed and then confess to me! That's not how this works!” You yell. “I like Chan.”

“But you love me.” He says, inching towards you. “You may like him, but you love me.”

“Loved. I loved you.” You murmur.

“You're telling me you don't love me anymore?” He asks, moving even closer to you. So close that you can feel his breath on your face.

“Mhmm. That's what that means.” You whisper.

“So if I kissed you… right now, it wouldn't mean anything?” He asks, leaning down, his lips only inches away from yours.

“Nothing.” You gasp as he moves closer. Even the smallest of movements, your lips would be latched onto his. You could feel your face heating up, the knot in your stomach growing bigger. You knew that one kiss from him would destroy you, and you'd be even more in love with him than you were in that very moment.

“Nothing?” He whispers, a smirk spreads across his face.

“Not a single thing.” You whisper back, knowing full well that was a bold faced lie. You take a deep breath, before he moves in, placing his lips onto yours. You could feel the fireworks between the two of you as he pulled you in closer, his hand resting on the small of your back as his lips moved along yours. He slowly slips his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss between the two of you.

Vernon's hands move along your body, tugging at the hem of your shirt. “Were you really going out with him?” He asks, murmuring against your lips.

“I was. I was trying to get over you.” You breathe.

“I'd rather you get under me.” He smirks, pulling your shirt over your head, tossing it on the living room floor.

“I like the sound of that.” You giggle, as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you towards your bedroom, the one he's spent many nights in, but not like this. He pulls you into the room, smiling as he pushes you on the bed. He unbuttons your jeans, slowly pulling them down your legs. Your pussy throbs as he touches you, his finger trips trailing your body.

“You have no idea how many times I wanted to do this to you.” He whispers, placing kisses up your stomach, working his way to your neck.

You don't reply, you can't. Once again, his lips are pressed against yours, your mouths moving against each other's. It quickly turns passionate and needy as you pull at his clothes. You hated that you were naked and he was still fully clothed.

“Come on.” You murmur, smiling as you try to pull his shirt over his head.

“Come on what?” He chuckles, helping you, discarding his shirt somewhere in your room. He stands up, pulling down his pants, letting his hard cock spring free. Before he could crawl onto the bed, you quickly got off, dropping to your knees in front of him. You wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, smirking as he watches you open your mouth and taking as much of him in your mouth as you could.

“Oh fuck.” He moans, throwing his head back while you twirl your tongue around his tip, slurping and sucking him off. Vernon reaches out, grabbing your head to hold it still. He thrusts his cock into your mouth, pushing it in as far as he can. Tears well in your eyes as you take it, gagging slightly with each thrust.

“Okay, okay.” He breathes, pulling his cock from your mouth. “If I keep going like this, I'm gonna cum.” He chuckles. He helps you back up, laying you down onto the bed. You're laying on your back as he drops to his knees at the edge of the bed, happily spreading your legs for you, before pulling you closer to him. He immediately licks a long strip up your already wet pussy.

“Shit.” You cry out as his fingers dig into your bare thighs, his tongue sloppily moving all around your pussy, sucking, licking and flicking your clit, nibbling on your lips as he absolutely ravishes you. You bring your hands up to your tits, playing with your nipples before letting them roam your body. You move your hands down to his hair grabbing a clump, gripping him tightly as you roll your hips against his tongue.

“Oh fuck, I'm gonna cum.” You cry, you pull yourself closer to him, grinding on his face. Your orgasm pulsates through your body, making you shake beneath him.

“I fucking love hearing you cum.” Vernon murmurs, standing up, licking your juices from his lips.

Vernon moves to the bed, laying down. He smirks at you. “Ride me.” He murmurs, stroking his cock as he watches you climb onto the bed. You straddle him, adjusting yourself to slowly sink down onto his cock but Vernon had another idea. You scream loudly as he thrusts up, plowing himself into you.

“Fuck you feel good baby girl.” He groans, his hands holding you tightly. You gasp as you adjust to his size, you can feel his cock throbbing inside of you as he waits for you to move. Your hands pressed against his chest as you slowly pulled yourself up before sinking back down, equally as slow.

“Please, princess.” Vernon groans. “I need you to move more.”

“Do you?” You giggle.

“You better move more, before I flip you over and take control.” He murmurs, his hands grabbing your hips, ready to pull you off of him and pin you down to the bed.

“I kinda like the sound of that.” You whisper, again, slowly pulling him out of you and slowly sinking back down.

Vernon doesn't say a word, instead, does exactly what he said he was going too. He pulls you off of his cock, tossing you down onto the bed. He grabs your legs, putting them onto his shoulders as he pushes his cock inside of you.

“My god.” You moan, grabbing his arms, digging your nails into his skin.

Vernon moves his hand between your lips, holding onto one leg, while rubbing your clit as he slams into you over and over, groaning loudly as he watches you. He loved the way you looked as your tits bounced while he fucked you. Your clit throbbed as he rubbed it, you were desperate to cum again, this time on his cock. Your orgasm continued to build with each thrust, until you just couldn't hold onto it any longer. With the next hard thrust, your orgasm takes over your body. You scream out, your back arching at the pleasure you were feeling. Vernon moves his hand from your wet cunt, holding tightly onto your legs, fucking you harder, needing his own release.

“I've waited so long for this.” He moans. “Fuck.”

You tighten your cunt around his cock, making him whimper as his own orgasm builds just as quickly.

“Shit, I'm gonna cum.” He groans, panting as he moves faster, his orgasm hitting him full force. Vernon releases his load, filling you up fully. Both your chests heaving as he pulls out of you, laying down on the bed beside you.

“Wow.” He smiles, chuckling with his eyes closed.

“Wow is right.” You breathe, laughing along with him. “So what now?”

“Now? Hmm.” He murmurs. “How about a date?” He asks. “As my girlfriend?”

[cherryblossompink303]

Patience S2:01:~The Ouran Host Club is back in Business!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: It's the grand re-opening of the host club but some news threatens to sabotage the host club as we know it ➼ what to expect:  "The only problem with your little plan is that there is no future where i would be jealous of Tamaki" ➼ warnings: n/a ➼ S1:25 | S2:02

"You know Tamaki we never officially declared the disbandment of the host club, why are we holding a big re-opening when we never really closed?" You raise an eyebrow, staring at the flapper dress in front of you.

"Because y/n, everyone loves a party, and we have great cause for party, have I ever needed an excuse?" Tamaki smiles, squeezing you shoulders. "Besides, the moment that you brought up the idea of having a great gatsby themed event I couldn't resist"

Tamaki floats and spins across the music room "I mean the circumstances are perfect”

You raise an eyebrow at the sight, laughing “I am glad that you see so much light in the two of us nearly being basically kidnapped back to Europe”

“Yes but nearly is the operative word dear y/n"

"Sure...did you at least get me some shoes to match?" a smile starts to creep in behind your questioning gaze. "And a tiara"

You sigh, biting your lip as you star at the bejewelled dress "Okay I may see some pro's to throwing this party"

Tamaki scoffs, "Please you were in agreement the moment I came in here with Feather boas" You purse your lips "Possibly"

"Unfortunately, a 'great gatsby' party as you two call it is unavoidably costly, we're still recovering from the costs of the Ouran fair" Kyoya mutters from a table nearby.

"Kyoya" Tamaki whines, elongating the a, "It's a grand re-opening"

"Just think about all the potential new guests Kyoya, a party such as this is costly but also unignorable, it will be a worthwhile investment I'm sure" you chime in, picking up the dress in front of you.

"Fine..." he grumbles "Just don't bankrupt us in the process"

The door creaks open, revealing an out of breath Hikaru and Kaoru, a newspaper clutched in hand "We have a problem"

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The Ouran Host club is back in business!

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"This is ridiculous" You mutter, throwing the newspaper against the table as you sit back down at one of the tables. "It certainly is a low blow but I guess it is to be expected from them"

It was clear in black and white 'THE NOT SO SECRET ADMIRERS OF THE HOST CLUB REVEALED, THE GIRLS WHO WOULD RATHER FAWN OVER MEN THAN GO TO CLASS, More on page 2'

It is sneaky, it is low, it is misogynistic, and it has the newspaper club all over it.

"This is bad; our guests come here to enjoy themselves free of judgement, hence why we never publish photos with them in it. That is compromised now, a lot of our guests will be put off by this"

There has always been some degree of anonymity in the host club. To know who attends you have to also have been in the host club at some point. A lot of girls found comfort in that knowledge and it is clear.

Tamaki paces up and down the room, worried that the host club may not even be able to reopen.

"This is the school newspaper we are talking about, there probably haven't been that many people who have read it" Haruhi points out, the twins sigh.

"If it was any other issue than that probably would be the case, but a copy was left on everyone's desk and it is literally front page." Hikaru points out.

"I see..."

"What would they get from printing this though?"

"Simple, they know that it will deter guests, name and shaming, it's clear that they still hold a grudge against us...luckily the announcement of our engagement took some ammo out of their hands"

Tamaki heads towards the door to the music room, stepping out into the hallway "Tamaki?"

Tamaki B-lines for a couple of girls out in the hallway, a couple of regular guests of the host club. "Ladies, good afternoon" he switches to his normal overly cheesy self.

"Good afternoon...Tamaki" The girls reply half in awe and half in nervousness. "Can I expect you mademoiselles at our grand re-opening? It is going to be the biggest party we've thrown ever"

"Oh....well we'd love to Tamaki but...I um- we are..."

"We're busy, sorry" the girls hurry off, eyes darting around to make sure that no one was watching.

"Oh..." Tamaki deflates, dragging himself back into the music room. "It's over....the girls...are gone..." he gives up just as he gets into the room, resigning himself to laying limp on the floor.

"Tama-chan! It's okay! We can sit and eat this cake, that will make you feel better....and then we can figure it out" Honey runs over, perilously carrying a plate with strawberry cake on it.

"Tamaki relax, this is the newspaper club we're talking about, we've dealt with them before we will deal with them now" you crouch down infront of him.

"Umm y/n? I hate to break it to you but it's already been printed, it's already been done" Hikaru slides in, you motion for him to cut it out. You sigh "Yes but considering recent events involving a private police force and international corperate politics i think we can handle three guys with a chip on their shoulders"

You stand "Let's go down and talk to them, Komatsuzawa is a coward it won't be hard to scare them off. Also incredibly stupid to print this" The rest of the host club nods, storming out of the music room.

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"Ah, l/n, I figured that you would be paying us a visit sooner or later" Komastuzawa smiles from his desk as you all enter the newspaper club. "If he knew we would trace it back to him why would he print that article?" "Surely he can't be that self destructive" the twins mutter among themselves.

"I knew you were obsessed with us Komatsuzawa but this is a new low even for you"

"I don't know what you mean Miss l/n, we are just sat here celebrating our newspapers new found success...I don't know if you heard but its all anyone can talk about" Komatsuzawa clinks a glass of what you are hoping isn't champagne with one of the other club members.

"I don't know if you've noticed but they're only talking about your newspaper is because of us"

"Even if that wasn't the case just because they are talking about it doesn't make it suddenly popular" the twins step forward.

"Nethertheless, they are still talking about it, and even better none of those poor girls you manipulated will go near any of you now"

"They are talking about you because they are scared, using fear to get popular is not the way to do things, talk is just talk they won't like you" Haruhi speaks up, looking at the newspaper club with pure concern that this was their genuine view point"

Tamaki sighs, still deflated and being propped up by Kyoya and Mori.

You bite the inside of your cheek at the sound, stepping forward "Okay, if you had printed a false article about any of us that would be one thing. But printing photos you have taken of random girls shaming them for how they spend their free time is something else entirely. Congratulations though, you have made yourselves more unpopular than ever. Enjoy being the hot topic for today, because when this blows over the newspaper club will be done for"

Komatsuzawa's face contorts into a strange smile that makes you concerned "What exactly are you planning on doing about re-opening your club now though? Without any guests that will be a very empty party"

"And yet somehow it will be more full than this sorry excuse for a celebration, leave our business to us, I'd worry more about how to save your own face"

You turn back around "Lets go these guys aren't worth our time."

"But y/n? We're just going to let them get away with it" Hikaru questions "Of course not, but i'm also not going to stoop down to their level. I've got a plan for that, for now we have a pr crisis we need to fix"

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You sigh through sipping your coffee as you all sit in the music room debating on how to fix this issue. "I can't believe them, they really need to shut down"

"How do we convince a group of girls who do not want to risk being seen with us...to risk being seen with us" Hikaru leant back in his chair, pursing his lips.

"Yeah it's not ideal I know" You take another sip "But there must be something, we've put too much effort into this re-opening to give up now"

"And money" Kyoya chimes in from next to you, sat typing away at his laptop. You roll your eyes "Yes and money"

"Maybe we could buy those camera repellent scarf things to hand out in case one of those guys sneak in to take pictures again" Haruhi suggests, trying to mime out what she means. "Oh those ugly things" Hikaru's face contorts in disgust "I'd rather not"

"I don't think they work on phone cameras either, it also wouldn't solve the issue of them being spotted entering the host club in person"

"Put them in disguise?"

"Or have them wear sacks over their heads?"

"Or give up" Tamaki mutters, head pressed against the table, pouting, tracing his finger against the surface.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward in your seat "Say that again?"

"Give up? I can't lie i didn't think that was your style y/n-" "-No, it isn't...maybe we are over complicating this...we don't need fancy scarves or have them wear sacks on their heads....we just need to change the party theme"

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The turn around of the appearance of the central salon was a stark contrast from your original vision of the re-opening party. Instead of fountains and flapper dresses, there was a string quartet and colombina masks.

But, it was all worth it, because the Masquerade at midnight ball had managed to entice the regulars to come back.

"I miss when you used to be on my side for club financial decisions" Kyoya grumbled from the top of the stairs, looking over the party with you "Relax...we'll do the Great Gatsby party at some point, none of the money we spent on that will go to waste...also changing themes to a masquerade ball was a necessary evil, look around, we're more popular than ever"

Kyoya looks out across the crowd, it is true, this must be a new record for host club event attendance. The theme change has undoubtedly been a success.

"I suppose...I must admit you do have a strange affinity for ball gowns" when you come to think of it this must have been at least the seventh time that you have found yourself accidentally in a ball gown due to the host club antics "Shhh, i'm trying to get Tamaki to secretly fund the wardrobe of my deb season"

Kyoya raises an eyebrow "I didn't think that being a debutant was your thing" You roll your eyes "It isn't, i've never quite understood it, but my Nonna is desperate for me to do it, and my mother always used to talk about taking me out to shop for a dress for it so I'm sure I can stomach the rest of it" you laugh a little.

"Wait...does that mean I am going to have to do it too, don't debutants usually have dates?"

You smirk, a devious idea entering your head "I'll certainly need A date, doesn't have to be you, I was thinking of asking Tamaki...you know...since I know how much you hate those types of events"

Kyoya pauses "I know what you're trying to do" You sneak a glance at him "Do you?"

"Mhm"

"Is it working?"

"The only problem with your little plan is that there is no future where i would be jealous of Tamaki"

Your chin raises, staring him up and down, knowing that is a bold faced lie, you know the stories of when Kyoya and Tamaki first met.

"Oh really?" You step away, slowly heading down the stairs "then you'll raise no issue in my asking for his next dance-" you get cut off by Kyoya grabbing your wrist, lightly tugging you back to him "Now I didn't say that" You laugh, retuning to your place on the stairs, overlooking the party.

"You never did say what you were going to do with Komatsuzawa, in full honestly I am surprised you didn't inform him that you are considering buying up his fathers company"

"I didn't tell him because for one I am still in two minds on that one, and for two that would make me like him. Komatsuzawa uses his power and fear against people, i do not unless it is necessary and deserved" You follow his gaze over the scene of the ball.

"Besides, there was a much easier solution"

"Pray tell?"

You smirk, head tilting to the side "I just showed the article to Renge"

Next time on patience....'How to melt a frozen heart!'

'Kyoya-Senpai has come down with a terrible flu which has made him extra grouchy! And y/n has her work cut out for her, because the host club has decided to pay them a visit all next time on Patience!

We'll see you then!'

Tag list (reply to be added): @skottch @cgmajor @rebirthbunbun @bbybubbles @blueberry19000 @katgirl05 @smellslikelovinglies @veras-fanfic-reblogs @sadprimrose @mirtalikesdr @sleeplesssskeleton @ritzes28 @crackpeole @rory-cakes @renjunniex @II-kita-san-II @angelicwillows @missbrebre1012 @sleep-7372 @strawberrbitch @reticent-writer @eternal-dokja @meme848 @mistyhydrangeagarden @nanaloverz @hyuninslutbbgirl @rebel-author-chick @voyager1fan @bubbabobabubbles @haowonbins @justtryingtosurvive02

[ghrgrsfdesfrfg]

I had a lot of trouble writing her story but i hope you'll like it, i'm not satisfied with some part of the story so it will maybe change in the future.

As always, i'm open to critics and tips, if you want to request anything in particular, be my guest !

Credits to @gaziter on twitter for the image, i do not own it.

Massive change n°1, i asked some people and got advice on what to change, i'm making changes to eudora's role and personnality

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Archived information about  ‘‘Eudora’’, the Train Driver

-Experiment 1448 alias ‘‘Eudora’’ was created in 1993 to serve as the train driver of the Game Station to put groups of children and adults on it to drive them around the factory and be the commander of a unit dedicated to logistics in order to deliver equipments to the needed department of the factory.

-She measure 1m60 or 5,2ft in height, her body is almost entirely made of wood while small amount of porcelain were used for her eyes while her hair is a hybrid of yarn and silk giving it a solid yet soft texture.

-Like Baron Bon-Bon she is reluctant to inflict violence but this due to her traumatic past rather than a side effect of the procedure (although this comes into play as well) however she managed to work through her guilt and fears and is now dedicated to protecting other toys.

Early life:

-Clara cindram grew up in a loving family in a calm neighborhood, her family was known for being the cliché perfect family, this shaped her into an adorable yet slightly timid girl who enjoyed the company of plushies and toys rather than other children. She was doing good at school, her friends liked her and her family loved her with all theirs heart yet this all changed one day.

-One night a robber broke into the house and was taken by surprise by her father who fought with the robber until he was shot which woke up her mother and Clara, both of them were horrified by the scene and were taken hostage by the robber.

-The police was quick to arrive on the scene, and panicking, the robber took Clara’s mother as a prisoner and shot her in an attempt to dissuade the police from advancing on the house instead the robber was taken out by a sniper and Clara was quickly taken by the police and the ambulance.

-Shocked and traumatized after the long and grueling ordeal she was sent to the orphanage of Playcare due to having no known relatives to take care of her, this new environment was difficult to adapt to and the other children made it tough for her.

-She was seen as a crybaby and an easy target for bullies who wanted to take her money, toys or even lunch for themselves. Her only true friend was Thomas Freuer, an older child at Playcare who took care of her and was the only one to calm her down during her numerous breakdown, nightmare or other PTSD induced traumatic episode.

-While at Playcare she would often visit the Game Station with Thomas and would even befriend the Baron who took the girl under his “protection” by often looking after her or offering one of the best reward in the “Treasure Hunt” which was a brass compass.

-She was also in need of extensive psychological treatment due to the memory of the robbery giving her frequent and intense night terrors, psychological breakdowns and severe PTSD, while none of the psychiatrists managed to cure her, she did manage to have less-frequent nightmare and played with other children more often thanks to the encouragement of the counselors.

PROCEDURE:

-She was supposed to be taken for the procedure but Thomas stopped the scientists and offered himself to the utter shock and puzzlement of the staff who was stunned as this was the first time someone volunteered for the procedure.

-His noble sacrifice ended up being for nothing because 3 month later Clara was taken because the scientist wanted to use her to make a Train Driver (because the higher-ups needed a dedicated team to be used as logistics expert) while the counselors were sad to see such a smart child leave the orphanage (some were glad to not have to deal with her mental issues anymore) .

-Her intelligence was a trait of hers which was highly sought after and hoped to be amplified in order to make her a skilled Driver and commander to run the train like a well-oiled machine.

-Her procedure was a success due to the simple materials and her body structure, she could use a mix of meat consumption and rewind mechanism to keep functioning however it took a long time for her to get used to her new body as she kept screaming for her parents or crying for hours at a time, sometime complaining about her lack of lungs to breath or the intense phantom pain she was experiencing.

-After two weeks of constant breakdowns she was forced out of her state by Harley Sawyer and his threats of violence on her if she didn’t start to work.

-Despite the threats she took her training as a Train Driver while being constantly threatened to work better or face the consequences with remarkable speed and serious.

-Harley noted that electric shocks were the best to pull her out of her fragile state and force her to obey the scientists, starvation was also used while rumors of limbs removal also appeared (rumors claimed a random limbs would be chosen and taken then replaced if she didn’t obey although said rumors were denied by Harley Sawyer).

Work for Playtime.Co:

-Her training was rather easy thanks to her understanding instructions rather quickly and efficiently, she was also given some combat training as her rewind key was sharp enough to act as an estoc, she was a very precise and quick fighter acting with a lot of dexterity.

-She was assigned to the train of the Game Station and used her whistle to tell people when a train was about to leave, she was also in charge of delivering adults, children and sometimes the scientists to their chosen station which included the Lobby, the Game Station and Playcare.

-Driving people was only half of her job, the other half was delivering various goods and equipment to the part of the factory who needed them like the labs or the prison with her team whom she commanded with the precision and efficiency of a general.

-While strict when organizing the train and it’s passenger she had a soft spot for children and would often play with them or let them try her hat whom she was really attached to.

-She would avoid the various scientists but would try to help other toys such as Mommy Long-Legs or the mini-critters by giving them food or toys stolen from the train to try and lift theirs spirits.

-She could start the train via the numerous command in the cabin or her rewind key who was tailored to jump-start the train.

Hour of Joy:

-Heavy involvement as she was horrified by the Hour of Joy but spent a lot of time helping various children and adults escape, she hid them in the shipping compartments while fighting off waves of mini-critters and mini-huggys to distract them and give time for people to get on the train.

-She teamed up with the Baron to escort them to safety and was then hunted down by Huggy Wuggy and Mommy Long-Legs because they perceived her help towards the adults as a betrayal, she hid with the Baron for a while then moved toward Playcare and was later saved by the Rat King who took her with his pack and gave her a home in “the depths”.

-She took down numerous Mini-huggies and mini-critters thanks to her rewind key that she used as an estoc, said massacre of mini-toys earned her the ire of Catnap who tormented her relentlessly with the Red Smoke in Playcare before being saved by the Rat King.

-The Rat King took her to “the depths” an area near the Prison and the Labs in a series of unfinished rooms who served as the Rat King’s small kingdom, she was put there as it was far away from any toys seeking revenge on her.

-The King also took care of her mentally thanks to various music boxes and tape recording voices of children who spoke of her and how amazed they were of her, she was in a much better place mentally than her orphan days but the weight of all the toys she killed despite saving numerous people brought back her strong survivor guilt.

-Her survivor guilt first appeared after surviving the robbery and was amplified after the Hour of Joy, despite saving lots of people she felt guilty about killing the toys who tried to harm the people on the train.

Design and abilities:

-Her body is made of wood, using wooden balls as joint for her legs and elbow which made it possible to turn any of her limbs at 360° at will, her hair was a delicate mix of yarn and silk making it solid yet majestic and soft.

-Curiously, her legs were pointy and presented no feet, knees or ankles to speak of, just two pointy ends which to inexperienced people made it difficult to use but but gave incredible mobility and balance to whoever knew how to use them.

-Her insides were divided between a simple digestive system and a rewind mechanism to function in case no meat was available, if she wasn’t re-winded she would be in a state between shutdown and sleep.

-Her outfit is reminiscent of old-school train employees while her colors weren’t as flashy or childlike as other toys like Mommy or the Baron, giving her a somber red and dark-brown color who marked her as more important and experienced than an entertainment toy.

Trivia:

-Before becoming the Train Driver, her only friends were Thomas Freuer, Baron Bon-Bon and a teddybear she took from her home, children at Playcare often stole it from her or damaged it much to her sadness.

-Her mouth as the Train Driver cannot move like a normal human and instead only go up and down, forcing her to use her eyebrows to make any meaningful expression like joy, anger, sadness and many more.

-When she wasn’t working or needed to drive people around, she was often seen holding her hat in a mourning position, she would also be seen playing with other toys or talking with the Baron and Mommy.

-The Baron took an immediate liking to her due to her fragile state, she was gifted a Brass Compass from him and took care of it ever since, she was also a huge fan of his game and would often come to the Station only to play his game.

-Thomas Freuer was often seen reading to her or playing games like Hide and Seek or watching puppets show with him.

-While she was afraid of the scientists she often opposed parents who were too harsh with other toys or children.

-The Star insignia on her hat and chest were made by the Rat King at an unknown date while the 3 others were earned after significant milestones in her logistics career such as having delivered 100 cargos in the factory or handled difficult equipment numerous time without needing a special team.

-Eudora harbored a deep fear of electricity because of the treatment used by Harley Sawyer to force her to work, whenever the train malfunctioned or something broke due to electricity she would hide in the cabin of the train and wait until it worked again.

-When it came to food she was a fan of burgers and various junk food, however her favorite drink was orange juice, she would also ask to eat chicken and vegetables when junk food wasn’t possible.

-Somehow contact between her and the Rat King was made and his fury was such when he found out that Clara was indeed Eudora that he killed 4 employees in front of her and went on a rampage in the prison before being subdued, imprisoned for 2 days and asking to see her.

-During the Hour of Joy she fought against Huggy Wuggy when she was escorting adults and children to safety, while she couldn’t do any real damage she managed to delay him enough for a lot people to escape to safety.

-The scientist were intrigued by her drastic change of personnality from a cry-baby to a serious and dedicated commander, she would only say she wanted "to do good and help whenever she could".

-Despite her strictness regarding the train, her team came to love her thanks to the caring side she would show to a child or toy in need of comfort.

-Amazingly, she didn't sustain many injuries despite fighting Huggy-Wuggy for a prolonged period of time.

-After being saved by the Rat King she was placed in charge of half of his pack for the protection of his kingdom, organising patrols and supply runs.

-A picture of her damaged state after her fight with Huggy-Wuggy

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[mydogatemymotivation]

Thinking about Kallus. Thinking about the Empire. Thinking about how a fascist dictatorship can take over the minds of a population. I think more people should think about Kallus' defection the way they think about leaving high demand religions or cults. (not trying to absolve him of the shit he did, I'm just thinking things) I'm not a cult expert or anything, but if you're on tiktok I'm sure you've come across knitting cult lady, she's a cult expert who was raised in the children of god cult and she's mentioned more than once that the US military (which she was also in) is a cult, but people don't like thinking about it like that. But we grow up with all the propaganda about the army and there are recruiters going to schools and doing pull up challenges and there are ads on tv about how honorable and noble joining the military is, and how much good the military does (like technology research, paying for your education, providing jobs, benefits, etc.) to make it seem like it's a benevolent thing to do. And I have to wonder if that's what growing up on Coruscant was like. Ads every commercial break about joining the Republic's Military Academy, recruitment stations, veterans days and memorial days and military appreciation month and whatnot, and from Kallus' perspective joining the military would've been seen as honorable from the jump. Just wearing his uniform out and about for whatever reason got him "thank you for your service" and everything.

Then when you join, men shave their heads and women don't (maintains rigid gender binaries and division within the cult) and rigid body standards are maintained as well. This is something the US military does, too. It doesn’t matter how good you are at your job if you don't look the part, you'll be trimmed down until you do. There are real service members who've left the service that have confirmed as much. And think about it, when is the last time you saw a US army commercial with someone who wasn't conventionally attractive or uber thin. Controlling food is a surefire way to keep people in line, dependent on your organization, and too weak to resist. Cult shit. Worth noting that storm trooper armor is rigid. As far as we can tell, there's no way to adjust the plating, expand it, restrict it, whatever. It must be worn at the size it comes in. Which means body size must be maintained no matter what your body wants to do naturally. Also Leia's famous "aren't you a little short for a stormtrooper?", could be she was just trying to antagonize, could be she meant it literally. It's also worth noting that Kallus, like the stormtroopers, wears rigid plate armor. So the people who give him an eating disorder upon his defection, or the inability to regulate his own body's needs are exactly right.

Cults also have the 'skinny-white woman' near the top of the cult. It's the female counterpart to the cults patriarchal leader (doesn't have to be skinny, doesn't have to be white, it's just an archetype). I don't think the Empire has one specifically (maybe in legends, Mara Jade? but I don't know enough about legends, so I could be wrong), but I think that it's kind of broken up into different regions or sects, or there's more than one or something. Because if you look at Lothal, there's Thrawn, who is the local patriarchal leader of the cult, and Pryce, who is the 'skinny-white woman'. She has to defer to Thrawn despite being the Governor of Lothal and Thrawn being a 'guest' so-to-speak in the region. There's also the Grand Inquisitor (patriarchal leader) and Minister Tua (skinny-white woman) and Vader (patriarchal leader) and the 7th sister (skinny-white woman) (though she does kind of share her position with the 5th brother) throughout the series. Kallus always works for the patriarchal leader, and is usually equal to the skinny-white woman in the chain of command, but ISB seems to be its own entity, so he's not quite as dependent on that hierarchy as the other imperials on Lothal, which gives him some leeway that others don't have.

As for the harm he would cause. Yeah, he caused it. No one's denying that. But in the eyes of a Coruscanti, he was still just a vet. Probably had arguments about healthcare with the VA's office, would go home and have the narrative reinforced that he was doing the honorable thing, then would go back out into the field and try to maintain that slim grasp on what he was told was good. And I think this is why a lot of people are very uncomfortable with Kallus. Because he's a veteran and we all want our veterans to be taken care of and we all grill on memorial day and so on. And we don't want to think of our neighbors, and the women who've fought for the right to serve, and the queer people who've fought for the right to serve, as just abject bad guys. Like, yeah we'll critique the military industrial complex all day long, but our vets should be taken care of. Like they weren't all killing the same people for oil. And you can get online and wax poetic about how you're actually the special-special that always saw through all the lies and you think that all vets deserve to get spit in the eye. But no, you and I both know that's not true. I mean, George Lucas has confirmed that the rebellion is the Viet Cong, a militant leftist group that fought against the empire (Americans). And my grandpa fought in Vietnam. Or was it Korea. Or both. You see, I don't even know which one. You know why? I never asked. Either way, he got 'thank you for your service' and military discounts, and respect in his community, and blah blah blah. Because all of us are either directly in the cult of the US military OR directly affected by the cults' propaganda and then to see, accent aside, a US service member be blatantly evil and then acknowledge how blatantly evil he is, repent, turn around, and betray his home world, and the military industrial complex we've all been trained to love, makes us very angry because 'hey, you're not supposed to be self-aware'.

'Well, I don't love the military industrial complex, I'm the special-special >:(' ok what have you done that's helped destroy the military industrial complex other than complain about the healthcare vets receive and try to convince people not to use fireworks on the fourth of July. You benefit from colonialism. The US military is doing all the heavy lifting of colonialism globally allowing the US and Europe to benefit from ongoing systemic neo-colonial efforts, that's why the US military's budget is so overinflated.

'Well, Kallus still committed genocide,' so did your cousin that enlisted. In Star Wars, Anakin slaughtered a village of Tuskens and Padme married him and had children with him. Then he killed all the Jedi and Alderaan and got his redemption with Luke. Kylo Ren destroyed the entire Hosnian System and then got the girl. But yeah, those guys are space wizards and that distances them from real people so we don't think too hard about them. All the bad guys look like nazi ripoffs, so they're obviously evil and they stay evil for the most part, and all the good guys were always good guys. To us, at least. Sabine created a weapon that was designed specifically to slaughter her own people and their cultural heritage but that all happened off screen, so it's just interesting backstory for later. But Kallus? From space USA, not a wizard, and his about-face happened in real time for us. He looked right at us, holding up a mirror to us and our complacency and people had viscerally negative reactions to him, because we didn't like our own reflection. His redemption is so, so, so, so fascinating. Fascinating look at the US military. At least for me, I have so much fun doing analysis like this lol

I would've loved for Rebels to get into the weeds here, but I also understand why they didn't. He was a secondary antagonist from an animated kids show on Disney XD. So, naturally, they weren't going to get that in depth, especially with the military contracts that Disney has. I don't think they were planning on redeeming him at the beginning of the show. Sometimes characters kind of, come alive in a way, and say 'nu-uh, I wouldn't do that. Give me the pen, I'll write it,' and I very much get the feeling that's what Kallus did. If they had known from the beginning that they were going to redeem him, I think his backstory would've been different, but given the limited budget, and limited time, and the fact that he wasn't a main character, you know, these things happen. Real world stuff affects what happens in the writers room, and that's a bummer. But I'm also kind of happy I get to speculate and theorize the way I do. Like I said, it's fun. Anyway, I just think he's neat. I think his redemption is neat, and it was good enough for Zeb and his people, so it's good enough for me.

anyway, be nice. i'm just riffing to riff.

[myrandomfandomramblings]

Just a reminder: I love you - a Chenford fanfic

“He’s so cute,” Lucy gushed as she looked at the picture of Kojo on Tim’s phone screen.

“Yeah, apparently one of the boys had some sort of history project,” Tim explained, “at least that was the explanation I got when they asked if they could dress Kojo up in fashion trends from the last 100 years.” 

“Wait this isn’t the only costume?” Lucy asked, “there’s more?”

Tim nodded. “They sent me at least ten pictures, just scroll forward,” he said handing her his phone.

“What will I see if I scroll backwards,” Lucy teased, “some juicy secrets on your camera roll perhaps?”

Tim laughed, “honestly probably just more pictures of Kojo. I think I also took a picture of the sign the gym posted of their holiday hours. Oh, and Jack stole my phone the last time I was babysitting and took like a hundred selfies looking straight up his nose. So if you’d rather scroll that way be my guest.”

“Tempting,” Lucy countered, “maybe after I admire my boy.”

She started scrolling through the photos. Kojo dressed for jazzercise then in poodle skirt then a flapper dress. Next he was in fedora and trench coat, then jeans a white T-shirt and a leather jacket. In one he was dressed like a hippie, in another as a disco star and in a third as a hipster. Lucy was just admiring him in a matching sweatsuit when a notification popped up on Tim’s phone with a ding. She had teased him many times for never having his phone on silent and always got the same response: what’s the point of having a phone if you don’t know when someone’s trying to contact you?

Tim had obviously heard the ding but made no effort to retrieve his phone. Without really meaning to, Lucy’s eyes went to the notification. It was a calendar reminder. The event was titled “Anniversary”. 

Her first thought was that he still had his and Isabel’s wedding anniversary in his calendar, maybe a little odd but understandable. Then she remembered Tim talking about how they had had a summer wedding (“Would not recommend. Summer in LA is way too hot for an outdoor wedding”) and it was currently early December. Her next guess was that it was something sports related. The anniversary of a Superbowl or World Series win or draft of a favourite player. She was about to tease him and find out when she realized it could be something personal: the anniversary of his father’s death, or the death of one of his fellow soldiers. Maybe the day of his deployment, divorce, or honourable discharge. She was about to hand Tim his phone back and pretend she hadn’t seen it when a familiar song started playing from the nearby food trunk . It catapulted her back in time to this same spot almost a year ago. Almost exactly a year ago. Then it dawned on her.

“Did you put a reminder for our one year anniversary in your calendar?” She blurted out without thinking.

Tim’s eyes went wide, “Shit, yeah months ago. Is that what that ding was?”

Lucy nodded.

“I’m sorry, I forgot. I didn’t mean for you to see it. This wasn’t some weird elaborate plan, I swear,” he continued clearly panicked.

Lucy laughed, “I believe you,” she said handing his phone back to him.

Tim relaxed, “good.”

“So you really thought we’d make it ,huh?” Lucy asked, “to the one year mark?”

“Oh course,” Tim nodded, a pause then, “who could have predicted I would be such an idiot?”

Lucy snorted, “yeah, you really screwed up,” she teased.

“I’ll do better next time,” he stated.

“You better,” she smiled.

[caitchercatlady]

Sleeping Over at Ramshackle w/Sebek

Disclaimer: I'll admit that this story was difficult for me to write as Sebek is one of my least favorite characters. However, for everyone out there, thank you for waiting patiently, and I hope I still did him justice for the Sebek fans out there.

You must think that Lilia is crazy…or at least more insane than usual. Putting you and Sebek in the same room is like setting up Grim and Lucius to duke it out over a bowl of freshly cut tuna. Even if you are the more civil one between the two, Sebek will find any and every excuse to compare you to him (even if those comparisons aren’t fair in the slightest). However, having him over for a sleepover (assumingly against his own will), that’s a surefire way to set the entire Ramshackle Dorm ablaze, and it won’t even be your fault. You are not ready to get kicked off of Night Raven campus because of that green-haired hothead.

Lilia has run out of “nice” ways to get Sebek and you under one roof, so he has to resort to bribery. He knows how you’ve been looking forward to your check allowance from Crowley, so you can get your hands on those crepes that Sam has brought in to sell at the Mystery Shop. Lilia just so happens to have three boxes of them ready for consumption. He’ll be happy to get you all three if you agree to allow Sebek to sleepover for just one day.

You hate it when Lilia pushes your cravings button.

The weekend arrives, and you begrudgingly are waiting for Sebek to come over at any moment. Lilia lets you know that Sebek would be sent over at five in the evening for a long night of fun. Is fun really the word you want to use? However, as Lilia has noted to you, by 5PM, once you have Ramshackle organized, the awaited knock at the door appears.

You open it. Sebek stands on the porch, not like your friends who are ready to party, but like a soldier on a stealth mission instead. You haven’t expected anything less from him. He waits for you to give permission to enter your humble abode, and once you do give it, he marches into the living space. He’ll look around as if he’s Crowley going in for dorm inspection. If the inspection is to determine if he’ll stay or not, at least you know it’s not your fault. You never built this dorm.

“As unkempt as to expect from this ancient establishment,” he ends up saying, and that’s the only statement he makes on the condition of Ramshackle.

It’s not the worst piece of criticism, you suppose.

“I don’t suppose you have tea prepared, do you?”

On the contrary, you have been boiling water in the kitchen kettle for tea as you have specifically for your Heartslabyul, Octavinelle, and Pomefiore guests (plus Jamil). You only have to ask what kind of tea Sebek prefers.

“Any primary tea will do.”

“Sugar?”

“Just half of a teaspoon. The tea itself should be enough.”

“Yes, sir,” you mutter. You go with green tea to be simple. This doesn’t seem to face Sebek, which is a better reaction than a negative comment.

Sebek does not speak during the tea break. When he finishes his cup, he decides to take a peek at the guest room you have prepared. It looks very much similar to yours, and there’s not a speck of discrimination to be found in that regard. He does glace at the bed with a bit of disdain. Sebek wants more or the thickest blankets you own. You explain that his closet has extra blankets for the winter if he wants to use those.

The two of you don’t interact for the next few hours as you take turns using the washroom. Then, you head downstairs to clean the living area when you find Sebek’s ID at the foot of the couch. This is too important to leave on the counter or table for the next morning.

You head back upstairs and knock on Sebek’s closed door. “Sebek? Um…I found your ID.”

You don’t get a response.

“Sebek, are you okay?” you call.

No reply again.

Your stomach tells you that it’s not a good idea to enter someone’s private space uninvited while also telling you something is wrong simultaneously. Courtesy be damned if he’s your responsibility for the weekend.

You enter the guestroom to see that Sebek’s temporary bed has gone from neat and untouched to a pile of sheets in the span of three and a half hours. “Sebek?” you ask again.

A grunt noises from under the pile.

“What in the world?”

“What obligation do you have?” he muffles.

“I was just returning  your ID card. What are you doing?”

“Incubating my energy. Something a human such as you will not understand. Please drop my item and depart if you are satisfied.”

“The first part, easy. But what is this incubation you’re talking about? You’re huddled under there like you’re stuck in a blizzard.”

“Your dormitory feels like a blizzard!”

“Really? Yeah, it gets a little drafty at night, but I feel fine…” Your words trail off. Slowly, but surely it occurs to you that Sebek is half fae. Half fae of the night. As you’ve heard from the others, some things he has inherited from his fae mother, others not. This must be a human-father-inherited gene kicking into high gear. As one who has suffered some really cold nights yourself, you feel for Sebek in this situation.

You tell him not to move as you’ll be right back with some more sheets. You gather whatever you have from your own room and shuffle your way back to Sebek’s. He has refused to come out from under the pile until you toss your collection on top of his. That’s when he ruffles through and pokes his head out, accusing you of suffocating him.

“I can’t help a person if they don’t tell me how else to do things, genius.”

He hisses through his teeth, but he mutters a “Thank you” anyway.

“Don’t thank me just yet.” You sit yourself on the mattress.

“What are you doing?” he exclaims.

“I gave you my sheets, and I’m going to use them the way they are intended.”

Sebek’s face flashes red as you further crawl into his personal space.

“You’re asking to be warmer in this place, and I’m only trying to make you complain less.” You reorganize the blankets in the way they are meant to be used. You want Sebek to trust the process, but you know that’s not going to happen at the drop of a hat. Then, you have both of you retain a side of the bed. After the first few minutes of getting used to yourselves, you accept your presence by laying your heads into the bed’s pillows. As relaxed as you’re getting, without much of your knowledge, the both of you inch until you get comfortably close for warmth. You two won’t notice until the next morning, but by then, is it something worth an argument? Mmm…perhaps not.

[treasureboxmylove]

The Strength Of The Unseen

The great hall of Ithaca was filled with the murmurs of suitors—loud, laughing voices that made Telemachus’s stomach twist. They lounged in his father’s palace as if it were theirs, drinking wine, boasting of their so-called heroics, and worst of all, looking at his mother like she was a prize to be won.

Telemachus hated them.

But he also feared them.

They were grown men, tall and imposing, and their voices carried through the halls like thunder. Some were mean, throwing mocking glances his way, while others ignored him altogether. It was easier when they ignored him.

Instinctively, he inched closer to his mother, standing at her side as she addressed the unwelcome guests. His fingers curled into the fabric of her dress—just a little, just enough to feel safe. He told himself it wasn’t hiding. He was just… standing close.

But then one of the suitors, Antinous, stepped forward, eyes sharp like a hawk’s. "Ah, young prince Telemachus," he said, voice thick with mockery. "Shouldn't you be off playing with wooden swords instead of clinging to your mother’s skirts?"

Telemachus stiffened. Heat rushed to his face, and his grip on the fabric tightened before he forced himself to let go. He straightened his back and stepped forward, just slightly. His hands balled into fists at his sides. "I am not hiding," he said, though his voice was quieter than he wanted.

Antinous chuckled, exchanging glances with the others. Telemachus hated that. He wanted them gone. He wanted *him* to be here instead—his father, the man they all feared, the king who would have thrown them out without hesitation.

Penelope placed a gentle hand on her son’s shoulder. It was a silent reassurance, one he immediately leaned into. Then, she turned to Antinous, her expression calm but firm. "My son has more right to be here than any of you," she said smoothly. "Unlike some, he does not overstay his welcome."

Some of the men laughed, though not at Telemachus this time. Antinous scowled, but he said nothing.

Telemachus swallowed, shifting closer to his mother again. He didn’t want them near her. He wanted to stand in front of her, to block them from looking at her the way they did. But he was small, and they were many.

Later, when the suitors had dispersed, and the hall was quieter, Penelope turned to him, brushing his hair back with her fingers. "You are braver than you think," she murmured.

Telemachus frowned. "I don’t feel brave."

"You stood your ground today," she said. "Even when you were afraid."

Telemachus bit his lip. "But I still—" He hesitated. "I still wanted to hide."

Penelope knelt so they were eye to eye. "Wanting to hide does not mean you are not strong. It means you are human. And strength is not about being unafraid—it is about standing tall *despite* the fear." She cupped his face, her thumbs brushing his cheeks. "And one day, when you grow into the man I know you will become, they will *fear* you, my son."

Telemachus stared at her, wide-eyed. It was the way she said it—so certain, as if she had already seen it happen. As if there was no doubt.

He exhaled, his small hands coming up to hold her wrists. "I just don’t want them near you," he admitted.

Penelope smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I know, my love. But for now, let them talk. Let them laugh. Their time will end soon enough."

Telemachus didn’t understand what she meant, but her voice was so steady, so unwavering, that he found himself believing her.

And for tonight, that was enough.

---

That night, long after the suitors had retreated to their drunken slumber and the great hall had fallen silent, Telemachus lay awake. The embers in the hearth still glowed faintly, casting flickering shadows against the walls. He could hear his mother moving through the corridors, her soft footsteps careful but steady. She had spent so many nights like this, pacing, thinking, waiting. He wondered if she ever truly rested.

The thought unsettled him.

Slowly, he pushed himself up from his bed, slipping from beneath the covers. The air was cool against his skin as he padded barefoot through the darkened halls, following the faint glow of the lamps she had left burning. He found her in her chamber, standing by the window, looking out toward the sea.

"Mother?" His voice was quiet, uncertain.

She turned at once, and in the dim candlelight, he saw the exhaustion in her face—hidden well but not from him. She softened at the sight of him, reaching out. "You should be asleep, my love."

Telemachus hesitated, then crossed the room, wrapping his arms around her waist. She was warm, steady. Safe. "I couldn't," he admitted.

Penelope sighed softly, brushing her fingers through his hair. "Was it the suitors?"

He nodded against her. "I keep thinking about what they said. What they’ll keep saying." His hands clenched into the fabric of her dress. "I hate them, Mother. I hate that they’re here. I hate that they look at you like that, like you’re some prize to be won."

Penelope pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "I know," she murmured. "But their words are empty. They speak loudly to mask their own weakness."

Telemachus swallowed, his voice smaller now. "Then why do they stay? Why do they act like nothing can stop them?"

"Because they think no one will." She pulled back slightly, tilting his chin up so he met her gaze. "But they are wrong."

He searched her face, uncertainty still weighing on him. "But what if—what if Father never comes back?" His voice wavered. He had never said it aloud before, never dared. But the doubt had long since nestled itself deep in his chest, growing heavier with each passing day.

For a moment, Penelope was quiet. Then she knelt, holding his face in her hands. "Then we will stand against them."

Telemachus blinked. "We?"

She nodded. "You are growing stronger every day. One day, you will fight for this home, for your name, for everything your father built." Her hands squeezed his shoulders. "And I will fight for you, my son. As long as I breathe, I will not let them take what is ours."

Something in her voice, in the fierce certainty of it, settled the storm in his chest. His mother was not weak. She was not afraid. And if she could stand against them, then maybe—maybe he could too.

He swallowed, shifting closer again, resting his head against her shoulder. "Will you stay with me tonight?" he asked, barely above a whisper.

Penelope smiled, wrapping her arms around him. "Of course, my love."

Together, they settled onto the cushions near the hearth, Penelope pulling a warm blanket over them. She hummed softly, an old lullaby, her fingers tracing soothing patterns against his back. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Telemachus let himself close his eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of his mother’s warmth and comfort.

Outside, the night stretched on, and the suitors still lurked in the halls of Ithaca. But here, in her arms, Telemachus was safe. And no matter how much they laughed, how much they mocked—he knew their time would end.

For now, this was enough.

---

[tasty-littl-snack]

Puppet history season 7 is the best season and here's why.

Once again gushing about puppet history season 7 because the writing is sooo good and I can't stop thinking about it.

I am one of these people who doesn't mind spoilers when going in, because a good story will not only have twists and turns but also a logical way to make the most of them. It's like finding clues along the way and thinking "Oh this might be something!" and then you have the satisfaction of being right at the end. This is why some TV shows fail because they don't like the audience finding the ending out for maximum shock value or whatever.

But I believe that even if you know the final twist of the season there's still ways to enjoy it.

The clues were there all along.

I also think that season 7 has great marks of a good tragedy (as in a well written tragedy and that's why all major points hit so well)

MAJOR SPOILERS beyond this point if you don't want to get spoiled then come back after watching the season.

(This turned out to be mostly a season 7 recap but I just. Love this story so much).

Let's start at the beginning and that's episode 1 of the season, which features Aria aka the guest that was there before lore got very lore-y in season 5. In this first episode we get the explanation on how things went when Aria left the studio in season 5, and that he didn't meet the professor yet (Because season 5 was hosted by a hologram who is really similar to the professor but like an evil twin).

This serves as both exposition and a way to get the viewer up to date on what's worth paying attention to. Ryan defeated that villain by defenestration which also was the topic of the second episode of season 5. (hint hint). The episode is about Pythagoras and establishes that Pythagoras was not only a mathematician but a cult leader. And we don't know if he lived or died. He's also supposedly afraid of beans, and we can see that the prize which was jellybeans for 6 seasons, is now changed to Phorgetydol which is a mysterious pill. On the surface not much, every episode of Puppet History has a topic about a whacky figure.

But then the lore happens, and it's established that a new puppet is in town - Dr. Sprat, which is also a blue puppet with a degree, and he 'helps out' (his glasses are triangle shaped, and he calls the triangle 'old friend' which seem like him just being polite but when you know the ending it makes you go !!!!!). Then Ryan and Professor are drugged and the puppet is in a 'retirement' room, which we are not sure what it does but can't be anything good. Man is suspicious! Surely he's evil.

In episode two, however it turns out that Sprat might not really know what he does, and Elmer is established as the worse villain (drugging everyone around including Dorothy Ruth to manipulate her). So here we have first seed of doubt because maybe Sprat is doing his job? Maybe he's not knowing what he's doing and there's a chance for him to be brought on the 'good side'.

In episode three, we have obviously further establishing Elmer as the bad guy, and while the dino parents were not mentioned before, here we have them coming back. And they are cute! But now knowing what we know there's an undercurrent of "oh no I hope they're not gonna go there". The viewer is still fooled by techincally Elmer doing the job, so it still doesn't put Sprat in the villain role, especially because we've seen him regret things in episode 2 (but those are said by Elmer, and at this point he's not that evil so we decide to trust him). The song and the story of the episode also tells us about "Pretending that a dead ruler is alive by simply not looking into a tent", and it has one of the coolest reprises since Asmodeus/meteorite song, with the "Perfectly normal room, nothing to see here."

Then in episode 4 the narrative changes to Ryan wanting to remember, and the first payoff happens, with Shane being dead all along. (But they didn't look at the memorial, because they were too drugged/in denial, and the villain did a great job of pretending that Shane is still alive by running the show. After all, Estranged Producer was deadbeat anyway and didn't listen to them, so what changed really?)

This is also where we get the payoff from the first episode of knowing what the 'drama' is -> that Shane was killed that night. This is also a fun rule of a tragedy where you introduce a character to be killed off by making him sympathetic. And also Shane himself saying "I will just walk into my carriage in a dark alleyway" (He won't make it there).

This episode also ends with a great cliffhanger of them maybe hunting for ghosts. Which in itself is bittersweet, and the show being created by Shane makes you think "But surely ghosts aren't real in a show written by a skeptic?".

Then again, this is puppet history so a world where magic is real, and puppets are antropomorphic. The plot was pretty dark up until this point so something good needs to happen so there's hope that they can win. And that's what happens in episode five, with them contacting Shane's ghost. Sprat also once again plays innocent and it seems like he might be on their side. He helps them out, and says he will keep watch for the horse and alert them if something happens.

The contact is successful, and there Shane's ghost gives a hint that he's seen all the other people they covered on the show except Pythagoras. This makes sense in context because he wants to deny that he's a ghost, but as a foreshadowing it makes so much more sense. (It's a hint that Pythagoras is still alive). They come up with a plan and it seems like they might succeed too.

But then, in episode six (appropriately titled and dealing with "mutiny") comes the betrayal. It also hinges on Ryan and Professor being stupid and naive, and just like Dinoparents before them they get locked in the puppet retirement room. By now the viewer knows what that means, and when the orange light is on it's one of the coolest moments to me.

Elmer looks dead and so it makes you think "Was he already killed? But then all the other puppets vanish when they go to purgatory so he can't be dead". You first get the satisfaction of defeating that horse which is clearly evil, but then it turns out that it's worse. Hoagy Sprat is Pythagoras, the villain and you were right to be suspicious of him. But there's also that form of betrayal because why would he help them if he hated them?

"No you fools. It's a puppet. I bought it in a store. For children!" is one of the greatest line deliveries I've heard. It is said slower than the monologue but that's because it has to sink in for Ryan and the Professor, but also for the audience. "A puppet manning another puppet" to us seems maybe kinda normal but it's not for the professor. It's kind of like... cutting someone and taking over their skin? (hint hint).

Sprat is so evil and it is fun to have a monologue so well acted. And he succeeds. Like all good tragedies, the heroes die at the end.

Then at the very end we get the punchline to a joke the professor made in episode one. Chekov's Puppet Mathematics is real. All seems lost but not yet. There's a mouse that you recognize from the previous seasons and maybe they might save the day? Or make things even wilder? We won't know at this point, but that's a great cliffhanger to end on. We know that the substitute is coming back at least.

All in all, the changing to Phorgetydol being roughly jelly-bean sized but not a bean (because Pythagoras hates beans) is my favorite hint that something's wrong aside from it's function to make you forget.

I think this season is a masterpiece. Truly beyond this surface level "Pythagoras is a crazy man who wants to kill everyone" it has that meta narrative of a show made with charm and love being replaced by numbers (cough cough youtube algorythm and not all of their shows being profitable), and the commentary on sponsorships stopping you from what you want to make. Because idk about you but I loved that the prize is jellybeans in a tiny cup, rather than a white suspicious pill that makes you forget that things are that bad.

[aishangotome]

[Gilbert] Amnesia Event: Only Loving You Sweet End

Part 2

Translated by request :)

♡———♡

Enveloped by the scent of roses that had drifted in through the open window, I couldn't help but exhale a soft breath.

(I've arrived...)

(...At the Rhodolite castle.)

The coachman opened the carriage door, and Prince Gilbert, who had been sitting opposite me, stepped out first.

Gilbert: After you.

Emma: Thank you... very much.

I took the offered hand and carefully stepped down from the carriage.

(I'd seen the castle from afar, but this is the first time I've been this close.)

(...Though it feels like something my lost memories would think.)

Gilbert: Hehe, it's been a while since I was last in Rhodolite. I never thought I'd come here again.

Prince Gilbert didn't let go of my hand and started walking towards the entrance.

(I didn't expect you to really come with me, either.)

*flashback*

Emma: Prince Gilbert, would you like to come with me to Rhodolite to see the roses?

––That night, after thinking and thinking, the words I uttered to Prince Gilbert were an invitation.

His red eyes widened, and the hooded man beside him also gasped.

Gilbert: "Not just you, but me too?"

Emma: Yes. You said you liked roses, didn't you?

Emma: Though... it's probably difficult, isn't it?

Gilbert: ..........

Gilbert: Roderic.

Roderic: ...I will persuade the teachers. Please, go.

Gilbert: Yes, I'm counting on you while I'm away.

*flashback over*

(I wanted to come to Rhodolite. But I also didn't want to leave Prince Gilbert alone.)

(...Prince Gilbert immediately granted my selfish wish.)

(I'm truly loved, aren't I?)

-

As Prince Gilbert escorted me into the castle, three men turned towards us in unison, and I was momentarily lost in the lavish interior.

Gilbert: Hehe, thank you for the welcome.

Rio: Emma!

Emma: Eh, Rio!?

Rio, the only friend who exists in my memory, rushed over hurriedly.

Emma: Why are you here?

Rio: Of course, I was your butler, you know.

Emma: ...Butler?

Rio: Ah...

Rio: ...It was true that you lost your memory.

Gilbert: There's no way I'd give you false information, is there?

Gilbert: However, the overprotective group has gathered nicely.

???: You've finally decided to return Emma, have you?

Gilbert: Not at all. It's just a trip.

???: Hmm, a trip, you say. But the young lady beside you has a rather troubled expression, wouldn't you say?

(...I can't remember, but it seems I was once Belle, so...)

(I should know these people.)

Gilbert: ...The one on the right is Luke, and the one on the left is Clavis. Both are princes of Rhodolite.

Even though I couldn't remember after hearing the whispered words, Gilbert's casual thoughtfulness eased my tense expression.

(I hesitate to ask a favor of princes, but that's why I came here.)

I let go of Gilbert's hand and took a step forward.

Emma: There's something I'd like to ask everyone.

Clavis: Is it how to throw Calamity into a pit?

Luke: You shut up. ––What do you want to know?

Emma: I understand that I was in Rhodolite Castle for a time.

Emma: But I don't remember at all... Could you please tell me about that period in detail?

(The story I heard from Prince Gilbert was, at best, from Prince Gilbert's perspective.)

(If I hear the story from the perspective of the Rhodolite princes, I should get different information.)

(Especially, "Why did Prince Gilbert come to love me?")

(I hope to unravel that mystery...)

Clavis, Rio, Luke: .......

Emma: Uh... why are you making such serious faces...?

Clavis: In this world, there are some memories that are better left unremembered.

Luke: Yeah, that’s right.

Rio: ...Oh, that's right. Prince Gilbert, King Chevalier has requested your presence.

Gilbert: Oh? He intends to make a guest come to him?

Rio: My apologies. But he is King Chevalier, after all.

Gilbert: ...........

Gilbert: ...Fine, then. I'll grant mercy only once, you know?

I couldn't help but grab the edge of Prince Gilbert's cloak as he casually tried to leave me.

Gilbert: Little Rabbit?

Emma: Ah... my apologies.

(Why did I try to stop him?)

(...It's not like I have anything to tell him.)

Gilbert: Don't you want to be apart from me?

Emma: ...I don't know.

Gilbert: You're honest.

When I let go of his cloak, Prince Gilbert took my hand and brought it to his lips.

The gentleness of his cold lips touching my fingertips made my chest ache.

Gilbert: Whether she has her memories or not, she's my fiancée.

Gilbert: You understand... right?

Clavis: Haha, don't threaten them. There's no way we'd be rude to Emma.

Luke: Just go already, you're in the way.

Gilbert: Eh, how cruel.

Smiling pleasantly, Prince Gilbert finally disappeared into the depths of the castle.

(Usually, you'd feel relieved when a great villain leaves...)

(...But I want to chase after him immediately. Is this feeling really...)

Rio: Emma... Standing here talking isn't ideal, shall we move?

Rio: ––This is the story of Emma and Prince Gilbert as we know it.

Emma: ...Such things happened...

Emma: ......

Emma: Wait... Did I only receive terrible treatment?

Clavis, Rio, Luke: "That's right." "Indeed." "You got it."

Emma: .............

(Isolated by Prince Gilbert's malice, everyone in Rhodolite turned hostile towards me...)

(And in the end, I was taken to Obsidian as a hostage.)

As expected, there was a lot of information in their story that wasn't in Prince Gilbert's, and it made my head spin.

Emma: ...Why did I fall in love with Prince Gilbert?

Clavis: It was a delusion.

Luke: You were threatened, right?

Rio: Emma is kind, after all!

(Everyone's reactions are terrible!)

Rio: Emma, isn't this your chance?

Emma: Chance for what...?

Rio: Even though treaties have been signed between the four neighboring countries, Obsidian is still our sworn enemy.

Rio: As long as you're in that country, Rhodolite will be in danger.

Rio: So, how about taking this opportunity to return under the guise of recovering?

Emma: ...........That's impossible.

Emma: Prince Gilbert said if I didn't come back, he'd come to Rhodolite with a large army to get me.

Luke: That man is the worst.

Clavis: Don't worry, Emma. Our country's princes are all excellent.

Clavis: It would be easy to handle Prince Gilbert, you know?

Clavis: To be honest, I've been wondering for a while if it's right to put the fate of the nation solely on your shoulders.

Clavis: If we could manage something, would you want to come back to Rhodolite?

Rio, Prince Luke, and Prince Clavis, their eyes were all serious.

(...I––)

-- At the same time.

Gilbert: Seriously, what do you think of treating a distinguished guest like an intruder?

Chevalier: ...........

Gilbert: Honestly, if you wanted to separate us, you could have told a less obvious lie.

Gilbert: And you, you could at least stop your writing when a distinguished guest is here, couldn't you?

Chevalier: An uninvited guest.

Gilbert: You're still terrible at diplomacy. You'll definitely offend some country someday.

Gilbert: ...Well, whatever. Lend me that for a second.

Gilbert, ruthlessly taking the quill from Chevalier's hand, wrote down some equations on a nearby document.

Gilbert: What do you think of this?

Chevalier: ...........

Chevalier: ...The Calamity of the world has some nerve to ask such a thing.

Chevalier: To think you came all this way just to return a rabbit.

Gilbert: Haha, don't misunderstand.

Gilbert: It's just a temporary loan. If she doesn't come back, I'll come to get her with a great army, you know?

Gilbert: I hope Rhodolite won't be engulfed in a sea of fire.

Chevalier: You don't like lies, do you?

Gilbert: ...Yeah, I hate them. They make me want to vomit.

Chevalier: ............

Chevalier: It's too high a price for prepaid fees, but I'll accept it as a future friendship fee.

Gilbert: Well, thank you.

Gilbert: Please take good care of her for what I paid, okay...?

-

Emma: Ah, there you are. Prince Gilbert!

I searched through the castle and finally found his black figure among the roses.

As I ran towards him, Prince Gilbert, noticing me, greeted me with a refreshing smile.

Gilbert: Did you have a good chat?

Emma: Yes. I was able to hear many stories from everyone.

Emma: ...Though I feel most of them were criticisms of Prince Gilbert.

Gilbert: Haha, do you hate me now?

(Hate... )

(...I wish I could.)

When I grasped his cold hand, his blood-red eyes widened slightly.

Gilbert: What is it? Holding the hand of a man who treated you so badly?

Emma: ...It doesn't mean anything in particular.

(Just... Prince Gilbert looked lonely as he gazed at the roses...)

Emma: Even so, the roses in Rhodolite are beautiful, as expected.

I turned my attention to the surroundings, trying to change the subject.

The flowers blooming in a place symbolizing the Rose Country were all well-maintained, their magnificent petals blooming vividly.

It was a rose garden beautiful enough to look at for minutes, even hours.

Emma: But...

Emma: The single rose I received from Prince Gilbert seems more beautiful to me.

Gilbert: ...Really? It looks rather shabby compared to the roses here.

Emma: Just because I've forgotten what roses in Obsidian mean doesn't mean I've forgotten everything.

(A scary person, a terrible person... I couldn't bring myself to love the Prince Gilbert in the stories.)

(I still didn't understand why Prince Gilbert loved me.)

(Yet, that rose won't leave my mind.)

(The rose Prince Gilbert worked so hard to bloom in the barren land...)

I squeezed his cold hand tightly, transferring warmth to it.

Emma: I feel refreshed after talking to everyone. Thank you for coming all this way with me.

Emma: Let's go home, Prince Gilbert.

Gilbert: ..............

Gilbert: ...Isn't your hometown here?

Emma: Yes, but the old me chose to live by Prince Gilbert's side.

Emma: ...Besides, after hearing the stories, I'm convinced.

Emma: I must have been in love with Prince Gilbert.

Emma: Otherwise, I would never have gone to Obsidian.

(Rio, Prince Clavis, and Prince Luke all said the same thing.)

("I went to Obsidian of my own will.")

(That decision itself was my answer.)

The hand I reached out to Prince Gilbert as he walked away, the heart that didn't feel unpleasant even when pinned down, and most of all, the red eyes before me are wavering.

What's seeping into them is unmistakably sincere love.

(...Coming to Rhodolite finally allowed me to accept it.)

(I... was Prince Gilbert's fiancée.)

Emma: My memory hasn't returned yet... but may I stay by your side?

As I asked timidly, Prince Gilbert pulled me into his arms.

Gilbert: ...You foolish Little Rabbit. I went to all this trouble to create a chance for you.

Emma: Chance?

Gilbert: Hehe, it's nothing.

Prince Gilbert pressed his lips to my forehead and smiled.

It was a smile that seemed to radiate happiness from the bottom of his heart—an emotional smile unbecoming of a great villain.

Gilbert: Let's go home. I'll give you a rose garden more beautiful than this one.

Emma: I'm looking forward to it.

(By then, I want to properly remember.)

(Because I don't want to make him lonely any more than this.)

.

.

.

Premium Ending

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[lvmimis]

cw: selfship-coded. reader has brown skin and curly hair and it's mentioned in semi-fetishy ways. set in wano arc.

“Like bathed in hojicha,” the old man drones on as a leathery hand crosses the invisible barrier between entertainer and guest and covers your free one. Your natural impulse to shudder is suppressed by your desire to remain polite and coy even, and your other hand steady, you continue to pour tea, resisting the turn of your stomach. A fake smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, but would not be detected by a man so drunk and so improper, spreads across your lips.

He’s petting you in three distinct ways - like an exotic animal, like a precious vase, like a woman he has some odd desire to consume, one that puzzles him himself. You’ve long since forgotten his name - a terrible faux pas on the part of a geisha - but you’re not a geisha, you’re simply pretending to be until the rest of your party arrives in Wano. 

Until your captain arrives.

He pulls your hand further to inspect it closer. You wonder if he’d be so bold enough to sniff it (another patron has, to your shock), but instead he continues to inspect it, rubbing with his thumb as if the melanin will come off.

“My mother was a fan of hojicha actually, when she was pregnant with me,” you say, giggling, your voice an octave higher. He doesn’t notice you pull your hand away due to the musicality of your voice, exchanging it with a warm cup.

“Please drink, my lord.” 

This man is not a good conversationalist in the least, but he seems easily pickpocketed, and by the end of the night, you are able to swipe a few gold coins from him (some not all) and stow them away for safe-keeping. If there’s anything Nami has taught you well, it’s that if there’s an opportunity to steal without consequence, do so.

These men don’t deserve their money anyway.

—

“Honestly, I think I should have gone the kunoichi route with Nami, because this is getting ridiculous,” you start, before taking a bite of Sanji’s noodles. He winks as you take your first bite, and you thank him for the food before scrunching your nose as you look at Robin.

Robin looks beautiful, skin as pale as moonlight and lips redder than the ripest cherry. Your makeup looks just as beautiful, but you know that the two of you draw looks of the passersby in two very different ways - Robin because of her beauty, you because your own beauty is also unexpected. The women doing both your hair and makeup weren’t exactly sure what to do with your abundance of curls, and they fall in a clumped, partially formed mess that manages to frame your face nicely enough to satisfy the tastes of the teahouse’s patrons, and evidently some of the men straggling around Sanji’s stall.

Franky sits closer to the two of you to discourage anyone from approaching the two of you but it doesn’t stop people from looking.

“As long as you don’t directly challenge the Oiran, I think we are okay,” she muses. You’ve heard of her legendary beauty and are reassured that you’re more of a fleeting attraction than a real threat. Even the men that you service will discuss Komurasaki with want dripping from their mouths.

“Absolutely.” Rubbing displaced lipstick from the side of your mouth, you change the subject. “Have you gotten any information on Luffy?”

Robin shakes her head. You pout. 

“For men who claim to have high positions, they also have zero idea what’s going on politically.”

Franky laughs. “You realize here, even if he’s our captain, he’s just another prisoner, right?”

You grit your teeth at the thought. Sanji’s food can never possibly taste bad or even bland, but the warming sensation on your tongue abates with the very thought that Luffy cannot enjoy the same food.

“We’ll hear something when he gets out,” Usopp says, patting you on the back. 

“I hope so because I don’t know how much longer I can tolerate this.”

But the truth is, you can do a lot for Luffy.

—

“I can imagine a well-learned man like you would know a lot about the mines in Udon, am I right?”

Your voice is light, and your fingers work carefully as you tap pressure points in his shoulders and along the neck and spine. If you were a stronger woman, you’d snap it but you have to settle for extracting as much information as you can out of the customer.

Smitten with you, yes. Knowledgeable? No.

“What would a beautiful young woman like you care about those prisoners? I suppose they live and they die. Serves them right for committing crimes.”

You spend a little longer, pressing your thumb a little harder at the top of the cervical spine. He groans in a sound that is too much like pleasure, and you remember you have a role to play.

“Of course. They sound so awfully scary.” Your voice is syrupy sweet. “Have some more tea, my lord.”

You hope Luffy breaks out soon.

—

The shogun and his cronies are too drunk to realize that you have missed a few paces in your fan dance. Food and drink overflows in abundance, sake guzzled down into greedy maws and never satiated bellies while the countrymen continue to starve. You’re pulled and poked at and forced to smile because these men demand nothing less than pleasure and forced joy. 

The top oiran in her beauty hides her disgust well, you notice, her under layers of beauty. The women in the room all do. You meet eyes with Robin and she nods, slipping out of the room first.

You continue to dance.

Everything will come crashing down soon, and you’ll be glad to see it, as long as you trust in your crew.

And your captain, who no doubt will find his way out soon.

Your smile widens, enough to reach your eyes. Orochi and his ministers of course, are far too drunk to see the real joy in it, nor the terror that comes for them.