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solxamber · 2 months ago

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Familiar, Not So Familiar || Lilia Vanrouge

You, a mage-in-training, attempt to summon a simple familiar—only to accidentally get yourself Lilia Vanrouge, a legendary fae with a penchant for chaos.

You have tried. You have tried so many times that the gods themselves must be watching your efforts like a soap opera, popcorn in hand, marveling at your persistence and misfortune.

Every spell you’ve ever learned? Perfect. Every potion you’ve ever brewed? Immaculate. Every single tedious little task required of an apprentice mage? Completed with at least passing competence.

And yet—this. This one, single, crucial spell has eluded you since the moment you first picked up a wand and thought, yes, let’s dedicate my life to this craft instead of something simple, like farming, or piracy, or a career in interpretive dance.

For years, you have watched your classmates perform their familiar rituals with ease. You have seen their little foxes, their wise owls, their unbearably smug salamanders perched on their shoulders like accessories in an enchanted fashion show. Oh, you don’t have a familiar yet? they’d say, voices dripping with polite condescension. That must be so hard! Magic must be so exhausting for you!

Yes. Yes, it is exhausting, Martha, you imbecile. Magic without a familiar is like trying to run a marathon uphill while being punched repeatedly in the stomach. It is like carrying a cauldron of molten lava with no gloves and being told, just don’t drop it! It is slowly killing you, and you are tired.

So tonight? Tonight is it. The line has been drawn. The candles have been lit. You have researched, you have practiced, you have painstakingly carved every single rune with the desperation of a student facing final exams with an empty study guide.

Either you summon your familiar, or you start looking into lucrative careers in something that requires zero magical ability. Candle-making. Tax fraud. Something.

You kneel before the summoning circle, hands clasped in pure, unfiltered desperation. Your voice is raw as you plead, as you offer up your dignity to the uncaring forces of the universe.

"Please," you whisper, nearly headbutting the floor. "Just this once. A cat. A dog. A single, semi-intelligent rat. Hell, a bat—bats are magical, right? I’ll take a bat. I’ll take a sentient pile of mold if it can cast at least one large spell without dying. Just something. Please, I am begging you."

The room is deathly silent.

And then—

A hum. A vibration in the air, as if reality itself is rethinking its choices.

The summoning circle does not glow—it erupts, an explosion of light so bright that your first instinct is to assume you have been smote for your insolence. The ground shudders. The candles flicker wildly. The sheer energy of the spell crackles through the air like the universe is taking a deep breath and laughing at you.

And then, through the haze, a silhouette.

Your first thought: That is not an animal.

Your second thought: That is not an animal, that is a person.

Your third thought: THAT IS A FAE.

Your fourth thought does not get to exist because your brain has blue screened.

The figure steps forward, hands clasped neatly behind his back, surveying the room with the air of someone who has just walked into an amusing play and finds himself the lead actor. He is floating, because of course he is. His wild hair is a chaotic mess of black and magenta, his sharp eyes twinkling with mirth, his very presence radiating power that should not, under any circumstances, be inside your living room.

Then he smiles, and you are abruptly hit with the horrifying realization that you know who he is.

The portraits. The stories. The absolute legend that is Lilia Vanrouge, former general, feared warrior, living relic of a bygone era, the kind of fae you read about in history books with the unspoken footnote of probably do not summon him.

And he is here.

And he is looking at you.

"Ah," he says, with all the delight of someone who has just stumbled upon something incredibly amusing. "How interesting."

You are frozen. Your body has stopped functioning. Your brain is actively trying to escape this situation by retreating into the astral plane.

Lilia tilts his head, observing your utter paralysis with great amusement, and then, with the flourish of a seasoned actor stepping onto the grandest stage of his life, he presses a hand to his chest and bows deeply.

"You have called," he proclaims, voice rich with dramatic flair, "and I have answered! For one year, I shall serve as your loyal familiar! May our contract be fruitful, our battles glorious, and our meals—" he pauses, grinning like a fox, "well, we shall see."

He straightens, clearly expecting some sort of response.

You do not move. You do not speak. You do not even blink.

Because you are still attempting to comprehend the fact that you have, against every possible law of magic, logic, and common sense, just summoned Lilia Vanrouge as your familiar.

The next morning, you awaken to the horrifying realization that last night was not, in fact, a fever dream.

Lilia Vanrouge is still here.

Floating.

In your kitchen.

Sipping tea.

With your mug.

You stand there, unblinking, as he lifts the cup in greeting, utterly unbothered by your complete mental breakdown. “Ah, you’re awake! Good morning, my dear summoner! Did you sleep well? Oh, never mind that, of course you didn’t—you must be so excited! Your first day with your new familiar!”

Your eye twitches. The existential dread is setting in. But there is no time to panic because you have class.

And now, for the first time in your absolutely miserable academic career, you have a familiar to bring with you.

Which would be a cause for celebration.

If your familiar was literally anyone else.

But no. No, you are marching through the academy halls with a floating, ancient fae war general drifting beside you, humming cheerfully, taking in his new surroundings like a tourist at a historical landmark.

Your classmates? Shitting bricks.

Your professors? Re-evaluating their life choices.

Your history professor? Actively vibrating in place. This is a man who has spent years studying Lilia Vanrouge, reconstructing battle strategies, debating historical inaccuracies, analyzing old texts to understand the mind of one of the most enigmatic figures in magical warfare. He looks at you, at Lilia, back at you, back at Lilia, and you swear to the gods above that this man is about two seconds away from weeping.

He wants an interview. He wants an entire dissertation. He wants to shake your hand for the sheer magnitude of this academic opportunity, and you are just standing there, barely holding onto your last scrap of sanity, because this is not a research opportunity, Professor, this is my life.

Meanwhile, Lilia is having a blast.

“Ohoho, what a delightful institution!” he muses, drifting through the halls, peering into classrooms, inspecting the architecture with a level of interest that should not belong to someone who predates half of these buildings. “Ah, look at that banner! I remember when these were in fashion—horrid little things, always got caught in the wind and smacked people in the face during duels. Ah! And look at these uniforms! What a quaint design! Oh, but that color… tragic choice, really, you should have seen the battle robes from my era. Those had flair!”

You press a hand to your face, inhaling deeply.

You are not going to survive this year.

But at the very least, you are about to have the first productive Offensive Magic class of your entire life.

For years, casting magic without a familiar has been hell. You’ve always struggled with large-scale spells, your body too weak to sustain the energy required. Your classmates have always had an advantage, their familiars supplying them with extra mana while you struggled to get anything stronger than a low-tier fireball.

But today?

Today, you have Lilia Vanrouge as a mana battery.

And you are about to find out exactly what that means.

The spell you’ve been struggling with for years—the one that has never worked properly, the one that has always left you half-conscious and questioning your life decisions—flows from your hands as easily as breathing. You don’t even have time to be excited because the moment the spell leaves your fingertips, the entire training ground erupts.

Not a small explosion.

Not a reasonable, manageable, academically acceptable explosion.

No.

You have just cratered the battlefield.

The shockwave sends everyone flying. The ground is smoking. There is a hole where the target dummies used to be. Somewhere in the distance, alarms are going off. Birds are screaming. Your professor is staring in mute horror at the absolute devastation before him.

And you?

You turn to Lilia, hands shaking, mouth opening and closing like a fish, because what the hell just happened.

Lilia, floating beside you, watches the destruction with the expression of a man who has just seen a slightly amusing street performance. He clasps his hands together, nodding approvingly.

“Well! Now that that’s done, why don’t we go find something fun to do?”

You are not going to survive the year.

It is supposed to be a quiet night.

Supposed to be.

You, a dedicated apprentice mage (read: overworked and underpaid student), have settled down with your magical theory book, prepared to suffer through the finer details of mana channeling. The lamp flickers softly, the air is calm, and for once in your chaotic existence, things feel peaceful.

Then, from the kitchen, you hear something.

Something that does not belong in the realm of mortals.

It begins with an unsettling hiss, followed by a squelching noise so visceral it sends a shudder down your spine. Then there’s a clank—something metal hitting the floor—then a thud, then another squelch. You are gripping your book so tightly that the pages crinkle.

And then—

A chainsaw.

You blink.

You tilt your head, straining your ears, waiting for your exhausted mind to correct you.

The chainsaw revs again.

There is a cackle—a delighted, mischievous giggle, unmistakably Lilia’s—followed by the sound of what can only be described as something wet hitting the walls.

You place your book down with the slow, measured movements of a person who has just realized that, against all odds, they are in mortal danger.

Before you can even get up, Lilia emerges from the kitchen, beaming, holding something that should not exist.

It is a plate of food.

You think.

At least, you assume that’s what it is. The thing on the plate is writhing slightly, like it’s trying to escape, its color shifting between shades of green that have never been found in nature. It looks less like a meal and more like something that should have been sealed away in a forbidden vault centuries ago. You are pretty sure it just twitched.

Lilia, looking pleased with himself, holds the plate out to you like a proud parent. “Here you go! A little something I whipped up! A good meal is essential for a strong mage!”

You stare at him. You stare at the food. You stare at him again. Then back at the food, as if hoping that, upon a second glance, it will suddenly become normal. It does not. It continues to vibrate menacingly.

You inhale slowly. You pray to the gods—the ones who have clearly abandoned you—and take a bite.

And then—

You almost meet them.

Your soul briefly leaves your body. Your ancestors appear before you, shaking their heads in deep disappointment. The concept of life and death ceases to have meaning. Time itself slows to a crawl as your taste buds experience a level of suffering once reserved only for cursed spirits.

You slam the fork down, forcing a smile that looks more like a pained grimace. “I—uh—actually, I’m not really that hungry right now!”

Lilia blinks, tilting his head. “Oh? But you just took a bite—”

You cut him off, nodding so quickly it could give you whiplash. “Nope! Super full! Wow, so full. Stuffed, actually. I definitely can’t eat another bite!”

Lilia frowns, looking genuinely disappointed, and for a brief, insane moment, you almost consider eating more.

Then the food on the plate shudders again.

And you decide that no matter how cute Lilia Vanrouge is, you simply cannot abide.

Later that night, you are once again seated at your desk, trying to get through your magical theory reading, when Lilia appears at your side.

For a brief moment, fear seizes you—until you see what he’s holding.

A cup of warm milk.

Just milk.

You stare at it, half-expecting it to start glowing or whispering in an ancient, cursed tongue. But no, it’s just milk. Safe. Harmless. Normal.

You accept it with more gratitude than you’ve ever felt in your life. “Thank you.”

Lilia settles in beside you, watching as you study, occasionally making little jokes, pointing out errors in your book’s outdated magical theories, offering insights that no historian could ever dream of. The conversation flows easily, his voice a constant, comforting presence, a bridge between history and now, between chaos and something softer.

And as you sit there, sipping your drink, listening to Lilia hum an old tune while offering you obscure magical trivia, you think—

Yeah.

Maybe he really is the best familiar you could have summoned.

Lilia does not like your magical theory professor.

At least, you think he doesn’t.

He’s always cheerful—borderline impossible to ruffle—but the moment you step into that class, something shifts. His usual smile dims, his eyes narrow ever so slightly, and his arms stay folded across his chest like a particularly judgmental gargoyle. It’s subtle—so subtle that if you weren’t stuck with him 24/7 (as your familiar, and definitely not because you enjoy his company), you might not have noticed.

But you have noticed. And it’s weird.

Even weirder? Every time you ask him about it, he gives you the most convincing performance of utter cluelessness you have ever witnessed. The first time, he even tilted his head, widened his eyes, and said, “Me? Dislike someone? Oh, dear apprentice, you wound me!” in the most theatrical, exaggerated manner possible.

And the thing about Lilia is, if he doesn’t want to talk about something, there is no force in the universe that can make him.

You gave up after the third attempt. If it was major, he’d tell you.

…Right?

Today, your professor smiles as she hands you a new assignment: a magic circle for you to analyze.

“You should be able to cast this with your familiar’s assistance,” she says, smiling in that teacher who’s about to ruin your life way.

You glance at the intricate diagram, tilting your head. “What’s it for?”

“Oh, it’s just illusion magic,” she assures you breezily.

And before you can say anything else, Lilia moves.

One moment, he’s standing behind you, silent as a shadow. The next, he’s in front of you, plucking the book from your hands with the effortless grace of someone who has definitely stolen things before.

His gaze sharpens as he scans the magic circle, his usual playful demeanor gone. His fingers tighten slightly on the book’s spine. Then, without hesitation, he snaps it shut and hands it right back to your professor.

“No.”

Your professor blinks, looking caught between offense and confusion. “Pardon?”

Lilia’s voice remains pleasant—but it is the kind of pleasant that makes your survival instincts scream. “I said no. My dear apprentice will not be casting this.”

The professor balks. “Excuse me, but I gave them an assignment. You contain your familiar—”

You raise your hands in exasperation. “Lady, are you kidding? This is a war general. You think I can just ‘contain’ him? You contain him.”

Your professor looks like she wants to argue. Lilia, meanwhile, tilts his head at her with the serene patience of a man watching a squirrel try to pick a fight with a dragon.

Then, he smiles.

It is not his usual mischievous grin. It is a deliberate, pointed smile.

“Why don’t you cast it first?” he asks, tone deceptively light.

Your professor stiffens. “That’s unnecessary, I already—”

Lilia’s eyes gleam. “Go on, then. Just illusion magic, isn’t it?”

The tension in the room spikes. Your professor, who has just spent the past five minutes acting like the spell is no big deal, suddenly looks very nervous.

“Oh, well,” she flounders, “I—it’s meant for—um—student practice—”

“Ah,” Lilia hums, nodding sagely. “So you’d assign a spell you wouldn’t cast yourself to my dear apprentice? How interesting.”

Your professor’s expression freezes.

And that’s when you realize something.

Lilia knew.

He knew the moment he saw the circle that something was off. He recognized it. And whatever it was meant to do, it wasn’t just harmless illusion magic.

Your professor coughs, clearly scrambling for a way out. Lilia waits, ever-patient, eyes half-lidded like a cat watching a cornered mouse.

Then, before she can say anything else, he turns to you. “We’re leaving.”

And you do not argue.

Outside, Lilia floats beside you, humming a little tune. You don’t say anything for a while, still processing.

Finally, you sigh. “You’re not gonna tell me what that spell actually was, are you?”

Lilia’s grin returns, bright and playful. “Who’s to say~?”

You groan. “Lilia.”

He chuckles, reaching out to pat your head in a way that is both condescending and annoyingly affectionate. “Let’s just say I’d rather not have to un-curse you anytime soon, hmm?”

Your stomach sinks slightly. You glance back toward the classroom building, frowning. Your professor has never pulled something like that before. But before you can dwell on it too much, Lilia floats closer, arms crossed.

“Promise me something,” he says, tone suddenly softer.

You blink up at him. “What?”

“Run your spells by me before casting them.” His smile doesn’t falter, but there’s something firm—unshakable—beneath the usual playfulness.

Your first instinct is to argue. To say you know what you’re doing. That you’re a capable mage. But then you think about how fast he moved. How easily he spotted the issue. How your professor, faced with his simple challenge, folded like wet parchment.

“…Okay,” you say.

His smile widens, but this time, it’s warm. “Good.”

And then, just like that, he’s back to his usual self, floating ahead, dramatically stretching as if he was the one who had to deal with a dangerous spell.

“Now that that’s settled,” he sighs, “why don’t set something on fire?”

You press a hand to your forehead.

At first, it was little things.

Your professors started assigning you slightly more advanced spells—reasonable enough, considering your mana pool had technically expanded (read: you accidentally summoned an ancient fae war general as your familiar). You could handle it. You were handling it.

But then it got worse.

Much worse.

It started with offensive spells. The usual: fireballs, lightning strikes, the occasional tornado. And then, gradually, the assignments escalated into city-leveling disasters.

One moment, you were casting a moderately powerful explosion spell. The next, you were being instructed to conjure something called the Wrath of the Abyss—which, from the name alone, sounded like it had no business being taught in a school.

Lilia, floating serenely beside you, casually flicked his fingers, erasing the spell from your assignment scroll. “No,” he said.

You didn’t argue.

The final straw came when you were assigned a spell so ridiculously strong that had Lilia not interfered, you’re pretty sure you would’ve smited an entire town off the map.

That night, exhausted and frustrated, you marched to the headmaster’s office to finally have a conversation about this.

And that’s when you heard it.

Muffled voices.

The headmaster and your professors—all of them—discussing how to weaponize your newly expanded mana pool. How to push you further, how to ensure you could be controlled—with force, if necessary.

You stood there for a long moment, processing.

Then you turned on your heel, went back to your dorm, and drafted the most polite resignation letter you have ever written in your entire life.

By morning, you were gone.

Which brings you to now.

Laid out on the couch.

Bored.

Contemplating your life choices.

Lilia floats around the new house, inspecting it with the air of a man who has been evicted from kingdoms before and now finds the concept of moving vaguely amusing. Occasionally, he hums in approval. Once, he sticks his head into the kitchen and mutters, “I could work with this.” (You choose to ignore the implication.)

Eventually, he drifts over to the couch, settling next to you. He watches you for a moment, eyes softer than usual, before reaching out and gently patting your head.

“…I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

You blink, turning your head to look at him. “For what?”

He offers a small, almost wistful smile. “For everything. You wanted a small familiar. A cat, perhaps. A gentle companion to aid your studies. And instead… you got me.”

Something about the way he says it makes your heart squeeze.

You sit up, shaking your head. “That’s not your fault. It’s not your fault humans are garbage sometimes.” You snort. “Honestly, I should be the one apologizing to you. You got roped into this mess because of me.”

Lilia laughs softly. “Oh, please. This is hardly the worst summoning I’ve been part of.”

You roll your eyes but lean into him anyway, resting your head against his shoulder. “I mean it, though. I’m glad you were there to look out for me.” You exhale, closing your eyes. “I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else. You’re the best fit for me.”

There’s a pause.

Then, Lilia shifts slightly, tilting his head to look at you.

“…You know,” he murmurs, amusement creeping into his voice, “it almost sounds like you like me.”

You groan. “Lilia.”

He chuckles, clearly pleased with himself, and lets you rest against him, draping an arm over the back of the couch.

The TV plays some mindless reality show in the background—something ridiculous, the kind of show where two rich people argue over whose yacht is shinier. Lilia occasionally makes a quiet, offhand comment about the historical implications of their arguments, which, considering he’s been around long enough to have historical context for everything, is both fascinating and deeply concerning.

Still, as you sit there, comfortable and safe, a strange sort of peace settles over you.

Maybe this is okay, too.

Moping is unsustainable.

Yes, your dreams of becoming a renowned royal mage have withered and died like a houseplant you swore you watered (you didn’t). Yes, the academy tried to turn you into a walking magical war crime before you dropped out. And yes, you are technically in magical witness protection now.

But you refuse to let that get you down.

You are a problem solver. A forward-thinker. A survivor.

And what do survivors do? They pivot.

Thus begins your new life as the proud owner of Mystic Remedies, a charming little potion shop in a sleepy town where nobody knows—or cares—that you once accidentally summoned a literal fae war general as a familiar.

And surprisingly? Business is booming.

Apparently, people love magic when it’s used for normal things, like fixing bald spots or whitening teeth or getting rid of that one really stubborn pimple that refuses to die no matter how many times you pray to the gods. Your bestselling potions?

“The Shine of Youth” – Teeth Whitening Elixir

Results are instantaneous and blindingly effective (literally. One guy came back complaining his teeth were so white they were reflecting sunlight into his own eyes.)*

“Regrowth & Renewal” – Anti-Baldness Tonic

The town’s balding population has never been happier. One man sobbed openly in your shop after seeing his full head of hair for the first time in twenty years.

“Vanisher’s Touch” – Acne & Scar Removal Serum

One (1) drop and your skin becomes as smooth as a newborn’s. Side effects include strangers asking you for your entire skincare routine (which, obviously, you refuse to share because you are making BANK off of this).

And presiding over all of this?

Lilia Vanrouge.

Your fae general, immortal menace, questionably helpful familiar.

At first, you thought Lilia would just hang around for company. Maybe help with security. Offer sage wisdom. That kind of thing.

You were wrong.

Instead, he has taken it upon himself to be your business partner.

Which would be fine, except:

1. Lilia insists on being the shop greeter.

“Welcome, weary traveler!” he announces grandly every time someone enters, even if it’s just the lady from next door.

2.He also bows dramatically every time, which has led to multiple people thinking they’ve accidentally entered a royal court instead of a potion shop.

3. He makes up fake tragic backstories for your potions.

The baldness potion? “Crafted from the tears of a forgotten god who, himself, was once afflicted with hair loss.”

The teeth whitening elixir? “Distilled from the ancient wisdom of a radiant moonbeam, stolen by a trickster spirit under the cover of night.”

The anti-acne potion? “Forged in the fires of celestial vanity, when the first star envied the smoothness of the moon’s face.”

The customers eat it up. Business doubles because people now believe they’re purchasing legendary magical relics instead of DIY cosmetic solutions.

4. He takes “quality control” VERY seriously.

You once caught him drinking the hair regrowth tonic.

“Lilia,” you said. “You have hair. You have a lot of hair.”

He took a long, thoughtful sip, smacked his lips, and simply said, “Quality assurance.”

(The next day, his hair was so voluminous it looked like he had absorbed a lion. He seemed thrilled about this. You refused to comment.)

5. His idea of “helping” with potion-making is... distressing.

One time, you left him alone for five minutes.

When you came back, he had somehow produced a glowing purple substance that was hovering slightly above the table and making whale noises.

You didn’t even ask. You just threw the entire thing out.

Lilia disappears sometimes in the middle of the night. You’ll wake up, the room unnaturally quiet, and immediately know he’s gone. Not gone gone—he’s not that dramatic—but somewhere else, wrapped in thoughts you never quite get to see.

Tonight, the air is cool when you step outside, wrapping around you like a second skin. You don’t have to search long. He’s on the rooftop, perched with all the effortless grace of a creature who defies gravity. His eyes are locked onto the moon, silver light washing over his face, his usual impishness replaced with something… else.

You’ve seen Lilia in many states—mischievous, chaotic, wise, deeply concerning—but you’ve never seen him like this.

So, naturally, you make the entirely reasonable decision to scale the side of the house.

It is not a graceful process. There’s a lot of slipping, a lot of swearing, and at one point, you’re pretty sure you get stuck in a position that defies basic human anatomy. Lilia watches all of this unfold with what you know is barely suppressed laughter, but he doesn’t help.

Rude.

By the time you haul yourself onto the roof, panting like you’ve just wrestled a bear, Lilia looks at you like you’re the strange one here.

“…You could have used the stairs,” he points out.

You glare at him. “Yeah? Well, you could’ve not brooded on the roof like the protagonist of a tragic novel, but here we are.”

For a moment, you think he might tease you, but instead, something in his expression softens. Like he hadn’t expected you to come. Like the idea of being found was somehow surprising.

You settle beside him, deliberately sitting close enough that your arms brush. Lilia doesn’t say anything, just leans into you, his weight light but grounding.

“I’m grateful you left immediately when you did,” he murmurs, voice quiet in a way that makes you pause. “I wasn’t prepared to lose you.”

You don’t ask. You never have. Lilia carries centuries in his gaze, in the way he moves, in the weight of the things he doesn’t say. But this? This moment, this sliver of vulnerability? This is his truth, and you’ll never push him to unravel more than he wants to.

So you nod. You pull him closer. And you sit there, pressed together beneath the vast, endless sky, offering nothing but presence.

Because sometimes, companionship is enough.

Despite all of this—despite the dramatics, the chaos, the fact that you are pretty sure Lilia is making up 90% of his fae wisdom on the spot—your little potion shop thrives.

You get to help people. You get to live peacefully.

And best of all? You get to spend your days with someone who makes life interesting.

One evening, as you’re closing up, Lilia floats beside you, watching as you count today’s earnings.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” he says, tone oddly soft, absent of his usual teasing lilt.

You glance at him, raising a brow. “We have,” you correct, shoving the last of the gold into the till. “I’d be lost without you.”

He hums in amusement, resting his chin in his hand. “Flattery will get you everywhere, you know.”

You snort. “It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

There’s a pause.

Then, after a moment, he reaches over—ruffles your hair with genuine fondness.

You pretend to be annoyed, but you don’t move away.

(And later, as you sit together, sharing a cup of tea under the quiet glow of lantern light, you think—maybe this life? This ridiculous, unpredictable, strangely wonderful life? Maybe it’s not so bad, after all.)

The first time you created a potion for hair growth, you barely had time to marvel at your genius before Lilia grabbed the vial and downed it in one gulp. No hesitation. No patch test. Just the unwavering confidence of a man who believed you were capable of alchemy miracles despite your previous track record, which included but was not limited to:

Accidentally making a love potion so strong it made a squirrel propose to a tree.

Brewing an invisibility elixir that only made clothes disappear (awkward).

Concocting a sleeping draught that did, in fact, induce sleep—just exclusively in yourself.

So, really, this blind faith of his was either heartwarming or deeply concerning.

The effect was immediate. Lilia’s short, fluffy locks exploded outward in a dramatic cascade, flowing past his shoulders, his waist, and then pooling onto the floor in a heap of silky, midnight strands. He blinked at you from behind his newly acquired curtain of hair, looking entirely unbothered, while you sat there in stunned horror like an artist realizing they’d just painted the Mona Lisa using finger paints.

“Well,” he said cheerfully, lifting a section of his hair with mild curiosity. “At least I won’t have to buy a blanket anymore.”

You groaned, already reaching for the shears. “Sit down. I’m cutting it before you trip and break your immortal neck.”

Lilia plopped down in front of you, perfectly content as you gathered the thick locks in your hands, marveling at how soft they were. You ran your fingers through them, untangling strands, watching them catch the light like the finest silk. Somewhere in the middle of methodically snipping away, your hand brushed against the nape of his neck.

And Lilia—Lilia of the endless energy, mischievous smirks, and unpredictable chaos—tilted his head into your touch like a cat craving warmth. He let his cheek brush against your palm, the weight of him light but deliberate, and you felt something in your chest hiccup.

Oh no.

Nope. Absolutely not. You were not going to sit here and have an emotional epiphany over a haircut.

You cleared your throat and kept cutting, pretending you didn’t notice the way his eyes fluttered shut, how he sighed just the slightest bit when you raked your fingers through his hair again. You ignored the warmth curling in your stomach, the way your heart stuttered like a miscast spell.

This was fine. Just a normal, everyday occurrence. No significance whatsoever.

(You ignored the fact that, long after the potion’s effects had worn off, Lilia still asks you to fix his hair for him.)

It has been a year.

A whole year since you knelt in front of a summoning circle, begging the universe for a small, manageable familiar—a cat, a bat, anything reasonable—only for reality to spit in your face and drop a war general into your living room.

A year since Lilia Vanrouge, former general, ancient fae, and walking eldritch menace, declared himself your familiar with a dramatic flourish while you stood there questioning every single life decision that had led to that moment.

And now, it’s time to let him go.

You knew this day would come. You told yourself you wouldn’t get attached. He was never supposed to stay forever. He has actual, important, world-changing things to do, and you—what are you? A small-town potion seller with a thriving business in male pattern baldness reversal and anti-aging tonics. This is not a worthy occupation for a fae of his caliber.

So why does the thought of him leaving feel like your heart is about to crawl out of your chest, slap you in the face, and then dramatically expire in protest?

You’re an adult. You can handle this. You will handle this.

Night falls, and you set up the ritual.

The summoning contract that bound him to you for a year must now be undone. The process is simple: draw the circle, say the words, and Lilia will be free to return to whatever grand, fae-magic-drenched existence he had before meeting you.

Your hands shake as you carve the sigils into the ground. You tell yourself it’s just fatigue.

The circle is perfect. The words are ready. You steel yourself, take a deep breath, and—

SCRATCH.

You blink.

Your circle is ruined.

Because Lilia just dragged his foot through it like a toddler messing up a sandcastle.

“Whoops,” he says, tone entirely insincere.

You stare at the ruined circle. Then at him. Then at the deep, deliberate groove he just scraped through the sigils.

“…Did you just—”

“Oh dear,” Lilia sighs, not looking remotely sorry. “How clumsy of me.”

You narrow your eyes.

Fine. Fine. You can work with this. You redraw the circle, faster this time, heart pounding, trying not to think about how every stroke is another step toward the inevitable.

But as soon as you finish it, it vanishes.

You gape. “What the fu—”

Lilia, sitting lazily on your kitchen counter, swirls his wine glass and hums, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You try again. And again.

Each time, something goes wrong.

The chalk disappears. The ink dries too fast. The lines curve into nonsense when you look away. Lilia, drinking his wine, watching you struggle, looking like a cat who just knocked over an entire shelf and is waiting for applause.

Then, finally, the last straw.

You painstakingly carve the circle one last time, standing up with triumphant determination—

And Lilia immediately spills his wine on it.

He gasps, eyes wide with the fakest, most dramatic shock you have ever seen. “Oh my. How unfortunate.”

You drop the chalk.

You inhale, slow and measured, like a parent about to scold a misbehaving child.

Then you turn to him.

“…Hey,” you say, voice trembling, not with sadness, but with the sheer, earth-shattering realization that this little fae menace is playing with you.

He takes another sip of wine, as if to fortify himself against the incoming confrontation.

“Do you,” you say, pointing at him, “not want to leave?”

Lilia smiles. That infuriatingly cryptic, all-knowing smile that he has given you exactly one thousand times over the past year.

He doesn’t answer.

And you are done.

You grab him by the collar, yanking his floating self down to your level, because no. Not this time.

“Say it.” Your heart is racing, your voice shaking. “Stop playing with my feelings and just say it.”

For the first time in a long time, Lilia looks genuinely surprised.

His bright red eyes flick over your face, searching, calculating.

Then, gently, effortlessly, he kisses you.

It’s soft. Unhurried. Like a promise instead of a confession.

When he pulls away, there’s no teasing, no smug amusement. Just quiet certainty as he murmurs, “I thought that was obvious, little mage.”

And you—

You think, yeah. This is perfect.

The day after the kiss is, by all accounts, completely normal.

Lilia is still Lilia—dramatic, whimsical, and absolutely insufferable in the best way possible. He flits around the shop like a particularly mischievous specter, rearranges your potions in ways that make absolutely no sense, and startles at least three customers by dropping upside down from the rafters like a bat with a caffeine addiction.

The only difference are the little changes in his proximity.

The way he brushes a little closer, his fingertips lingering on yours when he hands you a vial. The way he leans in when he speaks, voice a low murmur that sends shivers down your spine. The way his eyes—sharp, playful, knowing—linger just a second too long, like he’s drinking in every reaction.

Your regulars notice immediately.

“You two finally figured it out, huh?”

“About damn time.”

“Oh, we’ve been betting on this for months—Edgar, pay up.”

Even the old woman who only comes in for her arthritis tincture pats your cheek with grandmotherly approval, declaring, "He’s a little strange, but you always liked strays."

By the time you close up for the night, you’re warm with laughter, exhaustion, and the sheer reality of it. Of him. Of you.

And then there’s a weight on your back, light but unmistakable, arms winding around you as Lilia attaches himself like a particularly affectionate cloak.

“You still haven’t actually asked me to stay,” he hums, his chin resting on your shoulder. You can hear the grin in his voice, teasing and pleased.

You roll your eyes, exasperated and utterly, helplessly fond.

Then, without warning, you turn, grabbing his face in both hands and kissing him hard.

He makes a soft, surprised noise against your lips before immediately melting into it, responding with all the fervor of someone who has absolutely been waiting for this. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, and you swear you can feel him smiling into the kiss.

When you finally pull back, breathless and a little dazed, you meet his gaze and say, firm and sure,

“Stay.”

Lilia blinks, as if he wasn’t expecting you to actually say it. Then his lips curl into something unbearably soft, unbearably fond, and he whispers,

“Till the end of my life.”

Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge x reader #twst lilia #lilia x reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia twst #lilia x you #lilia #twisted wonderland lilia

2K notes · View notes

starsenha · 9 months ago

Text

COLLAB STAGE / Y.J

Pairing ◊ sub!fem!idol!reader x dom!idol!jungwon (ft. Lesserafim Yunjin)

Genre ◊ SMUT, fluff

Warnings ◊ SMUT (MINORS DNI), harddom!jungwon, hair pulling, fingering, oral (m. receiving), semi-public sex, overstimulation, rough, slight dacryphilia, mirror sex, aftercare, dry humping, petnames (sweetheart, baby...), reader is a year older than jungwon (so he calls her noona)

Word count ◊ 6.7k

Summary ◊ You and Jungwon were friends since your trainee days, you've always seen him as a little brother, until this collaboration you had to with him for your Summer Gayo Daejeon performance

a/n: not proofread, enjoy!

You stepped out of the sleek, black car provided by Hybe Entertainment, the cool morning air brushing against your face as you headed toward the familiar studio entrance. The tall building loomed above you, your company logo glinting in the sunlight. As you entered the lobby, you were greeted by the usual bustle of staff and trainees, everyone busy with their own schedules.

“Good morning!” you called out to a few familiar faces, receiving nods and smiles in return. The anticipation bubbled in your chest as you reached the designated practice room. Today was pretty special. The CEO had chosen you to do a collaboration stage with a member of Enhypen for the upcoming SBS Gayo Daejeon performance. And you were so happy that that member was Jungwon. You used to train together back in the day. He was only a year younger than you, and you were always pretty close. Plus, your groups debuted around the same time. But, what you did not know, was that Jungwon always kinda had a crush on you, and he’s been trying to make you see him differently for months now.

Pushing open the door to the studio, you saw him already there, stretching on the floor. His eyes lit up when he noticed you, and he jumped to his feet with a wide grin.

“Noona!” Jungwon called out, his youthful enthusiasm infectious.

“Won! You’re here early,” you said, smiling back as you dropped your bag on the bench and joined him in stretching.

“I was too excited to sleep much,” he admitted with a chuckle. “This is going to be so much fun. I can’t believe we finally get to do this.”

“I know! I’ve been looking forward to it too,” you replied. “It’s been a while since we’ve had the chance to work on something together.”

As you both chatted and caught up, the door swung open again, and the choreographer, Ji-eun, walked in. She was a renowned figure in the industry, known for her intricate and dynamic hip-hop routines. You had already worked with her, as she created the choreography for your group’s last comeback.

“Good morning, everyone!” Ji-eun greeted, her energy palpable. “Are you two ready to work?”

“Yes!” you and Jungwon responded in unison, exchanging amused glances.

Ji-eun clapped her hands together, signaling the start of the session. “Great. Let’s get started with the basics of the routine. It’s a hip-hop piece with a lot of sharp movements and synchronization. I need you both to bring your A-game.”

You and Jungwon nodded, focusing as Ji-eun demonstrated the initial steps. The beat of the music pulsed through the room, and you found yourself getting lost in the rhythm. Jungwon mirrored your movements perfectly, his natural talent shining through.

“Good, good! Now, let’s add some more complexity,” Ji-eun said, moving into the next sequence. The steps were fast and challenging, requiring both agility and precision.

As the session progressed, Ji-eun occasionally stopped to give pointers, adjusting your posture or tweaking a movement here and there. The routine was demanding, but you relished the challenge. You and Jungwon fell into an easy rhythm, your movements syncing effortlessly.

“Perfect! That’s what I’m talking about,” Ji-eun praised after another run-through. “You two have great chemistry. This stage is going to be amazing.”

Jungwon grinned at you, wiping sweat from his brow with his towel. “We make a pretty good team, huh?”

“We always have,” you agreed, returning his smile. “Remember those practice sessions back when we were trainees? We were always trying to outdo each other.”

“Yeah, and you always won,” he laughed, a hint of admiration in his voice.

“Not always,” you corrected him. “But most of the time, yes.”

You saw Jungwon roll his eyes playfully and open his mouth to retort, but Ji-eun called for another run-through. You threw yourself back into the routine, your body moving instinctively to the beat.

An hour and a half flew by in a blur of music and movement. By the time Ji-eun finally called for a break, you were both exhausted but exhilarated.

“Take fifteen, and then we’ll do a full run-through with the music,” Ji-eun instructed, heading out to take a call.

You collapsed onto the floor, stretching out your legs. Jungwon flopped down beside you, panting lightly.

“This is going to be epic,” he said between breaths.

“Definitely,” you agreed. “We’ll show everyone what Jokerz and Enhypen can do together.”

Jungwon’s expression softened as he looked at you, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes.

Ji-eun returned to the studio and gave you both some final pointers before she left you to rehearse on your own. The studio was buzzing with the high-energy choreography you had been perfecting all morning.

“Okay, you two, I think you’ve got a good handle on this,” Ji-eun said, clapping her hands together. “I’ll leave you to practice on your own for a bit. Just remember to keep the energy up and stay in sync.”

“Got it!” you and Jungwon chorused, both of you giving her a confident nod.

As Ji-eun left the room, you turned to Jungwon with a grin. “So, ready to run it again?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with determination.

You both got into position, and the music started up again. This time, without Ji-eun’s watchful eye, you found yourselves more relaxed, allowing your natural chemistry to shine through. Your movements were fluid and synchronized, feeding off each other’s energy.

“Nice move there, wonnie!” you called out mid-routine as he nailed a particularly tricky step.

“Thanks, noona! You’re killing it too!” he shot back, his smile wide.

After a few more run-throughs, you both paused for a break. You went to take your water bottle in the corner of the room, trying to do some air with your hand.

At the corner of your eye, you saw Jungwon pulled off his hoodie, revealing a tank top underneath. You blinked, momentarily taken aback. You had always seen Jungwon as a little brother figure, but seeing the definition of his muscles was… he was so hot. You tried to ignore the unexpected flutter in your stomach as you took a sip of water. As he took his own water bottle, you watched him discretly, a pool forming in your belly.

“Uh… you’ve been working out lately?” you said, attempting to keep your tone casual.

He glanced down at himself, then back at you with a casual shrug. “Oh, this? Yeah, I sometimes work out with the hyungs. Gotta stay in shape, you know?”

You nodded, trying to focus on the conversation and not how his tank top clung to his frame. Wow, this was new. “Makes sense. It’s just… I guess I never noticed before.”

Jungwon’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he caught the slight flush on your cheeks. “Noona, are you blushing?” he teased, flexing his arm a bit more prominently.

Your face heated up even more as you sputtered, “N-no! I’m just… it’s hot in here, that’s all.”

He smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. “Sure, whatever you say.”

Determined to shift the focus, you stood up and stretched. “Let’s get back to it. We’ve got to nail this routine.”

Jungwon chuckled, following your lead. “Alright, let’s do it. But don’t think I didn’t notice, noona. You were totally checking me out.”

You shot him a mock glare, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat. “Focus, won. We’ve got a show to prepare for.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, still grinning. “I’m focused, don’t worry,’’ his grin transformed into a cocky smirk as he put his hands into the pockets of his gray sweatpants and walked up to you.

As the music started up again, you threw yourself into the routine, trying to push aside the newfound awareness of Jungwon. But every now and then, you caught him glancing your way, that same smirk still on his lips. It was clear he enjoyed seeing you flustered, and you couldn’t help but feel a mix of embarrassment and something else you couldn’t quite place.

After a long and exhausting practice session, you finally made your way back to your dorm. As you opened the door, you were greeted by the familiar sight of one of your bandmate, Yunjin, lounging on the couch with her phone in hand.

“Yay, you’re back!” she exclaimed, looking up from her screen. “How was the practice with Jungwon?”

You sighed, dropping your bag by the door and collapsing onto the couch beside her. “It was… something.”

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What happened?”

You hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words. “Well, you know how I’ve always seen him as a little brother, right?”

“Yeah, of course. You’ve mentioned it a million times,” she replied, her curiosity piqued.

“Okay, so today, we were practicing this really tough hip-hop routine for Gayo Daejeon,” you began. “And Ji-eun left us alone to rehearse on our own for a bit.”

“Uh-huh, go on,” she encouraged, leaning in closer.

“Well, Jungwon took off his hoodie because it was getting hot in the studio,” you continued, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks at the memory. “And he was wearing this, like, tank top underneath. I had no idea he was that… fit.”

Yunjin’s eyes widened, and she burst into laughter. “Oh my God, you got flustered, didn’t you?”

“I mean…a little,” you admitted, burying your face in your hands. “It’s just, I’ve always seen him as this cute younger brother or something. But today, he looked… argh.”

“Different how?” she pressed, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

You sighed, finally giving in. “He looked… so, so hot. I couldn’t stop staring, and he totally noticed!”

She laughed even harder, clutching her stomach. “This is priceless! Our ynnie has a crush on Jungwon!”

“It’s not like that!” you protested, though your blush betrayed you. “I was just… surprised. I didn’t expect him to have grown up so much.”

“Oh, sure,” she said, still giggling.

“Stop teasing me, Unnie,” you groaned, playfully shoving her. “I’m just trying to process it. I mean, he’s always been like a brother to me, and now suddenly, he’s this attractive guy. How did that even happen?”

“Sounds like you’ve got it bad,” Yunjin teased, nudging you with her elbow. “But seriously, it’s not a bad thing. Maybe it’s time to see him in a new light.”

You sighed, leaning back on the couch. “I don’t know. It’s just… really confusing. I’ve always been so sure of our dynamic, and now it feels like everything’s shifted. It doesn’t feel…platonic anymore.”

She smiled sympathetically. “Feelings can be complicated, especially when someone you’ve known for a long time changes. Just take it one step at a time and see where things go.”

“Thanks, Unnie,” you said, grateful for her understanding. “I guess I’ll just have to see how things play out during this collaboration.”

“It’s just a week and a half away, you’ll be fine. And in the meantime, try not to get too distracted by his muscles,” Hana added with a wink, causing you to throw a pillow in her direction, one she dodged as she got up from the couch and sprinted to the kitchen.

“I hate you,” you said, loud enough so she could hear you.

As the evening wore on, you couldn’t help but replay the events of the day in your mind. Seeing Jungwon in a new light was certainly unexpected, but maybe Hana was right.

The next day, you arrived at the practice studio a bit early, hoping to get some stretches in before Jungwon showed up. As you rolled out your yoga mat and began your stretches, the door opened, and Jungwon walked in, his demeanor radiating confidence.

"Morning, noona," Jungwon greeted you with a charming smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Morning, wonnie," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "Ready for today?"

"Absolutely," he said, dropping his bag and joining you on the floor. He started stretching beside you, his movements fluid and relaxed.

You chuckled nervously. "We need to nail this routine."

As you both warmed up, the studio felt smaller, the air charged with an unspoken tension. Jungwon seemed more confident, and his movements were more assured. And you couldn’t help but feel turned on by his confidence. Focus, yn. Stop thinking about that. When you began practicing the routine, his eyes never left you, making you hyper-aware of his presence.

“Alright, let’s take it from the top,” you said, hoping to focus on the choreography and not on the way his tank top accentuated his toned arms. Of course, he had to wear a tank top again. A white one this time.

The music started, and you moved in sync, your bodies effortlessly flowing through the steps. But every time Jungwon’s eyes met yours, you felt your concentration waver. He seemed to notice, and his smirk grew more pronounced.

“Come on, noona, keep up,” he teased, executing a particularly sharp move with ease.

“I’m keeping up just fine,” you shot back, though you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

As the routine progressed, Jungwon's playful teasing only intensified. During a particularly close part of the choreography, where you had to mirror each other's movements, he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your ear.

“You’re doing great, noona,” he whispered, his voice low and smooth.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you missed a step, stumbling slightly. “Th-thanks,” you managed to stammer, trying to regain your composure.

He pulled back, grinning. “What’s wrong? You seem a bit distracted.”

“Just focused on getting the steps right,” you lied, hoping he couldn’t see through your facade.

“Sure,” he said, clearly unconvinced but not pushing it further.

You took a deep breath and forced yourself to focus. The routine was intricate, demanding your full attention, but Jungwon's newfound confidence made it increasingly difficult. He moved with a grace and assurance that was hard to ignore, and his constant teasing only added to your distraction.

You couldn’t continue like that, or else you might burst. You never noticed how handsome he was or how hot he looked when he was focused on something. But since yesterday, that was the only thing you could think about.

During a break, you sat down to catch your breath, wiping sweat from your forehead. Jungwon plopped down beside you, a bottle of water in hand.

“Here,” he said, offering you the bottle. “You look like you need it.”

“Thanks,” you said, taking it and drinking gratefully. “You’re really on fire today. Did you have an extra shot of coffee this morning or something?”

He laughed, leaning back on his hands. “Maybe I did. Or maybe I just enjoy seeing you flustered.”

You nearly choked on your water, coughing slightly. “I-I’m not flustered.”

“Sure you’re not,” he said, his smirk widening. “It’s okay, noona. It’s kind of cute.”

Your face burned, and you looked away, trying to hide your embarrassment. Why did your heart skip a bit when he said that? The way he was looking at you, with his playful smirk and his glimmering eyes. You should scold him, he was younger than you, how could he called you ‘’cute’’. You hated that you actually liked it.

You cleared your throat, your cheeks still red and got up from the ground. ‘’Uh… we should get back to practice ‘’

“Of course,” he agreed, but the playful glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t done teasing.

As you both resumed practice, Jungwon continued to push your buttons, his confidence making him bolder. During a particularly challenging sequence, he placed his hands on your waist to guide you into the correct position, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“There,” he said softly, his breath warm against your neck. “Perfect.”

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your body reacted to his closeness. “Thanks,” you murmured, stepping away to put some distance between you. You couldn’t be cphysically close ot him right now. Not outside of the chores.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Anytime, noona.”

By the end of the session, you were exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Jungwon’s confident teasing had left you more flustered than you cared to admit, and focusing on the routine had been a constant struggle.

“Good work today,” Jungwon said as you both gathered your things. “We’re getting better.”

“Yeah, we are,” you agreed, forcing a smile. “See you tomorrow?”

“Absolutely,” he said, giving you a wink. “I can’t wait.”

As you left the studio, you couldn’t help but replay the day’s events in your mind. As the days unfolded, you avoided him the best you could. After practices, you always came up with an excuse whenever he asked if you wanted to grab something to eat or drink. But most of all, you avoided looking into his eyes. His beautiful and hypnotizing eyes.

Today was one of your last practices, as the Gayo Daejeon was approaching. You tried to keep your focus only on the routine, determined not to let him get to you. You couldn’t. The choreography required for you to look into his eyes, but today was clearly impossible. His hair was parted in a way to make his features appear stronger. he looked so good. Every time your eyes locked, your cheeks would heat up, and your heart could race uncontrollably. Instead, you fixed your gaze on the floor or focused on a point over his shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

But Jungwon wasn’t one to miss much. After the fourth time, you avoided his eyes during the routine, he began to suspect something was up. Plus, he noticed how distant you were and how you tried to avoid him during the last few days. During a particularly close part of the choreography, where you had to face each other and mirror each other’s movements, he finally decided to confront you.

You were supposed to step into each other’s space, your faces mere inches apart. Instead of looking at him, you kept your gaze firmly on the floor, focusing on your feet.

“Look at me,” Jungwon’s voice was low but commanding. He stopped his movement and placed his fingers gently under your chin, tugging your head upwards to look at him, holding your waist wth his other hand.

You swallowed hard, your eyes reluctantly meeting his. “Why are you avoiding my eyes, noona?” he asked, his smirk widening as he saw the blush spreading across your cheeks.

“I’m not avoiding your eyes,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly, his fingers still holding your chin. “You’re a terrible liar. What’s got you so flustered?”

“I’m not flustered,” you protested weakly, trying to pull away, but his grip, though gentle, was firm.

“Sure you’re not,” he said, his tone dripping with playful confidence. “Come on, noona, you can be honest with me.”

The intensity of his gaze, coupled with the proximity of his body, almost buckled your knees. “I just… I’m trying to focus,” you stammered.

He leaned in closer, matching your height, his breath warm against your lips. “And looking at me makes it hard to focus?”

You bit your lip, your mind racing for a plausible denial, but nothing came to you. The way he was looking at you and how confident he seemed made it hard for you to concentrate. “Yes,” you finally admitted, your voice barely audible.

A triumphant smile spread across his face. Before you could say anything, he closed the small distance between you, his lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss was gentle at first, testing, but when you didn’t pull away, he deepened it, his other hand that was on your waist pulled you closer. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you felt like you were melting into him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him back with a hunger you hadn’t realized you’d been suppressing.

You both pulled away, breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Your eyes locked with his, and you could see the desire in his eyes. His pupils were dilated and he looked at you with half-lidded eyes.

Without even thinking twice about it, you grabbed the front of his tank top, pulling him back to you for another kiss, this time a lot more aggressive and forceful. Jungwon groaned against your lips, his hands finding the small of your back and pulling you closer. The kiss was fiery, your mouths moving in a heated dance. You both put so much force into the kiss, you were practiaclly sure your lips would have bruises on tomorrow.

He backed you up until you felt the cool surface of the mirrored wall against your back. His hands were firm as they roamed over your body, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Your hands were feeling him, going from his broad shoulders to his biceps to his abs. You felt every muscle tense against your hands, and you absolutely loved it. You needed to touch him.

“Look at you,” he murmured as his lips attached to your neck, kissing and biting it, his voice thick with desire. “So needy. You like this, don’t you?”

You gasped, feeling a shiver run down your spine. “Fuck, yes,” you whispered, the admission making your cheeks burn with a mix of embarrassment and excitement.

His eyes darkened with a predatory gleam as he pinned your hands above your head, his body pressing against yours, trapping you against the mirror. You could feel how hard he was through his sweatpants. “Say it again,” he demanded, his tone commanding.

“Yes, I like this,” you repeated, your voice trembling slightly.

Jungwon smirked, his lips brushing against your ear. “Good girl.’’ His hand slipped under your shirt, caressing your skin, eliciting a moan from you. He chuckled, his hand moving higher, his thumb brushing over your bra. “So desperate for my touch. Fuck, you’re perfect.’’

You bit your lip, trying to stifle another moan. “Please…”

“Please what?” he taunted, his thumb circling your nipple through the fabric. “Use your words, baby.”

“Please, touch me,” you begged, your voice breaking.

“Good girl,” he praised, his hand slipping under your bra to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your sensitive skin. “I love hearing you beg for me.”

You moaned, pressing into his hand, your body trembling with need. “Wonnie, I need you…”

He growled, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. “I know, baby. I know.” His free hand slid down to your thigh, lifting your right leg to wrap around his waist. “God, you’re so perfect. So responsive.” You felt his hard-on against your clothed core as he started to move a bit, causing both of you to hiss.

You felt like you were drowning in him, every touch, every word sending you spiraling deeper into desire. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “Look at you, so desperate for me. Do you know how hot you look right now?” He thrust again, a little harder this time, and you let out a small, needy whine. He smirked, his hand moving to the waistband of your sports shorts.

In one swift motion, he slipped his hand inside, his fingers finding your core. You gasped, your hips bucking against his hand. ‘’Fuck you’re so wet for me,’’ he murmured, his voice filled with awe. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? So ready to be touched.”

You moaned, unable to form coherent words, your body responding to his touch with a mind of its own. “Yes, yes, please…”

He leaned in, his lips hovering your ear, before you could feel him sink his teeth to your lobe. “I’m going to make you feel so good.” And with that, he entered one finger and started pumping it, slowly at first. He picked up the pace when he saw you responding to his moves. He quickly added another one and you couldn’t stop the moans from slipping.

"God, you’re so tight," Jungwon murmured, his voice laced with a mix of awe and desire. "I can barely fit two fingers in."

You gasped, the sensation overwhelming as he pushed his fingers deeper inside you. The tightness and the heat around his fingers made him groan in satisfaction. "Fuck. If you’re this tight around my fingers, I don’t know how I’m gonna fit."

You moaned, the combination of his words and his rough touch driving you wild. He smirked, pressing his thumb against your clit and rubbing harsh circles around it. "You like that, don’t you? You like feeling my fingers inside you, stretching you."

"Yes," you breathed, your hips bucking against his hand, seeking more of his touch.

His smirk widened as he pushed his fingers deeper, his pace rough and unrelenting. "Look at you, so desperate for me. So wet and tight. Oh, I’m gonna ruin you."

You whimpered, the pleasure building inside you, making it hard to think or speak. He chuckled darkly, his free hand coming up to cover your mouth as a particularly loud moan slipped out of your mouth. "Shh, we can’t have anyone hearing you, can we? Anyone could walk into the studio and see you like this, begging for my touch."

His hand muffled your moans, the pressure of his fingers inside you and the movement of his thumb on your clit pushing you closer to the edge. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "You’re such a good girl, taking my fingers so well. But you’re also a dirty little thing, aren’t you? Getting off in the practice studio where anyone could see."

You nodded, tears of pleasure forming in the corners of your eyes. The combination of his praise and degradation made your body tremble, every nerve ending on fire.

"You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?" he whispered, his voice low and commanding, as he felt your walls tightening around his fingers. ‘’Fuck, I can feel how close you are. Go ahead, come for me, but keep it quiet. Show me how good you can be."

His words sent you over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. You bit down on his hand to muffle your cries, the intense waves of pleasure crashing over you. Jungwon continued to finger you through it, his touch relentless and rough, prolonging your release until you were a shaking, panting mess.

When you finally came down from your high, he withdrew his fingers slowly, his eyes dark with desire and satisfaction. ‘’You’ve made such a mess, all because of my fingers."

You blushed, leaning your had against the mirror. You were completely breathless. He brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. "You taste amazing. I can’t wait to be inside you.’’

When you finally find some sanity left, you gently push him a bit from you and let your hands run through his abs before tugging at his shirt, signaling for him to take it off. You wanted to make him feel just as good. He took off his shirt, revealing his toned abs.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, his smirk reappearing as he realized your intent. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice teasing.

"Returning the favor," you said, your voice husky with desire.

His eyes darkened with lust as you dropped to your knees in front of him, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his sweatpants. You pulled them down slowly, your breath hitching as you revealed more of his skin. When his boxers followed, you couldn’t help but let out a small gasp. His cock was big indeed and the sight of him made your mouth water.

"Like what you see?" he asked, his voice dripping with arrogance and amusement.

You nodded, your eyes locked onto his impressive length. You licked your lips, your desire evident.

"Then show me," he commanded, his tone dominant. "I want to see that pretty mouth of yours around me."

You nodded, leaning in to place a soft kiss on the tip of his hard cock. He groaned, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice a mix of praise and command.

You opened your mouth, taking him in slowly, savoring the weight and feel of him on your tongue. He let out a deep groan, his hips twitching as you began to bob your head, your hand wrapping around the base to stroke what you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

‘’Fuck, baby" he growled, his grip tightening in your hair. "You look so good like this.’’

You hummed around him, the vibration eliciting another groan from him. You quickened your pace, hollowing your cheeks and taking him deeper, your tongue swirling around his length.

"That’s it," he praised, his voice breathless.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and the intensity of his gaze made you shiver. His dominance, the way he looked down at you with a mix of adoration and arrogance, only fueled your desire. You wanted to make him lose control, to hear him praise you more.

You deepened your efforts, taking him as deep as you could, feeling him hit the back of your throat. Jungwon’s head fell back, a low, guttural moan escaping his lips. "Fuck. Your mouth feels so fucking good. So fucking perfect."

You felt a surge of pride and arousal at his words, your movements becoming more fervent. His grip in your hair tightened, guiding your movements as he thrust roughly into your mouth. "You like this, don’t you?" he asked, his voice rough. "Being on your knees for me, taking my cock like a good little slut."

You moaned around him, the degrading words sending a thrill through your body. He was pushing all the right buttons, and you loved every second of it.

"Answer me," he commanded, pulling you off him just enough so you could speak.

‘’Fuck, yes, I love it," you gasped, your voice breathless and needy. "I love making you feel good."

"Good girl," he purred, thrusting back into your mouth. "Keep going. Make me come."

You redoubled your efforts, your hand stroking him in time with your movements. His breathing became more ragged, his moans louder. "I’m close," he warned, his hips bucking into your mouth. "Fuck, you’re gonna make me come."

You moaned in encouragement, hollowing your cheeks and taking him as deep as you could. With a final, guttural groan, he tensed, his release spilling into your mouth. You swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste and the sound of his pleasure. When he finally released his grip on your hair, you pulled back, licking your lips and looking up at him. Jungwon’s eyes were dark with satisfaction and something deeper, something more tender.

He grabbed your jaw forcefully, making you go back on your feet and crashed his lips into yours, tasting himself on your tongue. He grabbed your hips firmly.

“Turn around,” he commanded, his voice low and rough with desire.

You did as he said, your heart pounding in anticipation. Jungwon pressed you against the mirrored wall, his body heat radiating against your back. He tugged your shorts and underwear down in one swift motion, and you gasped at the sudden coolness against your skin.

“Look at yourself,” he whispered in your ear, his hand gripping your chin and tilting your head up to face the mirror. “I want you to see how desperate you are for me.”

Your eyes met your own reflection, cheeks flushed, eyes wide with anticipation. Jungwon’s eyes bore into yours through the mirror, a predatory gleam in them. He positioned himself behind you, his hand sliding between your legs to tease you, finding you already wet and ready.

He smirked, positioning himself at your entrance. Without warning, he thrust into you roughly, a guttural groan escaping his lips as he filled you completely. You cried out, the sudden intrusion overwhelming, but Jungwon’s hand quickly covered your mouth.

“Quiet,” he ordered, his voice a harsh whisper. “Anyone could walk in and see you like this, see how much you love being fucked by me.”

You nodded, biting down on your lip to stifle your moans as he began to move. His pace was relentless, each thrust rough and deep, pushing you against the mirror. The sensation was intense, every nerve in your body on fire.

“Look at yourself,” he growled, his hand gripping your hair, pulling your head back, forcing you to meet your own eyes in the mirror. “Look at how you’re taking me, how much you love it.”

You whimpered, your reflection showing you lost in pleasure, completely at his mercy. His other hand slipped between your legs, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing in sync with his thrusts. The dual sensation was too much, and you felt your body tightening, the first orgasm building rapidly.

“Wonnie, I’m gonna—” you started, but he cut you off with a harsh thrust.

“Do it,” he commanded, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. “Come for me, beautiful. Show me how good I make you feel.”

His words, combined with the relentless pace of his thrusts and the pressure on your clit, sent you over the edge. You cried out, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Jungwon’s hand muffled your cries.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice rough with satisfaction. “You look so beautiful when you come.”

He didn’t give you time to recover, his pace never slowing. Each thrust pushed you higher, the overstimulation making your body tremble. “Won, please,” you begged, your voice a desperate whisper. “It’s too much.”

“You can take it,” he growled, his eyes filled with a dark hunger. His fingers moved faster on your clit, the pressure building again. You couldn’t believe how quickly another orgasm was approaching, your body responding to his every touch.

“Won, I can’t—” you started, but he cut you off with another rough thrust.

“Yes, you can,” he insisted, his voice filled with dominance. He leaned in, his chest pressed against your back as his lips hovered over your ear. “You’re going to come again, and you’re going to do it while looking at yourself. I want you to see how much you love being fucked by me.”

The intensity of his words and the unrelenting pace of his thrusts pushed you over the edge again. You screamed into his hand, your body convulsing with the force of your second orgasm. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, your vision blurring as you were overwhelmed by the sensation.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Jungwon groaned, his own release approaching. “You feel so good. So tight and wet. You’re fucking perfect.”

With a final, deep thrust, he came inside you, his body tensing as he filled you with his release. You both stayed there for a moment, panting and trembling, the intensity of the encounter leaving you both breathless.

After you both recovered a bit, Jungwon carefully helped you straighten your clothes, pull up your shorts and panties, and made sure you were comfortable. He guided you to sit down on one of the benches, his eyes filled with a mix of tenderness and concern.

“You okay, noona?” he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You nodded, still breathless and trembling slightly. “Yeah, just… wow.”

He chuckled, his confidence still shining through. “Yeah, wow.’’

You smiled weakly, feeling the soreness already settling in. “I don’t think I can practice anymore today. I’m too sore.”

Jungwon’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I guess I really did a number on you, huh? Didn’t expect you to be so breathless and sore. Maybe I should’ve gone easier on you.”

You gave him a playful glare. “Don’t get too cocky, now. You’re just lucky I didn’t outlast you.”

He laughed, sitting down beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Sure, sure. But that’s not what you were saying when I was indie you, huh? All I heard was you begging for more.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t help but smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he teased, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Now, let’s see what we can do to make you feel better.”

Jungwon stood up and retrieved a small towel from his bag, dampening it with some water from his bottle. He knelt in front of you and gently wiped the sweat from your face and neck, his touch tender and caring.

“Here, let me massage your legs a bit,” he said, his tone softening. “It’ll help with the soreness.”

You nodded, grateful for his thoughtfulness. As he began to knead the muscles in your calves and thighs, you felt some of the tension easing away. His hands were skilled, and the massage was both soothing and relaxing.

“Better?” he asked, looking up at you with a warm smile.

“Much better,” you sighed, feeling more at ease. “Thank you, wonnie.”

��Anything for you,” he replied, his voice filled with sincerity. He leaned in and kissed your neck, his lips warm and gentle against your skin.

You shivered, a mix of pleasure and exhaustion washing over you. “Won, we can’t… not here. We’re already lucky nobody walked in on us.”

He pouted playfully, his eyes filled with mischief. “But I was just getting started on round two.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Maybe later. I’m way too tired right now.”

He smirked, his confidence and cockiness still evident. “Fine, I’ll hold you to that. But don’t think I’ll forget.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Jungwon wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. The warmth of his embrace and the gentle hum of the studio lights created a comforting atmosphere. You laid down on the bench, your head resting on his tights, while he played with your hair.

The soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant sound of footsteps in the building provided a soothing backdrop to your quiet moment together. Jungwon's fingers traced light patterns on your scalp, making you feel relaxed and content.

“You know,” he began, his voice soft, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh-oh,” you teased, peeking up at him with a playful smile. “That sounds dangerous.”

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Very funny, noona. But seriously, I was thinking we should go out sometime. You know, on a proper date.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised but intrigued. “A date, huh? Are you sure you can handle that?”

Jungwon smirked, his fingers still threading through your hair. “I think I can manage. Unless you’re too scared to go out with me.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Scared? Please. I’m just worried you might not be able to keep up.”

“Oh, I’ll keep up,” he said confidently. “The question is, can you handle it?”

You rolled your eyes, enjoying the banter. “Alright, tough guy. Where do you plan on taking me?”

He pretended to think for a moment, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “How about dinner at that new rooftop restaurant downtown? I heard the view is amazing.”

“Ooh, fancy,” you replied, impressed. “Trying to impress me, are you?”

“Is it working?” he asked, his expression hopeful but playful.

“Maybe,” you said, pretending to ponder. “But I’m going to need more than just a nice view to be impressed.”

He laughed, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Challenge accepted. So, what do you say? Dinner tomorrow night?”

You bit your lip, considering his offer. Despite the teasing, you felt a genuine excitement at the prospect of going out with Jungwon. “Alright, you’ve got yourself a date. But only if you promise not to be late.”

He placed a hand over his heart, feigning seriousness. “I promise. I’ll even show up early, just to make sure.”

“Wow, early?” you teased. “You must really want to impress me.”

“Maybe I do,” he admitted, his tone more sincere. “You’re worth it.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, and you smiled up at him. “Well, in that case, I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” he said, his fingers resuming their gentle play in your hair. “It’ll be nice to spend time together outside the studio.”

You nodded, closing your eyes and letting the comfort of the moment wash over you. “Yeah, it will be. Just you and me, no distractions.”

“No distractions,” he agreed, his voice a soft promise.

2K notes · View notes

eclipixels · 1 month ago

Text

Worry

Sae Itoshi x Reader

Content: Sae is secretly in a relationship with you, a sports physical therapist.

Warnings: A little spicy towards the end

[3,469 words]

The stadium buzzed with energy as thousands of fans cheered, their voices merging into an electrifying symphony of anticipation. On the field, Sae Itoshi stood with his usual stoic expression, eyes sharp and calculating. He adjusted his legband before exchanging a look with his teammates. Even in the sea of faces, he knew exactly where you were—standing on the sidelines in your designated position as a sports physical therapist, clad in the team's official attire.

You weren’t just any therapist. You were his—not just in a professional sense, but in a way no one else knew.

It started months ago. Sae had sustained a minor injury during a match, nothing career-threatening, but enough to require regular therapy sessions. You were assigned to him, and in those quiet moments of stretching, icing, and rehabilitation, something unspoken had started to bloom between you. The world saw Sae as cold and distant, but you saw the flickers of warmth he hid so well.

No one knew about your relationship. Not his teammates, not the press, not even the coaching staff. It was better that way. The media would tear you apart, question your professionalism, and scrutinize Sae’s performance with unnecessary speculation. He had too much at stake, and you had worked too hard to let your career be overshadowed by rumors.

So, you stayed in the shadows, watching, waiting, and supporting him in silence.

—

"It's nothing. I'll be fine." Sae muttered, reluctant to accept your help. He attempted to stand, but the sharp pain in his ankle betrayed him. A barely audible wince slipped past his lips before he sat back down, jaw clenched in frustration.

You said nothing, simply raising a brow. He avoided your gaze, clearly embarrassed.

"Just let me do my job," you sighed, kneeling beside him.

Despite the clinical nature of your touch, the moment felt strangely intimate. His scent lingered in the space between you. He was close enough that you could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing.

"It's not that bad—" You began to explain, but were cut off by him.

"Yeah, I know,"

You shot him a glare, unimpressed by his cocky attitude, before returning to your work. "You'll need to rest for a few days to heal. It’s just a twisted ankle, but get it checked with an X-ray, just to be safe."

Sae didn’t argue, but his silence held a weight you couldn’t quite place.

The next day, you were caught off guard when he showed up again.

"They said I need to see you for a few days until I recover," he explained casually, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

You nodded, trying not to overthink the way he was looking at you—like he didn’t entirely hate the idea.

Day after day, he returned. The sessions had become routine. Sae would come in, let you do your work without much fuss, and leave with nothing more than a small nod of acknowledgment. He wasn’t the type to make small talk, and you didn’t push. But somewhere between the careful way you wrapped his ankle and the quiet moments where he let you work in silence, something unspoken settled between you.

Today was no different. You were in the middle of guiding his leg into a stretch, your fingers pressing firmly against his calf as you worked to ease the tension. Sae sat on the treatment table, one hand propped behind him, the other resting lazily on his knee. His body was completely relaxed, yet you knew he was aware of every movement you made.

"You're awfully quiet today," he commented, his tone casual.

"I could say the same about you," you replied without looking up.

"Mm." He made a noncommittal noise, shifting slightly under your touch. "Guess I don’t have much to complain about today. You're not torturing me for once."

You rolled your eyes but bit back a smile. "If I wanted to torture you, you'd know it."

His lips twitched—just barely. "I believe that."

You adjusted your grip, your fingertips brushing the bare skin of his ankle as you shifted the wrap into place. It was fleeting, barely anything, but the temperature in the room felt warmer. Sae didn’t react, but you knew he noticed. He noticed everything.

"You’re still favoring your other leg," you pointed out, pressing into the muscle just above his ankle. "You're overcompensating."

"I’m fine," he replied smoothly. "You worry too much."

"It’s literally my job to worry about your injuries, Sae."

"Hm." His gaze flickered down to you, as if considering something. Then, after a beat, he added, "You do that a lot, you know."

You raised a brow. "Do what?"

"Worry about me."

You hesitated. It was such a simple observation, and yet the weight of it hung between you. Because he wasn’t wrong. You did worry about him—more than you should. More than what was considered professional.

You looked back down, tightening the wrap around his ankle to distract yourself. "Well, maybe if you didn’t act like you were invincible, I wouldn’t have to."

Sae exhaled a quiet laugh through his nose. "I am invincible."

You scoffed. "Says the guy who limped into my office a few days ago."

He allowed a small smile, leaning back on his palms. "Maybe I just like the attention."

Your hands stilled for a fraction of a second before you forced yourself to keep working. The words were tossed out so carelessly, like they meant nothing. But the way he watched you, the way his gaze never wavered, told you otherwise.

"You’re impossible," you muttered, shaking your head.

"You like it."

Your breath hitched. It was such a simple statement, spoken with that same unaffected tone he always had, but there was something there, something teasing, something almost knowing. Did he know how you felt about him?

You could deny it. You should deny it. Instead, you tied off the wrap and ignored the way your hands felt warmer than usual.

"There," you said, clearing your throat. "You're good to go."

Sae didn’t move right away. He stayed seated, watching you in that unreadable way of his. Then, finally, he swung his leg over the edge of the table, testing his weight as he stood.

"Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then," he said lazily, stretching his arms above his head.

You blinked. "Tomorrow? I thought you told me today would be your last day."

"Hm." He tilted his head slightly. "Guess you misheard."

You stared at him, searching for any indication that he was lying. But he remained as unreadable as ever, his expression betraying nothing.

"I think you’re lying," you sighed, shaking your head.

"Maybe." He turned, making his way toward the door. Then, just as he reached it, he glanced over his shoulder and—just barely—smirked. "But you don’t seem to mind."

And with that, he was gone.

You sat there for a moment, staring at the empty space where he had just been. Your heartbeat was annoyingly loud in your ears.

—

You were done for the day, ready to pack up and go home when the doors to your office were opened unexpectedly. Sae Itoshi stood in the doorway, his usual unreadable expression in place. He wasn’t limping, wasn’t clutching any sore muscles—he looked perfectly fine. Too fine. So damn fine.

He paused for a fraction of a second before offering the most unconvincing excuse you’d ever heard. "I’m hurt."

You crossed your arms, unconvinced. "Oh? Where?"

He hesitated, just barely, before pressing a hand to his abdomen. "Here."

You stared at him, unimpressed. "That’s your excuse? A tummy ache?"

"It’s real," he said, completely unfazed by your skepticism.

"Uh-huh. And why didn’t you just go to an actual doctor?"

Sae met your gaze, and with a calm, deliberate tone, he said, "Because you’re more qualified to help me than anyone else."

Your breath hitched for a fraction of a second before you forced yourself to stay composed. Rolling your eyes, you stepped behind him, placing your hands on where he claimed to be feeling pain. His muscles were firm beneath your touch, his body warm even through his shirt.

"You’re not even tense," you muttered.

He let out a quiet hum, tilting his head slightly. "Feels nice, though."

Your heart skipped a beat.You should’ve pushed him away, told him to stop wasting your time, but instead, you stayed there, hands still resting on his abs.

Oh my god, you were touching his abs.

"You didn’t come here for treatment, did you?" you asked softly.

Sae exhaled through his nose, a hint of amusement in his voice. "No."

You swallowed. "Then why?"

Finally, he turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at you from the corner of his eye. "Isn’t it obvious?"

It was obvious. It had been for a while now with the lingering glances, the unnecessary teasing, the way he always seemed to find a reason to come back to you, even when he didn’t need to.

Your heart pounded as his gaze flickered down to your lips. He wasn’t cocky now, wasn’t teasing. Just waiting.

And before you could overthink it, you leaned in.

The moment your lips met, Sae responded immediately, his hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, holding you there like he had been waiting for this moment just as much as you had. He kissed you slowly, deliberately, like he wanted to memorize the way you felt against him.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he didn’t move far. His forehead nearly touched yours, and the corner of his mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk.

"So," he murmured, his voice lower now. "Do I need to fake another injury tomorrow, or will you just let me come back?"

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. He chuckled, pressing a quick, final kiss to the corner of your mouth before pulling in for another kiss.

That was how your relationship began.

—

The match ended in victory, and the team erupted in cheers, but you stayed back, allowing them to celebrate. Your role was never in the spotlight, always in the background, ensuring everyone was taken care of.

Sae was the last to leave the field, his usual composed self as he made his way toward the tunnel. You followed at a distance, knowing he’d be heading to the medical room for post-match treatment.

When you entered, he was already on the treatment table, undoing his cleats.

"You were reckless," you said, locking the doors before setting your bag down.

He smirked slightly. "You worry too much."

You shot him a look before gently lifting his foot onto your lap, beginning to work on his ankle. "Someone has to, since you clearly don’t."

His smirk faded as he watched you, his expression unreadable. You didn’t say anything, focusing instead on your task. But you felt the heat of his gaze, the way his fingers lightly brushed against your wrist as if grounding himself in your presence.

"This isn't easy," he said after a moment, eyes softly following up your body.

You looked up. "What isn't?"

"Keeping this secret." His voice was quieter now, more raw. "Not being able to acknowledge you outside of this room."

Your hands paused for a fraction of a second before resuming their careful work. "You know why we have to."

"I know." He exhaled. "Doesn't mean I like it."

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words. You had accepted this arrangement because it was necessary. Because it was the only way to have him without risking everything. But moments like these, when his barriers were down and his honesty slipped through, made it harder to pretend it didn’t hurt.

"Sae," you started, but he interrupted.

"Just… stay a little longer."

It was rare for him to ask for anything, even rarer for him to show even a sliver of need.

So you stayed.

"Need you," Sae murmured against your skin, his breath warm as it ghosted over your neck. His voice was low, almost a sigh, as if admitting it took more out of him than any match ever could.

Before you could even process his words, his hands gripped your waist, strong and sure, pulling you flush against him. He moved with an effortless grace, lifting you onto the treatment table as if you weighed nothing. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass before sliding lower, grasping at you possessively, as if he was terrified of letting you go.

His lips crashed into yours, hot and desperate, his usual composed exterior completely shattered. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, only the raw, unfiltered need pouring out of him with every kiss. He melted into you like butter, pressing his body closer, deepening the kiss like he was trying to imprint himself onto you.

Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging slightly, and the soft groan he let out sent a shiver down your spine. His hands roamed, gripping, kneading, keeping your hips firmly anchored against his lap. The heat between you was unbearable, electric, like the air before a storm.

But it still wasn’t enough.

Sae pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, filled with something primal. Then, without warning, he flipped you over onto the table, pressing his body against yours, his weight grounding you. His breath was ragged, lips hovering just above your ear.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, voice laced with frustration, as if even he couldn’t understand how much he wanted you. His fingers traced up your spine before gripping your hips, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

Sae’s hands were quick, urgent, as he pulled you closer. The tension between you was overwhelming. He didn’t waste any time. Every movement was a testament to just how much he needed you. He quickly and messly pulled down his shorts and boxers before burying his desire inside of you.

You could feel his breath hot against your skin as he pressed against you, the space between you shrinking with every second. His lips found your neck again, soft at first, but then deeper, as if kissing you could somehow ease the growing hunger in him. His hands were everywhere, rough but tender, anchoring you to him.

“I need you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, barely more than a breath. He didn’t care about time, or place. He needed to feel you close. Not in the car, not in the apartment, not in the bedroom, no. Now. You pulled him in tighter, responding to his need in his every move. He let his moans muffle themself into the crevice of your neck.

—

“I got another job offer.” You spoke quietly, your words hanging in the air between you and Sae. The weight of the confession pressed against the comfortable silence that had filled the room, and you waited for his reaction. His gaze shifted to your hand, where his fingers still traced soft circles across your skin. You could tell he knew you weren’t lying, his silence told you everything.

“Oh,” was all he said at first, his voice softer than usual. He didn’t look up, still continuing his gentle touch. But you could tell that the news had caught him off guard. His fingers paused for a moment before starting again, but his focus shifted away, avoiding your gaze.

“If I took it…” you hesitated, gathering your thoughts before continuing. But as the words escaped your lips, you caught a flicker of something on his face, something like offense, or maybe frustration.

The thought of leaving this place, leaving the life you’d built together in secret, seemed to hurt him more than you expected. You tried to push forward, but his reaction stung.

“That would mean I’d see you less,” you continued, your voice quiet, careful not to push him too far. You could feel the tension in the air, thickening with every word. “But it would also mean we could be together without hiding.”

Sae didn’t respond right away. His thumb continued to trace circles on the back of your hand, but there was a slight tension in his fingers now. He was thinking, processing.

“If I stayed here, with Re Al, I’d get to see you far more than if I went to the other team,” you said quietly, your voice tinged with hesitation. “But we’d still have to keep everything secret. We’d have to hide it all, just like we are now. Nothing would change in that way.”

He met your eyes then, and the expression on his face was unreadable. But his words, when they came, seemed almost detached. “How’s the pay?”

The shift in his focus caught you off guard, but you answered quickly, trying not to let the undercurrent of tension show in your voice.

“About the same.”

“Hm,” he muttered, his brow furrowing slightly.

The room felt suddenly quiet, heavy with unsaid words. Sae’s gaze returned to the floor, and you could see the gears turning in his mind. He was conflicted, caught between his feelings for you and the reality of the situation. The reality that no matter which choice you made, it would hurt in some way.

You took a deep breath, trying to ease the knot of uncertainty in your chest. “I haven’t made a choice yet,” you said softly, as if the words might somehow bring clarity.

Sae remained quiet for a long moment. His hand finally stilled, resting gently on yours. You could feel the weight of his thoughts, even without him voicing them.

If you took the job, you’d be with a different team. You’d be on the road, traveling constantly, and Sae would be doing the same. Seeing each other would become a rare occasion. But at least you wouldn’t have to hide that you were together.

But then, there was the other choice. If you stayed here, with Re Al, you’d be close to him, able to see him more often, but it would still mean living in secrecy. Every meeting, every touch in public, would have to be hidden, kept in the shadows. There would be no public acknowledgment, no way to share your love with the world. No able to go on dates in public or walk down the street holding hands. It’s exhausting having to look over your shoulder to make sure paparazzi weren’t watching you.

“I’m just worried people might find out about us, and it could hurt your career,” you admitted, the weight of your concern pressing on your chest. “I don’t want to ruin that for you.”

Sae scoffed, his expression shifting from one of concern to mild disbelief. “Ruin?” he echoed, his voice tinged with shock. “Y/n, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You could never ruin anything.”

The words hung in the air between you, his confession striking a chord deep inside.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out at first. Best thing? The phrase echoed in your mind, and for a moment, you felt lost in it.

“Oh,” was all you managed to say, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard.

Sae sighed and reached for your hand, his grip gentle but firm. “Stop that,” he said, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “It’s my career, so it's mine to worry about.”

There was something undeniably genuine in his tone, a confidence in what he was saying. You could see how much he meant it. He wasn’t worried about his career. He wasn’t worried about the risks, the secrets, or the sacrifices. He just wanted to be with you, and that was all that mattered to him.

He looked at you, his expression crestfallen. The love was there, clear as day, but there was something else there too—a quiet sadness. He knew, just as you did, that this was more than just a decision about a job. This was about your future, about whether or not you could both have the life you wanted, together.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, but filled with so much emotion that it felt like a punch to your gut. That was worries him.

The silence between you two stretched on, filled with the weight of your unspoken worries. As you sat there, his hand still resting gently over yours, you realized that no matter what, you couldn’t picture your life without him in it. You leaned over, pressing a kiss of reassurance to his lips before cupping his face in your hands.

You exhaled, feeling your chest tighten. You made your decision right then and there. “You won't.”

#sae x you #sae itoshi #sae x reader #bllk sae #itoshi sae #sae itoshi x reader #bllk #blue lock #blue lock sae #sae itoshi x you #blue lock x reader #sae x y/n

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feliscus · 3 days ago

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“my, what a fun trick!” though there's a slight downtilt to his lips that seems to suggest otherwise, vanishing beneath the shadow of his hat as his companions spring back to action around him. ah, if only lynette or freminet were here... lyney has always considered himself more of a performer than a fighter, his stamina well-suited to long, self-paced presentations in front of an audience rather than the snappy reflexes required from battle.

but it's his name that the good officer calls the attention of—and a smile turns in her direction automatically as he nods. lyney always minds his manners. and anyway, he'd rather his siblings be safely slumbering at home than in this dreamscape alongside him.

a card appears between his fingers with a flick, raised reverently to his lips. the grin-malkin totters alongside him as he steps forward.

very well, then. let the encore begin!

lyney rolls 5 energy! ⁽ ¹ ⁾　lyney uses wondrous trick: miracle parade on all enemies! summons a grin-malkin hat to the field. [ -2HP. voidranger: eliminator 20/23HP. voidranger: reaver 19/22HP. baryon b 10/12HP. ] restitution activates! [ -3HP. voidranger: distorter 15/21HP. antibaryon 9/13HP. baryon a 9/13HP. ]

the corner of the card catches as he pulls it away, gauges the distance toward the one aventurine has named their foes' commander, and flicks it sharply in its direction. no fire lit by his vision ought to go out when he has his eyes on it—it slaps at the creature's outer defense the falls sadly to the ground, then bursts into flames as the grin-malkin appears in an instant with all its grinning teeth, small explosions bursting where it hops to and fro around them.

⁽ ² ⁾　lyney uses charged attack on voidranger: distorter. [ roll: 17, crit! -2HP. voidranger: distorter 13/21HP. ] ⁽ ² ⁾　lyney uses bewildering lights on all enemies! [ -3HP. voidranger: distorter 10/21HP. voidranger: eliminator 17/23HP. voidranger: reaver 16/22HP. antibaryon 6/13HP. baryon a 6/13HP. baryon b 7/12HP. ]

in the meantime, the magician takes his hat to peer inside of it. and what's this? a few of his doves, some stray cards...and aha! there's his bow. when he looks up again, their foes seem to have lost patience for rosseland's theatrics. lyney clicks his tongue as he nocks his bow and raises it to the sky. “hey, don't take your eyes off the show!”

the arrow takes flight, then bursts above them into a shower of a hundred tiny flaming lights. ( @renascinem )

high tide.

spiral abyss ∶⠀team one⠀|⠀floor one.

#ghabyssapril2025 #avcnturine #sedena #renascinem #⋮　❛ 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅　›　high tide.

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peepshow321 · 1 month ago

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TaskRaccoon Premium: Chapter 1

Josh was at a dead end. For years he had put his entire focus and energy on his education and studies, above his social life, his health, and his finances. He came top of his class in History and Classics and so in his head all that hard l work had paid off, but now that he had graduated... what was next? His classmates had swanned off into internships and graduate programmes, but Josh found himself in the summer after graduating with no job, no prospects and, most importantly, no money.

Josh's parents had supported him throughout his further education, but now that he was back home they decided to treat Josh like an adult. And that meant rent. Josh balked at the suggestion, but his parents were adamant and so Josh found himself on the job hunt.

This proved trickier than Josh anticipated. Turns out the local libraries and bookshops didn't care about his top degree; they wanted experience. And as Josh lowered his sights to restaurants, cafes, even the bowling alley, he found himself receiving the same feedback.

Needing to save making cash quick, a sympathetic interviewer told Josh to pick up the odd job on TaskRaccoon - an app where Josh could choose to help people with tasks like moving furniture, watering plants, doing shopping in exchange for a small fee. It wasn't perfect, especially as Josh didn't really have the build or inclination for manual jobs, and Josh often found himself doing jobs he never expected while at school. But over time Josh felt an unexpected satisfaction with earning a buck and paying his parents. So much so that Josh had bigger aspirations - moving out of his parents place.

That, of course, required money. And while Josh worked hard with the TaskRaccoon jobs he was given, he needed something more.

On a random Tuesday afternoon, a solution seemed to land out of nowhere on Josh's TaskRaccoon app: TaskRaccoon Premium. Out of nowhere, Josh's app pop-up with a link to a Premium version of the app. It was an additional service where workers such as Josh would get a boosted fee for the same types of tasks plus, according to the app, receive "all the skills and know-how to complete the task to perfection." Josh figured that last bit was maybe the app providing how-to guides on how to complete the more common tasks, which he took as a nice freebie.

To lure users in, there was even an offer - sign-up to TaskRaccoon Premium, perform a randomly assigned task, and receive double the boosted fee. Josh had done his fair share of the most common tasks on the app already (walk my dog, assemble my shelves, do my groceries) so figured it was well worth his while to take the gamble. And so Josh bit the bullet, sign up for a Premium account, and waited to be given his first random task.

Without any pause and without any fanfare, Josh's first random task appeared: "I need someone to clean my pool". Josh groaned; it wasn't the first time he had seen a pool cleaning request but it was one he always chose to ignore because he felt he didn't have any of the right equipment and would have no idea where to start. And while this new Premium version had offered access to "skills and know-how", there only thing on the app was an address. Josh couldn't even see an option to cancel.

Josh wavered, but as he saw the blue sky outside and remembered the promise of a doubled fee, he decided to go for it. He could rake some leaves out of a pool easily enough. The address was only a 15 minute drive away, so Josh grabbed the keys to his mum's sedan and got going.

It felt good to be outside and Josh enjoyed the sunny drive. So much so that he didn't notice his mum's humble car begin to change. The front section became blockier and more basic, her touchscreen sat nav becoming an older model. The seats and interior decor became faded, and Josh had to readjust his seating position as the car seemed to somehow lift off the ground. The steering wheel grew in size and, to match it, bizarrely, so did Josh's hands. Without warning, Josh's pale hands began to darken in complexion and as they grasped the now-rough wheel Josh didn't notice the veins that ran down with now lean and well-rounded hands.

Josh pulled up to a red light, momentarily confused about how he seemed to sit above the surrounding cars. He also felt cramped in the car and realised that his seat was pushed up way too far. He, a bit embarrassingly, was the same height as his mum so he never normally had to adjust the seat, but as he pushed the seat back he realised just how much he needed to stretch out his legs. As the light turned to green, he was oblivious to his jeans riding up and becoming a loose pair of swimming shorts, revealing his now lengthy and toned legs, feathered with dark hair.

Josh pulled up at the designated address shortly after, a sizeable house in a nice neighbourhood. As he got of the car, he was for a moment confused by his need to climb out of the car and then felt off balance when he landed on the tarmac. Before he could interrogate any further though, he looked in surprise at the pick-up truck boot filled with pool cleaning gear. A voice in the back of Josh's mind told him to panic - why the hell did he suddenly have all this gear - but remembering that he had a job to do Josh collected the gear and approached the house. Josh stopped en route to take his jumper off to enjoy the warm sun, not noticing the way his new well-fitted tank top which hung closely to his chest and showed off his slightly more toned arms or the darker shade of his skin...

Josh carried the gear with surprising ease to the front door, and was warmly welcomed by a middle-aged women who introduced herself as Beth. Beth showed Josh to her garden where a medium-sized pool sat, clearly long overdue a clean. Josh thanked Beth, pausing a little at the vague lilt coming out of his month. Was it just him, or just his voice sound deeper...

Josh got to work. The pool needed much more than just some leaves removed but with every task, Josh found himself instinctively knowing what to do. Which pump to use, when to apply chemicals, how to get the pH levels perfect, it all just flooded into Josh's mind. And he was surprised at how flexible he was at reaching all the right places - Josh didn't love manual jobs but he almost felt like his reach had gotten better. It was hot work though and Josh removed his baseball hat and towelled his brow and face, briefly feeling unfamiliar stubble on his face and thick short locks of hair on his scalp.

It wasn't long before Josh has completed his job, a sense of pride sweeping over him as he stared into the now pristine waters. That pride however quickly morphed into confusion as he gazed at the reflection in the shimmering water. Maybe it was distorted, but there was no way that that tall, dark reflection could be him. He was shirt, slender, pale, wasn't he?

He dropped his net and stared at his hands. His suddenly thick, dark hands. Josh began to breath sharply as he noticed just how high up he was, that he was in an outfit that he had never bought, and that his short, pale self had seemingly been replaced with a tanned, lean body.

As Josh was clutching at his newly stubbled face and grasping at the space where his small paunch should be, Beth came out with a pitcher of cool lemonade. Josh spun around in panic, and before Beth could say anything he muttered "lo siento" and ran back to his car.

Josh stopped sharply outside as he stared at the beaten up pick up truck outside Beth's drive, a truck that sat where he thought his mum's sedan should be. A truck that keys in his pocket unlocked. Breathing deeply, and trying his best not to panic, he clampered into the car and pulled down the mirror, staring at the unfamiliar dark eyes that stared back at him. Dark eyes amongst a handsome face, with a strong chin covered in thick but trimmed stubble and framed by dark, tightly curled locks. "What the fuck" Josh uttered, eyes widening at the accented deep voice that emerged.

Josh explored his tightly muscled body now covered in a light sweat when his phone pinged. He unlocked it - the phone recognised his face even if Josh didn't - and the TaskRaccoon app popped up, showing a task completed and $500 dollars deposited in his account.

But what kept Josh's eye though were the other task options appearing. There were more pool cleaning jobs, but also other tasks ranging from moving furniture, plumbing, and even covering people's work shifts. Josh noted that there was an option to cancel his "Premium" membership, but some of the fees weren't to be sniffed at. His breathing calmed down and Josh sat into his car seat, and pondered his options.

Chapter 2

****

Hi all!

Some of you may have seen this story on other sites, but I'm bringing it to Tumblr for the first time and with pics! There will also be some small tweaks as I post over the next few weeks.

As always, welcome any feedback or chats!

#race change #male tf #racial transformation #male transformation #whitetolatino #mywork #TaskRaccoon #poolboy #reality change

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youraverageaemondsimp · 11 months ago

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“Thou Shalt Not Covet.” // Angel!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Human!Reader

Summary: An angel's duty is to protect and guide humans; never to desire them, for it is a sin. Yet Aemond, the most trusted angel of God, finds himself yearning and desiring for you, a human.

WARNINGS: nsfw, mdni, smut, dubious consent(?), afab! human!fem!reader x angel!aemond, masturbation (m.) unprotected p in v sex, tiddy sucking, fingering, cunnilingus/oral (f. receiving), forbidden relationship, body worship, blasphemy(?), creampie, cumming inside breeding kink, slightly disturbing content at the end, religious themes. + NOT PROOFREAD

WC: 4.5k

A/N: so I'm officially breaking my hiatus with this piece, I know I haven't posted for over two months and I apologize for that! Exams and everything practically ate my life away! // divider creds to @cafekitsune

God's most trusted angel, Aemond Targaryen, was no ordinary angel. He was sincere, always performing his duties without fail. He was respected amongst his peers, the most obedient angel of god.

Lately there have been rumours about the curse of being God's favourite, whispers about the old tale that all knew very well started resurfacing, the tale of the fallen angel. An incident that is now used as a way to warn angels from disobeying God and trudging the path of temptation.

Must all angels that were favoured by God fall into the way of sin? It has happened before, it might happen again.

Aemond decided that he would never be like that, he wants to prove that he is nothing like the fallen angel and how being God's favourite angel is not a curse, but rather a blessing.

And he did just that. Until a day arrived when he was sent to the land below on an urgent mission.

Aemond was reluctant to descend down to the land of people but he had to on the order of God, his mission was simple, to guide humanity through the famine that was occurring along with the drought that was caused by the devil to wreak havoc amongst the villagers. Messing with God's treasured creations has always been the devil's hobby after all.

And so he disguised himself as a human, helping men, women, children alike to recover, he blessed the land with fertility so that the land could produce crops once again. It was not an easy task, he had spent many weeks on the land, learning how humans function and go about their life which was quite a contrast to angels.

He also learnt how frail the human body is, how much energy is required to perform tasks and an unfamiliar feeling of hunger which he never felt when he was an angel. Every sensation was new to him but he overcame all the difficulties in order to finish his duty.

At least, that is what he had thought…

“Ser?! Are you okay?!” A voice shrieked in shock as he blinked his eye open to see an unfamiliar face with the look of concern staring down at him. You noticed how pale his face was and how dull his features looked, his lips were dry and chapped.

You were just taking a walk through the forest in search of medicinal herbs when you encountered this man lying unconscious in the middle of the path which made you panic thinking he was dead. You sighed in relief when he opened his eye.

“What happened to me?” He asks confused and you furrow your brows, “You fainted.” You tell him and he sighs “Why? I have been eating well though.” He mutters to himself and you clear your throat, you noticed how his face showed signs of dehydration earlier so you end up asking him a question “Did you drink water?” to which he replies with a “No, why?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose in disbelief, “Water is an essential thing to survive, you fainted because of dehydration.” You explain his situation to him and he lets out an annoyed sigh, “Ugh, why are human bodies so frail and require so much material to sustain oneself?” He grumbles and you stare at him confused.

“Whatever, drink this.” You give your pouch of water and he drinks it greedily unknowingly, emptying the entire sac, he hands it back to you. Aemond tries standing up but immediately stumbles, however you catch him just in time so he doesn't fall. “It seems the dehydration was worse than we thought, my house is nearby, let me take care of you.” You offer him help and he just simply nods, “Lean onto me okay?” You instruct him and he does as you say. You lead him to your house.

It was a small house amidst the woods but not further inside, you opened the wooden door with one hand and pushed it with your foot and led both you and the man inside. You opened the door to your small bedroom and took him inside, helping him lay on the bed.

“Please rest comfortably.” You smile at him and he nods, “I will go and prepare medicinal tea so you can recover.” You inform him before getting up and reaching the exit.

“Wait!” He calls out and you turn around with a questioning look, “May I get your name?” he asks politely and you give him a small smile, “It's Y/N” You tell him and he smiles back at you, “ ‘Y/N’ such a pretty name.” He mutters to himself before looking at you, “Thank you Y/N.” He appreciates you genuinely which makes your heart flutter and you give him a nod. “What is your name?” You ask out of courtesy “Aemond.” He replies with a slight smile and your eyes widen, “Oh like the angel!” You affirm and he nods, “Like the angel, yes.”

“You have such an amazing name, that too it being after God's favourite angel.” You compliment him genuinely and he nods shyly. You take that as a cue to leave the room and prepare the tea for him.

Tying your beige apron; you quickly pull out the jar of dried hibiscus petals from the wooden shelf before taking a few of the petals and grinding them slightly, you added those grinded petals into the bot of boiling water and let it simmer for a minute before blowing off the fire and straining the liquid into a wooden cup.

You carry the hot beverage into the room only to find Aemond asleep, ‘his body must've been overly worked without any water’ you smile to yourself before placing the cup down onto the table, the slight noise startling and waking Aemond up from his slumber.

“Oh I apologise, I did not know that the noise would startle you.” You say in a slightly amused voice and he shakes his head, “It's alright.” he replies. “I bought the tea, you can drink it when it cools down.” You point at the cup on the table next to the bed and he nods, “Thank you.” He appreciates your hospitality.

You give him a small smile and he returns it, and then the room falls silent, awkward tension filling the air. You clear your throat in an attempt to break the tension before speaking up “So… I've never seen you around this area before or in the town, are you new here?” You question him.

“Mhm, I just recently got into this town after hearing the news of famine spreading here.” He answers truthfully, he had been going around the area into multiple villages and towns, solving the famine.

“Ah yes, there has been a shortage of food supplies since our land did not produce any crop this year.” You say sadly, thinking about how all the once healthy people in the town now look starved and unhealthy because of the shortage of food.

Aemond notices your sadness immediately and he grabs your hand, wanting to reassure you but the moment his skin comes in contact with yours, he feels electricity shoot up his spine that makes him retreat his hand immediately.

“Are you okay?” You ask concerned, reaching out for his hand. His breath hitches when you touch him, you examine his hand thinking something happened to it, all the while he's trying to control his breathing.

Why does his body feel hot when you touch him?

He gives you a quick nod and pulls his hand away from your grip and grabs the drink in order for the gesture to not seem rude, but luckily for him you don't dwell on it too much.

“Famines and Drought occur when the devil wants to mess with God, something he does for attention while thousands of people are affected.” Aemond grits his teeth, thinking about the reason why many humans are dying and you look at him confused, “And in these times of difficulty, many forget to pray, because all of their time is spent surviving, which further weakens the protection of the land.” He continues.

“So what do we do?” You ask confused.

“Pray, I was going to go to the centre of the village and start praying so that the rain falls tomorrow, but… I ended up like this.” He says embarrassed.

“Do you think God will really help us?” You question and he's shocked and offended by that question but he holds his composure, “He will. Have faith in him.” He tells you and you nod.

“Since you said you were new, you are free to stay in this house, besides you need to recover as well.” You offer him and his eye widens, “I can't, you've already done too much for me.” He refuses but you shake your head, “It's alright aemond, I was starting to stray from the path of God due to the recent problems, but after meeting you, I'm somehow comforted that everything will be alright, a feeling which I haven't felt since the start of the drought.” You admit honestly and he stares at you in awe.

And so you let him stay in your house.

You and Aemond have gotten undoubtedly closer, realising how you both held the same values and opinions, you helped Aemond spread the word of God and soon just like he said, the rain fell and the land began to recover.

You both were currently looking outside the window as the gentle drizzle of rain fell elegantly outside, making the lush greenery of the trees stand out and the smell of wet mud provided a deep comfort to your soul.

“You were right, Aemond.” You smiled at him and he smiled back, using his angelic powers in his human body exhausts him out, especially since the body of the human is so frail and weak, so he often has to recover in your house, but you just thought that it was because of dehydration like the first time.

You looked outside in awe, meanwhile Aemond stared at you instead, your face extremely beautiful as if you had been specially crafted by God himself, your eyes shone as brightly as the stars in the night sky and your hair that cascaded down your back like a waterfall. He couldn't stop admiring you.

He watched as your lips parted when you let out a satisfied sigh, wondering how they'd taste, would they be sweet as they look? He wanted to taste you.

His eye widened in realisation at his own behaviour and thoughts, mind spiralling down a hole knowing that he shouldn't be thinking this way, his closed his eye and took a deep breath, trying to push off all the feelings away but when he opened his eye back again, he was faced with you who looked at him ever so concerningly.

The warm feeling in his heart only growing stronger each and every moment. “Aemond? Is everything alright?” You ask and he nods, “Yeah everything is fine, it's just..” ‘I wanna kiss you.’ He wants to say it so badly, “I just feel under the weather.” He lies.

He lied.

Aemond never lied.

You find it odd but brush it off and leave the matter at that, focusing on the rain outside once again watching as the droplets trailed down the window.

Aemond feels hot on the inside, a burning sensation of itchiness that urges to be scratched, he excuses himself and goes into the bedroom, saying he needs rest, once again, a lie, he shuts the door to the room and you're left alone in the living space.

Deciding not to think much, you began cooking lunch, making soup for the hundredth time.

Aemond leans against the door, breathing heavily as his body grows hotter and hotter every moment, there's a weird sensation between his legs that makes it hard for him to focus on anything else, he looks at the bulge in his pants and touches it, wincing at the electricity that shoots through him.

It's painful.

He knows that whatever he's feeling is wrong.

But it's too painful to bear.

He closes his eyes trying to collect himself but he cannot contain himself, and so he slowly grabs the bulge giving it slight squeezes for it to stop the feeling but not enough to make it go away.

Why is the human body like this?

Why couldn't he control his desires like he did when he was in his angel form?

He slowly pushed his hand down the material of the breeches and held his cock, he grips it which makes him choke out a moan at the sensation.

It felt good.

And so he slowly starts stroking it up and down, curiously experimenting by brushing his thumb against the tip which causes him to whimper, he clasps his own mouth shut at the noise he made but doesn't stop stroking himself.

Muffled noises of soft moans fill the room as he touches himself wondering why the feeling isn't going away, he strokes himself faster which causes him to throw his head back against the door with a loud thud.

“... Aemond?” Your voice makes him stop all of his movements, “Y-yeah?” He replies, trying to sound normal, “I'm making soup, is that okay?” You inquired for his opinion and he replied a choked “Yes.”

He hears your footsteps walk away from the door and he continues to stroke himself, the memory of you calling out his name doing wonders to his imagination as he pictures you moaning his name beneath him, he rubs himself faster, grip tightening on his cock envisioning that he's fucking into your cunt instead of his own hand.

And before he can comprehend the imagery; he feels an immense amount of pleasure shoot through his entire body, making him see white and let out a loud muffled moan of your name o as he feels the wet liquid spurt out of his cock and onto his hand.

He's trembling by the time he's done, looking down at his now unclean hand, white liquid dripping down his palm, the situation of what he had done weighing heavily upon him, the feeling of dread seeping into his body- and so he lets out a soft sigh.

What has he done?

He quickly finds a cloth to wipe himself off and uses the water in the bowl beside the table to wash his hands, he sees his own reflection in the water, feeling disgusted at what he had done.

But it felt so good.

He quickly leaves the room to find you crouching down, tending to the fire as you prepare the soup on top of the heated slab. “Need help?” He asks and you flinch, looking at him with a flushed face, “Hm? O-Oh no need.” You look away quickly. He frowns wondering what happened, you stand up and reassure him that nothing has happened and push him towards the table to sit down. You slightly rub your thighs to ease the tension between them.

You couldn't focus; After all- you just overheard what he did inside the room, the muffled moans, the strokes, and when he called out your name. You heard it all.

The wooden doors aren't really good at covering noises.

A few days passed by quickly after that, the town began to see changes as the crops began sprouting quickly, and soon Aemond's mission was finally completed. Which meant he had to return to the heavens.

But he did not want to.

He actually feels guilty returning to heaven after what he did with his human body.

He was slowly putting his clothes away, ‘packing’ to leave when the door opens which reveals you. Your eyes glance over to the sack of clothes and you quickly realise what's happening.

“You're leaving.” It wasn't a question, but rather a statement which leaves your lips weighed heavily with sadness. Aemond felt something inside him crack as he looked at your solemn expression.

“I have something I want to confess before I leave.” He speaks up and your eyes glint with hope, wondering if he'll confess his feelings to you finally- “I'm an angel.”

…

“Aemond, now isn't the time to be joking.” You furrow your brows but he shakes his head, coming closer to you and holding your hand, “I am not, I came here on a mission to solve humanity's problems and now I have to return to the heavens.” He can't stop speaking, no matter how much the voice inside him tells him that he shouldn't be revealing his true identity to humans. “Aemond, this is not funny-”

“I'm not trying to be funny, I am not lying, here I'll prove it to you.” He lets go of your hand, and moves to the window, and your eyes widen as the sudden sunny weather darkens and rain begins to fall.

You shall not reveal your identity.

You shall not flaunt your powers.

“Is that enough for you to believe me?” He asks and you're shocked, “Are you really..?” You question and he nods. The air shifts and you realise that you're in a heavenly presence which makes you scared- “Be not afraid.” He tells you and your breath hitches in your throat.

He moves closer to you again, caressing your cheek, “I'm telling you all this because- I don't know, I don't want to leave you behind.” He admits truthfully. “But if you're an angel, then we can’t-” You try to speak, but he cuts you off, “I know.”

“Truth be told, I have no idea what it is about you that made me hold such feelings towards you, but all I know is that I want you, I desire you, I need you.” He grips your shoulders, hands digging into your flesh.

You must not seek out a human.

You must not engage in worldly pleasures.

The atmosphere is filled with silence and tension as you look down, unable to form a sentence as your thoughts feel too complicated to process and Aemond just stares at you.

‘Do it.’ he hears a voice at the back of his head.

‘You want her, so do it.’ It encourages him.

‘If you want her, you must claim her.’ It's evil.

‘But I have to return to the heavens.’

‘Will you truly be happy in heaven?’

‘I'm not sure.’

‘Without her? Will you be able to continue to live without her?’

‘I do not know..’

‘If you do not claim her, she will fall in love with another mortal man, will you be able to stand it? Watch down from the heavens with the realisation that she was never yours?’

‘But I must not, I will soil myself, I do not want to give into the worldly pleasures.’

‘Hah, you're a fool, do as you wish, just remember that once you leave, she will never be yours, she will belong to another man.’

‘Stop.’

‘-She will be touched by another man, kissed, caressed, hugged, all the things you want to do to her'

‘Stop.’ Aemond tries resisting the anger that fills him when he imagines another man touching you.

‘She will get fucked by another man, and you'll watch it happen.’

“That's enough!” Aemond screams which startles you, “Aemond?” He looks at you, and your eyes widen when you realise something in his eye has changed, his pupil resembles that of a reptile. “What's wrong—” You're cut off from your words as he presses his lips against you, electricity courses through your body when you feel his soft lips against yours.

His lips move messily against yours, and he tastes just like honey, you try to resist wanting to tell him that this is wrong, and rationalise that he'll be cast out from heaven if he engages in intimacy with you but you aren't able to form coherent words because of the way he's constantly cutting you off with messy kisses.

“I want you, I need you, I can't let you be with any other man other than me.”

You're conflicted on whether you should encourage this but you remain silent, and aemond takes your silence as an agreement, he slowly slides off his robes and fully shows himself naked in front of you.

He's working on your clothes next, pulling them off you in swift motions before you're left standing bare just like him, he cups your cheek and tilts your face towards him, “Aemond… you'll be punished.” Your voice is laced with concern. “Look at you.. Always concerned for me, it doesn't matter anymore, I've made up my mind.” He pushes you towards the bed and onto it before climbing on top of you.

He places the soft pillow below your head for comfort before he trails soft kisses on your face, down to your neck, breasts and stomach.

“Beautiful, my beautiful lady.” He mutters against your skin, pecking and pulling it between his teeth. “Your body is so beautiful, your frame, everything about it is so beautiful.” He praises peppering kisses being placed on your breasts. He watches in awe as your nipples harden and poke up, and so he wets his lips before opening them and taking your nipple into his mouth, sighing softly in satisfaction.

His tongue swirls around your nipple, playing with the bud and flicking it up and down, the suckling noises that leave his mouth are sinful that makes you wet down there, you grind up against him to feel at ease.

The room begins to get hot and your small gasps and whines fill the air, accompanied by his grunts of satisfaction, that he finally got to touch you like this. He leaves your breast with a pop before focusing his attention onto the other one. “Aemond…” You wail and he looks at you, “... need you down here.” Those words leave your mouth unexpectedly as you rub your clit and he immediately listens to you letting go of your breast.

He travels down until he's directly faced with your cunt, he watches in amusement as your essence drips out of your hold which he licks up and brings up to your clit and suckles on it. “Hggnh!” You arch your back in pleasure as you feel tingles all over your body, your cunt pulsing around nothing when you feel his tongue play with your clit.

He nibbles on your clit, his teeth slightly poking it which makes slight pain shoot up your body. His tongue moves up and down, from your hole to your clit, he sucks on the flaps of your cunt harshly that causes you to whimper.

You feel his finger prodding at your opening before he slowly pushed it inside, “Fuck Aemond!” You let out a whine when you felt how his finger was stretching you out whilst his tongue worked magic on your clit.

He slowly pumped his finger in and out, letting you adjust to it before pushing another one inside which made you shriek but he hushed you with a kiss to your clit, and soon enough- the slow licking of your bud and the pumping of his fingers made you reach your peak. You clenched your eyes shut at the impact of your orgasm; feeling as if your whole body was set on fire, you saw plain white as your whole body quivered because of him.

He pulls his face away and draws back his finger only for him to put his fingers in his mouth, loving the way you tasted. He climbed upward until he was face to face with you and kissed you, making you taste your essence.

“So beautiful.” He says softly as he sees your dazed expression and messy hair, the way your lips are parted slightly as you take deep breaths.

He couldn't contain himself anymore.

He wasted no time in lining himself against your entrance and slowly pushing inside, you gasped when you felt how big he was, but you didn't stop him but instead held onto his shoulder as he pushed it inside inch by inch.

His hair cascaded around his face, making him look angelic, he closed his eye; gasping for air when he felt you clench around him. The way your walls were wrapped around him drove him insane; he couldn't hold back any longer as something in him cracked, his pace was messy and fast, almost desperate as if he was waiting his entire lifetime for this.

The sound of thrusts echo in the room as he speeds up, your back arches in pleasure when you feel him hit a certain spot inside you, his hands grip your waist as a leverage as he constantly thrusts deep and deeper inside you.

He feels like he is in heaven again, the feeling of you finally being his and how you're squirming underneath him, moaning his name, not anyone else's.

“You feel so good.” He grunts, “so fucking good— my love.” he places a kiss on your breast, before looking at you once again, your eyes staring directly at him. The sight of you beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist as you try to grind into him, indicating that you want him too makes him go feral.

His thrusts soon become sloppy, he knows he's gonna finish in mere moments, so he angles his thrusts upwards— hitting your sweet spot multiple times— making you see stars when you peak.

He's almost blinded when he feels his orgasm hit him, the intensity of the sensation being way too much to handle, he lets out a loud moan as he slowly rides out his orgasm all the while pumping you full of his seed.

He pulls out moments later and lays down beside you, trying to catch his breath, and you pull him closer for a hug.

Everything goes quiet for a few moments as you both try to recover.

Only for the silence to be broken by Aemond agonising screams.

“Aemond?” You panic not knowing what's happening.

Aemond feels as though his entire body was on fire, and then the flesh on his back distorts as his white angel wings spring out of it, you stand there in awe when you look at them, they're white feathers, but soon that emotion of amusement is replaced by pure horror when you see it be forcefully get ripped apart from his back by an invisible force of nature.

You scream in terror, while Aemond tries to bear the pain, he knew this would happen sooner or later, but he couldn't help but scream as the pain of having his wings ripped apart and pulled from his back is agonising.

Maybe the curse of being God's favourite was real.

And what Aemond is facing right now is God's punishment for trudging the path of temptation.

“Please- it hurts.” Aemond croaks in agony.

You feel helpless, not being able to do anything except watch, you just cradle his face, his hand grips onto yours tightly.

And soon it's done.

You could only watch as tears dripped down from his eye.

His once beautiful angel wings were ripped apart, the feathers all over the room and the only thing that remained of it were the scars of the wound on his back.

The scar that indicates the two wings were pulled out.

An angel without wings.

A fallen angel.

— ! ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 months ago

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Idia Shroud: The Daily Grind

Oooh, his limited-edition shirt (from a live performance, implying he actually may have attended a concert in-person??) has the Fates on it! Idia also talks about getting birthday messages from his mobile games… True Gamer rep... though I cannot forgive him using an all-in-one cream for his face don’t let Vil hear—

THAT GROOVY IS TAINTED 😭 The less I say about it, the better…

Rise and Shine!

Idia Shroud lived by numbers. Measurements, code, games. They were dependable things, easily controlled and predictable, unlike the fleshy meat sacks called humans. The most improbable creatures of all.

The luck of the draw had been unkind to him this year. A test ("In person attendance is required, Shroud," Trein had told him sternly), on his birthday! If a higher being existed out there, Idia was certain he was their least favorite child.

Touching grass? Tch, so annoying.

Idia drew out a ragged groan and rolled his neck, which still ached from having slept upright in his gaming chair. Clasped in his hands was a rectangle, its screen glowing as one of his many mobile games booted up. He had a list to run through, missions to complete--all a part of his routine.

Another day. Better do my dailies before heading out.

He sighed.

A familiar home screen unfolded before his eyes. It was a lounge, newly refurbished and dipped in a neon glow. Balloons clouded the ceiling, banners and streamers were strung up, confetti dusting the floors. Jewel-colored flowers in crystal vases and sumptuous dishes crowded the avaliable space on tables. On special occasions, the background was automatically decorated in honor of the holidays.

A grinning anime girl faded in. She was dressed in a fluffy cloak and hat, keeping her cozy for the winter season. This particular version of her was a SSR he had dumped money into to max out (no expense spared for the best girl).

"Happy birthday, Gloomurai!" she chirped, parroting the same phrase that she did to all players once a year. "Geez, did you sleep in again? Wakey, wakey! How are you going to enjoy your birthday if you're only half-awake for all of it? ... Wh-What? You're wondering if I prepared anything for you? Don't be stupid. I-It's not like... I... like you or anything..."

"Hihihihi... Aaaah, the way she runs hot and cold is so cute, just the best! This is peak content!" Idia chuckled to himself. Here, in the comfort of his private quarters.

Beep, beep, beep!

Idia yelped and leapt up in his seat, nearly dropped his phone. He squinted at the blinking envelope icon that had overtaken the screen.

"... What? A new message?"

Who's it from? I-I don't talk to any of my classmates enough for them to contact me out of the blue like this... C-Could it be Riddle-shi shouting at me to attend the next dorm leader meeting?

Idia cautiously opened the message. He winced as he braced himself for the redhead's shouting (all caps) from the other end.

A cheerful jingled played, followed by pixelated fireworks popping off. Ortho exploded forth from the envelope with a giggle, the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY blinking on either side of him. The video message began to roll.

"Gooood morning, nii-san!" his little brother cried. "Did you get a good night's sleep? I hope so, because you'll need all that energy for your exam--and your birthday party afterwards!"

"B-Birthday party? When did I agree to attend that...?" Idia mumbled, running a hand through his fiery hair.

The prerecorded Ortho continued. "But I know you. You're probably thinking, 'Birthday party? When did I agree to attend that...?' ... Right?"

H-He got me nailed word for word!!

"We can't have you shut away in your bedroom as soon as you're done with that test! So to make sure you don't try and squirm out of socializing, I've recruited a guest character for an escort mission to your class and then to the birthday party afterwards. They'll be by to pick you up at 7:30 am. See you then, nii-san!"

Ortho waved farewell before he blipped out of existence. Idia sprung out of his gaming chair, slick with sweat from a freshly sprung, anxiety-induced leak. He stared at his phone in disbelief, his eyes wide and bugged out.

"D-Did I... Did I hear that message right?! S-Someone's coming to escort me to class?! But the time right now is…!!”

Knock, knock, knock!

“E-Eeeep!!”

This time, he did drop his phone. Its fall was cushioned by the mountain of cardboard boxes, opened chip bags, and volumes of manga loitering on the floor. The impact restarted the video message: “Gooood morning, nii-san! Did you have a good night’s sleep?”

“Idia-senpai?” a voice called out, joining Ortho’s. Your voice. “Are you there? I’m here to grab you for class.”

Th-Them?! He turned paler than Death, even as his cheeks and the tips of his hair burned bright pink. Why… wh-why did Ortho have to choose THEM for this?!

“H-Hold on a minute!” Idia called out.

He crumpled to his knees and gathered as much of his junk as he could, shoveling it into convenient hiding places to create the illusion of tidiness. His closet, under his bed, empty boxes and bookshelf space.

“How much longer?” you asked worriedly from the other side of the door. “You might be late at this rate—and you know how Professor Trein can be about tardiness.”

“A-Almost…!!”

Idia grabbed his phone and got back up, glancing at himself in the reflection of his monitor. His bangs had gone awry, covering one eye in cobalt bangs. He hurriedly brushed them away, trying to get his hair to behave as best he could, then attempted to straighten out the creases in his pajamas.

Screw the school uniform. There was no time left to make himself any more presentable than this. He’d have to deal with the disapproving shake of his teacher’s head when he slumped in. If was preferable to keeping you waiting.

His temperature spiked again. Pink became red. He waved frantic hands at his hair, urging them to cool off back to blue.

Calm down. C-Calm down, you’ve got this!! You’ve played so many dating sims, summon that main character charm!

But in real life, there were no clearly defined routes to head on. No dialogue options to choose or love flags to trip. No resets, should he fail miserably. He was left on his own to fumble through social interactions—and their consequences.

He shambled over to his door and, swallowing hard, cracked it open. A sliver of light poured in from the outside, along with your smiling face. He was a monster crammed into a gap, and you were his savior.

“There you are!”

Idia tried to picture a brazen male lead. The sort of guy that leaned against doorframes with a cocky smirk and casually went, “Hey, you.”

Nope, nope, nope!!! WAY too cringe! I-I can’t say that like I'm a confident alpha dudebro…! I can’t…!!

Idia froze, his mind defaulting to a 404 error. Even his heart seemed to stop, seized by clawing panic.

“H-Hey,” he said meekly.

"Happy birthday, Idia-senpai.” You blinked, slowly taking him in. "Did you sleep in again?"

E-Eh…? What is this weird sense of deja vu? They sound almost exactly like the birthday login lines from earlier... e-except it's a real person this time, not a fictional character...

The pace of his heartbeat quickened.

S-Something’s wrong with me. Th-This reaction’s definitely not normal!!

He flushed again, fervid as a flame. Short circuiting, overheating.

“Er… Idia-senpai? Are you feeling okay? Your hair, it’s going haywire, shifting colors like a lava lamp,” you vaguely gestured. “And you’re still in your pajamas. You hardly look ready to leave your room."

“I-I’m fine!” he squeaked. “I wasn’t expecting a guest, s-so… I didn’t prepare to receive… any... one…” Idia trailed off.

"Hehe. How are you going to enjoy your birthday if you're only half-awake for all of it?" You extended a hand to him. "Come on, it’s time to wake up.”

Just like the greeting from the mobile game.

Idia shyly ducked behind his door, hiding his burning face.

Is this a dream? If it is, I don't know if I want to wake up from it.

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hahaifolded · 7 months ago

Text

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - The Contract (Long Drabble) Author's Notes: Once again playing with something new. Not gonna lie, hated this because this was more work than I had expected. Next one will be more narrative for my sake Warnings: MDNI, Angst (ALSO PUT YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO CAUSE I DO BLOCK)

Contract of Employment - Intelligence Operative Name: [Retracted] Address: [Retracted] The basic terms and conditions of your employment are outlined in this Contract of Employment and the Employee's policies. Duration of Contract: Your employment with the Employer under this Contract started on [Retracted] and will end after 12 months after the initial date. Contract can be renewed after the Employee ends in good standing with the Employer after the 12 months and the Employee deems it a good fit.

Job Title and Hours 3.1: You are employed as INTELLIGENCE OPERATIVE for [Retracted] reporting to "the Captain." 3.2: You are expected to perform all duties outlined below starting at 0800 (8:00am) to 1700 (5pm) Monday through Friday. 3.3: You must be available for any extenuating circumstances past these hours. All emergencies will be informed by "the Captain" and "the Captain" only.

Price: Need you to review the plan for the next mission before the meeting tomorrow.

Ghost groans after reading the message. Price just had to ruin his Sunday night. Realizing that his plan to sleep in was just ruined, he decides to text you. Seeing that you normally got in around that hour, maybe you could join him?

Did he deserve that? God no. But, he missed you. So he sends the text and waits... and waits... and waits...

Next thing he knew, his alarm was ringing, signaling the new day. He checks his phone and sees there are no new messages. It didn't matter. He'll see you around soon enough.

But soon enough comes around and you're nowhere to be seen. Were you running late? Shit, your car. Maybe you were walking again? He sends you a text, but again, no response. He's so worried that he can't even focus when looking over the plans. It's not until he sees you walk in for the meeting exactly at 0800 that his mind eases. Surprised to see you walk in late, he decided to check up on you after the meeting.

Knock, knock

You glance up from your monitor. "Lieutenant?"

Lieutenant? Sure, that was his title, but you always called him Ghost. Something didn't feel right.

"Sorry, I just wanted to check up on you."

You stop typing and completely turn towards him. "Why?" Your tone is accusatory.

He stumbles a bit. You were never short with him. "C-cause you came in late toda--"

"I did not come in late. If you look over my contract, you would see that my start time is 0800, exactly the time I clocked in today." You turn back to your monitor and continue to work.

Ghost takes a big gulp. "Oh. I- uh... I sent you message last night and this morning."

You let out a heavy sigh and stop typing. "Was it an emergency?"

"No, but--"

"Good. I can't waste any time here, have to make sure I put all of my energy in my work. So if you don't have anything else of importance, you can leave." And with that you continue to type.

Ghost walks out of your office and closes the door. Why did it feel like it wasn't just your door that was closed here?

Job Responsibilities 4.1: You are responsible for all work that requires intelligence which includes analysis, gathering of intel, and presentation of said intel. 4.2: You will not participate in work that falls outside your jurisdiction.

After today's meeting, Gaz was weary of the plan. Despite being checked by Ghost, he couldn't help but feel like it needed to be discussed further. He kept in his thoughts during the meeting as he wanted to process them further.

Now after thinking about it all morning, he realizes he needs one more brain to help finalize his thoughts. Not just any brain, however, yours. If he wasn't so caught up in his thoughts, he would have realized that he no longer had any entitlement to your help. But alas without a second thought, he rushes to your office.

He knocks on your door and walks in before you have a chance to say anything. "Hello, hello!" he chirps. And, instead of being greeted by your warm smile, he is greeted by nothing. You don't even bother to glance at him.

Without removing your eyes on the screen, you say with no emotion, "Sergeant Garrick, what do you need?"

Sergeant Garrick? Ewe, that sounded so wrong coming out of your mouth. You always called him Kyle... Gaz if you felt cheeky. Feeling nervous now, Gaz hesitates to speak.

"Sergeant, I really don't have time for your shenanigans. Do you need something?" You quickly glance up and shoot him a sharp look.

That look brings Kyle to the present. "Sorry, yes. I was hoping you would..." You finally look at him, but instead of easing his nerves, it only exacerbated them as you looked at him with annoyance. "If you can, obviously, help me go over the plans for the next mission. Something about them just seem off and I could really--"

You interrupt him. "I have to stop you there. No." And just like that, you turn back to your monitor.

"Why?" he asks without thinking. He catches the way you took in a sharp breath.

Without looking at him, you respond, "I have never been in the field so what use do I have for you? Besides my job is in intelligence and in intelligence only."

He cringes at his own words. He tries to get another word in, but you're clearly not listening. Feeling defeated, he walks out your door.

"Sergeant?" you call after him. He quickly whips around. Maybe you changed your mind?

"Close my door."

Job Responsibilities 5.1: You have jurisdiction over all work that deals with intelligence. 5.2: You have complete authority to discipline officers of lower ranking or similar rank if their actions interfere with your responsibilities.

Soap doesn't know how it happened. He has been in his office all day, working. Sure, maybe he spent more time than he should have thinking about you, but everyone else does it. Now he was scrambling, trying to finalize the schematics for the explosives needed for the next mission.

Low on time, he rushes to your office to beg for your help. He knew he was in deep water with you, but he really had no choice. He hoped your caring heart would pity him this one last time.

He barges into your office, calling your name out. You immediately shoot up from your seat, worry apparent in your face. You hurry to the front of your desk to reach the panting Scotsman.

"Sergeant MacTavish, is everything okay?" Johnny can hear the worry in your voice. Good, you still might care.

"It's an emergency. I need to finish these blueprints by today or Price will kill me! Help your favorite Scotsman out?" he begs. Soap nearly whines when you take a step back from him.

You scoff. "Are you being serious right now?" Okay, maybe you don't care.

"I know, I know. But I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate," he cries. His entire body shudders when you scoff at him once more. You shake your head in disbelief and return to your seat.

"Please, get out."

"Please, it's not even a lot. Just go over--"

"No, Sergeant. I have my own work to do."

"It won't take a lot of time, just--"

"NO!" you stand up again, slamming your desk. "Sergeant MacTavish, it is not in my contract to babysit fools like you." He winces. "If you cannot handle the work that comes with being in Special Forces, I recommend you to consider other careers. So leave my office before I write you up for insubordination," you hiss.

Soap quickly apologizes and leaves your office. He bumps into Price on his way back, but it doesn't phase him. Your utter disappointment in him plays back in his head over and over and over again.

Breach of Contract 8.1: If Employer deems the work of the Employee as unsatisfactory, contract will immediately be terminated. 8.2: If Employee deems the Employer is breaching any of the parts outlined above, Employee has the right to terminate the contract without any repercussions

John didn't take Soap crashing into him personal. It was clear his sergeant was lost in his thoughts. What did pique his interest was where he walked out of. It seemed like every member on his team had a chance to pop in your office today, but him. Refusing to let any of those muppets get in your good graces before he does, he decided to pop in.

Since Johnny left you door open, he just knocks on the doorway before letting himself in. "Hopefully, I'm not disturbing?" he jokes. The clacking of your keyboard stops and you slowly turn to look at him. You take in a deep breath, almost as if you're trying to contain yourself.

"Captain Price," you announce plainly, "do you need something? I'm almost done with today's report."

"No, not at all. Just wanted to check up on you. See how you're doing?" He doesn't quite catch what you mumbled under your breath. "Sorry?"

You roll your eyes. "Nothing," you pause. "I'm fine. Just trying to get my work done before 5pm."

"5pm? Have an appointment or something?"

You stare at him for a bit and remind him of your contracted hours.

Assuming that you were worried about not finishing on time, John assures you that you can always stay in late or pick up again tomorrow. "It happens to the best of us."

Your eyes go cold. "It wouldn't have happened to me if your men and yourself weren't adamant in harassing me with matters that frankly do not pertain to me." You readjust yourself in your seat. "I advise all of you to go over my contract to avoid further misunderstandings. I would hate to leave mid-mission."

John goes cold. You... leaving. He looks in your eyes to see if there was any hesitation. There’s none.

Employer Signature: [Retracted] Employee Signature: [Retracted] Date: [Retracted]

After that day, the 141 realized what they had done. They had completely crushed your spirit and pushed you to be the epitome of professionalism. You were still a phenomenal Intelligence Officer, but you were just that. You were no longer their team mate... their friend.

But you're still here so that's fine... right?

Word Count: 1732

More Thoughts - Next Thought

#cod x poc!reader #cod angst #cod fanfic #cod x reader #kyle gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #john mactavish x reader #tf 141 x reader

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kashverse · 2 months ago

Note

dad!choso with baby cho at gymnastics practice?

another request sent earlier in feb…i'm sorry for the delay, please enjoy. choso family was first introduced in this post :)

raising four kids was no joke, but you and choso had somehow mastered the art of controlled chaos. your two sets of twins—yes, two, because the kamo genes clearly had a thing for balance—were the living proof of that. the older twin boys were forces of nature, a perfect blend of talent and unshakable confidence, while the younger twin girls had inherited their father’s quiet intensity, which made them intimidating by default.

gymnastics had been a surprise addition to the list of sports your boys excelled at. not that you doubted their ability, but with how aggressively they tackled every other sport—basketball, ice hockey, track—you hadn't expected them to have the grace required for floor routines and balance beams. yet, there they were, flipping through the air with the same ease they had when dunking a basketball.

"not gonna lie, i'm impressed," you mused, watching one of your sons land a perfect double backflip off the vault. "naturally," choso nodded, arms crossed, looking every bit the proud father. "they have the best genes."

"bold statement for a man who can barely do a somersault," you teased.

choso frowned. "i can do a somersault."

"can and should are different things, babe."

meanwhile, the younger kamo twins sat a little ways off, watching their brothers with unreadable expressions. while their brothers were all about high-energy sports, the girls had taken a different approach—more calculated, more deliberate. people had learned quickly not to underestimate them.

"you guys wanna try gymnastics too?" you asked, leaning down slightly. one of them—your youngest by exactly three minutes—gave you a look that could only be described as unimpressed. "no."

"why not? your brothers seem to enjoy it."

"because we like winning," the older twin stated plainly, as if that explained everything.

choso nodded approvingly. "makes sense."

"that doesn't explain anything," you pointed out.

"we like sports where we can directly beat other people," the younger one elaborated. "team sports. combat sports. gymnastics is great and all, but it’s about individual performance. there's no opponent to crush."

ah. that explained the ice hockey and basketball obsession.

your boys, overhearing the conversation, skated over (yes, skated, because they had been on the ice rink earlier and hadn’t even bothered taking their skates off yet). one of them draped an arm over his sister’s shoulders. "you guys don’t know what you're missing. gymnastics is dope."

"dope, but not violent enough," the older twin girl deadpanned.

"not violent enough? did you miss the part where i could break my neck doing this?" he gestured wildly to the high bars.

"self-inflicted injury doesn’t count," she replied smoothly.

choso covered his mouth with his hand, pretending to cough to hide his laughter. you, on the other hand, had no such restraint.

"they got you there, bud."

your son scowled but didn’t argue because he knew better. instead, he turned to his brother for backup. "bro, back me up here."

"nah, they got you there."

the betrayed look on his face sent you into another fit of laughter.

"anyway," the younger twin girl continued, unfazed, "i think it's cool you guys do gymnastics. but it’s not for us."

"fair enough," your son conceded, ruffling her hair.

and just like that, the topic was settled. no dramatic arguments, no bickering. just the kamo siblings doing what they did best—being ridiculously talented, slightly terrifying, and an absolutely unstoppable force together.

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killiaia · 23 days ago

Text

Bratty Jiu.

One girlsband. One fic by members. Leader to Maknae.

Start with Dreamcatcher.

The first time Jiu saw a video of you performing with the other group, she didn't react immediately. She blinked, staring at her phone screen as if she didn't understand what she was seeing.

You were there, center stage, surrounded by those girls. You were dancing with the same intensity that had always fascinated her, with the precision and energy that made him such an exceptional dancer. But what struck her wasn't your technique or your passion for dance.

It was the way you looked at them.

Those girls.

You smiled at them. You guided them with fluidity, your movements perfectly synchronized with theirs. Sometimes, you'd place a hand on the waist of one of them to adjust a posture. Other times, you'd meet their eyes with that natural assurance, that charisma that made you irresistible on stage.

Jiu felt a lump form in her stomach.

She had always told herself that she wasn't a jealous girl. That she trusted you. But at this very moment, that confidence seemed to be wavering, cracking under the weight of a feeling she had no control over.

The video continued, and the more she watched, the tighter her heart became.

There was one girl in particular who caught her eye. An idol known for her beauty and charisma. And you... you were giving her knowing glances. The kind of looks he usually reserved for people he felt comfortable with. To people he liked.

"Since when is he so close to her?"

An unpleasant heat invaded her chest. She tried to tell herself that this was just professionalism, that on stage, dancers had to exude that chemistry to captivate the audience.

But she couldn't convince herself.

The hardest part was watching you dance a duet with this girl.

It was sensual, fluid choreography. Your movements were perfectly coordinated. You guided her with ease, and she let herself go, her eyes plunged into yours.

Jiu felt her stomach twist.

She knew what it was like. A dancer herself, she knew that a good performance required connection, trust between partners. But seeing you, her boyfriend gives that connection to another girl hurt.

Too much.

She abruptly switched off her phone and threw it on the bed, as if the object were burning her fingers. She breathed in deeply, trying to calm the panicked beating of her heart.

But the damage was done.

Jealousy was seeping into her like a poison, slow and insidious.

And worst of all, she knew you probably weren't doing anything wrong.

But that didn't change the fact that she hated seeing another girl in your arms, feeling that you'd shared something with someone else while she was away.

The air was electric in the training room of Dreamcatcher. After several weeks' of absence, you were finally back. You'd been on tour with another girlband as a dancer, an incredible opportunity you couldn't refuse. But now you were back where you belonged, with the girls of Dreamcatcher... and especially with Jiu.

Jiu sat in a corner, her gaze fixed on him. She said nothing, but her silence was louder than any words. From the moment you'd walked through the studio door, a radiant smile on your face, she'd never stopped watching you. Not in the tender, loving way she was used to looking at him. No, this time it was different.

You could feel the tension. You knew it by heart. Jiu wasn't the type to hide her emotions, and here they were written in big letters on her face: she was jealous. Terribly jealous.

- Jiu, aren't you going to welcome me? you asked, approaching her.

She crossed her arms, her gaze hard.

- You're already welcomed, aren't you? I'm sure your little touring companions have made your day.

You sighed. You'd expected this, but he still hoped she'd give him a chance to explain.

- You know very well it was just a job. That's all it was.

- A job? Really?" she hissed. Did you see the videos ? Because I have. Those girls looked at you like you were their regular dancer... or more.

- Stop being a fucking brat. I was just doing my job! Nothing happened!

- I saw how one of the members was looking at you like she wanted you to fuck her like a slut on stage.

- I'm leaving. When you stop being a fucking brat and stop behaving like my girlfriend, you let me know.

- You like it when I'm a brat.

- I do! I do! I like it when you're my submissive little brat but not when you're a jealous bitch. So I'm outta here. You know where to find me.

You come home completely exhausted from training. You'd have liked to have had a bit of a vacation, even though you've just come back from tour, but no. As soon as it's over, you're back at it. As soon as it's over, you're back at it.

It's been a hard day. You had to train with several bands. Some to appear in their video as an extra, others to be a back dancer.

You didn't see Jiu all day, and her reaction irritated you, but on the other hand you understood her. You were jealous of her performance at some tour , but you're more the type to say nothing. You'd have liked to see her and tell her it was all childish and that you wanted to be with her.

But that's not how it goes.

As soon as you've put your key in the lock of your apartment door, you notice that it's not locked. Suspicious, you slowly step back on your guard.

A burglary? You wrap your keys around your hand, ready to fight, but what lies ahead doesn't make you want to fight. Quite the opposite, in fact.

In front of you, dark hair in a mess, nibbling lips, enchanting curves, long legs, thighs that just want to be kissed, hardened nipples where your tongue just wants to lick them, but above all that pussy. That pussy just begging to be fucked.

Jiu is completely naked in front of you.

"Hey daddy. I wanted to apologize for my behavior. So I got you something. "

You swallow slowly and ask

"And what's that?"

With seductive steps, Jiu moves towards you. You don't dare move and Jiu clings to you. The warmth of her body, her nipples you feel against you.

Jiu grabs your hand and you let her, intoxicated by her.

Jiu licks your fingers and you hold back a moan.

"My mouth. "

She moves your hand down to her breasts and with her hand forces you to grab one of them.

"My breasts. "

God, her voice.

Gently, almost painfully, she brings your hand down, you expect to touch her pussy but at the last moment she puts your hand on her thigh.

"My thighs."

You nod, you don't know why, but you nod anyway. With a sensual gesture, Jiu sticks closer to you and directs your hand to her ass and whispers in your ear.

"My ass."

You want to fuck her right now.

But Jiu still hasn't made you touch the last place. The most important, your favorite part of her.

So gently, sensuously and almost intoxicatingly, Jiu takes your hand, spreads the folds of her pussy with your fingers and murmurs erotically against your lips.

"My tight little pussy. "

You don't wait any longer. You kiss her and push a finger straight into her pussy and Jiu hasn't lied, it's tight.

Plastered against the wall Jiu looks up in pleasure, the intrusion sudden but too good. You don't give her time to think, you insert a second finger and the noises her pussy makes are obscene but so sensual.

Jiu moans into your mouth and runs her hands around your neck to deepen the kiss.

"I've missed you, Daddy. " Jiu says against your mouth.

"It's that Jiu I've missed. My little brat ."

Jiu wants to say something but you quicken the pace of your fingers. You pull your fingers out of her vagina, Jiu wants to protest but her protest dies in her throat when you start touching her clit.

"Do you like it? You like Daddy touching your pussy? My needy brat. "

Jiu undulates her pelvis to get more friction from your fingers but you slap her pussy, making her tremble with pleasure.

"Don't you fucking move. Stay against the wall and spread your legs. "

Jiu nods and spreads her legs. You kiss her and get down on your knees. Before you her pussy looks so appetizing. Gently, you step forward and lift your head, staring into Jiu's eyes, and lick her clit.

"Oh my god. " Jiu says, biting her lip.

You're licking everywhere. Her clit, with your fingers you spread the folds of her pussy and lick. You grab her leg and pull it over your shoulder.

"Daddy! "

With this new angle, you have better access to her pussy. You place a few kisses on her clit and feel Jiu's hands in your hair.

With your tongue, you make circular movements on her clit and Jiu presses her pussy against your mouth. You grab her buttocks and stick to her pussy, making Jiu wobble. She catches herself on a shelf behind and your next move is unexpected. You put both hands under her legs and lift Jiu off the floor.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD" Yells Jiu, overwhelmed by pleasure.

Plastered against the wall and in the air. You feast on her pussy. Jiu presses your face against her pussy and you feel the young woman roll her pelvis, she wants to cum.

This happens when you insert a finger into her asshole. You feel Jiu's legs trembling and you quickly pull out of her vagina to grab her and place her gently on the floor.

You're face to face and Jiu is still trembling. Breathing hard, she looks up at you and you see envy, desire and, above all, love. Gently, you approach her. You grab her chin and Jiu plants her gaze on yours. You approach her and kiss her. Jiu wraps her arms around your neck and deepens the kiss. You place your hand on her cheek and insert your tongue into her mouth.

After several seconds, you part breathlessly.

"More? "You ask.

"I want to suck your dick daddy. "

"That's my brat. "You say, kissing her on the forehead. "Here? "

Jiu nods and you stand up. Your gaze anchored in hers, you remove your belt and pants. Jiu supports your gaze but she quickly looks away when you pull out your cock.

Just as you're about to say something, Jiu swallows your cock. No game, no tease, in one motion your cock hits the back of Jiu's throat.

"Holy shit," you swear. "Did you miss it that much? "

Jiu says nothing. She doesn't answer you, she's focused on sucking your cock. With a wet pop, she takes your cock out of her mouth and looks at you. She grabs your cock and starts to wank you gently. She places several kisses on your cock. She starts from the tip and works her way up to your balls.

"I've missed your cock so much. "

You'd like to say something, but the way Jiu is licking your balls is stopping you. On top of that, Jiu starts jerking you off. Slow movements, then speeding up.

Jiu licks all over your cock and engulfs your dick again. She bops her head and you groan.

"Fuck, princess." You moan.

The only sound you hear is Jiu's gags. Jiu is starving, the speed at which she bops her head makes you lose your mind.

With a wet pop, Jiu pulls out your dick and jerks you off, licking the tip.

"Daddy gonna drop a big load of cum down my throat?"

"You bet. "

Jiu gives you a beautiful smile and takes your cock back into his mouth.

"Fucking bratty princess. You suck my dick like a pro. "

Jiu moans around your cock. She loves compliments.

All of a sudden you grab Jiu's hair and without warning, you thrust.

Although surprised, Jiu takes it like a pro. She grabs your hips and even forces you further down her throat.

It suits you.

Your thrusts are faster and more violent. But Jiu holds on, she gags and her eyes fill with tears. You don't stop, you feel yourself coming and with a sharp thrust, you sink into her throat and spill your hot cum.

After a long, hoarse moan, you withdraw your cock and fall gently to the floor. Jiu catches his breath and looks at you.

"You are so fucking good princess. "

Jiu looks you straight in the eye and opens her mouth. Without a word, she swallows your cum.

You waste no time and grab Jiu. You bend her over the sofa armrest and spread her ass. Jiu says nothing and lets out a moan as you start inserting two fingers into her pussy.

"Tonight I'm taking care of all your holes. I'll start with your pussy."

"Please..." begs Jiu.

You position yourself behind her and take your cock in hand. With your cock you tease Jiu. You run your cock over the folds of her pussy.

"Put it in. "

Jiu rests her head against the sofa and with her hands spreads her buttocks. The view is absolutely breathtaking. You don't hesitate for a second to ram your cock inside her, wringing a moan of pleasure from her.

"I've missed your pussy so much. "

Jiu would like to say something but you speed up the strokes of your pelvis. The only sounds that come out of her mouth are moans. With your hands you grab the young woman's hips and speed up again.

"And you dared to think I'd fuck another idol when I've got you. How is it possible to do without you? This tour has been hell. "

"Oh god!" Jiu moans.

"Evenings of loneliness. "You penetrate Jiu. "Evenings imagining you sucking me off." Another blow. "I imagined you like tonight, bent over and me taking you like the brat you are. "

"Don't you dare compare yourself to others ever again. You're my brat. Is that clear? "

"YES DADDY! "

You pick up the pace and the sound of flesh against flesh gets louder and louder. You lean over Jiu and kiss her neck, drawing a little moan from her. You kiss the back of her neck and, with one hand, knead her breast. Jiu wants to moan, but suddenly you grab her face and turn to kiss her. Jiu moans into your mouth and you continue to fuck her pussy.

"I'm going to cum. "Jiu moans against your mouth.

"Go for it. "You answer against her mouth.

Jiu closes her eyes and concentrates on her pleasure. You straighten up and grab Jiu's hips firmly. You don't hesitate for a second and fuck Jiu like the brat she is.

The strokes are more powerful, faster. You feel Jiu's pussy tighten around your cock.

"Oh Fuck! "Jiu shouts.

You feel her pussy clench and Jiu starts shaking, her breathing jerking. Gently, you lie on top of her and kiss the back of her neck.

"Good girl. "

You don't give her time to come to her senses. Your cock is quickly replaced by two of your fingers.

"It feels so good," says Jiu.

"And this will be better," you reply to Jiu.

With your hand you spread her ass and start licking her asshole.

Jiu arches her back in pleasure as you lick her hole.

"Oh...Daddy.. That's...so...so...good."

You concentrate on licking her hole as you continue to move your fingers in and out of her pussy.

You feel Jiu undulate her pelvis to get more friction and you decide to slap her ass.

"Don't fucking move. "

Jiu relents and with her hands spreads her ass even wider.

After licking her asshole you stand up and position yourself behind her. You grab your cock and put it in front of her asshole.

"I'm going to take it slow. "You warn Jiu.

"No!"

"What? "

"Don't be gentle! Fuck my asshole like the brat I am. "

My god the voice with which Jiu said that. If you weren't hard, you'd get a hard-on straight away.

You push your cock into her ass and Jiu encourages you.

"Come on daddy. FUCK ME IN THE ASS. "

A powerful thrust drives you into her ass and Jiu screams with pleasure. Your thrusts are powerful and bestial. You grip her hips, your thrusts move the couch and Jiu grips the couch.

Jiu puts her hand under her body and starts touching her clit.

"I love having your big cock in my ass so much. Fuck me. "

"Your ass is so tight. "

"Fill me up. Fill my ass with cum. "

Your thrusts are slower but much deeper. You manage to shove your entire cock up Jiu's ass.

"I'm so going to fill your ass."

"Do it. Do it daddy. "

One last thrust and you cum in Jiu's ass. Jiu, still busy touching her clit, follows you a few seconds later and your cock is expelled from her ass.

Completely out of breath you stand back and admire your art. Your cum shoots out of her ass and down to her pussy. You slap her ass for the last time.

"Fucking brat. “

Jiu laugh softly.

#kpop #kpop smut #smut #male reader #male reader smut #dreamcatcher smut #jiu smut #kim minji

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circesastro · 11 months ago

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Circe’s Note #1

Note: These are just my own observations, ideas, thoughts and theories. This is just for entertainment purposes. Also, please be respectful of my observations! It is perfectly understandable to not resonate with some of my personal observations but please do not leave any disrespectful comments! Lastly, please don’t plagiarize any of my works!Without further ado, enjoy!

**All photos are from Pinterest**

✿ Cancer risings celebrities are often being linked with the "mother" reputation. Ex: Angelina Jolie, and Ateez's Seonghwa

✿ Aries Mars with Capricorn tend to either be super organized or impulsive/hasty. But one thing about these individuals, they will always get things DONE 😤.

✿ If you observe k-pop idols' mars signs, it shows their dance style. Ex: Aespa's Karina is a Taurus Mars who dances in a very elegant and sensual way and keeps her energy consistent. Stray Kids's Hyunjin has an Aries Mars and he has a burst of energy that occurs throughout the performance but tend to get tired more easily. Another example of Aries Mars and Taurus Mars is NCT Dream's Jeno and NCT Dream's Jisung.

✿ Men with Earth sun, tend to come from wealthy families too...

✿ What is it with Scorpios with tattoos?

✿ I've seen so many gorgeous Aries placement woman that are underrated when it comes to beauty posts. Ex: Rihanna, Angelina Jolie, Bae Irene, Madison Beer, Audrey Hepburn...the list goes on and on

✿ People with Pluto/Lilith/Scorpio in 4th house tend to have complicated relationship with their mother

✿ Question, what is it with cap moons having bad relationship with their mother?

✿ Also Cap Moon mother tend to be workaholic

✿ Libra Mars and their anger issues...

✿ Since we're on the topic of Libra Mars, can we talk about how many libra mars there are in the C-Entertainment industry? Like everytime I look up a c-celebrity a Libra mars pop up. Its a requirement at this point 😭. Actually detrimental mars in general is dominating the C-Entertainment industry. Ex: Xiao Zhan, Wang Yibo, Dylan Wang, Zhao Liying, Yang Yang, etc are all libra mars just to list a few and then there's Bai Lu (Cancer Mars), Angelababy (Taurus Mars), the list goes on and on and on.

✿ Virgo MC tend to get nitpicked by the public so much that their names are always mentioned. Ex: Kim Kardashian, Blackpink's Jennie, Taylor Swift, etc.

✿ A lot of idols tend to have 11th house placements (Ex: Seventeen's Hoshi, S.Coups, Mingyu and Dino have 11th house stellium, Twice's Nayeon have Sun in 11th, Verivery's Yongseung also have 11th house stellium.)

MASTERLIST

#astro notes #astro observations #astrology #cancer #astrology notes #pluto 4th house #Capricorn moon #natal observation #libra mars #11th house #earth sun #astro community #astrology community #circesastro

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gloomwitchwrites · 1 month ago

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Task Force 141 Metal Band AU x Backup Singer Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, alcohol, brief blood, tending to a wound, flirting, bratty behavior, flashback scene w/ Ghost x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Years ago, you venture into London while traveling across Europe. At a punk show, you cross paths with a balaclava-wearing stranger named Ghost.

Chapter Two // Chapter Four

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // second act masterlist

THEN

Condensation from the plastic cup you hold drips onto the back of your hand. Bringing it to your mouth, you lick the water up, questioning why it vaguely tastes of juniper. It might be the gin in your cup, or the lack of integrity to the plastic.

The gin and tonic you purchased from the bar for a single pound note is likely all water anyway. Or the liquor is bottom-shelf shit with a resale value of mere pennies. The later is more likely. You’ve consumed three, and you’re downing your fourth. And why not? It’s not like you have anywhere to be, or that you have anyone waiting for you.

Those hostel girls were not your fucking friends.

Clearly. Fucking clearly.

Where are they? Not here. They left you to drown in the mud.

Bringing the straw to your lips, you lightly bite down on it, sucking down more of the cheap beverage. Before you is a crowd and a stage. Punk music blares from old speakers that are barely holding together. You are on the fringes, watching from a distance, steering clear of the pit. Bodies thrash about, and those that do emerge are bruised and bloodied.

You were brought here by the three young women you met at the hostel you’re staying at.

The Foundry.

And fucking surprise, the place used to be exactly that. According to one of your wayward companions, this place use to be the epicenter of British firepower during the World Wars. Now, like the bullets it used to manufacture, the place is a gutted shell. There are no more massive smelters or superheated molten metal—just empty infrastructure used as a music venue.

Another sip, and the buzzing beneath your skin intensifies. There’s that hum you’ve been chasing. Why feel anything right now except the music and your alcohol-fueled boldness? It’s all you have left other than the cash in your purse.

This European trip was fun while it fucking lasted. Blowing the rest of your cash and sanity in this deadened metal factory is the reality check you need. Just jump on a plane tomorrow and be done with it.

Sucking down the rest of your drink, you dump it in the nearest bin, finding the bar and ordering another like you’re not starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. You keep to the outskirts of the crowd where groups of people and couples gather. There are a few individuals standing by themselves enjoying the music and not paying anyone else any attention. Your gaze sweeps over each person, and then freezes on a familiar face.

Two nights ago, you were in this exact venue watching a metal show unfold. Different vibes and different energy, but just as enjoyable. Five bands came on stage for forty-five minute sets each. Of them all, Spawn caught your attention. Every member of the band covered their faces with either a mask or a painted balaclava. None of them spoke, simply moving from song to song during the entirety of their performance.

After they finished, Spawn up and disappeared. Poof. Fucking vanished.

But one of them is here. Gin-addled brain aside, you have zero doubt.

It’s the drummer. Though you only saw him on stage in brief glimpses, you got a good look at him when the set was over and he exited the stage. It’s the height and broad shoulders that give him away. All four members of Spawn were tall and built, but there is a thickness to him that’s more than simple exercise at the gym. His day job might be construction, or something requiring hard labor.

He’s off by himself, surrounded by a flock of five women. Their mouths move but his gaze goes right over their heads. The man is focused on the stage, clearly uninterested in what they have to say.

Why not add one more to the mix? Stir the pot. Fuck shit up and piss someone off.

With a fifth gin and tonic fueling your steps, you shift direction, gunning for the drummer of Spawn as if he’s expecting you. The gaggle of women keep chattering on, and as you near, a few turn in your direction, clear annoyance forming on their faces as they realize you’re heading for him and not passing by.

Good. Fuck them. Their makeup is so overly done you’d mistake them for Republican women if they were State-side.

As you draw closer, the women quiet, shoulders straightening as they form a wall. You push right through, popping a hip and staring up at the drummer of Spawn like you’re ready to go toe-to-toe with him.

Slowly—so achingly slowly—does his gaze move from the band on stage to you. Behind the balaclava, he cocks a singular eyebrow. Could mean anything. But to you, it’s a goddamn dare.

“Saw you perform the other night,” you say loudly.

“Excuse me. But we were having a conversation,” interrupts one of the women.

You blatantly ignore her.

“Lots of people did,” he replies.

“Yeah, well, it sucked,” you retort.

One raised eyebrow becomes two. His head tilts slightly to the side.

Before he has a chance to reply, you bring the straw to your lips, sucking on it until all the liquid is gone, and still continuing to do so long after. The moment you stop, his head tilts toward you, as does his upper body. But there is nothing intimidating or repulsive in the move. There’s too much gentleness to the way he shifts, like he’s suddenly interested.

“You—” he begins, but you immediately start sucking on your straw again, filling the air with the bubbled gurgling of an empty glass.

You give it a few good seconds before stopping.

“You fucking done, dove?”

No. He’s not mad. Not in the slightest. Here you are, a complete stranger, telling him his band sucked, and he finds it amusing.

“Did you get better at the drums?”

“No.”

“Pity.”

He chuckles, a short, clipped sound like he’s astounded at your audacity.

The woman behind you scoffs. “Bitch,” she mutters.

His gaze quickly darts over your shoulder to glance at the woman standing behind you. The middle of his brow pinches, but when he returns his attention to you, the crease softens.

“Didn’t catch your name.”

You shrug. “Didn’t give it.”

There’s a smile. It’s hidden behind the balaclava but you know it’s there. It’s in the way the skin around his eyes crinkle.

With a shift of his shoulders, he leans in like he’s telling you a secret. “Ghost.”

“Boo?” you shrug.

He chuckles the same way he did seconds before. “That’s my name.”

You nod. Keep nodding. “Cute.”

“Thank you,” whispers Ghost, ending it with a wink.

Jesus Christ.

Goddamn.

“Where’s the rest of your band?” you ask. “Are they here?”

“Looking to tell them how rubbish they are?”

“Absolutely,” you reply with a smile. “Point them out to me.”

This time, Ghost’s chuckle isn’t clipped. It’s deep. Amused. And the quality of it is like amber whiskey. “You’re cheeky. Soap will love that. Enjoys a good banter.”

Taking a cautious step, you move to the left and forward, saddling up beside him. Ghost hasn’t looked anywhere else this entire conversation. All his focus—all of his regard—is for you.

It’s a hand on your shoulder that shatters the peace. “It’s rude to chip in.”

You turn slowly, staring daggers into the women grasping your shoulder. “What conversation?” you retort. “The one where you all were jabbering on and he blatantly ignored you.”

You watch as their faces go red.

With a huff, she releases your shoulder. “Come on girls,” she mutters, walking off.

Ghost waits until they’re gone before speaking up. “She’s right.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes. But were you really having a conversation with them?”

“No.”

You lightly punch his shoulder with the empty cup. “Exactly my point.”

Those dark eyes of his are assessing. Though they are focused on you, they scan your face and body constantly, lingering only when you’re speaking.

“Is Ghost really your name?”

“No,” he replies bluntly, and you laugh out loud. “But it’s the one you’re getting.”

“Fair,” you giggle, bringing your drink to lips and then groaning when you remember that it’s fucking empty. “Damnit.”

Ghost plucks the empty plastic cup right out of your hands and tosses it into a nearby bin. “Still haven’t told me your name.”

“It’s because I’m making one up in my head,” you mutter.

He shakes his head. “No, love. Out with it.”

“You gave me a false one.”

“Not false,” he corrects. “Just not my real name.”

“Think I’d be worried for your mother’s sanity if she named you Ghost.”

“My mum’s dead,” he deadpans.

“Fucking Christ,” you gasp, almost choking on a bit of air. He chuckles again, and you smack his chest. “That’s foul.”

“She is dead.”

“Why are you Brits so grim?”

“Between the constant rain and Thatcher’s—”

“Forget I asked,” you say quickly, holding up your hand.

But the two of you are laughing. Not robust or loud but familiar, like two friends reuniting after a long absence. The realization boils up quickly, slamming around in your skull, melting away all the alcohol-fueled boldness.

You don’t know Ghost. He doesn’t know you. What are you doing?

It hurts, but you step away. Ghost clocks the movement immediately, some of that lightheartedness slipping away.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asks, clearly confused about why you’re apologizing.

“I pushed in where I wasn’t invited.”

Ghost considers you for a moment, his reply coming after a few moments of silence. “Glad you did.”

You take another step away from him. Then another. “I should go.”

Ghost matches the steps. “Should you?”

Now you’re the one who’s flustered. Heat flares up along your spine and seizes your neck. A wanton coil curls in the pit of your stomach—low in your belly and scarily close to your pussy.

“Yes,” you breathe, backing away.

As you turn to go, his hand shoots out, encircling your wrist. With a quick jerk, you’re pressed up against him, balaclava-covered face close, the coarse fabric scratching against your skin.

“What are you really like? Without the alcohol to amp those nerves?” His voice is a murmur, and there is a primal quality to it that cuts you open, threatening to expose old wounds.

The little bit of tenacity still within you wiggles up from the depths, giving teeth to your words. “You’d love me if I opened for you.”

Ghost sighs, and it almost sounds like a groan. The muscles in his shoulders relax, and that release of tension gives just enough room for you to snatch your wrist free of his grip.

You don’t even say goodbye. Not verbally.

It’s all in your gaze. In the way you hover, walking backwards for a few seconds before giving him your shoulder—only to allow the man one final glance.

Then it’s a burst of sound of noise of thunderous banging. Every voice in the room, every sound that bounces off of The Foundry’s walls, every music note, and every staticky screech from the speakers comes roaring forward like a charging animal. It smashes against you until your head throbs, and the room spins slightly.

“Fuck,” you mutter, heading to the bar for water. “Didn’t need that last drink.”

As you head in that direction, the crowd only thickens. Did more people arrive? You didn’t notice. Then again, you were to be busy flirting with Ghost. Well, flirt is a strong word. More like harass.

You turn sideways, wiggling between two people, only to be spit out directly into a packed crowd. The more you try to navigate, the thicker the bodies become. It doesn’t make any sense. Did you get turned around on your way to the bar? It seems impossible, especially since you’ve visited it five times now for a beverage.

You’re heading in the right direction. You are.

“Excuse me,” you yell over the music, attempting to pass in front of someone.

They take a step back, but the person in front of them also moves, knocking right into you. You’re pushed forward and into a body.

“Sorry,” you gasp, catching yourself and straightening.

But no one responds. More people have pushed in—shoving forward as the guitar shreds to an impossibly loud crescendo. You try to twist—to try and find a way out—but you’re kept immobile, shepherded toward the unknown.

Your heartrate quickens, the thumping in your chest radiating all the way to your ears until it pounds in your head. You cannot get enough air, enough space, enough—

The crowd roars, and then you’re vaulted forward into flailing bodies. Arms and hands lash out. Legs kicks. Fists thrown.

A young man in front of you swings outward, his hand connecting with a face. You hear the crack of his palm over the music. See a few bright droplets of blood shoot upward.

You purposefully avoided the pit for this very reason.

Even as you scramble backward, the wave crashes, barring your escape. Frenzied, the crowd screams and roils, and you have nowhere to run to.

Hands are on you. Shoving. Shoving.

You topple forward. A body barrels into you, knocking the wind from your lungs. Thrust to the left, you crash into more people, only to be pushed off—away.

Another shove. Hands. Pulling. A jab to the stomach.

The music is distant. Suddenly muted.

As if moving through muck, you turn your head as if you have a collar around your neck, and the person with the lead has given it a tug. You see it then, a fist. Silver rings on the fingers. It’ll hurt when it strikes your face. You know it.

But there’s a catch.

A body blocks your path. All you see at first is the leather jacket and the incoming fist disappearing.

There’s a— “fucking wanker”—followed by a crunch. Followed by a yelp of pain.

Your savior turns, and you come face-to-face with a familiar balaclava-wearing drummer.

“Ghost?” you breathe.

He doesn’t reply, only moves in, creating a protective barrier. Taking the brunt of the blows, Ghost manages to push the two of you through the crowd and out into open air. Your lungs rejoice, sucking down air like they’ve been starved.

“Are you all right?” asks Ghost, voice full of concern.

He checks you over, gaze darting over your face before moving lower. His hands caress your cheeks, tilt your head one way and then the other.

“I’m fine.” Then, “I’m fine,” you repeat louder, reaching for him.

You heard that crunch and that yelp of pain. But he doesn’t appear to be injured. Even as he grasps your upper arms, keeping you upright, you place both hands against his covered cheeks. Under your right hand, you feel wetness.

Drawing back, you find red.

“Ghost. You’re bleeding.”

You show him your palm, and he shrugs. “Should see the other bloke.”

“What happened to the other guy?” you ask, voice wavering slightly in panic.

“I’m aces, love.” His hand is still on your cheek, thumb resting just shy of your mouth. “A bit of blood won’t hurt none.”

“No. You’re hurt. Should have it looked at,” you insist. Ghost sniffs and then winces, the sound of it congested. “Did they hit your nose?”

“Maybe,” he coughs, trying to brush it aside like it doesn’t matter.

“Ghost,” you chide, returning your hand to his cheek.

This time, you lightly press against the balaclava, searching for where the injury might be. It’s not like you can fucking see it, and trying to convince him to remove the balaclava here may only result in resistance on his end.

He sighs, the sound warm and with a hint of growl. “Like how you say it.”

“Not the time to be flirting,” you mutter.

“I’ve just rescued you. Think it’s the perfect time,” he counters.

You drop your hand from his face and scowl. “You really need your face looked at.”

Ghost’s hand against your cheek slides down to rest at the base of your throat. “No hospital. But you can take a look.”

“Fine,” you concede.

“Fine.”

The two of you stand there, simply staring at each other. There is a softness in his stare, one that sends a little happy tingle through your limbs. You feel…seen, and it’s entirely debilitating.

“I’m staying at a hostel. Not sure that’s the best place.”

“We can go to my flat.”

You laugh. “It’s a ruse, isn’t it? To get me to come home with you.”

Ghost inclines his head. “Is it working?”

“Yes,” you begrudgingly admit. “Lead the way.”

Ghost’s hand at your throat shifts, sliding to the back of your neck and then over your shoulder. He drapes his arm over them, keeping you close against him as the two of you exit The Foundry and head out into the night.

There’s a short walk, and then a ride on the Underground. Few people glance your way, but it’s late in London, and anyone out this late is either heading home or looking for trouble. You and Ghost chat about nothing and everything, the conversation slipping between topics fluidly.

And he never stops touching you. Out on the street, it’s an arm draped over your shoulders. On the Underground, it’s a hand on your upper thigh, resting there like a sign of ownership, as if you belong to him.

It’s the walk up to Ghost’s building that’s silent. The street is empty. The building a little rundown and derelict. There are a few bins of trash that are overflowing, and a dog barks somewhere in the distance.

Ghost remains glued to your side, his head on a swivel all the way up to and upon entering the building. Once inside, he seems to relax, his mood improving as the two of you ascend.

“Bit messy in the flat,” he mutters, digging around in his pockets for his keys.

“How many people live with you?” you ask.

“Including me. Four.”

“All bachelors?”

“Yes,” he laughs.

“Would explain the mess,” you muse as Ghost inserts the key and opens the door.

He steps aside, allowing you to enter first. Shutting the door behind him, Ghost removes his jacket and offers to take yours.

“Thank you,” you whisper, giving it to him along with your purse.

He hangs up both.

The flat itself is fairly sparse and the only mess you notice is what you’d expect from four single men. The coffee table in the living room has a few empty bowls and cups, but that’s it. The sofa appears clean if fairly worn, and the television is large. Nothing about it stands out to you.

“Want something to drink?” he asks, heading into the kitchen.

“Water. Please.”

He returns with water for you and a whiskey for him.

Taking a sip, you place it down on the table. “Should really look at the injury.”

Ghost inclines his head and then drops onto the sofa. “This good?”

“Great,” you reply, glancing around. “Have a first aid kit anywhere.”

“Cabinet in the washroom.” Ghost indicates the door with a nod of his head. “Just there.”

Entering, you dig around, finding sterilizing alcohol, clean washcloths, and bandages. Instead of selecting a few things, you grab the entire storage basket, heading back out into the living room.

“I’ll need—”

You stop dead in your tracks.

Ghost leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. In one hand he holds the whiskey glass while a lit cigarette dangles from between his lips. The balaclava is gone. It’s on the table. Discarded. Ghost turns his head in your direction. There’s blood all under his nose, over his mouth, and smeared across his chin.

While the gore surprises you, it’s that the balaclava is gone. You’re seeing him.

“What?” he prompts. “Like what you see?”

Yes.

“Just—” You wave your hand in front of your face. “The blood.”

Ghost snorts, and takes a long drag on his cigarette. “That bad?”

“You’re covered,” you affirm, approaching him slowly.

He exhales the smoke. It curls around him, hovering—then melting away. He ashes the cigarette and returns it to his mouth.

Sinking down onto the sofa next to him, you lay out the supplies. Grabbing your water glass, you dip part of the washcloth into the water.

“Look at me,” you command, but there’s no authority in it.

Ghost turns his head, and you bring the wet washcloth to his face. With gentle dabs and light passes, you remove more and more of the blood. The washcloth turns pink but you pretend not to notice.

Once his chin is clean you move to his lips. Ghost removes the cigarette and places it in the ashtray. You keep dabbing away, clearing blood. And the whole time, his gaze lingers on you. You pointedly keep your gaze averted from his, but it’s difficult. His stare drills into you, and with every passing second, the urge to make that connection grows.

Lips clean, you start in to wipe away the blood underneath and around his nose.

The washcloth makes contact with his skin, and Ghost winces.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Folding the washcloth in half, you place it over your knee, and then reach for a clean absorbent pad.

“Just want to check something. Stay still.” Ghost does and you press around his nose. “How does that feel?”

He shrugs. “Uncomfortable. Tender.”

You test the area, but he doesn’t flinch again. “Don’t see any swelling. Doesn’t feel swollen either. Might have some bruising though.”

“I’ve looked worse.”

“Somehow, I believe that.” You set the absorbent pad down and then run your finger lightly over the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think it’s broken.”

“I didn’t think so,” replies Ghost.

You drop your hand. “You know what a broken nose feels like?”

He smirks, and brings the whiskey glass to his lips. “It’s bloody worse than the pain I feel now.”

“Suppose that’s a good thing,” you reply, digging through the basket of supplies.

You’re not looking at him. When Ghost curls a finger under your chin and turns your head toward him, you’re momentarily stunned. At his touch, you surrender, sitting up straight and giving him your full attention.

Ghost’s gaze lingers before dropping to your mouth. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip. There’s an appreciate look there.

“You’re sweet,” he whispers.

“Surprised?” you counter, and Ghost smiles.

With one more pass over your bottom lip, Ghost drops his hand. He sets the whiskey glass aside, and then gently takes the washcloth off your knee. It folds it four times, creating a square, and then he places it on the table.

“Simon.”

“What?”

“My real name,” he says. “It’s Simon.”

“Oh. Well.” You swallow. “Hello, Simon.”

“Hello,” he croons.

The two of you stare into each other eyes. He’s searching for something, and whatever it is, you long to give it. Shifting closer, he cups your cheek just like he did at The Foundry. Simon leans in, and there is an ask in that movement.

Say yes, it says.

His eyelids grow heavy, those pale eyelashes reflecting the light from the tableside lamp like tiny halos. You lean in, and then you’re kissing him, accepting the silent question.

One becomes two becomes three becomes infinite.

They are small and innocent at first, developing into deeper strokes. Wanton. Honey-laced. The hand on your cheek shifts to the back of your neck, and that one touch changes everything. His fingers drag against your skin, and you gasp against his mouth.

But it is Simon who draws back, who creates the faintest hint of distance. His lips tease another kiss and then he’s reclining, legs spreading wide as he drapes an arm over the back of the sofa. Simon grabs his thigh, squeezing, then patting the spot in invitation.

Your core clenches. A new desire crawls forward, nails digging in, dragging you toward a singular mindset. He is offering, providing an opening. And why not take it? Why not find out what it would feel like to have him deep inside, stretching you deliciously.

Simon must know your inner turmoil because he smirks as if knowing what you’re about to say.

“Come here,” he purrs.

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