#and hoping for something cool with the other hand

[clare-875]

Distraction or Devotion (Zoro x Reader)

_____ Pairings: Roronoa Zoro x Female Reader Summary: You think your love is one-sided, but is it? Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Jealous Zoro, Soft Zoro, Alcohol A/N: Been obsessed with Zoro lately 😅 [One Piece Masterlist] _____

You were transfixed by him.

Roronoa Zoro.

He had found his way into your heart and had taken the undue liberty to consume all of its devotion. You didn't know how friendship had morphed so suddenly into the hopes of something more, but that was the predicament you found yourself in now.

What had started as general respect for the other had turned into sparing sessions, light bickering and laughter, drinking and confiding in the other. The days spent at sea spared you much time to get to know the green-haired swordsman, no matter how rigid he stood behind his walls. You chipped and chipped away at them until he let you in on small details, let you pull laughter from him and let you linger in his presence.

The bond you both shared was built on loyalty and an undying trust forged through time and trial. You knew to him, you were a rare individual: one he trusts, one he protects, a comrade and a friend. But to you, the more you chipped away at his walls, the more you got to know the man, stoic and strong and silent, the more he crashed through your own borders and delved straight into your heart.

To you, he was everything, but everything you were so sure you could not have.

"Oi, [y/n], you're zoning out again."

Your eyes snap upwards, and you are met with the sight of Zoro, his sharp eyes on you as he lifts an ungodly amount of weight back and forth over his head, mimicking the movements of his swords. Both of you were out on deck, the only crewmembers that lingered outdoors apart from Luffy, who was somewhere on the figurehead.

"I'm sorry, were you desperate for my attention?"

You tease as you go back to the duty of polishing his swords, a frequent task you found yourself undertaking, but one you did not take lightly. You knew how much Zoro treasured his swords, how much worth was forged upon their blades. They lay heavy in your hands: heavy with responsibility and the weight of Zoro's trust. You didn't know of anyone else he would allow to even breathe near his swords, let alone touch them.

The thought of that made your heart warm.

"Shouldn't you be focusing on your training?"

"Tch, whatever woman, I only said something cause you looked like you were about to fall asleep on the blade. Next time I'll just watch it happen."

You roll your eyes, but a smile lingers on your face as your eyes meet his. The sun had fallen, just mingling with the ocean as it delved deeper into the Earth, bringing forth warm lights that traced the muscles on Zoro's skin. His irises swim in the fervour of the lights, and you swear you see something deep within as he abruptly breaks away from your gaze, the pink on his cheeks surely from his workout and nothing more.

Nothing more, right?

There is more silence as Zoro shifts his focus to his weights once more, the rhythm of his training the only sound that touches the cooling air, until you decide to break the quiet.

"Hey, Zoro..."

You murmur, eyes locked on the blade carefully placed in your lap and the cloth that delicately traces it until you see your own unwavering reflection.

"Yeah?" Zoro grunts as he brings down the weights towards the deck.

"Have you ever thought about love before?"

There is abruptly the seizing of movement, but when your eyes travel upwards again to meet his, he merely looks at you incredulously.

"What kind of question is that?"

You grin at his expression, but continue on, nonchalantly, despite the way your heart pounds against your chest at your own boldness.

"Oh, come on, Zoro. You've never been tempted? I can't count on my hands the number of times women have literally fallen at your feet. Beautiful women, too good for you, of course, but nonetheless."

A beat of silence, and he answers.

"Nope, never thought about it."

His words are blunt, and he continues his training as though nothing was said. You can't deny the slight disappointment that filled you at his abrupt words. But you decide to push a bit more. You want to know more, more of what he thought about you. If you had a chance, if another claimed his heart, if his words were true.

"Really? What about Tashigi? She even knows her way around a sword, you know-"

"Nope."

"Perona? You guys literally spent two years together-"

"So? Still no."

"Hiyori? You two seemed all cosied up-"

"No."

You roll your eyes, unsure as to why your heart starts to feel heavy even as he rejects women you were so sure he could sweep off their feet. Maybe it was the lack of interest in the topic of relationships. Maybe it was the voice in the back of your mind mocking your hopes that he would turn around and say he would choose you instead.

"Nami, Robin??"

You ask, a teasing tone in your words despite the smile that strains on your cheeks.

"What? No way, they're crewmates-"

"You've actually never been tempted? They're literally all so perfect."

You sit in slight disbelief, analysing his expression, but his gaze does not falter, and he reveals nothing. If anything, you witness the tightening of his jaw as he moves to a silent rhythm. You wonder if you have pushed the topic too far.

"It's nothing against them, I have a responsibility and a goal. To become the world's strongest swordsman and to see Luffy become the pirate king. I don't have time for distractions."

His words are blunt to you as they are confirming. You allow the silence to consume the space between the two of you for a moment longer, and yet your heart twists unbearably.

He doesn't have time for distractions.

Of course, he doesn't.

You had witnessed more than anyone the way he trained from daybreak to sundown, every minute for the dream he held, and in support of Luffy's ambitions. What time could he spare for relationships, for women? He already had so much on his mind, so much responsibility on his back. And yet, a question leaves your lips before you can stop yourself.

"Not even time for me?"

You whisper, but Zoro misses your words, his eyes trained on his weights, the crease between his brows a show of his concentration, but the glint in his eyes, one that unravels frustration.

Why? Maybe this conversation was one he did not wish to partake in.

"Did you say something?"

Zoro's words touch the air once more, as sunlight travels his face until it lies static as he meets your gaze again.

"Nothing," you say, more dejected than anything else, despite knowing you should feel unsurprised. You watch as he continues his workout, the air solemn as you let out a quiet sigh, unsure why your heart feels so heavy despite a lack of rejection.

You supposed it was the lack of recognition that had done it.

In-tune crew members had already witnessed your gravitation towards the swordsman, but it was clear to you that your affections were not recognised, nor could they be considered anything beyond friendship by Zoro. Though stupidly relieved to know that he did not have a favourite among the women you listed, you felt stupid in your hopes that maybe, just maybe, you were his favourite.

That he recognised that the way you polish his swords as you do now wasn't out of mere generosity but deep-rooted admiration and care. The way you saved a seat for him beside you at dinner wasn't out of mere friendship but out of hope to get to know him more. The way you seek him out and spend hours by his side, even when there is nothing to be said, was from a yearning to be beside him for as long as he would let you be.

You loved him.

Roronoa Zoro.

Loved the way he would smirk when he teased you to the point where you were sure to combust. Loved the way he is so protective of crewmates in battles, his strength and loyalty unmatched. You loved the way he was so unwavering in his values, so predictable in the best of ways. Loved the way that he cared and was kind, no matter how hard he tried to keep up the tough-guy facade. You loved the quiet moments stolen with him, the way his eyes would soften in the presence of you and the presence of crewmates, the faint smile he bears when he has had too much to drink.

Loved the way he would listen quietly.

Loved the way he ruffled your hair.

Loved the way he searched for you after battles.

You loved him.

But as you watch his devotion to his swords, to Luffy and to his crew. Deep down, you had resigned yourself to knowing that you could never be anything more than a friend. No princess, swordswoman or model could turn his head. How could you?

What did you offer that they didn't?

Emotion fills you suddenly, but you force it away, scolding yourself and quickly finishing off the last of your task. Zoro releases his hold on his weights, stretching lightly as he readies another workout, but he is surprised as you stand and go to walk away.

"Hey, you okay?"

He asks, and you hate the way your heart lurches at his concern, the way you can feel his eyes burning into your back.

"Yeah, I just promised Sanji I'd help him for dinner, I'll see you later!"

Your words are as cheerful as you forced them to be, wandering towards the kitchen unseeingly. You don't see the way Zoro's brows furrow in his confusion, the twitching of his hands as though he wants to stop you and ask why you would indulge in the cook's company over his own. But he merely nods and continues his training.

You merely walk away.

.....

A week has passed, and you didn't know what you were doing.

Were you moving on? But from what exactly?

Exploring other opportunities? Maybe, but why?

You weren't rejected.

Didn't have the hammer beat down on your budding devotion to the swordsman. You were just provided an unspoken resignation by his words.

"I don't have time for distractions."

Like, ever? Was that long-term, short-term, or were you even a card in his hands that he would play?

You were confused and downtrodden, but you were also tired.

One-sided love.

So focused on possibilities and what-ifs, you had forgotten how exhausting it can be. How burdenous longing can be. How the dichotomy of your mind and of your heart can feel like you're being torn in two. Was that dramatic? Maybe a tad. But you now realise how long you have loved Zoro, the years you spent by his side. How can you teach yourself to let go, even a little bit, to seek distance so that if he does choose to reject you in the future, you are not utterly shattered?

You hate that you still hope.

Hope that because you had not named yourself, and because he had not rejected you, that you still had a chance, even if it was years down the line. You grit your teeth as you take a rough swing of your beverage, alcohol burning as you force it down your throat, trying to quieten your mind, trying to forget your feelings.

"Hey, slow down, it's not water, you know?"

And there it is, the provocative tone in his words. The glint of amusement in his sharp eyes as he catches your gaze. The swordsman laughs at your distasteful expression as he downs his second bottle of the night.

"I know that, but do you? You're downing that like it's nothing."

You ask incredulously, deadpanning at the way liquid disappears from bottles. He smirks, much more at ease next to you and with his sake, though he couldn't let you know that. Couldn't let you see how you have him so wrapped around your finger. Couldn't let you know that the smile you bear had him fighting to remain nonchalant, to remain strong in the face of temptation. The temptation in your lips, in your gaze, in you.

"I know, but I can handle it."

You roll your eyes at that.

He notices, but you turn away quickly, hiding your gaze in the dim light of the bar the two of you found yourselves in. Zoro can hear his Captain laughing with a stranger, can hear the love-lorn cook as he talks to Nami and Robin, can hear Brook chatting with the musicians in the bar, and yet he finds himself next to you. He always finds himself next to you. Always you he looks for after battles, always you he sits by when he naps, always you who lingers when he works out, always you he celebrates with, always you.

He wonders why you have been acting strangely this week.

Recently, it hadn't been you who lingered, or you he sits beside. You hadn't been saving the seats you usually do for him, with your bright eyes and wide smile. More often, you had been absent as he worked out, left wondering why the empty space you usually sat in was left cold and dull without you. More often had he taken notice of the unspoken things you do - reminding him of dinner, polishing his swords, filling the quiet in between - disappearing. He wondered if he had taken you for granted.

Even now, as he sits next to you, the closest he has been for days. You are quieter, more sullen, more lost in your mind. The heart in his chest that he didn't know could fluctuate in the face of another, missed you. God dammit, he missed you. And he didn't know what he had done wrong.

You take a glance to your side, only to see that Zoro was now lost in his head, drinking from bottles, with thoughts behind his eyes. You are about to ask what burdens him, but your pursuit is interrupted by that of another.

"Excuse me, love? Can I buy you a drink?"

Your gaze snaps upwards when you meet the eyes of a stranger who has approached your side without your notice. He hadn't been the first to approach you tonight; in fact, you were used to men approaching you with hope and admiration and lust twisting in their irises. It had been so easy before to brush them off in favour of Zoro's company, so easy to say no. But you find yourself considering the offer. Zoro is still distracted by a thought you cannot see, and this man was charming and attractive.

What harm was there really?

"Okay," you say, your words more unsure than you hoped they would be, but the man does not care nor seem to notice, all too pleased to have you on his arm. That is, until you feel a sharp tug on your other hand that lies limp to your side. Your gaze snaps to your left, and you are met with sharp eyes you have memorised all too well.

"Oi, where are you going?"

Zoro's voice is low, protective, his hand lingering on his swords. But his irises betray confusion, and was that hurt that lingered on the crescent edges? Zoro's insides twist uncomfortably at the sight of your hand on another man's arm.

You never indulged in the company of such men; why now?

"I'm just getting a drink, Zoro."

You say confusedly, missing the smirk on the man beside you, missing the tension in Zoro's jaw as he meets his cocky gaze. You feel Zoro's fingers twitch against your skin, his grip not painful but sure against your skin. He didn't want to let you go. But you were now confused.

Why was he acting this way?

But before you can say anything, Zoro lets you go silently, and the man next to you takes you to the bar for a drink.

.....

When you make your way to the Sunny, the sun has touched the horizon, leaking light onto the earth.

Your eyes were trained on the pavement, steps slow and deliberate, but your mind was churning. Along the way, you had seen crewmembers sprawled together on the streets and in bars, but paid them no mind, knowing it was merely a symbol of them having had a good night. Happy to see them indulge in an evening of laughter, drinks and food and each other. You hadn't expected to be out so long, but you found the need to wander a little.

The man who had taken you to the bar was okay at first, that is, until you saw the lust that travelled his features, move to his hands. He had mocked your crew and Zoro in his drunkenness. Had earned himself a good slap to the face and your swift absence, only for you to find that Zoro had left the bar already. You had only been gone for an hour at most, but following everything you had walked the length of the island several times, leading to the sun rising, signalling the beginning of another day.

You travel up the steps and onto the deck, expecting silence, expecting nothing. But you are surprised to see the swordsman, your mind had lingered all night on - had lingered years on - sat looking to the horizon with a pile of bottles scattered around him. Your heart picks up pace quickly, both in concern at the sight of him so adrift he does not notice you and of the devotion you still try to bury. Approaching hesitantly, you are met with the strong scent of alcohol, a sign that he has drunk too much, despite himself.

"Zoro?"

You murmur, nudging his shoulder gently, unsure of his reaction. He turns to you slowly, eyes masked in rare emotion, bottle clunking onto the deck from his grasp, spilling its contents. You furrow your brows, but his voice is low as he speaks to you, avoiding your gaze once more.

"How was he?"

You are taken aback, shocked that despite his inhibited state, that is what he suggests to you. Though you suppose that is what conclusion you would come to if Zoro disappeared with a woman, only to return to the Sunny in the daybreak.

"What's it to you?"

You ask lightly, watching the way his grip tightens on his own skin, sharp eyes on yours as he watches you closely. He is about to bite back until he watches you sigh and pick up the bottles that have been scattered and some shattered, cleaning the mess he has made. He meets your eyes that are on his, and he sees the concern you bear. His heart twists painfully against his chest as he pictures you with the man he left you with.

You.

You were meant to be his.

You were his angel, the one he protects, the one he looks to in quiet moments and laughs with in the confines of the other. He was meant to be the one you adored, the one who came first, the one you sought out. He was the one you were meant to nudge teasingly and drink with and celebrate wins and comfort losses with. He was the one you were meant to grace your presence with. Not some leechy stranger, not some unworthy man he can only now picture in your bed, in your arms, in your heart.

"I asked first." He says, voice quiet, tone low, eyes adrift again.

You smile half-heartedly at his stubbornness, but as you brush away bottles and put them away, you let the silence linger for a while. Once you are done you sit by his side, Zoro hates the way his heart spikes just by your warmth, you hate the way your heart does the same.

"He was an asshole."

You say, feeling Zoro's gaze meet the side of your face as your voice touches the air, but you do not turn yet, admiring the sun as it rises higher. "Wanted me in his bed long before our first drink, talked shit about me, talked shit about our crew..." You feel as Zoro tenses at your words, and that is when you meet his gaze, his eyes widening at your gentle smile, at your adoring eyes, at your proximity.

"... talked shit about you."

You grin as you see his eyebrows twitch, but you don't move, overindulgent in his presence. Yes, you might not be his, not now or ever, but you would take what you got, even if it was the show of his protectiveness from time to time. But to Zoro, he was fighting so hard not to allow his hands to travel to yours, to spill the words he constrained. You turn away quickly before you get too lost in his gaze, though he is already too far gone in yours.

"That was the last straw, you know," you grin teasingly at the sun, "had to give him a good slap to the face to bring him back to reality, then wandered around the island for a good few hours because somebody decided to leave early."

Zoro's gaze widens a fraction of a millimetre, but you do not catch it, yours still to the sky. You don't notice how his chest loses the tightness that had plagued him the whole night. The way he had used the alcohol he usually loved to force an escape from thoughts of you and the man he had regretfully left you with. He couldn't handle it, the thought, the sight of you with another. Couldn't handle another day where you continued to place distance between the two of you.

Then it comes to Zoro so clearly, after so long in despair.

He loved you.

He can't let you go.

There is a warmth on your hand, and it takes you a while to realise that it is Zoro's hand over yours, hesitant, hovering. Your eyes snap to his so fast, he is almost taken aback. He fights the blush on his cheeks as he lowers his calloused hands onto yours, pulling warmth to your own face.

"Zoro?" Your words are hesitant, but his are blunt and unwavering.

"Don't do that again, woman," he says, voice even, eyes far from yours. Two beats pass in silence until his voice reaches the air again, in turn, rendering you temporarily speechless.

"I think I like you."

There is no teasing in his words, no underlying joke. He is vulnerable under your gaze, touch faltering on skin, uncertainty clouding his mind. But to you, a wave of shock travels through your system, and you can't help but let out a yell of surprise.

"What?!"

Zoro winces as he squeezes his eyes shut, not used to the effects of too much alcohol.

"Damn woman, do you have to be so loud?"

You hurriedly silence, before returning to your spot next to him, mind buzzing. Is this a dream? Did you hear correctly? Have you gone and lost your mind? You quickly come to your senses, gathering thoughts that have scattered, until one question clouds your mind.

"But I thought- I thought you said you didn't have time for distractions?"

Zoro pauses, his mind travelling to the conversation the two of you had a week ago. A week ago, when you named women, he could never have considered that way. The frustration he felt when it sounded like you were writing yourself off the list of options, forcing people onto him when all he wanted was you. Was that why you put distance between the two of you? Was that the question that plagued your mind? Was that what you thought?

You hear him sigh, but he pulls you into his side, still a mixture of drunkenness dictating his movements.

"You're not a distraction, just another focus, a vulnerability maybe, that I choose to have," he smirks slightly at your surprise spilling into your stare. "But you're mine, or I want you to be."

Silence touches the air, but Zoro takes comfort in knowing that you have not moved from where you sat, have not moved from his touch, have not wilted under his vulnerable words. In a movement, he feels your hands touch his face, a shine to your gaze that has him blushing to his ears. A hammering against his chest like he has never known.

"I want to be yours."

And somehow, that was all he wanted to hear.

His lips touch yours, in a mix of warmth, of roughness and of the taste of too many drinks. But you feel his hands, strong, secure against your skin, pulling you closer. Your mind is a haze as he moves, still tipsy off of alcohol, still stumbling with nerves, but lost in the place you have wanted to be for so long. He growls low under his breath, his hands moving as though to erase the touch of any other. When you pull away, you are breathless, and so is he. You sit on his lap, and he holds you closer.

A moment of bliss travels the two of you, and yet a yawn comes through your system, exhausted emotionally, of the time spent last night wandering, of the thoughts that raged through your head. And yet now, next to him, you can't find the courage to drift asleep, afraid to wake to your bed and to harsh reality. Zoro seems to be having the same thoughts as you, but in the caress of soft hair, he murmurs against your skin.

"Sleep, woman. I'll be here when you wake up."

Your eyes meet his hesitantly, and though you know alcohol is still in his system, you don't think that is the reason why his eyes soften when he meets your gaze. No, you knew that look, it was familiar, shining with care and softness and that unspoken emotion you had seen all too much before. That unspoken emotion, now free of its speechlessness, is only for you to know. You nod to him, surprisingly comfortable, like everything was how it was supposed to be.

When sleep consumes you, it takes only a beat more for it to consume Zoro, too. Finally free of his burdenous thoughts, of regret, and of needing alcohol to erase his feelings. Zoro now indulges your warmth, the softness of your skin, the weight of you against his broad chest. As a smile lingers on his face, it is then he realises how often you pull the corners of his lips upwards, how often you bring him to a place of peace in a world clouded with anything but.

A distraction? How could you ever be?

He was utterly devoted to you.

And you were now his.

When both of you wake the next day, it is to the incoherent screaming of Sanji, the laughter of your Captain and the agape expressions of Chopper, Brook and Ussop. Nami, Franky and Jimbei look on, unsurprised and grinning. But Robin looks to the two of you asleep in the arms of the other knowingly.

"Finally..."

[pomelace]

more than a sip

pairing: jack abbot x afab!resident reader

content warnings: fluff, no physical desciptors used for reader, reader is a resident and has a brother, implied age gap, doesn't take place during the shows timeline, let me know if I missed anything!

magui speaks! : dedicated to @multifandom-2091, thank you for the request, I hope you like it! I struggled a bit as I fell into a small writers slump halfway through, but here it is! writing this made me want to write more for jack, so stay tuned for that. as always, I hope you enjoy and requests are open!

word count: 1473

The rain drums steady on the pavement as you step out into the ambulance bay, the hospital doors hissing shut behind you. The air is thick with the smell of wet dirt and concrete, cool against your skin. You lean back against the wall just beside the doors, eyes half-closed, phone glowing in your hand.

Your fingers tap out a quick message:

Did you eat?? I left pasta in the fridge. Please don’t just eat cereal again. Love you. Be home by 8.

You don’t expect a reply—it’s three in the morning, and no one in their right mind should be awake. But your brother is. Either passed out on the couch with a controller still in his hand, or ignoring your text the same way he ignored you this morning—right after the fight, right before you left for another fifteen-hour shift.

It was a stupid argument—one he started, because he’s a teenager and teenagers are always angry about something. You know the type of anger; you used to wear it like armor too.

You put your parents through the same storm of slammed doors and sharp words. The difference is, they were still around to weather it. You’re all he’s got now.

So you take it—the harsh words, the door slams, the silence that lingers like smoke. You don’t hold it against him. You never do.

Instead, you text him like clockwork, always checking in even when he expects you not to. Especially when he expects you not to.

There’s peace in just standing there, tucked beneath the small overhang by the doors, the rain kept at bay by a strip of shelter overhead. Each drop falls with a soft, steady rhythm, a quiet lullaby against the metal.

As you wait for a response you know isn’t coming, you start to count the droplets you hear.

One, two, three...

“Should I be concerned you’ve taken up loitering?” a voice calls from behind you, low and rough around the edges.

You glance over your shoulder and catch sight of Dr. Abbot stepping out into the damp night, two coffee cups in hand. His dark scrubs are hidden beneath the black hoodie he always wears, hood down.

The lights from inside spill across his face, catching the salt-and-pepper in his hair, making him look tired than usual—almost distant, like he’s not entirely here.

“Loitering implies I’m not on shift,” you murmur, tucking your phone into your scrub pocket.

“I’m just… pretending the air inside doesn’t taste like bleach.”

He hums, taking a sip from his cup before handing you the other one. For you.

“Almond milk and honey,” he says gently, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“How did you—” you start to ask, but he cuts you off before you can thank him.

“You talk out loud when you think no one’s listening.”

Jack notices the little things: how you stir your coffee just so, the gentle, rhythmic motion; how you always avoid sweeteners, opting for just the almond milk and honey; how you don't like dairy, even though it’s practically everywhere.

He watches you for a moment, the corners of his lips turning up slightly as if he’s cataloging every small detail you don’t even realize you’re giving away.

“Careful,” he says, his voice low but teasing, “You’re going to burn your tongue.”

You look up at him, surprised by the sudden attention, but there's something comforting in the way he’s paying so much attention to the smallest things.

You roll your eyes playfully, though it’s hard to keep up the facade when you feel his gaze.

“I’m fine,” you reply, but there's warmth in your voice, a subtle acknowledgment that the smallest things—like this moment, this cup of coffee—mean more than you want to admit.

He shrugs, taking a sip from his own cup, his eyes never leaving you.

“I’m just saying, you might want to take it slow with the ‘hot’ part.”

You smile, the kind that tugs at your heart just a little too much. You know exactly what he’s doing.

He’s not just watching you sip your coffee. He’s seeing you, in all the quiet ways that no one else does.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you say again, this time with more meaning, the weight of the simple gesture settling between you like a shared secret.

“It's nice of you to finally grace the outside world,” you mutter, eyeing him with a smile from the rim of your coffee cup.

“I thought you were glued to the nurse’s station, brooding over charting mistakes and bad coffee.”

“I was,” he says, voice dry.

“Then I realized I hadn’t heard you complain in twenty minutes. Figured something might be wrong.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning against the wall.

“I was going for some peaceful silence, actually.”

He snorts, a small chuckle escaping him.

“That doesn’t suit you.”

A comfortable silence settles between you. Outside, the rain falls in silver sheets, soft and steady. You both sip your coffee, letting the warmth seep into your fingers.

He glances between you, the rain, and the rim of his cup. He doesn’t say anything—just clears his throat, like he wants to speak but hasn’t found the words yet.

You raise an eyebrow, curious. “What?”

He shrugs, eyes still fixed on the window.

“You’ve been quiet lately.”

You start to respond, a wry smile tugging at your lips.

“Don’t you prefer it that way?”

But he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even crack a smile. Instead, he turns to you—really turns to you—and something in his expression shifts. His eyes soften. The teasing falls away.

“I mean it. You’ve been off today. Not talking much, not—”

“Not complaining enough?” you interrupt with a light chuckle, trying to deflect.

But he just shakes his head again, gently.

“No. Seriously. Are you okay?”

You contiplate whether to tell him the truth or not on how you're doing. You look between him and the rim of your steaming cup. You know you can tell him, confide in him, but when is it too much to say?

"You can tell me," he whispers, like he can see straight through you.

A small smile tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze, giving a soft nod.

"I'm okay," you say lightly, almost too casually, like you're brushing it off.

"Just dealing with a lot, like always."

But he doesn't look convinced. He shakes his head, his eyes locking onto yours, unwavering and determined to get through to you.

"I mean it," he insists, his voice low and serious.

"Are you really okay?"

You hesitate for a moment, then offer him a smile — the kind that doesn’t quite reach your eyes but is enough to soften the moment.

"Really, I'm good, Jack," you say, and this time, the smile feels a little more genuine. It’s enough for him to let it go, but he’s still watching you closely.

"Fine," he says, his tone easing but still laced with concern.

"If you say so."

You chuckle softly, the weight of the conversation lifting just a little.

"I’ll come to you when I’m near losing my mind," you tease, half-serious, half-joking. He raises an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I’ll be waiting," he says, his voice warm, a promise hidden beneath the words.

You take a deep breath, feeling just a little lighter now. You shift closer to him, your shoulder brushing against his as you both stand in quiet solidarity against the wall, side by side.

"Are you okay?" you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

You don’t look at him, keeping your gaze fixed on the rain as it falls from the sky. The question hangs between you two, and you wait, the silence stretching just long enough to make the moment feel heavier than it really is.

From the corner of your eye, you notice him shift, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Yes," he replies softly, his voice steady but gentle.

"Right now, I am," he continues, turning his head just enough to watch you.

Right now, here with you, I am.

The thought catches him off guard, as if it’s been there all along, hiding just beneath the surface.

He doesn’t say it aloud, but something about the weight of the moment shifts, settling into him in a way that makes him feel like he’s been missing something obvious.

He watches you—how your fingers curl around your coffee, how the tip of your nose turns pink from the cold breeze, how your laughter feels like the kind of music that makes everything else fade away.

He drinks in the small details of you, trying to tell himself it’s just casual, just the way things are.

But it doesn’t feel like that anymore, or maybe it never did.

©pomelace 2025

[writing-for-marvel]

bucky barnes + sunsets

As the Sun Goes Down

Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader

Summary: Bucky struggles to let anyone in.

Warnings: references to Bucky’s past, not enjoying physical touch, hurt comfort vibes

Word count: 600

A/N: for @flashfictionfridayofficial, thank you to my darling Nika for this inspo while I’m trying to get out of my writers block 💛 banners by @vase-of-lilies

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library

“Bucky?”

A small smile curves on Bucky’s face which he can’t prevent - he’d recognise your voice anywhere.

Of course it is you who came to find him, that doesn’t surprise him in the slightest, instead, it’s how soft your voice is as you say his name that does. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to others treating him with kindness when his nervous system is conditioned to abuse with deadly force.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Yes, his brain shouts - he needs an outlet for all the thoughts that die on the tip of his tongue, for all the one sided conversations that never leave his grey matter because he doesn’t feel confident enough to share the contents with anyone.

But who wants to hear the anxieties of an ex-assassin?

He feels your thigh brush his as you sit beside him, and even though he hasn’t opened his mouth, he’s certain you can sense his apprehension. Goosebumps run up his right arm, but he’s pretty sure it isn’t the cool night air that’s the cause of them.

“Isn’t the sunset gorgeous tonight? So many pretty colours.”

As stunning as the sunset is, none of the gradients of reds, oranges and tinges of purples even come close to how beautiful his favourite colour is - the shade of your irises.

Believing that is probably far too forward to say as the opening to his side of the conversation he instead chooses to simply agree with you. “They certainly are.”

He turns to face you seated beside him at the edge of the balcony to find his favourite colour already looking at him with worry dripping from your gaze. The way you look at him somehow makes the anxiety in his chest churn, that the utmost concern you have for him adds to the expectation that Bucky should be bearing his soul to you.

He’s not quite up for that, even if you are the one he can see himself being vulnerable with. Eventually. You’re more understanding than most.

You reach for his hand, and though every instinct Bucky has is to pull away, to not let anyone lay a finger on him for fear of the repercussions that physical touch always had, he tries not to flinch when you hold him.

For 70 years the only time he felt human touch was to beat him into submission, perform experiments against his will, to pulverise his brain and turn his thoughts to mush. It’s not easy to rewire his thinking to enjoy human connection, but there’s something comforting about the way your warm, soft skin caresses his that doesn’t make him want to pull away from you.

“You can talk to me, Buck. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here to listen.” You smile at him in a way that makes his stomach flip, before your eyes flick back to the sunset. Bucky’s left watching your side profile, the curve of your upper lip, the flutter of your lashes as you blink. You’re stunning, but in a way where Bucky doesn’t think you realise just how beautiful you truly are.

Hopefully he’ll find the words to tell you one day.

He’s not ready to talk yet, but the crushing weight of expectation and drowning anxiety in his lungs doesn’t consume him to the brink of breaking down when you’re by his side. There’s a strength radiating off you that he feeds off, that gives him hope that one day life might have a semblance of normalcy to it.

As the sun sets along the horizon and the light completely fades from the day, you and Bucky sit in complete yet comfortable silence, never once letting go of each others hand.

Follow @ems-library for fic notifications

[wbbobsesser]

ᯓ sweet spot — chapter three

pairing: paige bueckers & azzi fudd

notes: honestly, i fucking hate this chapter but i didn’t have it in me to redo it all. it’s all over the place and for that i apologize. i’ll try to make the next one better. but regardless, i really hope you all enjoy! and thank you guys so much for all the nice comments, they truly make my day. i’ve already started chapter four so it should be out tomorrow, monday at the latest. love you.

wc: 2.7k

paige laid on her stomach, face half-buried in her pillow, phone in hand. the screenshot of azzi’s private profile stared back at her like it was daring her to do something.

she wasn’t doing anything, though. she had decided that.

until nika texted again.

n: i bet she’d accept it

p: i bet i’d implode

n: stop being so dramatic. it’s not that deep

paige groaned dramatically, flipping onto her back. she tapped her screen off, then on again. back to azzi’s account. still private. still untouched.

she wondered what kind of stuff azzi posted on there. stories? rants? screenshots of text convos with her boyfriend? paige tried her best not to flinch at that last one.

azzi had mentioned him so casually.

“my boyfriend.”

like it wasn’t a knife to her goddamn chest.

it naturally got brought up again the following day, when paige was shooting around early, headphones in, trying to look chill. emphasis on trying. she caught herself glancing toward the doors every five seconds like some romcom loser.

then she saw azzi walk in, hoodie on, hair pulled back, yawning like she hadn’t slept. paige’s heartbeat tripled.

azzi waved when she noticed her— just a small one. paige waved back. cool. normal.

totally not weird.

then nika appeared, completely ruining the illusion of calm.

“so,” she whispered, bumping shoulders with paige mid-dribble, “you follow her yet?”

“jesus, nika.”

“she posts the funniest shit. like crying selfies, bad song lyrics,” she laughed. “it’s like a whole different side of her.”

paige blinked once. “you followed her?”

“duh. we’re friends.”

paige hated how jealous that made her.

“she hasn’t posted about noah in a while, though,” nika added, almost too casually. “that’s all i’m saying.”

paige said nothing. just stared at the rim and tried not to read into that.

the blonde laid in bed, lights off, hoodie on, thumb hovering over her screen again. she couldn’t stop thinking about azzi yawning that morning. or the way she’d smiled yesterday. or nika’s dumb snarky comment.

without giving it another thought, she hit the follow button.

instant regret.

she tossed her phone across the bed like it caught on fire. then crawled under her blanket and pulled it over her head.

her phone buzzed twenty seconds later.

follow accepted.

paige peeked out from the blanket.

her heartbeat might’ve actually stopped.

azzi had accepted her request.

paige unlocked her phone with trembling fingers and opened the profile.

the first post was a close-up of azzi’s face, clearly crying but also clearly laughing. the caption read: “i swear this was about a group project and not a man. probably.”

paige nearly dropped her phone all over again.

she scrolled, curiosity growing.

more chaos. rants. song lyrics. selfies of her and with some friends. a mirror pic with the caption: “am i cute or do i just have anxiety?”

and then, finally, a pretty sunset over some beach in california. captioned: “miss this sometimes.”

the post was from one week ago.

paige didn’t like anything. didn’t comment. didn’t breathe.

she just stared.

and she knew— knew— that she was so, so royally fucked. because azzi was so impossibly beautiful that there was no other way to be.

paige scrolled back to the sunset post. the caption hit harder than she wanted to admit. she knew what that kind of homesickness felt like— how it crept in during the quiet moments, curling into her ribs like smoke.

she stared at the photo for a long time, thumb tapping the edge of her phone like a metronome. the caption was simple— miss this sometimes— but paige felt it in her chest.

the picture wasn’t even anything dramatic. just a hazy sunset over rooftops and a caption typed too fast. no filters, no nothing. just a soft sort of sadness, and something unspoken.

before she could talk herself out of it, she opened azzi’s dms. clicked her name.

typed. deleted. typed again.

p: just saw ur post about missing california. i get that. sometimes it hits out of nowhere, and then it’s all u can think about. if u ever wanna chill or smth, i’m here

she sent it. then quickly added:

p: just thought id say that

immediate regret flooded her. not because she didn’t mean it— god, she meant it— but because it felt personal, a little vulnerable.

she turned off her phone and tossed it to the foot of the bed like it burned her. a few minutes later, she turned it back on.

no response.

then suddenly— three dots.

a: that’s actually really nice to hear right now. it’s been a weird week. sometimes it feels like i’m walking around in someone else’s life. thank u for saying that

paige exhaled. her heartbeat sped.

p: no problem. really. i mean it

another pause.

a: honestly? i wouldn’t mind hanging out

p: i got u. wanna come over?

p: i’ve got snacks and a bunch of shitty netflix recs from nika that i’ve been putting off

a: deal. i’ll be over soon

around thirty minutes later, azzi— in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie—knocked on paige’s door like they’d done this a hundred times before.

paige flung it open, trying not to look like she’d been pacing for the past ten minutes.

“hey,” azzi said quietly. “thanks for inviting me over.”

paige smiled. “yeah, sure.”

they sat on the floor with a shared blanket between them and a bowl of popcorn that neither of them touched much. the movie played in the background, but neither of them watched it.

instead, they talked.

not about basketball. not about school. just… stuff. small stuff. azzi mentioned a diner she used to go to back home, how they served pancakes all day. paige talked about her favorite childhood memories from when she lived in minnesota.

at some point, azzi leaned her head against the wall, eyes half-lidded.

“i don’t miss california,” she said. “not really. it’s more like i miss who i was there. before everything got so complicated.”

paige didn’t answer right away. she just nodded in understanding, watching the soft flicker of light play across azzi’s face.

“yeah,” she said quietly. “i know what you mean.”

the popcorn went cold. the movie ended. but neither of them moved.

it wasn’t a date. it wasn’t anything like that.

but it mattered.

and paige knew she wasn’t going to forget it anytime soon.

after that night, azzi started hanging out in paige’s room a lot.

it wasn’t like they planned it. it just sort of happened. a post-practice cooldown turned into ice cream. then it became watching film together. then music. then nothing at all. just existing. together.

paige definitely wasn’t complaining.

except… she was, internally. constantly. because being near azzi and not being able to kiss her was basically slow, romantic torture.

azzi would curl up on paige’s bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, brown curls framing her face in a way paige adored, legs tucked under her. paige would sit at her desk pretending to do homework while her entire brain short-circuited from the proximity.

tonight, azzi had her head on paige’s shoulder while they watched love & basketball on her laptop.

“this movie’s so dramatic,” azzi mumbled, half-asleep, “but i love it.”

“same,” paige whispered, very aware of how azzi’s cheek was resting against her collarbone. “you’re the q to my monica.”

azzi laughed gently. “that makes you the love interest.”

i’d like to be. paige didn’t say it. but the words pressed up against her throat. instead, she said, “you doing okay?”

azzi was quiet for a second.

then: “honestly, i don’t know.”

paige looked down. azzi was staring straight ahead, lashes long, voice soft.

“i talked to noah yesterday,” she said. “he got mad i couldn’t facetime right after class. it’s just… hard, lately. the distance. everything.”

paige felt something clench in her chest. she hated that he made azzi feel like this. that he could.

“you don’t deserve that,” she said, firm and direct.

azzi shrugged. “he’s just stressed. i get it.”

paige didn’t. but she kept that to herself.

there was a pause. then azzi nudged paige’s side gently.

“you’re so sweet, you know that?”

paige scoffed, blushing hard. “me? no. you’re literally… like, the kindest person i’ve ever met.”

azzi smiled, eyes soft. “that’s not true. you’re not like how everyone thinks you are.”

paige shook her head, was silent for a moment. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

azzi tilted her head. “what do i do to you?”

paige blinked. shit.

“uh— nothing,” she said too fast. “i mean— like— not nothing, but not—”

azzi was smiling now. “are you nervous?”

paige buried her face in her hands. “you cannot just ask that.”

azzi laughed and bumped her shoulder. “you’re adorable.”

she’s going to kill me, paige thought. this is how i die. at the hands of sweetness.

later that night, paige was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. she hadn’t stopped replaying every word since azzi left.

fuck it. she gave up trying to sleep and texted her.

p: u make it back to ur dorm okay?

azzi replied instantly.

a: yup. thank u again for letting me hang in ur room. i swear its cozier than mine

p: that’s bc its been blessed by ur presence

p: scientifically proven

a: lol ur too much

a: fr tho ur such a good friend. its been nice having u around lately

paige’s fingers hovered.

fucking friend. paige tried her best not to roll her eyes.

p: always here for u. friend or otherwise

azzi didn’t reply for a minute.

then—

a: goodnight paige

a: sleep well <3

paige turned off her phone and curled deeper into the covers.

she wasn’t going to sleep. not with that stupid little heart pounding in her head.

it was a rare night off, and coach had ordered team dinner at this little family-owned italian place downtown. long tables, red-checkered tablecloths, warm lighting. the whole team packed in tight, plates of pasta being passed around, laughter echoing off the walls.

paige sat at the end of the table, half-listening to nika’s story about a tinder date gone rogue, when she felt it— azzi sliding into the empty chair beside her.

her breath caught. she hoped nobody noticed.

“you look nice,” azzi said quietly, nudging paige’s knee under the table.

paige blinked. “sorry— what?”

azzi grinned. “didn’t think the team dinner dress code included looking like a low-key goddess, but here we are.”

paige laughed a little too loud and immediately looked down at her outfit. she was in jeans and a black zip-up. casual. nothing special.

but azzi was looking at her like she was wearing dior.

“you’re one to talk,” paige mumbled, hoping the restaurant lighting masked how pink her ears had gone. “you could wear a trash bag and still look perfect.”

azzi’s grin widened as she sipped her lemonade. “so dramatic.”

“you started it.”

they smiled at each other for a beat too long.

that’s when kennedy— one of paige’s flings she’d forgotten all about until this moment— walked up out of nowhere, and immediately leaned in.

“so, paige,” she said, twirling her straw in the drink she was holding. “you dating anyone?”

azzi blinked.

paige flinched like she’d been slapped. “uh… no. not really.”

kennedy smirked. “crazy. someone like you? i just assumed.”

across the table, azzi was quiet. still smiling, but not quite the same.

paige tried to steer the conversation away, suddenly hyperaware of azzi’s leg brushing against hers under the table. she didn’t dare to move.

halfway through dinner, paige reached for the bread basket, and so did azzi. their fingers touched.

azzi didn’t pull away. neither did she.

“you’re warm,” she whispered.

paige looked at her, heart in her throat. “so are you.”

they froze like that for a second, hands still barely touching.

azzi opened her mouth to say something, but—

nika’s voice cut in from the other side of the table. “hey azzi, what’s your dog’s name again? the one in your story?”

azzi blinked, pulling her hand back. “oh— stewie. she’s tiny and thinks she owns my parent’s house.”

paige stared at the empty space between them like it had just betrayed her.

only a few hours later, however, paige— comfortably positioned on her bed— typed out a message.

p: u were gonna say something earlier. what was it?

she stared at the text.

deleted it.

she tried again.

p: i like when u sit next to me

fuck no. she’d never send that. not in a million years.

she deleted that too.

in the end, she sent nothing. just stared at the ceiling and thought about how good azzi looked tonight— pearl earrings, soft smile, words lingering behind her teeth.

almost.

the gym was nearly empty.

most of the team had left after practice, but paige lingered, shooting free throws in silence. her earbuds were in, but no music played— just a shield, something to make it feel like the world was further away than it was.

she didn't hear the door open.

but she did feel the presence.

“didn’t think anyone else would still be here,” came a voice she knew like the back of her hand.

azzi.

paige turned, saw her in gray joggers and a uconn hoodie, hair pulled back, cheeks still flushed from practice. paige pulled out one earbud and tried to act casual, even though her heart was now sprinting.

“you caught me trying to live out my late-night kobe fantasy,” paige said, grinning.

azzi smiled, walking toward her. “mind if i join?”

paige tossed her the ball. “only if you promise not to show me up.”

azzi smirked and drained a three like she wasn’t casually pulling on the strings of paige’s heart.

they played for a while— just light shooting, taking turns. no talking. just the sound of bouncing rubber and squeaking sneakers. paige was too busy watching the way azzi moved, like everything she did was effortless. beautiful, even when sweaty.

at one point, azzi missed a shot and groaned. “ugh. that one was for pride.”

paige grabbed the rebound and passed it back. “guess your pride’s mine now.”

azzi raised an eyebrow. “is that how it works?”

“yeah,” paige said, stepping closer. “you lose a shot, you owe me something.”

azzi’s lips curled. “what do i owe you, then?”

paige paused. she hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“dinner,” she said before she could stop herself. “like, i dunno. team dinner. or— if you want— just us.”

azzi’s smile faltered, just a fraction. “paige…”

paige knew that tone. that soft, sad, hesitant tone. her stomach twisted.

“it doesn’t have to be a thing,” she said quickly. “i just like being around you.”

azzi dribbled once, staring down at the ball.

then: “i like being around you too.”

paige took a breath, let it out slowly.

azzi looked up again, something unreadable in her eyes. “noah called me earlier. said he might fly out next month.”

“oh,” paige said. her voice came out flat. she hated that it did.

azzi stepped forward. “i don’t know what i’m doing. with him. with any of it.”

paige didn’t move.

“you don’t have to figure it out right now,” she said, softer this time. “i’m not asking for anything.”

azzi nodded. “i know.”

a beat passed.

then, quietly: “but sometimes i wish i met you first.”

the world felt like it tilted on its axis. her heartbeat was definitely thudding at an abnormal, mildly concerning rate.

paige opened her mouth. closed it, unsure what to say.

azzi looked at her like she regretted saying it, but didn’t take it back. she simply said, “let’s get out of here, yeah?”

paige nodded.

she didn’t say it out loud, but in her head, she screamed:

fuck noah. i’m right here. i’m all you need. you’re all i need. i would never treat you like he does.

those words stayed put in paige’s brain, never leaving once. because god, did she mean them. every single word, every letter.

© wbbobsesser

[bucketgetter535]

No Margin for Error: Chapter Five

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

CW: Drinking,mild sexual content (no smut you freaks…yet)

WC: 5.1k

Notes: Annndddd we’re back. You guys should like this chapter probably. Lmk what you think 😊

The wind at Silverstone always felt like it had an attitude, like it knew it was hosting one of the biggest races of the year and wanted everyone to feel it. Paige pulled her jacket tighter around her as she crossed the paddock toward the Ferrari garage, her eyes narrowed against the cool breeze.

It was early still, but Mercedes had already sent a message. Their car was fast. Maybe not on raw one-lap pace, but over a race distance? Dangerous. Paige had seen the data. She didn’t need Luca to tell her that if Ferrari didn’t find something extra, this weekend was going to be a fight.

She found him exactly where she expected — leaned up against the pit wall, tablet in hand, scrolling through sector times like the rest of the world didn’t exist. His hood was up against the cold and he looked about as happy as she felt.

“Morning,” Paige said, tugging her gloves on.

Luca glanced up briefly, offering a grunt that passed as a greeting. He tapped a few things on the screen and flipped it around to show her.

“They’re quick,” he said, like it wasn’t obvious.

Paige studied the graph, then sighed. “Long runs look worse than quali sims.”

“Yeah.” Luca smirked. “Your favorite.”

Paige shot him a look but didn’t bother arguing. He was right. She could handle a fast lap. Managing tires and fuel while fending off a Mercedes breathing down her neck for fifty laps? Different story.

She shifted her weight, glancing over toward the garage. Mechanics were moving around like usual, but there was a weird energy. Like something was missing.

“Where’s Azzi?” she asked, frowning.

Luca hesitated. Then, almost reluctantly, he said, “Sick. Flu or something. She’s not running practice today.”

Paige straightened immediately. “Wait. She’s sick sick? Is she gonna race?”

He shrugged, a motion that somehow said both I hope so and no clue. “Depends how bad it is. Doctors are with her.”

Paige pressed her lips together. Silverstone wasn’t just another track — it was Azzi’s track. If she couldn’t race, that would be an issue.

Before she could ask anything else, a voice cut through the buzz of the garage. Chiara, Ferrari’s head of PR, appeared, tablet in hand and moving with the kind of urgency that always made Paige suspicious.

“Paige,” Chiara said, in that polished tone she used when she was about to ruin your day. “We’ve scheduled a meeting for you. In a few weeks.”

Paige blinked. “Okay… with who?”

Chiara smiled tightly, like she was about to hand over a corporate gift bag. “Dirk van de Meer.”

There was a half-second where the name didn’t register, then it hit her. Van de Meer. Adrian van de Meer. Former Ferrari driver from the early 2000s. Legend in his own right. Which meant—

Paige fought back a groan. PR boyfriend alert. She didn’t even have to ask. She could see it already — some clean-cut golden boy from the Netherlands, shoved into her orbit for “optics” and “future potential” and whatever other nonsense PR liked to throw around.

“Awesome,” Paige said dryly. She caught Luca’s glance out of the corner of her eye. He was trying — and failing — to keep a straight face.

She crossed her arms. “How old is this guy, anyway?”

Chiara didn’t miss a beat. “Twenty-seven.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. Older than her, but not by much. Old enough that if this was some weird matchmaking attempt, it wasn’t technically creepy. Still. She could already picture it: the cameras, the rumors, the endless speculation about Ferrari’s future power couple.

Fantastic.

Luca coughed into his hand, and she shot him a death glare. He only shrugged, like hey, don’t shoot the messenger.

Paige exhaled slowly and looked back at Chiara. “Fine. I’ll meet him. Just… after Silverstone.”

“Of course,” Chiara said with a bright smile, before disappearing back into the chaos of the paddock like a storm had passed through.

Left alone again, Paige leaned against the wall next to Luca. For a second, neither of them said anything.

Then Luca said, deadpan, “You’re gonna love him.”

Paige closed her eyes. “Shut up.”

–

Paige Qualified third

It wasn’t that third was bad.

It was that third at Silverstone, when you knew you could’ve had more, felt like a punch to the ribs.

Paige yanked off her gloves the second she pulled into the garage, her jaw clenched so tight she thought she might crack a molar. She didn’t even look up at the screens flashing provisional results across the pit lane. She didn’t need to. She knew it already — Mercedes locked out the front row, Ferrari in third.

Behind her, the red garage buzzed with energy, trying to spin it as a good result. And technically, it was. Ferrari was miles ahead in the Constructors’ standings. They could afford a race or two where they weren’t perfect.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t sting like hell.

Paige hopped out of the car and tugged her helmet off, running a hand through her sweaty hair. As the adrenaline faded, the other weight settled back on her shoulders — because, of course, qualifying frustrations weren’t enough.

No. She also had Dirk van de Meer waiting for her.

Apparently, PR Boy couldn’t even wait until after the race. Chiara had texted her mid-morning: “Dirk will be joining us today. Please meet him before media commitments.”

Translation: Smile for the cameras, be friendly, and don’t scare off our sponsor’s golden child.

Paige set her jaw and stalked toward the back of the garage, her race suit half unzipped and tied around her waist. The second she turned the corner, she spotted him.

Dirk. Tall, blond, textbook Dutch features. White Ferrari polo shirt like he belonged there already, laughing too loud at something Chiara said. He had the same easy, polished look that always seemed to follow sons of ex-drivers around — born to be here, even if he hadn’t earned a damn thing yet.

Paige slowed her steps, dragging out the inevitable. She caught sight of Luca off to the side, pretending to busy himself with a laptop but definitely watching the whole thing unfold like it was reality TV. Paige gave him a look that said I will murder you in your sleep and kept walking.

And then, a little farther down, she saw Azzi.

Azzi was sitting on one of the spare tires near the wall, still in her race suit, helmet resting beside her. She looked pale, miserable, and more frustrated than Paige had ever seen her. Normally, Azzi at Silverstone was a weapon — sharp, deadly, untouchable. Today, she looked like she was barely hanging on.

Their eyes met for a split second, and Paige’s heart twisted. Azzi didn’t have to say anything. Paige could see it — the sickness still weighing her down, the frustration of knowing her body was betraying her at one of the biggest races of the year.

Paige hesitated, torn between storming over to check on Azzi and dealing with the PR nightmare standing a few feet away. Chiara, naturally, solved it for her.

“Paige! Over here,” she called, bright and fake.

Paige gritted her teeth and turned toward Dirk. He stuck out a hand like they were old friends.

“Dirk van de Meer,” he said, flashing a perfect grin.

“Paige,” she said shortly, shaking his hand once before dropping it like it burned. Her voice was calm, but her mind was still with Azzi, still furious at herself for not putting the lap together, still pissed she had to deal with this circus instead of being able to focus.

Dirk didn’t seem to notice the iciness. Or if he did, he powered through it with PR training so thick you could smell it. He asked some polite question about her qualifying — she didn’t even remember what — and she answered automatically, her eyes flickering back toward Azzi every few seconds.

Azzi hadn’t moved. She was just sitting there, staring at the floor, hands clenching and unclenching in her lap.

Luca finally drifted closer, mercifully inserting himself into the conversation under the guise of checking her data screen. Paige barely registered what he said, only that it gave her an excuse to pull away from Dirk.

She muttered something about media duties and ducked toward the garage exit, not waiting for permission.

She needed a second. Away from cameras. Away from fake smiles. Away from the growing pressure in her chest that was getting harder and harder to ignore.

Silverstone was supposed to be a statement. And now it felt like they were barely surviving it.

–

Paige barely made it to her little room off the back of the Ferrari motorhome before she collapsed face-first onto the narrow bed.

It wasn’t exactly glamorous — a twin mattress, a chair, a tiny desk piled with unopened water bottles and a couple half-eaten protein bars — but it was hers for the weekend. A place to disappear for five minutes and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.

She kicked her shoes off and stretched out with a groan. Every part of her body felt heavy — the adrenaline crash from qualifying, the pressure, the PR nonsense — it all layered over her like a second fireproof suit she couldn’t peel off.

And somewhere, at the back of her mind, a new and very real fear was setting in: if Azzi gave her the flu, she would kill her.

Paige flipped over onto her back and stared at the ceiling, arms sprawled out like a crime scene.

“I swear to God,” she muttered, voice rough, “if I get sick and have to race like that, I’m taking her out at Turn Three. I don’t care. Straight up.”

She was halfway considering napping — just a quick reset — when she heard the faint sound of someone moving next door.

The shuffle of feet. A door closing quietly.

Azzi.

Paige blinked up at the ceiling for a second, debating. She should probably stay here. Germs. Sanity. Self-preservation.

But… it was Azzi. And Paige couldn’t just ignore her.

Grumbling under her breath, Paige hauled herself up and wandered over. She rapped her knuckles lightly against the doorframe.

“Hey,” she said, voice still low from exhaustion. “You alive in there?”

The door cracked open, and there was Azzi — messy bun barely hanging on, race suit half undone, a hoodie pulled on over the top. She looked like hell. Pale, tired, dark circles under her eyes. Still, she managed a half-smirk.

“You sure you wanna risk it?” Azzi said, voice scratchy but teasing. “I’m like… one step away from biohazard level.”

Paige leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Yeah, well, if I get sick, I’m running you off track tomorrow. Fair warning.”

Azzi snorted and stepped back to let her in. Paige followed, already regretting it a little because holy hell, it smelled like Vicks and cough drops in here.

“You already look sick, bro,” Azzi said, dropping onto the edge of her bed with a wince.

Paige froze. “What?”

Azzi looked up at her, half amused, half serious. “Yeah. You’re all pale and sweaty. Gross.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “That’s just… qualifying stress.”

“Mmhmm.” Azzi wrapped herself tighter in her hoodie like a burrito. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Paige huffed and sat down in the only chair, immediately regretting how much her legs ached. Now that Azzi mentioned it… she did feel kind of weird. But it was probably just adrenaline.

They sat in silence for a minute, the quiet hum of the paddock barely leaking in from outside. It wasn’t awkward. It never was with Azzi. Even sick and miserable, she was still Azzi — the one person who didn’t make Paige feel like she had to perform every second she was wearing red.

Paige leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

“Just don’t breathe directly on me,” she muttered.

Azzi laughed weakly. “No promises.”

–

From the second Paige opened her eyes, she knew it wasn’t going to be a good day.

It wasn’t the flu — not yet, anyway — but something gnawed at her edges. A bad mood, raw and restless under her skin, tightening everything until her muscles ached before she even got in the car.

Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was the fact that Azzi was apparently going to race today, despite what every medical professional in the country of Britain had advised.

Paige dragged herself through morning meetings and media duties on autopilot, nodding at the right times, signing autographs, posing for the same pictures she always did.

It all felt distant. Like she was wading through static.

By the time she was strapping into the car on the grid, helmet already steaming with her own breath, she forced herself to focus. Third place. Good start position. Damage control today. Don’t do anything stupid.

The lights went out, and Silverstone roared to life.

Paige got off the line clean, tucking neatly behind the two Mercedes and immediately slamming the door on the McLaren trying to sneak up the inside. She held her position through the first lap, her car heavy and twitchy with fuel, the tires screaming on cold asphalt.

By Lap 10, she was in a rhythm. Controlled. Mechanical.

3rd. Still 3rd.

“Update on Azzi?” Paige asked over the radio, voice steady even if her stomach twisted at the question.

A crackle of static, and then Luca’s voice, clear and professional:

“Currently 7th. She’s holding pace but dropping a little.”

Paige exhaled through her nose. Good enough, she guessed. Azzi had no business being in the car today, but if she could survive the race, that was all they needed.

Turn One came up fast, Silverstone’s brutal high-speed right-hander. Paige flicked the wheel in — and the front end didn’t bite the way it should.

Understeer. Subtle, but real.

“Understeer, Turn One,” she said calmly into the radio, adjusting her steering mid-corner.

There was a pause. Then Luca:

“Sorry? You’re feeling understeer?”

Paige blinked, irritation flaring hotter than it should have. “What? No. There is understeer. In Turn One. Track’s getting greasy or the wind’s shifted or something, I don’t know. Figure it out, Luca.”

Another beat of static.

“Copy,” Luca said, way too neutral for Paige’s liking.

She gritted her teeth and kept pushing, heart pounding harder than it should for Lap 11 of 52. Every time she turned the wheel, it felt like the car was a second behind her, lazy and stubborn. Every time she thought about Azzi, still fighting through fever and muscle aches, it twisted something deeper in her gut.

She wasn’t sick.

She wasn’t tired.

She wasn’t anything.

She was just angry.

At the track. At the car. At herself for caring so much.

At Azzi for racing when she shouldn’t.

At Dirk and his stupid PR smiles.

At the universe for daring to make her feel anything today at all.

Paige slammed the car over the curbs and punched out of the corner, engine screaming under her.

3rd. Still 3rd.

But it felt like barely holding on.

–

Fourth place.

Not a disaster. Not a win, either.

Paige went through the media gauntlet like she was sleepwalking — same questions, same fake smiles. How was the car? Was she happy with the result? How’s the team morale heading into the break?

Smile. Nod. Say the right things. Don’t think too hard.

She hadn’t seen Azzi since the cooldown room. Actually, she wasn’t even sure Azzi made it through the whole race. Someone said she finished, someone else said she got hauled straight to medical. Paige pretended she didn’t care. Pretended really hard.

After the last interview, Paige peeled off her race suit in the garage, pulled on a hoodie and leggings, shoved her duffel bag over her shoulder, and left without another word.

Hotel.

Shower.

Flight.

Forget Silverstone ever happened.

The two-week break stretched out in front of her like a life raft. She hadn’t been home to Minneapolis for longer than a few days since preseason testing. All she wanted was to sleep in her own bed, see her family, remind herself she was still a person and not just a Ferrari-branded robot.

Paige got to the private terminal just after sunset, the Silverstone sky bleeding into deep blue and gold.

And there it was — Azzi’s jet.

It looked exactly how Paige expected it to: sleek, polished, expensive enough to make her bones ache.

She wasn’t even sure if she was invited on it. But someone from logistics had just said, “Yeah, you’re flying with Azzi back to the States,” like it was no big deal. So here she was.

Paige climbed the short set of stairs and ducked inside, half expecting to be tackled by security or something.

Instead, Azzi was sprawled across one of the big leather couches, hoodie up, headphones half-on. She looked up when Paige entered, blinking like she was still coming back to reality.

“Hey,” Azzi said, voice rough but better than yesterday.

“Hey,” Paige answered, shoving her bag into an overhead compartment before flopping down across from her.

The engines started to hum underfoot. A flight attendant offered water, snacks, blankets — all of which Paige awkwardly declined. She wasn’t used to flying like this. It felt like stepping into someone else’s life.

The jet taxied and lifted off with barely a bump, angling toward the U.S. East Coast.

Azzi pulled off her headphones and tossed them onto the seat beside her.

“You headed home?” she asked, voice casual.

“Yeah. Minneapolis,” Paige said, stretching her legs out.

Azzi smiled faintly. “Two weeks of peace and quiet.”

“Hopefully.”

They sat there for a while, the noise of the engines soft and steady around them.

Paige realized it was the first time since that night in New York they’d really talked without helmets on, without the garage screaming around them, without strategists hovering nearby like vultures.

Azzi looked different outside of a race suit — softer, almost. Still competitive under the surface, but quieter about it.

And Paige… Paige didn’t know who she was right now. Just tired, probably. Or maybe remembering there was a real world out there, somewhere beyond press conferences and tire compounds.

“First time on a private jet?” Azzi asked, smirking.

Paige rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”

Azzi chuckled, low and scratchy. “Not bad, right?”

Paige leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.

“Yeah,” she said. “Not bad at all.”

–

The hours blurred together in the kind of quiet that didn’t feel awkward.

The hum of the engines, the soft lighting, the low, steady rhythm of flight — it all made it easy to forget everything they were usually supposed to be.

Paige stared out the window for a while, watching the stars scatter across the dark sky.

When she turned back, Azzi was still sitting there, hood pulled low, looking half-asleep but not quite gone.

“You got family back home?” Azzi asked finally, voice rough but curious.

Paige nodded. “Yeah. My little brother, Drew. Probably taller than me by the time I land.”

Azzi grinned a little at that. “They grow fast when you’re not looking.”

“Tell me about it,” Paige said, smiling despite herself. “And my dad’s there too. He’s — he’s great. Still thinks he knows more about Formula One than he does.”

“Classic.”

Paige laughed under her breath, feeling herself loosen up. “My mom… she’s out in Montana now. Bought a ranch or something after the divorce. Not really in the picture anymore, but it’s fine. I think she’s happier that way.”

Azzi nodded slowly, like she understood without needing all the messy details.

Paige shifted, pulling one leg up onto the seat. “What about you?”

Azzi smiled faintly, her fingers tugging at the hem of her hoodie. “Parents are still in D.C. I’ve got two younger brothers. Jon and Jose.”

“Yeah? You close with them?”

Azzi shrugged. “In the way brothers and sisters are. They were always around growing up — annoying me, taking my stuff. Pretty classic younger brother stuff.”

Paige laughed again, genuinely this time. “Sounds about right.”

Azzi tilted her head back against the couch, looking at Paige through half-lidded eyes. “You probably would’ve fit right in.”

Paige smirked. “Probably would’ve been grounded every weekend.”

“Definitely,” Azzi said, smiling wider.

For a minute, they just sat there, letting the conversation breathe. Then something clicked in Paige’s brain.

“Wait,” Paige said, sitting up straighter. “If your whole family’s in D.C., why the hell do you live in New York?”

Azzi blinked, like she hadn’t expected the question. “Wanted some space. After I signed with Ferrari, it just… made sense to be closer to everything. Europe flights, brand stuff, whatever. Plus, D.C.’s a little too — I don’t know — perfect sometimes. New York’s real. Loud. Messy. I like it.”

Paige thought about that, nodding slowly. She couldn’t blame her.

There was something about New York that made you feel small and big at the same time. Like you could be nobody and still belong there.

“Besides,” Azzi added, grinning lazily, “I wouldn’t survive another Christmas with my mom setting up matching pajamas.”

Paige snorted, shaking her head. “God. I feel that.”

The conversation slipped into another lull, but it wasn’t heavy. Just comfortable.

Until Paige sighed and slumped further into her seat, muttering, “Fucking Dirk.”

Azzi’s eyebrow arched, sharp and amused. “Dirk, huh?”

Paige groaned into her sleeve. “Yeah. Fucking Dirk. Ferrari’s latest genius PR move.”

Azzi laughed, coughing a little. “The Netherlands guy?”

“Yep,” Paige said, popping the p. “Supposed to be some golden boy. Son of a former Ferrari driver. I’m probably supposed to be fake-dating him for sponsor points or some shit.”

Azzi looked way too entertained. “You gonna?”

“God, no.” Paige rubbed her face. “The guy probably irons his jeans.”

Azzi cracked up at that, the sound low and a little raspy but real. Paige smiled despite herself, basking for a second in the normalcy of it all.

No helmets. No pressure. No cameras.

Just two girls, exhausted and flying through the night sky toward something that — for a little while — wasn’t racing.

–

It had been one week. Well, a little less

Five whole days of pretending she was a normal person again — seeing family, catching up with friends, trying to remember how to sleep past 7 A.M. without an alarm screaming at her.

And now here Paige was, back in New York, standing at some bougie rooftop event she didn’t even want to be at, pretending she cared about fancy cars and overpriced champagne… all because of fucking Dirk.

Dirk van something.

He was as punchable in person as Paige remembered. Tall, hair slicked back like he thought he was stepping onto a magazine cover. He smiled too much, laughed too loud, and kept finding excuses to stand just a little too close.

Ferrari’s PR dreamboy.

Paige’s personal nightmare.

She had been texting Azzi under the table all night.

PB5: i will kill him

PB5: i swear to god azzi i will catch a charge tonight

Azzi’s responses came quick, like she was laughing from wherever she was.

AF35: sounds like a u problem

AF35: i have more tequila tho

AF35: come over after

Paige didn’t even hesitate.

PB5: bet.

She stuck it out another forty-five miserable minutes — posed for a few pictures, shook a few hands, gave Dirk exactly zero smiles — and then slipped out of the event the second no one was looking.

Her heels clicked sharply against the Manhattan sidewalk as she texted Azzi again.

PB5: omw. u better have limes.

Azzi just sent back a thumbs-up emoji. Paige smirked, already feeling the weight of the night start to peel off her shoulders.

–

By the time she got to Azzi’s place, Paige was looking ridiculous — and she knew it.

Loose pink sweater. Hair slicked back. Earrings she didn't even like that much.

She looked like she was still walking into something actually important, not an impromptu tequila night with a friend who probably hadn’t changed out of sweatpants.

Paige knocked once, then let herself in when she heard Azzi call, “It’s open!”

The apartment was half lit, music low, and Azzi was curled up on the giant couch in athletic shorts and a hoodie, hair thrown into a messy bun.

“Hey,” Azzi said when she looked up. “You’re awfully dressed up.”

Paige dropped her bag and kicked off her shoes dramatically.

“I had to survive Dirk for three hours. I deserve to look hot.”

Azzi laughed, standing up and heading toward the kitchen. “Fair. Very fair.”

Paige flopped onto the couch, feeling her spine crack in about twelve different places. A minute later, Azzi came back balancing two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila.

“You really came through,” Paige said, impressed.

Azzi grinned. “Told you. I don’t mess around.”

They poured shots — no measuring, just vibes — and clinked glasses sloppily before knocking them back.

It burned, sharp and fast. Paige winced and then smiled, the first real smile she’d had all day.

They settled into the couch, trading war stories from the past week — Paige about Dirk and the PR people trying to wrangle her into “joint photos,” Azzi about a family dinner that ended with her mom trying to set her up with someone Azzi definitely would never be into.

Paige wiped tears from her eyes at that one. “What is it with moms and matchmaking?”

Azzi shrugged, smirking. “Control issues, probably.”

Another shot. Another laugh.

Somewhere between complaining about PR nightmares and arguing about who had the worse fake dating prospects, Paige realized how easy this felt — how stupidly normal it was to be here, tequila loose in her veins, her hair slipping out of its sleek style, laughing until her ribs hurt.

Azzi nudged her with a socked foot. “Hey. You survived Dick, I mean, Dirk. That’s something.”

“Barely,” Paige muttered, tipping her head back against the couch cushions.

Azzi just smiled — a real smile, tired but genuine — and poured them another round.

–

The tequila was working its way into every limb, slow and warm, making the whole room feel softer at the edges.

Paige was stretched out on the couch, feet up, hair a mess. She wasn’t about to admit it, but she was way too comfortable here.

Azzi refilled both their glasses — smaller pours this time — and flopped down next to her, bumping Paige’s knee with her own.

“Remember the last time you were here?” Azzi asked, voice low and teasing.

Paige hummed, pretending to think. “Mhm.”

Azzi smirked. “You swore you could beat me at cards. Got your ass kicked. Twice.”

“I let you win,” Paige said lazily, grinning sideways at her.

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Sure you did.”

She reached over and grabbed a deck off the coffee table. Just sitting there like it had been waiting for this. She held it up between two fingers. “Wanna run it back?”

Paige shrugged, not really caring about the cards but liking the way Azzi looked at her — half-challenging, half-daring. “Why not.”

Azzi started shuffling, but it was half-assed, the cards slipping between her fingers like she wasn’t paying attention. Paige watched her, feeling the air between them shift — slower, heavier.

It wasn’t the tequila. Or maybe it was. But it wasn’t just that.

They barely made it through one hand.

Paige couldn’t even remember who was supposed to be winning.

Because somewhere between Azzi leaning closer to toss a card down and Paige reaching across to grab another, the game stopped mattering completely.

Azzi looked at her — really looked at her — and Paige felt it like a pull under her skin. The kind of look you didn’t just brush off.

“You’re really bad at this,” Azzi murmured, her voice all soft edges.

Paige smiled lazily, heart kicking a little harder against her ribs. “Maybe I’m just distracted.”

Azzi didn’t move for a second. Just held her there, suspended.

Then, almost like it wasn’t even a choice, she closed the distance — a hand brushing Paige’s knee, the casual touch sparking hotter than it had any right to.

Paige tilted her head, smirking without thinking. “You distracted?”

Azzi’s fingers curled slightly against her leg. “Maybe.”

The cards slid off the couch, forgotten completely, a fluttering mess on the floor.

Neither of them noticed.

Azzi’s hand slid higher on Paige’s thigh, slow, deliberate — and that was it.

Paige moved first, grabbing Azzi’s hoodie by the collar and pulling her in hard.

The kiss was messy. Too much teeth, too much desperation.

Azzi pushed back into her, hands everywhere — Paige’s hip, her waist, the bare skin at the back of her neck.

It wasn’t like the last time.

It wasn’t like the first time either.

Not like the drunken, half-laughing kiss they’d had after a podium party in Monaco when they were still teenagers — both pretending it didn’t mean anything.

This was different.

This had intent.

Paige gasped into Azzi’s mouth as she felt herself pulled across the couch, practically into Azzi’s lap. She kissed Azzi harder, tilting her head, demanding more.

Azzi gave it to her without hesitation.

Their hands fumbled — over clothes, skin, fabric — too fast, too much.

Paige shoved Azzi’s hoodie up, palms flat against the warmth of her stomach, feeling the slight tremble there.

Azzi swore under her breath and tugged at Paige’s sweater, unbuttoning it with rough hands. Paige arched into her, breath hitching when Azzi’s fingers skimmed along her abs.

“Fuck,” Azzi muttered, voice breaking, mouth moving down Paige’s neck. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,” Paige said, biting back a shudder.

The sweater slipped off her shoulders and hit the floor, forgotten. Azzi kissed lower, open-mouthed against the skin of her collarbone, and Paige let her head fall back, her hands tangling in Azzi’s hair to keep herself grounded.

It was frantic — months of racing side by side, arguing, shoving, pretending not to notice the way they looked at each other when they thought no one else was watching.

Years of it, really — ever since they were seventeen and F3 teammates and too stupid to do anything about it.

Azzi’s hands were rough and sure, sliding down Paige’s bare sides, making her breath stutter.

“You sure?” Azzi asked, voice wrecked, a thread of restraint still hanging on somehow.

Paige opened her eyes — dark, heavy-lidded — and smiled, slow and dangerous.

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

Azzi kissed her again — hard, deep, hungry — and Paige didn’t think after that.

There was only heat and skin and the sound of Azzi breathing her name against her throat.

Only the weight of Azzi’s body pressing her into the couch cushions.

Only the wild, dizzy feeling that maybe this wasn’t just some drunk, stupid mistake — maybe it never had been.

[moon-ttokki-x]

Heya there 🤠 Hope you're doing well! If it's good with you, can I please request something ispired by this - https://www.tumblr.com/moon-ttokki-x/777609369726681088/ ?

I think all of the guys would always take their 9th member as plus one on those events so... how do you think it would be like to go to events like that with each member?

I hope this isn’t too confusing 😭 I'm not good at writing 😕

i already did chan's ver. so here's the rest of the members hehe . . .

₊✩ ot8!skz x plus one! 9th member reader ✩‧₊

pairing: ot8!skz x 9th member!reader

summary: skz find out you're coming with them as plus one to an event.

genre: idol!au, 9th member!au, hints of mutual pining, mentions of eating and drinking, kind of groupmates to lovers thing ig, nervous minho awww, jeongin tries to be cool, changbin's is the sweetest ever. literally just fluffy, like tooth-rot worthy fluff. literally no other warnings i'm pretty sure . . .

a/n: i feel like it's been ages since i wrote smth tbh :/ div by @dollywons

skz masterlist | chan's ver.

Minho who is an absolute gentleman. is rather quiet on the ride there but that's only bc he's a little nervous himself (and also bc he's sitting next to you; do you even know how good you look??). has to stop himself from constantly reaching to hold your hand when you both step out of the car, but he can't resist offering you his arm. he's not one for much physical affection, but there's a small part of him that wants you close. shields you from the cameras if the flashing is making you uncomfortable, and introduces you smoothly to people once you're inside the event. literally stays by your side the whole night, glancing sideways every few minutes to make sure you're okay.

Changbin who is the literal king of comforting you. he knows you're a little apprehensive about attending the event, but he distracts you and makes silly jokes to ease the tension floating around your head. if you're worrying how you look, he'll literally drop to his knees and flatter you. he can't believe you're not sure whether you look good or not; rest assured, he'll be reminding you for the rest of the night. locks his pinky with yours as you both wander throughout the crowds to reassure you. he couldn't be prouder of his little maknae attending their first major event, and makes sure to congratulate you and then treat you to something delicious afterwards.

Hyunjin who insists on wearing matching colours and outfits; throws a playful tantrum when you refuse to let him pick the colour. you both spend almost two hours bickering over what to wear, but he gives in and lets you choose anyway. is almost knocked over by the blinding lights of camera flashes once you two arrive at the event, and he waves people off before turning to check on you. leads you through the crowds with a gentle hand on your lower back, and makes sweet, subtle comments to you throughout the night (in front of and away from people; he couldn't care less if anyone else hears him). you're the most stylish duo at the event that night.

Han who whines about having to go to the event before he finds out you're supposed to go with him. literally shoots out of his chair and insists on getting ready (even though the actual thing isn't supposed to start for at least a few hours). promises to help you with interactions and nods encouragingly when you move to approach people at the event. stands by your side, nodding and gently prompting you to talk, shooting you a cheeky wink when you give him a subtle nod in thanks. normally tries to escape these events early, but stalls for as long as possible (partly because he's actually enjoying himself, and partly because he wants to keep admiring you).

Felix who refuses to leave your side and insists on having some part of his body touch yours as you both watch the event start. whether it's his shoulder brushing yours as he shifts a little, or his hand 'accidentally' skating over your thigh, the comfort is far more enjoyable than this event could ever be. isn't actually as invested in the goings-on of the show like he usually is; all he can think about is you. for once, he's too shy to talk to the other people at the event; he makes a mental note to thank the company once he gets back. he quietly begins planning a way to bring you to these outings more often.

Seungmin who initially rolls his eyes and brushes past you when he finds out you both have to go together; softens up when he sees you all dressed up and even offers you his hand when you get out of the car. is bored, as per usual, but he puts on his most convincing facade and steels himself throughout the night. lightens up a little when you lean across to whisper a snide comment to him, and he throws one right back, trying to fight the slight colour rising on his cheeks. thinks about the proximity to you for the rest of the event, and can't seem to get rid of the strange, warm feeling in his stomach. oh well. must have been something he ate.

Jeongin who immediately puts in 200% effort into trying to impress you. dresses up well and makes himself look amazing, makes sure he smells good, and even practices a few english sentences in the mirror to avoid stuttering like he usually does. in a bid to show off a little, he talks to people he normally wouldn't have and is sick of the english language by the end of the night (though he doesn't complain bc that's not cool). succeeds in his attempts to impress you, and doesn't realise how much he talked until he's called into the office the next day. is confused when he's told that he somehow managed to network with every single person at the event.

a/n: skz just one chance pls take me with you

ttokki's taglist: @emilywhyyy @galaxy4489 @hyuneskkami @justsomekpopstuff @wavetohannie @strayingawayy @its-stayville-forever @batty-barty-crouchjr @wickedbutlovely @headfirstfortoro @lov3yv4mps @possum-playground @bear8585 @astraystayyh @m-325 @gnabnahcbby @mbioooo0000 @akindaflora @tsunderelino @hhwangsmoon @crazyforthatbangchandude @bluebellsringinghereandthere @ladylexis @tillaboo @geni-627

send a dm, comment under the taglist post, or send an ask to be added !

[spencerrsmopbucket]

Fatal Attraction (1) | Paul Lahote

Pairing: Paul Lahote x Reader Summary: When you, Edward Cullen's scorned ex lover, return to Forks to answer a desperate cry for help, you don't expect fate to be easy on you. However, you certainly didn't expect to find your mate or to find that your mate is a 6'5 hunk of mortal enemy.

For someone in your situation, you really should've been far more unpleasant than you were.

You were 104 years old. You were born in (hometown), which was very, very far from where you were now. And at this point in your life, you wandered around aimlessly, sight seeing beautiful things (many of which you'd already seen), hunting to quench a thirst you wished would just die out, and hurting.

You were hurt. You were angry. The only reason you hadn't taken to the Volturi to end yourself was because they'd want your abilities and would force you into the Guard.

You had a lover up until around two years ago.

Edward and his coven were incredible. They were the type of family you so badly wanted to be a part of. They perfectly understood each other -- protecting, cherishing, and loving each and every person in the family. You were part of it for decades, the one person to fully understand the most complex of the group.

When you'd met Edward, you were a nomad. Your bleached skin sparkled in the sunlight of the mountain top, basking in it, enjoying the warmth as it heated up the porcelain surface. But someone was near. The scent was pungent in the middle of the forest.

Linen. Old books. A faint touch of cedar. Your nostrils flared, your red eyes darting around to find the source.

He revealed himself when he was ready to.

A beautiful man with golden eyes. Bronze hair. A curious yet tense look on his face.

For a long, breathless moment, neither of you moved. The forest was silent around you, save for the occasional whisper of the wind.

"You shouldn't be here," Edward said finally, his voice low, cautious but not unkind.

You tilted your head, studying him with equal curiosity. "Is this claimed territory?"

The man analyzed your red eyes, clearly finding that your carnivorous habits differed from his own (based on his bloodless, golden eyes.)

The man analyzed your red eyes, clearly finding that your carnivorous habits differed from his own (based on his bloodless, golden eyes).

"Not claimed," he said carefully, "but protected."

You let the words sink in, weighing his meaning. Protected. By him? By others like him?

"And you're the protector?" you asked, your voice light but edged with curiosity.

A faint smile ghosted across his face, almost reluctant. "One of them."

You hopped up onto a tree, sitting on the limb. Your booted feet swung as you studied him. You were silent for a few moments, just taking him in. Trying to make sense of him.

"If you're protecting a little town in Washington, your diet must be a bit unorthodox." You finally commented, picking at a piece of bark on the tree. "However, I already knew that. Your eyes." You noted.

Edward chuckled under his breath — a low, almost musical sound. "You're observant."

You shrugged lazily. "I have to be. Survival depends on it."

For the first time, a genuine smile broke through on his face. It was faint, but it softened him, made him look less like the wary protector and more like someone... lonely. Someone who might understand you in ways you had long ago given up hoping for.

Humming, you hopped down from the tree, slowly and curiously approaching the man. He simply looked down at you, his height greater than yours.

Extending a hand, your lips stretched over glinting teeth.

"Well, protector, I'm Name. And you are?"

For a second, he just stared at your hand — as if he wasn't used to such easy gestures, as if he didn't trust it. Then, almost hesitantly, he reached out and clasped your hand in his. His skin was like marble: cool, impossibly smooth, yet not unpleasant. Same as yours.

"Edward," he said, his voice soft but sure.

A jolt of something electric and sharp traveled up your arm at the contact — a feeling you hadn't felt in decades, maybe since you were human. Judging by the slight darkening of Edward’s eyes, he had felt it too.

You didn't pull away. Neither did he.

"Edward," you repeated, tasting the name. Your smirk deepened. "Fitting for a knight in shining armor, don't you think?"

That earned you another one of those almost-smiles — shy, fleeting, precious.

"I'm hardly a knight," he said under his breath, almost like he didn't mean for you to hear it.

You cocked your head, still not letting go of his hand. "No? And here I thought you were protecting the poor defenseless humans of Forks."

Softly letting his hand go, you stepped away.

"Alright," you cleared your throat unnecessarily. "I hardly like to intrude on other people's territory. I'll be on my way, Edward."

For a moment, he looked conflicted — as if some part of him warred against letting you leave. His golden eyes flickered, studying you with an intensity that made the cool air between you feel somehow heavier.

"You don't have to," he said suddenly, the words slipping out quicker than he seemed to intend.

You paused, brows lifting slightly in surprise.

Edward shifted his weight, almost awkwardly, a hand raking through his bronze hair. "I mean... you're not a threat. Not to us. Carlisle would want me to at least offer you... a place to rest. To be safe. If you need it."

You blinked at him, trying to read between the lines. Caution. Kindness. Curiosity. Loneliness. It was all there, laid bare even in his tightly controlled voice.

"You don't even know me," you said, your tone gentler now.

He smiled — truly smiled this time, though it was still small. "Not yet."

Your heart — what was left of it — twisted painfully in your chest. For the first time in a very long time, you felt something other than loneliness clawing at your ribs.

Hope.

And damn it, it scared you.

You forced a smirk back onto your face to mask the storm inside you. "Alright then, protector," you said, your voice light and teasing as you turned slightly, giving him a look over your shoulder. "Lead the way."

Edward hesitated for just a heartbeat — then he followed.

You and Edward were passionate. Happy. It was almost enough to ignore the fact that the love between the two of you wasn't a mating bond, and you both still had someone out there that wasn't each other.

You became a part of the family. You moved in to the house, got enrolled in school, curved your diet. For years, you had a life with the Cullen coven. You had a life with Edward.

Until the arrival of a new student. Until the arrival of her. The human pet.

The difference in his behavior was immediately evident. After the first day, he literally fled from Forks, declining your offer to join him. The first red flag.

After that, you slowly grew apart, until he finally broke your heart.

You had seen it coming. You weren’t blind. But still — nothing could’ve prepared you for the way it shattered you.

Edward didn't say much when he ended things. He barely looked you in the eye. And when he did, you saw it — the guilt, the confusion, the pull toward someone that wasn't you. It wasn't rage you felt when he left you standing there in the woods, empty and alone. It was something quieter. Colder. A grief so deep it hollowed you out from the inside.

You didn’t beg. You didn’t cry. You simply stood there, the mist curling around your ankles, and let it happen.

Let him go.

Because if you were anything, you were proud. And no matter how much you loved him, you would not fight for a heart that was already lost to someone else.

You packed your things the next night, not saying a word to the others — not even Alice, who had tried so desperately to reach you through the swirling storm inside you.

And you left Forks.

You wandered again, like you had before. Only this time, the world was duller. Colder. Not even the most beautiful sunsets or bustling cities could stitch together the broken pieces inside of you.

Two years passed.

Two years of wandering, of surviving, of refusing to fall completely apart. Until one day, a call came. A desperate plea from Carlisle.

A threat bigger than any before. An urgent need for help.

And despite everything — despite the way your chest still ached at the thought of that house, that family, that boy with the bronze hair and golden eyes — you answered.

Why was your help so important to the Cullens?

You were powerful. You had an ability, as Alice, Edward, and Jasper did.

The Volturi called it the "empathic flame." It was incredibly rare — in fact, the Kings were certain that you were the only vampire alive today that had it. That's what made you so valuable to anybody, let alone the Cullens.

You had the rare ability to manipulate and amplify another's emotions to the point where they physically manifested as flames. If focused enough, they could scorch an enemy, burning through skin and eventually destroying them. The fire wasn't just a byproduct of their anger, their hatred, or their fear — it was a direct result of your control. A unique and terrifying weapon.

At first, the power had been uncontrollable, like a spark that you couldn't quite quench. When you'd first discovered it, you'd learned the hard way: emotions weren't just fleeting feelings — they were forces you could bend, twist, and manipulate, sometimes with deadly consequences.

But it took years to learn to temper it, to refine it. Now, you could do things with it that most vampires couldn't fathom. You could turn a vampire's ferocity against them, suffocating their reckless aggression in a blanket of overwhelming fear. Or, you could use it on your own side — amplifying the calm in a battle-hardened vampire, focusing their clarity to make them nearly unstoppable.

The Cullen family had come to rely on you in ways they never expected.

You were the shield and the sword — a counterbalance to their strengths. Alice’s foresight, Edward’s reading of minds, and Jasper’s emotional control were a force to be reckoned with, but you were the wild card. A weapon that could end the battle before it even started.

Even when the Volturi had gotten wind of your ability — and they had, long before you ever left Italy — they understood just how rare you were. And just how dangerous.

That was why you had to be careful. Careful about when you used it, careful about how you used it, and careful about who you trusted. The Volturi would take your ability in an instant if they thought they could harness it for their own purposes. You knew that. You’d seen what they did to others who were "too valuable" to let go.

Stepping back into Forks felt like going against every shred of pride you had. If you weren't so empathetic, you wouldn't have. You hated it there. You hated the reminder of what had happened, how lonely you were. You hated the scent of human blood, which you'd been struggling not to turn back to.

You preferred somewhere rural. Somewhere that no one else would find you.

Of course, Carlisle had searched for you. He wouldn’t give up. He never had, and you should’ve known he wouldn’t now. The Cullens always had their way of worming their way back into your life, even when you wanted to stay gone.

But what made it worse? What made it more unbearable? The fact that you couldn’t kill Carlisle’s son. You hated him — or at least, you used to — but there was a reason why your heart still clenched when you thought about him. And that, that was the weakness you couldn’t rid yourself of.

Turning the corner onto the familiar road that led toward the house that had once been home, your thoughts drifted, unwillingly, to Edward. You could still hear the sound of his voice in your mind — the way he said your name so softly, how his lips always brushed against yours, almost too gently, as if you were something breakable.

And that... that was why you had left. Because you couldn’t stay in the same room as him. Not when everything about him made you ache with longing and resentment.

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders. The Cullens needed your help now. An enemy was rising, and even with your power, you weren't sure what the outcome would be. But there was no backing out. Not now.

You made it to the door and raised your arm to knock. Before you could even manage, the door opened. Arms were thrown around your frame, pulling you into a crushing hug.

You immediately recognized the scent. Alice. You smiled, rolling your eyes.

"Hello to you too, Al."

Alice squeezed you tighter, her voice a melodic giggle as she pulled away just enough to look you over. "I knew you’d come back eventually," she said with that same knowing smile she always wore. "Though I didn't think it would take this long."

You rolled your eyes again, though there was a soft warmth behind it. Alice had always been the persistent one, and despite your best efforts, you had never been able to completely escape her.

"I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" you teased, your voice more playful than you'd intended. The tight knot in your chest from being back here — back in their world — loosened just slightly. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all going to be more complicated than you wanted.

Alice's grin widened, her eyes flicking to the side briefly. "Nope. But I’m so glad you’re here," she said as she stepped back, pulling you further inside.

As you crossed the threshold, the familiar smell of the Cullen house hit you — a mix of human and vampire, a blend that once felt like home. It was both comforting and suffocating.

"How’s everyone else?" you asked, trying to push down the inevitable tension that lurked beneath your calm demeanor. You couldn't ignore the pull to search for Edward, to see if he was here, to see if he’d even acknowledge your presence.

“Carlisle and Esme are in the kitchen, working out the details of the newborn army," Alice said, a flicker of concern crossing her face before it was quickly replaced with a smile. "And Edward... well, he’s been trying to act casual, but I think we both know that’s not happening.”

You fought the instinctive wince.

"Great," you muttered, your hand resting against the doorframe as your mind raced. "So, the world’s about to end and they need me, huh?"

"More or less," Alice said with a small chuckle, her eyes shining with excitement despite the gravity of the situation. "But we could really use your help. I know you’re hesitant, but..." She looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time in a long while, her gaze softened with understanding. "We need you, you. Not just your power."

You swallowed hard, your heart clenching. "I’m not sure I can give that to you," you whispered, the words feeling like they were torn from your chest. “I’m not the person I used to be.”

Alice’s expression softened, her voice quiet. “I know. But that doesn’t mean you can’t help us. We’re all just trying to do what’s right. And... I think you’re still part of this family, whether you want to admit it or not.”

You looked at her, really looked at her, and in that moment, something deep inside you cracked. Maybe she was right. Maybe you were still a part of this strange, mismatched family, even after everything. Even with the wounds you hadn’t allowed to heal.

"Fine," you said with a sigh, the words heavy on your tongue. "I’ll help. But I can’t promise anything."

Alice beamed, her enthusiasm almost infectious. “That’s all we can ask for!” She gestured for you to follow her. "Come on, Carlisle’s been dying to see you. And... I think someone else might want to talk to you too."

Your stomach flipped. You knew exactly who she meant.

You were dragged through the house and into the kitchen, where everyone now stood.

You had to admit, the tension in your chest was loosening, if only just a little. But you were about to face them all—Carlisle, Esme, Rosalie, Emmett, Jasper, and Edward.

Carlisle was the first to spot you, his face breaking into that calm, warm smile you remembered so well. "Welcome back," he said softly, his voice kind but serious. You could see the concern in his eyes, a gentle reminder of why you were here.

You nodded, trying to keep your composure. “Thanks,” you said, meeting his gaze with a quiet understanding. You both knew why you were here, and that made things just a little more difficult.

Esme came next, her arms open wide. You didn’t hesitate this time, accepting the embrace. Her scent was familiar, like the comfort of a mother’s love that you hadn’t realized you’d been missing. "It’s so good to see you," Esme said, her voice filled with warmth. "You’ve been gone too long."

You pulled away, giving her a faint smile. "I wasn’t planning on being gone this long, but..." You trailed off, not wanting to get into the reasons why you'd stayed away. Not now. Not yet.

Rosalie, standing next to Emmett, was next to approach. Her golden eyes softened slightly when she met your gaze. “You look exactly the same,” she said, her voice steady, but there was an unmistakable warmth there. You'd always had a special connection with Rosalie. She was one of the few who understood the weight of your past, the loneliness of it all.

Before you could respond, Rosalie pulled you into a hug, her arms strong but somehow comforting. "It’s been way too long, you know?" she added, her voice muffled against your shoulder. "Alice has been driving us all insane talking about you coming back."

You chuckled softly, pulling away as Rosalie smirked at you. “Typical Alice,” you said, glancing over at the pixie who was already looking smug.

Alice bounced on her toes. “I told you, she’d come back,” she said, her grin wide and mischievous.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Yeah, yeah,” you muttered. "I’m here."

Emmett stepped forward then, clapping you on the back with enough force to make you stumble slightly. You hadn’t forgotten his playful nature. "Finally! I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist our charm." He grinned at you, that familiar twinkle in his eyes. “It’s good to see you again, seriously. We’ve missed you.”

You chuckled, steadying yourself. “I’m sure you have, Emmett. It’s hard to miss this much muscle, after all. You missed me giving you a run for your money?” You said, flexing your arm.

Emmett gave a mock offended look, but it was clear from his laugh that he didn’t mind. “You’ve got jokes, huh? I’ll remember that.”

Jasper stepped forward next, his expression calm but his eyes full of understanding. You knew better than to expect a grand display of affection from him—he was always more reserved, especially with emotions like these. Still, his presence alone felt grounding, a reminder that some things hadn't changed.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly, his voice carrying an unspoken message of support. He didn't have to say more. His presence spoke volumes.

You smiled back at him. You and Jasper had always had an understanding. Both empaths, but one could use it a bit.. differently than the other.

Finally, you caught his scent before you saw him. He came down the stairs, his golden eyes immediately zeroing in on you. You looked back at him, a frown slowly forming on your face involuntarily.

Edward.

He spoke first.

"Hello, Name." He said, testing the words. He hadn't said them in years.

"Edward." You responded, your words clipped.

Then, another scent. Strong. It made venom fill your mouth, your fangs growing, touching the inside of your cheeks. You stiffened, cutting off your air flow.

That must have been Bella. Just as you suspected, she meekly stumbled down the stairs behind Edward, coming to his side. You'd never met the girl that ended your 11 year relationship, but you couldn't say you ever wished to.

Now, you had no choice.

Edward noticed immediately, his eyes flicking to you with a sharp intensity, and then back to Bella. The connection between you two was always like this —i ntuitive. But there was no time to address it now, not when Bella stood there, her presence suddenly undeniable.

Bella shuffled closer to Edward, her eyes flicking nervously between you and the others. You could see the slight tension in her posture, the uncertainty radiating off her. She had to know that you weren’t just anyone. You were him, Edward's past, and that was not something easily forgotten.

"Um... Hi," Bella’s voice was soft, hesitant. She wasn’t as bold as you'd expected, and it only made the whole situation worse. She looked at you with wide, uncertain eyes, clearly aware of the sharp tension in the room.

You cleared your throat, stepping away slightly.

"You smell very strong." You said, your voice heavy with thirst.

Bella flinched, her eyes widening at your words. The tension between you both thickened, and you could feel the weight of the room shift. Edward’s jaw tightened, his gaze narrowing on you, but you didn’t care. The thirst was there, pulsing in your veins, clawing at the back of your throat.

Bella, clearly uncomfortable, took a small step back, her eyes darting nervously toward Edward. She didn’t fully understand, not yet. But she could feel the weight of the unspoken words between you and Edward, the history, the pain. And now, the thirst.

"Sorry," Bella mumbled, her voice quiet and unsure. "I didn’t mean to—"

"No," you cut her off, your voice low, the irritation in your words unmistakable. "It’s not your fault. It’s.. Natural." You took another slow breath, the scent of her blood tantalizing, but you forced yourself to look away. The control was there, barely. But you wouldn’t lose it. Not here. Not now.

"You're.. Name." She addressed. "I'm Bella."

You managed a small smile. The little human.. She had a clear bravery. To address you meant that she must have known the story. Your story. Edward wasn't one to lie, but he was one to brood and feel guilty. You had no doubt that he told her, though no one in the room would address it.

You couldn't believe she introduced herself first. She must have known that you wanted to rip her head off. And Edward's. In one swoop.

"I am. It's nice to meet you, Bella." You said politely, nodding your head towards her.

Bella smiled nervously, though there was a hint of something else behind her eyes. She wasn’t naive. She knew exactly what you were, and what your presence meant. But she wasn’t backing down, either. She wasn’t running from the reality of this world, even if it scared her.

"Uh, it's... nice to meet you too," she said, her voice trembling slightly, but there was a steady determination in her gaze. It was clear she wasn’t backing down either. And that, if anything, was a small relief.

Edward shifted uncomfortably beside her, his eyes flickering between you and Bella. His silence was loud. You could feel it—his guilt, his helplessness. It was suffocating. And it made you want to scream. But you didn’t. Not yet.

You looked at him for just a moment, eyes narrowing. "So," you said, breaking the silence, "newborn vampires? Do you know who organizes them? What they're here for?" Your voice held an edge to it, but it wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. You could feel the tension in the room already, thick and sharp like a storm just waiting to crack open.

Edward’s jaw tightened, and he shifted on his feet, as if uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was heading. Bella, still standing slightly behind him, looked from you to Edward, her expression a mixture of confusion and concern.

"They're organized by someone we’ve... encountered before," Edward replied slowly, his voice measured. "Victoria. She’s been working behind the scenes, creating an army of newborns to take us down."

You felt your teeth clench at the mention of her name. Victoria. The fiery-haired vampire who had been nothing but trouble from the start. You'd never encountered her, but you knew about her through letters exchanged between you and Rosalie.

"And what’s her game?" you asked, forcing your voice to remain steady. "What does she want with you all?"

Edward’s eyes flickered briefly to Bella, before looking back at you. "She wants revenge. For her mate, who I killed. And she’s using the newborns as pawns."

A flash of annoyance flickered through you at the mention of James. That whole situation had left scars on the entire family.

"You’re not worried about Victoria," you said, your gaze never leaving Edward. "It’s the newborns that concern you."

The thought of an army of them—powerful, uncontrollable, and bloodthirsty—sent a dangerous ripple of anticipation through you. It wasn’t just the Cullens who had to face them. No, you knew your abilities were vital in keeping everyone safe. If things got too out of control, you would have to step in.

Edward’s eyes darkened, a flicker of his old protective nature flashing through them. "We have a plan. Carlisle and the others have been training the werewolves to help us, but we may need your power."

Werewolves.

Your jaw dropped.

"You're working with dogs?" You hissed.

Edward’s expression shifted, a mix of amusement and defensiveness crossing his features. "They’re not just dogs," he said, a slight edge to his voice. "They’re allies. We’ve been working together for a long time now."

You couldn’t hide the disbelief on your face. "Allies?" you repeated, your voice tinged with sarcasm. "You expect me to work alongside them?"

There was no mistaking the tension in the air. The idea of working with werewolves — creatures you had never particularly seen eye to eye with — was almost laughable. The last thing you wanted to do was ally yourself with something that was, essentially, a natural enemy.

It was even worse than you were suddenly hit with the smell.

"Play nice, leech. We will in return."

You spun around at the sound of the voice, your fangs barely hidden, eyes narrowing immediately at the sight of the newcomer. A tall, russet-skinned man, his posture brimming with arrogance. His scent hit you instantly — wet fur, earth, and something raw, primal. It was unmistakable.

Jacob Black. You knew him too. You'd known him since he was just a child, clinging to the police chief's pant leg and pushing his father's wheelchair around.

You didn’t hide the distaste on your face. "So this is one of them," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "A werewolf."

Jacob’s lips quirked into a smirk, his eyes locking onto yours with a fire that felt almost challenging. "I’m not just a werewolf, sweetheart. I’m the one who’ll keep your precious Cullen family safe while you try not to bite someone’s head off."

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you stood taller, narrowing your eyes at him. "Don’t get too cocky," you shot back, the venom in your words as sharp as ever. "Just because you’re a ‘protector’ now doesn’t mean I won’t burn you to a crisp if you get in my way."

The air crackled between you two. The tension was palpable. You could practically hear Edward’s teeth grinding, his usual calm composure strained. But you didn’t care. You weren’t here to play nice.

Jacob took a step closer, not backing down in the slightest. "I’m not afraid of you, bloodsucker," he growled. "I’ve got bigger things to worry about than your little flame trick."

Your lips curled into a grin, your eyes glowing with a flicker of dangerous amusement. "You should be," you said softly, the words carrying a weight that made his eyes flicker. "Because one wrong move, and I’ll show you exactly how much heat my flames can carry. And trust me, you don’t want to test that."

Jacob didn’t flinch, though you could see the tension building in his shoulders. He seemed to consider your words for a moment, then chuckled, a low, mocking sound. "You're a real piece of work, aren’t you?" He took another step forward, his eyes never leaving yours. "I get it. You don’t like us. We’re not your kind. But the enemy isn’t here to pick sides. We’re all in this together now. Whether you like it or not."

You held his gaze, unblinking, but something in his words —his confidence— shifted something in you. Maybe it was the way he wasn’t backing down. Maybe it was the fact that you were both in the same damn situation. Either way, it was frustrating.

"I’ll tolerate you," you said, your voice low and dangerous, "because I have to. But don’t get comfortable, dog."

Jacob’s smirk didn’t fade. "Likewise, leech."

-

The next day, it was time to train. Though you could feel the nerves on the rest of the Cullen family, you were eerily calm. You knew you could handle this. After all, you'd singe anyone that had an issue.

The vampires arrived in the clearing first, the rain falling in misty waves. Your jacket was soaked. You all waited in silence for the rest of the Pack to arrive.

It made you want to puke, if that were possible anymore. Werewolves. You were expected to work with fucking werewolves. It was obvious that whatever class Edward once had was gone, if this were his idea. Your golden eyes glared at the rustling woodline, the scent of wet dog filling your nostrils once again. At least you were outside this time and not confined in a kitchen.

You crossed your arms, the dampness of your jacket doing nothing to quell the fire inside you. It wasn’t just the scent of the werewolves that had you on edge — it was the fact that you were about to be forced into working with them, cooperating with creatures that were the very opposite of you. A natural predator.

The rain continued to fall, a soft, persistent drizzle that only added to your growing frustration. Your thoughts turned dark, your gaze unwavering as you waited for the Pack to show up. It was almost too easy to imagine the worst-case scenario. Werewolves had a certain...wildness about them that made it impossible to predict their next move. And you? You were nothing if not calculated. Every move, every decision, was meant to ensure you came out on top.

Edward was standing slightly behind you, his expression unreadable as he too scanned the woods, likely picking up on your agitation. The tension between you both was palpable. Despite your control, your anger simmered beneath the surface. He had been a fool to think that working with them would be easy for you.

Finally, the rustling in the trees grew louder, signaling their arrival. You stiffened instinctively, but forced yourself to take a deep breath, calming your volatile thoughts before the rest of the Pack stepped into the clearing.

You didn’t look back. You didn’t need to. The Pack was here.

Jacob was the first to emerge from the trees, his large frame cutting through the mist. His eyes locked onto yours immediately, and there was that familiar, ever-present cockiness in his grin. Then, the rest.

Only some felt comfortable enough to come out of their natural wolf form.

This one was smaller than Jacob, but still imposing in his own right. His dark hair was messy and tousled, the light rain soaking through his shirt. He had an easy, almost laid-back aura, one that contrasted sharply with the energy around him.

You studied him, noting the slight, unintentional bounce in his step, as if he was a bit more at ease than everyone else in the clearing.

He caught your eye, giving you a small but friendly wave, though you didn’t return the gesture. You could tell he wasn’t as confrontational as Jacob or the others. He seemed almost... curious, his expression open but not entirely without caution.

"I'm Embry."

You stared at him for a moment, trying to piece together what exactly you were dealing with. Another werewolf? You could feel the heat radiating off him, the telltale scent of wet dog mingling with the unmistakable tinge of wolf.

"You're a kid. Don't you think you're too young to be fighting in a war?" you said, keeping your tone cool and neutral. You didn’t bother to fake any interest — but curiosity flickered in your chest. Who was this one?

Embry didn't seem to take offense to your words. In fact, he chuckled softly, the sound warm and easy, though there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. He didn’t look like the type to back down, not even from your cold tone.

"I’m not a kid," he said, his voice calm but with an edge of determination. "I’m older than I look."

You raised an eyebrow, still not fully convinced. His youthful appearance, that carefree attitude, didn’t fit the usual profile of someone ready to fight in a battle like this.

"I can handle myself," Embry continued, his gaze steady on you. "And besides, war doesn’t really ask if you're ready, does it?"

You frowned at that, the reality of the situation settling in. War didn’t care. But that didn’t mean you had to like the idea of a werewolf —especially a younger one — joining the fray. The tension between the Cullens and the wolves had always been a delicate one, and the thought of working alongside one of them made your stomach churn.

"Fair enough." You said shortly, turning back to the Cullens.

Or that was until you felt another presence.

The moment the rustling from the trees caught your attention, you knew someone else was approaching. Embry turned slightly, a playful smirk crossing his face as he watched the new arrival, and then, without missing a beat, the two were engaged in a rough, friendly scuffle—tussling with the kind of ease only two werewolves could manage.

You watched them for a second, your golden eyes flicking between them with growing annoyance. They were too casual for a situation like this. Too... careless. You hated the way they didn’t acknowledge the danger that loomed.

The tall, broad-shouldered figure had that unmistakable arrogance in his stride, the sort of cocky swagger that made it clear he thought very highly of himself.

But before you could even fully register his presence, the most bizarre thing happened. He locked eyes with you.

The air shifted. His movements faltered, and for the first time since he'd arrived, his attention was fully focused on you. The playful fight with Embry stopped. The playful energy, the jokes—all of it faded as Paul’s gaze hardened, his eyes flashing an intense, golden brown. You felt the air around you thicken, and a strange energy pulsed between you two.

"Paul?" Embry asked in confusion.

You didn’t know what was happening at first, but you felt it in the pit of your stomach—a magnetic pull, like gravity itself had shifted. Your breath caught in your throat, and before you could even process what was happening, Paul’s entire demeanor changed. His lips parted slightly, his fists clenching.

And then it hit you. He was imprinted on you.

You froze.

The shock on his face was instant. His expression darkened with anger, confusion, and disbelief all at once. His body stiffened, as though he were fighting some invisible force that had latched onto him. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and his eyes flicked over your face, searching for something — anything — that would explain this absurdity.

"No," he growled under his breath, his voice barely audible but thick with the kind of rage you’d only seen in werewolves. "No fucking way."

He stumbled back as if he’d been hit, shaking his head violently, his muscles tensing as though the very idea of imprinting on a vampire — on you — was something he couldn’t bear.

Before anyone could say a word, Paul’s body spasmed with pain. The shift was sudden, violent. His body rippled and contorted, muscles bulging, bones snapping as he phased into his wolf form right before your eyes. He howled in frustration, a guttural, enraged sound that echoed through the clearing and into the trees, sending shivers down your spine.

The others reacted immediately — Jasper tensing, Edward’s gaze following Paul’s every movement — but no one dared to move. It was as if the entire forest had held its breath, waiting for Paul to do what he was so clearly struggling to do.

Paul didn’t look at anyone else as he ran, his massive wolf form bounding through the trees with a final, ferocious howl, the sound of his angry cries fading with every passing second.

Embry’s wide eyes met yours, his mouth slightly agape, but the words didn’t come. No one knew what to say. It wasn’t just shocking — it was unprecedented.

"He… He imprinted on her?" Embry’s voice finally broke the silence, his tone incredulous, still processing the absurdity of it all.

But the rest of the pack was still too stunned to speak. The Cullens stood in eerie silence, only their eyes darting between you, Paul’s retreating form, and each other.

The tension in the air was thick — raw. And you couldn’t help but feel it too. You weren’t sure whether to be irritated, confused, or... relieved. Relieved that you were finally set free from Edward.

Whatever it was, you didn’t know how to handle the fact that Paul Lahote — a wolf — had imprinted on you. A vampire.

[wingedhallows]

hi ! you asked me to send you my request here (i hope this is working though, i'm still trying to figure out how the app works...) so that you don't forget about it, so here it is again :

just noticed you wanted us to send you asks so here i am :) unfortunately, i don't have any great inspiration to share with you at the moment… anything with vi or ellie williams (my girlsss) is always nice to see. but other than that, completing basketball!vi x ballerina!reader would be super cool, if it's something you'd be happy to do, of course ! (yup, i'm still obsessed with that one…)

bye 🫶 have a great day !

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓

♒︎ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 loser!ellie x reader / 1.2 k words ♒︎ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 none ♒︎ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 HI !! I'm totally working on 'labyrinth love' right now, maybe i'll drop the last part tonight! this is a little something that's been sitting in my drafts & i think you'll like it (hopefully) so, here u go!!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

You’re all crammed into Dina’s apartment—some shitty couch, a couple floor cushions, an overturned laundry basket being used as a table.

Music low, drinks half-finished, someone’s passed out in the corner with a blanket that definitely smells like weed and regret.

And Ellie? Ellie’s on the floor, back against your knees, launching into the most insane rant you’ve ever heard.

“…I’m just saying,” she says, hand flailing with a cheeto between her fingers, “If birds wanted to be evil, they totally could. Like, they’ve got flight and hollow bones and talons. You ever seen a goose, man? Those things are demonic.”

The room is silent for half a beat.

“Anyway,” she adds, like she’s just delivered a TED Talk, “that’s why I never trust anything with wings and an attitude.”

Jesse blinks slowly. “Dude, what the fuck?”

But you?

You’re grinning. Fingers carding through Ellie’s hair absently, like you love hearing her unhinged theories about avian world domination. You lean down a little and whisper near her ear, “so… if I wore wings, would you be scared of me?”

Ellie’s neck goes red in an instant. “What—no—wait—maybe? I mean, not in a bad way! Like, in a cool, terrifying, kinda hot way—”

“Jesus Christ,” Jesse mutters. “She’s in love.”

“She’s doomed,” Dina adds, sipping from her beer.

But Ellie’s barely listening—because she’s twisted halfway around to look up at you, and you’re still smiling at her, still stroking her hair, still looking at her like she’s the smartest, funniest person alive.

And she’s melting.

“You’re, like…” she breathes, squinting. “Really pretty.”

You blink, caught off guard for half a second.

“…Thanks, babe.”

“No, like. Really. It’s a problem. You’re smiling at me and I forget how words work. And my brain just goes: pretty. smile. girlfriend. And then there’s just static up here.”

She taps her forehead with two fingers, completely serious.

And you just laugh—soft and sweet—and lean down to press a kiss to her temple.

The room erupts.

“OH MY GOD,” Jesse groans, falling back on the couch like he’s been shot. “How the hell did Ellie pull her?”

“I feel like I’m watching a golden retriever date a goddess,” Dina mutters. “It’s disturbing.”

Ellie turns scarlet, burying her face in your thigh. “Don’t listen to them,” she mumbles. “They’re just jealous.”

You smile down at her, hand curling under her chin to tilt her up again.

“I think you’re perfect.”

Ellie malfunctions. Fully. Stares at you with big, round eyes like you just offered to marry her on the spot.

She mouths perfect? like she’s never heard the word before.

And all you do is nod.

Because you mean it.

Ellie’s still staring up at you, stunned, her face half-buried in your thigh. Everyone else has moved on to another round of some dumb card game Jesse’s pitching, but she’s still stock-still.

You called her perfect.

Her. Ellie “accidentally-walked-into-the-wrong-classroom-and-sat-there-for-40-minutes” Williams. Ellie who once used a sock to hold her blunt ‘cause she lost her lighter and burned her thumb last time. Perfect.

“You good, babe?” you murmur, hand gently brushing her cheek.

She blinks. “Yeah. Yeah, no, I’m chill. Totally chill. Just, y’know, experiencing a full emotional reboot. It’s fine.”

You giggle and press another kiss to the top of her head, and she whines softly into your leg like she can’t handle the affection.

Eventually, someone mentions it’s past one, and the room starts to empty out. You tug Ellie up by her hoodie strings, and she stands like she’s been resurrected, slinging her bag over her shoulder and mumbling something about “walking you back.”

Outside, it’s cool and quiet. The kind of early campus stillness where every window glows soft yellow and the street lamps flicker like they’re just as tired as the students.

You lace your fingers through hers, and she tenses for half a second before relaxing—then squeezing back.

She glances sideways at you. “So. Uh. I meant to ask. That thing you said back there—was that, like, real? Or were you just saying it ‘cause I said your smile makes my brain explode?”

You stop walking and tug her back a little, fingers still locked. “You mean the perfect thing?”

Her whole face goes red again. “That’s the one.”

You shrug, playful. “Guess you’ll have to get used to hearing it.”

She stares. “You’re gonna kill me. You’re actually gonna kill me. Death by girlfriend compliment. Local lesbian found deceased on sorority row sidewalk.”

You grin. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in love,” she says immediately, too fast, too much. And then realizes, slapping a hand over her mouth.

“Oh my god, ignore that, that was—that slipped out, I didn’t mean to—well I did, but I didn’t mean to say it, not like that, I was gonna wait ‘til, like, Valentine’s Day or a meteor shower or something cool—”

You stop her with a kiss. Gentle. Quick. Just enough to make her forget what planet she’s on.

When you pull back, she’s blinking, dazed. “…was that a good kiss or a ‘shut up, loser’ kiss?”

You smile. “Both.”

She huffs. “Rude.”

But you’re smiling at her with that look again—the one that says she’s yours, chaos and all—and she leans in close, bumping her forehead to yours.

“I meant it,” she mumbles. “Even if it was an accidental I-love-you. I do.”

You tilt your head, whisper back, “Me too.”

Ellie practically floats the rest of the way to your dorm. You part with another kiss, and she’s halfway down the hall before she turns around, walking backward and beaming.

“You still think I’m perfect?”

You laugh. “I think you’re mine.”

And that’s all it takes. Ellie bolts out of sight before you see the way she pumps her fist in the air, quietly muttering, “holy shit, holy shit, I have the best girlfriend on earth.”

She’s standing in the middle of her room. Hoodie still half-on, phone gripped like it’s both her lifeline and her greatest threat.

Her cat’s staring up at her from the bed, judgmental as hell.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she mutters, flopping onto the mattress. “You didn’t see her. She said I’m hers. I had no choice but to fall apart.”

The cat blinks.

Ellie’s phone buzzes.

[You]: made it back okay? [You]: you looked like you were floating

She groans, punches her pillow a little, and then types back:

[Ellie]: i was not floating [Ellie]: i am very grounded. like a normal person. a grounded, non-floating person who is extremely chill and not thinking about your lips at all.

Immediate regret.

She throws the phone face down on the bed.

The cat meows. “I panicked, okay?”

Buzz.

[You]: you’re so dumb. i’m smiling so hard it hurts [You]: love you, loser. goodnight.

Ellie clutches her phone to her chest and lets out a long, dreamy “fuck.”

Then she whispers it again, grinning “She loves me.”

[minnie-cai]

okay but hear me out. fucking art in his dorm but you guys have to be quiet because Patrick is sleeping in the same room so it’s soft and slow as to not make much noise and also Art being Art can’t stop making noise so you have to shove your fingers into his mouth.

idk if that made sense-

an: perhaps this ask is from last year, yes but damn god forbid a girl occasionally forgets about her passion for writing

tags/warnings: not proofread, just hope for the best, explicit smut, art is whiny, dubious relationship between artrick and reader, kinda boring, semi-public sex

You were already half-drifting when you felt it — the brush of fingertips skimming up the back of your thigh, featherlight but insistent, like a tide lapping at the edge of your body.

At first, you thought it was nothing — just Art shifting in the narrow, sagging mattress, some clumsy accident of sleep.

But then his hand stayed there, a ghost pressing closer, bolder.

The room smelled like detergent and boys — hot, stale, a little sweet.

Patrick’s faint snores rose and fell across the room, a steady reminder that you were not alone.

You cracked open one eye.

Art was watching you — his pupils blown wide, swallowing up the blue, his hair a riot of blonde curls splayed across the pillow.

He looked half feral — flushed, wrecked — like someone starving.

His hand slid higher, inching under the waistband of your shorts.

The cotton snagged and bunched between his fingers as he mouthed a desperate, silent please? against your collarbone — needy enough it was almost pitiful.

You should’ve said no.

You meant to.

You could still feel the sting of reality brushing the back of your mind — Patrick. Risk. Guilt.

But then Art kissed you — slow and deliberate, dragging his mouth across your skin like he wanted to brand himself into you — and your spine liquefied.

You hitched your hips just enough for him to shove your shorts and panties down in a messy tangle at your knees.

The air was cool and sharp against your newly bared skin, and you felt the tremor race through you — nerves and arousal sparking off each other in a dangerous chain reaction.

Art pressed against you — molten and solid all at once — the heat of him baking into your bones.

You could feel the thick, throbbing line of his cock dragging against the inside of your thigh, smearing dampness, impatient and trembling.

“Gotta be quiet,” you breathed, fingers threading into his hair — tugging just hard enough to make his hips jerk against yours.

He nodded — frantic, eager — but the second he pushed inside you, thick and slow, his body betrayed him.

A sound ripped from his throat — high and broken — and you slapped your hand over his mouth without thinking, panic jolting through your gut.

“Jesus Christ,” you hissed, heart hammering against your ribs like a bird in a cage.

Art’s eyes rolled back for a moment — lashes fluttering — and then he was grinding into you, tiny desperate thrusts, as if trying to bury himself so deep you’d never be able to pull him out.

You could feel every twitch, every hungry pulse of him inside you — the stretch so sweet and aching you thought you might cry.

Your hand stayed clamped over his mouth, but his noises still leaked out — soft, pleading whimpers vibrating against your palm.

Each one made your belly twist tighter, the guilt and lust tangling into something heady and addictive.

It was filthy.

It was insane.

It was the kind of thing that would ruin you if you weren’t careful.

You rocked your hips against him, chasing friction, grinding so slow and shameless you felt dizzy from it.

The bedframe creaked quietly beneath you — a traitor.

Across the room, Patrick shifted in his sleep — muttering something unintelligible — and you froze for a beat, heart leaping into your throat.

But he settled again, snoring soft, and Art took advantage of your distraction to slip a hand under your shirt, groping at your tits clumsily, hungrily, his thumb flicking across your nipple until you shuddered.

The stimulation was too much — sharp and wet and aching — like someone dragging the tip of a knife across the inside of your skin.

Art’s hand slid lower, fumbling between your bodies, pressing the heel of his palm against your clit while he fucked into you in slow, grinding thrusts — like he was trying to carve himself into your flesh.

You felt it building — a tide swelling under your skin, pulling you toward the undertow.

You bit down on Art’s shoulder — hard enough to leave dents — and he whimpered against your hand, grinding harder, desperate to pull you under with him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he was whispering now, frantic and broken, “baby, baby, please—”

You shoved two fingers into his mouth, slick and trembling, and he sucked them down greedily like a man dying of thirst.

The filthy sound of it — wet and obscene — filled the tiny room, and you clamped your thighs tighter around his hips, riding out the wave.

Art came first — his whole body locking up, hips stuttering against yours, the heat of it flooding inside you.

You followed seconds later — your orgasm ripping through you so violently you had to muffle your cry against his shoulder, clinging to him like a lifeline.

You collapsed together, panting, a sweaty, trembling heap of limbs.

Your skin felt electric, every nerve ending still buzzing.

Patrick snored louder across the room, and you both jolted guiltily, scrambling to tug your shorts back up and yank the blanket over your bodies.

Art nuzzled his nose against your forehead, grinning like an idiot — lazy and blissed-out — and mouthed worth it against your skin.

You wanted to slap him.

You wanted to kiss him until you couldn’t breathe.

You wanted things you shouldn’t even be thinking.

You pressed your hand over your heart, feeling it hammer against your ribs, and tried not to let it mean anything.

[alexanderlightweight]

oooh its prompt day! can I ask if you have anymore to the amnisiac alec one?

it has been a while but here is the next part of that fic! I hope you enjoy

<3 lumine

-

all my fears forgotten

I know amnesia fics are often meant to be angsty but i actually really hate those. So i’m sorry to anyone expecting that but this is indulgent and soft af.

—

Alexander lays against Magnus, carefree and with a boyish grin on his face as he watches the birds fish in the water from their floating pavilion.

The boat is maintained and moved by magic and all they have to do is lounge and Alexander is the most relaxed Magnus has ever seen him.

However eventually, as most things do, the mood changes.  No less content but a different flow nonetheless.

“I miss something, my muscles ache in this movement.” Alexander does a familiar motion and without hesitation, Magnus snaps his fingers, summoning Alexander’s bow and quiver.

Of course, Alexander must have forgotten to summon even his own bonded weapons.

The thought makes Magnus glad that it was brought up now, in the peace of this lake and protected by a hidden realm rather than when in danger.

Not that he’ll let Alexander ever be in danger, but the world does keep trying its hand.

Magnus helps Alexander slip on and tighten his finger guard, shows him how to string his bow even as Alexander’s muscles relax at the familiar weight of his bow and the power it takes to string.

“Can you use magic to make me targets?” Alexander bats his lashes playfully at Magnus and it’s... it's delightful.

Alexander hesitated to ask Magnus for anything of late and Magnus has been too tired to figure out how to explain, when Alexander was still struggling to understand what separated him from the Institute.

Truth be told, it’s a relief for Magnus to be able to sidestep over this particular conversation. Not out of avoidance, but because he doesn’t think Alexander was at a point of separating himself from his duty to that degree just yet.

Alexander had been doing much better in his personal value of self worth, but it had still been tied to what he felt he owed the Clave in some twisted repayment for his parents' sins.

It infuriated Magnus then and it infuriates him now.

However it’s easier to ignore the urge to create a rain of ash when Alexander is like this, at ease and without a concern for anything other than what they’ll both enjoy.

“Won’t you lose the arrows?” Magnus asks, just to be sure because he still doesn’t think Alexander remembers how to summon any of his weapons.

Alexander blinks at him carefully and then smiles, slow and sweet like sunwarm honey.

“I’ll dive and get them. It’ll cool me off after.”

It’s said so sweetly, as if it’s a completely reasonable thing to do and considering Alexander is saying this without any memories beyond the basics then... Magnus supposes it must be a shadowhunter thing.

“Alright darling, as long as you let me tag you. Just in case I need to fish your lovely self out of the water.”

Magnus kisses the fingerguard protecting Alexander’s skin and gets a deep chuckle before Alexander presses gentle kisses to his forehead.

“That’s fine. Better safe than sorry.”

Alexander seems so serene like this, Magnus wishes there was a way to preserve this peace for his love. Because whether by his own memories coming back or watching Magnus’, Alexander will have to learn more of what is going on at some point.

For his own safety, and he’s already agreed of course. Even if he’d wrinkled his nose and sighed in defeat when they’d talked about it. Alexander is enjoying being reintroduced to the world by Magnus and apparently, he’s a bit sad of how many things he won’t need to relearn if his memories return or Magnus shares his own.

Which is incredibly sweet, but alas there are dangers untold and Magnus cannot stay away in this realm with Alexander forever, no matter how much he wishes he could.

Still, they have a little longer to remain like this, in bliss.

Magnus flicks his finger and eight spinning orbs shoot into the sky, moving at random and each with a fist sized gem contained by hellfire.

Alexander’s eyes light up with delight and Magnus laughs, carefree and full of joy as he readies his bow and notches an arrow.

Magnus leans back in his chair and summons a drink with a contented sigh.

“Have fun, Alexander. The hellfire will ensure that even if you hit the gems, it will take several strikes before any true damage is done.”

“So unless it’s a direct strike, it will take several.” Alexander’s eyes are busy, tracking the arcs of fire across the sky.

“It’s at random, Alexander. You can’t—” even as Magnus speaks, Alexander makes his shot.

The sound of a crystal shattering fills the tranquil lake and Magnus watches with delight and pride as the gem shatters and drops, the hellfire conquered from a single blow.

He leans forward, laughing as his fingers tangle with Alexander’s quiver and yanks him back to kiss him eagerly.

 “I do love it when you prove me wrong.” Magnus purrs against Alexander’s mouth and there’s a satisfied laugh against his lips before Alexander finally kisses him back.

Properly and with a smugness that carries over to the confidence of his kisses.

--

AN:

alec out here really wishing he doesn't need to get his memories until after Magnus has shown him everything personally because it's much more interesting and likable that way.

magnus is suffering okay, he has to the responsible one because he knows what the world is like and its very upsetting. he took would like to just introduce the world over to Alexander before he has to show them the mess of life

-

magnus: darling for the sake of your pride i'm letting you know you won't be able to... oh... you're a sniper. that's hot

alec: he practically dared me to. he didn't believe in me! I definitely showed hi-mmf. oh okay kisses. I am pleased.

[s0s1mple]

By Your Side — Nishimura Riki

————————

Random Prompt:

“You can think of me as like… your unpaid bodyguard.”

Random Member: Ni-ki

TW: general yandere behavior, violence (not towards reader), monopolization

————————

Ni-ki was popular. Not popular in the sense that everyone walked up to him and struck up a conversation like they’d known him forever, but popular in the way that people around him looked at him like he was untouchable. Like he was above them, somehow, mysterious and cool and just a bit too intriguing to ruin the mystery by asking about anything below the surface.

So they didn’t. They crowded around him but never got too close, never ruined the illusion that had them whispering amongst themselves about what the handsome heartthrob was actually like. They had an image in their head and they wanted to maintain it.

In a lot of ways Ni-ki was ok with that. The attention from girls was nice, even if he didn’t really care for their hushed giggles sometimes, and the aloof atmosphere he carried kept him out of touch with guys just a tad too eager to gain some of his appeal.

But that the same time, it got boring. Annoying. Here he was in his own bubble with nobody attempting to genuinely see him. To approach him and learn without hoping to get something out of him, whether status or romance.

But then you transferred in.

You didn’t know about him, didn’t understand the dynamics in their little school. Even when others mentioned him to you, you were more confused than anything as you side-eyed him. And you were friendly, almost overly so, doing your best to make friends with everyone even if they weren’t the most receptive. And really, most of them weren’t. Hierarchies were important here, and you were at the bottom. How dare you try to talk to them, they thought.

But as a side-effect of that you actually talked to him. Plopped down next to him in class, grinned, and waved. Asked about his favorite subjects, his family, his favorite snacks and animals… When he said a puma because others said he reminded them of one, you just giggled and said you thought a duck fitted better.

Ni-ki was smitten. You were a breath of fresh air, a way out of the bubble he found himself in, a change to the monotony. So he flocked to you. Found you whenever he could, talked and listened and, when you were busy talking to someone else less receptive than him to your friendliness, looked over your shoulder. If these people weren’t going to appreciate your earnest efforts, then he was all too happy to send them scurrying at his cold glare.

You eventually figured out his little habit of warding off unsavory people and rounded on him, brows furrowed as you protested. You wanted to make more friends, you said, painfully oblivious to the angry glares you got for being Ni-ki’s favorite. Ni-ki just shrugged, lips curling into a sly smile.

“Aw come on…” He chuckled, leaning down to your level. “You can think of me as like… your unpaid bodyguard!”

He took that label seriously. He followed you around, his mere stare keeping nasty passive aggressive comments at bay. He wrapped himself around you whenever he could, resulting in giggles and squawks of disapproval from you, all to keep those few, few people looking to pursue you away. They didn’t deserve you, after all. His presence constricted, pulling tighter and tighter as greed rose up inside him, the idea of monopolizing your time even more appealing by the day.

And when the girls, finally fed up with you stealing him from them, isolated you and began tearing at your hair behind the gym? Ni-ki was right there, pipe in hand and sneer on his face. Down went one, another trying to take off only to trip and get caught, the third screaming out before they were silenced.

Ni-ki straightened up with a huff, wiping the crimson from his brow, and slid his gaze to your form. So small, so shaky, your eyes wide as you looked up at him. He grinned that usual calm, cool smile that drove the school wild.

“Alright. All taken care of.” He breathed, waltzing over. You flinched back against the wall, cowering the more his shadow covered you. Ni-ki cooed and crouched down to your level, tilting his head. “That must have hurt, right? You tried to be nice to them… shame they didn’t listen.”

“Y-you- they’re-“

“They’re dead. And you’re hurt. We should get you to the nurse, get your scalp checked out.” Ni-ki reached out and groomed a hand through your hair, lips pursed. He clicked his tongue at your flinch, preferring to chalk it up to the pain the girls had inflicted, and gently hauled you to your feet.

“Why?” Your voice was so small. Ni-ki draped an arm around you, pressing you under his arm and reveling in the warmth, the fluttering in his chest.

“Told you I’d protect you, didn’t I?” A nuzzled cheek against the top of your head. “You’re too trusting you know. But don’t worry, I’ll always be here to look after you.”

—-

Glad ppl seem to be enjoying, but I’m sad my Jay piece only has like 5 likes compared to everything else :( promise it’s good too!

[taylorman2274]

Today Is Where Your Book Begins (Chapter IV)

You find yourself in Teyvat thanks to the efforts of Alice and Aether, and along with that the answers to your questions have been found. But instead of feeling satisfied, you are left conflicted and confused. Not to worry though, Aether is here to guide you through everything, just like you have done for him.

Content Warning(s): N/A

Notes: SAGAU; GN!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Previous || Next

Taglist: @bunniotomia; @sarraisme; @chericia;

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.

..

…

You felt the sun hit your eyes.

Tiredly, you flipped your body away from the beaming rays. You let out a comforting sigh when your face hit the cool bedsheets.

.

..

…

‘…Wait… …Bedsheets…?’

Curiously, you opened your eyes…

…And immediately locked eyes with a man sitting across from you.

Startled, you quickly sat up, intending to question who the man was, but the sudden movement proved too much for your body to handle. You groaned, shutting your eyes and bringing a hand to your head as you felt a strong headache coming along. Furthermore, your body started to deflate, quickly becoming too tired to keep yourself upright. The man in the room hopped to his feet and rushed to your side, a worried expression on his face.

“Woah woah woah. Easy. Easy…” his gloved hands softly gripped your shoulders, gently pushing you back down onto the bed. “You need more rest. Your body is still recovering from the long journey. Try not to overexert yourself.”

Lacking the strength to refute, you reluctantly complied with the stranger’s words. However, you took the opportunity to come to a few conclusions about your current situation.

Number 1: Whoever this stranger is, he doesn’t appear to have any intention of hurting you. At least for right now…

Number 2: You definitely are not in the witch’s tent anymore. Last time you checked, tents didn’t have queen-sized beds and wooden walls. You couldn’t recognize where you were from just a quick glance, but something in your mind is telling you that there is some familiarity to the room you’re occupying.

Number 3: Speaking of familiarity…

…

Why does this stranger’s voice sound so freaking recognizable? It’s literally on the tip of your tongue…

But before you could think about it more, a cold hand came to a rest on your forehead.

…

Actually, cold might be an understatement. This hand is much colder than that. It’s… frigid?

‘But how? Isn’t he wearing gloves?’

Regardless, it helps alleviate your headache, which brings you a sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry I don’t have an ice pack with me,” the stranger apologizes. “But hopefully this works as an alternative.”

You opened your eyes and looked toward the stranger, intending to give him your thanks, but you suddenly stopped.

…

“…Aether?” You slurred.

A soft smile grows on his face. “Yes, it’s me. Are you feeling better, Reader?”

Your head rolls to the side. Aether’s hand stays pressed against your forehead, his wrist joints glowing frosty blue. “…Reader…?”

Aether tilts his head. “Yeah, you’re our Reader.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “…Huh?”

The room becomes silent for a couple of seconds before Aether seems to understand something.

“Oh, that’s right. Alice mentioned that you might be out of the loop on a couple of things. I’ll do my best to explain everything to you.”

The next five or so minutes are spent by Aether explaining to you the story behind your arrival at his Serenitea Pot. He explains Alice’s plan on his end and how he believes she had a friend of hers in your world who owed her a favor.

‘That must’ve been Elise…’ you concluded.

“I know it’s not easy telling people that you come from other worlds, trust me, I’ve been there before,” Aether says. “It’s even harder telling someone that the ‘story’ they’ve been reading actually exists. Despite this, I hope this revelation hasn’t been too hard on you.”

You had recovered enough to the point where you could sit on the edge of the bed. It was true that your mind was racing, but you suppose fantasizing about this situation seemed to diminish your astonishment. Furthermore, seeing Aether in front of you — not someone in cosplay, there is no way anyone could replicate his golden eyes — which buries any doubt that this couldn’t be anything but real life. Not even a dream sounded like a realistic possibility!

“…Huh…”

Aether lets out a small chuckle. “You must be in shock and awe.”

“Can you blame me?” You shrugged your shoulders. “You even said it yourself. Explaining this to anyone is not easy at all.”

Aether nodded. “But you’re here now. And I’m glad I finally get the chance to talk with you.”

…

You smiled and tipped your imaginary hat. “Likewise.”

Aether’s smile grew wider as he reached out his hand. Thinking he was going for a handshake, you grabbed his hand but were surprised when he pulled you to your feet instead. You stumbled a bit, but you were quick to catch your balance. Aether was also looking ready to catch you.

“Do you mind if I bring you somewhere with me?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Where to?”

“How about a trip to Mondstadt?”

Your eyes widen in shock. You don’t think you’re ready for a visit to any major city. Especially one with so many people you know! Aether seemed to recognize your thoughts almost instantly.

“Not to the city! I know that you’re not ready for a city visit. You just got here after all. I only plan on taking you to the cliffs above Starfell Lake. It’s one of my favorite sightseeing spots.”

You sighed in relief. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m ready for any main city. A small town, maybe, but not any main area.” A sudden thought pops into your mind. “Wait. Will Venti be alright with this? I won’t be intruding on his nation, will I?”

“You definitely won’t,” Aether laughs. “You have nothing to worry about.”

You gave a nod of approval. Aether nods as well before placing his palm over your eyes. “You’re probably gonna want to close your eyes. It takes a while to get used to the waypoints.”

You follow his orders, and soon enough, Aether begins the teleportation.

---------------------------------------------------------

You definitely felt a little dizzy once you and Aether teleported to Mondstadt, but it wasn’t as bad as the headache you had earlier.

“I always like to set up a portable waypoint here when I need a little time by myself.”

When Aether finally removes his palm, you slowly open your eyes before gasping in amazement.

Mondstadt looked even prettier in person. The sun shone on Cidar Lake, glimmering the water’s tides. You could see Mondstadt City standing proudly in the middle of the lake. Despite the giant stone walls surrounding its borders, the elevation you were at allowed you to peer over and spot the many red roofs that occupied the city. Additionally, you could see the statue of Barbatos erected in front of the cathedral near the back of the city. And last but not least, the city’s three windmills slowly spun, which brought your attention to the calm breeze that brushed against your skin and hair.

Outside of the city and lake, the grass, bushes, and trees covered the land in nature’s green, leaving a few strips of land open for the dirt paths for merchant carts and horse carriages to travel along.

Usually, such pretty sights and calm scenery would be interrupted by a yapping fairy.

…Speaking of said yapping fairy.

“Where’s Paimon?” You asked.

“She’s with Lumine for the day,” Aether replied. “Alice and I thought it would be better if your first visit to Teyvat was done one-on-one.”

Aether takes a seat on the cliff ledge, and only later would you come to realize that this particular spot matched the image on Genshin’s pre-installation screen. “So now that we’re here, I wanna hear about your story.”

“My story?” You questioned, sitting down beside Aether.

“Yeah, you’ve known my story for the past ten or so years, while I practically know nothing about you! I wanna know more about you, what your world is like, how you came across Teyvat’s ‘story’, everything!”

“I doubt I can explain everything to you,” you laughed at his enthusiasm. “But I’ll try my best.”

Like the five minutes Aether took to explain his and Alice’s plan, you spent the next five minutes talking about yourself, your family, the simplest details of your world, and how you first heard about Genshin Impact. All the while, Aether listened intently, asking questions whenever something piqued his curiosity.

“So it’s this device that allows you to guide us and not from any power that you possess?” Aether asks.

“Yeah…” you scratched the back of your neck. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’m not disappointed!” Aether exclaims. “What made you think I was?”

“I just thought that since you’re all powerful and all, you’d think that whoever was controlling you would either be someone of your equal or more powerful. But I’m not that powerful. I don’t have anything like a Vision, and I’m not a god nor some type of all mighty Creator-like being. I’m just…” You gestured at yourself. “I’m just me.”

Aether frowned at your self-deprecation. “I don’t care how powerful you are,” he puts an arm around your shoulder. “The only thing I care about is how you and Paimon were there for me when I was at my lowest. Lumine and I had never lost a fight before, but when we first encountered that god not only did we lose, we were also separated. That was probably my first time I ever felt lost. I had my power sealed and had no idea what to even do. But once I fished out Paimon and had you to guide me, you two helped me find the truth of this world and reunite with Lumine. And for that, I am eternally grateful.”

Aether’s words had you blushing so badly that you turned away in embarrassment.

“I really mean it,” he shakes your shoulder. “And it’s not just me, either. So many want to reward you as well. In fact, that’s all that everybody has been telling me for the past couple of days. Amber wants to treat you to a meal at Good Hunter. Gaming wants to treat you to some dim sum. Yoimiya wants to make your very own firework. Navia wants to invite you to the Tabletop Troupe.”

You held up a finger to stop him from rambling. “I’m sensing a pattern. So it’s really just the extroverts who are offering stuff.”

…

“Yeah, pretty much.”

You and Aether get a good laugh out of that.

“But you see what I mean. You’ve got so many people who want to meet you, and I don’t think most of them are gonna take no for an answer.”

You frowned. “I still think that they should know more about me before I meet with any of them. Like what I told you. They should know that, as far as who this person is, they’re just an ordinary human. Nothing special or anything. I don’t want to ruin any expectations they may have for me.”

“…You really gotta stop talking down on yourself,” Aether sighs. “Believe me when I say no matter who you say you are, your actions speak for themselves. And for that, you deserve praise.”

…

You softly smile. “Thanks.”

Aether smiles too before materializing a Kamera in his hands. “How about a picture together before I have to send you back?”

He gets up and walks away from the cliff ledge. After walking a few feet, he sets up the Kamera on a stand and sets up the automatic timer. He peeks around the Kamera. “Ready?”

You nod your head.

“Alright, get ready. We have ten seconds.” He turns on the timer before rushing back by your side.

You didn’t know what pose he wanted you to do, so you kept your hands in your pockets. However, Aether grabs one of your hands and brings it around his shoulder. You looked at him incredulously. “I thought you weren’t a touchy guy?”

Aether just looked at you, smiled, and wrapped his arm around your shoulder. “I am now, [Y/N].”

Shrugging your shoulders, you looked back at the Kamera.

*click*

---------------------------------------------------------

You unlocked the door to your apartment and walked inside. Home sweet home.

That unexpected trip to Teyvat left you exhausted. Time to get ready for bed.

You did your nightly duties: showering, brushing your teeth, changing into pajamas, and a quick drink of water that you’ll regret taking when you have to wake up to use the bathroom in four hours time.

‘A necessary sacrifice.’ You told yourself.

However, when you approached your bed, you saw something that wasn’t there before. A picture — one that you recognized almost instantly — along with a familiar-looking white flower and a letter.

Setting the flower and picture aside, you began to read the letter.

…

Here’s to many more memories.

- Aether

P.S. YOU BETTER COME BACK SO PAIMON CAN GIVE YOU THE BIGGEST HUG EVER!!!

…

You don’t think the smile on your face can grow any bigger.

---------------------------------------------------------

THE END

---------------------------------------------------------

Author’s Notes: And that’s the end of this series! Probably won’t be a new one for a long while. There will be plenty of one-shots however, I’ve got plenty of ideas for some reverse isekai shenanigans.

Who knows, perhaps I'll make a one-shot extending this series someday.

[rainforestakiie]

Tarot Love AU

hello everyone~

this is my new au. i really do hope you like it. i am aiming to have a part two, hopefully next week or the week afterward. i really hope this make sense, i loved it. it is a wonderland/card-themed sort of things? i really like my idea of it. it will get more drama in part 02, part 01 is more of, introducing you to this world.

Part 01 - Part 02

info:

  Spades (♠) – Wisdom, action, conflict, power. (Often associated with winter and the swords in tarot.)

  Hearts (♥) – Love, emotion, relationships, joy. (Tied to spring and emotions in general.)

  Diamonds (♦) – Wealth, work, material things, energy. (Linked to fall and practicality.)

  Clubs (♣) – Growth, creativity, willpower, achievement. (Connected to summer and ambition.)

--

  Spades (highest)

  Hearts

  Diamonds

  Clubs (lowest)

A searing fire raged in Adam’s chest, radiating from the small, one-eyed Sinner's cruel stab. His entire body pulsed with agony and numbness alike, a throbbing ache that somehow felt like nothing at all. Colours smeared across his vision, swirling together in waves of blue, gold, crimson, and green. A single bead of cold sweat slid down one side of his face, while on the other, something warm trickled, as if he were caught between frost and flame, he exhaled a shallow, broken breath, his throat raw and burning with a strange, haunting familiarity.

With a faint, almost sorrowful hiss between pale lips, Adam forced his heavy eyes open, expecting to see the waxy, bloodred deserts of Hell or, if fate was merciful, the shimmering clouds of Heaven, steeped in white and violet. Maybe Sera had descended to pull him from the jaws of death? Maybe Lute had dragged him back through the portal?

Maybe dying wasn't as terrifying as he had feared. A faraway bell tolled in his ears, a sound he knew, yet could not place, its echoes twisting through his rattling mind.

Adam flinched, long lashes trembling. He stirred slightly, feeling something soft, cool, almost damp, beneath him. His toes curled; his fingers twitched, the hairs on his arms rose as he shifted again, uncertain of the sensation beneath his skin.

He knew he had died. He remembered the blade sinking in during the battle at the cursed hotel, the tiny maid-Sinner slipping through the chaos to strike him down.

He remembered the weight of his extermination robes, thick, layered, and suffocating, a far cry from the pure white garments he once wore in the service of Heaven. Those robes had wrapped him tightly, hiding the shame of his mortal form, ever since the day he bit into the forbidden fruit, s shame that had never left him.

So... why, then, did he feel bare? Naked as the day the Angels first crafted him among the gardens?

Adam wriggled his feet, testing the sensation. No fabric clung to his legs; no robe shielded his body. His hands moved instinctively, brushing down his stomach, covering himself in modesty and yet... somehow, his hands remained motionless at his sides. He covered himself but he also didn't.

Confusion rippled through him, his brow furrowed as he pried his eyes open once more, blinking against the strange new light. Above him, pale branches wove a tangled canopy, the grass beneath him was soft and fragrant, sage-green and speckled with tiny yellow and pink blossoms that swayed in a breeze he could not feel. The sky above was a gentle blue, with clouds the colour of rosewater drifting lazily.

The sun... it was wrong, it looked more like a star, burning cold and distant.

Slowly, Adam sat up, shame gnawing at him even in this strange new world. His hands, or what he thought were his hands, covered himself in reflex but something was wrong, terribly wrong.

His hands weren’t moving... and yet, he was covering himself. His breath caught in his throat, his skin turned deathly pale, and horror widened his eyes.

He had four arms.

Four arms, four hands and twenty fingers.

A strangled, piercing shriek tore from his lips, scattering the peaceful birds from the trees. They fled in a rush of golden feathers, raining down like drops of sunlight.

Adam remained, trembling in the tall grass, staring at his foreign limbs with growing terror, he struggled to move them, fought to control the twitching of alien muscles. He rocked from side to side, attempting to rise, only to fall back again and again, stumbling, crawling, grappling with himself until he simply collapsed in the grass, dazed and frightened.

What had become of him? What had he become?

Dizziness spiralled through him like a storm and Adam stumbled forward, collapsing onto his knees in the soft grass. His body felt foreign, unfamiliar, a vessel no longer fully his own. Four arms twitched and trembled at his sides, but mercifully, only two legs carried his weight. Thank the stars, he thought faintly; he didn’t know how he would have endured four legs as well.

Breathing slowly, eyes squeezed shut, Adam fought to steady the frantic drumbeat of his heart. He listened, truly listened, letting the world speak to him, the wind hummed a soft, mournful tune as it weaved through the trees; birds flitted high above, their feathers whispering secrets into the air; the cool kiss of grass cradled his trembling skin.

Finally, with great effort, Adam peeled his eyes open and glanced down at himself, but the sight told him little. He was naked, bare and exposed as he had been once, long ago, in Eden’s embrace.

Eden?

A crease formed between Adam’s brows as his gaze swept the world around him. A desperate hope flickered in his chest. Had he returned? Had death, at long last, gifted him the impossible, a path back to where it all began?

Slowly, almost reverently, Adam shuffled forward on his knees. He reached out to the grass, the flowers, the towering trees, his upper arms stretched willingly, but the others...the others clung to him, wrapping protectively around his waist, trembling with the unspoken fear pulsing through him. Adam tried to ignore the phantom limbs, there were greater mysteries demanding his attention now.

His heart thundered in his chest, trembling on the cusp of hope and dread.

Was this Eden? Had he truly come home?

Could it be that all his whispered prayers, his silent weeping, his endless yearning had been answered at last?

He tried to stand, legs wobbling dangerously beneath him, joints cracking and popping in protest. Somehow, Adam found his balance and rose to his feet, eyes wide as they devoured the forest around him, his heart ached with longing, for his mother, for his garden, for forgiveness.

Had God, at last, taken pity on him? But... as he stood there, a slow and chilling realization began to weave its way through his thoughts.

This was not Eden.

He knew Eden with a lover's memory, every leaf, every petal, every breeze imprinted onto his soul. He had spent centuries retracing its beauty in his mind, living it over and over in dreams. But this place... this world... it was alien.

The forest shimmered with a strange, otherworldly light. The colours were deeper, richer, more haunting, shades of violet, indigo, and gold bled into one another, painting the trees and sky in hues no mortal tongue could name. The bark of the trees glowed faintly, pale silver-white shot through with opalescent veins, as though starlight itself had been woven into their skin.

The flowers were unlike any he had known. Adam knelt, breath hitching in wonder, reaching towards a bloom that should have been a red carnation. It smelled sweet and familiar, its petals soft against his fingertips, but the shape was wrong. Instead of the familiar frilled blossom, it curled upward into a strange, club-like form, heavy and otherworldly.

He looked around, seeing the same pattern everywhere. Every leaf, every blossom, even the rugged bark of the trees twisted into soft, club-like shapes. Strange stones littered the ground, tiny pebbles and larger rocks, all worn into the same unnatural curves.

Above him, a bird settled onto a low branch, its feathers a tapestry of gold and sapphire. Adam gasped softly; even the bird's wings bore those faint, ghostly club-shaped patterns, woven through the feathers like forgotten runes.

This was not Earth…this was not Heaven, and it most certainly was not Eden.

Adam’s breath trembled as he stood alone in the heart of this unknown garden, four trembling hands at his sides, staring into a world that should have been home... but was not.

What was this place?

Adam’s breath caught painfully in his throat as he staggered deeper into the alien woods. His wide, shimmering eyes darted from shape to shape, drinking in the unfamiliar, the impossible. Nothing was as it should have been.

The world unfolded around him like a broken reflection of home, beautiful, yes, but twisted and wrong in ways that gnawed at the edges of his mind. Trees stretched high into the endless pastel sky, their branches curling like skeletal fingers, flowers bloomed in impossible colours, breathing sweet, dizzying scents into the air.

Even the creatures, once a source of comfort and love to him, now seemed like strangers wearing familiar skins. Some were monstrous, ten times their natural size, cloaked in rippling fur the colour of jewels, club-shaped patterns etched in shimmering threads across their hides. Others had shrivelled down to almost nothing, tiny and fragile, blinking at him with too-many eyes, wings sprouted from beasts that should not fly, while others, who should have soared, dragged themselves along the ground, wingless and silent.

Adam glimpsed a horned horse, lazily sprawled in a meadow that glowed gold beneath the strange star-sun. The creature’s wings, wide and translucent, stirred the golden grasses, but Adam dared not approach. Something deep inside warned him to keep his distance.

Yet even as he stumbled forward, he felt eyes following him, when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw the creatures trailing after him, silent and slow, as if drawn by the scent of his fear, or perhaps by something deeper, a bond he couldn’t yet understand.

Anxious and trembling, Adam continued to wander through the haunting, dreamlike Eden. Every step felt like walking through a memory that was never his.

He tilted his face to the eerie sky. "Sera?" he called out, his voice thin and cracking.

No blinding light descended from the heavens. Only soft blue skies, pink-tinted clouds, and that strange star watched over him.

"Sera?" he shouted again, more desperately. "W-Where are you? Are you punishing me?"

But no answer came, no angelic voice, no divine whisper. Only the wind, rustling through the alien trees, responded, a sound that felt too much like a sigh of mourning. Adam’s skin prickled, every hair on his body standing rigid, he realized with a cold, creeping dread that he was utterly, devastatingly alone, this loneliness was deeper than anything he had ever known, more suffocating than the bitterest of his nightmares.

"I...I don't want to be alone," Adam whispered, his knees buckling beneath him.

He collapsed into the tall, breathing grass, lowering his head as warm tears blurred his vision.

This was no Eden; this was no home. It was a cruel imitation, a place stitched together from dreams and horrors alike. He sniffled, broken and small, he didn’t understand. His body had changed, warped with four arms, strange and monstrous.

That one-eyed Sinner had killed him. He had felt the blade, had felt the life bleed out of him. So how…how had he awoken here, in this wrong, twisted garden?

A sharp gasp tore from Adam’s lips as the ground trembled softly beside him, domething enormous had settled at his side. His skin crawled with dread as he dared to lift his tear-soaked face, blinking through his grief to see what had come to him.

It was a lion.

But not any lion he had ever known, this one was colossal, its body the size of a mortal bus, its muscles rippling beneath a coat of fur as dark as the endless void between stars. Its mane shimmered with tiny silver club patterns that pulsed and winked like distant constellations, the creature's golden eyes gazed at Adam with a depth of sadness, of ancient understanding, that struck him to his core.

Adam trembled, frozen, and then the lion moved, slow and deliberate, lowering its great head to nuzzle gently against his side. Its fur was impossibly warm, impossibly soft, like sinking into the night sky itself.

Something inside Adam cracked.

A broken sob escaped him as he leaned into the massive creature's warmth, burying his face into the thick, starlit mane. His four arms trembled, clutching handfuls of fur as wave after wave of grief and loneliness tore free from his chest.

The lion did not flinch, did not pull away, it stayed, anchoring him against the wild, cruel sea of his sorrow.

And for the first time in what felt like eternity, Adam allowed himself to weep, not as a sinner, not as an exile, not as an angel or even a human but as something small, something lost, cradled in the embrace of something just as strange, just as broken, as he was.

Adam didn’t know how long he remained like that, pressed against the endless warmth of the great black lion. Time itself seemed to drift and scatter like dust in the twilight air. He couldn’t even remember when his sobs had faded into trembling silence, his eyes burned, his body ached in strange, unfamiliar ways, as if something inside him was unfolding, growing, changing. There was a low, persistent buzzing between his shoulder blades, but he pushed the feeling away, too drained to care.

The wind here, soft and sweet, kissed his skin like a tender lover, calming him in a way he didn't understand but welcomed with a tired sigh. Adam closed his eyes, listening to the lion’s deep, soothing purrs, the sound throbbed through his bones, slow and rhythmic, massaging his wearied spirit until he nearly slipped into sleep but then the lion shifted, rumbling low in its chest, and Adam stirred with a sleepy groan. He rubbed the back of his hand against his sore eyes and blinked blearily around him.

He froze, all around him, nestled close in a loose, reverent circle, were creatures unlike any he had ever seen , creatures of myth and dreams, stitched together from the wildest fantasies of another world.

There were massive elk with branching antlers woven with silver vines, their hides painted in soft swirling blues and golds. Great birds with feathers like molten glass perched upon the twisted trees, their wings humming with club-shaped sigils that shimmered in the pastel light.

Tiny foxes with too many tails, some sprouting delicate, leaf-like appendages, darted playfully around heavier beasts, like bears with coats of soft lavender and luminous club-shaped patterns rippling across their thick hides.

Even serpents slithered among them, their scales glinting like precious stones, each eye a swirling pool of green and gold. Unicorns with wings, wolves with horns, hares with butterfly wings, all creatures seemingly stitched together from forgotten dreams and secret wishes and each bore the same strange mark, somewhere, in fur or feather or scale, the pattern of a club.

Adam blinked at them, heart trembling, a strange warmth pooling inside his chest. Maybe they hadn’t followed him out of fear, maybe they came because they cared for him…maybe they loved him.

The creatures began to lean forward, brushing past him with breathless grace, moving toward something just beyond where he sat. Adam tilted his head and gasped softly.

Before him was a lake, a glittering, crystal wonder that he had somehow not seen until now.

The water shimmered a pale lavender, reflecting the dreamy sky, and club-shaped lily pads drifted lazily across its surface, their dark green shadows dancing below. One by one, the animals dipped their muzzles into the cool water, drinking as if it were the sweetest nectar.

Swallowing hard, Adam shifted closer, crawling forward on hands and knees, all four of his hands brushing against the soft grass, until he reached the edge, tentatively, he reached out to touch the surface.

The water kissed his skin with a cool, delicious sweetness, no pain, no sting, just a soothing touch that sent a ripple of comfort through his aching body.

Slowly, Adam leaned over, peering into the rippling water as it stilled into a perfect mirror, he gasped.

It was his face and yet not.

His skin, once sun-kissed and golden, now held the soft olive glow of early summer, kissed by some unseen sunlight. His body was lean and slender, almost delicate compared to what it once was in Eden, he was smaller. His shoulders not as broad, his frame lighter.

And his cheeks…Adam reached up with trembling fingers, lightly tracing the faint shapes that adorned them. Club-shaped marks, soft and green, brushed like whispered kisses across his face, not harsh or sickly, but the gentle, vibrant green of life in full bloom.

His eyes, once sharp and narrow, were now larger, rounder, a mesmerizing blend of green and gold, his pupils shaped like tiny clubs. There was no sign of the wound that had once ended him, instead, a single green club-shaped mark rested over his heart, pulsing faintly as though alive but that wasn’t the most astonishing thing.

Sprouting from between his shoulder blades, lush and luminous, were two great wings, pure green, shaped like enormous clubs, patterned with faint veins of light that shimmered each time they shifted…the buzzing he’d felt, it was his wings.

His hair, too, had changed, soft brown strands threaded through with living club-shaped leaves and delicate red flowers, forming a crown that seemed to grow naturally from his head.

Adam trailed his gaze down to his limbs, his arms and legs were sprinkled with more of that summery green, vines and tiny blossoms curling gently around his wrists and ankles like living jewellery.

How had he not noticed all this before? How had he not felt how much he had become something… new?

"What..." he breathed, leaning back in pure shock, confusion swirling inside him like a storm. "What... is this?"

Suddenly, the forest shivered around him. A voice, loud, desperate, shattered the dreamlike stillness.

"Adam?!"

Adam flinched violently, his heart leaping into his throat. The animals around him whined, scattering like startled leaves, their graceful forms vanishing into the forest’s endless depths.

Only the black lion stayed, it remained steadfast by his side, its giant paws stretched forward, purring deeply, as if anchoring Adam to the earth.

Adam turned, crouching low behind the lion's massive body for shelter as another figure burst into the clearing, not walking, but flying, weaving urgently through the gnarled, club-blooming branches.

"Adam?" the voice cried again, familiar, beloved, but laced now with something raw and cracked. "Where are you? I heard you cry out! What happened?"

Adam’s breath hitched, his trembling hands gripping the lion's soft mane. Was this truly someone he knew or was it another dream stitched together by this strange, broken Eden?

Home, they had said…home but Adam wasn't sure what home even meant anymore, he wasn’t even himself anymore…

"Adam? Where are you?" the voice cried, raw and trembling with desperation. "Are you hurt? Did they harm you? I can heal you, please, just let me find you!"

The sound struck something deep inside Adam, familiar yet strange, like a half-forgotten lullaby. It was new and ancient all at once, close but distant, like a memory blurred by tears.

Slowly, hesitantly, Adam lifted himself onto his toes, peeking over the endless sea of black fur belonging to the midnight lion, even stretched tall, it was difficult, the lion was simply too large, too solid, but Adam managed a glimpse.

His heart pounded furiously in his chest, his club-shaped pupils dilating wide enough to hurt, that couldn’t be who he thought it was. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

"Adam!" the voice called again, and now he heard it clearly.

Adam stood frozen, his mind struggling to catch up, to make sense of what his eyes were seeing. Lucifer, but not Lucifer. A ghost and yet not a ghost, not the same stupid, traitorous angel who had stolen his life, who had torn Eden apart with his greedy, golden hands, who had taken everything from him.

Panic clawed up Adam's spine, he yelped, stumbling backward. His clumsy feet tangled together, and he tumbled onto the ground just as the figure rushed toward him, faster than a falling star.

"Adam! Ah, it’s you! It's really you!" the boy-shaped vision cried, radiant and wild, glowing with a light too beautiful to be real. He surged toward Adam without hesitation, not even noticing Adam’s frantic attempts to crawl away.

"You’ve come home, finally! You look, ah! Just as beautiful as I remember!"

"W-What?" Adam croaked, blinking rapidly as the short, brilliant figure closed in on him. His wings fumbled awkwardly against a tree, leaves shivering from the impact.

"I missed you," Lucifer whispered, breathless, cupping Adam’s cheeks in his cool hands. His thumbs brushed over the soft club-marks on Adam’s skin, reverent and gentle. "I missed you so much... Waiting for you nearly broke me."

Adam flinched, overwhelmed, but he never got the chance to answer. Lucifer leaned forward without warning, closing the distance between them and capturing Adam’s mouth in a desperate, trembling kiss.

The contact sent a jolt through Adam, not painful, but bright and bewildering, a sensation he had never known before. His wings flared wide without his permission, a sharp, electric buzz dancing along them, for a fleeting, horrifying moment, Adam nearly melted into it, into Lucifer's arms, into the starry pull of him but then something zapped along his wings, a jarring sting that snapped him back.

Lucifer. He was kissing Lucifer, the one who had betrayed him, who had shattered everything he loved.

A low growl ripped from Adam’s throat, he grabbed Lucifer's shoulders and shoved him back, forcing him to arm’s length.

"Adam?" Lucifer blinked, confusion clouding his bright blue eyes. "What's wrong? Didn't you miss me?"

Adam’s chest heaved, his lips tingling, his wings buzzing wildly, it was then he noticed, Lucifer’s wings had spread too, lining up perfectly with his own. The buzzing, the tremor in the air, it was between them. He didn’t know if he hated it... or if it terrified him even more that part of him liked it.

"What's happening?!" Adam cried out, voice cracking. "What the fuck is all this?!"

Lucifer's face twisted with worry, he held Adam’s face tenderly, refusing to let go.

"Adam... don't you recognize me?" he whispered, tilting his head like a lost child. "It’s me. Lucifer."

"I know who you are!" Adam snapped, trying again to wriggle away, but Lucifer only held him more carefully, as if Adam might break into pieces.

"And?" Lucifer asked, voice tight with fear.

"And…" Adam faltered, anger tangled with something else, something sad and heavy in his chest.

Lucifer’s wings stirred restlessly behind him, casting glimmering shadows. "Adam, don’t you remember?"

"Why would you kiss me?!" Adam demanded hoarsely. "After everything you did to me! After you ruined my life, after you stole everything from me! You hate me!"

Lucifer stared at him, stunned, as if Adam had struck him.

"Hate you?!" he gasped, as if the very idea was a wound. "Hate you? No, Adam, never, I love you, you idiot!"

Adam froze; the world seemed to tip sideways.

"Love?" Adam whispered, horrified. "You love me?"

Lucifer softened, inching closer, his eyes glowing like winter stars.

"Adam..." he said, voice low and aching. "Don’t you remember who I am? I’m Lucifer of Spades. Your mate."

Mate. Spades. The words hit Adam like falling stones.

He blinked hard, his body sagging against the tree behind him, trying desperately to breathe. Finally, finally, he really looked at Lucifer, he was the same... but changed, just like Adam.

Lucifer was still small and slight, with hair the colour of sunlight and duckling fluff but now his pale skin shimmered like stardust, touched by a faint dusting of soft winter blue along his arms and legs, as if kissed by frost, his arms, six now, three on each side, folded against his body like delicate wings of their own and on each of his cheeks bloomed a dark blue spade-shaped mark, glowing softly against the pale flush.

In his golden curls, tiny white specks glittered, not dust, not flowers, but tiny, perfect flakes of snow, crowning him like a winter king. Around his wrists and ankles were wreaths of white fur, threaded through with delicate frost flowers and crystal leaves. His wings…oh, his wings, stretched behind him in towering splendour, vast and silver-white, shaped like great shimmering spades, etched through with even tinier spade patterns beneath the surface.

Adam stared, heart pounding. "You’re..." Adam croaked, bewildered. "You’re cold."

Lucifer let out a soft laugh and sat back on his heels, giving Adam space at last.

"Of course," he said, smiling with a sad sort of fondness. "Spades are the winter evening. Just like you, Clubs, you are the summer dawn."

Adam squinted, trying desperately to piece together the fragments of sense in Lucifer’s words but everything slipped through his fingers like mist, nothing fit. Nothing felt real, this wasn't Lucifer... and yet, it was.

"Why are you naked?" Adam blurted out instead, the question falling from his lips before he could stop it.

Lucifer’s long white lashes fluttered like moth wings. "Naked? Adam..." he murmured, voice trailing off into the cold night air.

Before Adam could retreat, Lucifer leaned in closer, and Adam let out a startled, undignified yelp. His skin prickled, not with heat, but with an odd, unfamiliar sensation that made him fear he was flushing green instead of red. He pressed himself back against the rough bark of the tree, staring up at Lucifer warily, his chest tight with something he couldn't name.

"What-what are you doing?" Adam croaked, his voice cracking like brittle ice.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, the bright spade-shaped pupils of frosted blue seeming to pierce straight through him, reading every broken, tangled thought in his head. Without warning, Lucifer moved, swift as a gust of winter wind, and before Adam could react, his hand was seized in Lucifer’s cool, firm grasp.

"Can you fly?" Lucifer demanded, urgent and intense.

"Fly?!" Adam yelped, jerking and squirming, but Lucifer’s fingers only tightened around his own. "What-what are you talking about?!"

Lucifer flicked a glance toward Adam’s back, toward the summer-green wings that trembled against the tree bark.

"Your wings," Lucifer said sharply. "Do you remember how to use them?"

Adam turned, awkwardly flexing the leafy club-shaped wings behind him. They opened and closed, slow and unsure, like the first uncertain flutter of a newborn butterfly.

"I..." He swallowed, heart thundering. "I remember how to use wings," he said at last.

It wasn't a lie, he remembered how to fly, with his old, golden angel wings. Surely these would work the same... wouldn't they?

Lucifer’s gaze darkened with doubt; he didn’t look convinced.

"Prove it," Lucifer said flatly.

"What?" Adam bristled. "Prove what?"

"Show me," Lucifer said, stepping back and folding all six of his arms over his chest, like a king waiting for a jester to amuse him. "Prove you still remember how to fly."

Adam scowled, folding his own arms petulantly across his chest. "Why should I?" he muttered, his voice thick with stubbornness.

But his defiance only seemed to frustrate Lucifer further, his lips twisted into a deeper frown, sharp teeth glinting like deadly icicles. His glacial eyes narrowed to slits, sharp and cutting.

Adam felt a ripple of unease crawl down his spine under that look. He took a clumsy step back.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Adam asked, voice small, the words barely a breath against the heavy air.

"You either prove you know how to use them," Lucifer snapped, his voice cutting through the hush of the forest like a blade, "Or I will carry you myself. It’s your choice, Adam."

Adam stared back at him, momentarily stunned, confused But then, slowly, something ugly and burning began to worm its way up from the pit of his chest. Anger.

Who the hell does he think he is?

This was Lucifer, the Lucifer. The angel who had once come down to Eden like a golden comet, dazzling and bright, a friend who had laughed and played with him among the gardens, who had dared the impossible alongside him, stirred up mischief beneath the other Angel’s blind eyes, his guardian Angel.

The same Lucifer who had shattered everything. Who had stolen Lilith away, whispering promises into her ear, who had seduced Eve with silvered lies, who had crushed Adam without a second thought, who had hurt Adam and made him cry as if their friendship meant nothing to him.

Lucifer, who had toppled humanity from grace and then had the gall to humiliate Adam before all of Hell, like he was nothing and now here he stood, demanding something of him? Threatening him?

Adam’s blood boiled and without thinking, Adam shoved Lucifer hard, making him stumble back a few steps.

"Buzz off!" Adam snarled, voice rising, venom dripping from every word. "I’m sick of seeing your face! I’m sick of hearing your voice! It's driving me crazy, it's disgusting!"

Lucifer’s eyes widened slightly, stunned by the outburst, but Adam wasn’t done.

"I don't owe you anything!" Adam shouted. His wings trembled with rage behind him, scattering leaves from the trees. "I’m not falling for your lies, your games, your tricks! Never again! You claim to love me but guess what! I don’t fucking love you and I never will!”

“So do us both a favour and fuck off!" His chest heaved. "Don't ever come back!"

Spitting the last words out like a curse, Adam spun on his heel and stormed away, fists clenched, heart pounding but his rejection only seemed to ignite something fierce and furious in Lucifer. A winter storm brewed behind him, his icy wings flared wide with a sharp, crackling sound, beating the air like the fury of a frozen hurricane.

"Adam!" Lucifer roared, his voice echoing through the trees like a wrathful god.

Adam turned, just in time to see Lucifer surging forward. His mouth fell open in shock, too slow to react, as Lucifer effortlessly swept him up off the ground, cradling him in his arms like a bride. Adam's legs kicked wildly in disbelief, his hands pushing uselessly at Lucifer’s hard shoulders.

"Put me down!" Adam barked, squirming furiously. "Put me the fuck down, you crazy idiot!"

Lucifer glared at him; teeth bared in a flash of sharp, icy white.

"Shut up for once," Lucifer snapped, "And let me help you!"

Adam barked a harsh, bitter laugh, struggling harder. "Help me?! Help me with what, huh?!" he shouted, thrashing. "I don't need anything from you, you damn frostbitten freak! I hate you! I really fucking hate you!”

Lucifer only rolled his eyes with theatrical exhaustion but said nothing. Adam was still wrestling to free himself, clawing at Lucifer's arms, when, without warning, the ground dropped away. Lucifer kicked off from the ground in one smooth, powerful leap, and the next thing Adam knew, they were airborne.

The world tilted beneath him, the trees shrinking, the silver-glass lake sparkling far below. Adam yelped in sheer terror, the fight leaving him instantly as he scrambled to cling onto Lucifer’s neck for dear life, all pride forgotten, his heart hammered like a trapped bird against his ribs.

Lucifer held him firmly, wings beating a steady, icy rhythm through the night, carrying them higher and higher. Adam buried his face against Lucifer’s shoulder, too terrified to even glare at him anymore, the scent of cold snow and winter stars filling his lungs and somewhere deep inside, despite the betrayal, despite the fury still coiled in his chest, something fragile and aching stirred, reaching out.

Lucifer flew with a grace Adam had never seen before, not like the rigid, sharp flapping of angel wings he remembered from Heaven, but something slower, softer...almost like a butterfly drifting through the endless sky.

Each beat of Lucifer’s massive winter wings was languid and fluid, carrying them higher, gliding as though the air itself bent lovingly around him. His wings shimmered with each movement, spade-shaped patterns glowing like constellations beneath the thin, icy membrane.

Adam couldn’t help but notice it immediately, how different it was, how wrong it was compared to the stiff military precision of angelic flight, but he refused to look at Lucifer’s face. He kept his gaze stubbornly turned away, pressing his lips into a thin line, instead, he risked glancing down and what he saw stole the very breath from his lungs.

The world below was... impossibly beautiful…and so much bigger then anything Adam had ever seen before…

It was as if the land itself had been torn into great jagged pieces, like paper ripped apart, and stitched back together again with threads of golden light. Each piece was its own kingdom, its own breathing world, stitched neatly beside the next.

Directly beneath them stretched the realm of Clubs, Adam’s own land, summer incarnate. Vast, endless emerald forests tangled together with ribbons of sapphire rivers, waterfalls as tall as mountains spilled down in silvery veils, feeding gardens bursting with life, animals roamed freely, glittering birds soared in flocks that painted the skies with colour, and golden sunlight bathed everything in a warm, living glow, it was wild, free, humming with the heartbeat of life itself.

Beyond that, stitched with a fine silver seam, lay Spades, the land of Winter…and Adam guessed that was where Lucifer came from or this Lucifer anyway.  Snow stretched endlessly like a soft white ocean, a colossal castle sprawled across the icy fields, made entirely of gleaming crystal, reflecting a thousand broken rainbows. The mountains rose like frozen gods, crowned with sleeping dragons whose breaths curled into mist.

Gentle snowfall drifted down without end, catching on the black pine trees and glimmering like stars fallen to earth. It was haunting and beautiful, a land where silence itself seemed to sing.

Further off, through a weave of sunshine and laughter, bloomed the realm of Hearts, the land of Spring. Rolling meadows sprawled beneath a sky so blue it ached to look at, fields of pink and golden flowers danced in the breeze, their petals spinning like tiny dancers, yellow-bricked roads twisted through cheerful little villages, where elf-like people bustled about, laughter ringing in the air.

Witches in patchwork cloaks zipped across the skies on crooked brooms, trailed by black cats, some with tiny wings, others with twisting horns peeking from their furry heads. The scent of fresh earth and honeyed air was so vivid Adam swore he could taste it.

And finally, stitched along the edge of a fiery crimson horizon, loomed Diamonds, the land of Autumn. A kingdom roared with life and motion, its cobbled streets shining like polished amber. The city buzzed with strange creature-people, fox-eared merchants shouting over glittering market stalls, women with eyes like fireflies laughing over gilded bridges, great hounds with antlers prowling beside knights in rust-red armour.

The scent of roasted chestnuts and gold hung in the air, as if the very air itself was rich, towering above it all was a palace carved from marble the colour of fallen leaves, crowned inspires of gold that caught the setting sun and made it seem ablaze.

Adam gasped aloud, unable to hold it back, his wings twitched against Lucifer’s chest, his heart thudding wildly. He had never seen anything like it, not even Eden, for all its perfection, had looked so heartbreakingly, achingly alive.

For a moment, Adam forgot his rage, his fear, his pride. Forgot the man, Angel or whatever Lucifer had become, holding him aloft, he could only stare, his eyes wide and shining with wonder.

Lucifer descended with a grace that defied the laws of nature, his wings barely stirring the air as they glided toward the shimmering land of Autumn, the realm of Diamonds. Adam felt a stir of curiosity deep within him, his eyes flicking over the figures below. These beings were unlike anything he had ever seen, not human, but something more. Their gazes turned toward the sky, fixed on him and Lucifer, and Adam caught the expressions that flitted across their faces: awe, wonder, and even excitement. The children gasped, their tiny hands pointing eagerly in their direction.

But Adam could barely take it all in before Lucifer’s wings, vast and powerful, cut through the air once more, guiding them toward a towering mansion at the heart of the kingdom. The structure rose like a jagged, opulent spire, sparkling with diamonds embedded in its walls, the light dancing off its faceted surface. At the top of this monumental edifice was a wide platform, open to the sky. It was a palace, yet something about its design had the warmth of a mansion, intimate yet grand. Around it, an imposing fence rose high, guarded by figures dressed in gleaming silver armor etched with diamond patterns, standing watch like silent sentinels.

Lucifer passed effortlessly over them, touching down with barely a sound on the platform that led to an archway, its shape an elegant, perfect diamond. Adam squinted, his eyes narrowing in confusion. Diamond?

“Diamond?” Lucifer’s voice was soft but insistent, as he stepped toward the archway. “Are you there? I need your help, Lils.”

Adam blinked rapidly, the name catching him off guard. Lils? His throat tightened. What was happening? He swallowed, a heavy lump forming there, as a figure appeared in the archway, stepping from the shadows, a presence as inevitable as the coming of dusk. Adam recoiled instinctively, his wings fluttering, a frantic surge of anger rising in him.

“Put me down!” he cried out, his voice sharp, breaking through the air like a whip.

In one swift motion, he wrenched himself free from Lucifer’s hold. His body fell, landing hard on the cold stone below. He barely had time to regain his balance before he jerked away, his chest tight with something between fury and fear.

Lucifer stood still, his arms still outstretched, frozen in shock, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. Adam hissed, baring his teeth, his body tensed and ready to flee.

The figure who approached them, slow and deliberate, cast a long shadow across the ground. It was her.

Lilith.

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest. Lilith, the one who had once been his, and who had shattered everything he thought he knew about love, trust, and betrayal. The woman who had hurt him more than anyone else, the one who had run away with Lucifer without a second thought, leaving him broken and alone, his blood boiled at the sight of her.

She was just as breathtaking as she had always been, but in a different way now, something darker, more powerful. Her long hair was no longer the gold he remembered; it had deepened into a smoky orange, streaked with pale gold, like embers glowing in the fading light. Tiny, delicate golden leaves were woven through her hair, shimmering like whispers of autumn itself, her crown of flowers had been replaced with an intricate garland of sticks and pearls, each bead gleaming with the glow of distant stars.

Her wings were vast, larger than Adam’s, smaller than Lucifer’s, curling elegantly like autumn leaves caught in a gentle breeze. The colours danced along their edges: rich purples, oranges, and golds, interspersed with diamonds that glinted and sparkled, her skin shimmered as though it had been kissed by moonlight, streaked with faint, glowing diamonds that traced the lines of her arms and legs like delicate jewellery.

Her eyes were a deep, haunting mix of gold and violet, with diamond-shaped pupils that seemed to pierce through Adam’s very soul, she stood taller than both Adam and Lucifer, an ethereal figure, impossibly beautiful, but with an air of dominance that made Adam feel small and vulnerable. She gazed at him with a quiet intensity, as though trying to decipher a puzzle, each moment spent in her presence like the unravelling of something precious, fragile.

Adam’s instincts screamed at him to look away, to hide, to run from her piercing gaze, but he couldn’t. She was naked, as he and Lucifer were, and yet in her presence, the rawness of their vulnerability only deepened the bitter resentment and sadness he felt.

Why? he thought, a fire of hatred burning in his chest. Why would Lucifer bring me to her?

“Something’s wrong with him,” Lucifer muttered harshly, his voice thick with frustration, his six arms crossing over his chest, his eyes were dark with a kind of bitterness Adam hadn’t seen before.

Lilith tilted her head slightly, her lips parting in a soft hum. Her gaze never wavered from Adam, and she slowly approached him, moving with an almost hypnotic fluidity, she knelt down before him, her movements elegant, yet relentless.

Adam instinctively tried to pull away, inching back, his wings flapping in panic. “Don’t touch me!” he hissed, his voice laced with panic and disgust.

But Lilith’s hand shot out with an effortless grace, her fingers cool and unyielding as she caught his chin, lifting his face to meet her gaze.

“He doesn’t remember?” she asked, her voice soft, almost concerned.

Lucifer snarled, stepping forward, his form looming like a storm cloud. “No. He doesn’t!” His voice was tight, raw. “He’s not supposed to come back like this, Lilith, he’s supposed to remember me.”

“I know,” she murmured, her voice almost distant, Lilith blinked slowly, her expression unreadable, her wings flickering gently behind her. “He was meant to return in the same state he was taken.”

“I told you not to make that deal, Lilith. Now look at what’s happened. He doesn’t even remember who he is. He’s in his real body, but his mind…” He trailed off, exhaling sharply, defeated, Lucifer’s frustration boiled over, his hands clenching into fists.

Lilith sighed, the weight of the moment settling over her like a cloud. Her autumn wings fluttered behind her, delicate but powerful.

“They wanted to use a soul,” she said, her voice taking on a softer edge. “To give humanity a soul.”

Lucifer’s eyes gleamed with anger. “No, they wanted to cut corners, instead of creating a soul, building one as they should have, they chose to steal one of the Omega souls. You shouldn’t have agreed to it, Lilith. You didn’t care about the consequences; all you wanted was what you could gain from it.”

“It benefited us all.” Lilith’s gaze flicked briefly to Lucifer, a subtle frown pulling at her lips. “It benefited you, Lucifer.”

“No, it only benefited you,” Lucifer laughed, but the sound was bitter, mocking. “Diamonds never care about anyone but yourselves. It’s always about what you can take, never who you step on to get what you want.”

Lilith’s expression tightened, a flash of anger in her eyes, but she didn’t move. “Adam agreed to it,” she said, her tone firm. “This is not all my fault.”

“Yes, it is.” Lucifer’s icy blue gaze locked on her, his words cutting deep. “He only agreed because you talked him into it, Lilith, you made him believe it was a good idea.”

Lilith narrowed her eyes, a glimmer of amusement, or perhaps something darker, flickering within them.

"It was a good idea, Lucifer. A brilliant idea, in fact," she said softly, her tone almost too calm, too knowing. "We gained so much from the Avatar."

"No, you gained, you gained everything by handing Adam over to the Avatars, using him, experimenting on him, turning him into a human, for what? So, their little project can grow? So, these so-called humans can take form?" He threw his hands up in frustration, Lucifer scoffed, his voice laced with contempt. "What a load of bollocks."

Lilith’s eyes narrowed further, as if she’d been down this road with Lucifer countless times before.

"Spade," she began, her voice dripping with something cold yet strangely affectionate, "You are the soul of wisdom, of action, of conflict, and of power. Do you truly not see the benefits of their humans? At all?"

Lucifer shot her a disbelieving look. "Have you not seen that shit show? Have you not seen what’s happened over there?"

He gestured sharply toward the distant horizon, as if the human world itself was an affront to everything they were. "I know for a fact Eve, Hearts, they’ve been watching. We all have since the Avatars took Clubs. You’ve been watching too, it’s falling apart, the so-called human souls are at war with themselves, give it another century or so, and all of humanity will have killed itself."

Adam flinched, the words striking him like a slap, confusion flashing across his face. He shuffled backward on his backside, drawing his legs closer to himself as he tried to make sense of the strange exchange.

 Avatars? What were they talking about? The way Lucifer spoke about humanity... it was dripping with bitterness, as if the very idea of humans disgusted him. What did he mean by Lilith giving the Avatars him?

 She gave them Clubs? To borrow his soul for the humans? She had called him, Clubs…

Adam stared, his mind racing as Lilith and Lucifer continued their argument. It was like watching two people who could barely tolerate each other, there was no trace of warmth or affection between them, none of the love or bond one might expect between a married couple but… Lilith had left him for Lucifer, hadn’t she? She had chosen Lucifer, followed him to Hell, had a daughter with him… Adam blinked slowly, feeling a strange weight in his chest as his thoughts began to tangle together.

“Why…?”

He breathed out, his voice cutting through the heated argument, making the two of them pause, their attention turning to him.

"Why are you two arguing so much?" His voice wavered, soft and uncertain. "Don’t you... like, er, love each other? You’re married, with a kid and all that... I thought you’d be... er, happy to see each other?"

Adam winced, feeling foolish as soon as the words left his mouth. The way they stared at him, as if he’d just grown another head, made him feel small, like he was intruding on something much larger than he could comprehend.

Lucifer’s face darkened, and he shot Lilith a sharp, accusing glare.

Lilith merely rolled her eyes, brushing a hand dismissively through the air as if Adam’s question was of no consequence. "He’s confused."

"Clearly! He still has those human memories!" Lucifer bristled, his voice grew sharper, his frustration mounting. "He shouldn’t have them anymore!"

Lilith crossed her six arms in front of her, her posture casual, but her expression betraying a quiet irritation. "I’m aware, Lucifer. Your little tantrum made that quite obvious."

Lucifer’s icy wings beat against the air, sending a sudden chill across the space. Adam gasped as a layer of frost began to form along the floor, creeping like a slow tide. He jerked back instinctively, trying to avoid the ice that was spreading rapidly beneath him.

"Tantrum?!" Lucifer’s voice rose in anger, his teeth bared. "I’m not throwing a tantrum!"

His voice was a growl now, guttural and raw. "The Avatars' little pet project was doomed before they even took Adam’s soul, and it’s worse that they used our likeness to manipulate him! You saw what they did to him, used our faces, they mimicked our souls! They twisted him like a doll."

Lilith’s gaze flicked briefly to the spreading ice; her expression cool, unfazed. "Yes, Lucifer. They asked permission, and I gave it."

"You what?!" Lucifer’s voice cracked with disbelief. "Why would you do that?!"

“Because they had failed three times before.” Lilith regarded him with a long, steady stare, her gaze unreadable. "The soul of Clubs represents birth, life, creation, it wasn’t planting the seeds like they had hoped.”

“They were trying one last time to have Clubs react as they wanted.” She spoke calmly. “They suspected if they were able to mimic our likeness and project it onto their humans, it might help ease the soul of Clubs into its new vessel, so to speak."

Lucifer’s face twisted with disgust. "They made the first human ‘wife’ look like you."

"I have no such connections, and so, it meant nothing to me." Lilith shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was nothing. “I am no mate of Clubs and Clubs have no desire to mate with me either.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed in fury. "Hearts agreed to have her likeness used for the second wife human?" His voice was thick with anger.

"I know," Lilith replied casually, almost bored. "It is no concern of mine."

"The Avatars requested permission to use our likeness, and I granted it," she continued, her tone smooth, like she was recounting some trivial matter. "It worked. The soul of Clubs birthed the humans they desired so much."

Lucifer’s hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. "And my likeness was used to create someone who hurt him. Clubs is my mate, my lifetime partner. Why wouldn’t they just mimic my likeness to make the human husband or wife? That would have probably worked better!"

"The Avatars spoke of a new biology, something about man and woman.” Lilith rolled her shoulders in an exaggerated motion, her expression a mix of indifference and mild amusement.  Our biology doesn’t follow, as humans, neither Clubs nor Spade would have been able to breed."

She tilted her head slightly, watching Lucifer’s frustration grow. "Why are you so upset, Lucifer? The Avatars made you one of the most powerful beings in their little project. They called you an Angel, or an Archangel, they say that is very powerful. It’s still in line with you, as Spade is on top, being more powerful than Diamonds, Hearts, and Clubs."

Lucifer hissed, his teeth flashing in a snarl. "They didn’t even make that clone a lover to him! They made him hurt him! We’ve already bred and that wasn’t right!"

“Yes, your precious egg.” Lilith clicked her tongue, eyes glinted with something like amusement, but there was no kindness in it. "It has no hatched yet, calm down, you still have time.”

Lucifer’s fury grew, his wings beginning to churn with icy winds. “How dare you.”

"You are being so dramatic, Spade," Lilith continued, almost lazily. "You have your precious Club back. He has been returned as the Avatars promised, once he died, he would be released from their project and returned to his true body. He has come back to you, hasn’t he?"

Lucifer glared at her with a dark, bitter intensity. "Not all of him has come back."

"Be grateful you have him back at all." Lilith regarded him with an unimpressed gaze, as if his words meant little.

Adam touched the side of his head, he could feel the begin of a headache starting. He was just so confused.

~#~

Adam was exhausted, adrift in a sea of confusion, his head pounding so fiercely it turned his stomach. His club-shaped wings fluttered restlessly behind him, opening wide like a great, fragile butterfly, only to fold again like a book shutting against his spine, again and again they stirred, restless, unsettled.

He had returned, no, been returned, to what Lucifer called the Land of Clubs, his forest. A realm that seemed the very heart of summer itself: lush, radiant, brimming with life, the breath of Mother Nature thickened every corner, a symphony of green and gold, of flowers and beasts, all belonging to the Clubs. And he, somehow, was their King, or Queen, depending on what tide he chose to sail, it was all so dizzyingly strange.

Adam leaned heavily against the broad trunk of an ancient tree, its soft branches cradling his weary head. Stretching out his legs before him, he stared down at his toes, before raising his four hands to his face, watching as delicate flowers and vines wove themselves around his wrists, blooming from his very being.

He didn’t know what to feel, everything was too raw, too loud, too overwhelming. Why? How?

Lilith, the true Lilith, was apparently the Soul of Diamonds, and it was she who had struck a deal with the Avatars, surrendering the Soul of Clubs for their great experiment, for the birth of humanity.

Adam squeezed his eyes shut, remembering the human Lilith, how he had tried to love her, to bridge a gap he could never quite cross. She had found him clingy, smothering, too heavy a chain and yet he had only ever been... lost but that Lilith was never truly Lilith. Just a reflection, a whisper of the real Queen of Diamonds, shaped by unseen hands to nudge him along a path he never chose.

Even Eve, sweet Eve, was born of the same deception, not merely crafted out of loneliness when Lilith fled, but shaped in the likeness of another: the Queen of Hearts. All of it, all of it, had been a cruel, elaborate stage play.

Adam groaned lowly, burying his face beneath his four hands, the movement still foreign but becoming easier now, even his body was strange to him. The flood of truth churned in his mind, dragging him into a whirlpool of questions.

Who was he, truly? Why could he remember his human life but not the one before? Was he ever anything more than a pawn?

"Adam?"

The voice came from above, soft but resonant, pulling Adam from the hurricane of his thoughts. Lucifer had come again. Adam lowered his hands slowly, fingers digging into his skin as he peered up and there he was, Lucifer Morningstar, if that was even his name anymore.

 Lucifer was... different here, not the tempter, not the king of Hell, but something older, something truer. His mate, apparently, his mirror, the Spade to his Club.

Lucifer’s massive, spade-shaped wings shimmered as he landed lightly before Adam, scattering tiny flurries of frost like silver dust, his blue eyes glowed faintly as he tilted his head, surveying Adam with a small, crooked smile.

"Good morning... or evening? I’m never quite sure what humans call this hour," he said warmly. "How are you feeling, Adam?"

"I don't remember anything," Adam answered bluntly, eyeing Lucifer warily, part of him still expected this all to shatter, to reveal itself as some cruel joke.

Lucifer’s smile faltered slightly, a flicker of pain passing through his eyes before he masked it. Gently, he crouched down to Adam’s level, folding his legs beneath him with an effortless grace.

"I'm not asking you to," he said, voice as soft as the snow drifting from his wings.

"Right," Adam muttered, drawing his hands away as Lucifer reached for them. "Sounds about right."

Lucifer sighed, a low, almost sorrowful sound. "I know it’s overwhelming. I know it’s hard."

"You know? You really think you know?" Adam gave a sharp, humourless laugh.

Lucifer's lips curled into a faint, crooked smile. "More than you realize. I wasn't lying when I said we watched, I saw what the Avatars did to you... we all did."

Adam stared at him, something wounded flickering behind his gaze, he bit his bottom lip, uncertain, wary.

"Then... what are you saying?"

Lucifer shifted closer, the snow around him whispering against the ground. His voice dropped lower, more intimate.

"I saw it. I saw what happened in Eden," he murmured.

Adam stiffened at the name of his lost garden, his hands clenching.

"I saw what they made of you... what they made of me." Lucifer glanced aside, troubled. "It wasn't really me, Adam. It was... a shadow, a shell of who I truly am, twisted to guide you down the path they needed."

He shook his head slowly, snow cascading from his wings like fallen stars. "Lilith, Eve... even the serpent... none of it was what you thought it was, they were echoes. Ghosts, built from our faces to shape you."

Adam listened, heart pounding hard enough that he could barely breathe. This Lucifer... there was something heartbreakingly real about him. His voice slid through Adam’s ears like velvet, sweet and aching.

"I... think I understand," Adam whispered hoarsely. "No, not really but... you’re not him. You're not the Lucifer I remember."

Lucifer’s gaze softened, like mist parting for the dawn. "I would never have hurt you," he said fiercely, reaching for Adam again, this time, Adam let him.

Lucifer’s six hands enfolded his four, the last set of hands cupping Adam’s cheeks so tenderly it almost broke him.

"I saw what that version of me did," Lucifer whispered, anguish threading his voice. "I saw the betrayal, the lies, I don't know why he did it. But I am sorry, because he was shaped in my image... because of how deeply you loved me."

Adam’s breath caught. Loved him? Had he?

Lucifer traced slow, feather-light circles over the spade-shaped marks on Adam’s cheeks.

"He was made because of me," Lucifer continued softly. "And because of how much you loved me, they knew you'd follow him."

Adam’s heart was a drum in his chest, frantic and unsure. Was he falling in love again? Was it real? He barely heard his own voice as he asked, "Are we... truly in love?"

Lucifer smiled sadly. "We are more than that, Adam, we are bonded. We are the endless cycle of life itself, you are Summer, growth, life, birth and I am Winter, rest, death, renewal. You and I... we complete each other."

"I don't remember, I don't... remember anything before Eden.” Adam sniffled, overwhelmed, lowering his gaze. “I don't remember being the Soul of Clubs."

Lucifer’s smile faltered into a quiet, pained frown. "You weren't supposed to forget, when the Avatars were done... you were supposed to come home, whole."

"When you died, you should have returned to me," Lucifer whispered, voice trembling. "You should have remembered."

Adam hiccupped, the tears finally spilling over. "You don't understand. You don't get it."

He squeezed his eyes shut, his whole-body trembling. "None of it was real. None of it. Eden, Lilith, Eve... even me. It was all just a lie, a tool."

Lucifer moved closer, arms wrapping around Adam as though to shield him from the truth. "No, no, Adam, listen to me," he pleaded. "You are real, you were always real. They used you, yes, but that doesn't mean you were any less important. You are the heart of life itself, the Soul of Clubs."

But Adam couldn't stop crying, because if all this was true, if everything he had known was a carefully orchestrated lie, then who was he, really? Nothing more than a seed, planted for someone else's harvest.

Lucifer said nothing at first, he only moved, slow and sure, wrapping his arms around Adam. His embrace was warm despite the shimmer of frost that clung to his skin, with a heavy sigh, Lucifer’s massive spade-shaped wings unfolded behind him, dark and glistening like velvet night skies dusted with starlight. They opened wide, curling protectively around Adam, and in answer, Adam's own club-shaped wings twitched and slowly spread, as if drawn to the rhythm of Lucifer’s heart.

A soft gasp escaped Adam's lips, he tilted his head back, his watery green eyes meeting Lucifer’s glowing blue ones just as a shimmer of life danced between their wings, little flickers of green and blue arcing and weaving like tiny spirits, threading them together. Their wings pulsed, alive, resonating like the chords of a forgotten song.

Lucifer smiled, his expression tender and heartbreakingly soft. He lifted one hand, his thumb caressing the tear-streaked flush of Adam’s cheek, he leaned in, his voice no more than a warm whisper in the hush between them.

"See?" he breathed. "You feel that? It's our wings... they match up perfectly. That proves we're meant to be together."

Adam's chest tightened; more tears spilled over, his heart too full and too broken at once. He nodded weakly, unable to speak, and with a choked sob, he pushed his face into the curve of Lucifer's shoulder. Lucifer’s arms tightened, pulling him closer, until no space was left between them. He stayed that way, patient and steady, rocking Adam gently in the silence of the forest, his wings wrapped around them both like a cathedral.

Lucifer only spoke again when Adam’s tears had slowed into soft sniffles. His voice was low, soothing, careful as a kiss.

"I know you don’t trust me... not fully," he murmured. "And you have every right to be suspicious. It’s a lot to ask... to believe the Lilith and Eve you knew weren’t truly them, I know it hurts."

He paused, pressing a soft kiss into Adam’s hair. "Dimond and Hearts were first... they were part of us long before mankind was even a thought, and they loved you, at least, Hearts did." He gave a soft, almost sad chuckle. "Dimond... well, I don't think she's capable of loving anyone but herself."

Lucifer pulled back slightly, enough to catch Adam’s glassy gaze, his eyes burned with sincerity, clear as winter lakes.

"But me?" he whispered. "I love you. I adore you more than anything in all the realms, you were never just a tool to me, Adam, you are... everything."

Adam’s throat worked silently, he didn’t know what to say, but he clutched at Lucifer’s arms tighter, like he was afraid he might disappear if he let go.

"I know," Lucifer went on gently, "it’ll take time to separate the two Lucifers in your heart. The one you remember... and me. The real me, the one who has always loved you, long before Eden... long before even the stars were born."

He pulled Adam's four trembling hands into his own, cradling them like they were the most precious things in all existence.

"Just... trust me a little," Lucifer whispered. "Come with me, come see my home, the land of Spades, visit the Castle."

Adam sniffled, rubbing at his sore eyes, he looked up uncertainly. "The Ice Castle?" he asked hoarsely.

"Yes, our castle…” Lucifer's face lit up with a dazzling grin, so bright it made the frosted leaves around them sparkle, he nodded eagerly. “Your castle too, if you want it."

He rose fluidly to his feet, his black wings stretching even wider, scattering snowflakes from their tips, still holding Adam’s hands, he gently urged him up as well. Adam stumbled slightly, unsteady in this strange new body, but Lucifer steadied him with a hand on his lower back.

Lucifer winked playfully, the old mischief glinting in his otherworldly gaze. "I’ll even teach you how to use your wings properly again, how to really fly."

Adam gave a small, broken laugh, the first real laugh he had managed since arriving in this new, overwhelming world. He looked at his club-shaped wings, feeling them shiver in the cool air, feeling the thrum where they touched Lucifer's own.

"I... I miss flying," Adam admitted softly, almost shyly.

Lucifer's smile turned tender again.

"Then let’s get you back to the sky, my summer prince," he said, voice like a promise, wrapping Adam's hands up in his own as they stood beneath the pale sunlight, surrounded by falling snow and the silent, humming heartbeat of two souls reuniting.

~#~

"Alright," Lucifer beamed, his skin shimmering like frost spun from the first breath of winter. "You open them... like this."

Adam stared, eyebrows lifting high into the soft wildness of his honey-and-oak hair. He watched, entranced, as Lucifer’s great spade-shaped wings unfurled with effortless grace, opening like the petals of some rare, midnight flower, they gleamed, each feather catching the light like shards of enchanted ice.

Adam chewed his bottom lip, his green eyes narrowing in concentration, he turned his focus inward, to the warmth buzzing faintly across his back. He willed his own wings to open, but instead they jerked awkwardly, knocking against his shoulders before snapping shut again with a sharp, embarrassed snap.

"Ah," Lucifer blinked, wide-eyed, his lips twitching with the effort of stifling laughter. "It's alright, truly. Just try again, slowly, carefully, focus on the fluttering under your skin, right here," he murmured, stepping closer.

Lucifer’s six hands moved in delicate unison, the tips of his fingers ghosting up Adam's arms in a touch so light it barely stirred the air.

"It feels like that..." he whispered.

"Oh..." Adam breathed.

Adam swallowed hard as goosebumps prickled across his skin where Lucifer had touched him, he rubbed his arms where the sensation lingered, like the fading brush of butterfly wings, so it would feel like that, the fluttering, under his shoulder blades?

Drawing a slow breath, Adam closed his eyes, he tried, tried so hard, to ignore the heavy weight of Lucifer’s stare. The Lucifer from Before had watched him, yes, but not like this, not with this raw, searing focus that made Adam’s chest tighten and his heart stutter, this Lucifer drank him in shamelessly, like Adam was the only thing in existence.

He would just have to...deal with it, he turned his mind inward, seeking that elusive flutter...

"I don't feel it," Adam whispered, his voice wobbling. His lips trembled, beginning to tilt downward.

Don't cry, don't cry, he begged himself. He was tired of tears. "I can't find it."

Lucifer blinked slowly, like an owl regarding something precious and fragile. He tilted his head with aching softness, his sweet blue lips parting, he smiled, a small, tender thing, and rose up onto the tips of his toes, leaning in close.

Adam’s breath caught sharply. Lucifer was so near that their lips nearly brushed, separated by a mere breath of space. He could feel Lucifer’s cool breath fanning over his own trembling mouth, and he blushed, not red, but green, the colour of fresh shoots after rain.

Lucifer purred warmly, his voice like velvet. "Turn around for me, Addie~"

"W-What?" Adam stammered, shivering.

"Turn around," Lucifer repeated, his voice a teasing lilt, twirling a finger in a lazy spiral. "Please~"

Swallowing hard, Adam turned, the tips of his ears burning green. He desperately hoped Lucifer hadn't seen how his skin had changed colour, but of course, Lucifer had seen everything.

Lucifer’s heart softened further. How he loved Adam, more than words could ever carry. He closed his eyes for a fleeting moment, his long white lashes fluttering like snow moths, before opening them again to drink in the sight of him, his gaze wandered reverently down the elegant slope of Adam’s spine, lingering a little too long on the soft curve of his backside.

Lucifer stepped closer, his very presence exuding the cold hush of winter, Adam gasped when he felt it, trembling. Lucifer grinned and leaned in, purposefully blowing a stream of icy air along the nape of Adam’s neck.

"W-What are you doing?" Adam squeaked, beginning to turn back around.

"No, stay," Lucifer murmured.

Two sets of hands gently anchored Adam’s hips, while another pair curled over his shoulders, steadying him, the final pair skimmed down his back, tracing the tender slope of his spine.

Adam stiffened, green eyes wide as saucers. Six hands... touching him all at once... it was, it was a lot.

Don't think about it, don't think about it, he told himself feverishly. Focus on anything else...

Lucifer’s breath was a whisper against his skin. "That fluttering I spoke of," he said, his voice dripping like honey into Adam’s ears, "It’s right here..."

His fingertips slid with maddening softness along Adam’s back, stopping just beneath his shoulder blades, with a careful, deliberate touch, he pressed.

A startled gasp ripped from Adam’s throat, his face flushed an even deeper green as his club-shaped wings jerked open and fluttered wildly, out of control.

Lucifer chuckled, a low, delighted sound, and repeated the motion, tracing gentle circles beneath Adam’s wing bones. His lower hands still held Adam’s hips steady, squeezing and stroking with quiet possessiveness, grounding him as his wings continued to tremble and unfurl.

Adam’s breath came in shaky little gasps, his whole body thrumming under Lucifer’s many careful touches, it was overwhelming, terrifying, and yet impossibly sweet.

"Okay?" Lucifer purred, rising onto the tips of his toes once more, he leaned in, his breath cool as winter mist as he deliberately blew along the curve of Adam's neck, making him shiver.

"You feel it now, don't you? That fluttering," he whispered, voice like velvet. "Your wings are stirring, even if you can't control them yet, you should feel the tension, the strain right here, just beneath the bone. That soft flutter I told you about."

Adam nodded dumbly, his voice catching. "Y-Yeah, um..."

Lucifer tilted his head, trying to catch a glimpse of Adam’s face. With a playful gleam in his eye, he reached out and gently pinched the tender space under Adam’s wing bone and Adam let out a startled, broken whine.

"Please stop," Adam gasped, covering his face with both hands. "It feels too..."

"Unhuman," Lucifer finished smoothly, chuckling as he withdrew his hands and stepped back, far too pleased with himself, he adored Adam's reactions, they were so wonderfully, painfully familiar. "You wouldn’t have felt anything like that in the Avatars' domain."

Adam's knees gave a soft buckle as he turned shakily to face Lucifer again. Peeking through his fingers, his green eyes wide, he rasped, "Did... did we used to do that a lot?"

"Hmm," Lucifer hummed, the sound thick with affection. A dreamy, almost starry smile curled his lips. "All the time, we're mated, Adam. We did things far more intimate than just that."

Adam shuddered, fighting the urge to crumple into himself. His heart thudded unsteadily, and he opened his mouth, then closed it again, managing only a soft, helpless little noise as he scrubbed his hands over his burning face.

He had never felt anything like that before, the thought gnawed at him: What other... things did being mated mean?

Lucifer’s voice softened, coaxing him gently. "Can you feel the flutter now?" he asked, his own cheeks dusted with a shy, faint blush, the urge to kiss Adam, to claim him all over again, sang through Lucifer’s veins, but he held himself back, barely.

"Fluttering..." Adam echoed weakly.

Yes…yes, he could feel it now. A delicate, alien sensation thrumming under his shoulder blades, over bones and muscles he never remembered having when he was human, strange new parts of himself, awakening.

"That's perfect!" Lucifer beamed, pure joy lighting up his face, two of his hands reached out, tender, insistent, and hooked around Adam’s wrists, gently pulling his hands away from his face.

"Don’t hide from me, my heart," he murmured. "I love seeing you. Every look, every little expression you make, they make me happier than you can imagine."

Adam bit the inside of his lip hard, holding back another whimper, the instinct to curl inwards, to vanish, clawed at him but somehow, somehow, he resisted it this time.

"O-Okay... fine," he stammered, voice shaking, he took a trembling breath, forcing himself to meet Lucifer’s shining, patient eyes. "W-What... what do we do now?"

"Good," Lucifer purred, his voice dipping lower, softer, brushing against Adam’s ears like velvet mist. "Now, come closer," he coaxed, the pads of his fingers, six hands, six ghost-light touches, resting warmly against Adam’s bare skin.

Adam shivered as Lucifer’s hands found his hips again, gently coaxing him forward, guiding him closer until their bodies almost touched. The space between them thinned, until even breath would have been enough to bridge it.

"Bring your hips to mine," Lucifer whispered, a glimmer of mischief sparkling in his frozen blue eyes. "Line up with me... just like that. Good boy~"

Adam’s breath hitched sharply, the cold sweetness of winter curling against his skin, making it pebble with goosebumps. His heart thudded wildly against his ribs, loud enough he feared Lucifer could hear it.

Lucifer smiled, oh, he knew exactly what he was doing and leaned in closer still, murmuring like a prayer against Adam's lips.

"Now arch your back... shoulders back, hips forward. Feel it, feel how your body knows this, even if your mind protests."

Adam’s green eyes widened, trembling like leaves kissed by a storm. A faint blush, that tell-tale flush of green, dusted his cheeks and the flowers braided into his honey-oak hair quivered, shy and unsure. Yet, when he obeyed, arching just as Lucifer instructed, that fluttering inside him unfurled wider, stronger, until it felt like a pulse beneath his skin, under his bones.

Lucifer’s own vast, spade-shaped wings opened and folded with slow, deliberate grace in front of them. He tilted his head, a silent signal, and Adam clumsily mirrored him, his smaller club-shaped wings twitching and stuttering in their motion.

"Good," Lucifer praised, voice dripping with pride and sweetness, he bent his legs slightly, brushing his knees against Adam’s, knocking them together with playful intimacy. "Bend your knees, press down with the balls of your feet... then spring, light as a whisper, up onto your toes."

Adam swallowed thickly, his whole body alive with nerves, with the whisper of power flickering under his skin, his knees bent, his heels lifted, and when he sprung up onto the tips of his toes, just as Lucifer said, his wings shuddered, gliding back and forth without him even thinking.

"Don't fight the flutter," Lucifer cooed, slipping even closer. "Let your body follow it, not your mind. It’s supposed to feel..."

He chuckled, low and wicked, seeing Adam’s growing blush. "That good."

Adam’s face flamed greener still, the flowers in his hair shuddering violently. He wanted to argue, wanted to claim Lucifer was teasing him, but when he followed the sensation, surrendering to it, his club-shaped wings lifted him tenderly from the ground.

A startled gasp tore from his lips as his toes left the earth, his body trembling with the strange thrill of floating, his eyes widened, glowing faintly, their green shining with disbelief.

Lucifer stayed below him, his six hands lifted gently upward, hovering close, ready to catch him if he faltered, his wings shifted slowly, a soothing rhythm in the air, as he watched Adam sway above him.

"That's it, Adam," he encouraged, his voice warm and bright with pride. "You're doing it~"

Adam hovered unsteadily, swaying in the open air like a petal caught on the breeze, a gasp shuddered out of him when he felt himself starting to dip downward, tipping headfirst, but before fear could snatch him, Lucifer caught one of his hands firmly.

Lucifer’s wings beat once, powerful and slow, lifting himself upward alongside Adam with no effort at all.

"You're okay," Lucifer soothed, pressing his forehead gently against Adam’s, their skin met in a cool, tender kiss, the world around them briefly shrinking down to just the two of them, suspended together in the frozen stillness of the sky.

"Don't let your brain trick you," Lucifer murmured against his skin. "The only way you’ll fall is if you think you will."

Adam’s green eyes widened even more, his breath escaping in a soft, broken laugh, half panic, half awe.

Lucifer giggled, a sound so sweet, so full of life, and fluttered his wings playfully, circling Adam in the air. Adam clumsily twisted to follow, and for a moment, they spun together like two butterflies tangled in a slow, dreamy dance.

High above the ground, between breaths and heartbeats, a new bond wove itself tighter between them, unseen but unbreakable.

"I really do love you, Adam."

Adam shyly looked away...

[iboozi]

CALL ME YOURS pt 2

Genre: black cat! (Ish) reader / golden retriever! Jeongguk, reader is a bookstore owner, jk is just him, strangers to friends to lovers?

Summary: In which books and cameras are discussed.

Part : 2/(?)

w/c : 2.7k

A/N: Part 2!! Fun fact, I actually used quotes that I tabbed in my own copy. Enjoy!!! Sorry that these are so short, but it makes them easier to write so I can get them out faster.

-Zoobi out 🪩

m.list, part one

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

Two.

Monday mornings came with a bliss that no other days did. People were introducing themselves back to work, getting their usual morning coffees and befriending their colleagues all over again. You supposed that you fit in somewhat with the rest of these workers, minus the colleague part - you were still working on hiring an employee – but Mondays signified a new start. It signified that you could leave the worries of the previous week behind and focus on the one ahead of you. 

That was what you’d usually do, but unfortunately, the last conversation that you had with a real person, left you stewing over the fact that you didn’t tell them that the shop was closed over the weekend. It was not yourfault that you were in such a rush to make Jeongguk leave, that you ended up forgetting that teensy, tiny, minor detail.

It wasn’t like you actually expected him to come back. He didn’t seem like the person to dwell on anyone or anything for too long, especially people who kicked him out of stores. So, when the new workday rolled around, you didn’t spare any time waiting for him to burst in.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

 The rain had subsided for the first time in days, leaving behind humid air and the delicate smell of rainwater. You had come to learn that it was always more beautiful after a storm. That’s why the pouring showers didn’t affect you anymore. Because there was always something to look forward to after. 

Alas, with the humid air, came a sweaty journey to the bookshop. Leaving your apartment at eight in the morning left you regretting the fact that you didn’t wear a short sleeved top and instead you had to rely on the small table fan you had purchased on a whim many years ago. 

Thank goodness for past you, because surviving in this weather would’ve been impossible. Tying your hair up with a makeshift hair tie (a ribbon found in the bottom drawer of the cash till) barely allowed a gentle breeze to caress your neck, in hopes of cooling you down. 

The fan spluttered. Once. Twice. And before you could deliver a good hit to it, the door burst open. 

Well, it partially burst open, before getting caught on the rug again. It was like déjà vu. Except, you definitely knew you had experienced this before. Same person, same boots. 

You heard a grunt as the door swung open – properly this time, and Jeongguk sauntered in. In one hand was the copy of ‘Call Me by your name’ that you’d given to him a mere two days ago. In the other hand was a cold coffee, the fresh perspiration pooled around the rim, suggesting that the drink was made quite recently. 

You gaped as he walked up to you, drink sloshing around and set tit down on the table you were sat at. 

“Hey Jeongguk,” He smiled down at you. 

You looked up at him with a small grimace on your face which. Was he quoting the book? You realised your emotions were far too evident on your face as his smile crashed down.

“Please tell me that wasn’t corny. It sounded much better in my head,”

You cleared your throat as you broke eye contact with him to look around the store before saying,

“Don’t think you want me answering that. I’ll just let you know that it works better in the book, and in the book only.”

He pouted lightly, before brushing a hand through his hair and nudging the cold coffee towards you. 

“Whatever. I told you I’d come back. You forgot to tell me this place is closed on the weekends. Came both days hoping to see you and had to be told by the guy next door. He laughed at me. Twice.”

You fought a smile and pointed at the sign near the entrance,

“It says it right there. I just didn’t realise you meant it.”

“Of course I meant it.”

Your lips parted in a small ‘oh’ as you hesitantly looked up at him. He gave you a little smile that said you’re not getting rid of me so easily before looking around the shop as if looking for something. He let out an “ah!” as he spotted something at the back.

Following his gaze, you realised that he was admiring the beanbags. And before you could say anything to him, he was walking over to one. You watched in confusion as he lifted up a pink one with a singular hand and walked back over to you with it dangling from his shoulder. 

He halted in front of you, deposited the bean bag and plopped himself right on top. 

However, he must’ve underestimated the softness of the bag, so much so that he went disappearing past the desk in a flash as it absorbed his impact. 

Stifling your laughter, you slowly peeked over your table, over to a mildly shocked Jeongguk, whose legs were now splayed out in a rather awkward manner, as he tried to accommodate himself in the beanbag. 

As your shadow loomed over him, Jeongguk whipped his head up at you before trying to explain himself, “I didn’t mean- I just wanted to sit near-,”

He breathed in before starting again, “I just wanted to talk to you. About the book. Y’know, because I promised.”

You looked into his eyes, trying to spot any hints of teasing. But all you found was that doe eyed look again, and alongside it, alarmingly red ears and a growingly flushed face.

You rounded the table and leaned down towards him. Jeongguk let out a tiny gasp as your hand brushed his fingers to grab the book and walked over to the corner where the rest of the beanbags were situated.

Imitating his previous actions, you also plopped down – much more gracefully- and glanced up at him. 

“Come on then. Talk to me.”

Seconds passed. Jeongguk just stared at you. You couldn’t help but fidget as his eyes widened in surprise. 

And almost like a whistle was blown at him, Jeongguk was scrambling up and over to you. Halfway through his journey, he turned back, bent down and snatched his pink seat before basically running over to you. 

He launched the bean bag next to you – a little too close for comfort – and sat down like a dog waiting for their next order. 

All through this, you just watched. Watched as he got excited to have a conversation with you. No one ever showed this much enthusiasm when it came to you, so you had to admit, you were just as excited.  But, you had to restrain the smile threatening to stretch across your face, in danger of making that too evident to Jeongguk. 

You watched as his open palm stretched out in front of you, and only realised he was asking for book back, when the lightest of smiles grew apparent on his face. 

“Oh, um here you go. Sorry.”

He looked at you as he gently took the book back. 

“Don’t apologise. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

You haven’t done anything wrong. Words you had wished to hear your entire life. Words that you waited eighteen long years to hear from your parents. The day never came, but how could someone you barely knew, someone you met merely two days ago, utter them so easily?

You felt tears well up in your eyes before you could stop them. You sniffed lightly, but you were distracted as Jeongguk flipped through the book. You noticed something as he tried to find a specific page. He had tabbedthe book.

Small blue sticky tabs to match the cover were dotted through the first quarter of the book. Small blue sticky tabs that matched the copy you had resting on your bedside table. Tabs that you flicked through every night, in hopes of reliving the book, like it was your first time. 

Of course, yours was much more heavily noted – considering you had reread the book hundreds of times, but Jeongguk’s were growing seemingly close to your own worn out replica. 

You kept silent as he reached the first sticky note. Jeongguk cleared his throat. Swallowed rather loudly and coughed once more. 

He looked over to you to see if you noticed his loud gulp, but you refrained from making eye contact, in fear of spilling your secret to him. 

Looking back down, Jeongguk started, “

“Do with me what you want. Take me. Just ask if I want to and see the answer you’ll get, just don’t let me say no,”

He gazed at you with a hopeful look, waiting for you to respond.

You smiled, “That was one of my favourite quotes.”

“That was one of mine as well! Well- considering how much I’ve read, that was the first that stood out to me.” He grinned at you and flicked through the book once more.

“I longed to touch his knees and wrists where they glistened in the sun,”

Jeongguk licked his lips and shot his eyes up at you, “I think the way Elio speaks is so true to himself. I see myself with him – uh not the older man part, but more so that he doesn’t realise his yearning, because he disguised it as hatred.” He rambled on, and you froze.

“You’ve…yearned for someone that you hated?”

He looked over at you,

“Hm? Oh no, not someone. I just used to think that I hated the idea of attention, but I craved being first in everything so people would notice me,”

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. Silently reprimanded yourself for even being worried over the idea of him and someone else, and glanced over to him once more. 

“You look like you were born to be in the eyes of others. You have that glow about you. And I noticed you. When you walked in on Friday. I noticed you.”

He looked at you as if in a haze. “I noticed you too.”

“What?”

“I mean – I noticed that you had a very impressive shop, so I had to look around. The toilet was a partial excuse. Actually, not really – I really needed to go.”

Jeongguk was flushing profusely as he rattled on and bit his lip in attempt to silence himself, displaying the hidden mole under his lip. 

You zoned in on it, as you drew imaginary lines connecting the one on his nose to the one on his cheek, finally down to the new one you had just discovered. But before you could search for anymore, Jeongguk moved his head down as he fumbled through his pockets. 

You looked on with confusion as he brought out his phone and swiped it open. 

“Can I have your number? I wanna tell you every time I find a new favourite quote”

You paused as he held his phone out before you. 

“I don’t have a phone.”

You watched as his shoulders softly deflated at your statement.

“You’re allowed to say no. I can handle the rejection. Plus, you don’t owe it to me anyways.” He pocketed his phone and reached for the book again.

You opened your mouth and hesitated. How would he understand this?

“I seriously mean it. I don’t have one. Well, I used to- but it broke a few years ago and I never thought to buy one again.”

Jeongguk looked up and scanned your face. You fought the urge to squirm under his heavy gaze and fiddled with your jeans.  You opened you mouth once more, but he beat you to it with a grin,

“Guess that means I’m coming over every day.”

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

For four days, Jeongguk had been sticking true to his words. He came over at the most spontaneous of times, leaving you to wonder if he even had a real job, but every time, he would walk through the door with a beam on his face and a coffee in hand and sat down in his little corner near the back. 

He never came up to the desk and disturbed you. Just waited till you finished with a customer and grew the confidence to sit yourself beside him. 

You’d sit with your hands on your knees, back upright as he would begin every day with a new quote. 

And on the Friday evening, as he was just about to delve into his analysis of Elio and Oliver, the bell chimed and in walked Namjoon and Seokjin. 

Upon seeing you and Jeongguk in the corner, the pair froze. Looked over at each other and smiled, as if they knew something you didn’t, and walked over to their regular spot. Opened a book up and went into their own world. 

All while you and Jeongguk watched with hesitant eyes.

He leaned into you and whispered,

“Are they a-?”

“Yep. Finish your little speech.”

“Rude. I call it a disquisition of one of the best books ever,”

You shrugged. “Semantics.”

Jeongguk huffed and closed his book. 

“Y’know, I have a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“I know you don’t have a phone, but like what about photos? How do you keep memories?” His voice loudened with the last question, so you hushed him gently, before standing up and walking over to the cash desk. You gestured for him to follow you. 

Footsteps followed behind as you leaned over to rummage around the top drawer. You froze slightly as the citrusy smell enveloped you. You never seemed to get used to the delicacy of Jeongguk’s smell. It seemed so contrasting to his outward appearance, but it fit him so perfectly, you couldn’t imagine anything else. 

Ignoring the fluttering in your stomach, you turned around with the object you were looking for and dangled it in front of Jeongguk’s face.

“Cameras.”

Jeongguk’s eyes followed the movement of the camera as it swung from your grasp. He reached his hand out, meaning to grab it, but you snatched it back before he could. 

“Uh-uh. Only looking. No touching.”

He pouted lightly. He hated that phrase – but it was used rightly so. After knocking over two shelves from leaning too heavily on it, he was very careful in his actions around you. 

It’s not his fault he wanted to reach the top shelf. A customer was asking for a book, and you were occupied in the back, so he stepped up to aid a person in need. Also stepped on the shelf, and it came tumbling down. 

At least the customer got their book. 

But the phrase developed from then onwards and had been used a few times. However, to Jeongguk it was a few times too many. He was restraining himself well though. No more shelf stepping incidents. 

“I just wanna see your photos. Please?” He whined out, like a defeated puppy. 

“That’s invasion of privacy. How about a take a photo of you instead?” You mused back at him. 

At that he perked up and quickly ran his hand through his hair a few times. You laughed at his new look – hair sticking up in multiple places – and reached out to pat it down. 

Jeongguk froze as he felt the touch of your hand. Leaned slightly into your palm to relish the feeling. Closed his eyes as you reached a particularly sensitive spot. Your stroking of his hair soothed him, and he let out a little hum. 

You looked around the shop, unsure what to do as Jeongguk practically nuzzled your hand and paused as you locked eyes with someone. Seokjin stared at you, hiding his laughter behind his hand. He was squeaking lightly, garnering the attention of Namjoon, who looked up at Seokjin and followed his gaze over to the little show you were putting on. 

You immediately ceased your awkward petting of Jeongguk’s hair and cleared your throat. His eyes shot open in confusion, changing to a relaxed gaze as you quickly pushed him over to the back corner, where you were previously sitting – not before shooting Namjoon and Seokjin a sheepish smile. 

You placed Jeongguk in front of a wall, adorned with fairy lights. The soft glow left a pinkish hue shining on Jeongguk, who was still trying to shake the feeling of your hand on his chest.  

“Smile,” you whispered, before he could pose. His head snapped up.

“Oh, c’mon man! Not cool. Retake it. Now.”

“Nope. One time chance. My battery is running low.” You laughed as he lurched forward to grab the camera. 

“The bar is full.”

“Shut up.”

[thirteenheavens]

Can you make vampire Yeosang X human reader smut

Never been with a human|Yeosang

Notes: this is such a good fic ideas hope you enjoy!! Warnings for mention of blood and biting :)

You lay on the bed, trembling with a mixture of fear and desire as Yeosang leans over you. His fangs are bared, his eyes dark and hungry as he gazes down at your neck.

"I can smell your blood," he says, his voice deep and seductive. "It's calling to me." You swallow hard, feeling a shiver run down your spine. You know you shouldn't want this, but something about Yeosang's power and beauty has you entranced.

"Do it," you whisper, baring your neck to him. "Take what you need." Yeosang growls softly, his cool hands pinning your wrists above your head as he leans closer. "You have no idea what you're asking for," he warns, his breath hot against your skin.

But you don't care. You're drunk on the adrenaline rush of being so close to danger, and you can feel yourself getting wetter with every second that passes. Yeosang's fangs sink into your neck, the pain sharp and sudden before being replaced by an intense pleasure that courses through your entire body. You gasp and arch up against him, your body writhing as he drinks from you.

"You taste even better than I imagined," he murmurs against your skin, his tongue lapping up the blood that trickles down your neck. "I could devour you whole." As Yeosang drinks from you, his hand slides down your body to cup your breast, his touch cold but possessive. "You're mine now," he growls, his voice rough with desire. You can feel your strength fading, but the sensation of his lips on your skin and his hand on your body is too intoxicating to resist. "Yes," you manage to gasp out, your mind hazy from blood loss.

Yeosang pulls back suddenly, his eyes blazing with hunger as he looks at you. "I've never tasted anything so sweet," he says, licking the blood from his lips. "You're addicting." He moves down your body, his fangs leaving a trail of tiny bite marks as he goes. "I need more," he mutters, his hands tearing at your clothes to expose your skin.

You lie there, completely at his mercy, feeling both terrified and incredibly aroused. The mixture of pain and pleasure is overwhelming, and you can feel yourself slipping further into a state of submission. Yeosang takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his fangs scraping lightly against the sensitive flesh as he sucks. The sensation is electric, and you cry out as he tugs on the other nipple with his fingers.

"You're so responsive," he murmurs against your skin, his cool tongue swirling around your areola. "I can feel your heart racing." He bites down gently on your nipple, just hard enough to break the skin, and you gasp at the mix of pleasure and pain. Blood wells up, and Yeosang laps it up eagerly before moving to the other breast.

"I could do this all night," he says, his voice thick with desire. "Taste every inch of you." As Yeosang continues to feed from you and play with your breasts, you can feel your body growing hotter and hotter despite his cool touch. The combination of his bites and the pleasure he's giving you is driving you wild.

"Yeosang," you moan, your hands tangling in his hair as he moves lower, his lips trailing down your stomach. "Please..." He pauses at the waistband of your pants, looking up at you with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Please what, darling?" he asks, his fangs still stained with your blood. You can barely speak, but you manage to choke out, "Touch me."

Yeosang grins wickedly and yanks your pants off, baring your soaking wet pussy to his hungry gaze. "As you wish," he says, his voice low and seductive. Yeosang's massive cock springs free, the head flushed deep red and glistening with precum. You've never seen a dick so big or so hard before, and you can't help but stare at it in awe.

"Like what you see?" he teases, stroking himself slowly as he looks down at you. "You're going to feel every inch of me." You nod, your mouth watering at the sight of him. The thought of taking something so large and powerful into your body both excites and terrifies you. Yeosang positions himself between your legs, his eyes locked on yours as he guides his cock to your entrance. "Are you ready to be claimed by a vampire, my sweet?" he asks, his voice husky with desire.

"Yes," you breathe, spreading your legs wider in invitation. "Take me, Yeosang." He pushes inside you slowly, his cock stretching you to your limit. The feeling of being filled so completely is almost unbearable, but you love every second of it.

"Fuck," he groans, burying himself to the hilt. "You're so tight, Y-N. I've never felt anything like this before." Yeosang starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep at first, but quickly growing faster and harder as his control slips. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, along with your gasps and moans.

"Mine," he growls, leaning down to bite your neck again as he fucks you mercilessly. "You're mine forever now.” As Yeosang continues to pound into you, he's overwhelmed by the sensation of your hot, tight walls clenching around him.

"You feel so good," he moans, his fangs sinking deeper into your neck as he loses himself in the pleasure. "So much better than any other creature I've been with." He can't believe how much he's enjoying this - your soft skin, your human scent, the way your body trembles beneath him. He's used to being in control, but you're making him feel things he's never felt before.

"I don't think I can hold back," he warns, his thrusts becoming erratic as his orgasm builds. "I'm going to fill you up with my cum, mark you as mine." Yeosang's grip on your hips tightens as he thrusts harder, his movements becoming more frantic as he chases his release. The bed creaks and groans under the force of his thrusts, and you can feel the muscles in his back and arms straining with effort.

"Y-N," he gasps, his voice breaking as he gets closer to the edge. "I'm going to... I'm going to..." With one final thrust, Yeosang buries himself deep inside you and cums, hot ropes of his seed filling you up. He collapses on top of you, panting heavily as he tries to catch his breath. As Yeosang pulls out, a mixture of his cum and your fluids leaks out of you, pooling on the bed beneath you. He looks down at the mess he's made with a satisfied smirk.

"Look at how much I've claimed you," he says, running his fingers through the sticky mess. "You're absolutely dripping with my seed." He brings his fingers to your lips, pressing them against your mouth. "Taste it," he commands, his eyes dark with desire. "Taste what we did together." You part your lips and take Yeosang's fingers into your mouth, tasting the sweetness of his cum. It's unlike anything you've ever experienced before, with a faint hint of copper from the blood he drank earlier.

"Do you like it?" he asks, watching intently as you suck on his fingers. "Does it taste good?" You nod, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction from both the taste and the fact that you've pleased him so much.

"Good girl," he purrs, pulling his fingers out of your mouth and licking them clean. "You're so obedient, so eager to please. I think I might keep you around for a while." Yeosang scoops you up into his arms and carries you to the bathroom, running a hot bath. He carefully sets you down in the tub, then climbs in behind you and pulls you against his chest.

"You're going to be sore," he murmurs, gently massaging your muscles as the warm water surrounds you both. "But I'll take care of you, darling. I'll make sure you're well taken care of." He washes your body with tender care, his hands moving over your skin in soothing circles. The water turns pink with the remnants of his blood and your fluids, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"You belong to me now," he says softly, kissing your shoulder. "And I belong to you. We're bound together, forever."

[imogenkol]

— SAPPHIC WIP SATURDAY

ok here’s the first bit of writing for official s2 Imogen x Bix! Takes place immediately after Bix’s nightmare. I just had to write a bit of comfort for them after that heavy arc (light spoilers ofc)

The others shuffled back to their respective beds as Imogen continued to run her palm up and down her lover’s back, whispering soothing words into her ear. Bix stared at nothing at all, her body gently swaying into the bounty hunter’s touches of its own volition. Imogen could see the hollow expression that overtook her, so she pressed a kiss to her temple and then rested her forehead on the same spot, her hand still caressing her back as if to will some feeling to return to her body and mind.  

But she could feel Bix slipping away.

“Will you join me for a walk, love?” Imogen quietly asked.

The request drew her vacant gaze. Bix blinked for a moment, a small flicker of recognition igniting in her eyes before she simply nodded.

In the darkness of night, the endlessly vast fields of grain appeared like a ghostly sea. A soft, cool breeze blew through the waist-high grass, reminding Imogen of the way a current travels on the surface of open water to eventually become a wave. There was no water here. Once the wind reached the edge of the field, it tickled her exposed skin light enough to raise an entirely different wave of tiny bumps along her arms. A chill shook through her spine, but she didn’t mind. Imogen simply walked in patient silence beside her mechanic.  

“It was Gorst again,�� Bix rasped, breaking the serene absence of any other sound. 

Imogen nodded, used to the pattern of particular nightmares. The lost look on her face back at the mobil-haus was always a tell. Imogen hated to imagine that look back on Ferrix with her beloved strapped to a chair. “I figured as much.”

“When will this stop?” she murmured to herself through a heavy exhale as she tilted her face up towards the expanse of star systems.

They both knew the answer. It would never stop. The best they could hope for were the dreams to become infrequent. A year is hardly anything in comparison to a lifetime, but Imogen was certain more progress would be made nevertheless. Just as sure as the perpetual turn of the planet.

“Come here, darling,” Imogen said, pausing to pull Bix in.

Bix fell into her embrace, tucking her head underneath Imogen’s chin as the other woman wrapped her arms tightly around her. They stood there in the middle of the narrow path for a long few moments, shutting their eyes and listening to the breeze swirl through the grass all around them. Imogen allowed herself to feel the relief of her lover melting against her in the night, banishing the image of that wretched Imperial doctor and his cowardly instruments. No matter what evils still tormented Bix, Imogen held her here and now, far away from anything that could threaten her. As much of an adjustment it had been to integrate into Mina-Rau, Imogen would never entertain an alternative when she knew it was the safest place for them. 

“Can we sleep on the Huntress?” Bix requested almost bashfully. “Just for the rest of the night.”

“Of course,” Imogen responded without hesitation.

They returned to the mobil-haus, just to quietly collect a clean pair of clothes so as to not disturb the others who had fallen back asleep, and mounted one of the speeders outside. Imogen had parked her ship on the farside of Rau, cloaking the Crimson Huntress in what sparse cover the planet offered. For the first few weeks, she and Bix had not felt comfortable settling anywhere else. That is, until Brasso coaxed the mechanic to settle with them out in the far fields in that decrepit mobil-haus. Since then, Imogen had returned to her ship periodically to check on its condition or to fetch something, but it had been many months since it had taken flight. In fact, Imogen could not recall a time in the years she’s owned it that the ship had been so stagnant.

Despite that, the two women settled within the yacht as if they had never left. Bix kicked off her boots and shed her coat to fall into the cot that had once been their most frequent bed. Imogen smiled a little to herself as she waited for her lover to get comfortable before joining her. The mechanic situated herself with her back against the wall, leaving just enough room for the bounty hunter to lie directly beside her. 

As soon as Imogen slid into the covers, Bix wrapped her arms around her from behind and pulled her in as close as she could possibly manage. The adoration in Imogen’s chest bloomed at the fierce way the other woman held her. It made her feel like one of the stuffed banthas they sell at the shop for children. Perhaps she should have been annoyed at the thought, but Imogen heard the sigh of relief–felt it tickle the back of her neck as Bix buried her warm face there–and noticed the instinct for indignation utterly vanished.

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