#casually posts art for the first time in over a year

[fernbrake]

Episode 2 - Do Not Open

My first piece for the art trade I am doing with the incredibly talented @crvwly <3 We are doing 1 piece for each episode so I got to start with ep 2, which is one of my favorites

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

When Y/n accepts a position as assistant to alpha K-pop group ATEEZ, she's prepared with professional skills and scent blockers to hide her omega status. What she's not prepared for is the immediate, inexplicable connection she feels with all eight members—a resonance that defies her careful boundaries.

As Y/n becomes eerily attuned to their needs, her suppressed omega nature begins to emerge: purring for the first time in years, responding to alpha growls, feeling safe in ways she never has before. When a protective incident reveals the depth of the members' attachment to her, Y/n must confront the possibility that what binds them together is something ancient and profound.

Authors note: Double post because I missed yesterday! If you haven’t read Compass of the Heart, you may not know but I have twin toddlers, and with preschool ending, summer things and my full time job it’s going to take me a minute to adjust to finding writing time. So if things do get wacky please don’t worry, if I’m taking a longer break I will always let you know!

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Chapter 12: Awakening

There was something about Yunho’s easy energy that had always put you at ease, and today especially. 

After finishing breakfast, you both moved to the living room. You settled onto the couch with your tablet, still hoping to get some work done despite Hongjoong's orders, while Yunho sprawled on the floor with his gaming controller.

"You know," he said, pausing his game setup to look at you, "you don't have to pretend to work just because I'm here. It's supposed to be a rest day."

"I'm not pretending," you protested, though the way you were aimlessly scrolling through the same schedule you'd already memorized suggested otherwise.

Yunho grinned, setting down his controller and moving to sit beside you on the couch. "Come on, when's the last time you just... relaxed? No schedules, no coordinating, no making sure eight chaotic alphas don't burn the house down?"

You considered his question seriously. "I... honestly can't remember."

"Exactly," he said, gently taking the tablet from your hands and setting it aside. "So today, we're going to practice the art of doing absolutely nothing productive."

"I don't know how to do nothing," you admitted, feeling oddly lost without your usual tasks to focus on.

"Lucky for you, I'm an excellent teacher," Yunho replied with that bright smile that never failed to make you feel lighter. "Step one: forget about work. Step two: find something that makes you happy. Step three: do that thing."

"And what if work makes me happy?" you challenged playfully.

"Then you need better hobbies," he shot back, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "What did you like to do before you became our incredibly efficient but slightly workaholic assistant?"

The question made you pause. It had been so long since you'd thought about leisure activities that weren't somehow connected to your job. "I used to read a lot. And I liked cooking, though I never had much time for elaborate meals."

"See? We can work with that," Yunho said enthusiastically. "Reading and cooking. Both perfectly valid ways to spend a forced day off."

"You make it sound so simple," you said, though you were smiling despite yourself.

"It is simple. You're the one making it complicated," he replied, then reached over to gently poke your nose. "Stop overthinking everything, Tulip."

The casual use of Wooyoung's nickname for you, delivered with such fond affection, made your heart flutter unexpectedly. "Did you just—"

"What? Call you Tulip?" Yunho's grin widened at your flustered expression. "I like it. It suits you. Sweet and beautiful, but stronger than people expect."

Heat rose to your cheeks at the compliment. "You can't just say things like that."

"Why not? It's true," he said simply, his expression growing more serious. "You are beautiful, Y/n. Inside and out. And stronger than you give yourself credit for."

The sincere way he spoke, the gentle intensity in his eyes, made your breath catch. "Yunho..."

"What?" he asked softly, leaning slightly closer. "Is it wrong of me to want you to see yourself the way we see you?"

The space between you seemed to shrink without either of you consciously moving. You could see the golden flecks in his brown eyes. 

"How do you see me?" you whispered, the question escaping before you could stop it.

"Like you're precious," he replied without hesitation, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. "Like you're exactly what we've all been missing without knowing it. Like you're home."

Your heart hammered against your ribs as his thumb traced across your cheekbone with reverent gentleness. "Yunho, I—"

"Can I kiss you?" he interrupted softly, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again. "Please?"

The simple request, asked with such tender hope, made your omega purr with satisfaction even as your rational mind tried to catch up with what was happening. Instead of answering with words, you found yourself nodding, leaning into his touch.

When his lips met yours, the kiss was different from the passionate encounters you'd shared with Hongjoong, Wooyoung and Seonghwa. This was soft, sweet, almost tentative—like Yunho was savoring every second, memorizing the feel of you against him.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing slightly harder, Yunho rested his forehead against yours with a contented sigh.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he admitted quietly.

"Really?" you asked, still feeling slightly dazed from the kiss.

"Really," he confirmed, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Now, how about we find you a good book while I set up my game? We can be unproductive together."

You laughed softly, the sound making Yunho's smile brighten even further. "That sounds perfect."

As he settled back onto the floor with his controller and you curled up on the couch with a book from their impressive collection, you couldn't help but marvel at how right this felt—spending a quiet morning with Yunho, no schedules or responsibilities, just the two of you existing in comfortable companionship.

---

Yunho had retreated to his room after lunch, the sounds of his gaming session drifting down the hallway—enthusiastic exclamations punctuated by the rapid clicking of his controller. You'd assured him multiple times that you were fine, that he didn't need to hover, and eventually he'd relented enough to give you some space while still remaining within earshot.

Now you found yourself sprawled on the living room couch, staring at the ceiling and trying to understand what was happening to your body. The restless energy that had started this morning was only getting stronger, making it impossible to sit still or focus on anything for more than a few minutes.

Your omega felt... different. More aware, more attuned to the house around you. Ever since yesterday's revelation, since the members had begun openly acknowledging what you were and responding to you with increased affection and protectiveness, something fundamental had shifted in your nature.

It was as if spending months surrounded by eight alphas while suppressing your omega instincts had created a dam that was now beginning to crack. Their casual touches, their protective hovering, their unguarded affection—it was awakening parts of your omega that you'd kept carefully dormant.

After twenty minutes of fruitless lounging, the restless energy won out. You pushed yourself off the couch and began moving through the house, drawn by an inexplicable need to... what? Clean? Organize? Care for the space that housed your alphas?

The thought should have startled you—your alphas—but instead it felt natural, right in a way that made your omega purr with satisfaction.

You started in the living room, straightening throw pillows and folding the blankets that had been left draped over chairs. The simple acts of bringing order to their space felt surprisingly fulfilling, each small task soothing the restless itch beneath your skin.

Moving to the kitchen, you found dishes from breakfast still waiting in the sink. Without thinking, you rolled up your sleeves and began washing them, the warm water and routine motions helping to calm your agitated omega. As you worked, you found yourself humming softly—another omega behavior you'd suppressed for so long it felt strange and wonderful to let it emerge naturally.

The laundry was next. Following your nose to the utility room, you discovered several loads of clothes waiting to be sorted and washed. As you began separating dark from light, your hands stilled suddenly on a particular shirt.

You lifted the garment to your face before you could stop yourself, breathing in deeply. The scent that filled your senses was unmistakably Hongjoong's—sandalwood and ocean breeze, rich and masculine and completely intoxicating. Your omega responded immediately, a soft whine escaping your throat at the pure rightness of his scent.

Confused, you checked your scent blocker patch with one hand. It was still firmly in place, still functioning. So why could you suddenly smell...?

Curious now, you rifled through the pile of clothes, bringing different items to your nose. A soft sweater that smelled like vanilla and cedarwood—Seonghwa's scent, warm and comforting and safe. A dance practice shirt that carried the bright, energizing scent of citrus and clean linen that could only be Yunho's.

A black t-shirt that made your knees weak with its potent combination of cinnamon and dark chocolate—San's scent, spicy and tempting and utterly masculine. Your omega practically purred at the intensity of it, your body responding with a heat that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

Another shirt, this one carrying the rich, earthy combination of soil and pine that belonged to Mingi. The scent brought memories of his protective presence, his gentle touches, the way he'd looked at you with such fierce care. Your omega whined again, a soft sound of longing that you couldn't suppress.

What was happening to you? How were you suddenly able to detect their scents through your blocker? You touched the patch again, pressing on it to make sure it was properly adhered, but it seemed to be working normally.

Yet here you were, surrounded by the distinct scents of your alphas, your omega responding to each one with increasing desperation. When you encountered a hoodie that carried the light, alluring scent of musk and cherry blossoms—Yeosang's scent, subtle but unmistakable—you actually had to grip the edge of the washing machine to steady yourself.

The lively, invigorating scent of bergamot and ginger from one of Wooyoung's shirts made your omega keen with want. Even the crisp, refreshing scent of apples and mint from Jongho's workout clothes affected you, despite him being the youngest of the pack.

By the time you'd loaded the first batch of clothes into the washing machine, you were practically trembling with need. Your omega was in overdrive, responding to the concentrated scents of eight different alphas with an intensity that left you breathless and confused.

The overwhelming intensity of their scents was becoming too much to bear. With shaking hands, you made your way to the guesthouse, your omega whining softly at leaving the den that smelled so perfectly of your alphas. You needed to change your scent blocker—maybe the current one was malfunctioning, allowing their scents to break through when it shouldn't.

In your bathroom, you carefully removed the patch behind your ear and replaced it with a fresh one from your supply. The relief was immediate but incomplete—the scents around you dulled to manageable levels, but your omega seemed to grow even more anxious in response.

It was as if blocking their scents again had triggered something deeper, a desperate need to care for the alphas who had protected you, who had shown you such fierce loyalty and affection. Not in the way omega stereotypes suggested—submissive and mindless—but in the way you naturally wanted to care for people who mattered to you.

Your hands moved without conscious thought as you returned to the kitchen, mixing ingredients for cookies you didn't remember deciding to make. The motions felt automatic, instinctual, your omega driving you to provide comfort and nourishment for your pack.

While the cookies baked and dinner continued to simmer, you found yourself climbing the stairs to Yunho's room with a plate of the fresh-baked treats. You knocked softly on his door before entering, finding him absorbed in what appeared to be an intense battle sequence.

"I brought you some cookies," you said softly, not wanting to startle him during what looked like a crucial moment.

Yunho paused his game immediately, turning to look at you with an expression of pure wonder. His eyes tracked your movements as you set the plate beside his setup, then noticed his empty water glass.

"Let me refill this for you," you murmured, already reaching for the cup.

"You don't have to—" he started, but you were already heading back downstairs.

When you returned with his freshly filled glass, setting it carefully within reach, Yunho's smile was radiant—that beautiful, sunshine expression that never failed to make your heart flutter.

"Thank you Tulip," he said, his voice warm with genuine appreciation and something deeper, something that made your omega practically glow with satisfaction.

The praise, the gratitude, the sheer happiness in his expression triggered something primal in your omega. Before you could stop yourself, a soft purr rumbled from your chest, followed by a delighted chirp that sounded foreign to your own ears but felt completely natural.

You fled the room immediately, embarrassed by the omega sounds you couldn't control, but not before you caught the way Yunho's eyes widened and his mouth fell slightly open.

Back in the kitchen, you threw yourself into finishing dinner preparations, trying to ignore the way your omega continued to purr softly with contentment at having pleased one of your alphas.

---

In his room, Yunho sat frozen, staring at his game screen where his character had been brutally defeated while he'd been distracted. But he couldn't bring himself to care about the loss, not when the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard was still echoing in his ears.

That purr. That soft, musical chirp.

His omega had made those sounds for him, because of him, in response to his simple gratitude. The realization sent a wave of alpha satisfaction through him so intense it was almost overwhelming.

He'd heard omega sounds before, of course—in videos, in passing—but nothing had prepared him for the effect of hearing them from you. Your omega expressing contentment and pleasure at caring for him, at receiving his praise.

His hands moved automatically to restart the level, but his mind was entirely focused on one desperate thought: he needed to hear those sounds again.

The cookies you'd brought him sat forgotten on the plate as Yunho tried to process what had just happened. Your omega was awakening, responding to them with increasing openness, and the sounds you were making were the most perfect thing he'd ever experienced.

His alpha was practically vibrating with the need to find you, to praise you more, to coax more of those incredible sounds from your omega. But he forced himself to stay put, knowing that crowding you right now might scare your newly awakening omega back into hiding.

Still, as he attempted to refocus on his game, Yunho couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. Your omega had purred for him. Had chirped with happiness at his simple thanks.

And he was absolutely determined to make it happen again.

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[lavenderspence]

her possessive trigger | S.R.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader | Word Count: 1.5K

Content warning: professor!spencer, jealousy, a lil bit of possessiveness, cuteness at the end

Summary: they could look at him all they wanted, but they needed to know he was yours. or the reader announces to spencer's students that he's taken

A/N: this was actually written back in june and i’m just now coming around to posting it. But lavenderspence writing for her husband spencer is back. Heavily inspired by my love for professor!reid and my desire to slap all of his student fangirlies and proclaim him as my own in a heavily possessive manner. you too? Oh, enjoy then🤭

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The auditorium was dark when you first walked in. His voice rang around the space, successfully gathering the attention of everyone present. Words like “victimology”, “modus operandi” and “signature”, the same ones you’d used for years, left him in quick succession, as did their explanation and usage in your profession.

He was captivating, an educator’s role suited him just right, but that was hardly new information. You’d seen him thrive on sharing his knowledge for years, be it as an FBI agent, or as a guest lecturer over the years. 

When he’d been offered to take on a class for the semester, alongside his work with the BAU, he’d been more than happy to. 

He loved it, and he told you as much regularly. And even if he didn’t, you’d still be able to tell. He loved challenging young minds, hopefully shaping the next generation of BAU profilers. 

His students loved him too, that much was evident in the way they hung onto his every word and explanation. Their hands raised with questions, taking part in the discussion, and diligently taking notes. They were dedicated to their studies, and to the subject Spencer taught. 

Or, most of them were. 

The other part, multiple young women it seemed, were far more dedicated to checking him out, than the class itself. 

You didn’t need it spelled out for you, you didn’t even need to see their faces. The art of reading people from a distance was deeply engraved into your being after years of working with the best. And then another part of it was your love for the man at the front. 

Your eyes ran around the room, the profiler in you working over time. 

Two brunettes sat near the front, third row, right side of the auditorium. Both their bodies turned towards the center of the room, following along with Spencer’s movement. One was casually leaning back in her seat, trying her hardest to mask her interest in her professor, and for anyone less vigilant, she might have been successful.

The girl next to her twirled a piece of hair around her finger, head moving left and right, but judging by the lift of her cheek, you could tell she was smiling, probably a little shily. It wouldn’t surprise you if her eyelashes fluttered too. 

A row in front of them sat a blond, hand constantly touching her hair, or her face, even fanning it. It was mid-March, the room wasn’t hot, but quite the contrary, a bit chilly. 

And then there was a girl, a few places to the left of the blond, whose hand was constantly in the air. Her voice was smoky, with questions that hardly contributed to the topic at hand, but Spencer let her ask them anyway. He even went so far as to answer as he would any other question.

Even though you knew he’d long ago picked up on her behavior, much like you had, he still indulged her, just like any good educator would. She looked just a tad too interested in the class, but maybe far more interested in him. If you had to guess, she had it bad, judging by the way she readjusted in her seat, every time her eyes met Spencer’s, even for a second. 

You knew Spencer was handsome, maybe even more so than that. He was beautiful in ways you found hard to explain sometimes. His curls, soft and golden-looking in the sun, the barely there scruff you could still feel against your palms and lips as you kissed him goodbye this morning. The suit, and how well it fit him, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, and the cardigan vest that made him look soft, when you knew he was anything but when needed. 

But there was so much more beauty on the inside, just as long as you wanted to see it. A heart that spans miles, big, always ready to give, but rarely willing to take. A godfather, proud to be one, and a smile that could light up whole skies, out of happiness, out of love. Your own little search engine in a body, facts, and statistics, as long as you wanted to listen, and you always did. 

How he was with you, his love like no other, and his eyes lighting, the green in them even more prominent, just with you in the room. How calm he was, whenever in your presence. Patient, even when you couldn’t be, and he could bring you back down from any ledge you found yourself stuck on, or whatever worry sat heavily on your mind. 

He brought out the best in you, and you let the best of him out too. 

And even knowing him as well as you did, and loving him as much as your heart allowed you to, and knowing how he loved you, with everything he could, there was a part, if small at that, that couldn’t help, but feel taken aback by this behavior. 

Maybe taken aback wasn’t the right word, but jealous felt more appropriate. 

There was no need for those feelings to arise, insecurities that bore no weight. Your relationship was as secure as the sun was bright if the stunning rock on your finger was anything to go by. 

But maybe it wasn’t really jealousy either, but the desire to protect, maybe even to possess. 

It sounded ridiculous, to an extent, because Spencer could protect himself just fine. He wasn’t an object that could be picked up from a shelf, and owned. 

He was your equal, in every way that counted, your other half, your best friend, your closest confidant. 

And maybe that’s where that protectiveness stemmed from.  

Because as you looked around, women, without knowing him, and who he was beyond his looks, and as deep as you and your BAU family knew him, sat there, gawking. 

And as the lecture was coming to a close, the desire to cement the fact that Spencer Reid was happily in love, and soon to be much more than just a boyfriend, arose. It was petty, very much so, but at that moment, pettiness won over. Because the man in front, the same one those students were thirsting over, was very much your own, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

“Before we end today’s lecture, any questions?” 

No hands rose at the question, except one, your own. 

He pointed at you, giving you permission to ask the question, and his hand reached for the light switch. 

Just as you started speaking, the room was illuminated in light, and his eyes focused on yours, and you winked.

“Uhm, Dr. Reid, I was wondering, do you happen to have a girlfriend?” A silence so defeating followed, as every head turned in your direction as you stood from your seat. Spencer, the dork smiled big, and then he laughed, surprised, and maybe a little bit proud at that moment. His laugh was rich, attracting a part of the attention back to him, as you started walking in his direction. 

“Wasn’t expecting a guest lecturer today,” He raised a brow just as you reached him, and you just shrugged, smiling. “Class, this is Supervisory Special Agent Y/L/N” Spencer introduced you, as you looked on over his class. 

“Soon to be SSA Y/L/N - Reid” You added, looking at his students sitting in multiple stages of processing the information. He laughed, and instead of looking shy or even embarrassed by the display, he just looked happy, and proud. Maybe it was the knowledge of the fact that you were his, and his desire for everyone to know. 

Soon after that, he dismissed the class and you watched as the auditorium emptied, students turning to look at you both as you pulled him into a big hug, followed by a gentle kiss. 

When you separated, he looked at you with a huge smile, lifting a brow, “You really couldn’t help yourself, could you?” He picked your hand, bringing it to his lips to lay a kiss right on your ring before he rubbed it with his thumb. 

“No, no I couldn’t. They were looking at you like you were a piece of meat on a platter.” Your reply was swift, a smile just as big.

“Is that jealousy I detect, and a bit of possessiveness?” He was amused by the fact that you wanted to stake some kind of claim on him in front of his students, but secretly, he felt happy you loved him enough to do it

“Noooo…” You didn’t meet his eyes, playing stupid, but you knew he saw right through you.

“Wait until I tell Morgan about this,” He said as he picked up his satchel. 

“Aww, that’s just mean, Dr. Reid.” He pulled you towards the exit, arm wrapped around your waist, possessively. You may have seen the girls looking at him, but he saw the boys checking you out just the same. 

Maybe that was why he felt happiness when you stated you weren’t just a colleague, but rather his soon-to-be wife.

“Don’t I know it, Mrs. Reid.” And then he pulled you into another kiss, this time, a little more urgent, and very much possessive.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!!!

[surielstea]

Shun the Light

Requested by @dee-writes-smut

Pairing: Helion x Fem!Reader

Summary: Helion has been attempting to get reader into his bed for years now, what happens when she finally gives in?

Warnings: smut | minors dni | fingering | p in v | creampie | controlled orgasm | dom/sub dynamics | so much banter | so much smut | they break a table | they do it on the floor | probably a lot more

A. Note: I think this is the longest fic I’ve ever posted so apologies for the wild word count, but also most of this is smut so you’re very welcome ;)

9.6k words.

Sitting in a large, worn leather chair positioned in a secluded corner of the library, I was half-hidden by towering shelves of books. The room was steeped in quiet, interrupted only by the occasional creak of the shelves under their heavy load or the soft turning of a page. The smell of old parchment mingled with the lingering scent of rich mahogany and leather—a sanctuary of knowledge and peace. And yet, even here, there was no escaping the High Lord.

"You've been avoiding me." Helion's voice cut through the tranquil silence with a casual grace, as he rounded one of the shelves that had been sheltering me. His amber eyes gleamed mischievously as he approached, a book tucked under his muscular arm. I highly doubted it was for actual reading.

"And you've been following me," I replied dryly, eyes fixed on my book. The words on the page blurred slightly, my pulse quickening from the mere presence of him.

"This is my personal library," he countered smoothly, leaning against the shelf, his broad frame casting a shadow over me. His proximity was a cage, yet the alcove still felt oddly cozy. "I'd say you're the one hoping to run into me." He gestured at the books surrounding us, a small portion of his vast collection, his smile all too knowing. "Besides, I happen to like reading."

The soft, golden light from a nearby lamp warmed the deep brown of his skin, making him look almost otherworldly as if carved from the light itself. I forced myself to stay calm, sinking deeper into the chair as I replied, "What book is that, then?" My chin jerked toward the novel he held so proudly, though I leaned back, attempting to appear indifferent.

With one of his signature smirks, Helion pulled the book from under his arm, holding it out like a grand reveal. "The Art of Seduction," he mused, his voice dripping with confidence.

"Subtle," I muttered, tossing him a glare before trying to lose myself in my own book again. The pages held nothing for me, not while Helion loomed over me with that look in his eyes. That ever-present challenge.

Unsurprisingly, he didn't leave. "Thought I could brush up on my skills, seeing as you seem so indifferent to my irresistible charm," he chimed, far too pleased with himself as he slid into the chair directly in front of mine, uninvited.

I narrowed my eyes, fighting back the heat rising in my cheeks. "Really? Out of every seat in this library, you choose that one?"

He shrugged, his casual air too relaxed for someone invading my space. "Well, you've stolen my usual one, so I must make do with lesser options." His lips twitched, eyes gleaming with amusement as he cracked open the book he clearly had no intention of reading, propping his feet up on the low table between us.

I stared, incredulous. "They're the same chair."

Helion gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod, his eyes flashing with humor. "True, but that one smells like me."

I froze for a moment, my fingers going still against the soft leather of the armrest. The faint, intoxicating scent of sandalwood and bergamot swirled around me, and I cursed inwardly. It was familiar, inescapable, and frustratingly warm, like the High Lord himself. My gaze flicked up to his, and for the first time, he seemed genuinely absorbed in his book, a small line forming between his brows as if the words were the most fascinating thing in the world.

I had to stifle a laugh at the sight. I wasn't sure he'd ever actually read a single page of his vast collection, yet there he was, looking like a scholar lost in study.

We fell into a comfortable silence—Helion reading, or pretending to read, and me half-heartedly flipping through my book, both of us mirroring each other, our feet propped up on the table in an unspoken truce. The moment felt oddly peaceful, and for a brief second, I allowed myself to enjoy it.

But, of course, it didn't last.

Only a few moments later, Helion shut his book with a soft thud, and I felt his foot nudge mine from across the table. I resisted the urge to respond, cursing his long limbs and moving my legs out of his reach, but he persisted—sending a glare of sunlight directly into my line of sight, making it nearly impossible to read.

"Would you stop that?" I snapped, lowering my book and glaring at him from beneath my brows. He only grinned, looking far too pleased with himself.

"What book is that?" he asked as if the answer mattered.

I sighed. "Some random one I found on the shelves." It wasn't exactly a lie, but it wasn't the truth, either.

"Sunshine," he drawled, his voice like velvet as he leaned forward slightly, "I've read every book in this library. That one, I'm not familiar with."

I ignored him, focusing back on my book, though I wasn't reading a single word. The heat from his gaze felt palpable, like sunlight warming my skin.

"What is it?" he pressed again, his voice dripping with faux curiosity. His fingers twitched, and I braced myself as yet another glare of sunlight angled right into my eyes.

"I'm not telling," I muttered, holding up my forearm to shield my face from the assault.

Helion chuckled softly. "I'm commanding you to tell me, as High Lord," he said, the playful light still dancing at his fingertips.

"Why do you care so much?" I grumbled, slamming my book shut with an exaggerated huff.

He leaned back, eyes never leaving mine. "I wish to know what could possibly be more interesting than me." His smirk widened as if the very thought was inconceivable.

I said nothing, my silence was the only answer I was willing to give.

"How about a bet?" he suggested, the gleam in his eyes unmistakable. "If I can make you smile in the next five minutes, you have to tell me what you're reading."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "And if you lose?"

Helion's smirk softened into something more sincere. "I'll leave you alone for the rest of the night."

A tempting offer. I considered it for a moment, imagining a night of uninterrupted reading, free from his constant prattling.

"Deal. Five minutes," I said, returning to my book.

For a while, Helion was silent, the ticking clock in my mind counting down the seconds. But knowing him, he probably believed he didn't need the full-time—that one well-timed sentence would be enough.

"You look adorable with your nose stuffed in a book," he murmured, breaking the silence. His voice was softer now, more intimate, like a confession shared in the quiet of a night.

I rolled my eyes. "That's usually what people do in a library."

Helion's smile widened. "And yet, I find myself much more interested in studying you."

"Why don't you leave me alone and go read your book? Maybe you'll learn how to actually charm me," I shot back, trying to ignore the way his words made my pulse race.

"I could recite poetry and still fall short," he sighed dramatically as if I truly had him beat.

Despite myself, a smile tugged at my lips at the absurdity of it all.

"There it is," he marveled, his voice a soft victory.

My fleeting smile turned into a scowl. "That doesn't count. I was smiling at the thought of you leaving me alone."

Helion laughed. "A smile is a smile." He extended his hand, eyes glinting. "So, show me the book."

I look down to the page I was on—to the very erotic scene playing out that I hadn't even realized was happening, too busy pretending to read when he was talking to me to even realize.

"I—no," I murmur, slamming my book shut.

"We had a deal, so unless you want to have permanent bargain tattoos with me, I suggest you hand it over." He quipped and I frowned at the idea of something so permanent on my body being associated with him.

"Fine," I grumble, holding the book out to him with a string of grumbled curses. He takes the book, his fingers brushing over mine—the touch shooting rays of warmth up my arm. I shake it off and settle back into my chair which smelt so strongly of him.

Helion crosses his ankle over his knee, reclining back in his chair with the casual confidence that seems permanently etched into his being. His long, golden fingers lazily flip over my book, turning it to read the back. I watch as his brow arches and the corner of his mouth tugs upward.

"Reading about me, are we?" His voice breaks the silence, low and teasing, pulling my attention from my own thoughts. His gaze flickers up to mine, gleaming with amusement.

My head tilts in confusion, a frown forming. "It's not about you. How self-centered can you possibly get?" I scoff, reaching for the book with a frustrated hand, but he pulls it just out of reach with an effortless motion.

"A king falling for his emissary?" he continues, ignoring my protest. His fingers tap against the page in emphasis. "Sounds familiar, no?"

His eyes, molten gold in the dim library light, lock with mine, a teasing smile dancing on his lips. My pulse quickens, not from the question itself, but from the look on his face—the playful way he studies me like I'm a puzzle to be solved.

"My book, Helion," I demand, extending my arm towards him, though it feels like a futile gesture. He watches me closely, a cat toying with its prey.

"In a moment." He waves off my request with a casual flick of his hand, settling deeper into the oversized chair that barely manages to hold his broad frame. He opens the book, his eyes landing right on the page marked by my ribbon. My heart stutters in my chest. No, no, no. He's going to read that part. I freeze, eyes wide as I watch his expression for any sign of disgust or, worse, judgment.

But there's nothing. His lips curl into a slow smile, amusement dancing in his gaze. "This is far better than I could have ever imagined," he purrs, a wicked light entering his eyes as he lets the book fall closed and tosses it onto the table between us, entirely unbothered.

"I'm doing a book club with the Valkyries. It wasn't my first choice," I mumble quickly, snatching the book back from the table. My fingers are trembling slightly, and I hope he doesn't notice. The truth is, I was mortified.

Helion, of course, doesn't seem fazed by my embarrassment. "No need to defend yourself. Although," he leans back with a leisurely stretch, his muscles rippling beneath his tunic, "I have an entire shelf of erotica in the back that's much better written. And doesn't use words like 'velvet-wrapped steel.'"

Heat floods my cheeks, a fierce blush creeping up my neck. "Shouldn't you be doing High Lord stuff?" I grumble, trying to deflect, my mortification reaching new heights. "Not pestering me?"

"My court is asleep." He shrugs as if the affairs of his court are a mere inconvenience. "Nothing happens in the Day Court after the sun goes down." He huffs like it's a travesty, though there's a gleam in his eye suggesting he prefers it that way. "Well, nothing for the public eye anyway," he adds with a sultry grin, his eyes darkening, his voice dripping with innuendo.

I roll my eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. "You still have land to rule. People to govern. They don't disappear just because they're asleep." I remind him, though I can't help but let my gaze flicker to the strong line of his jaw, the way his dimples deepen when he smiles.

"Delegation, my dear," he responds, his tone infuriatingly smug. "The key to any successful leader."

"If only you could delegate your need for constant attention," I shoot back, offering a sweet smile that hides my annoyance.

His shoulders slump in an exaggerated show of disappointment, his hand dramatically pressed to his chest. "Well, that just wouldn't work. There's only one person I want attention from."

The weight of his words hangs in the air, the meaning unmistakable. My heart skips a beat, my pulse fluttering in my throat as I force myself to remain calm. I can feel his gaze roaming over me like he's waiting for me to react. My eyes flick over his form, all lean muscle and rich, sun-kissed skin that practically glows in the warm library light. Everything about him radiates confidence—dangerous, seductive confidence.

"And I'm sure she's flattered," I say dryly, snapping my gaze away from his broad chest. "Too bad she's not here to distract you." I shift in my seat, trying to appear unbothered by the way his eyes are lingering on me, though I feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

Helion tilts his head, watching me with that same predatory amusement, as though he's enjoying a game only he knows the rules to. His forearms rest on his spread thighs, and gods, those thighs. I can't help but glance, at his muscles thick and defined. His deep chuckle pulls my attention back to his face.

"Oh, she's here," he muses, his voice dropping lower, rougher. "She just needs to stop pretending I'm not the most interesting thing in this library."

I open my mouth to respond, to shoot back some biting retort, but I'm momentarily speechless, my heart beating a little too fast. Instead, I huff and bury my nose in the book, determined to ignore him. It's unprofessional. He's the High Lord. And I'm his emissary. Even entertaining the idea of his flirting is toeing a dangerous line. Besides, I know Helion's reputation. I'm not interested in being just another conquest, no matter how much he seems to enjoy teasing me.

But gods, he makes it difficult.

"Stop glaring at that book." His voice breaks into my thoughts again, his tone laced with amusement. "Either you're about to throw it into a fire, or you're thinking about something else entirely."

I glance up at him, eyes narrowing. "I'm thinking about how much quieter it would be in here without you."

"This is a library, you know?" I add, flipping a page in a show of indifference.

"Yes, but this library is only open to the public during the daytime. Except for those permitted access." He reclines even further, his fingers interlacing behind his head as he watches me, that maddening grin still plastered on his face.

"And if someone with clearance is in here with you, disrupting their quiet?" I tilt my head at him, matching his smug expression.

He mirrors the movement. "Everyone with clearance is already here. Not even the librarians can come in after hours."

I blink, my mind catching up with his words. And then it hits me. "I'm the only one with permission, aren't I?" My voice comes out soft, the realization settling in.

"Took you long enough," he grins, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

"And how many women did this trick work on?" I grumble, my suspicion growing, even as my pulse quickens under his gaze.

"Just you," he says, and for once, the cocky smile falters into something more sincere.

I snort in disbelief. "It hasn't worked yet," I retort, though my voice sounds weaker than I'd like.

"Yet?" He arches a brow, his gaze flickering over me, daring me to challenge him.

My lips press into a thin line, and I bury myself back in my book, hiding behind the pages. "Go away, Helion." My voice comes out more of a plea than an order, and I curse myself for how breathless it sounds.

"I don't want you to miss me." His tone is snarky, yet something told me he genuinely believed what he was saying. I force myself not to look at him, to not fall for whatever game he's playing.

"Nonsense," I murmur, my cheeks burning. "I'd be too busy enjoying the peace."

Helion sighs dramatically, though there's a glimmer of laughter in his voice. "I'm not sure you're capable of quiet when I'm around. You always have something to say."

He's right, of course, and that's what infuriates me the most. No matter how much I want to ignore him, I can't. There's something about him that pulls the words right out of me.

"It's called defending myself from your constant attempts at flirting," I snap, though I don't dare look up, knowing he's probably biting back another smile.

"And here I was thinking we were bonding." His voice drops, laced with a dark, rich amusement. I glance up just in time to see him run a hand down his thigh, slow and deliberate, as though daring me to watch.

"This is what you call bonding?" I shift uncomfortably in my seat, the tension in the air almost unbearable. "I call it you trying—and failing—to charm me."

"Oh please," he laughs softly, his smile widening. "You've been charmed by me since the day we met. Don't think I haven't noticed the looks you've been sneaking all night."

His words land like a punch to the gut, and I flush, my cheeks heating in embarrassment. I can't tell if I'm mortified because he caught me or because I was staring at all.

"You think too highly of yourself," I mutter, sinking deeper into the chair as if it could swallow me whole. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how flustered I am.

Helion only leans closer, his voice softening, turning almost serious. "You're the only one who thinks too lowly of me."

The sudden shift in his tone catches me off guard, and for the first time tonight, I meet his gaze fully. There's no teasing, no playful glint. Just him, watching me with an intensity that steals the air from my lungs.

I truly tried to focus on what I was reading, but his lingering gaze on me was going to drive me wild. Somehow that stare spoke louder than any words he could've said. He was offering me the silence I wanted, while simultaneously pushing me to insanity. Surely I couldn't get mad at him for simply observing? Yet here I was, nearly fuming at the way he tracked each of my movements.

Eventually, I grow sick of his ogling, so I snap my book closed and turn to him with narrowed eyes. Stop looking at me like that," I order, pushing myself up from the chair that had all but swallowed me. It's identical to the one Helion has turned into his makeshift throne, yet somehow, he manages to own his space with ease.

"Like what?" He rises with me, and I have to crane my neck just to maintain eye contact. Even that, the way I have to look up at him, feels like some small concession.

I stare at him, his features softened by the glow of the candlelight. His usual smirk is nowhere to be seen, and his golden eyes hold no trace of the lust or amusement I've come to expect from him. Instead, they're filled with something even more dangerous—reverence. He looks at me like I'm more than just a passing amusement, more than just a fleeting fancy. Like I'm something precious.

"Like I'm more than just a game to you," I shake my head, tearing my gaze away. The weight of his stare is too much. I toss the book in my hands onto the coffee table with more force than necessary and stride past him, desperate to escape the suffocating tension of our little alcove. I don't trust myself to stay there, not with him looking at me like that.

"You think this is a game?" His voice follows me as I make my way through the dim, quiet library. It's empty, save for the two of us, but somehow, his presence alone fills every corner.

"Isn't it?" I shoot back, unwilling to turn and face him. The memory of his gaze burns too fresh in my mind. "Your reputation for women precedes you, Helion." The words slip out harsher than I intended. It's a low blow, bringing up his past like this, but I need him to understand why I can't—why I shouldn't.

I expect him to brush it off, but instead, he's beside me in a flash, walking in step as though he belongs at my side. "You think I would chase after a female for three years just for sex?" His voice is surprisingly calm, but there's a thread of frustration woven into it. "I've been rejected before, and I always respect it."

I stop in my tracks, staring up at him with creased brows. "Then what makes me so different?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. It's a question I've been avoiding for months, maybe longer. Because deep down, I'm afraid of the answer. I'm afraid of what it might mean—for both of us.

Helion doesn't hesitate. "Because you feel it too." He steps closer, his movements slow, deliberate. The air between us crackles with unspoken tension, and yet I don't move. "This thing between us, you delight in it just as much as I do."

He takes another step forward, closing the distance, and my back hits the bookshelf behind me. Trapped, my breath hitches, but I refuse to show any sign of retreat.

"I'm not going to be another girl you charm for a night and forget by morning," I whisper, my voice barely holding steady. It's a quiet confession, more to myself than to him.

Helion's hand comes up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing over my cheek with an unbearable tenderness. "I wouldn't forget you," he murmurs, shaking his head as if the very idea is absurd.

The proximity is overwhelming now. His warmth radiates off him, pulling me in, and my resolve—what little remains—begins to crumble. My body betrays me, my hands itching to touch him, to feel the strength in the muscles I've tried not to think about for so long.

"Helion,” I murmur, his name a warning, or maybe a plea. I don't even know anymore.

His gaze drops to my lips, his thumb never stopping its gentle, maddening caress. "Tell me, what keeps you from me?" he asks softly, his breath mingling with mine.

My throat tightens, and I remind myself of all the reasons this is a terrible idea. "I would hate myself if I became another one of your conquests." The words come out softer than I intend, laced with the fear I've been trying so hard to suppress.

But Helion doesn't back away. He doesn't laugh or brush it off. Instead, he leans in closer, his voice low and rough. "You're not. And even if you were—with the amount of time I've had to think about you, it'd take months to cross everything I want to do to you off the list." His lips ghost over mine, the barest hint of a touch that sets my skin ablaze.

"Helion," I repeat, the name a broken caution.

"Tell me to stop, I will." He promises, his voice raw with need. He inches closer, only a hairsbreadth away. "Tell me." He whispers, lips ghosting over mine.

I didn't have it in myself to tell him to stop, to even push him away. I wanted this, needed this. I surged upwards and closed the distance between us.

For three years he had been taunting me, teasing me with pretty words and suggestive smiles, and now I was finally giving him what he wanted—and what I have secretly been wanting far longer than he suspects, and it was everything I could've hoped for.

My back pressed harder into the shelf behind me as his chest met mine, while his hands, warm and firm wrapped around my hips, drawing me closer until there was no space between us. My body betrayed my mind, my thoughts warning me to stop, to end this before it was too late, but my hands were running down his muscles chest I've been craving to feel for years, my fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic and pulling him into me, deepening our kiss.

Every touch sent sparks skittering across my skin, and for a moment I allowed myself to drown in him, in the heat of him, his scent, the way he kissed me like he might never get the chance again.

His hands traveled from my hips, beneath my shirt to grip my waist—and the feel of his calloused hands on my bare skin was enough to send me reeling. The kiss grew more frantic, more desperate. His skilled tongue explored every possible inch of my mouth, and I allowed it, reveling in the way he so eagerly tasted me.

When I finally pulled away, breaking our kiss, our breaths coming in ragged gasps I stared up into his dilated pupils, the playful spark I was used to seeing there replaced by something deeper, something that sent both a jolt of fear and excitement through me. He was staring down at me like I was the only thing in the room—hel, like I was the only thing that mattered.

He leans closer, placing an all-too-gentle kiss on the expanse just below my ear. "Helion," I echoed, my fists still clenching his shirt.

"Yeah?" He uttered, his breath hot against my skin as he slowly trailed his lips down my jaw.

"We shouldn't, we can't," I sigh breathlessly, my hand weaving into his hair, tilting my head, allowing him to deepen his kiss.

"Who said?" He murmurs into my skin.

"It isn't professional," I say between breaths, my pulse rapidly fluttering, his tongue flicking over it playfully.

"Do you want to stop?" He asked, pulling away to look me in the eyes and the loss of his contact made something inside me ache.

"I—no, gods no," I profess, my hands wrapping around the back of his neck.

"Then I don't care if it's professional, let me give you what you need," He whispered, his lips brushing mine. "Alright?"

I don't reply, and instead crash his lips onto mine once more, the rest of my defenses crumbling at the action. The kiss was hungrier this time, more demanding. I gave in fully as his tongue found its way into my mouth yet again, my chest arching into his as his hands slipped down to cup the back of my thighs, tapping me twice as a silent command to jump. I did exactly as he wished, wrapping my legs around his torso as he supported me, his touch traveled higher to cradle me by the curve of my ass. He smiled into the kiss, even in the heat of the moment his cocky grin manages to make an appearance.

He pushes off the shelf, blindly guiding us through the shelves and to the center of the empty library, where tables fill the area. He placed me down on the edge of the center table, his hands leaving my backside in favor of exploring new, untouched areas. Heat races through my veins as his hands trailed to the hem of my skirt, slipping beneath it without hesitation, his thumb grazing against the seam of my panties.

"Wait," I pant against his lips and his hand freezes. "Not here," I murmured, pecking his lips softly.

"It's just us in here, remember?" He reassured me when I pulled away, kissing my forehead. "Just us." His lips brush against my skin as he repeats the words and I can feel my resolve slipping. There was no more room for doubt, no more room for fear. All that existed was an overwhelming need to have him, to feel him in every way possible, to lose myself entirely in him until I didn't know where he ended and where I began.

"Just us," I echo, nodding slowly.

"We can stop," He said, despite how clearly he wanted this and was desperate for this.

"No, Helion don't stop," I connect our lips once more, allowing my legs to fall open farther, inviting him.

He forced himself to pull away, to restrain himself from me for just a moment longer. "You're okay with this, then?" He rasped, eyes pure gold.

"Yes," I answered. "Gods, yes." I pulled him into me, his hips meeting mine. His grin turned almost wolfish, primal as he tore through my skirt like it was nothing, discarding the fabric. He pulled me to the very edge of the table, his hands rubbing higher up my thighs, tracing the seam of my panties. I gasped as he pressed two fingers onto my clothed folds, just the right amount of pressure, not enough to get any real gratification from—but gods it still felt good. He smirks against my lips as he feels the damp spot forming on the cloth and I flush in embarrassment.

"I haven't even touched you," He noted aloud, deepening my blush. "Tell me, baby, were you this wet when I was simply talking to you?" He utters between kisses and I fight the urge to sneer at him.

"Do you ever shut up?" I ask, my question genuine. He responds with a searing kiss, which did in fact quiet him.

He couldn't control himself any longer, not with my hands roaming his back, my lips on his. He tore through my undergarments in a similar fashion to my skirt, tossing the wet fabric somewhere unimportant to me. He pulled back from our kiss, and I tugged at his bottom lip to stop him from leaving but he ignored my silent complaint, only to peer down at the apex of my thighs.

He grunted at the sight, his forehead meeting mine as he swiped two fingers through my embarrassingly wet core, his fingers coming back dripping. I throbbed for more, letting out a quiet moan as his thumb came down onto my clit, my head tilted back in ecstasy as he began circling it, his skillful touch setting my skin on fire as his middle finger traced my dripping entrance. I bucked slightly, leaning on my hands behind me as I lifted my hips for more friction.

He chuckled breathlessly, the sound humiliating, while simultaneously making me crave him so much more.

He didn't make me wait long before his own restraint snapped, letting go of that leash he had been gripping so tightly and pushing two of his fingers inside of me.

I moaned at the stretch, louder this time, relishing in the way his calloused fingers scraped against my walls, fitting me around him so perfectly.

He grunted at the sound of my moans, his pace unrelenting as his fingers thrust into me repeatedly, deep and slow. The pressure building inside me had my legs trembling as I spread them wider for him, silently begging for more.

"That's it," he rasped into my open mouth, his voice hoarse with desire. "Doing so well for me." His words were like kindling to the fire already raging in my core, my entire body aching for release. I could barely find the breath to respond, only able to whimper his name.

I bit my lip as he curled his fingers inside me, hitting that sweet spot that had me seeing stars. My eyes squeezed shut, my chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as I tried to hold on, trying not to fall apart too soon, but he didn't seem to like that idea.

His other hand moved up my body, pulling the fabric of my shirt open to expose my breasts. He skillfully unclasped my bra, disposing of it just as he did with the rest of my clothes, leaving me entirely bare. He wasted no time in leaning down and capturing one of my peaked nipples between his teeth. The added sensation had my whole body jerking forward, my fingers tangling in his hair as I gasped.

"Yeah? You like that?" he muttered against my skin, the vibration of his voice sending shivers down my spine. I nodded frantically, unable to form words, as his fingers pumped into me with precision, his thumb pressing down on my clit, moving in tight circles that had me trembling on the edge of oblivion.

I was so close, so damn close, but I didn't want it to end just yet. I tugged on his hair, trying to pull him away from my breast, but he didn't budge. If anything, he seemed encouraged by the way my body was reacting to him, his fingers moving faster, his tongue flicking over my nipple with maddening strokes.

"Gods," I moaned, my head tilting back towards the vaulted ceiling, towards the sky and everything beyond, praying for relief, for that sweet, euphoric high. "Helion—m'close," I confess through a whimper, feeling my body reach its ascent.

"You going to beg for it?" He purred, pulling away from my breast, peering up at me.

"What?" I utter, too lost in my pleasure to even wrap my head around the thought.

"Beg for it." He repeats. "Beg for me to let you come." He reiterates, his voice low, sultry. My arousal increases, I must've been dripping into his hand.

"I'm not—fuck," I hiss as he curves his fingers into that sensitive spot, but not enough pressure to push me over the edge, he was toying with me. "Not g'na beg," I murmur, my body betraying me by trembling under his touch.

"No? Still not ready to admit how needy you are for me?" He tutted, seeming almost disappointed. The tone was degrading in itself, enough to send me reeling—but then his fingers were pulling out of me and he had no intention of thrusting them back in.

I gasped, my resolve shattering as I bucked my hips up desperately. "No—no please," I give in, my body aching for him to fill me again. "Helion, please—"

I stare through low-lidded eyes as a smile slowly spreads across his sensuous lips. "Please what? Tell me what you want."

"Wanna come, please I've needed this for so long," My breath hitched, it was hard to dig the words I've kept buried so deep back up, to confess them not only to him but to myself as well. "I've needed you, for so long."

He leans closer, pecking my lips softly, in such a tender way it made me forget about everything else, about what the court might think, about my fear of being just another game to him. It was only us, connected in every way possible.

"There she is," He pulled back from my lips. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?" He teased between kisses.

"Helion, please, can I?" I whine, the sound so pitiful I barely recognize it as my own.

"Go ahead love, come on my hand." He rasped, and just like that, the world shattered around me. My orgasm tore through me like a storm, my body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me. I cried out his name, my hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into the corded muscle there as he coaxed me through every second of it, his fingers never stopping, pushing me higher, deeper into bliss.

When I finally came down, my body limp and trembling, he pulled his fingers from me, his eyes dark with lust as he brought them to his lips. He licked them clean, tasting me with a low, satisfied groan that sent another pulse of heat through me.

"You taste better than I imagined," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, making me shiver despite the warmth still radiating from my core.

But before I could catch my breath, he was already pulling off his clothes, his eyes locked on mine with a hunger that made my heart race all over again.

"You didn't think I was done with you, did you?" he asked, his grin returning as he tugged his pants down, his hardened cock springing free. My eyes widened at the sight, and for a second I debated if he'd even fit.

"Now," he whispered, guiding me off the table so I could plant my feet solidly on the ground. His voice sent a thrill down my spine as he said, "Be a good girl and bend over the table f'me, yeah?"

I slowly turned my back to him, my legs shaky from the intense pleasure still coursing through me, his hands never left my body. They trailed down my sides, strong and possessive, igniting embers of anticipation in their wake. His touch alone had me quivering, but the look in his eyes—dark, feral—made my pulse quicken.

I bent over the table as instructed, the cool wood pressing against my flushed skin. The vulnerable position made my blood heat, but excitement flared deep inside me, mixing with the lingering ache of desire. His breath was hot against my ear as he leaned over me, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of my neck.

"That's it, baby," he purred, his fingers trailing teasingly down my spine before settling on my hips, pinning them in place. "So eager to please."

I could hear the sound of his breath hitching, and feel the tension in the air as he lined himself up behind me, his tip nudging at my entrance. I bit my lip, expectancy tightening my body.

He pushed forward slowly, torturously so, letting me feel every inch as he stretched me. A low, guttural groan escaped his lips, and my own whimper joined it, the sensation overwhelming, leaving no room for thought, only the feeling of him filling me completely.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, hands gripping my hips tighter. "So, so tight." His voice sent a wave of need through me, the table was too long for me to find any leverage, I was left stranded between the polished wood and his broad chest, unable to steady myself.

With an impatient, sharp snap of his hips, he pushed into me deeper, granting a gasp from my lips. The suddenness of it sent a shudder through me, pleasure curling through my body in response. He leaned over me again, his mouth grazing my ear. "You feel so good," he rasped, his voice a mixture of lust and satisfaction as he began to move, each thrust deep and slow, drawing out every bit of sensation until I was trembling beneath him.

I couldn't help the moans that slipped past my lips as he built a rhythm, each movement of his hips driving me higher, closer to the edge once again. My back bowed, pressing into his chest and deepening the angle of him, the sensation eliciting a noiseless scream from me.

His hands tightened on my hips, fingers digging into my skin as he pulled me back to meet each of his thrusts. Every movement was deliberate, slow but devastatingly deep, as though he wanted me to feel every inch of him, to memorize the way he stretched me, and filled me so completely. The pressure was maddening, making my body tremble beneath him, a delicious torment that left me teetering on the edge but not quite enough to tip over.

His pace quickened, the drag of him inside me was almost too much to bear, and yet not enough all at once. His hands were gripping me so tightly I was sure there would be bruises by morning, but the thought only made me hotter, the idea of his marks on me driving me wild.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the air, each slap punctuated by our ragged breaths. My nails dug into the table's edge, desperate for something to anchor myself to, but every time I thought I could catch my breath, he would change the angle just slightly, hitting that spot deep inside me that sent white-hot pleasure shooting through my veins.

"You sound so perfect moaning my name," He murmured beside my ear. "So fucking perfect for me." His words sent a shiver down my spine, a molten heat spreading through my core. My body was caught in the rhythm he set, each thrust rocking me against the wood of the table, it creaked beneath us, but it was his ragged breaths and the low, guttural sounds he made that had my heart racing, my need climbing higher and higher.

He shifted his grip, one hand moving from my hip to slide up my spine, tracing a line of fire until it fisted into my hair, pulling my head back just enough for his lips to make contact with the most sensitive spot on my neck, sucking on the area hard. "I want to hear you," he demanded, voice low and rough against my throat. "I want to hear you fall apart for me."

I moaned loudly in response, the sound raw, desperate, as his hand tugged harder, pulling my back into a deeper arch. My entire body was taut, every nerve lit up under his command. His other hand slid around to my front, fingers finding the aching bundle of nerves between my legs, circling it with relentless precision.

The duel stimulation nearly broke me. My body jerked beneath him, every muscle tightening as I fought to hold back, but it was a losing battle. The pressure was building again, faster this time, harder, threatening to unravel me completely.

"That's it," he murmured, his fingers speeding up in sync with his thrusts. "I can feel you, baby. You're close, aren't you? So close to coming all over my cock."

I was. I was so desperate, I could hardly think, my mind a haze of nothing but him—his voice, his hands, his cock twitching inside me. My breaths came out in shallow gasps, each one forced from me by the sensation of his fingers working me toward the brink.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice like gravel, rough and impatient. "Let go."

I shattered around him. My body tensed as the orgasm ripped through me, pleasure crashing down in waves so intense it left me trembling and breathless. I cried out, the sound broken and uninhibited, my walls clenching tightly around him as I came harder than I thought possible.

He groaned in response, feeling my pulse around him, his hips stuttering as he chased his own release. His thrusts grew erratic, rougher, until finally, with a deep, guttural moan, he followed me over the edge, spilling into me with a few last powerful thrusts that left us both gasping for breath.

For a moment, we stayed like that, bodies entwined, both of us panting and spent. His hands, once gripping me with unrelenting force, now softened, running soothingly over my hips and sides. He pressed a soft kiss to the back of my neck, and I shivered, still coming down from the high, my legs weak and trembling.

Ever so slowly he pulled out of me, his warm hands guiding me upright. I trembled, my arms shaking as I used them to hold myself up. I leaned against the table as I turned around to face him, my cheeks flushed with exertion, my entire body heated with stimulation.

"Feeling alright?" He asks, his voice so gentle in contrast to his earlier roughness. I nod slowly, gripping the edge of the table behind me for support.

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, nearly lovingly, then cups my cheek. I allow myself to lean into the touch, turning my head to place a soft kiss on his palm.

Something in his eyes changed then, something deeper than lust or need, and before I could stop myself I was wrapping my arms around the nape of his neck and slotting my mouth over his yet again.

My legs trembled as he kissed me, savored me so thoroughly like he'd never get sick of the taste. He noticed my unsteady stance and hoisted me back up onto the table, guiding me to lay down, sprawled for him.

The table creaked when he leaned on it and I grabbed his wrist, halting him. "The table won't hold both of us," I say breathlessly, especially not if he was going to push into me as rough as he was earlier.

"Then we'll move to the floor when it snaps." He smirks, crawling over me despite my warning, and I can't help but allow a feeling of excitement and arousal to flicker through me at the promise of his words.

He hovers over me, his hands beside my head as he hardens again, at just the sight of me, the thought of me bare beneath him, legs spread for his entrance. His sultry smirk widens as his tip brushes against my core. "Helion," I whimper, his name on my lips a prayer on its own. "Need you," I beg, my words no longer my own as eagerness for pleasure consumed me.

His gaze darkened, the hunger in his eyes sending a shiver down my spine. He lowered his mouth to my neck, his lips grazing my skin in a teasingly slow path. "Say it again," he murmured, voice hoarse with need, the warmth of his breath making my pulse race beneath him.

I swallowed, my hands gripping his biceps as my chest rose and fell in shallow, desperate breaths. "Please," I whispered, tilting my head to give him better access, my body trembling with anticipation. "Please, Helion. I need you."

A groan escaped his throat, primal and possessive. He didn't make me wait any longer. With one swift, powerful thrust, he pushed into me, the sound of my gasp mingling with his low growl as he filled me completely. The table creaked louder beneath us, and I could feel its instability, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

Helion moved with a steady, deep rhythm at first, his hips rolling as he gripped my waist with one hand, the other bracing himself beside my head. "You're perfect like this," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. "Desperate and moaning my name."

I could only whine in response, the delicious friction building inside me, pushing me closer to the edge with every thrust. He quickened his pace, the intensity rising, and I arched into him, wrapping my legs around his hips, desperate for more of him, all of him. The tension coiled tighter within me, the sound of our bodies colliding and the ragged breaths filling the room.

"Helion," My voice was barely a whisper, swallowed by the pleasure that rippled through me. His name left my lips again in a breathy plea, barely heard below the splintering of the table, and with another powerful thrust, one leg of the table snapped. He gathered me in his arms before we could go crashing, High Lord strength holding me upright, all while still nestled inside of me.

I was too focused on how good he was making me feel to think about the change of positions, too focused on how he was lifting me up and down on his cock, the quick pace making me release a string of needs.

He dropped to his knees, kneeling down and placing me on the carpeted floor, just as he promised.

He didn't relent in his thrusting despite the altering of position, he fucked me right through it, overwhelmed me with intense pleasure so I barely noticed it as well.

"So perfect, like you were made for me," he breathed, his voice thick with lust as he thrust deeper, each stroke igniting another wave of pleasure that threatened to drown me. I could feel every muscle in my body tensing, arching to meet him, lost in the rhythm he set.

I whimpered, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer as if I could merge our bodies even more completely. "Helion, please," I begged, the words spilling from my lips unbidden. "Don't stop. I'm so close."

His response was a low growl, and he quickened his pace, driving deeper, harder, as he captured my mouth in a heated kiss. His tongue tangled with mine, his lips moving against mine as if he were trying to devour me whole. I could feel the way he was losing himself too, the need in his movements matching the frantic beating of my heart.

The carpet shifted beneath us— and I realized we no longer lay against the floor, but a soft mattress. Somewhere during our heated kiss he had winnowed us into what I assume was his bedroom, the sounds of our bodies slapping together echoing off the walls. Helion's hands gripped my hips, guiding me as he thrust up into me, his movements unrelenting. Each thrust built until I was teetering on the edge of release.

"Just a little more," he encouraged, his breath hot against my ear. "I can feel you tightening around me. Let go, love." The endearment sent a thrill through me, urging me closer to the precipice.

"Helion!" I gasped, feeling the coil within me tighten to its breaking point. I surrendered completely, my body instinctively arching and clenching around him as I felt the wave crash over me. My orgasm hit with blinding force, washing over me in intense ripples of pleasure as I cried out, my body trembling in response.

He followed me over the edge, his own release spilling forth as he growled my name, the sound mingling with the rush of my own pleasure. Helion thrust a few more times, riding out both our climaxes, our bodies perfectly attuned to one another.

He finally pulled out of me, flipping down onto the mattress beside me. I rested my head against his shoulder, his hand slipped into mine, our fingers intertwining, feeling blissfully content, the world around us fading into the background as I savored the afterglow.

After a few moments, I giggled softly, breaking the comfortable silence. "I can't believe we broke a table."

He chucked breathlessly, the warm sound making a feeling bloom in my chest. "It never stood a chance," He replied.

"Literally," I added, eliciting another quiet laugh from him.

I turned onto my side, wrapping an arm around his bare torso, furrowing into his warmth.

I lay still, the warmth of his body fading as he pulled away, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable. My heart raced with a mix of confusion and irritation as I watched him slip into his pants. "I thought I wasn't another conquest?" I muttered, my voice laced with hurt as I searched his eyes for the truth.

Helion paused, his expression shifting to one of genuine confusion. "You're not," he said, the sincerity in his tone softening the edges of my anger. But then I narrowed my eyes, my glare unwavering.

"Then where are you going?" I pressed, the question heavy on my heart.

A playful smile tugged at his lips, clearly amused by my reaction. "Would you have a little faith in me? I'm getting a cloth to clean you up," he reassured, turning toward the basin beside the window. I watched him wet a cloth, wringing it out with careful precision before making his way back to the bed.

My glare faltered, replaced by a rush of embarrassment as he returned to my side, settling beside me, I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, and my breath hitched slightly at the intimacy of the moment. Helion gently dragged the damp cloth between my legs, his movements deliberate and tender, and I couldn't help but squirm under his touch.

"Helion," I murmured, feeling a rush of warmth flood my cheeks as he meticulously cleaned me. The sensation was both intimate and oddly soothing, and I found it hard to maintain my earlier annoyance. His focus was unwavering, his eyes intent on his task, and I couldn't help but appreciate how he handled me with such care.

"Relax," he said softly, glancing up at me as he continued his work. "I promise I'm not going anywhere." His gaze held mine, and I could see the genuine warmth and affection there, a stark contrast to the teasing persona he often wore.

I took a deep breath, the tension in my body slowly dissipating as I let his calm wash over me. "Okay," I finally replied, my voice barely above a whisper. I settled back against the pillows, allowing myself to enjoy this unexpected moment of intimacy. Helion finished cleaning me, his touch lingering just a bit longer than necessary, sending shivers of pleasure through me.

"There," he said, a satisfied smile gracing his lips as he tossed the cloth aside. "All clean."

I watch him discard the cloth in the laundry bin with casual grace as if he didn't just alter my entire perception of him. He moved into bed beside me, the mattress dipping with his weight. "You okay, love?" He murmured, tucking me into his carved chest. Again, with that nickname that sent a flutter through me, an endearing sensation I couldn't quite put into words.

I swallowed thickly, nodding as I sunk into his warmth, the kind comparable to the rays of the sun. "Mhm, just tired," I uttered.

"Rest, I'll be here in the morning," He murmured, his hand running down the length of my arm, tracing delicate patterns on my skin. I felt every gentle stroke like a whisper, a promise that anchored me to this newfound connection.

As I settled deeper into his embrace, the world outside faded away, and the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat became the lullaby that lulled me into sleep, a well-earned and deep one, his warmth cradling me into a blissful slumber.

I awoke at first light, my eyes fluttering open to the uncovered windows—the day court being worshippers of the sun, curtains were unheard of here, which made for a rough morning. But something about this morning, with the sun kissing my skin the way Helion had last night, it wasn't so bad.

I flip over, my back to the sun and my front to, perhaps something warmer.

He was awake, already staring at me with a slight smile on his lips. "Good morning," He whispered, his voice deepened by sleep.

"I suppose this is when I take my leave?" I murmur, but don't make any movement to leave. I didn't want to, I wanted to bathe in his sunlight for a little while longer.

He reaches over, his large hand spanning my waist and pulling me closer, encasing me into his broad shoulders and carved chest. "No, my dear, you're not going anywhere." He reassures, looking down at me with a darkened gaze, our foreheads pressed together and his nose brushing mine.

"What have I gotten myself into?" I feign annoyance, rolling my eyes.

He lets out a breathless laugh, leaning down into my neck and pressing his lips into the collection of marks he had left only last night. "You've no idea." He mumbled and I groaned playfully, grumbling a curse.

"Still pretending like you haven't completely fallen for me?" He prodded, the tip of his nose running up my neck.

"I didn't say that," I murmur, running a hand through his hair.

"So you have, fallen for me?" He teased, pulling away from my throat to peer up at me.

"Helion," I whine, my bottom lip protruding as I meet his gaze. "I can't stay here all day, now can I?"

"Who says you can't? The Day Court has no rules against me lounging in bed with beautiful women," He purred. "I've made sure of it." He added with a wink and I rolled my eyes.

"That doesn't sound like a very productive court," I remark, a smile pulling at my lips as I feel our usual banter slide back into place.

He hummed in thought, adjusting out position so his hips were between my legs, his arms wrapped around my waist, and his head on my chest. "Depends on what you consider productive." He mumbled into the cleavage of my breasts.

I scoffed, pulling at his hair and guiding him away from my chest. "You're insatiable," I grumble.

"You love it." He says with an all too confident wink.

"Maybe." I sigh, gripping his shoulder and flipping us over. "But what would your court say if they found out you were bedding your emissary?" I frown at the thought alone.

"I'm their High Lord, they can't say anything unless they wanted their tongues taken—" He suggests, while helping me into a more comfortable position, my head beside his on the pillow, our legs intertwined, my chest pressed against his. "Though I doubt any of them would say a word about you." He reassures, his hand coming to my jaw. "That is unless you wanted them to talk? If so I'd be happy to tell them the events of last night." He smirks and my cheeks glow red, heated beneath his touch.

"Modesty is one of your many virtues I see," I murmur, attempting to ignore my fluttering heartbeat.

"Of course." He gives me a look as if it was a well-known fact. "I'm the very picture of restraint and humility." He quips and I giggle, the sound making his breathing stall for a moment.

His gaze flickers down to mine, his brows slightly creased in conflict. "Stay." He whispered, leaning closer and pecking a kiss on my forehead. "Just a little longer." He added, his lips brushing about my skin.

I sighed, any lingering resolve melting away under his touch. "Just a little longer," I agreed, closing the distance between us as his lips met mine, slow and unhurried, as if the rest of the world could wait.

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[cottonlemonade]

The Art Of Sweet Gestures

word count: 773 || avg. reading time: 3 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Tsukishima x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: spoilers

Tsukishima hadn’t felt jealousy in a long time. Why would he? He had his dream woman by his side, his dream job at the museum, and Hinata was far, far away in Brazil - too far to annoy him. 

But when his best friend got married, and you stood across from Kei as the maid of honor, outshining the bride by a mile in his eyes, tearing up as Yamaguchi read his vows to his blushing partner, the tall man began to frown. The vows were nice, sure, but they were pretty much pure kitsch and ultimately filled with false promises. Realistically, chances were slim that they’d never go to bed angry, that they’d cherish each other every day or that he’d prove his love every minute as long as they lived. He pondered over your dreamy expression at those words for a long time. Since you had been with Kei for over three years, he never expected you to be into that kind of mushy stuff, knowing all too well that when it came to love and compassion he felt awkward and ridiculous putting it into words. He always showed his adoration for you with actions, small everyday things like getting you a coffee or holding doors open for you, holding your hand in public and even going as far as to calling you “honey” when other people were around. 

He decided to put his theory to the test and sent an “I love you” text out of nowhere one day as you sat over dinner in a restaurant. When you fished your phone from your pocket to check what the buzz was about, your eyes widened as if you’d witnessed something magical. Your whole face lit up, and you blushed, and you couldn’t stop grinning at him, even making a big show out of typing out the response of “I love you, too ❤️”. 

He felt like an idiot. In his mind, he rubbed his hand over his face and saw a news headline flash above his head: “Local man discovers sweet gestures lead to happier relationship”. 

He was quiet over the rest of dinner. Even more so than usual. 

“I wanna check in on something at the museum before we go home.”, he announced as you buckled up in the car. You yawned and nodded with a tired smile as he pulled onto the road, resting your head against the cool window. 

The museum was empty except for the night guards. He took your hand, leading you to the art gallery, your heels on the marble floor letting him know when you stumbled because he was too fast so he slowed his steps. 

You arrived at the main exhibit with large masterful paintings of different artists and eras adorning the tall walls. He didn’t know how else to start so he just sort of dove right in. 

“You know that you are more beautiful than all of these, right?”

“I - uhm…”, you blinked in surprise, then frowned, “Hon, are you alright? You’ve been strange all week.”

Why was this your first reaction!? 

“Y/n… sweetheart…”

“Kei, are you cheating on me? Or… or dying?”

“No, you idiot.”

Your face lifted in immediate relief at his casual insult, and although he knew that he meant it affectionately, he wondered if you did, too. 

“I…”, he took both your hands, staring deep into your eyes, “You’re everything I could have ever wished for. You’re smart and sarcastic,” a smile blossomed on your face and he was glad he was on the right track, “you’re interesting and you challenge me. - You’re annoying, too, but in a good way. Although, you do talk a lot sometimes.”

“You’re kinda losing me here, babe.”

“I love you.” He raised his hand from yours to your chin, holding it gently between his thumb and index finger to make sure you looked at him, “You are perfect to me. Perfect for me. And… I hope you know how much you mean to me. I’ll admit I’m not great at showing it, but you do know all that... Right?”

Tears were brimming in your eyes, and you sniffled quietly, then quickly nodded when his brows creased in slight panic at your reaction. 

“Okay good.”, he said quietly and pulled you into a hug, your soft round figure fitting just right into his long arms, “And I’ll marry you someday. Just giving you a heads-up.”

You laughed through your tears, asking jokingly, and slightly muffled into his sweater, “Don’t I get a say in that?”

“I’m not gonna embarrass myself like this in front of anyone else ever again, so no.”

[manjirei]

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤-𝐔𝐩! | h. kakashi

pairing: kakashi hatake x fem!reader (doctor!reader) genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, super tension-filled.. wc: ~6.8k setting: pre-war konoha; team 7 are still genins. medical wing. warnings: slight use of medical jargons a/n: sorry, it's pretty long! i figured i'd get lazy to write a part two, three, etc. after some time (especially since this has been rotting in my drafts as part one), so i decided to just write the whole thing in one go. i haven't written in years, so i apologize if some parts are kinda ass huhu

thanks for reading!

୨୧ — 𝐈

The first time you meet Kakashi, he's not exactly conscious.

Bloodied, broken ribs, chakra system’s a mess. He's wheeled into your medical wing after a botched infiltration mission and dropped onto your table like a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

"He's stable now," a senior medic declares, handing off the chart to you. "Keep him monitored. He'll be under for a while. If he wakes up early... sedate him."

You nod professionally, but your fingers twitch slightly as you review the name on the clipboard.

Kakashi Hatake.

As in, the Copy Ninja Kakashi. The man who led Konoha's Anbu Ops at an age where you were still learning how to suture without shaking.

But all you see right now is a man with deep scarring, blood under his nails.

Is this really the reality of shinobi? Even the strongest ends up this rough.

“I’ll take care of him.”

And you do. I mean it is your job.

୨୧

He wakes up on day three.

Groggy. Grumpy. Mask already back on somehow.

His one visible eye blinks slowly, adjusting to the sterile white light of the recovery ward. "You're not the usual nurse," he rasps.

You glance over your chart, your pen pausing mid-note. "I'm not a nurse." you reply calmly. "I'm your attending. The name's Y/N."

He studies you with a single eye, unreadable. "You're young."

You raise a brow, unmoved. "Well, you're nosy."

He hums, almost like a lazy laugh, fluttering his eyes shut again.

"Touché."

Kakashi shifts slightly against his pillow. Winces. His breath catches. "You know, you shouldn't move too much," you say softly. "Your lung's still healing."

"Doesn't feel like it," he mutters, wincing again.

"It wouldn't. You were barely alive when they brought you in." You pause, then meet his gaze evenly.

"But you will be. Don't worry, you're not going anywhere. I don't lose patients."

That stops him—like something in your words hits deeper than you'd meant it to.

He doesn't deflect with a quip. Doesn't reach for one of his usual dry remarks to ease the weight of the moment.

Instead, his eye just stays on you.

You don't know it yet, but that's the moment it starts.

୨୧

Though, you still think Kakashi is the worst patient.

He's quiet, which would be fine, if he weren't also absurdly stubborn. The kind of stubborn that turns silent defiance into an art form.

On day five, you step into his room after rounds and check up on him.

There he is—lying in bed, one arm lazily draped over his chest. Breathing even. Quiet.

You narrow your eyes.

Too quiet.

"This is a shadow clone, isn't it?" you thought to yourself.

You step closer and reach for his wrist. And as expected, your hand goes through it. The illusion flickers like smoke dispersing, and vanishes.

You blink once. Then twice.

Your eyes track the thin IV tubing, dragging across the floor, still attached to the pole—and still attached to him, limping slowly toward the window like escaping a hospital room is a normal post-op activity.

You drop your clipboard with a loud clack, pushing the curtain aside.

"Kakashi."

He pauses, glancing back like a schoolboy caught sneaking chewing gum, except this one has cracked ribs and an oxygen monitor.

"Doc," he greets, voice too casual.

"Are you serious right now? You know you can't fool me with your shadow clone," you say, shooting a glare at him.

"I heal fast," he offers, like that explains anything.

You glance at the IV line still dangling from his arm. "Is that why you're still dragging your IV bag like a sad little suitcase?"

You sigh, stepping closer. "You have a punctured lung, you're not even fit to climb out of that window yet."

"I've had worse," he mumbles.

"You are literally dripping saline and blood thinner while trying to crawl out of a third-floor window," you add.

He looks at the IV pole. "I was hoping it would detach on its own."

You sigh. Hard.

Then you plant yourself between him and the window, arms crossed, voice steel-edged. "If you don't sit back down right now, I'll inject you with enough sedative to knock out a tailed beast."

He blinks. Once. Then again.

And—he smiles.

"Come on." you say, hand gently gripping his arm. "You'll tear your stitches. Again."

He looks down at your hand, then slowly steps back into the room, one foot at a time. Defeated.

"...You're not like the other doctors," he blurts.

"No," you deadpan, grabbing the IV pole and dragging it back toward the bed. "I'm meaner."

He laughs. An actual chuckle—quiet and short, but it slips out before he can stop it.

You freeze for a second.

Huh.

You didn't know he could laugh like that. And definitely didn't expect you to be the reason.

Kakashi notices the way your expression falters for just a split second.

"I meant that as a compliment," he says as you help him sit back on the bed, reattaching the IV and tugging the sheet over his legs.

"I know," you reply. keeping your voice even. "I'm just debating whether or not to sedate you anyway. You're a flight risk."

"I prefer 'high-risk investment'," he quips.

You smirk despite yourself. "Sounds like something an emotionally unavailable man says when he knows he's charming."

He huffs a quiet breath as he settles back into the pillows. "And you sound like someone who's been burned by one."

You pause, lifting a brow. "Occupational hazard. I meet a lot of shinobi."

There's a beat of silence. Then his eyes crinkle again. "Touché."

You check the IV line with practiced ease, masking the strange flutter under your ribs.

You don't know it yet, but this is the first time he starts looking forward to your visits.

And the first time you start wondering if this recovering shinobi is going to be more trouble than your toughest surgeries.

Maybe he isn't the worst patient after all.

୨୧ — 𝐈𝐈

He starts lingering after he's discharged.

First it's, "Just a follow-up."

Then it's, "I've been having some tightness in my shoulder."

Then, more shamelessly, "You're the only one who doesn't poke me around like I'm a science experiment."

You don't call him out. Yet.

But you notice.

You notice how he always shows up around the same time—just before your shift ends. You'll be wrapping up patient logs or locking cabinets when you hear that familiar shuffle of footsteps in the hall, never rushed. Always like he belongs there.

You notice how he brings a book, but never really reads it. Just holds it open, glancing up every few minutes—tracking where you are in the room, who you're talking to, whether or not you've looked over yet.

You notice how he always seems to time his visits perfectly with your exit.

"Kakashi? Why're you here again?" "Ah, well you see, I think I forgot my.. book around here the other day. Heading out?" "Yeah." "Mind if I walk with you? It's getting pretty dark." "...Sure."

The walks are quiet at first. He's not chatty. Just... present. And not in a suffocating way, either. He listens when you ramble. Responds when it matters. Fills the silence without ever making you feel like you have to.

You pretend not to notice the way your heart beats faster when his hand accidentally brushes against your fingers as you walk together.

...

One evening, as the light begins to dip below the trees and the hospital's rooftop turns gold with dusk, Kakashi speaks without turning to you.

“So…” A pause. Then, casually.. too casually,

“Why aren’t you a shinobi?”

The question slides into the quiet like a kunai. No edge. But it lands.

You blink, caught off guard. He’s seated beside you on the ledge, legs stretched out in front of him like this is just another idle visit. He’s staring straight ahead—like he’s asking about the weather.

But you know better.

You swallow and look down at your bag, at the little jar of salve you made from scratch earlier.

"I... wanted to be one," you admit, crushing a leaf between your fingers absentmindedly. "Didn't make the cut. Politics. Bloodline—You know how it goes."

He hums, low in his throat. Something between acknowledgment and understanding.

You think that’s it. Think maybe it’ll drift into silence again.

But then he adds, in that maddeningly offhand tone—

“But you still train.”

You stop, just for a moment. A flicker of surprise catches your breath.

Your head turns. “How did you—?”

He doesn’t even blink.

“Your grip. Your posture.” His eye ticks over to you, lightheartedly. “The way you sidestep interns trying to surprise-hug you.”

The last part makes you scoff, reluctantly amused.

“That obvious, huh?”

He shrugs. “To me.”

You scoff quietly and shake your head, trying to brush it off. But then his voice softens. Low, intimate in a way that feels almost too much under the setting sun.

“And the way you treated my chakra scars,” he adds, “like someone who’s felt it.”

Your breath stutters.

He's not pressing, just... observing. Studying you the same way you study old wounds, figuring out where they started and whether they still hurt.

You glance over again.

He’s just looking. That quiet, unreadable gaze of his focused not on your face, but on something deeper. Like he’s reading old damage. Worn threads, invisible bruises.

You pull your eyes away first. “Old habit,” you murmur, voice thinner than you mean it to be.

He nods once. Nothing more.

No follow-up. No prodding. Just lets the moment hang between you and him.

...

The next day, he shows up again. Like always. But this time, no fake excuses. Just him—leaning against your office doorway, hands in his pockets, posture deceptively casual.

You barely look up, already suspicious. “Let me guess, your back hurts and it may have something to do with your chakra points.”

He says nothing at first.

Then, without a word, he steps in and sets something gently on your desk.

Two skewers of dango. Still warm. Wrapped neatly in wax paper. It's like he made sure they wouldn't get cold on the way over.

You blink, mid-signature. “...What’s this?”

You look up at him.

"For your old habit," he says, not quite meeting your eyes. "Figured you could use the energy."

It’s so… simple. But it lands like something heavier.

You stare at the dango, then back at him. Your throat tightens unexpectedly.

“Thank you,” you say, quieter this time.

Kakashi shrugs like it's nothing. But the tiniest crinkle at the corner of his eye betrays him.

You know it. You feel it.

It’s not just the gesture. It’s the silence around it. The way he’s still standing there, not saying anything, not moving to leave. Like part of him is waiting for something. Or maybe… hoping.

You return to your paperwork, but your hand lingers near the food.

“You really didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he says simply.

And there’s something about the way he says it. Like of course he didn’t have to. That’s not the point.

He pushes off the doorway and turns to go. Almost like he’s trying to leave before you can ask anything else. Before you can look too closely.

But just before he slips out of sight, you catch it—that familiar, steady rhythm of his steps in your hallway.

It’s the sound you’ve started noticing more and more lately.

Even when he’s not there.

Even when you wish he was.

You don’t know it yet, but you’re already the reason his feet take the long way home.

And he doesn’t know it yet, but your heart now leans slightly toward the door—every time it opens.

୨୧

By the nth time he shows up in your office, you finally say it,

"You do realize I have other patients, right?"

Kakashi blinks at you from where he's perched on the exam table—same corner, same lean, same unreadable expression behind the mask.

"I'm aware," he says. "But none of them have chakra scarring this symmetrical."

You lower your clipboard, unimpressed. "You said that two days ago."

"I did," he nods. "Consistency is important in the healing process."

You stare at him.

He stares back.

In defeat, you sigh and gesture for him to take off his shirt.

He does so without hesitation—and you hate how very little hesitation you have about it either. His movements are smooth despite the lingering bruising, and your fingers betray you by brushing just a second too long over the edge of a scar.

"You know," you mutter, checking his pulse, "you don't have to pretend you're here for medical reasons."

A beat.

He arches a brow. "You think I'm pretending?"

You glance up at him. "You showed up yesterday because your ear itched."

"It did itch," he says mildly. "Could've been a very rare parasite that actually messes with my chakra system. Dangerous stuff. I was being proactive.

You roll your eyes, but you're biting your lip to keep from smiling. You hate that it's working. That he's gotten comfortable. That you have.

He's watching you again—and not the casual observation he's always done. This is softer. Curious.

"You don't mind, do you?" he asks, after a pause. His voice is quieter now. Almost hesitant.

You look at him, carefully, heart beating somewhere a little too loud in your chest. The way his hands fidget slightly with the hem of his shirt. The way his eye doesn't meet yours at first.

"...No," you admit. "But I'd mind if you keep pretending you're just here for check-ups."

That gets him.

His eye crinkles a bit. The closest thing to a grin you'll get through that damn mask.

"Alright," he says, voice lower now. "Then let's not pretend."

You gulp.

He leans forward just slightly—not enough to break the boundary, but enough that you feel the heat of him, close and steady and very, very real.

"Y'know," he murmurs, in a slight teasing manner "If I keep showing up, I might end up your most frequent visitor."

"Well congratulations, you already are," you mutter, unamused.

"Ah," he muses, "then I guess I should start bringing snacks. Or flowers. What do people usually bring their favorite doctor?”

You blink.

He says it so casually—but there’s something underneath.. Like he’s waiting to see how far he’s allowed to go.

You try to play it cool, but your ears are warm. “That depends. Are they still pretending they’re here for medical advice?”

His gaze holds yours. No grin. Just something soft. Steady.

"You're not just a doctor," he says, almost like a secret.

You tilt your head. "No?"

"You're something else."

The way he says it, quiet, reverent—it makes your chest clench. Like you've been waiting for someone to say it. To see it.

You don't respond. But you don't move away either.

And that's enough for now.

୨୧ — 𝐈𝐈𝐈

You don't expect to see him on the roof.

It's well past midnight. The hospital is quiet, lights dim. Even the overworked med-nin staff have gone home. You'd stayed behind, again, to clear your head the only way you know how.

Shadowboxing under the moonlight. Sweat on your brow. Wrists wrapped. Your stethoscope long forgotten somewhere inside your locker.

You don't even notice the quiet flicker of chakra until a familiar voice breaks the silence.

"Your stance is a little stiff."

You freeze mid-strike, spinning.

Kakashi is leaning lazily against the rooftop doorframe, arms crossed. Civilian clothes. No mask. Just that sleep-mussed version of him that only seems to appear when the rest of the world is asleep—when it’s just the two of you, suspended in some strange in-between.

You exhale, heart jumping in a way that has nothing to do with cardio.

“How long have you been watching?”

He tilts his head, feigning thought. "Long enough to diagnose a repetitive elbow drop. Possibly chronic."

You squint at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“Technically, I’m being supportive.” He shrugs, wandering closer. “Some people bring protein bars. I bring unsolicited critiques.”

“Some people also knock.”

“I’m more of a ‘mysteriously materialize on rooftops’ kind of guy.”

"Stalker."

He shrugs again as you shoot a glare at him.

He steps into the moonlight—and gods, it should be illegal how good he looks in it. Silver hair tousled, sleeves rolled up, that look in his eye like he's trying not to say something too loud.

"You didn't tell me you were this good," he says, quieter now, watching the way as you reset your stance.

"I'm not," you mutter, adjusting your footwork. "I'm just... persistent."

He makes a quiet sound in his throat, somewhere between approval and amusement.

You throw another combo, more focused now—until a warm hand suddenly catches your wrist mid-strike.

You freeze.

He’s close.

"Loosen your grip," he murmurs, thumb brushing along the inside of your palm. His voice is low, his touch light. "You’re strong. You don’t need to punch like the world’s ending."

You usually say something to bite back, but... you didn't.

You can't.

Because he's looking at you like you're already something precious.

His fingers are still curled lightly over yours. His touch is warm.

You're not sure how long you stand like that—close, breath caught, words balancing between unspoken and the undeniable.

And maybe it’s stupid, maybe it’s reckless—but right now, under moonlight and bruised silences, you let yourself wonder,

If he came up here for more than just a critique.

And if you’re the only one who doesn’t want to pretend anymore.

But then—

a while ago…

"Okay but WHY is Kakashi-sensei always at the hospital?" Naruto mutters for the third time this week, slurping his ramen suspiciously.

Sakura looks up from her bowl. "You think he's sick again?"

Sasuke scoffs from across the table. "He's not sick. I passed him yesterday—he was carrying dango. Looked perfectly fine."

Naruto leans forward. "So what, he just likes hospitals now? That's suspicious."

Sakura frowns. "Actually... I overheard some nurses saying he only ever waits for one doctor."

Sasuke raises a brow.

Naruto gasps. "YOU DON'T THINK HE'S—"

"—Don't be ridiculous," Sakura cuts in, but even she sounds unsure.

Still, the next time they see him slipping out of the hospital late at night—hair messy, sleeves rolled, looking far too smug for someone supposedly recovering from shoulder pain. All three of them stare.

Kakashi just lifts a hand lazily. "Evening."

Naruto squints. "You're not even limping anymore!"

Kakashi smiles behind the mask. "I heal fast."

...

"You didn't have to come all the way up here just to watch me," you murmur after a long moment. Your voice is softer now. Raw.

He doesn't look away.

“I didn’t come to critique your footwork either,” he says eventually. “Even if it could use work.”

You scowl. “Charming.”

He lifts a shoulder, eyes half-lidded, lazy—except you know him now. You know when his voice goes softer, when he avoids your eyes, when his hands are in his pockets not out of boredom but restraint.

“I came because I wanted to see you,” he admits, voice low.

Your heart trips over itself.

"...You could've just said that."

His gaze dips to your lips, then back to your eyes. "Would you have believed me?"

You hesitate. "Maybe."

The silence between you hums.

"If you keep looking at me like that," you whisper teasingly, "I might think you're about to kiss me."

He's so close now.

"If I did," he murmurs, "would you stop me?"

You don't answer, taken aback with his reply.

But your fingers curl gently around his.

And your lips part, just slightly.

And the world narrows to the space between you and him.

Just heartbeats away.

୨୧

You feel it before it happens.

Kakashi's hand, still cradling yours, shifts just slightly—fingers ghosting along your wrist, your palm until it feels less like a correcting and more like a touch that's meant to linger.

His breath brushes your cheek. He doesn't move away. And the silence thickens with the weight of something that's been building for a long time.

You look up at him, eyes searching.

"...You're close," you whisper.

His eye curves just faintly. “I tend to wander.”

His voice is low, dry — but something in it falters at the edge, almost self-conscious. Almost shy.

You swallow, pulse humming. “…Do you want to?”

A beat.

“I think the more important question is… do you?”

You don’t answer right away. You’re too busy noticing the little things: the way he’s not blinking. How his thumb grazes your pulse like he doesn’t know he’s doing it. How he’s always careful, but somehow always stays just long enough to make your heart forget how to protect itself.

“…Yes,” you whisper, finally. “Don’t go.”

That’s all it takes.

His forehead tips gently to yours—cautious, careful, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

You breathe in. His scent taking over you. Faint smoke, cool earth, something grounding.

"'Kashi," you whisper.

It slips out before you even think about it.

He stiffens just slightly, surprised. Then blinks down at you.

“You’ve never called me that before,” he murmurs. His voice is soft, but it catches. Like it struck something he wasn’t ready for.

You feel your face warm. “Should I not have?”

“…Didn’t say that.” He exhales, almost a laugh—the barest curl at the edge of his mouth. “Just… wasn’t expecting it.”

There’s something vulnerable in the way he says it. Like you’d pulled something loose without meaning to. A thread he was doing a very good job of pretending didn’t exist.

And still—he doesn’t pull away.

But something shifts.

His hand slips from yours, trailing down your arm as if second-guessing the right to hold you.

“I’m not…” He pauses. And there it is again—that small crack in the usual calm. “I’m not really good at this.”

The words are quiet. Measured. Not self-pitying, but honest. And it's the first time you hear it: uncertainty. The guarded edge in his voice.

You look at him closely now—at the way his jaw tenses just slightly, how his gaze drops to somewhere near your shoulder instead of your eyes.

How he’s retreating in inches, like he’s used to being shut out before he can be let in.

"I've lost everyone I've ever cared about," he says, quiet. Measured. "Team, friends, family, people I should've protected. People I never got to say anything to. And every time something good shows up, I wonder how long before I ruin it. Or before it's taken from me."

It hits you—not just the weight of his words, but the quiet ache beneath them. The belief that love is something he wasn't meant to keep. A belief stitched into his ribs like a scar.

"That's what I think when I look at you." he finishes, voice rough.

"'Kashi..." You step forward again, gently taking his hand back.

He doesn't resist. Doesn't speak.

You hold his palm between both of yours, grounding him.

"You haven't ruined anything," you say. "And if you're scared of losing me, that just means there’s something real enough to try for."

He's quiet for a long moment.

And then—

"HEY, KAKASHI-SENSEI!"

You both jolt apart like lightning just struck between you.

Kakashi sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why do they always show up when I'm about to make a breakthrough?"

You peek past his shoulder and groan.

Sakura shoots a glare at Naruto. "Idiot! You were supposed to be quiet."

Naruto. Sakura. And surprisingly Sasuke?

Peeking from behind a low rooftop wall, not even pretending to be subtle.

Kakashi turns to you, expression sheepish. "We should probably relocate."

You bury your face in your hands. "I hate everything."

He laughs—a quiet one that reaches his eyes—and gently guides you behind the rooftop door, hiding you both from the peanut gallery of nosy genin.

As you both lean against the wall, catching your breath, you sneak a glance at him.

"Do you... still want to try?" you ask. "Even with all of that fear?"

You're not even touching anymore, but it still feels like you are.

Kakashi's hand is braced against the wall beside your head, just slightly caging you in. Not on purpose, maybe, but he doesn't move away, either.

"You really didn't move," you whisper, staring at the space between your shoes and his.

He hums, voice low. "You didn't ask me to."

When you dare to look up, the air shifts—slow, quiet, electric.

Your gazes lock.

"I think about it all the time," he murmurs.

You blink. "Think about what?"

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he reaches up—slowly, like he's afraid you'll flinch—and brushes a stray of hair away from your cheek. His fingers linger.

"You. Me. What this could be if I weren't—"

"Weren't what?" you breathe.

His hand drops.

"Haunted," he says simply. "Tired. Not built for this."

Your chest tightens. "You're not broken, 'Kashi."

He exhales shakily. "You say it like it's obvious."

"It is obvious," you say, stepping closer—close enough for your hand to find his again. "To me."

A beat of silence.

He looks at you like you're something rare. He doesn't understand how you exist in the same world he does—soft but fierce, steady but unpredictable, someone who sees him and doesn't flinch.

"I don't want to lose this... to lose you." he says vulnerably, and it slips out like a confession he didn't mean to speak aloud.

You squeeze his hand. "Then don't."

He stares at you, really stares. As if he's memorizing this exact version of you, like what he did the first time you told him that you don't lose patients—his first impression of you. The way your eyes shine when you speak. The way you always smell faintly like herbs and clean linen.

The way you say his name like it means something.

"...Say it again," he murmurs.

You blink. "Say what?"

"My name. Like that."

A soft smile tugs at your lips.

"'Kashi."

And oh—he's undone.

You don't notice you've leaned in until your noses almost touch. Your breath catches. His does, too. His hand comes up to your cheek again, a trembling thumb brushing the edge of your jaw.

You're going to kiss him.

You know you're going to.

It's happening.

It's—

"KAKASHI-SENSEI, YOU DROPPED YOUR HEADBAND!"

I swear to all the gods.

You jolt apart again, absolutely burning with embarrassment as Naruto's voice rings out like a kunai in a dream.

Kakashi groans and drops his forehead to your shoulder.

"Unbelievable," he mumbles.

"I'm going to inject him with a sedative," you mutter.

"Well, he'll have to get in line." Kakashi sternly adds.

"I swear, that Naruto."

Still hiding behind the wall, he glances up at you with a rare softness. Something so fond, it steals you breath even more than the almost kiss did.

"...Rain check?" he asks.

You meet his gaze.

And maybe it's reckless, fast, but you smile and say, "Only if you promise you'll actually cash it in."

He steps back, brushing his fingers over yours one last time straightening his hitai-ate like nothing happened.

"Deal," he says, giving you one last look over his shoulder. "You're worth waiting for."

And just like that, he disappears over the rooftop ledge—mask up, cool façade back in place, but his steps just a little too light for someone who's totally not in love.

You lean back against the wall, breathless, heart sprinting.

You're in trouble.

Big, stupid, wonderful, trouble.

୨୧ — 𝐈𝐕

The next day, you're barely holding it together.

Running late for your rounds, you’re juggling a clipboard, two folders, and a thermos of questionably reheated tea that’s one pothole away from disaster. You round the corner near the nurses’ station, muttering under your breath—

And slam straight into something solid.

Well. Someone solid.

The folders go flying. Your tea wobbles midair, chaos pending—

But nothing hits the ground.

A gloved hand steadies your elbow. Another has already caught the folders. And Kakashi Hatake, full gear and unbothered, blinks down at you like he didn’t just materialize out of nowhere to intercept a minor tragedy.

“...Morning,” he says. “You seem busy.”

You blink. Stare. Blink again. “You—what–”

He glances at the folder in his hand. “Radiology results. Hmm. Interesting reading.”

You snatch the folder back with a noise that’s half-gasp, half-groan. “You were discharged.”

“I was,” he agrees, perfectly calm. “Then I left. And now I’m here again. Life’s full of circles, isn’t it?”

"I'm just here for a check-up," he adds innocently.

You narrow your eyes. “Why are you actually here?”

He shrugs. “Might’ve pulled something.”

You frown. “Doing what?”

“Reading,” he says, with zero irony. “Very taxing. Spine’s not what it used to be. You should consider offering shinobi posture seminars. Or maybe back braces.”

You fold your arms, trying not to grin. "Uh huh."

He takes a small step closer, lowering his voice. "Besides... I thought I owed someone a rain check."

Your brain stutters.

Right. The rooftop.

You glance around quickly, suddenly hyperaware of the hallway—the nurses moving in and out of stations, the open patient room doors, the sound of someone wheeling a supply cart past. And him, still standing entirely too close, like his presence isn't already short-circuiting your entire system.

“You remembered that?” you ask, voice a little hoarse.

His visible eye crinkles just slightly, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the edges of his mask. “Of course.”

Your heart stumbles. You forget to breathe for a second.

He still hasn’t let go of your elbow.

“Right,” you mumble. “That.”

“That,” he repeats softly, gaze steady on yours.

Your heart stumbles again.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been looking at him until someone very pointedly clears their throat from down the corridor.

Twice.

You both flinch.

A nurse is walking past with a tray of bandages and a poorly concealed smirk on her face. She doesn’t even try to pretend she didn’t see anything.

Kakashi exhales, glancing after her. “Should I go before we become the subject of your staff’s next coffee break conversation?”

You lift your tea thermos, which somehow survived the chaos. “I think we already are.”

He makes a noise of faint amusement. “How tragic. I was hoping for at least a three-episode buildup before we got caught.”

You shoot him a look. “You’re not helping.”

He shrugs, clearly unrepentant, and gently passes you back the remaining folder like this has all been very civilized. “You didn’t stab me. That feels encouraging.”

“I could stab you,” you mutter, grabbing the folder.

He falls into step beside you as you turn to walk toward the stairwell.

“Please do,” he says lightly. “It’ll give me an excuse to come back.”

You nearly trip on your own feet.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

He’s looking straight ahead, hands in his pockets now, posture just a touch too casual to be natural. His mask hides most of his expression, but there’s a quiet ease in him. Something softer than usual. Lighter.

You swallow. “...You don’t have to force yourself to show up just because you feel like you owe me something.”

Kakashi’s voice is quiet, but sure.

“I’m not here because I owe you. I’m here because I want to be.”

Your grip tightens on the folder.

He doesn’t press nor look at you again. But his presence hums quietly at your side like something steady. Familiar. Something trying.

You keep walking, heart in your throat, brain shorting out.

“...Fine.”

His head turns. You don’t have to look to know he’s smiling behind the mask.

His fingers brush yours—just the barest graze, enough to make your hand twitch in surprise.

He doesn’t hold on.

But he doesn’t pull away either.

And somehow, that says everything.

୨୧

It starts innocently.

At least, that's what you tell yourself.

It’s a few days after the folder-flying hallway incident, and most of the clinic has quieted. Dusk has softened the world into gold and shadow. The lights in the hallway are dimmed to a low hum, casting long silhouettes along the clean floors. Most of the staff have clocked out.

You, however, are still perched at your desk, signing off the last few charts with a half-empty mug of cold tea by your elbow and a stubborn crick in your neck.

And then you feel it.

That familiar presence—unspoken but impossible to miss. A quiet awareness that slides in through the seams of your focus.

You glance up—and there he is.

Kakashi stands leaning casually against your office doorframe, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed in that practiced way only shinobi ever manage.

His hitai-ate is pushed up. His mask is on, of course. And his gaze, when it finds yours, carries that ever-present flicker of amusement and something quieter beneath it—something warm.

“You’re making a habit of this,” you say without missing a beat, quirking a brow at him.

He tilts his head. “Is that a complaint?”

“That depends. Are you here with another fake injury? Or should I start charging you rent?”

He shrugs. “Neither, actually.”

He steps forward. And that’s when you see it—a small, slim box in his hands. Plain packaging. Tied with red twine. Your heart immediately performs a minor somersault.

“I brought you something,” he says simply.

You sit up straighter, wariness mixing with curiosity. “...What is it?”

He holds it out, almost sheepishly. “Open it.”

You undo the twine with careful fingers. The box opens with a faint creak.

Your heart makes a strange little thud.

Reinforced knuckles. Lightweight weave. Tailored exactly to your size. And not just functional—they’re in your favorite color. Muted, but elegant. The kind of gear you’ve wanted but never had the time to get.

You blink, throat suddenly tight. “How did you—?”

“You favor your left hand for close defense,” he says. “But the padding was starting to fray. And last week you rubbed your thumb raw without realizing.”

You stare at the gloves, then back at him. “You noticed all that?”

Kakashi scratches the back of his head, almost like he regrets being caught caring. “You’re my attending. It’s... hard not to notice things.”

Your heart twists. The words are simple. But the way he says them—soft, honest, like it cost him something to admit.

It makes you forget how to breathe.

He shifts on his feet. “I know it’s not much. But you’re always patching people up. I figured someone should return the favor.”

You can’t look away from him.

There’s a silence, but it’s not awkward. It’s full—of gratitude, of something you can’t quite name. He meets your eyes, and the world narrows to the space between you, heavy with the ache of things unsaid.

You step closer.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “No one’s ever... I mean, that was thoughtful.”

He shrugs, but there’s a quiet smile in his eye.

“You’re easy to think about, well at least to me."

That lands harder than you expect.

You feel something shift—like gravity tilting slightly between you.

Your voice is a little too soft when you ask, “Is that why you keep showing up?”

Kakashi doesn’t answer right away. He takes another step closer, closing the space until there’s barely room for air between you.

“Do you remember what you said to me?” he asks, voice low. “First week I was here. Third day in.”

You blink. “…I said a lot of things.”

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah. But one stuck.”

You search his gaze.

“You told me I wasn’t going anywhere,” he says. “That you don’t lose patients.”

Your breath catches.

“I didn’t believe you,” he adds. “Not then. Not with the track record I had. But you said it like it was a fact. Like even if I gave up, you wouldn’t.”

He looks at you then, really looks. Not like you’re a mystery, but like you’re the answer he didn’t think he was allowed to have.

“You made me want to stay,” he says quietly. “Even after I didn’t need to.”

The silence deepens.

You don’t know what to say. Only that something in your chest is unraveling at the seams.

He lifts a hand. Hesitates. Then gently brushes your knuckles with his fingers—like he’s memorizing the feel of you.

“You made me want things again,” he says.

“Kakashi...” you whisper.

“I don’t know what this is,” he continues, voice rough around the edges. “I don’t know how to do it right. But I know what it feels like when I leave the clinic and I wish I hadn’t. Or when I think about you in the middle of a mission, and it makes everything quieter for a second.”

You stare at him, eyes glassy.

“Being around you doesn’t make me forget,” he says. “But it makes remembering hurt less.”

Then, softly,

“I want this. I want you.”

He never meant to stay this long.

The hospital was supposed to be a pit stop. A consequence of a botched infiltration. Just a bed.

Just another awfully long healing process in a boring hospital, again.

Just another scar.

But then there was you.

Sharp-tongued. Steady-handed. Unafraid. You didn't look at him like a broken thing. You didn't see his mask and flinch. You saw someone worth keeping alive—someone worth caring for.

He remembers one of the first things you've said: "You're not going anywhere. I don't lose patients."

He remembers thinking, Good luck with that.

He hadn't believed you. Not then. Not with the weight he carried. But you stayed, even beyond the hospital. Every day, every sarcastic remark, every heartbeat.

And somewhere in the silence between your scoldings and salves, something changed.

He started making excuses.

A sore shoulder. A "follow-up." A muscle twitch that needed checking. When really, all he wanted was five minutes more with you. Ten, if he was lucky. Long enough to hear your laugh, banters, to see your smile.

Long enough to feel like maybe... he wasn't just another name on a chart to you.

You made him feel like he could be whole.

You made him want more.

And now, just inches from your warmth, he realizes—

You're the first person who didn't give up on him before he even began.

And this... this soft, staggering thing he feels in his chest—it's terrifying.

But it's real.

You met him where he was ruined—and stayed long enough to see him whole.

He doesn't want to leave.

You step in without thinking. Press your palm to his chest—right where his heartbeat drums steady against your hand.

“Take it off,” you say, so quiet it’s barely audible.

He freezes. “...What?”

“The mask,” you murmur. “Let me see you.”

Kakashi stills for a heartbeat. Two.

Then, slowly—very slowly—he raises a hand to his face. The fabric folds down with practiced ease.

And there he is.

His face. His scars. The ghost of old wounds etched along his jaw. He doesn't flinch. Not when you see him.

He's... beautiful.

Quiet vulnerability hangs between you, completely unguarded—all laid bare, just for you.

No facade. No barrier. Just him.

Kakashi.

You lift your hand to his cheek, thumb brushing the edge of a healed wound by his jaw. His eyes flutter shut—just briefly—like the touch startles him in a good way.

And then you lean in.

It's soft. Warm.

It's... real.

His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss—not with hunger, but with so much longing. Like he didn't think he deserved this, but now that it's happening, he's terrified to lose it.

When you finally part, your foreheads rest together, breaths slow and warm between you. The world feels like it’s holding its breath.

"I think,” you begin, barely above a whisper,

“I’m falling in love with you.”

Kakashi stills.

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for years.

"...You are?" he asks, voice ragged.

You nod.

"I didn't plan to. But you keep showing up, and suddenly you were just... everywhere."

“Kept telling myself it was just clinic visits,” he murmurs, almost like he’s confessing to a crime. “A few check-ups. A few muscle twinges. Some bruises I let hang around longer than they needed to.”

His thumb rubs over the back of your hand once, slow. “And... okay, a few dango runs. Maybe a few too many excuses to pass by your hallway. Maybe I started faking injuries just a little.”

You bite back a smile, but your chest aches.

He looks away for a second, as if the weight of saying it is harder than he'd like to admit.

“I told myself it was safer this way,” he continues, voice dropping to something more fragile. “To just… orbit. Not land. Not want.”

His jaw works. There’s something old in his eyes. Worn.

“You made it impossible for me. Somewhere between the salves and the stubborn lectures and you yelling at me for almost ripping my stitches—I stopped being scared. I just didn't know how to say it."

His hand finds yours and wraps around it gently, firmly, like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

“I didn’t know how to say any of this,” he admits. “I’ve never been good with... saying things.”

You don’t speak. You don’t need to.

You just look at him—his brow slightly furrowed, like he's bracing for the moment to crack and vanish beneath his feet. Like he’s waiting for you to pull away. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But it doesn’t.

It won’t. You won't.

Instead, your fingers curl tighter into his. You let the silence answer for you—full, grounding, real.

Then, gently—soft as breath—you say,

“I love you, too.”

The way Kakashi stills is so subtle you might miss it. A sharp inhale, a flicker in his eye like something ancient inside him just shifted.

And then he laughs—barely. A sound like wonder, like disbelief cracked in half. It’s not loud. It’s not showy. It’s just... Kakashi. Quiet. Guarded. But a little undone.

His voice comes slow. Measured. Like every word matters.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get to hear that.”

He says it like it costs him something. Like it matters more than he expected.

Your eyes sting.

His hand stays in yours, but his other reaches up and brushes the line of your jaw with the backs of his fingers. He’s still not sure you’re real. As if he’s trying to memorize you before you vanish.

You cup his cheek, and he leans into it like someone who’s forgotten how to ask for comfort but finally found it anyway.

And in that moment, something shifts.

He lets himself believe.

That he might be allowed to have this. That he might actually deserve it. That maybe, for once, he won’t lose the thing he’s grown to need.

His thumb brushes your cheek, slow, tender. Like he’s drawing a promise into your skin.

And when he leans in again—slowly, deliberately—the kiss he gives you is softer than the first. More certain. Less like a moment stolen, and more like one that belongs to you both.

Full of warmth.

Full of something that feels like future.

And this time, he doesn’t run.

You don't know it yet, but this is the moment he lets himself stay... in a love never thought he'd be allowed to feel or have.

One that began not with a plan, but with broken ribs, a wrong turn, and the quiet, stubborn hands of a doctor who didn't believe in losing.

A meeting that should've been nothing,

But somehow, became everything.

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated! thanks for stopping by ~ ^3^ <3

(p.s. i hope you guys saw the mirroring of events!! (kakashi to 'kashi), “to me”, and also the use of "you don't know it yet, but..")

requests are open! 🌸

[madamadamiu]

This is lowkey gonna be a delerious worldbuilding post while I’m sick and writing and sketching issue 2. I’m experimenting with different styles of workflows. On issue one I just wrote and drew it page by pge, but this time I’m writing the whole thing out first with planned panels and scripts.

I’m trying to figure out a good year for the cat shelter AU to take place in, and so far I’ve settled on the timeline of 2005-2010 range. This is gonna sound crazy but I want it to make sense for Ravage to be emo(and crying over Black Parade) as well as the lack of cell phones besides flip phones or somethingS

As for the actual cat shelter, the entire facility is a converted two-bedroom house that got turned into the shelter. The driveway got turned into a parking lot and Whirl lives in the bush next to the entryway stairs. The shelter is almost at the edge of town where a forest and mountain range is, think Appalachian mountains-esque in nature. Winding roads, humid summers, snowy winters, unpredicable weather, that whole shebang.

Iacon city itself is a medium sized valley city with many stray cat colonies, and their animal control takes themselves very seriously, not just for the sake of the cats but to preserve the native biodiversity. However, the decepticats put up a large fight.

I’m trying to figure out what kind of car Rung would drive, since he would need one to get around town. I’m thinking a car like this👇 1967 Mini Cooper, but more orange and run down obv. A stupidly old car to have even in the 2000s, but for some reason it’s a very reliable car for Rung.

Orion Pax would probably be riding in a pickup truck of sorts, it doesn’t really make sense for a guy to be riding around town in a big rig. I’d say 2004 Chevy Silverado. I’m still in the process of figuring out what his actual job would be. Maybe a firefighter? Someone who works with Animal Control enough to know both Rung and Prowl.

In regards to Ravage I wanted to give them more accessories bc they’re emo, but if you’ve worked with animals then you know that any bracelets or necklaces can be a hazard. So for the sake of the kitties, Ravage dresses more casual. Also for those who keep commenting that he looks like an Uchiha from Naruto… yeah….

It’s hard to figure out who to make human characters vs who to make cats. I want Overlord to be a human character, but I’m still on the fence about the DJD and the Scavengers.

When it comes to how much the AU follows the original MTMTE comics, I’m at a point where it’s 50% following and 50% me making up my own plots. Overlord being human doesn’t make sense when Megatron is a cat, but here we are.

If Ambulon joins the au I want him to have a patchy coat, a little half bald goober.

I don’t want the au to be 100% realistic, otherwise that would be BORING. If the AU was 100% realistic then the plot would just follow Rung doing a stupid amount of paperwork and vet financing.

I think it’s really funny when people comment “I’LL ADOPT THEM!!!!” On my art bc it reminds me of how some animals who are perfectly nice sit in shelters for YEARS but when they go viral theyre adopted in 10 seconds flat. Fort Max is too big to be adopted in Iacon, gets adopted by random person from Arkansas.

I love angst as much as the next guy but trust there shall be hella comfort at the end of this h/c train.

I figured I’ll end this off with the very first drawing I made of the captain trio as cats, which promptly bloomed into the full LL Cat Shelter AU. Oh how far we have come.

[r2d2lover]

Extra Credit

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.69k (im so sorry)

Warnings: first time blow job, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, F/M, cunnilingus, fingering, aged-up characters, Hogwarts Uni AU

Summary:

Fed up with being romantically inept, you ask your childhood best friend, Fred Weasley, for some help.

Despite his reputation, Fred was quite the studious reader. He was always in the heart of the common room on a weekend, buried in a book about tricks, potions, and temporary charms. He was a man of research and if he found something that needed testing, he would contact you. You had been his most trusted scientific confidant since your childhood years and now in post-secondary school, the two of you were ever the academics. Fred and George disguised their penchant for shenanigans through their potioneering concentration and fortunate for them, you were naturally gifted from the amount of times you want to defy your old potions professor. However, while post-secondary school had been kind, you felt yourself lacking knowledge in a different area of life: romance. 

You seemed to be the only one amongst your friends to be completely unskilled in the art of love. While your friends seemed to effortlessly navigate the waters of dating and relationships, you felt like you were drowning in a sea of awkwardness and uncertainty. Sure, you tried when you were younger, but time and opportunity eluded you. You were always too focused on your own agency or helping the twins pull off some prank. There wasn’t a single boy who caught and held your attention like Fred or George. You finally decided one night to take the plunge and join the sexual fray by asking Fred to help you out. You leveraged in your mind it was an educational opportunity that would only happen once. Fred was a frequent flier, as you had heard him described, around school, so you figured that not only would he have the experience, but it would be as casual as his other flings.

It was during one of your late-night study sessions with Fred that you finally decided to broach the subject. The common room was empty save for the two of you, the crackling fire casting a warm glow over the scattered parchments and open books.

"Fred," You began hesitantly, setting down your quill. The sound of the cracking embers saved you from any awkward silence. "Can I ask you something... personal?"

"Of course. What's on your mind?" Fred looked up from his book on temporary transfiguration charms, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. You took a deep breath, feeling your cheeks grow warm. He put his book down when he clocked your growing fluster.

"How do you... I need to ask you something. Er… a favor?” You shifted your weight nervously, which only added to the glee in Fred’s face. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs and stretching his arms behind his head. His smirk only grew wider.

“I love an opportunity for quid pro quo. What do you have in mind, princess?” Fred kept his lazy demeanor. Your stomach continued to bubble over from the nerves. You couldn’t believe you were actually going to ask him for this. Fred’s eyes followed you closely, especially when you swallowed thickly before speaking.

"Um, well...it's a chance to learn something new? An educational opportunity," You stumbled over your words, desperately trying to delay the inevitable. Fred gave you a quizzical look, silently urging you to elaborate with another raise of his eyebrows. "I...okay, fine. Teach me how to use my mouth." 

“Well, I think you have enough wit for the both of us and I know you and Cedric love to catch a snog-”

“No. Not like that,” The words felt like defeat as they left your lips. You curled your fingers in a nauseating mixture of fear and excitement. You leaned closer on the table and dropped your voice to a whisper. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

“Oh… Oh!” Fred’s eyes flashed with realization. He stood up from his chair too quickly, causing it to topple over and sent him crashing to the floor. You let out a gasp as Fred laughed and stayed on the ground. You reached out with a trembling hand to help him up, but he took advantage of the situation by pulling you down on top of him. “Are you... sure? Are you serious?”

“This is mortifying enough. Forget I said anything. It was, uh, a dare!” Your cheeks burned with humiliation while you scrambled to your feet. Fred let out another laugh and stood up without your help. Before you could flee, Fred grabbed your arm and trapped you against his body. He was absolutely drinking in your flustered state. 

“Woah, hey, where do you think you’re going? A dare? Nice try; You’re an awful liar,” Fred chuckled. He licked his lips in pure entertainment and you swore you saw his eyes darken. “I’ll teach you. I never said I wouldn’t.”

“I made a mistake. I don’t want this to make things weird between us,” You shake your head as if trying to clear your second thoughts, your first thoughts, and any thoughts, really. Fred took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping your head back so you looked up at him. Your mouth ran dry as you met his mischievous gaze. It was no secret that Fred was wildly attractive or that he was the object of affection for any girl in your cohort. You never thought you’d be seeing your childhood best friend in such light, but with the offer you just made, you tipped the two of you into an irreversible grey area. 

“It’s only weird if you don’t enjoy it and I am a very good teacher,” Fred practically purred into your ear. Your breath hitched as Fred's lips brushed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You couldn’t deny the fire building in your stomach that was beginning to temper your nausea. You couldn't believe this was happening, that you had actually asked him for this, and that he had agreed. “And I can’t pass up an educational opportunity. Especially not to you.”

"So, um, how do we... start?" You asked hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. Fred pulled back slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief and something darker.

"Well, first things first," Fred said, his voice low and husky. "We need a more private location. My room should do nicely."

Before you could protest, Fred had taken your hand and was leading you up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. Your heart pounded in your chest with each step and your mind followed suit, racing with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Once inside, Fred closed the door behind you with his foot and pushed you roughly against the wall. This was really happening.

“Stop me at any point, princess,” Fred trailed his lips from your ear lobe down to your jaw. He had you trapped against the door with a hand by your head and his knee planted against your thighs. He was skilled, as you had thought, and instead of feeling anxiety, you felt a strange sense of comfort. Your knees buckled as you felt his body heat envelop yours.

“Y-yes,” You said softly, nearly whimpering as you tried to restrain your hips from bucking into Fred’s leg. You felt ridiculous at your rampant desperation and tried miserably to keep your composure. Fred was delighted. He captured your lips into his and you sank into his plush warmth. You wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged him closer to deepen the kiss. Despite the rational side of you telling you to stop kissing your best friend, the deliciously irrational side was indulging in how kissing Fred felt like an electric current. His free hand snaked to your waist, gentle yet firm with possession. 

As your tongues tangled, you savored the taste of Fred's lips, tinged with the subtle flavor of mint from the gum he had been chewing earlier and a general candied sweetness. The mint mixed with his wild scent of firewood smoke and woody cologne, driving you absolutely insane. You tilted your head back without any protest to allow Fred access to your neck. He deftly nipped at the sensitive skin between your neck and jaw, drawing out your whimpers even more. Your hands dragged slowly from his neck down to his broad chest until they finally landed hooked in his belt loops. You ghosted your hands over the free edge of his trousers, mindlessly tracing the space between his pants and boxers. You moved your hand down further, gently teasing his growing bulge. Fred grunted with frustrated desire and sucked down on your neck hard. 

You blindly tugged at his belt with a matched desperation to free him. Fred's hands quickly joined yours, fumbling with his belt buckle in a frantic rush. As it finally came loose, you yanked it free and tossed it aside, the metal clinking as it hit the floor. Your fingers trembled as you worked on the button of his jeans, while Fred's mouth continued its assault on your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses.

"Merlin, I've wanted this for so long. You are… unreal," Fred breathed against your skin, his voice strained with need. You thought he was speaking out of desire, for there was no way your childhood friend thought of you the same way you did him. He worked the buttons of your blouse loose and he couldn’t help himself from tearing his mouth away from your body to savor the sight. Before you could fully undo his jeans, he placed an imposing hand over yours. “Ah, ah. Your lesson begins here. Get on your knees.”

With an obedience purely fueled by desperation, you nodded at Fred while looking up at him through your eyelashes. You dropped to your knees while keeping your hands on his hips. A small part of you wanted to impress him, so you finally tugged his jeans and boxers off in one go.

“Eager student, aren’t you? Very Ravenclaw of you,” Fred grinned with a humored sarcasm. With a strange fondness, he caressed your cheek before raking his fingers through your hair so that he could gather it all back into a firm hold. You looked at his member nervously, trying to keep your eyes from widening. You realized that his “object of affection” went further than his whimsical looks and personality. 

"Don't worry, love. We'll take it slow," Fred chuckled softly at your hesitation, but still he reassured you, his voice throaty with desire. You tentatively reached out, wrapping your fingers around his impressive length. Fred inhaled sharply at your touch, his grip tightening in your hair. Emboldened by his reaction, you began to stroke him slowly, marveling at the velvet-soft skin over steel hardness. "That's it. Now, use your mouth. Just the tip at first."

Heart racing, you leaned forward and took him between your lips. Fred groaned deeply, his hips jerking slightly. His fingers flexed tightly against your scalp. The salty taste of him filled your senses as you swirled your tongue experimentally. Your mind raked through what your friends had told you before and how to proceed. You leaned forward, taking more of him into your mouth while keeping your eyes trained on him for reaction. You hollowed your cheeks to apply a gentle suction as you began to bob your head. Fred’s hips twitched, fighting the urge to thrust. Instead, he tightened his grip on your hair and guided your movements that way. His free hand caressed your cheek, thumb brushing over your stretched lips. It seemed as if he couldn’t believe the situation either. 

“You… you don’t seem to need lessons,” Fred hissed. You kept looking up at him, utterly fascinated by his reaction. You were enjoying the way you were making him come undone. “Mmm, move your hand down… Merlin, just like that. Good girl.”

You obeyed, sliding your hand down to the base of his shaft as you continued your ministrations with your mouth. His words caused you to moan around him. You dragged a cupping hand over the furthest part of his manhood, which made Fred throw back his head with the loudest groan by far. Fred's breathing grew ragged, his chest heaving as he fought to maintain control. The grip in your hair tightened further, almost to the point of pain, but the discomfort only fueled your arousal.

"Fuck," Fred groaned, his voice strained. "You're a natural, love. But if you keep this up, I won't last much longer."

Encouraged by his words, you redoubled your efforts, taking him deeper into your throat. You gagged slightly but with his guidance, you were determined to bring him pleasure. Fred's hips began to move more insistently, setting a rhythm that you eagerly matched.

"I'm close," Fred warned, his voice trembling with a moan. "You don't have to--"

You had no intention of stopping. You attempted to swallow what you could around him and Fred’s eyes squeezed shut tight. Humming in acknowledgement, Fred twitched at the vibration. With a hand around his shaft and the other at his sack, you could feel him close to ending the lesson you begged for. In one swift movement, Fred's hand reached up and grabbed your hair, pulling you away from his manhood. Your eyes widened in surprise and your gaze met his intense, dark eyes. Your gag was replaced with a gasp while you forgot how to breathe. Fred breathing was just as heavy and ragged as yours while he tried to regain his composure. His messy red hair clung to his aroused perspiration. He looked down at the sight of you on your knees, a small smile peeking through the corner of his lips. 

“Is something wrong? Fred-”

“I want to keep going. I don’t want to finish here, but Merlin, you are gorgeous,” Fred panted. You gave a wide eyed nod while Fred yanked you up. “It’s not fair that you’re basically fully clothed.”

“An easy fix,” Your voice was still hoarse from the earlier intrusion, but it didn’t distract you from fully shedding your clothes. Fred leaned foward to reseek your mouth and took your distraction as an opportunity to push you back into his bed. “Is this taking it too far?”

“Only if you think so,” Fred moved a gentle hand down towards your breasts, indulging himself in the soft mound of skin. Fred's eyes darkened with desire as he gazed down at your naked form. “Do you want to stop?”

"No, god, no,” You mewled. “This is… extra credit.”

“Mmm, extra credit,” Fred removed his mouth from your neck to laugh at your remark. You arched into his touch, craving more. 

"Please, Fred," You whimpered. You encouraged him by dragging your foot up against his thigh, pulling him closer with just your foot.

"Patience, love. I want to savor every inch of you," Fred chuckled against your skin again. “And I have to give you an ‘A’ for your earlier performance. This is just a testament to your good work.'“

True to his word, Fred took his time exploring your body with his lips and fingers. He lavished attention on your breasts, teasing your nipples to stiff peaks. His mouth blazed a trail down your stomach, pausing to dip his tongue into your navel. When he finally reached the apex of your thighs, you were trembling with need. Fred's hot breath ghosted over your most sensitive areas and he was having as much fun as you were. 

“I can’t… Stop teasing, please… Fred-” You whined pathetically as you bucked your hips up, desperate for friction. Fred only tsked and held you down with more conviction. His fingers traced delicate patterns on your inner thighs, sending shivers through your body. You squirmed beneath him, desperate for more contact. Fred's lips curled into a mischievous smile as he watched you writhe. Finally relenting, Fred lowered his head and placed a gentle kiss on your most sensitive spot. You gasped at the sensation, your back arching off the bed. Encouraged by your reaction, Fred's tongue began to explore, alternating between long, languid strokes and quick, teasing flicks. 

Your hands found their way into Fred's hair, gripping tightly as waves of pleasure washed over you. Fred's fingers joined his mouth, slowly pushing inside you as his tongue’s pace continued. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending tingling with pleasure as Fred’s mouth and fingers worked their magic. You wailed out an incoherent string of his name slathered with curses. You managed a peak at the mess of red hair between your thighs, only to be met with the cheeky smirk of a man drunk with desire. His smile is smug and glistening with your arousal, which only makes you arch your back higher. 

You surrendered yourself to the pleasure, a symphony of sounds and sensations that left you breathless and flushed with desire. A tightness built in your stomach and you voiced your climbing pleasure by tugging at Fred’s hair. Painfully, though you did not know which party it hurt more, Fred removed his mouth and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked nothing short of animalistic and he looked at you with primal pleasure. He helped himself up and kissed you again deeply, slowly lining himself up with you. You whimpered into the kiss, tasting a remnant of yourself on his lips as you felt the heat of him pressing against your entrance. Fred broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he locked eyes with you. His gaze was intense, filled with a mixture of lust and something deeper, more tender.

"Ready, love?" Fred murmured, pressing his forehead against you. You nodded frantically, beyond words at this point. Fred slowly pushed forward, stretching you deliciously as he entered. You both groaned in unison at the sensation, your bodies finally joining as one. Fred stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size, his arms trembling slightly with the effort of restraint. You were beside yourself at this point.

"Move," You pleaded, rolling your hips to encourage him. Fred didn't need to be told twice. He began to thrust, starting with slow, deep strokes that had you gasping for air at each movement. In the dim light of the room, you could see the muscles on Fred’s back ripple as he moved, his body glistening with sweat. The veins on his neck bulged with exertion while his face was a mix of concentration and pleasure. The scent of sweat and sex mixed together, a heady aroma that filled the room and only made you dizzy with further desire. Your lips parted as you panted for air, tasting the sweetness of Fred's kiss still lingering on your tongue. You pulled his head back down to feel his lips again. The rhythmic sounds of skin against skin and heavy breathing filled the room, accompanied by the occasional moan or whimper of pleasure. Each thrust from Fred brought a new wave of pleasure, leaving you crying for wanting more.

Fred’s skin was hot against yours, his strong hands gripping onto your hips as he thrust into you. Your skin tingled with each movement, his touch igniting sparks of pleasure throughout your body. Your fingers dug into the sheets beneath you, providing an anchor from falling off the edge too quickly. 

“You’re so good, princess. You’re an addiction,” Fred languished in your ear. “How badly have you wanted me? I want to hear you say it.”

“Forever… Merlin, I’ve had a crush on you forever. I’ve wanted this- for so long- ah!” You struggled with your words as your mind began to turn white hot with ecstasy. While you would’ve said anything to secure your release, you were wretchedly honest. Fred bit back a smirk while he snapped his hips with much slower pace. 

“Music. To. My. Ears,” Fred grunted with each movement of his hips. You began chanting his name again and clawed at his chest to stay grounded, but you had already begun to slip. “Come undone, princess. I want to see you make a mess of yourself. Because of me.”

Your body obeyed his command, trembling uncontrollably as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Fred's name fell from your lips in a breathy moan as your entire body lifted off of the bed. Your vision blurred, overwhelmed by the intensity of your release. Fred groaned deeply, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own climax.

"That's it, love. You're so beautiful like this," Fred heaved, his voice shaky with desire. As you came down from your high, Fred captured your lips in a searing kiss. In the moment, he pulled out and spilled himself onto your stomach with a labored breath. He collapsed next to you in exhaustion, begging for a second to recapture his thoughts. 

While Fred helped you clean yourself of him and in the midst of redressing, a small sense of dread replaced the crashing adrenaline. You couldn't help but wonder if this was just a one-time thing for Fred and how it would affect the next day, hell, even the next five minutes. The thought made your chest tighten with anxiety. As if sensing your unease, Fred pulled you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours, love?" Fred murmured, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your skin. 

"I just... I don't want this to be a mistake. For you, I mean," You croaked with a new sense of clarity. Fred's eyes widened in surprise before softening with understanding. He cupped your face in his hands, his gaze intense and sincere. 

"Listen to me, princess. This could never be a mistake. I've wanted you for so long, I can hardly believe this is real. If we make this work, it won’t change what we had," Fred assured with another kiss. He flattened your mussed hair and looked at you teasingly. “And if anything, this was just an education opportunity, right?”

“It was a good class,” Your heart fluttered from Fred’s reassurance. “Is there any homework I need to catch up on?”

“Oh, today was just an introduction to the syllabus, princess,” Fred bit his lip devilishly. “Ready for lesson two?”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

🎉 Thank You for 10k+ Followers!! 🎉

A big thank you goes out to @cozymochi for this beautiful celebratory commissioned artwork for this major milestone ✨ It really captures the scope of all the content that had been put out in the last 4+ years—both in terms of official Twst materials and on this blog! I think it’s very fitting that we hit this milestone in the month of Halloween too (I just held off on posting this til the month after); it’s Twst’s biggest holiday of the year, so it’s twice the cause for celebration!!

A lot has happened over the course of my time in this fandom. I’ve written many things of course, but I’ve also had many other exciting opportunities! I’ve been interviewed for a paper, met many cool people from all over the world, attended Twst meetups + events, collaborated with other talented creators, received kind gifts, contributed to various fandom projects, and finished telling the origins of my Twst OC. This blog has been with me through a lot of major changes and difficult hurdles in my life too—it’s really been an anchor for me, a comforting and safe space for me to be creative or analytical whenever I want to be.

When I first started this blog as a very casual hobby in summer of 2020, I never even considered that it would balloon to this extent. It still doesn’t feel totally real to me 😭 I don’t usually fixate on numbers (they make me anxious), but looking back on it, 10k is a LOT, and 4 years is a long time. To put that in perspective, if we were in Twisted Wonderland for 4 years then all of the students we’ve come to know and love would have graduated by now. That’s crazy to me. We’ve come so far as a group.

I feel that a large part of fandom is the community that comes with it. I would have found it so challenging to stick with Twst had I not had so many great people keeping me engaged with it. I’d now like to take a moment to thank those folks. Keeping in line with the idea of “4 years”, think of these as little messages scrawled in a yearbook. I also have a blog event planned to celebrate! More on that later.

Please note that I’ve used pseudonyms for most of the following people, as I’d like to respect their privacy (I’m very private myself) + not all of them are comfortable with being explicitly named or tagged to a large crowd. You’ll know who you are if you see yourself on here.

Without further ado:

MSS — Thank you for being the first Twst space I felt truly a part of. It’s still the place I consider my fandom “home” beyond this blog.

April — Thank you for making MSS as a place for us to share! We’re tsunderes in solidarity.

Drinking Knight — The banners wouldn’t exist without your help. Thanks for getting the ball rolling on those; I’d like to think that I’m a little more confident in designing new ones myself now, but you were the start of it all. Your endless enthusiasm for the most insane otome boys, drinks, and bullying (positive) others is truly an inspiration.

Q. Opinionated — Can’t count the number of times you ran tech support for me 💀 Thanks so much for being patient and willing to laugh at a stupid situation. I WILL grip you (escape is not an option) 🤲

Dad with his Printer — Why are you so cheeky My unofficial proofreader and fact checker. Still treasure the teeny J word and coffin magnets you sent, and, even more valuable than those, the bad dad jokes/puns advice and wisdom you give. Wishing you luck on your art adventure.

A. Cider — An unexpected friend I met very late into the fandom and happened to run into irl by total coincidence. Funny how life works. Your shitposts are great, and I appreciate having a like-minded person to talk with about the J words and story critiques. I’d also like to thank you for the many little doodles you’ve made; I know you’re very busy and have a wife to tend to at home but I appreciate that you still make time for friends.

Hana — Extroverted pink-haired magical girl representation. Your bubbly love for Disney, Diasomnia, singing, and (yes) angst lights up the entire room. Maybe you’re not too confident with yourself are right now, but I know you’ll find your way.

Swan — For being quick on the uptake and giving me the heads up about various things! We may not talk much one-on-one, but I’m thinking of you and enjoy seeing you pitch into the conversation. You’re still banned for L*ona posting though/j

Ly — My secret French twin/j Thanks for being my cultural + equine advisor and a voice of (salty) reason. Never shut up about your hyperfixations! You’re a real one.

Oys — Enabler + encourager of my Yan!Sil delusions. Sorry for making your blood pressure spike every time we talk about our food takes. But hey, at least we get a good laugh out of it :))

Mac and Bean — For being my inspirations. Bean, you have such atmospheric writing. I hope my writing style can be just as magical as yours. Mac, it was your blog that first got me into starting my own Twst writing. You never stop being so, so funny also I blame you 120% for the L*ona rot.

Peaches and Cream — To my local Twst friends, thanks for keeping me company even through the hard times. Peaches, happy to be your local Twst dealer anytime. Cream, thanks for hooking me up with new books.

Salt and Flora — I don’t know where you vanished to, but the sea brought you back to me on its tides. I’m so happy we could meet again. Salt, you’re so talented at crochet and design work; get your coin 😂 Flora, you’re the sweetest person ever. Literally cottagecore personified, even in your art.

Piano — We don’t always see eye to eye, but thank you for being my serial debater and showing me new perspectives. Your open-minded theories and analyses are such fun. And, of course, it’s always hilarious to think about how we accidentally (?) swapped oshis 🤡 You’re a star.

The Anklebiter — For having the most unhinged jokes and ideas. Seriously, THE most unhinged. I never do any of the crazy things you suggest but I’m always really entertained from just hearing them.

Te, Mi, and Ro — Thanks for organizing local events and giving me an excuse to touch grass. It’s a lot of hard work and you guys manage to pull it off every time! Mi, I was flattered to have you reach out to me to help a little with the Tweel cupsleeve event. Happy to help anytime! Te, I remember you were cosplaying as Kalim when we first met and I kept thinking about how perfectly suited you are for the role. You were very friendly and made such an effort to include everyone in the event even when I was Idia-ing in the corner. To this day, you continue to spontaneously introduce me to new people 😂 Thanks for getting me put of my comfort zone. Ro, I didn’t think we’d meet again like this. Small world! You’re learning and improving the big events. Here’s hoping to many more!

Vic — For being Ace Trappola when very few others would. It’s refreshing to have someone tell it like it is. I wish I could be as bold and as honest as you are sometimes. You have such a big heart when it comes to the characters you love; it makes me want to adore them like you do too 🫶

Kana — For being so sweet and patient. You helped me through so many rough patches and have also contributed a lot to the look of the blog. It’s so fun gushing with you about magical girls and pretty boys, sharing our favorite shows and movies… I feel as though I’ve made a lifelong friend.

Zari — Thank you for charms and art book, big fan of your stuff 😭 So honored to have worked with you on projects too. I hope to see a lot more of your Yuu and other OCs around, I love following them ^^

Lala — You understand, encourage, and validate my weird tastes in fictional men 💕 Really admire your sense of fashion and stylish nails too. Whenever I have my shrimp apron on, I think of you.

Arisu — No longer in the Twst fandom but integral in the earliest days. Wherever you are now, I wish you nothing but happiness.

P-san — You’re a lifesaver!! Thank you so much for helping me find cute little outfits and accessories for my plushies… They are forever grateful to be properly clothed.

V, Fa, Fe, Ray, Rea, Sonny, Glimmer Group, and Incognito Crew — Thanks for being so supportive of my hyperfixation on Disney villain anime boys, even if you guys have NO clue what I’m rambling about half of the time. To V specifically 🫵 I am NOT a cat boy kisser

Mango — I didn’t know I wanted you in my life until you showed up uninvited one day and chewed your way into my heart.

Azul Ashengrotto — For being the character that first convinced me into giving this game a shot. The Little Mermaid was something I always held so dear to me, so it almost seems like destiny that you’d be the one to drag me down into Twst. You’ll always hold a special place in my heart for that, even if my feelings have changed since then.

Rook Hunt — For being there when I needed to laugh a little. It’s scary to glance over my shoulder sometimes, but you make it easier to smile as I look back.

Rollo Flamme — For letting me know that having negative feelings is normal and human, even if we don’t always cope with them in the healthiest of ways. Let’s reflect and be better together!

Leona Kingscholar — For showing me that change and personal growth is, in fact, possible. Th-This doesn’t mean I like you or anything though, so get off your high horse—

Jade Leech — For taking my hand and guiding me back on the path when I got lost in the dark. Whatever crimes you may commit in your free time, I forgive you/j

Miss Raven Crowley — The little black bird who could, the blog muse. I made you on a whim and look at where you are now… You went from a background character to the main character of your own story. So proud of you, my child 😭

Asset compilers, fan artists, fanfic writers, fan translators, cosplayers, merch makers, editors, plushie pic takers, video essayists, theorizers, etc. — You’re all so important to keeping the fandom alive, especially during periods of official content drought. It wouldn’t be feasible for me to list out all of the content creators I enjoy (chjsbsksks and it honestly might be awkward since I haven’t directly interacted with most of them), but I hope that this message still reaches you and finds you well. Keep doing your thing; I love seeing the work you put out ^^

Anyone and everyone that I’ve ever commissioned and/or received fan works from — I appreciate that you took time and energy out of your day to create something for me. There’s so much talent in the Twst fandom and I’m honored that you would dedicate some of that to a silly little birb.

You, the Readers — For supporting this blog and and what I do here! You’re an important part of my journey too.

Thank you!! Here’s to a future unknown and a page unwritten.

- The Writing Raven

[heartsiebyul]

hello heartsie!! I love your writing so much HAHDHSBHS

This is my first time requesting. Can you write a oneshot where the reader is an academic achiever, and they're burnt out after hosting an event. Can u write the second year's (separately) comforting the reader?/nf

Thank you so so much!!

NRC Second Years

(Art not mine, all respect and credit to the original artist.)

Twisted Wonderland characters comforting their overworked, high-achieving lover after event burnout.

— Riddle : Ruggie : Azul : Jade : Floyd : Kalim : Jamil : Silver x reader!

Riddle Rosehearts

You barely made it back to your dorm room before collapsing into your desk chair, the lingering buzz of the event still throbbing in your skull like a drum. The decorations were perfect, the speeches flawless, and everything ran on schedule—but the weight of perfection had hollowed you out. A knock came moments later, crisp and precise. Riddle stepped inside, already noting the mess of papers, the slump of your posture, and the heavy bags under your eyes. Without a word, he quietly cleared your desk, stacked your notes into neat piles, and pulled you gently by the wrist toward the bed.

"You did everything you were supposed to… more than anyone asked of you," Riddle murmured as he sat beside you, his gloved hand brushing your hair back from your temple. "But even roses need rest between blooms. You can't uphold every standard alone, no matter how strong you are." His voice softened as he placed a warm cup of tea in your hands—rosehip, your favorite. “Allow yourself to be proud. Then allow yourself to stop.”

Ruggie Bucchi

You’d been running on fumes all week—event planning, schoolwork, committee meetings, it never ended. You hadn’t even realized you fell asleep at your desk until the smell of fried dough roused you. Ruggie stood beside you, one hand holding a small takeout bag and the other already pushing your laptop closed. "Oi, you’re gonna work yourself into the grave like that. Not even magic'll fix a burnt-out brain."

He handed you a warm dango stick with an easy grin, then crouched beside you, his arm resting casually on your chair. “You keep going like this, and I’m gonna start charging you for stress tax. Seriously, you’re allowed to chill sometimes.” There was something surprisingly gentle in his eyes as he nudged your shoulder with his own. “Lemme help carry some of that load, yeah? You're not the only one who can handle a little chaos.”

Azul Ashengrotto

The applause had barely died down before you slipped into the nearest empty classroom, your perfect host smile vanishing the second the door clicked shut. You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady your breathing. Azul found you there not long after—he hadn’t seen you return to the post-event reception and grew concerned. He stepped in quietly, his usual confidence softened by concern, a thermos in hand and his coat draped over one arm.

“You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone tonight,” he said gently, kneeling before your chair so you’d meet his eyes. “You’ve done enough—more than enough. You gave everyone a flawless event, but I can see how much of yourself it cost you.” He placed his coat over your shoulders and passed you the thermos. “Chamomile. For your nerves. Allow yourself some grace, my pearl. Even the strongest need to rest in safe harbors.”

Jade Leech

The post-event silence was jarring after days of noise and movement. You found yourself in the campus greenhouse, hiding among the moonlit foliage with your fingers trembling from exhaustion. Jade's voice broke the quiet, calm and velvety as ever. “Ah, I suspected I’d find you here.” He approached with a slow, deliberate step, setting down a lantern and a wrapped bundle on the bench beside you.

He sat across from you, folding his hands in his lap. “You’ve been wearing yourself thin, haven’t you? Even mushrooms know when to stop growing.” He offered you the bundle—sliced fruit dusted with sugar and herbs, something refreshing. “The pursuit of excellence is admirable, but it should not come at the expense of your own well-being.” His eyes, though sharp, held an unusual softness. “Let me be the one to keep watch tonight. You, my dear, need only breathe.”

Floyd Leech

The second the event ended, you disappeared, and that didn’t sit well with Floyd. He found you lying flat on your back in the gym storage room, jacket bunched under your head and a dead stare at the ceiling. “Shrimpyyy~ there you are,” Floyd drawled, flopping down beside you with zero care for the dusty floor. “You looked like you were gonna pop back there. All tight and stiff like a balloon. Pfft.”

He reached over and poked your cheek, then tugged you toward him, forcing your head onto his chest like a plush toy. “You’re way more fun when you’re not all overworked and blahhh. So how ‘bout this—we ditch all the stress, and I squish the burnout right outta ya.” His arms wrapped tightly around you, warm and oddly grounding. “You did good, y’know. Real good. But now it’s my turn to take care of you, kay?”

Kalim Al-Asim

The lights were dimmed, the guests gone, and you finally slumped onto a couch backstage, head swimming. Kalim came bouncing in moments later, still glowing with excitement—until he saw your face. His expression softened immediately, and he rushed over, kneeling in front of you with both hands gripping yours. “sunshine… you okay? You looked amazing out there, but… I can tell you’re tired.”

Without waiting, he pulled you into a hug, his warmth wrapping around you like sunlight. “You don’t have to smile all the time, y’know? It’s okay to say you’re tired.” He looked up at you with wide, sincere eyes. “Let’s do something calm together—something just for you. We can nap, stargaze, or I can sing you a lullaby! You’ve taken care of everyone else tonight. Now let me take care of you.”

Jamil Viper

You were cleaning up alone long after the event ended, fingers trembling with fatigue as you folded banners and packed boxes. Jamil appeared beside you like a shadow, wordlessly taking a stack of supplies from your arms. “What are you doing?” he asked quietly but firmly. “You’re past your limit. I could see it in your eyes hours ago.” He gestured toward a nearby bench. “Sit. That’s an order.”

Once you were seated, he knelt in front of you, pulling out a thermos and a container of food from his bag—something he had apparently prepared in case you pushed yourself too far. “You don’t need to keep pushing just to prove you’re capable. No one doubts that.” His voice was low but sincere, brushing your hair away from your face with rare tenderness. “Let someone help you when you need it. Let me help.”

Silver

The moonlight filtered softly through the trees as you sat on a garden bench outside the venue, your posture slouched and eyes half-lidded from exhaustion. The silence was broken only by the gentle sound of approaching footsteps—Silver, drawn by an instinct sharper than any knight’s training. He stood quietly for a moment before settling beside you, his presence calm, protective, and unintrusive.

“You’ve done more than enough,” he said softly, his voice a balm against the buzzing in your mind. “You’re always taking care of things, always striving so hard. But you’re human.” He gently took your hand, his thumb stroking across your knuckles. “Let yourself rest. I’ll stay here with you. You don’t need to say anything… just lean on me. I’ll keep watch while you sleep.”

Thank you sm!💗

[kitbunnyroo]

single dad centaur...

happy family trope my beloved cause i'm a sucker for girl dads and centaurs so here we are with a ramble post, emphasis on the rambling part <33

it's just him and his seven year old daughter, her mother having found a better life for herself that required her to leave the country and therefore the two of them since that long of a distance wasn't something they could manage. he's picking up his daughter from school when he finds out they have a human teacher to help all the students learn the human common language, he finds it strange, but his daughter seems to enjoy the class, so he doesn't mind. attempts at conversation are made and as soon as you reply to him in his own language he's caught off guard, there was no set expectation but it certainly wasn't to hear his own tongue roll so smoothly off from the mouth of a human. it was a pleasant surprise, to say the least, as he bid you a friendly goodbye and his daughter followed suit.

from then on you saw him every day, he'd drop the sweet little girl off and she'd trot on over to her desk and friends, while you'd greet each other, always ending up in a lengthy conversation afterwards. the other staff would relentlessly tease you about how perfectly punctual the father-daughter duo had become though. your class wasn't till the end of the day, but you'd often relax in the guard booth as the guard was your friend, and the ac was also the best on campus, so all the fellow teachers had the perfect view of the tall centaur standing at the guard booth long after his child had gone off simply so he could talk to you some more, you'd try to calm their excited heads by saying all your conversations were centered around his daughter's studies, yet of course they were having none of it. and he himself told himself the same thing, he's only a concerned single father wanting to keep informed on his child's studies.

by the middle of the semester you had gotten used to being Ki'dano's favourite teacher, your desk in the staff room always holding at least one of her crafts from her art class accompanied by a piece of fruit or a homemade her father would've given you at the gate. if the teasing from the other teachers was relentless before you'd swear they were getting paid for it now. by lunch time you'd have already encouraged the young centauress to engage with her peers seven times minimum due to her insisting she spends her free time with you, and at dismissals she'd make it her sole duty to praise you even more to her father, who had gone from punctual to early so that he'd have more time to spend with you, still convincing himself he was only doing a father's duty and showing you his gratitude for taking such good care of his daughter.

at the end of her first term with you, the cheeky little thing proposed the idea of you joining them for dinner that weekend, flustering her poor father as he rushed an attempt to smooth it over by saying it's not a problem if you already have plans for the evening, the stunned expression on his face when you agreed with a smile was priceless. Ki'dano had to give you their address in his stead before the poor soul snapped out of his trance and bid you farewell till later, walking out the gate with an ecstatic little centauress at his side. when the two had gotten home he faced an endless amount of teasing, his enthusiasm taking him by surprise as he cleaned the already spotless home and immediately picked out their best casual outfits for later then got dinner on the stove, triple checking each ingredient and step of the recipe, taking a few extra steps in caring for his coat after the food was done, doing a neat braid with his thoroughly combed mane, the only thing left was to wait.

if only you had been there to see how nervous he was while he paced in the living room, Ki'dano having a fun giggle to herself as she sat with her snacks. but you had to get ready yourself, going through your wardrobe trying to find something comfortable that wasn't an oversized tee and cozy pair of shorts. eventually you settled on an outfit you had put together but never gotten the chance to wear, then found a mirror to study your reflection in and make sure your hair as well as face in general was presentable, wouldn't be suitable to show up to your student's house looking anything short of perfect after all, especially with her father present...not that it mattered! not at all, who cares what the tall..beefy..caring centaur dilf thinks...but that's just an average description! everyone would describe him like that!

now, after a good few hours of driving, you're stood face to face with a nervous father and his over excited daughter, the two of you hopelessly staring at each other in fumbled greetings and compliments till the latter pulls you past him and into the warm abode. she sits you on their couch, insisting that you look over the progress she's made on her homework for the break period before dinner, and how could you refuse such a sweet face? and how could he resist watching as you dedicate your time and focus to tenderly correcting his daughter on the mistakes she made, explaining where she went wrong and making sure she understood the correct way to answer the questions....he had to smack himself with his tail to stop his staring for he was afraid he'd bore holes into your poor back, blaming the loud noise on a mosquito and hurrying to busy himself with putting up a candle for the pesky bugs....this was going to be a long evening.

chat should i actually write the dinner with these two being delusional simps and Ki'dano lowkey being their wingman??? stopped it here cause i've been working on it long enough and need to post something-

[amirawrah]

⭐︎Distant love

with JOBE BELLINGHAM⭐︎REQUESTED BY ANON!

synopsis: In a world of distance and spotlight love finds its way back—every time.

amirah: the anon requested a Jobe x Ghanian reader so warning here.

You never imagined love could stretch itself across oceans and time zones, but somehow, with Jobe, it did. You were a socialite in Accra—your days woven between luncheons, brand deals, charity galas, and magazine shoots. Your face graced billboards, your name trended every time you posted, and yet, no amount of flashing cameras or curated images filled the space Jobe left when he wasn't near.

You met him in London. A random night, an art event you almost didn’t go to. You wore gold—he told you later it made his heart skip. What followed was a whirlwind of weeks, texts, and dates that ended in airport hugs and whispered promises to try.

And somehow, you did.

You tried. You both tried.

Now, it’s been three months since you last touched him. Three months of FaceTimes falling asleep, sending each other photos of what you're eating for dinner, and crossing off calendar days until his next break.

Today, your morning starts the way most do—fresh fruit on the balcony, your PA reading out invites, your phone blowing up from a new photo of you going viral. But the glow of the sun doesn’t warm the emptiness. Your heart aches a little when you see the date: it’s the first weekend of May. You were supposed to be in Birmingham, but a brand obligation anchored you home.

You miss him.

You tell yourself not to text. He has training. But then your fingers betray you.

you: miss you a little extra today. i wore that shirt you love.

You don’t expect a response, but it comes a few minutes later, a picture of his tired face.

jobe: i miss you too. can’t lie, today’s dragging. can’t wait for you to wear it in front of me again.

You smile. That ache eases a bit.

Later that night, you’re in a white robe, your skin glowing from a body oil shoot, your makeup still intact, when your phone lights up again.

FaceTime: Jobe

You pick up instantly. He’s lying down, one side of his curls smushed into the pillow, lips slightly swollen with tiredness. Still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Hi, baby,” he says, voice low and soft.

You melt. “Hi.”

“I hate this,” he mutters, closing his eyes for a second. “I hate not being there. You’re everywhere I wanna be.”

You wrap the robe tighter around yourself and sit cross-legged on your bed. “You’re doing what you love. I’m proud of you.”

He groans, rubbing his face. “Still. I want to be able to pull up to your place at midnight just because I miss you. I want to surprise you at brunch in your ‘rich auntie’ outfit. I want to be in the front row when you walk that charity runway next month.”

You bite your lip, heart thudding. “I want all of that too.”

There’s a pause.

“Come home this summer,” he says.

You blink. “Home?”

“To me. Come spend it in England. Please.”

You can’t speak right away. It’s not that you don’t want to. You do. God, you do. But your life in Ghana is full. Overflowing.

Still, what’s fullness if your heart feels half?

“I’ll talk to the team,” you whisper. “Maybe I can move some things.”

He looks at you like you just handed him the world. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His smile is boyish and warm. You see the seventeen-year-old in him again. The one who shyly asked for your number in that crowded gallery, standing there in a tracksuit while you wore gold.

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” he murmurs.

“You always do.”

When you finally see him again, it’s at Kotoka Airport.

He flew in.

He wasn’t supposed to. But you see him walking out of Arrivals, dragging one suitcase, hoodie over his head, looking so casual and yet—

Like air. Your life.

You run.

He drops his bag and opens his arms, and you crash into him like waves against sand. You cling to him, breathing him in. He smells like clean laundry and the cologne you left at his place.

That night, you’re barefoot in your kitchen, cooking him waakye because he asked so sweetly, music playing low. He comes up behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, and sways you gently, lips grazing your shoulder.

You laugh. “You’re tired.”

“I missed you more.”

And you think—maybe love does stretch across oceans. Maybe it grows in the space between calls, and flourishes in faith.

Because somehow, here you are.

And he’s still yours.

footballwagupdates

liked by iwannabelovedlikethis, footieupdatz, bellihoes and 50K others

@footballwagupdates: Jobe Bellingham landed in Accra and it’s safe to say he got the warmest welcome possible. The midfielder was spotted embracing his longtime girlfriend and media influencer y/n l/n. Jobe is also set to be attending the charity gala in which his girlfriend also took a part organising. The pair have been together for 4 years despite how private their relationship is. Long-distance love winning again? We think yes. #JobeBellingham #y/n #love

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@bellihoes: Long distance could NEVER be me but I’m rooting for them fr 😭❤️

@randommanlover: Not me zooming in to see the matching bracelets 😩💍

@lovelovelove: I’d give anything to be loved like this ngl 😭

@needabellinghamx: This is why we stan real love

It’s been three days since Jobe arrived, and the house feels fuller in the best way. Your family home in Accra is already a lively place—cousins weaving in and out, uncles dropping by unannounced, aunties setting down trays of meat pies and chilled sobolo as if summoned by scent. But with Jobe around? Everything feels lighter. Brighter.

He fits in effortlessly, dapping up your older brothers like he’s known them forever and helping your mum carry bags from the car. He even holds his own in heated football debates with your uncle, which is basically a rite of passage.

But there’s one thing you don’t miss.

Ama.

Your cousin.

Sweet, giggly, always polished influencer Ama, who’s suddenly a little too present whenever Jobe enters the room.

It starts small—her choosing to sit beside him during family dinners, asking him about football like she just discovered the sport yesterday, offering him pineapple juice before you can even stand up.

You clock it.

So do your sisters.

The four of you sit cross-legged on your bed that night, silk bonnets and gossip in full rotation.

“Mmmh,” says Joy, your second sister. “Did you see how she leaned into him as she laughed?”

“She laughed like she saw Chris Hemsworth,” Sade snorts.

Nala, the youngest, folds her arms. “It’s giving i want your man, your a threat energy.”

You press a pillow to your face and scream into it.

They burst out laughing.

“No, but seriously,” Joy says, sobering. “You’re not worried, are you?”

You shake your head, pulling the pillow away. “No. I trust him. And besides, he’s not dumb. He probably sees it.”

Joy raises a brow. “Men don’t see anything until it bites them.”

You laugh. “Nah Jobe’s different.”

And he is.

Later that evening, you find him outside on the veranda, lying on the couch, scrolling through his phone. The sky is soft and violet, the air warm with the scent of grilled suya and night-blooming jasmine.

He sees you and immediately holds out a hand. “Come here.”

You curl into his side, your head resting against his chest.

“She’s laying it on a bit thick?” he says suddenly.

You blink. “Who?”

He gives you a look. “Your cousin.”

You giggle, relaxing. “You noticed?”

“I’d have to be blind not to. She’s not even slick with it.”

You look up at him. “Does it bother you?”

He kisses your forehead. “Only because it bothers you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your heart softens into syrup.

The next day, Ama tries again—offering to show him around the neighbourhood, talking about a beach party she’s “sure he’d love.”

Jobe’s polite but distant, always redirecting the conversation back to you, always finding your hand with his.

At dinner, when your uncles are arguing over Ghana Jollof vs. Nigerian Jollof and your mum is telling Jobe he looks too skinny (again), he leans in and kisses your cheek—soft and slow in front of everyone—you swear Ama's smile twitches just slightly.

But that’s not your problem.

He’s yours.

And your whole family knows it.

yourusername

liked by jobebellingham, golloria, yoursisters and 900K others

@yourusername: Home🤎

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@beautyisblack: This whole post is just fine fine fine. Like?? The genetics are disrespectful

@musilover: Whew, God took his time with the three of you

@deluluismeiam: + jobe!

@belligoalzzz: i want my man like jobe

The SUV door clicks shut behind you as your heels touch the red carpet. Flashbulbs go off in quick succession, and the sound is instant—cameras snapping, voices calling your name, phones recording, people whispering.

And Jobe?

He’s standing beside you in a tailored black suit, lapel pin glittering under the lights, one hand on your waist like he was made to be there.

“Are you ready?” he asks softly.

You glance up at him, your dark green gown hugging your body like a second skin, braids twisted up into a crown, diamonds twinkling at your ears. You smile.

“I am.”

It’s the biggest charity gala of the season—a collaboration between designers, some diplomats, and athletes—and this is the first time you and Jobe are attending something this public together.

You’ve been to events alone. You’ve been the “it girl” in Ghana since you were seventeen. Socialite. Business consultant. Brand darling. But being on his arm tonight? This feels different. Like a soft launch that’s actually the main event.

As you glide through the entrance, cameras follow, murmurs ripple, and you know they’re talking.

"That’s Jobe Bellingham, right?"

"Is that his girlfriend?"

"She’s even prettier in person."

Inside, the ballroom glows with amber light and gold accents. A string quartet plays softly while waiters float by with champagne flutes and delicate canapés. The crowd parts slightly as you two enter, and for a second, it feels like a movie.

Then you feel a familiar nudge.

“Babe, that’s—” you start, but Jobe’s already seen it.

Your cousin Ama, in a crimson dress, cutting through the room like she’s on a mission.

You blink. “Oh Lord, here we go.”

But Jobe doesn’t flinch. He takes your hand, fingers lacing through yours, and leans in close like he only sees you.

“I’m only here for one woman,” he murmurs into your ear.

Ama finally reaches you two with a plastic smile. “Oh my gosh, you look stunning,” she says, eyes not leaving Jobe. “And Jobe! I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

He gives a polite nod. “Evening.”

You step in smoothly. “We wouldn’t miss it. You know I helped organise this right?”

Her smile tightens. “Right, right. I saw the posts.”

The conversation doesn’t last long—Jobe keeps it short, and Ama eventually drifts away, her expression unreadable.

Later, as you both settle into your seats at the main table—next to ambassadors, CEOs, and two Afrobeats artists—you feel Jobe’s hand resting on your thigh beneath the tablecloth. A quiet, constant reminder: I’m with you.

After the keynote speeches and a performance, the auction begins. Items flash across the stage—art pieces, designer gowns, luxury getaways. You whisper something snarky in Jobe’s ear about one of the overly dramatic bidding wars, and he chokes on his drink, laughing silently into his napkin.

And then…

“One of our final auction items,” the host announces, “is a private training session and signed jersey from our special guest, Mr. Jobe Bellingham of Sunderland AFC.”

The crowd erupts in applause as Jobe stands and waves modestly.

You beam up at him with pride.

He sits back down, cheeks a little flushed, eyes only on you.

After the event winds down and the cameras finally stop flashing, you slip into the backseat of the car and kick off your heels with a dramatic sigh.

“I need banku,” you mumble.

Jobe laughs. “You’re stunning, you just pulled off an entire gala, and you’re thinking about food right now?”

“Food is a priority, babe.”

He leans over, lips brushing your jaw. “You handled yourself like a queen tonight. I’m proud of you.”

You look at him.

“No, I’m proud of you. Do you know how big of a deal this is? You being here, being with me—openly—in front of all these people? You didn’t have to. And you still did.”

He pauses. “I meant it when I said I’m not going anywhere.”

You nudge him with your foot. “Even if Ama shows up in a wedding dress next time?”

“Especially then,” he smirks.

You both laugh, the night soft around you.

And somewhere between the flashbulbs and the whispered rumours, you know one thing for sure.

This man is yours. And everyone knows it.

yourusername

liked by jobebellingham, outlandermagazine ,temsbaby and 950K others

@yourusername: Last night was magic 🥂, A dress, a little sparkle, a whole lot of love…@jobebellingham🤎

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@jobebellingham: Beautiful❤️

liked by yourusername @randombellighamlover: this should’ve been me but Jobe didn’t check his DMs.

@temsbaby: Golden💛

@yourusername: erm have you looked at the mirror😍

@jobedailynews: I need a documentary and a wedding date immediately.

The next day you wake to the sound of rustling luggage.

The sun hasn’t fully risen yet, just pale streaks of gold breaking through the gauzy curtains. Your body is still wrapped in silk sheets, and your cheek is pressed against Jobe’s pillow—still faintly smelling of his cologne and the hint of your body lotion from when he curled around you last night.

You sit up slowly. He’s standing by the window in a white T-shirt and grey sweats, zipping up his duffle bag.

And just like that, the ache begins.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually leaving this early,” you croak, voice thick with sleep.

He turns immediately, guilt written across his face. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

You frown, swinging your legs off the bed. “You should’ve. I hate goodbyes where you just vanish.”

Jobe steps toward you, kneeling in front of you where you sit on the edge of the bed. “I know. I’m sorry. I just… the flight’s in two hours and the driver’s downstairs already. They want me in Sunderland by nightfall.”

You look at him.

His eyes are soft, a little tired, but full of the same warmth they always carry when he’s around you. He takes your hands in his, kissing your knuckles gently.

“I wish I could stay longer,” he whispers.

You sigh, resting your forehead against his. “I know. I hate this part every time.”

He brushes a hand over your bare thigh. “I hate it too. But it’s not forever.”

“Feels like it sometimes.”

Silence.

You let yourself stare at him for a moment—at the boy who’s somehow become your safest place. At the way he looks at you like the world starts and ends in your eyes. At the fact that, no matter how loud your life is in Ghana, the silence he leaves behind is always louder.

“I’ll call when I land,” he says.

“You better. Don’t pull a ‘do not disturb’ after scoring two goals again.”

He laughs, low and sleepy. “I was celebrating!”

You lean in, lips brushing his. “You celebrate with me next time.”

“I will. Next break, I’m flying you out. Promise.”

You kiss him again, slower this time. Memorizing.

He stands reluctantly, grabbing his bag. You follow him out to the door, his hand never leaving yours until the last second. One final kiss in the entryway. One final “I love you” against your ear before the door closes behind him.

And just like that, he’s gone.

You press your back against the door, exhaling hard.

You miss him already.

yourusername posted on their story

[omw🤎]

The air at the stadium buzzes with that familiar match-day electricity — chants echoing, scarves twirling, tension pulsing like a heartbeat.

You sit in the family section. His mum is beside you, cool and composed as always, her nails done, sunglasses perched in her head but you can see it in the way she squeezes your hand when the starting whistle blows: she’s as nervous as you are.

“He’s been off all week,” she murmurs.

You glance at her. “Because of the game?”

She tilts her head knowingly. “Because he misses you.”

You smile faintly, watching him down on the pitch. Number 7. Your boy. Focused, pacing, his shoulders rising and falling like the game already weighs on him.

“He doesn’t show it,” you whisper, arms crossed tight.

“He doesn’t show anything. But I know my son,” she says gently. “I know what he’s like when you’re not around. And it’s not this.” She points down at him. “When you’re in the stands, he plays like the stadium doesn’t exist — like it’s just you watching.”

You don’t say anything, because if you do, your voice might crack.

The game starts. Fast. Rough. Jobe is locked in from the beginning — pressing high, tracking back, moving like the match means everything.

But you know better.

The second he steals the ball and breaks away down the wing, he glances up.

And sees you.

You swear his whole face shifts. Not a smile — just a softness. A flicker of warmth behind the sharpness of his jaw.

His mum notices too. “See?”

You keep watching, frozen to your seat as he crosses the ball perfectly, setting up a clean finish that sends the crowd roaring.

He doesn’t run to the fans. Doesn’t celebrate with his teammates. Just points — directly at you.

Your heart squeezes.

A subtle “this is for you.”

By halftime, he’s assisted again and drawn a foul just outside the box. You and his mum walk down the tunnel to greet him quickly in the player lounge before he heads into the locker room.

He spots you first.

Sweat-slicked, flushed, his curls a little damp. But his eyes go soft the second they land on you.

He barely says hello — just wraps his arms around you and presses his forehead to yours, breathing like it’s the first full breath he’s had in days then he kisses your cheek — gently, like he’s grounding himself — and walks back to the locker room.

---

The final whistle blows.

The stadium explodes in noise, fans leaping to their feet, chants roaring into the night. Jobe’s name echoes through the stands like a heartbeat — JOBE! JOBE!

He doesn’t bask in it.

He barely even reacts.

Because you’re still up there in the stands, waiting — and he’s already moving through the crowd of teammates, brushing off pats on the back and reporters calling his name. His eyes flick to the tunnel. Focused. Intent.

You’re waiting just past security with his mum, hands tucked into your sleeves, the kind of tired that comes from missing someone too long. He finds you fast, his long stride urgent, and then he’s in front of you — warm, flushed, eyes soft.

“Hey,” he breathes, stepping into your space like he can’t help it.

You barely get a word out before he cups your jaw and kisses you.

Not rushed. Not public. Just… his. A slow pull, a gentle press, like his lips know the shape of you too well to forget. His hand finds the small of your back. Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt.

When he pulls back, you both exhale at the same time.

“I’m taking her,” he tells his mum, already lacing his fingers through yours.

She smirks knowingly. “I figured.”

His flat is dim when you walk in, the curtains drawn, the hum of the city muffled behind glass. The ride over was quiet — your thigh against his, his fingers tracing small circles into your palm, the kind of silence that only builds tension.

The second the door closes, his hands are on your waist.

“I missed you,” he mumbles against your neck, kissing the skin just beneath your ear.

“I was only gone a few weeks,” you whisper, but it comes out breathless.

He doesn’t reply — just lifts you gently and walks backward toward the couch, your legs around his waist, your mouth finding his. The kind of kiss that feels like a question and an answer at the same time.

You tug the collar of his shirt. He groans low in his throat. His hands are everywhere — careful but needing, like he’s starved for you.

“You smell like sweat,” you tease, fingers in his curls.

“You smell like home,” he whispers back, voice hoarse.

He lays you down slowly, hovering above, forehead pressed to yours.

“I didn’t sleep right when you weren’t here.”

“You never sleep right anyway.”

“Yeah, but at least with you next to me, I’m calm.”

Your breath catches.

He brushes his nose along your cheek, his hand under the hem of your hoodie now, resting on your bare waist.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he asks, voice almost shaky. “Just being near you…”

You run your fingers down the side of his face, grounding him.

“I’m here now.”

“Don’t leave tomorrow.”

You hesitate. “Jobe…”

“Stay another day,” he begs. “I’ll cancel whatever. I don’t care. I just want to wake up with you in my arms again. I don’t even need anything else.”

Your body relaxes beneath him.

“Okay.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath since you left.

And then he kisses you again — deep, grateful, like your yes was all he needed to unravel.

jobebellingahm posted a new story

[caption: 🤎📷]

[ghostgirl-22]

new age gap art was so good. i’m wet. and i think it’s only fair that art get used by TWO people twice his age. 👁️

(this is me asking for a threesome part two please i you want)

Thank you Anonnie, my love <3 and you know what—you’re so right and you should say it louder and more often <3

CW: Age gap kink, daddy kink, exhibition, student/teacher dynamics. A lot of other things i probably have to discuss in therapy. Anyway if the idea of this makes you uncomfortable obviously DONT READ.

Unrelated but I swear writing this made me crazy. I flirted heavily with the idea of never posting (or being seen or heard from again) so honestly if you fuck with this at all thank the always lovely Mel @artstennisracket <3 for reading and encouraging me to post 😭 And if you hate it blame her jk! if i regret it i can still private it…right? right?!!!

——

It was supposed to be one time. Is what Coach Patrick keeps saying. Even though it’s been so… many… times.

“I’m not that guy,” Coach says. It’s a random Thursday night. The last day of spring training camp. Not everyone stayed in town but Art did and he worked really hard. So hard. Now he feels so pleasantly sore it all feels worth it. 

He’s leaning over the balcony of Coach Patrick’s giant home in the hills. All the chardonnay he snuck from Patrick’s dinner glass is starting to wear off because he feels a little less dizzy. He’s trying to take in the view of the city but he can’t stop looking back at Patrick all stretched out on his patio furniture in only his boxers, half finished cigarette in his mouth. He looks like a fucking tribute to the human form, the thin line of the surgery scar on his knee not withstanding. so relaxed and casual. Like he didn’t just make Art come so hard he nearly blacked out.

Art’s barely able to keep still for the euphoria of just the memory of it. He’s rocking back and forth against the railing before he finally gives up on the view and approaches Patrick on the deck, climbing onto his lap. “What guy?” He asks as Patrick adjusts himself to take on Art’s body weight. 

“Mm,” Patrick pinches the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger like it’s a joint and gazes up at him. “You know, that fucking pathetic guy… like… a professor with a full blown midlife crisis who needs to fuck his barely legal TA just to feel young again… claiming ‘well it’s because she’s the only one who really gets me.’” 

Art grins. 

“Shut up,” Patrick says, before Art can say anything. 

“You mean you don’t feel young when you fuck me?” He goes for the cigarette but Patrick shifts it out of his reach.

”Behave yourself.” He says sternly.

“I am,” Art says. “I just want to try it.” 

“And I just want to win a grand slam but neither of those things is gonna happen. You already got drunk on dinner wine. I’m not here to enable you sweetheart…”  He takes another drag and uses his free hand to push Art’s t-shirt up, rough fingertips grazing along his abdomen. The way he blows the smoke out, bored and casual and so goddamn cool. 

“How do you do it like that?” Art asks. 

“Do what?” Patrick asks, looking over Art’s body, slides his palm down his chest, over his tummy.  

“When you smoke…I don’t it’s um…” Art squirms a little. “I like watching you smoke.”  

 “Yeah?”  Patrick slides his palm down lower resting it where Art’s cock is, he’s semi hard again. “God, already?” Patrick laughs. “Twenty years old… of course smoking turns you on. Everything fucking turns you on.”  

But the fabric between them is paper thin and Art can feel him…and god he’s fucking growing.  

Art can help himself, he starts wiggling. He’s dreamed of sitting on him and feeling it grow hard from the first time he saw Coach Zweig lazily manspreading on the bleachers while his assistant, Coach Meg, talked his ear off. 

“Daddy, please lemme suck it a little,” he says anxiously. Pretty sure he’s not still talking about the cigarette. 

“Jesus Christ,” Patrick mutters, he immediately puts out the cigarette on the side garden table, grabbing at Art’s waist. “Come here.” It’s happening so rapidly now, the way Patrick is filling out. Even though Art knows how big it is, it still makes him feel a little crazy. 

Art leans in,still wiggling. “You gonna fuck me, daddy?” He bites down on a grin as Patrick grips him, bruising tight to steady him.  

“Jesus. I should fucking gag you.” Patrick says against his lips. 

“With the whole thing? Like every single inch?” Art whispers, playfully, nuzzling his cheek against the gentle scratch of Patrick’s beard. 

“Fuuucking, stop with all of that.” Patrick groans. Art loves his dirty mouth.  Loves the way the he says “fucking” when Art drives him crazy. So punctuated. like it’s two different words. “Fuck-ing sit still.”  

Patrick pulls him into a bruising kiss and Art pushes his tongue in right away. It’s insane actually, the way he’s still not fucking done growing. Art feels impatient. He plays with his waistband ready to get his boxers off so Patrick can fuck him again.  

“Mm… slow it down.” Patrick hums, steadying him. “Go get a fucking condom. The ones i left on the coffee table.”   

Art doesn’t really want to get off of him. “Please. Can’t we just—“ 

“What? Can’t we just what? you want me to fuck you raw?”

”Don’t you want to come inside me, daddy?” Art asks lightly. “Don’t you wanna fill me up and watch it spill out…the way you did that one time when you couldn’t wait and…”  

“God.” Patrick bucks his hips. “You have to stop fucking talking. You’re gonna make me do something I shouldn’t. Now fucking get up.” He says forcefully. “Go get me the fucking condom. And honestly this is the last time, okay? I can’t keep doing this shit.”

“Got it. Last time okay,” Art smirks.

Patrick gently pokes a finger into his ribcage and Art sticks out his tongue before climbing off his lap. He’s tenting as he makes his way into the house. He pads into the open living room and stops in his tracks. 

She’s absolutely impossible. Standing in the doorway. Seeing her in real life. In person. She can’t possibly be real. Taller than he expected, tall like a runway model, and like a runway model looking effortlessly beautiful in an oversized sweatshirt and shorts, her shiny hair tied up in a loose bun. Her wide brown eyes sweep over his form before she looks back at his face. “What the fuck?” She demands.

“Hi uh—“ Art goes tongue tied. He looks back at the patio and then at her. He can feel his skin heating up. “You’re um— I’m um— s-so pretty.” He stammers. Then feels his skin get even warmer.

“God he’s a fucking idiot,” Tashi mutters. She lets her tennis bag slide off her shoulder and drop to the ground before she makes her way past Art to the patio door. Even in person, the way she moves, so poised and graceful like a dancer.  Impossible.

“Are you fucking serious Patrick?” She calls from the doorway.

“Tash!” Patrick sits up right away, stepping into his flip flops. He hurries towards the house. “Oh shit baby… baby you… you said you’d be home on the weekend I—“ he steps in the room breathless. 

“Stop. Don’t baby me. What the fuck is going on?” she demands.  

“Uh well…” he glances at Art and then back again. “you know the usual…”

“Oh the usual…right,” Tashi repeats. “Isn’t this your fucking player Donaldson? Aren’t you coaching this kid? Patrick?” She demands, moving into his field of vision when he tries to look away from her. 

“Well…yes but—“

She huffs a laugh. “Are you serious, Patrick? Are. you. fucking. serious?”

As fast as his heart is racing, Art is still kind of thrilled that she recognizes him. 

”Baby it’s not—“ Patrick starts.

”How old is he? Is he fucking 18?”

“Yes he’s… no, he’s…” Patrick takes a deep breath. “He’s older. He’s not a teenager.” 

“Oh does that make you feel better?” Tashi snaps. “You’re 31 fucking years old, Patrick. Do you feel better about yourself cause maybe he’s 21?  so it’s all good.”

“No,” Patrick swallows and rests his head against the patio door all pouty. “Mm baby I feel like shit, I really do.” He whimpers softly. And even that sounds sexy. “I didn’t mean for it to…. I didn’t mean to.”

”Yeah really?” She says, stepping closer to him. “You feel like shit? Huh?” Art watches as she cups her palm over his cock and he takes a deep breath. “Yeah that’s what I fucking thought,” she whispers turning away when he tries for a kiss. 

“Baby, please,” Patrick says and then he lets out a deep sigh. “Fuck.” He breathes.

Her gaze falls back on Art, rounding on him. He tries to adjust himself. He can’t believe this is how he ends up meeting her. Even before he ever met Coach Zweig and started crushing on him he was in love with her. 

He’d been playing tennis since he was 5 years old but he never really cared about tennis until he watched her win the US Open. He was barely 12 years old and watching her play for the first time. This powerhouse of a performance on the court…. Never rattled, clean, precise but also capable of the impossible. The perfect blend of superior technique and unbridled talent. She absolutely demolished her opponent, some Russian girl he never saw or heard about again. It had affected him so much that afterwards he started taking tennis seriously (he’d also started masturbating, the first time right after the match when he’d snuck into his bedroom and lay on his stomach, rubbing himself into the mattress thinking about her perfect form). 

“How old are you?” She says, dragging him back into the present. her tone a little softer but not much.

“I’m uh…20?”

”Are you asking me?” 

“No well I just turned 20 so I um…can I tell you I um— I love your— i love your backhand.” God. He’s falling apart every time she looks at him.

She squints. “How many times have you been in my house?”

Art looks around, his gaze falling back on Patrick just behind her, Patrick shakes his head, almost imperceptibly.

”None,” Art blurts. 

“Right,” she mutters dryly and Patrick rolls his eyes clearly disappointed with him. “How many times has he fucked you?” 

Art bites his lip. “I’m s-sorry.” 

“Okay that’s not an answer, show me on your hands, is that easier?” She only sounds mildly condescending like she’s speaking to a child. “How many times has he fucked you?” she asks again.

Art shifts, “uh… i don’t… i don’t have enough fingers.”

She laughs. ”You’re fucking disgusting, Patrick. I think you should know that.” She says without taking her eyes off Art. 

“I know and I’m—and I’m not gonna do it ever again Tash I’m—” Patrick starts.

“He’s your fucking student. God, I bet you get off on that, don’t you?”

”Tashi—” Patrick says.

”There are thousands of guys out there, Patrick. Shit, if thats what you want, there are thousands of twenty year olds who don’t go to Stanford, who don’t play tennis, who aren’t on your team, or your fucking star player. But you choose something so fucking off limits anyway. Jesus.” She teases her fingers gently into Art’s hair and it makes Art shiver, he can’t help leaning into the touch.

“God do you fuck him at the school?” She asks softly.

”Um…” Patrick hums.

“Patrick can you just answer the question.” 

“Yes, yes,” Patrick breathes. “A couple times.”

“You like that pretty boy?” She asks Art. “Coach Patrick taking such a special interest in you.” 

“Yeah,” Art whispers, helpless. She smells so good, god, her lips look so plump and soft, he’s fixating on them. The way he did when he was a teenager with a Duncanator poster on his wall, one hand down his pants. Except now she’s actually in front of him and just so fucking real.  

“Does he fuck you before practice? Or after when you're all full of adrenaline?”

“B-both,” Art says anxiously, “before, after, sometimes in the middle.” 

“Yeah?” Tashi asks, she sounds a little breathy. “Lemme guess, he sneaks you into his office? Sits you on his lap and pretends to work while you cock warm him. Let’s his stupid big dick get so hard you cant sit still?” 

“Mmmm,” Art hasn’t done it like that but now he fucking wants to. The more she talks the more he feels dangerously close to touching himself in desperation, he wants to fuck her so badly but instead he blurts out, “Can— can I kiss you?” 

“Oh you wanna kiss me? You fuck my fiancé repeatedly and now you wanna kiss me? Why?” 

Patrick takes a breath, Art can see he’s white knuckling the handle of the sliding glass patio door, eyes fully dilated, as he looks between them, a crooked little smirk on his lips. 

“B-because I-I love you,” Art stammers weakly. 

Tashi giggles, it's a bubbly surprising sound. “God.” She looks down, Art follows her gaze to the tent in his boxers. “You hear what your barely 20 year old is saying to me Patrick?” She whispers, her knuckles grazing along the thin fabric covering his shaft making him gasp. 

“I know baby,” Patrick sighs, his voice pitched soft. Art glances over and notices his other hand, he’s stroking his dick idly. Art feels so suddenly dizzy with arousal he thinks he might fall down. 

Tashi catches it too. “Oh wow Patrick…you’re incredible…” she says. “Are you fucking jerking off?!”

“I’m just… a little… yeah…I’m sorry…” Patrick says, raising his hands defensively. “It’s just… it’s hot...”

“God, I catch you in our house fucking your 20 year old player and you don’t even have the decency to feel ashamed for more than a minute. I bet you watch him run around the court, not even a little bit ashamed of yourself. God it probably gets you fucking hard knowing you just finished inside him. You probably spend all practice trying to hide it. I mean fucking him before and after practice?? Jesus Christ you know how fucked up that is? How fucking wrong it is?”

Even as she says it, Art is breathing heavier, leaning closer to her… he’s so turned on. He likes it. Likes the whole idea of it and it’s clear she does too. Her cleanly manicured fingers gently brushing along the fabric barely containing him.   

”Of course I do, I—” Patrick starts, softly. 

“Of course you do,” Tashi mimics. “But you get off on it anyway. There’s something really fucking wrong with you.” She says. Every nerve in Art’s body is firing off as she continues to barely touch him. 

”Mm I know, I know. I’m real fucked up baby, I know.” Patrick sighs, but he’s absolutely jerking himself off again.   

“Yeah and you should be ashamed,” Tashi sighs, walking Art backwards towards the sofa. He stumbles over the rug at the last minute and drops onto it haphazardly. He almost cums when she straddles him with her thick thighs, her round soft ass settling on his lap. He has to bite his tongue so hard. 

“Pretty boy. He’s not even old enough to fucking drink. And you’re shoving your dick in him.” She grips at Art’s length over the fabric of his boxers and starts jerking him properly. 

“Oh—oh god,” Art cries out. 

“Holy fuck Tash,” Patrick moves to sit beside them on the sofa. 

“Do your teammates know why you’re getting all of this special attention?” She asks softly in Art’s ear. He’s overstimulated with Tashi on top of him, Patrick right next to him. 

”He—he doesn’t give me attention,” Art whines. “He’s really fucking mean. He— he— makes me run laps even when i… when i don’t even do anything wrong.” 

“So he works you harder?” Tashi smiles, her grip tightening. “Good.” She moves a little faster and he groans, biting again on his already achy tongue. “Who else knows?” 

“N-no— no no one. I promise.” Art stammers out the lie. He actually talks about it all the time with his roommate and his best friends, the ones that knew about the crush before they ever started fucking. He can’t shut up about how good it feels, how big it is, how easy it is to make him cave.

“You sure? He’s fucking you all over campus. Probably fucking you at away games. Probably sliding you his second room key so you can sneak into his hotel room. Because he’s fucking reckless. Because he wants to get caught. Because you get his dick so hard he forgets to use his fucking brain.”

“Ah no daddy, daddy doesn’t fuck me when I—when I have to play when I have a—he doesn’t fuck me when I have a game.” He’s dangling on the edge but mercifully she stops jerking him for a minute. 

“Patrick,” Tashi says, turning to glare at him, her tone carefully measured. “What. The. Fuck.”

“I swear I didn’t fucking tell him to call me that.” Patrick says. 

“oh pat your f-fucking sick,” she whispers, eyes falling back on Art. He gazes up into her deep brown eyes, breathless, bouncing his leg eagerly. “Fuck I can see why you…,” she sighs softly, touching Art’s cheek. He turns to kiss her palm and she smiles and slides her hips forward, grinding all along his length, the clothing hardly a barrier. It’s almost like he can feel her pussy. His brain is ready to fall out of his head. “Ohhh,” is all he can manage before he’s seizing up, spilling warm and wet all over his boxers. 

“Jesus, you’re a mess huh?” Tashi giggles softly. “Like a pretty little puppy.” 

Her face is so close Art presses his lips to her cheek. She sighs and turns to kiss him properly. Art gasps against her lips. They’re as soft as they look, softer even. He slips his tongue into her mouth, warm and wet. She tastes like cinnamon. Her tongue sliding along his feels like heated silk. He’s certain if he hadn’t just finished he would blow his load at just the touch of her mouth. He can feel her fingers in his hair while he’s nervously grabbing at her waist. 

“Fuck yes,” He hears Patrick groan softly. 

His heart is pounding like crazy. He can imagine trying to explain this to his roommate… to anyone. “Tashi Duncan caught us. And then she jerked me off and we made out while Coach watched and touched himself.” No one would believe it. He doesn’t even believe it. He wants to touch her more, he tentatively fingers the waistband of her shorts, but he’s so scared she’s going to realize what she’s doing and make him stop. 

“Mm puppy,” she breathes, breaking the kiss and rubbing her thumb over his lips. He sucks the digit inside his mouth, keeping her gaze. She watches him for a miniute and then says. “Have you ever had a threesome?”

whoops guys it’s two parts. i did say a billion words. perhaps. maybe. if y’all like this. and idk Mel convinces me to post

[cellythefloshie]

;; Locked In    by cellythefloshie

Summary: When the NHL season is abruptly halted by a global pandemic, and you find yourself sharing your tiny apartment with your brother's rookie teammate, Quinn Hughes. Kinks & TW: Tanev Sister Reader, Forced Proximity, Secret Hook-up/Romance, 2019-2020 Season, Covid-19 Lockdown, Hints of Mild Dominance from Quinn, Mild Alcohol Consumption, Dry Humping, Vaginal Fingering, A Little Angsty (unresolved). Word Count: 4k+ A/N: I hadn't planned to post anything in January. I was just going to post my Best of 2024 and be done until February. BUT then I decided I wanted to challenge myself a little. I wanted to write for a player I thought I would never write for. AND then I was writing for a time I never thought I would write before because, of course, his rookie season had to be during the pandemic. Please be gentle with me. I took a lot of creative liberties here, but I hope you all enjoy.

“Why does he have to stay here?”

The tension in your shoulders grew as you glared up at your brother Chris. If your words hadn’t been clear enough in telling him just how displeased you were with his proposition, your body language would have to help get the point across. 

“It’s just for a few days until they get everything figured out,” Chris replied, brushing off your annoyance with a casual shrug with an ease that left a bad taste in your mouth—and it really shouldn’t have. As your big brother, he had years of practice in the art of convincing you to do things you didn’t want to do. 

Sighing, you passed Chris and at the player your brother was hoping you’d welcome into the small one-bedroom apartment you called home. Quinn Hughes, the team's rookie defenseman. Tall, and handsome, you had done your best to keep your distance from him when you had met once before—knowing yourself too well to trust that you would behave around a guy like him. 

He was shy back then and seemed just as timid as he stood awkwardly in the hallway, pretending not to hear the conversation you were having with Chris. Quinn kept his head down, his warm brown eyes locked on the floor like a sad, pound puppy that nobody wanted, with his hands shoved into the pockets of his team branded hoodie. 

Forcing a smile, your gaze focused back up on your brother, and his toothy grin that was always just enough to convince you. 

“It’s bad enough that there’s some illness going around that’s so serious that they halted the season and the world feels like it’s ending,” you began, “but now you’re locking me in my apartment with the team’s rookie?”

“I can hear you, you know?” Quinn spoke up from the hallways, his gaze raising from the floor for the first time since he had arrived. 

Your heart beat hastened, and it pounded so strongly you could feel it against the delicate flesh of your throat. It raced so quickly; you thought it might burst through your chest as a wave of heated embarrassment washed over you. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you tried to play it cool, but if Quinn had reached out and felt just how sweaty your hands had become, he would know just how much of a facade it was. “Why can’t he stay with you?” You cocked your head as you brought your arms up to cross over your chest, begging him to get to the point he was trying to make. 

“The kids’ daycare is closed. Mom’s flying in before things get worse–but he’s my responsibility since we already got Petey home to Sweden and they don’t want any of the guy alone for-” Chris cut himself off, as if there was more to say but he didn’t want you to hear it. You hung on his words for a moment, ready to question him on it, but you didn’t. You knew better than to question your big brother. 

“Does mom think it’s a good idea to stick me in an apartment with him?” You challenged him in a last ditch effort to try to get out of the familial obligation of helping out your brother when he needed it. 

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” His smile grew wider as he placed Quinn’s bag down on the floor just inside the door. 

“You know,” you sighed, leaning against your door, giving Quinn just enough room to come inside, “instead of flying mom home, Quinn could have helped with the kids.” It was your final, half-serious attempt to escape the arrangement, but it only made your brother laugh. 

“Thanks, Sis,” he said simply, ignoring your every attempt to say no before he was gone, leaving you and Quinn alone in your apartment. 

You lingered by the door for a moment, your head resting against the surface as you let out a steady breath. Maybe if Chris had given you a heads up, you might have felt differently about the entire situation, but your place was in no condition for a houseguest. Dishes had piled up in the sink, your laundry was half folded on the couch, and you were in the middle of rewatching your favorite television series on Netflix as a way to avoid the hell that was going on in the world. And Quinn, he was just going to have to accept all of it. 

But only for a few days. 

With a sigh, you pushed back from the door and forced a smile. “Sorry about the mess,” you told him as you moved to the couch and gathered armfuls of clothes. “You can set yourself up on the couch. Put on anything you like. I’ll get this all out of the way.”

“Do you need a hand?” Quinn offered, and you almost flinched. You hadn’t expected him to be so nice. 

“No, no, I’m fine,” you assured, carrying the clothes into your bedroom before throwing them onto your bed. You would deal with them later. First, you would have to deal with Quinn. 

Leaving your room, you shut the door firmly behind you. “That’s my room,” you gestured to the closed door, “it’s off limits to you unless stated otherwise. Obviously, you’re in the living room, which also happens to be the kitchen and the dining room. And through there is the bathroom, and if you can manage all of that without getting lost, tomorrow I can show you where the laundry room is down the hall.”

It wasn’t much of a tour, but the apartment was small. Surely if Quinn needed anything, he would figure it out—and you wanted nothing more than to retreat and hide away from the awkward situation your brother had forced you into. Maybe it made you seem harsh—or maybe it didn’t, because Quinn met your words with a soft smile and a quiet thanks before he settled in on the sofa, making himself at home. 

“If you need anything,” you started softly, your words becoming heavy with a sigh, “just knock.”

Slowly, you slipped away into the sanctuary of your bedroom, your lips moving in a whisper of a prayer as you began to put your laundry into its place. “It’s only for a few days…”

Days turned into weeks. And as the world’s condition only seemed to worsen, necessity foiled your determination to keep Quinn at arm’s length. You could only take so much solitude in your room before the silence became unbearable. While you had movies on your laptop and video chats with your friends to keep you entertained, you needed real human contact to keep yourself from insanity. Slowly, you began to share meals together, and small talk that slowly grew beyond hockey and the relationship you had with your brothers Chris and Brandon. And to your surprise, he wasn’t the worst house guest. Quinn was self-sufficient, considerate, and–while you would never admit it to Chris–the only person keeping you from losing your mind. 

“Do you maybe want to watch a movie together, or something?” you asked him one night after dinner, your tone as casual as you could muster. 

Quinn’s attention snapped to you, shifting from his phone that lit up the surprise that overtook his features. “Yeah, sure. I can set it up. Anything you want to watch?”

You shrugged as you tucked the last of the clean dishes away. “Just put on whatever. I’ll pop some popcorn.”

Settling on the couch minutes later, you place the bowl of popcorn in the space between you. As the movie played, the distance between you and Quinn seemed to shrink with each handful. You felt the warmth of his body radiating from him, and the softness of his hands as they collided with yours on the hunt for just another handful of popcorn. It was a subtle, but unignorable touch that made your pulse quicken. 

Biting down on your lower lip, you brought your hands back to rest on your lap, and you glanced at him from the corner of your eyes. Quinn was focused on the movie, his sharp jawline tense as he enjoyed the last handful of popcorn. His eyes didn’t hold the heavy sadness they had when he had arrived at your apartment weeks ago, but seemed to have a hint of a smile in them as he laughed at one of the jokes as it played out on screen. 

You smiled softly to yourself. 

You liked his laugh, and maybe it was just the weeks of isolation consuming you, but… he wasn’t bad company at all. 

“What?” Quinn’s question sent a nervous jolt through you. He had caught you looking. 

“Nothing,” you said quickly, trying to play it cool. 

The couch shifted as Quinn turned his body away from the movie, giving his attention to you as he relaxed back against the arm of the couch. “Tell me.”

For a moment, you thought about ignoring him. That the two of you could ignore what had just happened and just get lost in the movie until the crack in your hardened facade was forgotten. But his stare left you giddy, and there was no hiding the smile that began to blossom over your features. 

“You’re not a bad guy to have around, Hughes,” you finally admitted, “and I’m glad you’re here.”

A smile, genuine smile spread across his face as he reached up to push his thick brunette hair from his eyes, “your brother thought it would be best for you–”

Your brows furrowed, your question leaving your lips in a firm question before he could continue, “I’m sorry, what?” “He didn’t want you to be alone during all of this,” Quinn explained, his voice soft and sheepish, as if he knew he shouldn’t have been telling you anything. 

You leaned back against the opposite arm of the couch, your legs coming up to spread across the cushions and dragging along his leg slowly, accidentally, until you were comfortable there. “That lying bastard,” you laughed in disbelief, “he told me you being here was for your sake!”

Quinn’s laughter joined yours, warm and contagious as it created a symphony with yours. “We’ll have to give him hell for it later… but it hasn’t been all that bad, has it?”

You shook your head slowly, a silent admission that the weeks you had spent together in forced proximity weren’t all that bad. Standing up, you moved to the fridge, finding two tall beer bottles in the back. You carried one in each hand back to the couch, offering one to him as you stood just behind him, your body leaning against the back of the couch. 

“I can think of maybe two people I’d rather be stuck here with,” you joked lightly. 

“Ouch,” Quinn teased as he twisted off the cap and took a long, satisfying sip. 

“Don’t lie,” you told him. “I know you’d rather be at home with your brothers.”

“My brothers aren’t as easy on the eyes as you are,” Quinn said quickly, without hesitation. But then his face flooded with color, and his eyes went wide. Just as quickly as his words had been said, Quinn had realized they had not just been the thoughts reserved for his head. “Let’s pretend I didn’t just say that, okay?”

You raised your brow, challenging him with a smile as you asked, “What would be the fun in that?” 

Quinn’s smile grew. 

Your brother had thrown you both into this situation. You, his sister, cooped up with him, the team’s rookie defenceman, during a global pandemic that left you both isolated and alone. What Chris had expected to happen? You didn’t know. But it was only a matter of time before the lines you had created became blurred. 

After a long, satisfying sip of beer to boost your confidence, you leaned forward and placed it down on the coffee table. Licking your lips slowly, you hesitated, your mind screaming no, but your body telling you yes, as you climbed into Quinn’s lap slowly. You seated yourself there, his lap between your thighs as you straddled him. His eyes shot wide, a quiet cough choking him as he forced back a sip of beer and silently handed the cold bottle to you. 

Leaning back carefully, you place it down next to yours, Quinn’s hands reaching out to grip carefully at your thighs to keep you from falling back. He anchored you there, in his lap, as you settled back into place carefully, your body arching further into his, stealing more and more of his space until you were a breath away from his lips. A small smile blossomed over your lips slowly, your body consumed with the giddiness of what you were about to do. Your brother would kill you for this, or Quinn, but you didn’t care. It made it all the more exciting to lean in and kiss him. 

There was a moment of hesitancy in the careful kiss of Quinn’s lips as they welcomed yours. His kiss was slow, and curious as your eyes fluttered shut and your hands came to rest on his shoulders. Your touch was a feather light fleeting touch that quickly found its way into the thick wisps of his hair as his kiss deepened with desperation. 

He kissed you like you were a glass of water, and he hadn’t had a sip in weeks. His tongue stroked your lips slowly before parting them, and you could taste the beer on his tongue as you welcomed it into your mouth. The sweet contact unleashed a hum that caused through Quinn’s body in a subtle vibration that could feel between your thighs. And suddenly, your entire body was weak, like gelatin, and craving more than just the kiss of his lips. 

“Quinn,” you whined against his lips, your hips moving in slow rotations over his lap, grinding your core against his cock that you hoped to coax into an erection. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, breaking the kiss for the first time as he threw his head back. Quinn’s touch left where he held you firmly at the back of your thighs, dragging upwards until they settled on your hips and encouraged your every movement. 

You watched as his face melted into a soft expression that you couldn’t quite place, his mouth agape and his eyes shut as he focused on the very feeling of you. And between your legs, you could feel the stiffness of his cock, hard and ready. Reaching down, your fingers fumbled to work him free of his pants, but the quick lurch of his one hand captured both of yours in his hold. 

You looked up at him, your eyes wide in shock as he guided your hands to the waistband of your pants carefully. 

“Take those off,” he told you, his words firm and far from a suggestion, “and go to your room.”

Holy fuck. You had never been someone who liked to be told what to do, but in that moment, Quinn could have told you to do anything and you would have done it. 

Standing slowly, you stood between his knees as she remained seated on the couch. Your eyes fixated on his features, worried that if you had let them wander down out of curiosity, you might moan. As you held your breath, your hands pushed down at the waist of your pants, you pushed them down—and your panties went with them. 

They remained in a heap on the floor, your toes tripping over them slightly as you began the agonizing walk to the bedroom. With every stride you could feel your own wetness dripping down the inside of your thighs, your core begging to be filled. And as you got to your bedroom, you froze, your legs pressed firm together as you waited. His footsteps didn’t fill the silence. Quinn wasn’t following you. 

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, your flesh suddenly red hut and sent a shimmer with a sheen of sweat. Quinn was still in the living room, his thoughts entirely his own as you waited, near panicked, for him to join you. 

Standing with your back to the door, your eyes shut as you took deep breaths in an attempt to remain calm. Maybe you had been too forward. He wasn’t interested—or maybe he wasn’t as reckless as you and wasn’t ready to throw away a good relationship with his teammate by fucking his teammate’s sister. 

“Fuck,” you cursed to yourself, ready to accept the mistake you had just made. 

Reaching for your blanket, you had intended to wrap it around your waist and retreat back into the living room with an apology, but when you turned around, Quinn was standing in your doorway. 

His steps were slow as he entered your bedroom for the first time since he had arrived two weeks prior. Quinn wasted no time getting familiar with his surroundings. He only had eyes for you as he met you where you stood frozen at the foot of your bed. Quinn’s arms wrapped around you in a careful bear-hug, drawing your body flush with his as his lips found yours in a kiss that reassured you that your advances had been welcome. 

You moaned against his lips as he lay you out on your bed with an effortless strength and splayed your legs open wide. Quinn could have settled himself in between them, but instead, he lay down at your side, your one leg propped up against him. He stroked at the delicate flesh of your inner thigh slowly as he kissed you. His touch moved up only an inch at a time, teasing you as he encroached on the apex of your thighs. He left your body shuddering with anticipation, his hand hovering over your eagerness but void of his touch when you knew he was so close to where you wanted him. 

“Please don’t make me beg,” you muttered against his lips. 

It had been weeks since you had anyone touch you, and when he had become your unexpected house guest, he was the last person you thought you would welcome into your bed. But now that you had him there, you wanted all of him, or as much of himself as he was willing to give you. 

First, you felt him smile against your lips, a hum of a laugh coursing through him, and then you felt his fingers on your clit. 

Your teeth grit in a satisfied hiss, your hips raising to meet his touch with an eagerness that was out of your control. Your heels dug down into the bed, your hips rolling into every careful circular stroke he made before his fingers dipped down, feeling the slick of your arousal and plunged into your core. 

“Quinn,” you gasped out, your hips dropping into a downward angle to welcome his fingers into your core. 

His middle and ring finger worked you in quick thrusts that left your mind dizzy and your movements purely instinctive as you anchored yourself to your bed with the grasp of your hand and bucked your hips up into his hand just to feel more of him. Quickly, you were so embarrassingly close to coming, and it left you reeling as you looked up at him with pleading eyes. 

“Are you going to-” you started, your body trying to roll on top of him in a swift movement that was interrupted by the careful push of his free hand against your hip. Quinn pushed you back to laying flat against the bed, one hand still buried in your core while the other held you down at the hips. The angle he worked you into, paired with how his fingers curled at just the right spot as they worked you, sent a fire burning through you. Your arousal coated his fingers, dripping down over his palm and making a mess of the bed as pleasure pulsed through you. It left you moaning, your head thrown back against the mattress as your core clenched around his fingers, wishing that it was his cock. 

As you lay in your bed, panting, you tried to remember the last time you let someone do something as adolescent as getting you off with nothing more than their fingers. But your mind was fogged by the bliss of your climax—but one thought hung low over you, preventing you from enjoying it fully. Quinn hadn’t gotten to enjoy releasing himself. 

Rolling over slowly, you tried to reach out for his waistband again, but he caught your hand. Your gaze met his, his eyes soft, and his smile small as he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb slowly. 

“You didn’t get to-” You started, but he cut you off. 

“I know,” he said, his hand bringing your hand to his lips to place a gentle kiss on your palm—a small attempt at a distraction from how his cock still seemed to throb in the confines of his pants. “But let’s sleep on it, okay? Make sure you don’t regret this in the morning. I mean, your brother is my teammate, after all.”

“Oh,” you sounded softly, trying to hide your disappointment behind understanding, “yeah, okay. But ah- can you stay in here with me tonight?” You requested slowly, “I don’t want to sleep alone anymore-”

Quinn nodded slowly, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead. “I can do that, anything to get away from sleeping on that damn couch–”

The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains, casting long shadows across the table as you sat across from Quinn. It was the first morning since he had arrived that it felt like you weren’t walking on eggshells. It was a quiet, comfortable affair, yet there was a new tension in the air. One that you couldn’t quite place. Maybe he was regretting what had happened. That thought alone left your stomach in your throat as you poked at your breakfast, trying to find the will to take the first bite. 

Then, breaking the silence, Quinn found the courage to speak. “I’m allowed to fly back to Michigan, to be with my family until the season resumes.”

Your grasp on your fork tightened, his words hitting you like a slap to the face. You could feel your face wanting to fall into a scowl, but you did your best to mask it by taking a long sip of your drink as you sought composure. 

So that was it. After weeks of shared solitaire, an awkward beginning that turned into something that felt natural, he was leaving? Just like that?

“That’s great,” you said, forcing a smile. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he answered. 

You could feel his gaze on your face, searching for the reaction you refused to give him. Instead, you let your features soften, a practiced smile on your features as you set your fork down on the table with deliberate care. “I won’t keep you then. You’ve got some packing to do. The last thing you need is a distraction.”

Pushing your chair back, you abandoned your place on the table, your breakfast unfinished, and moved towards your bedroom. Your footsteps were quick, your eyes fixated on your bedroom door, and they did not deviate from it. Not even as Quinn’s voice followed you, your name leaving his lips in a gentle plea, “Please wait, can we talk about this?”

His words didn’t stop you. You didn’t turn around; you didn’t look back at him. Instead, your hand just tightened into your fist at your side as you reached the threshold of your doorway. There, you lingered for a moment, your flexed hand reaching up to rest against the door frame. You could feel Quinn’s eyes on your back, and your lips parted as if to say something–a sharp retort, a clever quip, anything to fill the silence–but no words came. 

Only a quivering breath left your lips as you stepped into your room and closed the door firmly behind you. 

The quietness and sudden isolation of your room were suddenly suffocating. Just mere hours ago you had Quinn had woken up there, together, and now he was going to just leave? It felt like some sick and twisted joke that left you trembling as you sank to your knees. You couldn’t help but wonder if he had known before breakfast, and that last night only happened because Quinn knew he was going to leave. The what ifs were all-consuming in your mind, raging louder and louder even if you tried to combat them with: Quinn, isn’t that kind of guy. He’s good—at least that’s what you wanted to believe. But the thought wasn’t enough. Your tears came anyway, hot and unrelenting as you silently sobbed. The hot tears spilled down your cheeks as you pressed your psalm into your face to muffle any sound that threatened to escape your lips. 

Quinn was leaving. After everything. After the awkward days of learning to live together, and the late-night talks, the laughter, and the moments that felt too intimate to be casual. You’d finally allowed yourself to settle into the strange shared existence the two of you had been thrust into. For two weeks, it was just the two of you alone in the little world that was your apartment. When Chris had dropped him off weeks ago, you knew the arrangement was temporary. At one point you had been counting down the hours until he could leave… but now, as you struggled through shallow breaths in search of a glimmer of composure, you had to accept he was leaving you behind, and it felt achingly permanent. 

In just twenty-four hours, Quinn would be gone.

You spent each one of them alone in your room, your mind racing with so many things you wanted to say, but never brought yourself to. As the next time you left your room, the apartment was unbearably quiet, void of Quinn’s presence. And for the first time in weeks, you were truly alone. 

[bear-remn]

Reiji's headcanon please as you did with Shuu!!!! I need them😭😭

— reiji headcanon's

omg thank you for enjoy! and since you ask, i came to deliver!!! and a little of my art as well!

tw: this post has nsfw content (+18) , so if you dont like it dont read it!!

this draw came out so much better than i thought, reiji is so fun to draw i love him so much!!!

his looks and selfcare

for start, reiji, unlike shu, do enjoy taking care of his skin and hair, at the begining of reiji's teen years, some acne began to pop out, and could'nt stand the fact that shu did not have any acne, not even once, so he started to take care of it, he often buys expensive lotion, soaps, and other skin creams, he totally watch tutorials on how to clean his skin properly, and always tries new suncreens on the market.

and i think that reiji does also buys expensive shampoo's and conditioner, he need it for his dry hair, so he totally buys profesional stuff. he prefers probably scents like jazmin, wooderish, also honey... even maybe lavanda.

and bc he cares a lot for his appearance, he showers very often, at least his body, reiji washes his hair like four times a week. and a little detail is that when he wash his hair, reiji uses hot water, but when he showers only his body, reiji uses cold water.

and to keep himself good looking reiji excersive sometimes, like two times a week and its intense, no one really notice bc he does it in his room.

and when it come to clothes, reiji does enjoy fancy clothes, i like to think reiji go through a face where he was looking for his real aesthtetic, he tried vintage, victorian stuff and in some point he tried the bad boy aesthetic, he find it a little too much casual for him, until he reached a more refinated, fancy but not too flashy style. even so he loves the turtle neck sweaters.

i think reiji is very aware of how handsome he is, his face is similar to his fathers, meaning, a sharp jaw and having a pretty nose, wich bone stand out a little. id say his nose and his eyes are the most atrative thing about his face. love a big nose on reiji, and his eyes are the most similar to his father, with that magenta color and a very intimidating gaze. In addition to having slanted eyes like his father, reiji gaze is like that of a cat, a little arrogant and seductive.

and for his body id say reiji is more of a slim kind of body, he has some good muscles for working out, reiji has good arms and shoulders, but his hands are really pretty, has long fingers and well treated nails. and as shu he also has a prominent v line, but reiji waist is more small.

reiji also takes good care of his body hair, the man shave for having a good smooth skin everywhere, yes, everywhere. and as shu, has that thing that dont let him grow a hole beard so he often shave it.

random stuff

soo... reiji is a little freak and you can't change my mind, he definetly has some obsessions and cant get over it, he just love things much he cant live without doing it, and to begin with one thing is his obvious collection of fancy plates, cups, teapots and has a little collection of rare spoons. reiji puts them in diferent parts of the manor just to look at them everywhere he goes, and he does not use any of them. he cleans them once a week.

and speaking of his obsessions, reiji has a secret but popular social media where he post is collection, he is very famous and dont show his face.

and he totally has OCD when it comes to order, without realize reiji is always ordering everything symmetrically and harmoniously to the eye, even when it comes to food, reiji orders the food on the plate in an elegant and orderly way.

also, i think reiji dont eat half of what he cooks, he prefer cooking than eating, but he enjoy's more doing desserts or really fancy meals. he also post this in his secret famous social media.

reiji is the kind of ADHD people that needs to do things right away, like the first thing in the morning to do is do his bed, when he finish cooking he cleans everything, when he take off dirty clothes he does laundry instantly, and like that with every little activity he does. maybe bc his mind is a little complicated and if he does'nt do something right away he might become anxious.

i think that bc of reiji doing ocasionally excercise, for some reason, reiji does not stretch his muscles before or after exercising, which causes him to cramp at the worst times, when he is in class, when he is studying or even while sleeping, on those occasions he is still asleep but cannot wake up completely, which causes his cramp to only extend until he wakes up from the excruciating pain.

i think reiji also has photografic memory, ofc bc of his childhood he memorize a lot of book and it just became something normal to him. he can remember every little detail he read, hear's or see's. having an almost perfect memory.

and maybe something cruel, but reiji hates animals, he has killed a few with his bare hands. he cant stand them, but secretly likes some cats.

i think that reiji has a secret shelf full of romantic books, the man loves romance novels. he read them before going to sleep.

and even if he does'nt get along with his brothers, reiji always takes píctures of their "good" moments, like ayato's matchs, subaru's plants, dinners or bals in the demon world.

nsfw

oh and this man? in bed? lord have mercy.

for starting, reiji has a big dick, straight foward, he is big, i cant deny it. its long but not so thick, and when hard it looks up proud and shiny. only one big vein that comes from his croch. just hot. 18.5 cm and if he is really horny he can get to 19. wild.

reiji is totally dominant, but for the right person he is such a bottom, a power bottom tho. reiji dont like the feeling of being dominated and controled, but he does enjoy when someone put him in his place, mommy issues thing.

oh, and when reiji is interested in someone, is really... slow.

i like to think that reiji, for his childhood and the little love he recieved, he does not quite undertand how to express correctly how he feels, and speaking of a vampire its double hard. reiji craves for having something close to affection, so he always watches how people or other vampires in love interact, but he does not belive that love is something a vampire can feel. deep shit i know.

the only thing close to reiji giving affection is by acts of service, he would spoil you without notice. if you two live together reiji will be around you everytime he can, and if he feels confortable enough, he will start to invade your personal space to make you nervous, or to make a reaction out of you. a at sometime he would'nt realize he is invading your personal space.

like if in the morning your shirt it's not buttoned properly, he would come really, really close, and button it right. all of that while looking into your eyes, and amazingly, building sexual tension. after that he would just act normal and shit. such an ass.

in other occasion, like if you two are in a casual conversation, reiji would come closer and just take a little eyelash off you cheek, but he gets so close that you can feel his breath while telling you "just... keep steady hun..." and also would just do that thing where he puts your hair in place and touch your skind with delicacy.

and when you kiss him, bc he would not start it, reiji would be so amazed, since the firts kiss he would kiss you any place when you two are alone. and after every kiss, reiji smile warm and softly at you, cute.

and more into that, reiji would devour your mouth, but he is imponent about it, meaning he like to surprise you while kissing, bc he loves to get your reactions. i think that while you two kiss reiji is touching your lowers back to push you againt him, would smile during the kiss and then pull your hair a little to look into your eyes. he likes the feeling of you being his.

"what? wanting more i see...?" and his little cocky smile is everything.

and if the kiss got heated, reiji would push you to anything to be on top of you, he loves that, being on top of you.

i think reiji is embarresed of being sucked off, mostly bc i also think reiji is very... vocal during sex. and a little more sensible than normal. and the little times you get to suck him reiji woud stop you at some point to give you pleasure now. and he is a dick about that too. but he stop you bc he dont want you to see him breaking during his climax, the man is a little shy.

reiji likes bending you, putting your knees in your chest while giving you oral, and he does it right, he gets how the female anatomy works so he knows what he is doing, also loves to hear you plead him to make you cum, but sorry for you, reiji loves edging you... a lot.

"not yet darling... keep it a little more.."

oh... and the nicknames, he say thems with a low and seductive tone that would literally would make anyone weak just to hear. amen.

and ofc, he can make you squirt, the man know things.

and about his favorite positions, reiji loves bending you, making your body hurt a little by how strength he puts into his grip on you. specially the one where you are on your back, with you anckles in his shoulders, and he just press you on the bed hard. he wants to be so deep on you that just thinking about it makes reiji tremble. he find being inside you something special, he doesnt do it just for having sex, the man wants to feels the conection, deep shit for him.

i think reiji loves every position he gets to see your face, but he needs to be on top, just love to see you so little under him.

i also think reiji is very versatile with the speed the puts, like it depends on the mood, if he is very horny and needy he would break you, he is fast and hard, loves to hear his balls slap your ass in every trust, reiji would smack you ass sometimes and definetly slap your face during it, after that he would kiss you hungry and stick his fingers in your mouth. in other moments reiji can be more passionate, like more romantic about it, but the thing that reiji keep doing it at every mood, is that he keep eye contact.

and god have mercy bc reiji has some good precious eyes.

reiji loves looking at your eyes, doesnt care if you look back at him, but will force you to look at him if you are about to cum.

"just like that love... give it to me... let me see you love.."

and is into it for creampies, he just loves the idea of filling you up as many times as his and your body can handle. and cums a lot, probably bc he dont masturbate too much.

"yea?? ill give it to you love... take it all..."

another position he might like would be maybe standing up or againts a wall, just loves to see you trying to hold onto something but failing and just hold him for support, he loves when you touch him, in any kind of way tho. but also bc he loves to see your legs tremble.

thats a little detail i like, reiji does'nt get satisfaced if your legs dont tremble when you cum, or during sex, he likes to feel how they tremble, see them giggle and lost its strenght, makes reiji feel powerfull bc of how he can make your body break. but does'nt say it out loud.

and the man dont get tired like... never, but do knows his limit, and his aftercare? maybe the best one. if you need water, a candy, food, cuddles, a bath, reiji will make it for you, instantly, dont doubts. and the cuddles are so cute, he will give you a masage and maybe give you oral again, he cant keep his mouth away from you.

the man just want you to feel good, and he knows how to do it. makes reiji feel powerfull.

── more of my content here!

[schemmentisimpasours]

Choosing The Dark

Anon Request:can I request a Melissa x fem reader fic where reader is somewhat goth/emo new teacher and it’s a enemies to lovers (I tried to do this request justice. I hope you like it anon <3 ) Summary: Melissa is more than pissed about the new art teacher at Abbott Elementary

(AO3 saw it first because I didn't have the time to post it today so this post got scheduled last night)

Masterlist

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Melissa came into work that day, angrier than Barbara had seen in quite some time. She threw down in her bag, slamming the fridge as she went to refill her coffee. The whole time she swore underneath her breath getting more aggressive as she went. The younger teachers quickly made their way from the room before Melissa could turn on them. Barbara stayed silent till the redhead flopped down at the seat next to her. 

“Bad morning?”

Melissa scoffed, “You could say that. I lost in my fantasy football league to a woman who doesn’t even know what she was doing. She picked purely on if she liked their name or not. I was sure she was gonna be out in the first couple of rounds but now she is in the championship. She beat me by one point Barb!”

Just as Melissa said this Ava walked in with you close to her side. It was your first day as Abbott’s new full time art teacher from funds that had been secured from blackmailing the golf course. You were excited at work picking one of your favorite outfits for the day: black dress with sheer sleeves stopping right above your black platform boots. Accessorized with different silver necklaces and bracelets. You had spent hours making sure your hair was in a two perfect buns with bang framing your face. Even your winged eyeliner had been the best you had ever done. Topped it all off with deep burgundy lipstick and you felt like you were ontop of the world. 

Well until you saw the redhead that you had been dreaming about since last Sunday. She glared daggers at you and you were brought back to last night's dreams where that angry glare had been inbetween your legs. You took a deep breath to try and control your unholy thoughts as you stared at the woman. She didn’t like you and had made that very clear but it didn’t stop you from wanting her. 

“What she doin’ here?” Melissa barked at Ava.

“Red, you could let me introduce the new teacher before you start yelling. That is how we lost the last teacher,” Ava said shaking her head, “This is Y/N our new art teacher. She will be here full time with that money from the golf course. Y/N this is Barbara Howard who teaches Kindergarten and Melissa…”

“We already met,” The older woman retorted slamming down her coffee, “You picked this job just because it sounded cool or are you actually qualified kid?”

You felt a lump in your throat at how callously she talked to you, “I actually have a masters degree in art therapy from Penn State University.”

“Well we don’t have supplies and the art room got turned into a storage closet last year,” Melissa smirked, “So have fun making masterpieces out of popsicle sticks from the lunch trash can.”

“Melissa!” Barbara scolded.

“Or I can just use my winnings from the fantasy football league,” You shot back, “Since I am already slotted to win the whole thing. How much was the winning pot again Schemmenti?”

You could hear Melissa growl as she tightened her hand around her coffee cup. Ava smiled looking between the two of you, “Oh so the plot thickens. Let me get my phone out.”

“Don’t bother I will be in my classroom to prepare for my classes tomorrow,” You said casually turning towards Barbara, “It was excellent to meet you Ms. Howard. I am coming to get your class tomorrow first thing in the morning. If there is anything you need me to know please feel free to stop by later.”

Then with a swish of your skirt you were off down the hall, completely ignoring the older woman who was staring at you. Once inside your classroom you let out a large sigh trying to hold back the tears that threatened to come over you. This job had been a risk but after no one else had wanted to take a chance on you it was the only thing you had left. But with Melissa’s nasty comment already swirling your head you didn’t know how long you could keep it up. 

This back and forth between you and Melissa went on for weeks. Her constantly digging at your teaching styles and always pointing out when you had made a mistake became exhausting. You already struggled keeping 200 students in check you didn’t need teachers also questioning you. It angered you even more that Melissa had been right and supplies had been so limited that soon you were borrowing from your savings. You had promised yourself you were going to open an art installation one day but seeing these kids light up when they were able to paint or have markers that weren’t dried out was the best thing you could ask for. 

You were showing these new supplies to Barbara in the break room one day when Melissa stormed in her usual cloud of anger. She had lost yet another bet this time on an NHL game and it had left her in a sour mood. 

“You really spent your fantasy football money on those? A waste if you ask me” She scoffed looking down at a large bucket full of cotton balls, piper cleaner,construction paper, paper plates, markers, and googly eyes.

This was when your rage finally boiled over and you snapped, “This waste is your Peter Rabbit project. Barbara told me how important it is to you and I wanted to make sure that we could give them everything they needed plus some this year. We were out of cotton balls, only had paper plates with food stains on them and not a single googly eye in this whole damn building. But if it is such a waste them screw it.”

You pushed the bucket off the table and watched as the contents scattered to the floor.You couldn’t bring yourself to care about the mess that you had made too angry to care much about anything.  You reached for your badge and phone stalking to the door. Right as you went to leave you turned back to the shocked older women.

“And just so you know I bought that with my own money from savings… you know the money I was saving to make my own art collection. Which is now empty because I put money into our kids instead. That fantasy football money you are so worried about went to help pay my daughter’s medical bills. From the car accident that she was in before school started. I still have no idea how you are her favorite teacher but don’t worry I will ask Ava to transfer her immediately.”

With a slam of the door you were gone storming out of the school and onto the front steps. As soon as the fresh air hit your face you dropped down crying into your hands. 

Back in the break room Barbara had her arms crossed looking at her best friend, “Really messed this one up.”

Melissa looked down at the supplies all over the floor and then back at Barbara, “Her daughter?”

“If you took one second to know the girl you would have known her daughter is Astrid.”

“The one who has the purple cast,” Melissa paused realizing how much your daughter Astrid looked like you. Just covered in all the colors of the rainbow instead of your usual black atire, “Oh god I am such an idiot.”

“You could say that again,” Barbara huffed and then got up, “Make sure you pick up your mess.”

Melissa spent the remainder of the lunch scrapping up papers and googly eyes trying to organize them the best she could. The entire time all she could think about how many mistakes she had made. Sure she had been pissed off about the fantasy football thing. But she had been more pissed that you looked hot doing it. That her dreams had been filled by kissing that smirk off your face when you gave her a bratty attitude. Then it just became easier to give you shit than to admit her real feelings toward you. 

When she had made her way to your classroom the door was shut for the first time since you had come to Abbott. She knocked gently and waited for you “Come in” before stepping inside. When you noticed it was her you turned your back focusing on the art projects you were lining the wall with.

“What do you want Schemmenti?”

“To apologize,” Melissa said placing the bin on the table, “I shouldn’t have criticized your supplies. The kids love coming to your class and they have been able to make more this year than ever before. I can chip in some money if you need…”

You turned abruptly throwing an envelope on the table, “I don’t need your damn money. And there is the fantasy football winnings. Take them.”

“But this is for Astrid’s medical bills,” Melissa pushing it back.

“I will figure it out but I can’t have you holding it over me for the rest of my life cause I got lucky the one time when my life was falling apart,” Tears welled in your eyes again and you did your best to shove them down, “I never wanted you to hate me. You know how hard it is to be the only girl in the fantasy football league. I thought we could have been friends...”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You sure act like it,” You scoffed.

“You want to know why I become snippy with you,” Melissa said stalking over until you were pushed up against the counter, “Becuase I can’t get you out of my damn head. I think about you ever moment of the damn day.”

She ran her fingers over your lips pulling away a line of burgundy lipstick across your cheek, “How much I want to ruin this damn lipstick everytime you open up your bratty ass mouth. How much I want to take you home in my bed just to get you to shut up for one damn minute. I don’t hate you Y/N. I am so fucking obsessed with the idea of making you mine that I can’t think straight.”

“Prove it,” You whispered.

Melissa’s eyes darkened, “What was that, sweetheart?”

“Prove it,” You snipped, “Prove how obsessed with me you are.”

Melissa smiled before lifting you up onto the counter before crashing her lips into yours. The guttural moan that came out of you would have made you embarrassed if it hadn’t been for the way Melissa moaned with you. You got lost in the feeling of her pressed against you her hands gently pulling at your hair as you clung desperately to her. The kiss only broke when there was a knock on the door.

“Um, excuse me but my class would like to start art,” Barbara said shielding her students behind her.

Melissa pulled away with a laugh fixing your lipstick the best she could before placing her forehead on yours, “So can I take you out on a real date? Maybe makeout somewhere that isn’t crawling with students.”

-

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