#dew needs a hug

[ashthewaterghoul]

Are You Really Okay? - A DewTom One Shot

They tried to lean forwards for another kiss, sliding forward off the bed to straddle Dew. “No, Phantom. I called red.” Dew said while wriggling out from under Phantom. The hurt in Phantom’s eyes carved a hole in Dew’s chest. “You’re always so good for me, my perfect girl.” He cupped their tear and snot striped face in his hands, “But I’m not comfortable doing anything right now. Not until you tell me what the problem is.” “It’s not me who has a fucking problem!” Phantom blurted out, practically shouting it and they both froze. Phantom never raised their voice. Or, What Dew and Phantom thought was going to be their average hotel night whilst on tour, turns into a much needed conversation neither will soon forget.

Words: 1.4K

Rating: Mature (it does start off spicyish)

Tags: Hurt/comfort, angst, self-harm (discussed not shown), starts spicy but leads elsewhere, safeword use, they/them Phantom, confrontations, Phantom wears a dress and also gets called a 'good girl', grief/mourning, Dew and Phantom need hugs, scars.

A/n: Both Dew and Phantom's anatomies are left ambiguous here because ultimately, it doesn't matter. It can be whatever you want! Mind the tags and enjoy!

Title taken from 'Are You Really Okay?' by Sleep Token. I would say it does sort of set the vibe for the story as well.

~~~

    Dew didn’t know what city they were in, and his brain was too fuzzy to remember how Papa had addressed the crowd just hours before. It was their day off tomorrow, so they were in a hotel tonight. The pack had been out clubbing, and after many intoxicating substances, they all split off to make the most of the space and privacy that a hotel afforded but a tour bus did not.

    Dew had been staring at Phantom all day. From the moment he noticed them wearing one of Rory’s crop tops to soundcheck, their lovely little curves as they warmed up and seeing that nimble body on stage. When they all showered and changed for their night out, Dew nearly went weak in the knees when he saw Phantom in a tight little black dress that started just under their armpits and ended just below their butt.

    So, Dew didn’t know what city he was in, and he didn’t care. All he cared about was that Phantom was finally under him in the hotel room.

    Both still fully clothed and hands flying all over each other’s bodies. Their lips were melding together in a filthy kiss that was more fang and tongue than anything, Phantom desperately gripping handfuls of Dew’s black dress shirt which he had purposefully left rather open the whole night, his tattoos and piercings on display for all to see and it had achieved its goal of driving Phantom mad.

    “Calm down, Bug, I’m not going anywhere.” Dew chuckled against Phantom’s lips.

    Phantom whined, “Please. Need you.” they said, untucking Dew’s shirt out of his waistband and trying to undo what few buttons he did actually fasten.

    “I’ve got you, baby. Gonna take good care of you, yeah?” Dew said, moving to kiss down Phantom’s neck and purposefully focusing on a spot in the junction of their neck and shoulder, intent on leaving a mark there.

    When Phantom had finished with the final button, Dew helped get the shirt off his shoulders and thrown in a heap on the floor. He pulled back a moment to start working on his belt, and Phantom’s legs wrapped tight around his waist.

    “No, don’t leave me.”

    Dew saw a certain desperation in Phantom’s eyes that he usually only saw when they had been going for a while or doing more intense scenes, and this was neither.

Read below the cut or on ao3

    “Phantom.” Dew threw his belt to the floor and cupped one side of their jaw in his calloused palm, “Are you okay? What’s your colour, Bat?”

    “Green, so fucking green. Please, need you.” Phantom said immediately.

    “You’ll tell me if that changes, yeah?” Dew asked, face fully serious, no amount of anything would ever stop Dew from making sure they were comfortable.

    “Yes, now please-“ Phantom cut themself off by launching their mouth back against Dew’s causing him to chuckle low in his throat.

    Dew rolled up what little of Phantom’s dress covered of their lower half, providing a more direct point of contact for the two. Phantom started panting and squirming against Dew, making his own interest pique. Phantom was also letting delicious little moans and whimpers fall out and Dew swallowed as many as he could. He put a hand on each side of Phantom’s torso and bracketed them in. Phantom’s hands went to each of Dew’s forearms and they kept letting little whines fall out as their claws skirted across the uneven skin.

    “So fucking gorgeous. All for me.” Dew said.

    “Yours, all yours.” Phantom affirmed, their feet kicking at Dew’s waistband to get it to budge.

    “Be patient, Bat. I’ve waited all day for this, we don’t want it to be over too quick do we?”

    “Fuck, please! Need you. Don’t ever want to go a second without you, I can’t. Please!” Phantom said, tears starting to bead on their lashes.

    Dew’s eyebrows furrowed at the sight, knowing something was wrong, but Phantom’s deft fingers were already fussing with Dew’s button and zipper, pushing right against where he’d been burning for them all day.

    “Bug-“

    “Shut up, please. Want- need you. Dewy, please.” Phantom was practically sobbing. And Dew sobered immediately, anxiety churning deep in his stomach and smothering the flames that had been steadily growing all day.

    “No. Bug, no. I’m calling red.”

    Dew backed away enough so his core was out of Phantom’s reach.

    “No! Dew, please. I need you so bad.” They were sobbing now.

    “Not when you’re like this.” Dew said, grabbing Phantom’s hands and bringing them to sit up on the edge of the bed, fixing the short dress back down and cover up what little it could. He knelt down on the floor before them, “Something’s up with you, what is it?”

    “Nothing, I promise!” Well that wasn’t convincing at all, “I’m just horny, I just need you, please! Wanna be good for you, wanna be your good girl.”

    They tried to lean forwards for another kiss, sliding forward off the bed to straddle Dew.

    “No, Phantom. I called red.” Dew said while wriggling out from under Phantom.

    The hurt in Phantom’s eyes carved a hole in Dew’s chest.

    “You’re always so good for me, my perfect girl.” He cupped their tear and snot striped face in his hands, “But I’m not comfortable doing anything right now. Not until you tell me what the problem is.”

    “It’s not me who has a fucking problem!” Phantom blurted out, practically shouting it and they both froze. Phantom never raised their voice.

    “Wh- what do you mean?” Dew asked, his hands dropping from their face.

    Phantom took a deep breath, steadying their voice against their tears, “We’ve all noticed. It feels like we’re watching you wither away. I can’t lose you.” They rambled.

    Dew’s mind immediately understood. He wasn’t exactly making any effort to hide it, but he was hoping no one would notice.

    “I can’t help it.” Dew said, backing away in shame as his arms wrapped around his own torso.

    “So let us help. Don’t leave us, please.” Phantom begged, crawling over to be face to face with Dew and taking his hand, holding it tight to their chest and putting all his fresh little scars on full display.

    “I’m sorry, it’s the only thing that feels right. It’s the only pain I can control.”

    Dew’s soul had been in a torrent of hurt since Aether was forced back to Hell, and it had taken a long time for Dew to even accept simply living in the same space as Phantom. But he had gotten over it and gotten better. Or so he thought. It was about a month into the tour when Dew got off stage and instinctively searched for Aether. And in a terribly glorious moment where he completely forgot, he panicked and spiralled thinking that something had happened to Aether, terrified that he couldn’t see his mate. Of course something had happened, it was just months prior.

    Since then, Dew had fallen back into his habit of self-harming. He didn’t really know what the goal was, if he wanted to live on, if he just wanted some pain to remind him he was alive. It was just the only thing he could think of doing to fill the void that Aether had left.

    “You can’t leave us. You can’t leave me.” Phantom said, “I finally have you, you’re in my very soul. I won’t loose you.”

    Dew choked on his tongue as he felt the unbridled emotions filling the shitty little hotel room in who-fucking-knows-where.

    “Please, Dew.” Phantom begged, “Stop hurting yourself. It’s hurting all of us too.”

    And if that didn’t cut deeper then any blade Dew had put to his skin.

    “Bat, I-“

    “We all love you.” Phantom said, before putting a gentle kiss to one of Dew’s new scars, “We’re all here for you.” Another kiss, “Just let us help you.” Another kiss.

    Phantom went along Dew’s arms and torso and kissed each and every mark, laving it with the love Dew hadn’t shown himself for a while.

    “I’m sorry, Bat. I’m so sorry.” Dew said, pulling Phantom in for a bone crushing hug that they returned. It felt as though they thought he would fade away at any moment, and that just made Dew hold on tighter.

    “I’ll try, I promise. I’m sorry.” Dew repeated like a mantra.

    “We all love you so much, Dewy. I love you so much.” Phantom cried, kissing whatever they could reach without loosening their hold, “Please never forget that.”

    “I’ll try, I promise I’ll try.” Dew swore.

    And he meant it. With all his heart, with all the love he had for his pack, current and lost, he meant it. He could only hope he wouldn’t be too weak to let everyone down.

One shot master post can be found here!

[bloodfin]

Chapter 6: Never Mine to Keep

chapter warnings: sorry dewther nation

a/n: 😬 anyways, enjoy some lore!

The Ministry hums.

A soft light spills through stained glass, catching motes of incense and dust. Somewhere below, the first bell has rung - but up in the study, the air still holds the hush of prayer not quite extinguished.

Cardinal Copia leans back in his chair, one sock inside-out, one foot bare. A fig bar has died a slow death beside his elbow. Incense from Lucifer’s altar still clings faintly to his sleeves.

He hasn’t been sleeping well. But he’s been moving.

Across the room, Aether stands near the window, arms crossed, spine straight. He’s been summoned. Again. Still doesn’t know why, but could hazard a guess.

Copia lifts his espresso and sighs through the steam. “How are our wayward elemental sons?”

Aether tilts his head. “Healing. Slowly.”

“‘In their own ways,’ I assume?” Copia arches a brow. “Cryptic, vague, and entirely unhelpful. Sure you’re not part air ghoul?”

Aether doesn’t dignify that with a response.

Copia shrugs, the tease fading. “I’m glad they’re healing. I am. But the Ghost Project wasn’t given to us as a grief ritual. We’re meant to spread something. Shake the walls. Scare the faithful. Preach through distortion. The band cannot simply be vibes and divine trauma forever.”

He taps his fingers on the rim of his mug. “And that means rehearsal.”

Aether lifts a brow. “You think they’re ready for that?”

“I think they need it,” Copia says, setting the cup down. His hands still. “We all do.”

A pause.

“I asked Him to forgive me,” Copia says, quieter now. “And He did…I think. Said the work still matters. That it was never just about summoning or survival - but voice. Witness.”

He exhales, sharp and thin. “I’m doing my best to believe Him.”

Aether studies him. “So this is your redemption arc?”

Copia smiles, small and bright. Perhaps a little too sharp. “It’s a revival, caro. And I’d like to share it with the ghouls who survived the worst of what we summoned.”

Aether exhales. “Rain is… close. Not quite speaking yet. But he’s present.”

“And Dew?”

“Present as well…but volatile. Like a heatwave looking for somewhere to break.”

Copia chuckles. “That’s fine. I like a little fire.”

He rises, smoothing his rumpled cassock and grabbing a clipboard from the floor. It’s blank, but he carries it like it holds a divine plan.

“Tell them rehearsal’s starting soon. Gently. Preferably with snacks.”

Aether crosses his arms. “And if Dew explodes?”

Copia shrugs. “Then I’ll hand him a guitar and tell him to scream in E minor.”

He heads for the door, calling over his shoulder:

“Also, let’s discuss wardrobe. Something bright. With very tight pants.”

Aether sighs, long suffering, and follows anyway.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

Omega finds him beneath the flowering arch near the sunlit garden wall, half-curled in a patch of violet moss and clover. Petals drift in the warm breeze, jasmine sweet on the air - but Rain seems separate from it. Not untouched. Just apart, like something carved and left behind by a gentler age.

Light spills across his skin, catching in the slow pulse of bioluminescence winding up his throat. It moves like the tides, soft and rhythmic.

Omega lingers a moment longer on the path. Staring would feel rude, if Rain weren’t so… well.

No one should look like that - limned in gold, glowing faintly blue, quiet as a held breath.

“Mind some company?” Omega asks, voice gentled by awe.

Rain blinks. Tilts his head - not quite a nod, but not refusal either.

Omega takes it as welcome.

He sinks into the grass beside him, careful not to disturb the moss where Rain’s hand rests. “You’re hard to track down,” he says, smiling. “Aether said you’ve been walking the perimeter like a cat with a compass. Looking for something?”

Rain watches him for a moment. Then he opens his mouth.

The sound that escapes isn’t a word. It’s a chord, soft and layered. Then, with a firm swallow and look of determination, Rain speaks.

“Not looking,” he says quietly. “Listening.”

His voice folds in on itself, each syllable wrapped in harmony, two voices from one throat. One from the upper larynx, airy and high. One from a deeper place, the one shaped for the water.

Omega blinks, stunned by the sound.

Rain’s glow responds, flaring peach under his eyes and in his ear fins before ebbing again.

“That’s…” Omega exhales slowly. “Gorgeous.”

Rain ducks his head slightly. The reaction is quiet, but it ripples through him - a wash of green across his collarbones. Uncertain.

“Do you always sound like that?”

Rain hesitates. “Only where it’s dry,” he says softly. “Like the others.”

Omega doesn’t look away. “The harmonics settle with time,” he says. “Especially when the upper larynx isn’t used to air yet.”

Rain’s fingers twitch. Then still. Then rise to his chest.

He inhales. The shimmer moves through, lavender to blue to silver.

“…I’m still learning,” he says. The sound is slow, but it’s more stable this time; still layered, still harmonic, but easier now. The high voice threads like mist through the low one’s hum.

Omega can only stare.

“You sound like the ocean dreamed you up,” he murmurs. “Lucifer.”

Rain flinches slightly at the name.

Omega catches it. “Not a bad thing,” he says quickly. “You’re beautiful. Not just how you look - which is unfair, by the way - but what you are. You don’t have to soften that voice for anyone else’s ears.”

Rain’s glow flares - pale green with a kiss of gold, curling low beneath his ribs.

He tries again.

“My name is Rain.”

This time it’s clear. Layered, yes, but centered. The higher voice dances, and the lower one grounds.

Omega’s smile softens, breath caught.

Rain glows steady now, light pulsing at the base of his throat.

And for the first time since rising to the surface, he feels fully heard.

Omega lets the silence linger. The good kind. The kind that settles like dust in sunlight.

“You ever played before?” he asks gently.

Rain tilts his head, curious.

Omega clarifies. “An instrument. Bass, specifically. That's why Copia pulled you up, water always has great rhythm. Rumor mill says rehearsals start soon.”

Rain blinks. His fingers flex faintly, like remembering something he never learned.

“I’ve… moved with it,” he says slowly. “But never made it. Not like that.”

Omega laughs. “The instruments are like extensions of us. Especially bass. It’s not loud or flashy, but it holds everything else up. Beneath the melody. Beneath the drums.”

Rain murmurs, “Like the undertow.”

Omega beams. “Exactly. It’s the pull. The weight. The part that lets the others rise.”

Rain repeats the word under his breath, carefully. “Un-der-tow.” His voice echoes itself in silver-blue.

Omega watches him quietly, then adds, “It used to be Dew’s role.”

Rain’s expression shifts, like a bell struck far away. Not pain. Not surprise. Just… recognition.

“I know,” he says.

Omega blinks.

“Not fully,” Rain adds. “But something in me, somehow, knows.”

A silence opens between them again, softer now. The kind that waits without pressure.

Omega leans back on his hands, casual and warm. “You don’t have to rush. But when you’re ready, there’s a bass in the studio with your name on it.”

Rain tilts his head, bemused.

Omega grins. “Figuratively. Unless you want me to paint it on.”

Rain hums - a soft pulse that rolls like a breeze.

Not quite laughter.

But close.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

Omega rounds the corner quietly, the scent of jasmine still clinging to his skin. There’s a calmness in his steps, something steady and lit from within. The warmth of the garden, of Rain’s voice echoing faintly in his mind, lingers like an aftertaste.

Aether nearly walks into him.

They both pause.

“On your way back?” Aether asks.

Omega nods. “Infirmary’s calling. Figured I’d check on Rain before lunch rounds.”

Aether hums in acknowledgment, adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves. There’s something a little tight about his posture - like he’s walking toward something he’s not ready to face.

“You?” Omega prompts.

Aether glances down the hallway that leads toward the outer courtyard. “Going to meet Dew.”

Omega nods again, slower this time. “Rain spoke today.”

That stops Aether mid-step.

His brows pull together. “He - what?”

“Full voice,” Omega says, voice measured but reverent. “Said his name. Harmonics fully layered, nearly stabilized.”

Aether’s throat bobs.

“I wasn’t expecting it,” Omega continues, fingers drumming lightly against the railing. “Not with that level of clarity. It usually takes time for water ghouls to adjust. But he sounded…integrated. Like he’s already syncing with the surface.”

Aether exhales, slow. A long beat passes before he says, “Good. That’s good.”

“But?”

Aether hesitates. His gaze drops to the floor between them.

“I always wonder if Dew could have sounded like that. If we’d just… really listened, we would have heard him.”

Omega’s voice stays soft. Steady. “You know he couldn’t.”

“I know.” It comes too fast, too defensive. “I know.”

Omega studies him.

“He only has one larynx,” Omega says, gently factual. “We both saw the scan. The lower one didn’t form. It wasn’t something he could grow into.”

Aether nods once, like it’s an old truth he never made peace with.

“And still,” he murmurs, “I kept waiting. Hoping. Like something would eventually click and he’d just… harmonize. Like the others.”

Omega says nothing.

“He told us it was because he was from the shallows,” Aether continues, voice raw. “But Lake is too. And Lake’s voice still has that buzz. Quieter, sure, but it’s there.”

Omega is quiet for a long moment.

“You wanted him to be something he never was.”

Aether closes his eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”

“But you did.”

It’s not cruel. Not accusing. Just truth laid bare.

Aether’s hands flex at his sides. “I thought he was holding back. I thought he was ashamed.”

Omega exhales, his tone doesn’t waver. “Maybe he was. But not because he couldn’t sing like the rest of them. Because no one ever told him he didn’t have to.”

That lands.

Aether looks away, jaw set, something splintered in his eyes.

The hallway falls quiet as Omega’s footsteps fade, swallowed by the stone.

Aether doesn’t move.

The silence around him stretches wide - too wide. The kind that used to be sacred, comforting. Now it presses. Suffocates.

He exhales through his nose, but it doesn’t clear anything. Not the tightness in his chest. Not the sharp heat behind his eyes.

Because no one ever told him he didn’t have to.

The words cling heavy.

Aether lowers himself to the bench tucked beside the wall, hands braced on his knees, elbows sharp. His fingertips glow faintly with residual quintessence - instinctive, unsettled. He could shape it into anything. But today, it refuses to quiet.

He thinks of Dew a few days after his summoning. A few months, a few years.

Curled around a pain he couldn’t name.

He thinks of the long silences. The sharp looks.

The way Dew’s voice always felt like an interruption, not a song.

He never meant to make it that way… but he did.

Aether presses the heels of his palms to his eyes.

It doesn’t change anything. But it holds something back, for now.

Just long enough to walk into the fireyard and face what he shaped with silence.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

The fireyard is quiet this morning, but still smoldering. Ash curls lazily in the updraft, caught between the braziers where Dew has been pacing slow arcs into the scorched stone. His palms ache from strain. Smoke clings to his skin like a second breath.

He doesn’t look up when he hears footsteps. He knows them by heart.

Aether stops just shy of the circle.

“Still burning through breakfast?” he asks, lightly. Like this is routine. Like they haven’t been circling each other in silence for days.

Dew doesn’t answer.

Aether exhales, but he doesn’t retreat. “You’ve had enough time in the yard,” he says, voice pitched somewhere between teasing and serious. “Copia wants to start rehearsals this week.”

Dew wipes a forearm across his brow, sweat streaking soot. “So?”

“So, someone’s got to show Rain how to hold a bass. You know the parts best.”

Dew turns at last. The firelight catches the edges of his jaw, the fine tremble in his fingers. “You came all this way to tell me to go to rehearsal?”

“I came to talk,” Aether says, quieter now. “But sure. Let’s start there.”

A flicker of heat flares at Dew’s shoulders - not magic. Temper. “Funny how you only want to talk when it’s about what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

Aether steps closer, careful. “I’m not trying to push you.”

“Yes, you are.” Dew’s voice is sharp. “You didn’t want me to change. Not really. You stood by while I tore myself apart - and now you want me to pick up where I left off, like this -” he gestures at his body, jaw tight, “- doesn’t still make you flinch.”

Aether’s shoulders tense. “I didn’t push you. I supported you when you asked.”

“You called me waterlily.”

“That was -”

“A mistake,” Dew cuts in. “Yeah. I know.”

The silence that follows is thick, heavy with memory.

“I’m trying, Dew,” Aether says, low. “I’m trying to meet you where you are. I just don’t know where that is anymore.”

Dew’s voice is quieter when it comes. “Me neither.”

For a moment, neither of them moves. Smoke curls between them, faint and uncertain.

Aether breaks the quiet. “Your amp’s in the practice room. Still set the way you left it.”

Dew nods once. Not agreement, just acknowledgment.

“If you come,” Aether adds, “come because you want to. Not because I told you to.”

He turns, leaving the circle as quietly as he entered.

Dew watches the place where he stood, fire still trembling low at his fingertips.

He doesn’t know if he’s angry at Aether, or if he’s angry because he isn’t.

He exhales, sharp and bitter. Moves to wipe his hands on his pants. But before his fingers meet fabric, something shifts.

The fire that hovered in threads and wisps suddenly flares.

No smoke or spark or hissing steam.

Flame.

True flame, hot and hungry and whole, rips up from his palm and dances up his forearm in a ribbon of blistering gold. It’s beautiful.

It’s terrifying.

It holds steady for half a heartbeat - and then it vanishes.

Dew stares down at his hand, chest heaving.

Then groans.

“Of course,” he mutters, dragging both hands down his face. “Now? Now?”

No witness. No guidance. No idea what triggered it.

Just heat. Just proof he’s not completely cut off. Just a magic he doesn’t know how to trust.

The scorch mark on the stone still smokes, thin and curling. If it wasn’t for that mark, he might have thought he hallucinated the whole thing.

Dew sits hard on the edge of the training bench, rubbing his palm with the heel of the other hand.

For a second, he almost laughs.

It figures.

The fire finally answers.

And all it gives him is more questions.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

The breeze shifts.

Rain’s fingers trail along the last of the ivy as he rounds the curve of the garden path. Sunlight warms his shoulders, his breath easy in his chest.

For a moment, he forgets where he is - not in the Depths, not in the summoning chamber. Somewhere in between, still learning what it means to be here.

Swiss waits by the outer gate, leaning against the post like he’s been there a while. One foot propped, arms crossed, an easy grin tugging at his mouth when he sees Rain approach.

“Hey, fishcake,” he says. “Didn’t want you getting turned around on the way to rehearsal. The Ministry is tricky when it wants to be.”

Rain stops beside him, head tilting slightly. The light catches in his hair, still damp from the lake.

“Thank you,” he says.

The harmonics bloom behind the words like low tide and sunrise.

Swiss blinks. Stares. “Shit. That’s your voice?”

Rain nods once.

“It’s... wow. That’s something else,” Swiss says, breath caught. “Could knock the air right out of someone if you weren’t trying to be so polite.”

Rain’s glow flares faintly - soft green, edged with blue.

Swiss straightens and nudges him lightly. “C’mon. They’ll want to hear you. Whether you’re ready or not.”

They fall into step together. Rain walks barefoot, quiet. Swiss doesn’t push for more.

The moss gives way to stone as they near the rehearsal wing. Ahead, a guitar hums - warm-up chords, soft and familiar.

“Do you know anything about what they’re having me play?” Rain asks, voice low.

“Bass? Not really,” Swiss admits, with a half-shrug. “But you’ve got the hands for it. That, and... it was Dew’s.”

Rain’s glow shifts at the base of his throat again, pale violet and uncertain. Swiss doesn’t push. Just adds, “You don’t have to be him. You’ve just gotta be you. That’ll be enough.”

They stop at the half-open door.

Rain’s fingers brush the frame. “I want to try.”

Swiss smiles. “Then try.”

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

The rehearsal room is sunlit and vaulted, soundproofed with thick stone and careful spellwork. Racks of instruments line the far wall - guitars, basses, a battered upright piano. The air smells faintly of rosin, ozone, and old incense, like someone’s been there recently.

Copia is pacing near the mixing table, clipboard in one hand and a half-empty espresso in the other. His suit jacket is off, sleeves rolled, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.

Aether stands by an amp rack, adjusting a cord with sharp, efficient movements. He doesn’t glance up at first - too focused, or at least pretending to be.

Rain steps inside beside Swiss, quiet and unsure.

Copia turns at the sound. His expression, already mid-sentence, softens as he spots Rain.

“Ah, il nostro pesciolino!” he says brightly, voice pitched somewhere between theatrical affection and genuine surprise. “You came. Bravissimo.”

Rain inclines his head. ““I want to try. The music.”

Copia blinks. Then beams. “Your voice!”

The words echo - not just in sound, but in texture. Rain’s voice carries that layered resonance again, subtler now, like a chord played in a minor key beneath the melody.

Aether stills.

Copia chuckles. “Lucifer’s tongue, you water types are always melodic. I should have brought a recorder.” He sets the clipboard down with a flourish. “No matter. We’ll get you tuned up soon. And,” he gestures toward the wall of instruments, “we’ll need to choose your bass.”

Rain’s gaze drifts across the lineup. His eyes catch on a worn, light-bodied one near the end. He doesn’t reach for it yet.

Behind him, Aether speaks. “That was Dew’s.”

Rain doesn’t turn.

“I know.”

Copia’s expression falters, just for a beat. He smooths it with a smile. “And Dew will teach him to play it, when he’s ready.”

Rain hums low in his throat, not quite agreement or refusal.

Copia claps his hands together, a little too briskly. “Well then! I’ll leave you boys to it. Swiss, don’t break anything. Aether…try.”

Swiss gives a mock salute. Aether doesn’t respond.

Copia sweeps from the room in a flurry of espresso fumes and rehearsal notes.

Rain doesn’t move to the instrument. Instead, he studies Aether for a moment - measured and silent. He doesn’t speak the question rising in his throat.

Aether answers it anyway.

“I didn’t help,” he says. “At the summoning. When Dew was burning. I should have. But I didn’t.”

Rain’s expression doesn’t change, but something in his bioluminescence dims, just briefly.

“I remember,” he says.

Aether swallows. “I’m sorry.”

Rain doesn’t respond. He just steps toward the bass he’d already chosen. His fingers brush the neck and the strings hum faintly beneath his touch.

“Then show me,” he says softly, “what comes next.”

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

The rehearsal room isn’t what Dew expects.

It’s brighter than it used to be. Still layered with cables, dust, and old incense ash - but now it hums faintly with something he can’t name. Like a lost memory trying to rebuild itself.

He steps in without knocking.

And stops - fast.

Rain is near the far amp stack, bass cradled against his chest like something fragile. Not the communal beater either - his.

The white one, scuffed where his claw used to rest. The strap is adjusted too high, the grip is all wrong.

Aether stands near him and Swiss is perched on a stool nearby, strumming an acoustic guitar low and easy, his foot tapping in time.

He knows they can’t see him yet. He could still leave. Back away into the hallway, vanish like he was never there at all.

Rain plucks a note. It buzzes out of tune. His face creases and his ears glow pink, embarrassed.

“You’re fine,” Aether murmurs. “Try again - loosen your shoulder.”

He leans in towards Rain, reaching a hand towards him. Rain stiffens just slightly, breath sharp - not fear, but not welcome either.

Dew sees it and his chest pulls tight.

Before he knows it, he’s moving.

Across the room. Fast, quiet. The air around him smells of smoke - static and tight. He steps between them. Doesn’t look at Aether, doesn’t say a word.

His voice is low, gruff with restraint, eyes staring distinctly over Rain’s shoulder. He holds out an open hand, gesturing to the strap.

“May I?”

Rain’s gaze drops, looking to meet Dew’s. He doesn’t, but gives the smallest nod anyways. Before Dew can lose his confidence, he’s stepping in, hands already moving. He adjusts the strap first, unhooking it and lowering it two notches.

“It’s too high,” he mutters, low and clipped. “You’ll lose all your wrist motion.”

He steps behind Rain - close, but careful. His hands settle on the instrument, not the ghoul.

“Your fretting hand, it’s too tight. You’re choking the neck.” He reaches around to adjust Rain’s grip, gently brushing against his fingers.

“It should feel like an extension of you. Not a fight.” His voice is quieter now.

Rain doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away. Just watches him. Watches how Dew’s hands remember the bass like it’s still part of him. Watches how he never once looks up.

“You’re holding the pick wrong,” Dew adds, stepping to Rain’s side. “It’s not a dagger. Loosen your grip. Let it move with you.”

He shows him, his own pick in hand, fingers loose, motion smooth, and then clips his own bass on in one practiced sweep, muscle memory taking over.

Aether shifts like he might say something but thinks better of it.

Swiss gives Rain a look, something unreadable.

Rain says nothing. But he feels it.

The tether.

His glow pulses a rosy gold in the webbing between his fingers, soft and steady.

Dew doesn’t see it, focused on tuning his bass… but Rain does.

He feels it, too. Like a rising tide, too slow to drown in, but too fast to outrun.

Swiss strums a slow, steady chord. “Try following this.”

Rain nods once, jaw clenched, and adjusts. Another note. A little clearer, this time. The strings vibrate against his fingers like a question.

“Good,” Swiss says gently, strumming something simple for him to follow. “Try playing that root. Just once, every four.”

Rain tries. Fumbles. Tries again.

And Dew watches him - soft curls falling across his brow, gills flexing faintly with the effort, luminescence stuttering up his arms and across his hands. He doesn’t say anything…just flicks the bass on and starts playing.

Rain listens, eyes narrowed as he watches.

Then, without thinking, he plays it back. It’s not perfect, but the root note lands. The slide catches a beat late, but the tone is warm and resonant.

Aether stills. Swiss blinks. And Dew doesn’t stop.

His fingers press harder to the strings now, anchored into the music.

Rain matches him again.

Not because he knows how. But because, somehow, he remembers.

Swiss keeps strumming slow chords, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. But his eyes flick between the two bassists, amused and maybe a little in awe of Rain’s focused concentration and the tension crawling up Dew’s spine.

Aether crosses his arms, leaning against the amp stack, gaze pinned to the low thrum between them.

Their sound locks - gravity, orbiting. Pulling towards something neither of them can name.

Rain glances down at his hands, the webbing of his fingers pulsating soft violet now, edged in the same rose gold.

Dew still doesn’t look up. But his jaw tics, like he’s trying to not feel what’s blooming between the strings.

The tether tightens, rhythm pulsing, something growing between them that is undeniable.

Dew adjusts slightly, shoulders squaring toward him now. Still not looking directly at Rain, but… closer. His fingers slide along the strings, smoother. Familiar. Muscle memory rising where thought used to crowd.

Rain mirrors the phrasing. Still not perfect, but instinctive.

Aether shifts, voice too casual. “Nice phrasing.”

Swiss shoots him a look, then clears his throat. “Think I left my slide ring in the other room.”

Aether nods, suddenly serious. “And I need to check the…call schedule.”

Dew sends a single pulse down the pack-thread, dry and sharp: if you leave me alone with him right now I will immolate myself and take this cursed bass with me.

Aether’s brow lifts, amused, and neither of them moves.

Rain watches them. Then looks back at Dew. The music falters, but doesn’t stop.

Rain plays one more note. Then another.

Dew answers it, even as he grits his teeth.

The sound between them hangs - not music anymore. Not quite.

Aether shifts awkwardly, moving towards the amps, and his foot catches the power strip.

Click.

Silence. The hum cuts out. The air stills.

“Whoops,” he mutters. Too loud, not sorry in the slightest.

Swiss lets out a quiet laugh, unstrapping his guitar. “Alright. Guess that’s rehearsal for today.”

Rain doesn’t move at first, just rests his fingers lightly on the frets, reluctant to put the instrument down.

Dew steps back. His eyes flick to Rain. Then away. Fast. His mouth opens, then shuts again. Like he’s trying to figure out what to say.

“Take a break,” he grits, the words landing sharper than he means.

Swiss gestures toward the door. “Rain. Want to walk with me?”

Rain nods slowly and sets the bass down with careful hands, like it’s something sacred. He follows Swiss out and doesn’t look back.

The door closes behind them with a quiet click.

Dew stays where he is. Fire flickers faintly at his fingertips, barely there. The air still smells faintly of ozone and ash; residue from the amplifier’s cut power, from everything unsaid. He stares at the floor where Rain had stood. The imprint of him, the memory of his hands on the bass.

Aether shifts beside the unplugged amp, uncertain. “Hey -”

Dew doesn’t look up.

Aether tries again, gentler. “Dew, I -”

“Just don’t.” Dew’s voice is flat. Final.

It hits like a punch to the gut. Dew doesn’t look up, doesn’t wait. He walks out, footsteps hard and fast, his fire whispering smoke behind him.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

They walk in silence for a moment, footsteps echoing through the hall.

Rain is the first to speak, voice unsure. “Can we go there?”

Swiss glances over. “Where?”

Rain doesn’t meet his eyes. “Where it happened. I think… I need to see it.”

He doesn’t explain why, and Swiss doesn’t ask, just nods once. “Alright.”

Rain’s eyes linger on the walls as they walk, on the worn tapestries, the sigils carved into stone. Some pulse faintly with old summoning magic. Others just ache.

They turn the corner - and nearly run into Mountain.

“Hey,” Mountain says gently. “Was just coming to find you.”

Rain tilts his head and Swiss glances at him, then back at Mountain. “He asked to see the summoning chamber.”

A beat passes, but Mountain nods once. “I’ll come with.”

Rain doesn’t speak, but he meets Mountain’s eyes with a gentle smile. Mountain falls into step on one side, Swiss on the other. No words. Just presence.

The corridor narrows as the air thickens. The stone underfoot shifts, etched with circles and faded burn marks like clawed hands reaching outwards.

The chamber waits ahead.

Watching.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

Dew rounds a corner, alone now. His pulse too loud in his ears. He plants a hand on the stone wall, steadying himself. The surface is cool - wrong. He wants water, wants fire, wants anything but this choking in-between.

He presses his forehead to the wall and whispers, “You said I’d be enough.”

But the wall doesn't answer.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

Rain slows as they approach, feeling the shift in the air. Swiss steps forward and pulls the doors open with a grunt.

The chamber is colder than he remembered, wide and domed and strangely quiet.

Rain steps over the threshold and his glow dims. No out of fear, but something older. Respect maybe. Recognition.

The room feels like it's breathing around him, still laced with the scent of smoke and salt. The circles remain, one water-washed and the other scorched…the soot never quite came out. The sigils around it have frayed, the wax in the candle dishes have long since cooled to cracked stone.

But something hums.

Mountain’s voice is gentle. “You came up here.” He points to the mossy outline near the circle’s center. There’s a faint outline near the edge - just the size of a lanky water ghoul - where Rain collapsed after he arrived.

Rain stares at it. His breath shudders.

Swiss crouches beside the old sigils near the burned circle. “And Dew was -” he gestures to the scars burned into the floor. “Right in the center.”

Rain’s eyes drift toward the ash spiral.

His fingers twitch.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

Dew paces now, aimless. His fists clench and unclench. Somewhere in the Ministry, he knows Rain is standing in the chamber. He feels it like a blade twisting into his side. He wants to know why Rain’s down there, he wants to understand why he cares.

Why he keeps being pulled towards things he’ll never be enough for.

Aether appears at the end of the hall.

"I didn’t mean to -"

Dew stops walking. Doesn’t turn.

"You don't get to mean anything anymore."

Aether flinches.

Dew walks away. Smoke curls at his heels.

Aether doesn’t follow.

It lingers long after Dew is gone - sharp and bitter and final.

The corridor stills.

Then - a pulse. Quintessence.

It hums low in Aether’s chest, a resonance he can’t stop. A tremor behind his ribs.

This is what it feels like when a bond breaks. Not with a snap.

But with silence.

He feels the shape of it, the space where Dew used to be. The way he never quite fit into the places Aether kept trying to make for him.

All that time, Aether thought he was helping. Supporting.

But he hadn’t seen him. Not really. Kept waiting for a voice Dew would never have, despite insisting that he was listening.

And now it’s too late.

The resonance fades.

And Aether is alone in the quiet.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

Rain steps carefully to the edge of the circle, lowers himself gently to his knees.

The ash has settled, undisturbed. He brushes his fingers over the grooves in the stone, and something pulses faintly against his palm. Not pain, but a memory.

Then - a glint. Half-buried in ash near the edge of the circle. Rain leans over and lifts it.

It’s…a shard. Translucent, blue-green, like sea glass melted at the edges. It’s beautiful.

He cradles it in both hands, something precious. The lavender ringed in rose gold returns, now pulsing in the palms of his hands.

Swiss and Mountain stand quietly, alert, but giving space. They don’t say anything. Just watch as Rain holds Dew’s broken horn in his palms, and lowers his forehead to it, pulsing a faint, ocean blue before softening again.

In the shadows near the far archway, a figure waits. Still as bone, cloaked in silence. Delta doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. They, too, just watch.

Lips curled.

Pleased.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

The dorm corridor glows dim with evening light, warm and heavy. Behind the closed door, Dew can hear faint sounds: the soft scrape of a drawer, the click of a glass being set down. Rain is inside. Alive. Settling.

Whole.

Dew stares at the door like it might open itself. Like it might offer him something if he just waits long enough.

His fingers twitch as he stands in silence.

He bounces on his feet, tail flicking behind him. Finally, he raises his hand to knock.

And -

---

---

---

The knock is soft - two short taps, then a third, more tentative.

Rain blinks from where he’s perched cross-legged on his narrow bed, half-awake, the piece of Dew’s horn still clenched in his fist. His eyes catch the last streak of sun trailing across the floorboards like a ribbon of gold, and for a moment he hesitates.

Then he rises, shoves the horn into his pocket, and opens the door.

Swiss and Mountain stand in the hallway, framed by warm lamplight and the scent of garden soil and ozone.

“Hope we’re not interrupting,” Mountain says gently.

Rain shakes his head.

Swiss grins. “We brought you a gift. Kind of. Thought you might like it.”

He reaches into the pouch slung across his shoulder and pulls out a small, boxy object - rounded corners, see-through plastic. Tangled headphones trail from it like seaweed.

Rain tilts his head. “...What is that?”

“This,” Swiss says, holding it up reverently, “is a walkman.”

Rain stares.

Mountain adds helpfully, “It plays music. Like a - like a song stone. But human.”

Rain’s brow furrows further. “It looks like a... bait trap.”

Swiss barks a laugh. “Honestly? Not far off.”

He offers it up. Rain takes it with both hands, cradling it like a strange relic. It hums with static magic he doesn’t recognize - mechanical, hummingbird fast, somehow alive.

“We brought a bunch of Ghost tracks,” Mountain explains. “Old performances. Copia’s picks. You can listen and start getting a feel for the sound.”

“There’s one button that skips forward, one that rewinds,” Swiss says, pointing like it’s sacred geometry. “Start slow. You’ll get the hang of it. You push this button here to open it and change the tape.”

Rain slides the headphones over his ears - wrong at first, then right. He touches the play button and flinches slightly at the sudden surge of sound. The vocals kick in first - sharp, bright, layered with power. Then the rhythm section drops in behind it, and he goes still.

The music crashes like a wave against something deep in him. Unexpected. Unfamiliar, but something speaks to him all the same.

Swiss watches him. “Not bad, right?”

Rain lifts the headphones off one ear. “It’s... loud.”

Mountain chuckles. “It’s supposed to be.”

Rain sets the walkman gently on the nightstand, glow flickering faintly along his jaw. “Thank you.”

Swiss shrugs, casual. “You’re part of the project now. Gotta start somewhere.”

Mountain nudges him. “We’ll leave you to it. Let us know if you need help rewinding it. It’s a little cursed.”

They retreat with a wave and a smile.

Rain closes the door behind them and sits back on the bed, fingers still ghosting over the strange little device. The weight of it is solid, a reminder that it’s all real.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

Dew hears them before he means to.

Laughter. The low thrum of Mountain’s voice. Swiss teasing softly. Rain’s quiet curiosity, unfamiliar and sharp in his chest.

They sound like pack.

He closes his eyes.

That old, sour ache flares low and deep in his stomach. He could open the door. Could cross the hall. Could try.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he pushes up from the floor and crosses to the storage crate tucked beneath his bed. The lid sticks at first, then gives.

Inside there’s cables, old picks, a few worn notebooks with setlists half-scratched through. And at the bottom, stacked in a thin case, nearly forgotten, are his old training tracks. Bass lines isolated. Raw. Just the bones.

His fingers hover over them.

He pulls them out one by one, thumb brushing over the labels. Ghost songs stripped down to what held them steady. What used to hold him steady.

Then, slowly, he rises.

Walks to the door.

He lays a hand against it. Just his palm, just enough to feel the cool of it. The world waits on the other side - warmth, maybe. Or failure.

But he’s still standing.

Still listening.

Still thinking about opening it.

[wileys-russo]

Frido “you look like you could use a hug”

Locker room

need a hug II f.rolfö 

you groaned as once again your body was driven hard into the ground, head slumping down with a deep sigh. your forehead was damp from dew and now likely covered with flecks of dirt and grass as magdas relentless cackle echoed through the air.

"come on now, up!" the blonde woman ordered as she grabbed your hands and tugged you back to your feet, met only with a defeated huff. "can i have a new partner? please!" you begged to anyone within earshot as the girl grinned and smacked your back.

"you love it! a couple falls are good for you liten mus, they will build your strength." she ruffled your hair as the two of you returned to your starting cones.

"or you could remember we are playing football eriksson, not rugby!" you warned your captain as the players and staff within earshot chuckled, dane your trainer holding up the ball again.

"and stop calling me that. i am not a child anymore!" you grunted, wiping your forehead off with your shirt as the woman across from you simply shot you a toothy grin.

"where is the fun in that? liten mus." magda smirked as you both crouched, eyes locked on dane who counted down from five. "one!" with that the ball was launched into the air and you both sprinted for it, a slight gust of favorable wind meaning it dropped to your feet.

magda bore her teeth at you with a wicked grin as you tried to dribble around her. taking a leaf out of her book this time you rammed your elbow into her hip as she slipped over with a grunt and you finally made it past, slotting the ball through the cones.

"yes!" you pumped your fists in victory as the rain which had been brooding since the session began finally started to fall, magda groaning in annoyance, standing up to her feet. "again." she ordered as the two of you returned to your starting positions, dane tugging his hood over his head.

"one!"

you both made a dash for the ball again and filled with a newfound confidence you gained first touch, faking left and tapping the ball through magdas legs, watching as it rolled through the cones again and the rain began to come down harder.

you cheered again, the air knocked out of you as suddenly you were back down on the ground again and the whistle blew to signal the session was over, most of the girls sprinting inside and out of the downpour.

"get off me!" you groaned as magda sat on top of you, the rain getting heavier by the minute as you grunted and strained to shove her off you. "du fuskade!" the older girl accused as you finally pushed her off, rolling out from under her.

"no! you lost." you flipped her off and sprinted inside before she could lunge for you, the blondes shouts following after you as you both finally made it out of the rain, magda grabbing you in a headlock and dragging you down to the change rooms.

"you got lucky liten mus." magda ruffled your hair as she let up and wandered over to her cubby as you made your way to yours, your girlfriend sat in her own on your left, already showered and changed.

with her knee causing some discomfort yesterday she'd only been allowed a very watered down session today and wouldn't be in contention for tomorrows game against italy, so she looked on in amusement at your drenched and disheveled state.

"you look like you had fun min kärlek." frido grinned, wrapped up in a hoodie and sweats ready to head back to the hotel shortly as the girls chatter floated around you and you scooted closer.

"and you look like you could use a hug." you shot her a cheeky smile, the blondes eyes widening as you darted forward and collapsed into her, still drenched and squeezing her tightly.

"nej nej! stäng av!" frido ordered with a squeal as she tried to shove you off as instead you wound up practically sitting on her lap, arms wrapped around her torso in a steely grip, pressing your wet form against hers.

"oh come on, really?" your girlfriend groaned as you rubbed your wet hair against her, finally letting go and standing back to your feet, laughing at the very visible dark patches all over her once dry hoodie.

"i think we should shower baby, get you into some clean clothes." you teased holding out your hand as the swede sent you a murderous glare, stripping off her hoodie and taking your hand none the less.

you pulled her with you into the bathrooms and ignored the teasing whistles of your teammates, your affection for one another hardly a secret in the national team considering you and fridolina had been together almost four years now.

stepping into one of the shower cubicles and drawing the curtain, your girlfriends taller form wasted no time pressing you against the cold tiled wall as her lips began to trail kisses down your neck making you chuckle.

"see? i knew you needed a hug." "you think you are so funny."

"no, i know i am funny." you corrected, patting your girlfriends shoulder with a wink as she rolled her eyes and shoved your head under the showerhead, turning the cold tap on full making you squeal and swing at her.

"fridolina! det är iskallt." you scowled as the older girl snickered. "oh i am sorry baby, is it too cold?" she pouted sarcastically as you mocked her and smacked her hands off the taps, quickly flicking the hot one.

"i think you should warm me up." you challenged, tilting your chin up with a confident smile that your girlfriend met with one of her own, hands moving to sit at the small of your back, caging your body between her own and the tile wall.

"is that so?" her breath tickled your lips as you felt one of her hands slink around your body, snapping teasingly at the bottom of your sports bra.

both of you were only half naked but you had a feeling that was about to change with the way the defenders fingers teasingly brushed over your covered nipple.

though before her lips could meet your own which were puckered eagerly, the curtains were yanked open and the pair of you pushed apart, hurrying to cover yourselves as zecira stood there with a chesire like grin.

"magda! you owe me twenty min vän, they still have some clothes on."

[keiiaq]

things to script: soft beauty ˚.🍨༘⋆

hey lovelies!! I have some good news coming up, so I thought i’d share it alongside a small apology.

i’m so sorry I haven’t posted as frequently as I normally do, I haven’t had much motivation on posting and I don’t want to push myself cause i’d most likely get into burnout which sadly takes long for me to recover from 🙁

now, for the good news.. i’m finally getting an ipad !!! i’m super happy about this cause I can now introduce some of my drself art on this account and it’ll be more accessible for me to use rather than having to keep everything on my phone! after this does happen, i’ll also probably change my theme too.

I actually have this for one of my dr’s so I thought i’d share it rather than gatekeep it since I know a lot of you guys enjoy the series :)

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢

“but I still love you babe. I know I shouldnt, but.”

✿* 🎼 : there’s a softness in you that makes the world hush without even realizing. you feel like quiet meadows, like the breath before a baby animal falls asleep. your presence is tender, warm, and doesn’t need to be loud to be felt. you calm the world like dew on petals or lace-filtered sunlight. your energy is like a forgotten lullaby — gentle, beautiful, and lingering. there’s something rare and comforting in the way you exist. people feel safe near you. they feel like they can rest.

✿* 🍨 : you move like a warm memory, like the scent of something familiar and loving. you’re not fragile, but delicate in a way that makes people want to treat you carefully. you are the kind of soul people don’t forget—not because you asked them to notice you, but because your softness stays in the room even after you leave. your presence makes people speak softer, move gentler, feel deeper. you make chaos slow down. you feel like early morning rain, chamomile fields, and lullabies without words. you remind people of kindness that doesn’t need to be spoken.

✿* 🩰 : you don’t demand anything — you just are, and that’s enough. people lower their voices around you out of respect for how sacred your softness is. your kindness isn’t something you perform. it’s something you radiate. and that softness has gravity. the kind that makes hearts lean in. you’re calm in a loud world. people feel fluttershy in you — not because you mimic her — but because you naturally carry that same sacred gentleness, that same quiet strength. your energy feels like a forest glade where nothing bad can reach.

✿* 🎼 : people don’t just think you’re sweet —they feel held in your presence. your vibe feels like early spring, like a trembling fawn standing up for the first time. you remind people of the warmth of holding something small and alive in their hands and knowing they must be gentle. you have fluttershy’s courage — the soft kind, the kind that stands trembling but still stands. your presence feels like satin wings, like sunlight through lace curtains, like whispering to animals who understand.

✿* 🍨 : your aura is like a love letter written in sparkly gel pen, like the hush after a lullaby, like bedtime stories whispered with too much heart. you remind people of old books with pressed flowers, of honey in warm milk, of whispering “thank you” with a voice that cracks. you are the kind of beauty that doesn’t shout — it glows. people want to protect you without knowing why. you’re the girl who wears lip balm more than lipstick, who says sorry to plush toys when hugging them too tight.

✿* 🩰 : you move like an edit in motion. like an anime lullaby on a rainy day tea party with stuffed animals. your softness doesn’t need to explain itself — it just wraps around people and makes them feel safe. you are vanilla-scented fur and cherry blossom wings. people don’t just see fluttershy in you — they feel her in the way your presence holds them gently. your energy is a whispered wish, a warm blanket, a soft tear from too much love. you're sacred, delicate, unforgettable.

✿* 🎼 : you remind people of whispered dreams, trembling hearts, and warm rooms full of quiet love. you are a flicker of pink in a gray sky, the hush before a vulnerable truth, a pause in someone’s chest that says “this is safe.” you make people want to believe in things again — guardian angels, love notes, and magic in the quiet. people don’t just notice you — they feel softened by you. you’re not loud, but you change the room. you are sweetness that still matters. the kind that heals. the kind that saves. you are this energy. you are this softness. you are this sacred.

✿* 🍨 : this isn’t just “you’re sweet” energy. it’s “you’ve been blessed by something ancient and gentle and people don’t know how to look at you without softening” energy. it’s forest-that-remembers-your-name energy. cottage-wrapped-in-fog energy. you feel like fluttershy if she were real and people accidentally fell in love with her soul.

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

thanks for reading!! this was a little lengthy but I just have a super specific mind when it comes to this aesthetic since I luv it sososo much :) the aesthetic and music just resonates with this so well.

happy shifting my lovelies!

[revelboo]

I hate to always be asking for things, but is there any chance we could get some more Steve

Sure!

Coin Operated Boy Pt 4

Vehicons x Reader

• Dragging into the kitchen in a tank top and shorts, you get coffee going and nearly scream when a shadow falls across the window. And it’s your alien friend, his head tilted as he stares in at you and reaches to tap against the window. Heart racing, you lift a nervous hand and he eases back slightly. Why is he back? Nervous, you toe on your sneakers and step outside. Hesitating when you see Steve’s brought friends. There’s two more of them, crouching to stare at you. “Hi? You look better,” you manage, fighting the urge to turn and run for the door.

• Aware of his cloned brothers studying you with bemused curiosity, he offers you an energon goodie and you just stare at it, then him. Bending to offer you the rare treat, when just getting rations to begin with is never a sure thing, he needs you to be repaid for your kindness and knows this isn’t nearly enough. Vehicons are the lowest in the Decepticon hierarchy. Expendable. Often forgotten. “For you,” he insists, and you finally reach to take it, but don’t try it. Saving it for later, maybe, but he’s pleased anyway even if he’d wanted you to eat from his hand. To trust him as a protector.

• Hugging the glowing thing to your body, you offer him a smile. Have no idea what it is, but you don’t want to offend him or risk hurting his feelings. “Thank you so much. It’s… lovely.” And you really hope the glow isn’t radioactivity. “And you brought friends.” Watching him glance at the other two, like he’d forgotten they were there for a moment, you fidget. “Hi.” Waggling your fingers at the two newcomers they exchange a look and one hesitantly waves back.

• Venting as B3N waves at you and N31L just shakes his head like he can’t believe he’d given you the rare treat, Steve kneels so he’s not looming over you. Except, you’re so small, he still is. Short of lying flat on the ground, he’s going to be looking down at you and it bothers him. “For your assistance,” he says, reaching out a hand, hesitating and extending a servo. Staring up at him, you tuck the treat against your hip and cautiously lay a soft hard on his servo and he bends forward until he can brush his masked face against the back of your hand. Needing you to understand that no one cares about Vehicons. No one mourns them, tries too hard to save them when they’re wounded. You’re not even Cybertronian, though and you’d seen him. Cared. For that he owes you. For that, he’ll protect and watch over you. And his brothers reach out, extending you the same honor.

• Going still as the other two edge closer and each brush a servo against you, you try to figure out what’s happening. There’s almost a reverence in the gentle way they’re touching you that makes you nervous. Maybe this is just how they thank someone? A weird, alien cultural thing? All three of them touching you before drawing back. Transforming into vehicles to startle you and just driving away. Leaving you standing in the dew soaked grass with a glowing mystery object and more questions than answers. And you wonder if they’ll come back.

Previous

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[tpwk-formula1]

Oscar piastri.

Gluten-free but can I put a slight change if you don't mind other kind of rivals with him being McLaren's driver and yn be in Ferrari's strategist they're rivals but they're also kind of friends.

red sauce

Prosciutto

anchovies

burata

Cheddar cheese

Dr. Pepper

Diet Coke

Mountain Dew with the reader being a sub

And yes to dessert

Lee-Lee's Pizzeria Menu

gluten-free rivals red sauce rough sex proscuitto "I love making this pretty pussy squirt" anchovies "How are you already drenched" burrata "How many was that? three... I think you can give me another" cheddar cheese “cumming for me already? Such a meedy slut” dr pepper dirty talk diet coke recording kink mt dew dom/sub dessert yes served by Oscar Piastri

Oscar x Ferrari engineer! reader

TW - more sweet than rough, multiple orgasms, squirting, unprotected sex, creampie, Oscar and Y/N are literally so in love with each other

WC 1800+

Y/N POV

"Piastri, are you color blind? You're in the red zone not papaya," I state while walking away from Carlos's car and heading to Charles's to make sure his wheel was connecting to my tablet and his helmet was connecting to the radio.

"I was hoping I could speak with you," Oscar tells me softly making me shake my head.

"Find me after the race." I state not even looking up from my tablet.

"Fine," Oscar says which has me looking up to watch as he walks away towards the exit.

"You and the young one?" I hear Fred ask behind me. I whip my body around and give Fred a sheepish look while blushes softly.

"I'm not sure what's going on between us," I admit softly watching as the smile spreads across his face.

"I've only heard good things from everyone about him," Fred says nodding his head making me smile softly and continue working.

Oscar and I had a strange relationship. We work for different teams which make us natural rivals but on a deeper level Oscar was a friend, a good friend, a friend I occasionally share a bed with. It all started professional but as time passed we started playing jump rope on the edge. Started with small kisses on the cheek, to his hands wandering a bit when he would hug me to eventually full sending it and going home with him one night.

The sex between Oscar and I is by far the best sex I have ever experienced. He knew how to be just rough enough to still be extremely enjoyable.

As the day wrapped up I check my phone to find a text from Oscar telling me to meet him at his hotel when I'm done for the day. When I'm finally all done after the race I leave the paddock and instantly make my way to Oscar's hotel room not even worried about changing out of my Ferrari uniform.

"I would say you look beautiful but you're in Ferrari Red," Oscar jokes when he opens the door after I knocked.

"Well hello to you too Oscar," I tease while pushing him in slightly so I could come into the room. Oscar just smiles down at me before pulling me in for a hug and placing a soft kiss on my lips,

"You wanted to talk remember," I tease making Oscar groan softly.

"Yes, but now I want you," Oscar mumbles against my lips and tries to pull me in closer but I resist and pull back.

"No, we talk first," I tell him softly making him take my hand into his and lead my to the couch.

"Truthfully I realized that not being able to see you before I get into the car ahead of a race I get anxious. I think I need you in more ways than just my bed at the end of the day," Oscar admits softly making me smile.

"I'm not sure what you're trying to say but I know I like you and I want you in more ways than just in my bed too," I admit softly watching a smile spread across his face.

"We'll move slow, but I want to give us a real chance," Oscar tells me making me smile and nod my head.

"I would like that," I admit while pulling Oscar in for a kiss and climbing into his lap.

"Fuck, you're insatiable," Oscar groans against my lips when I start grinding down into his lap feeling his cock starting to grow against my clothed core.

"Gotta get you out of this shit," Oscar groans while pulling my shirt up and off my body before he starts up with me still in his arms and takes me to the bed where he yanks my pants down leaving me in my bra and thong while Oscar is still fully dressed.

I feel Oscar's mouth start trailing kisses down my neck before he separated and pulls his shirt off letting my eyes rack over his bare torso.

"Look so good Osc," I mumble while rubbing my hands on his shoulders.

"Fuck please let me take some pictures of you like this," Oscar groans when he finally focuses on my body under him.

"Only for your eyes though," I tell him softly. Oscar just nods before leaning down and placing a few kisses on my lips while grabbing his phone from his pant pocket.

He angles the phone above me and snaps a few pictures before putting the phone near my head and leaning back down to start trailing his mouth down to my pussy where he almost instantly sucks my clit into his mouth making me moan out loudly at the feeling.

"How are you already drenched," Oscar groans against my pussy making me whimper and moan rather loudly.

"Fuck Osc," I moan while gripping into his hair with one of my hands and grabbing his phone and taking a few pictures of Oscar between my thighs before switching to a video and videoing a few seconds of him eating me out before I put his phone back down and completely enjoy the feeling.

I could feel myself growing close to my orgasm and Oscar must sense it too because he speeds up his actions slightly helping bring me over the edge in a massive orgasm.

“Cumming for me already? Such a needy slut,” Oscar groans out while I'm a shaking mess under him. He helps me ride my first orgasm out but doesn't slow down when I start cumming down.

"Too much," I whine when I feel the overstimulation start to take over.

"You can take it," Oscar groans while speeding up his fingers fucking right on my G-spot bringing me closer to another orgasm.

"Fuck Oscar," I moan rather loudly when I feel him bring his other hand down to my clit. I pick up his phone again and start filming Oscar fingering me to another orgasm.

"I'm gonna cum," I moan out softly which has Oscar looking up at me and noticing the camera for the first time.

"Fuck, I'm gonna rewatch that video daily," Oscar groans while speeding up his fingers on my G-spot throwing me over the edge into another orgasm and squirting all over Oscar.

With my back arched and eyes close I do my best to angle to phone correctly but being so overhwlemed in pleasure I'm not entirely sure what I'm filiming.

"Fuck Oscar!" I scream when I finally catch my breath after cumming for the past 30 seconds or so.

"I love making this pretty pussy squirt," Oscar groans while slowing his fingers slightly letting me turn off the video again and put his phone down.

"Can't believe I did that," I say through labored breathing still not fully recovered from such an intense orgasm.

"I need you to fuck me now please," I gasp when Oscar just teases my pussy softly with his fingers.

"I need to see that at least one more time," Oscar groans as he speeds up his fingers hitting my G-spot at an impossibly fast speed.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," I chant when I feel my third orgasm of the night starting to build. I bring a free hand down to my clit and start rubbing small circles on my abused clit throwing me into another squirting orgasm almost instantly.

"Fuck, so hot," Oscar grunts while I'm still squirting my pleasure all over the place while screaming too overwhelmed to do anything but shake around Oscar's fingers.

"Fuck, Oscar that was so good," I whisper not trusting my voice in the moment.

"How many was that? three... I think you can give me another," Oscar states while sitting up and finally pulling his pants off and giving me his dick.

"Fuck, I'm so sentiive right now Oscar," I whimper just seeing his large throbbing dick hanging between his thighs.

"You can take it," Oscar states while pushing into me and thrusting instantly giving me no time to adjust to his rather large size.

"Oh fuck," I moan when I feel Oscar hitting all my sweet spots with his dick.

"Fuck, you look so pretty when you take my cock," Oscar grunts while speeding up his thrusts helping build the orgasm I'm already feeling.

"Fuck! Stretches so good," I moan while I feel Oscar's pubes tickle my clit every time he pushes in making the pleasure more intenze.

"Fuck, I'm not gonna last long," Oscar grunts making my clench around him to watch as his face morphs do to the added pleasure.

"Fuck," Oscar grunts as his thrusts falter slightly before he sends one final thrust deep into my pussy making me cum the second I feel his hot cum start to paint the gummy walls of my pussy.

"Fuck," Oscar and I moan at the same time feeling the waves of our orgasms continuously wash over us. Oscar rocks his hips to make sure to ride our orgasms out before he slips out softly leaning down to grab his discarded shirt and cleaning me off the best as possible.

"We can sleep in my room tonight, I know I kinda soaked your sheets," I tell him softly while he's wiping himself down.

"Ya, we can do that. Just wanna relax for a few minutes before we get up," Oscar tells me making me smile and nod while opening my arms waiting for Oscar to join me for a cuddle. Oscar slowly lays down in my arms putting most of his weight on me.

"Pass me my phone please, wanna see you cumming all over my face," Oscar mumbles against my skin making me laugh softly and grab the phone that had been next to my head.

When Oscar opens his phone he groans when he realizes I had filmed more than just when I squirted all over his face.

"Fuck, I was so lost in the pleasure I didn't even noticed you had grabbed the phone again," Oscar whispers over the sound of us fucking. I just smile and lean down to pull him in for a kiss.

"I thought you would enjoy them on weekends I'm too busy to spend anytime with you," I tell him softly making him smile and pull me in tighter.

"I'll make sure we can at least sneak a couple minutes before a race so you can get a good luck kiss," I tell Oscar softly knowing that's always the real reason he comes into the Ferrari garage.

"Good, I want that," Oscar tells me with a small smile.

"Oh! Fred is in full support of us," I saw making Oscar look at me with a raised brow.

"He saw you in the garage and said "you and the young one?" and then told me how he had only heard good things about you, which is his way of saying I picked a good one," I explain softly making Oscar's face grow slightly read at the praise from a rival.

"I can't help but agree. I did pick a pretty good one," I add while leaning down and pulling Oscar back in for a kiss.

"Alright lets get you dressed and head to your room," Oscar says after a few minutes of us just chatting.

[mysindividual]

Unknowingly, hers | Aaron Hotchner

MASTERLIST

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem liaison reader

summary: A rainy night in a bar, an undercover task, coquetting with your boss — what else could you wish for? After days of trying to catch the murderer, and one stagnant investigation without any solid leads, the team ultimately uncovers how their unsub targets his victims. You could only think of one strategy: set up an ambush. An ambush that put you and your supervisor in an uncomfortable position, leading in the need to engage in flirtatious interactions.

warning: boss x subordinate, age gap, MUTUAL PINING, pre-established rship, mentions of alcohol, rape, killing.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story!

Aaron Hotchner was not a man who would allow himself to be distracted from a task, much less a man who enjoyed sitting and sipping beer in some smoky bar, flirting with women — even if it was just for show. His work always came first — that was why he agreed on this charade. He was devoted to work more than his own self, always his number one priority, and his now ex-wife could attest. So knowing that fact and knowing himself, there was absolutely nothing that could distract him from work. Or there ought not to be. So what had changed now?

In his line of work distractions were never good. They could be, what one would say, fatal.

Chilly droplets of dew trickled from the glass surface, down into his pocket where he tightly grasped the bottle, giving him the sensation that it was his own cold sweat running down his temples.

He might not have even noticed it was getting overly hot until the moment you sat down beside him. About to ask you for a drink, his what was supposed to be a flitting gaze paused on you and in that agonizing moment he watched as you took off your jacket and draped it over the back of a chair, leaving you in a red t-shirt and jeans that hugged you around your waist and hips.

The taste of his cold beverage was not enough to quench the fire in his throat.

What on earth was the matter with him!

He swallowed, his eyebrow twitched in annoyance. Irritated by the mere idea, with a frown on his face as dark as the weather outside, he looked back at the bottle he was holding. Why was he staring? Why was he even thinking about it? He needed to focus. You were embarking on a mission that held importance for the whole team. The case was put on hold due to a lack of information and leads for days, weeks. Until two days ago when you showed up in his office, with newspaper in your hands and sugary crystals glued to your lips — why did he remember that? — and finally provided him with the first solid lead in a long time. Concluding this case meant a sense of relief and a good night's rest for the team.

God, he didn't even notice or hear when the bartender approached. Or when in the midst the cacophony of noise you ordered your drink, then how could he carry out this task?

He stole a side-glance at you, only then wishing he didn’t.

There was something almost hypnotic about the way your fingers tenderly curled around the glass and brought it up, pressing to your lips. Despite the surrounding and background noise that busted around the bar — clink of bottles, soft music playing, the hum of conversation, the men cheering for their football team playing on the TV — Hotch found himself able to discern the sound of that shot sliding down your throat in a slow motion, just momentarily tingling beneath the sensitive skin on your neck.

While you were not paying attention, he allowed his gaze to move from your face, down the skin of your neck and arm, to the glass held in your fingers, then finally settling on your lips.

“Just one." You made two promises there.

You promised the first time, setting your glass down on the bar counter once you felt his glance on you, disapproving your way of handling. However, much to your shock, he remained silent.

Just one. You promised the second time — but this time to yourself — once you caught a glimpse from the corner of your eye that he was giving you one of those looks that initially shook the earth beneath your feet and then stabilised you.

Just one because one was needed to put you in a right mood — the ideal ambiance in a corner of your mind, not as distant as one might assume. Just one because you were scared to risk how’d you behave yourself in his presence in this atmosphere.

And he let you take just one because he knew the two drinks did the charm for you.

One was absolutely harmless.

Two… made you into a fiddler.

2 days ago

"Advertisement?" He paused in the middle of flipping a page in his file, glancing at you skeptically from beneath his dark eyebrows, weighing the possible veracity behind your words. Then, you watched as his gaze dropped to your lips only then being hyper-aware of how you’d left your office.

You found yourself muttering an apology, glancing sideways, your fingertips ever-so-slightly brushing the sticky sugar away. And offered, "Take a look."

Minutes ago, inside the privacy of your office, surrounded by 4 walls, you were enjoying your lunch break.

To be quite frank, it was not how you typically chose to spend your time off. You would be out or in the cafeteria with the rest of your team, but the situation in the last few days was a little different. Venturing outside — past your office — provided a great opportunity to run into your boss, which you’d been attempting to steer clear of recently. And so you were sitting in the comfort of your chair, your legs crossed on the table, a doughnut in one and the newspaper in the other hand.

Rising fuel prices.

California wildfires.

British police find car bombs in London.

You found it impossible to continue reading. The purpose of a lunch break was a time-out from work. So you flipped through a couple of pages to reach the back section of the newspaper where the advertisements were located. You’d been wanting for quite some time now to find yourself another car. And so, you skimmed through some advertisements, while others you carefully read, until one finally caught your attention.

It was one of the less prominent ads, and the yellow letters and caption were the one that allured you every time. Every 4th of a month.

Find love! Find gay friends! Find you! FIND OUT! If you are looking to find more about sex, love, or relationship with other guys — congratulations! You've just found it!

You sat upright in the chair, the heels of your boots echoing off the tile floor. With the doughnut firmly gripped between your teeth, you held the newspaper with both hands now and brought it closer to your eyes.

An ultimate guide on how gay men get guys.

"Oh, God!" You exclaimed, hastily taking the doughnut out of your mouth and putting it back in the box on the desk, grabbing the newspaper and making your way to Hotch’s office.

“That has to be it.” Leaning back deep in his chair, Derek played with the pencil in his hands. "We have already analyzed and investigated into all the rational methods that the unsub could’ve used to reach the victims.”

"Absolutely." Garcia added and hurriedly continued speaking in a barely understandable manner, as if reluctant she might acknowledge her mistake. "I checked everything: their online activities, credit cards, surveillance footage... Nothing."

"We know that none of these victims used online-blind-dating sites, or whatever. We know they've never set foot in a gay bar before. So how did the killer get to them? Their family and friends never suspected, let alone knew, that they were gay." Rossi explained. "The victims themselves weren't aware of their homosexuality.”

“And this ad right here…” You unfolded your arms and leaned forward on the desk, glancing at Hotch briefly before focusing down where your finger tapped the new, textured paper. "It provides exactly that. To find themselves from within. This has to be it.”

“We also know the profile." Hotch finally replied, not taking his eyes off you. "I want you to find all the previous newspapers in which these ads can be found. The meetings’ location, time and place, must be announced somewhere in there. There’s a possibility the messages will be encrypted, so take Reid with you. And Garcia…” You nodded in agreement, and he stared at you for a minute longer before shifting his focus to Garcia, who stood behind you, picking at her nails. “Find everything you can about this ad and how the victims were able to contact the advertiser."

The murder seemed linked to the ad, and Hotch’s instincts were usually accurate because they were not mere guesses, but predictions based on numerous factors, all considered in light of his experience.

Gathering all the needed information, the team agreed on the strategy.

“We need someone inside. Someone who will play a confused young man, curious, eager..." Rossi didn't even get a word out, and everyone's gaze — some sneakily, some more openly — were fixed on Reid who was ready to protest but decided otherwise. Arguing with all of you was pointless. Besides, he was the only young man around — he’d remember this and gladly rub it on Derek’s nose.

On the other side of the table, Derek and Emily quickly agreed on teaming up.

"I agree. But if possible, I would like to avoid this long-awaited undercover mission, and be the one to stay behind with Garcia. My stomach still hurts." Waving his hand at his stomach, Rossi grimaced.

“Do you realize we are discussing a man who managed to overpower four men, rape them, and then kill them?" Reid objected.

"Y/L/N and I will join." Hotch said expressionlessly, interlocking his gaze with you just for a second.

Join how? You wondered, your elbow on the armrest, your chin resting on your fist. Garcia stood up, placing documents atop each other, muttering under her breath. "Nothing easier… just be the two of you, but together."

Hotch's eyebrows snapped together, meeting your eyes briefly once again before he looked to the side at Garcia with barely tamed fire in his eyes. "I'm sorry?"

“I- um- sir…” Garcia stuttered and you seized the opportunity to leave the office before Hotch unleashed that smoldering fire on all of you.

Glancing behind your shoulder, Garcia ran after you with a swift pace you'd never seen her take before. Together you both hurried down the stairs and rushed through the glass door, cursing each other before parting ways in the hallway — each heading to your own den.

And that was how you got here.

“So… A gay man in a straight people’s bars.” You finally spoke, trying to sound casual even though this meeting wasn’t. “Finds his victims who are also gay and kills them the same night. At first glance it doesn’t make much sense.”

“Without knowing what we know — it doesn’t.” Hotch replied, then took a sip from his bottle. The victims had never before crossed the threshold of the bars in which they met with the unsub. The unsub found them the same night, and then killed them. “But it was a smart move to throw the cops off to a wrong path.”

“Definitely.” You agreed. “In this modern digitalized world who’d even bother to check the newspapers.”

When he didn’t say anything in return, you sighed, leaning towards the bar, pushing the empty glass away.

"You two look like a date gone wrong." Even with the music playing, Derek's amused voice could be heard loud and clear through the small earbud piece. You leaned back slightly to catch sight of Derek and Emily dancing lavishly together.

“Like every date Y/N goes to.” Emily added, smirking at you.

That earned them a reproachful look from their boss.

Nice, now your boss knew how lame your dating life was.

But nonetheless, you laughed, and the warmth of your laughter enveloped Hotch's heart. Looking back at you, he softened and watched as you swirled the ice cubes in your fresh Coke with a small red straw. Then bringing the straw up to your lips, you took a sip. Now it was his jaw that clenched.

“Incorrect…” you playfully remarked, your eyes sparkled as you held his gaze determinedly over the rim of your glass, and that victorious grin on your face transitioned into something affectionate, something intimate. “This one takes the cake."

“Sir! I told you gotta act!”

"Garcia." Aaron warned.

“I can multitask, sir.” She quickly added, with a hint of reverence. “I have a reputation I intend to keep. So no, no developments as of now."

"Could he possibly know we've found out?" You asked.

"I doubt it."

While talking, Aaron usually had the tendency to look around the room, examine the faces and look for any signs of trouble. The bar had an overall sense of amusement, with sporadic bursts of loud chatter and individuals savoring drinks such as beer, neat whiskey, or some mixed drinks and sodas with straws. Couples, friends, loners — everyone was busy either drinking, dancing, or... kissing.

His hand trembled, holding onto the beer tightly as he brought it to his mouth and chugged, grimacing. "What happened with Brad?" He finally asked, taking you aback just a little.

It’d been a few days since that conversation with him about Brad, and it had quite bothered you that he hadn’t asked you anything about your final decision.

"Who is Brad?" You chuckled, your head dropping slightly before looking up at him again, a warm smile forming on your lips that... It stole something from him, something he couldn’t express crisply enough. In this very casual manner, you appeared …beautiful while brushing back the hair that skimmed your cheeks.

He frowned, glancing down, collecting his thoughts. At some point along the way you had become a distraction. Pushing that realization aside with a blink, he couldn’t afford to be distracted now. He looked at the beer he was holding like it was an escape — a safe haven from your gaze. He had nearly consumed all of his drink. Hotch had been refraining from alcohol for some time, now it was starting to affect him. He did drink stronger drinks alone in his apartment or at Rossi’s after his divorce, and even then he noticed he couldn’t keep up with it the way his younger self used to. Yeah. It had to be it.

“Well, I suppose it was the right thing to do.”

“Well, in fact it was you who helped me realize. Some mistakes aren’t worth repeating twice. So cheers to that, sir.” You swivelled sideways and towards him, holding your glass up before taking a sip.

Sir. There that came again. It was not that he hated being called ‘sir’, damn, Garcia called him that too many times and the thought never appalled him. He was just not used to hear you call him ‘sir’. It was mainly ‘Hotch’, sometimes even ‘Hotchner’, or if you were being a little tease then you referred to him as ‘boss’.

“Sir!” Garcia’s voice came through, cutting his thoughts in half. “He’s here!”

You shared a knowing glance.

And then suddenly, some guy sauntered in, physically placing himself between you and Hotch. The action was unexpected, quite bold. However, you then realized that to most outsiders, the two of you probably didn't appear to be a couple. In this very bar, couples around you were doing…things, and the two of you hardly spoke at all.

“Hey there sunshine.” He drawled, leaning against the bar, looking down at you. The tall man didn’t mind or acknowledge Hotch at all. He had black lush hair, probably devastatingly blue eyes, in his late 20s – early 30s. Closer to your age than Hotch was anyway, he thought to himself. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Finding yourself in this awkward position, before you could even answer, Hotch cleared his throat. The latter turned around peevishly just enough to give Hotch gray glares, and arching an eyebrow, replied disgusted. "I didn't ask you... pal." And he turned to you again, a jolly smirk on his face.

So Hotch was right. The man had devastatingly blue eyes.

Aaron glanced annoyedly at his beer. If he could have, he'd have smashed that bottle on his head. But decided to go with a more rational option and patted the man’s shoulder.

"It's showtime." Derek's voice sang in the bug.

"She's busy... pal." Your boss countered, his voice low and tinged with warning.

"Doesn't seem so..." He now addressed Hotch over his shoulder, choosing not to let your companion bother him or to take his eyes off of you. “…pal.”

The man’s finger made way under your chin and he tilted your head backwards, hovering over you.

“Oh ‘xcuse me…” You scoffed disapprovingly at the boldness of his action, moving your head away from his touch. Bristled.

The crease between Aaron’s eyebrows deepened further, keenly resolute. He felt the bubbles of anger simmer inside him, waiting for the right sign to explode. He smothered a sigh, steeling himself. If he had been on assignment somewhere on the field — any other, or on a real date with you — he'd have handled the situation in a much different way. Instead, he put his hand on the man's shoulder again, but this time firmly, and pushed him away from you.

"I said..." The baleful timbre of Aaron’s voice carried the same threat evident on his face. He reached out and grabbed the stem of your chair. The tiles beneath creaked as he dragged the chair towards himself, closing the gap between the two of you. Your knees accidentally brushed against his leg and the familiar warm sensation returned to your stomach, causing your pulse to quicken. "She's with me." Something ickered in Aaron’s eyes. You were unsure how to interpret it.

"And what could a woman like her want with a grump like you?" You heard the guy say, stepping towards Hotch, his chest puffed out.

You had to stop it before it escalated.

Deliberately, you inched closer, your gaze meeting Aaron’s. Behind your flashing eyes, he could see both — a permission and an apology for what you were bracing yourself to do.

“It’s okay…” You began gently, swallowing as you placed your hands on Aaron’s knees, stroking his legs. You couldn't look away from your boss's eyes, and as you smiled, subtly wrinkling your nose at him, you could have sworn that the muscles under the denim fabric hardened even more than they had just a moment before. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Being in such proximity, it was impossible to ignore all the things Aaron noticed about you — the depth of your bottomless eyes, shiny lips, the peachy scent of your hair was the only scent worthy in this noisome crowd. He was definitely drunk, a bit tempted. Never had he ever been intoxicated solely by the subtle scent of a shampoo.

"Well, if you wanna have real fun, I'll be sitting over there." He winked at you, pointing somewhere behind you.

You both watched as the man walked away, only then ending the charade. An awkward tension set between you two that made you feel every beat of your wilding heart. In a profound quietness, you both swivelled around and towards the bar. In a deafening silence, both of you, reflected on it without acknowledging that you longed for that intimacy.

“I-…”

“Do you see him?” Hotch spoke over you, back to business. You quickly glanced over your shoulder and back to Aaron, nodding.

“Ok. Good.” He pressed the earpiece with his finger. “Morgan?”

“He’s talking to Reid.” Garcia spoke instead.

“It’s definitely him, Aaron.” Rossi confirmed.

“We have a bit of a situation here.” Both of you looked at where you last saw Emily and Derek. You couldn't get the proper view at the two of them sitting in the booth now, but it looked like a group of women stood beside their desk.

Morgan, you rolled your eyes playfully. And then…

"Wait..." You frowned, and Hotch watched as the gears in your head turned before recognition dawned on your face. You looked up at him. “Isn't that Joseph Moetski?"

Hotch glowered, thinking. The newsdealer. He still hadn’t had a chance to look back and see for himself, but it would make perfect sense. After all, Joseph was a newsagent and the team had known about him —you had worked with him in an occasion or two when you first started working for Hotch. He had the access to all the media: magazines, newspapers, television, and so on.

Aaron drew closer towards you, not wanting to blow your cover away, now his whole body facing you. You felt a dangerous flutter in your heart as you looked at him squarely into eyes, never anticipating what he was about to do. He reached forward to move the hair from your face back over your shoulder and then tucked some behind your ear. His gaze was dark and intent — you could see the concentration in there, maybe even slight tenderness, and it sent your mind in wild directions.

Your hair was very silky and soft under his palm, the focus of his vision shifted from the man who was seated beside Reid a few meters behind, to you.

“Garcia?” His spoke coolly, professionally. But there was nothing professional about the way he was watching you. You ducked your head and gently stroked the skin on your neck, a lively red blossom of color rose up your cheeks, a hesitant smile stretched across your face. It was such a small gesture. And then his big hand rested on the side of your neck, using the opportunity to feel your skin — something he’d never admit to himself. Hoping he couldn’t feel your telltale pulse, you had to remind yourself that he was your very professional never-crossing-a-line boss.

It was a dangerous game to even think about something like this, but you couldn’t help yourself. For years you’d been harbouring feelings for him — platonic or not, and this was not going to help.

“Bingo! It’s him!”

“Sorry to interrupt you, birdies.” A bartender interrupted and you both turned around, almost jumping from your seats. “The politics around here are: you have to order another drink… or get the hell out of here. And as I can see, you drank all of yours.” Crossing her arms on her chest, she asked. “So, what’s it gonna be?”

As Hotch took the chance to order new drinks, anxiety creeped up your back, and you looked back over your shoulder just in time to see Spence holding the back of his head as well as the unsub running toward and past the two of you.

Gripping your gun close under your clothes, you reached out and tugged on Hotch's shirt. “Hotch!” You promptly got to your feet and chased after the suspect.

You heard a chair fall onto the dark tiles of the floor somewhere behind you, disgruntled and angry shouts and remarks from people who were bumbed or knocked down by the man you were running after.

Fortunately, the unsub cleared a way for you, allowing you to quickly catch up with him, grab him and push him. His face met the ground, and hastily you sat on top of him, pushing his hands and securing them on his upper back. But to say you were struggling would be an understatement. The unsub was a strong man, twice your size, so when he managed to free one hand from your grasp it was a no surprise. He attempted to pull you upwards and you sat unsteadily on his back, swaying like you were at a rodeo, a quick "whoa" slipping out of your mouth. Hotch rushed to help you, kicking the unsub’s feet, and without a second thought, his chest pressed against your back as he leaned closely from behind you, his arms wrapped around you as he assisted in restraining the suspect before Emily approached and put the handcuffs on.

The third party — Reid, watching it all unfold in front of his eyes, couldn’t help but smile at you both even through the throbbing pain in his head. You were just like Mulder and Scully. Tangled and messy, unable to see it, yet still fantastic as a team.

Now the only thing left was, he concluded, for you two to realize it finally.

In all that rush and adrenaline kicking in, neither of you did have time to process or relish the way your bodies melded together.

But this whole night was something that would keep you both up tonight and wouldn’t let you get that well-deserved good night’s sleep.

[thelunaticself]

MORNING DEW

john price x reader

hushed feelings and watered down numbness. your husband is here for all of it.

a/n: i tried my best but it's a bit short @callmecoke

cw: reader has bad thoughts, comfort, bad eng

Lately, your flowers haven't been doing well. Thin petals sag downwards, refusing to hold on the droplets of water you meticulously give them everyday. Your efforts are all in vain. The more you try, the more crinkled yellow spots appear. 

Maybe you're not really saving them.

You think as you pluck out a petal and tear them into small pieces and drop it on the grass beneath. There are footsteps approaching from behind. Heavy and grounded. Just like him.

��Honey, you've been at it for hours. Let it go.”

John hunched over to your kneeled figure on the ground, giving the backyard a quick scan over before quickly focusing on you. You reach out to the flowers again but large hands engulf them in a tight warm hold. He leans over until his back touches yours and wraps his jacket over your cold body in the bleak fall evening. John drops his voice low enough to make that rumbling in his chest that he knows you like.

“Tell you what. Dinner’s ready and I even made that dessert you always ask mum to make.”

How do you even tell him you could barely finish half of it last week when your mum sent over a package? The guilt is still sitting heavy in your chest ever since the garbage bin snapped shut and now your husband is desperately pleading with his wife to come inside to have dinner. You don't deserve any of this.

You turn around to kiss his jaw and he pulls you up, patting away the dirt on your knees.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You are alone. No John Price. Something you ought to be used to by now. Normally, you find all sorts of things to keep occupied. However, the open book on the nightstand has been left to rot there for the entire day. You could only take a glance or two before the letters turned jumble. Your thoughts are too loud. Stupid nagging voices that won't let you do anything. It terrifies you more than it should. What if those soon to be uttered out of your mouth, or worse action? What would your husband think when he goes home all weary, only to find his limp wife? You don't need to imagine the latter.

The bedroom door softly creeks open and the familiar slumped shoulder, shuffling steps soon fill the room.

“Hi, honey.”

“Hi, baby.”

John kneels on the bed to hug you tightly. Big burly arms wrapped around your torso, soft stomach pressed against yours perfectly like slotting in a puzzle piece. You don't hug him as tight as you normally do. He only snuggles his face in your neck and tightens his hold. 

“Come take a bath with me, baby?”

You honestly do need one. 

The bathroom feels less cold with him. In fact, if anything, you have never felt warmer. Nestled between his bulky thighs, you rest your back on his soft hairy pudge. His hands are gently massaging your scalp, fingers running through the soapy, wet hair. The satisfying scratch and the cooling shampoo quickly lull you into a dull hazy state. For the first time in many weeks, you sleep straight through the night. 

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You wake up not in the bathtub but to the sound of the morning birds, and the cozy feeling made by the mix of John’s embrace and the sheets. His steady snores threaten to make you fall asleep again. Your droopy eyes stare at the window leading straight to the garden. The soft lights threads through the half closed blinds, hitting the bed, on his arms and tiny specks of dust can be seen. Outside, sits a pack of fertilizer that he enthusiastically told you about on the phone last Friday. 

“They know their stuff, trust me. I've seen the biggest pumpkins they have in their yard. Anyways, gotta gather back the team. Love you, sweetheart.”

The fertilizer can only help the plants somewhat get their strength back. The wilting spots are still there and you don't know how to get rid of them. You wish they were as lively as they were the day their roots first touched your backyard’s soil. But you know John would do anything to see the green returns to the leaves. And there is nothing you wouldn't keep trying for him.

[ashthewaterghoul]

You Gave Me Nothing Whatsoever But A Reason To Leave - A Dewdrop Ghoul One Shot

“If you would let us, we would like to restore your birthright and name, son.” Torrent said. He hadn’t called Dew his ‘son’ since months before his banishment. “You would supersede Eyre upon your father’s death.” Marina added. “I would follow you and your word, brother.” Eyre confirmed. Dew’s head spun and he spoke before he thought, “Fuck no.” The three gazes that had slowly been softening suddenly turned back to that familiar coldness again. “You dare speak to us like that?” Torrent snarled. Fuck it. Or, A really random one shot in which Dew goes back to Hell, and gets a lil catharsis while he's there.

Words: 3k

Rating: Gen

Tags: Dew gets to shout at people, angst and drama, bc Dew is a drama queen, banishments, dew is a runt, attempted nepotism, descriptions of dew's elemental transition, mentioned Ifrit, toxic family, dew needs a hug, mentioned royal!Rain, I'm struggling for tags here help.

A/n: The idea for royal!Rain comes from these posts X X by hypnoneghoul and this post by skele-bunny. Title take from 'Granite' by Sleep Token.

~~~

    Why did he get stuck with this? Him, of all people, sent on a fucking messenger mission back down to Hell. Who in the Clergy decided ‘Oh, yes. Dewdrop, he’ll do great!’ It wasn’t like his behaviour record was clean, he certainly wasn’t a good delegate and, most importantly, he hated his home dimension.

    The Clergy was in an odd limbo as Copia ascended to be Frater Imperator and they were waiting for the new guy to arrive, and what would usually be a message sent via Ritual conducted by the Papa could no longer be carried out. So, the Clergy decided to send a Ghoul. Instantly, everyone thought it would go to one of the more mature Ghouls like Aether or Mountain. But it got passed to Dew.

    So, here he stood, on a pentagram ready to get sent home. At least he would be coming back, his bond to the Ministry wouldn’t be broken. That didn’t make it any less terrifying though. Dew was going to be isolated from his pack for the first time since his forced Elemental transition. And he hated that fact. He wasn’t allowed to take anyone with him as they needed their hands up here, but Dew knew better than to try and tempt the Clergy to anger by now, despite knowing Copia would never let anything bad happen to him.

    He stood in the pentagram, Copia along with other Clergy started to chant to open the portal and Dew just willed his body to not to wet himself. He truly was that scared. The magic started tingling along his skin as his soul was forced back down. He knew better than to fight the magic as well, and gave into it.

    It took a while to pop out on the other side, and Dew knew why. His first destination was one that he never wanted to return to and those meant to accept the summoning certainly didn’t want to see him either. When he emerged, he landed in a heap to no fanfare or welcome. His sort-of-fame from the Ghost project meant nothing down here. And especially here.

(Read below the cut or on ao3)

    “Dewdrop Aquariunt.” A voice he hoped to never hear again sneered, “They sent you then.”

    “I think you’ll find it’s Dewdrop Ignisriunt now.” He said, dusting himself off as he stood.

    “You act like that makes any real difference.” She commented.

    “Better than being a Homaestus.” Dew returned.

    The Ghoulette that comprised of his welcoming committee growled, “And you wonder why mother and father disowned you.”

    “They disowned me because I’m a runt. But who got summoned? Me, the embarrassment who was kicked from the family line or you, their dutiful and mindless servant?” Dew asked.

    She went to raise her claws but Dew cut in, “Ah-ah-ah!” He grabbed the bespelled Grucifix rosary around his neck and lifted it, “I’m under Ministry protection. You can’t hurt me without hurting our parents’ precious position in society.”

    She bared her fangs instead.

    “I’ve seen much scarier things than you since you left me, Eyrie-Fairy.” Like Sister Imperator naked that one time. Dew, the Fire Ghoul, still manages to shiver about it to this day.

    “Don’t call me that.” She sneered, walking off to lead Dew to more faces he didn’t want to see again.

    “Why? Reminds of a time you actually liked me?” Dew said as he followed.

    “Satanas, you are insufferable.” Eyre muttered.

    “Aww, Aether says the same thing.” Dew cooed.

    She grunted again before the two fell into silence as they walked along.

    Once upon a time, they had indeed been siblings, and happy at that. But as Dew grew, or rather didn’t grow, it became obvious that he was, in fact, a runt. Runts were a sign of weakness to the family line that Dew’s parents couldn’t dare show. They were the leaders of their pod of Water Ghouls, and held prominent positions for the race of Water Ghouls in general. When Dew was the ripe age of 8 and his gills still hadn’t opened, his parents disowned him. They removed any bond he had with his family and pod and named him Aquariunt, the Water Ghoul last name that showed shame. It was mostly given for a disownment, or sometimes for kits left orphaned and their line wasn’t known. It meant ‘Water’s Spawn’, showing that the Ghoul was not part of their birth line anymore. Now Dew was a Fire Ghoul, he was technically Ignisriunt, Fire’s Spawn, but in his mind, anything was better than his birth line of Homaestus. He wouldn’t dream of ever wanting to be that, ever again.

    He could get all his quips out with his former sister, but he knew it would be short lived. As soon as he was faced with his parents, he was sure he was going to fold in half with how much his shoulders would hunch in. It may have been years ago, but the words they said on that dreadful night still hurt. Dew had expected, had hoped they would just say the words for the Ritual and leave him. But they had said much more and much worse. He had a lot of physical scars by this point, but that emotional one was always one of the worst.

    Dew started seeing some more familiar sights of his old pod’s base camp, and the main tent he once called home. The scents of his parents grew stronger as he walked closer and closer, and Dew mentally pledged to claw out the eyes of whoever arranged this. He would have to go visit other leaders, other Elements, but being made to do this was just cruel.

    His once-sibling pulled the curtain to the main tent back and cleared her throat, “Torrent and Marina Homaestus, Chief and Chiefess of this pod.”

    Dew was expected to bow even when he was their son. Of course, he was expected to bow even lower now.

    “I present Dewdrop Ignisriunt of the Unholy Church Of Satanas.” Eyre finished, herself bowing to her parents before taking her place at their sides as she was the next Chiefess. As Dew was older, he would have been the next Chief if he wasn’t kicked out.

    “Dewdrop.” Torrent sneered, permitting Dew to rise up from his bow.

    “Chief.” Dew said, keeping his eyes downcast. He couldn’t call him ‘father’ anymore and wasn’t allowed to look him in the eye.

    “Ignisriunt, is it now?” Marina added.

    “It is indeed, Chiefess.” Dew confirmed.

    She chuffed a laugh and shook her head, “Still weak then.”

    Dew didn’t dare give her an answer. If anything, the fact that he was a runt and survived his brutal transformation attested more to his strength than weakness.

    “So, the Ministry sent you? Let’s get this done with.” Torrent said.

    Dew fished through his bag for the scrolls that Copia had sent with him. He would have to read them out to his sire and dam because Water Ghouls, even ones as prominent as the Homaestus line, couldn’t read or write. Water and paper don’t exactly mix, after all. Dew had learnt how to read after his summoning from Mountain and Aether, who’s Elements thrived on knowledge and making sure it was preserved for generations to come.

    As Dew read through the documents, he made sure his voice stayed strong and he focused on not messing up a single word. He was a creature of spite, probably why he survived being abandoned at just 7-years-old, and he would never want to add more fuel to the fire of hate his birth line had for him.

    The Chiefess stood at one point and started walking around Dewdrop and inspecting him, for lack of a better word. To be fair, he couldn’t blame her. Elemental transitions are unheard of and especially one as brutal as Water to Fire.

    She sat back down, and the Chief and Chiefess spoke their responses for the Clergy. It was rather routine for the leaders at this point. It was a formality that all the tribe leaders of any Element did to keep the relations with the humans. While rarely used, there are ways for Ghouls to forbid passage to Earth and for the humans to lose safe passage for their servants. It would then turn to brutal and painful summonings that the Ghouls may not even survive, or at least become very injured.

    It was also a way for the Ghouls below to register their interest in being summoned. It was never a guarantee, Dew himself never chose to be summoned, but it allowed the Clergy to pinpoint willing souls who would give into the summoning easier, and submit quicker to their new Master.

    Dew finished writing their responses, in English rather than Ghoulish so that the Clergy could read them, and left the notebook open so that the ink could dry.

    “The Clergy thanks the most powerful Chief Torrent and Chiefess Marina Homaestus for their time and cooperation.” It was a formality drilled into Dew, but the words felt like ash in his mouth.

    Dew kept his head bowed, waiting to be dismissed.

    “You’ve done well, Dewdrop.” Torrent said cooly.

    Did Dew’s ears just stop working? There is no way he just heard that…

    “S- sir?” Dew said, still bowed.

    “Look at me, Dewdrop.” Torrent asked. While Dew wasn’t supposed to look at him since been shunned, he couldn’t exactly deny the Chief.

    Dew had never forgotten that icy stare of his sire. It always managed to bore holes into him and make him feel even smaller than he already was.

    “You have done remarkably, given your unfortunate circumstance.” He went on.

    Dew wanted to say something about how part of that “circumstance” was his fault but bit his tongue.

    “Thank you, sir.” Dew mumbled, forced to meet his sire’s eyes but wanting to rip his own away so bad.

    “What exactly did they do to you to make you into a Fire Ghoul?” Marina asked, curiosity alight in her equally piercing gaze.

    “I- I wasn’t given a choice. One of my mates, Ifrit, he was the Fire Ghoul. There was a lot that happened in the Ministry, within the Clergy, and he was killed.” Dew had to take a deep breath so he didn’t cry at the memory, “The Clergy don’t like summoning Fire Ghouls because it’s too difficult and expensive, but Water Ghouls are easily replaced. So, they took me in my sleep, and I couldn’t fight back. They made a serum from Ifrit’s blood, forced me onto a pentagram, injected me in my gills and started chanting. Then I burned.”

    That was the easiest way to put it because Dew did burn, and he had the scars to prove it.

    “What changed? Physically. What did ‘burning’ entail?” Torrent questioned.

    Dew didn’t like talking about this part especially. It took him months to describe the sheer and utter torture to Aether, let alone anyone else. But Dew couldn’t deny the Chief. He’d never been able to go toe-to-toe with him.

    “My gills melted shut, both sets.” One hand pulled the neck of his Ministry uniform to show the burn-scars there, the other gestured to his clothed ribs where matching ones lay, “All my scales, webbing and fins burned off. My hair changed colour, my horns fogged up, one crumbled off. My hands darkened, I run a lot warmer now, and one of my eyes turned red.” He tapped his face, where the skin around the socket was slightly smoky, dusted by charcoal like his hands. His blue eye was surrounded by small scars from where his scales burned out.

    “It felt like the worst pain imaginable. I thought I was going to die; I wished for it. I kept passing out from pain and exhaustion and when I was awake, I was in agony. Twitching and writhing because I couldn’t flail around anymore. Breathing felt impossible, my throat had burned out and I couldn’t scream, my tail was fixed around my stomach. Just, everything was terrible. I was locked in a cell; I was deprived of water even to drink for a few weeks so that they could make sure the Fire took to me. Locked away from my mates, and another one was taken and killed in that time too. Their name was Zephyr. Terzo was killed as well, with his brothers and Mountain and Aether refused to leave my bedside after they found me. I was in a coma for weeks after that. But I survived.”

    “Fascinating.” Marina whispered. For the first time in Dew’s life, she looked at him with something that was almost pride.

    “Before and after, you were in the Clergy’s project, weren’t you?” Torrent asked.

    “Yes, sir. Still am.” Dew said, confused as he was pretty sure that no one down here had heard of Ghost.

    “We have heard stories from Ghouls returned to Hell. One called Alpha, another called Omega. The half-breed Delta visits a nearby pod sometimes with the Ghoulette Mist. One called Pebble also brings tales.” Marina said.

    Dew’s eyes widened at the names of his old friends. After sometime while he was asleep, following Ifrit and Terzo’s murder, the retired Ghouls had fled back to Hell save meeting the same fate. No one knew if they had survived as, usually, a Papa would oversee the portal opening and closing.

    “Th- they’re here? They made it?” Dew asked incredulously.

    “Indeed. Mist is very interesting to speak with.” Eyre said, silent up until now.

    Dew could definitely agree with that.

    “They tell stories of how beloved you were as a Water Ghoul. We know that His word had only spread more with this project, so I assume that love for you with it?” Mariana said.

    Dew smirked slightly, knowing he often sent fans a bit more than feral.

    “All things considered,” Torrent said, “we aren’t sure we properly estimated you, Dewdrop.”

    “Excuse me, sir?” Dew said.

    “This isn’t said easily, but we do believe we made a mistake by shunning you.” The Chief said.

    Dew’s eyes widened again, but this time in confusion.

    “You have proved to be strong and invaluable.” Mariana said.

    “If you would let us, we would like to restore your birthright and name, son.” Torrent said.

    He hadn’t called Dew his ‘son’ since months before his banishment.

    “You would supersede Eyre upon your father’s death.” Marina added.

    “I would follow you and your word, brother.” Eyre confirmed.

    Dew’s head spun and he spoke before he thought, “Fuck no.”

    The three gazes that had slowly been softening suddenly turned back to that familiar coldness again.

    “You dare speak to us like that?” Torrent snarled.

    Fuck it.

    “You dare to leave a kit to fend for himself? Hoping that some creature will kill him so you don’t have to?” Dew scoffed, “A Fire Ghoul? Leading a Water clan? That’s ridiculous, no one would follow me. Just because I’m traumatised by what I’ve been through makes you think I’m the son you always wanted doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you. What you said, what you did to me hurt. Remind me, my dam and sire, what were your last words to me before you left me for dead?”

    The two stayed silent, their upper lips pealed back to bare their fangs.

    “Do you not remember? Because I do. I hear it every night in my nightmares. You shall henceforth be known as ‘Aquariunt’ and you shall know a fraction of the humiliation you brought on us. I would kill you myself if it wouldn’t bring me more shame than your presence already has, so you shall die a slow and painful death instead. An atonement for the mortal sin that is your meagre and wretched existence.”

    “What else do you do with the runt of the litter?” Marina spat.

    “Love me? Like it or not, you’re still the ones that made me. I’m your son.”

    “How could we love something so absurdly horrific?” Eyre sneered.

    “Do you want a list of those who have?” Dew raised his hand and counted across his fingers, “Terzo, Copia, Aether, Mountain, Ifrit, Zephyr, Omega, Alpha, Mist, Ivy, Pebble, Delta, Rain, Swiss, Cirrus, Cumulus, Aurora, Sunshine and Phantom.”

    “Fools then. The lot of them.” Torrent remarked.

    Dew knew they would change their tunes quickly. His parents didn’t have any sort of emotion other than their lust for power and status. They had heard stories, and when Dew had confirmed those stories, seen he had a skill that they didn’t – even one as basic as reading and writing – they saw an opportunity for some good old-fashioned nepotism and couldn’t resist. But as soon as Dew, the horrific little creature he was, rightly pointed out the gaping flaws in their logic and realised that they couldn’t puppet him, they went back to their tirade of tyranny against him.

    He knew something else that would make them change tunes as well though.

    “Even Rain? He’s a fool? Does that name not ring a bell?” Dew smiled.

    The realisation on his former family’s faces made him fail to stifle a giggle.

    “Rain is a fair and just Prince, but I’m sure he wouldn’t take too kindly to being called a fool by the two who have caused me, one of his mates, so much pain. Just as I’m sure he wouldn’t like his other mates, friends and his Papa being called fools too.” Dew said.

    It was often surprisingly forgettable that Rain was a Prince. Each Element had their own revered and respected Royal family, and Rain was part of the one for Water Ghouls. Rain never acted like you would expect for his station, and maybe that was because he was 3rd in line and likely to never inherit his mother’s throne, especially after Rain’s older siblings have had their own kits, but he was just like any other Ghoul. Other than the fact he had a lot more security around the Abbey and while on tour.

    “You wouldn’t dare.” Mariana muttered.

    “I get asked that question a lot. Most often the answer is I would indeed.” Dew said.

    He revelled in watching them squirm.

    “Anyway, for the Ministry, this has been a most productive visit. For me, quite cathartic, yes, buy otherwise entirely unpleasant.” Dew said, clapping his hands together, “Chief Torrent, Chiefess Marina, Heiress Eyre.” He bowed and showed himself out. And he flipped the three of them off on the way out, to visit the next pod of Water Ghouls.

    Maybe this trip wasn’t the worst idea after all…

irdk what this is but... thanks for reading :D

One shot master list can be found here

[dyaz-stories]

a house, not a home || Cha Hyun-Su x Reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings & tags: canon typical violence, hurt/comfort, hyun-su needs a hug, unresolved tension, mentions of blood

a/n: okay so, for context, this takes place during season 2. reader and hyun-su know each other from high school and reader runs into hyun-su after the events of the first three episodes. reader also doesn't know that he is a monster/neohuman though if people are interested i could definitely write that 👀 I hope you'll like it! Please let me know your thoughts and if you'd like me to write more, and consider reblogging!

next part

The hardest thing to get used to, after what others called the Monsterization Outbreak but you labelled, more simply, the Apocalypse, was the silence. You were the type of person to always have music playing, back when you were a high schooler studying hard to get into your college of choice. Now, music was wasted electricity and, worse, could be a death sentence if anyone — anything — heard it play, or if it dulled your senses and got you killed.

At the beginning, there had been lots of sounds. Screams. Cars colliding. Stores’ alarms, blaring when the looters broke in. Sobs. In your house, for a while, there had been your father, humming quietly as he worked.

Then he’d gotten a nosebleed, left the house, and never returned.

Now it was just you, and you’d learned not to make a sound. So when there’s a knock on your door, it echoes through the rooms and rattles you to your core. For a second, you clench your trusty baseball bat. You took hours and cut your fingers planting nails into it, but it’s worth it, if only for the feeling of confidence it gives you. Truth is, you rarely had to use it. Your strategy relies on avoiding confrontation at all costs.

You release it when you realize that there are very few people who can come knocking at your door.

After all, monsters don’t knock.

You rush to the door without letting go of the bat. Your habits are ingrained in you well enough that you still check the peephole — and when you do, your heart somersaults in your chest.

You keep the hinges well-oiled and the door doesn’t make a sound when you open it.

“Come in,” you whisper, not daring to break the silence with actual words.

Cha Hyun-Su stares at you, looks like he hesitates. He always does, looks like he wants to give you a chance to slam the door back in his face. He’s covered in blood now — ‘not mine’, you know he’d say if you asked —, clutching his wrist, lips chapped, eyes hollow.

“Come on,” you say again, and this time he does, walking by you without a word. Then he goes still once more, there in your entrance, while you close the door behind him. He always does that, until you give him explicit permission.

“Are you okay?” you ask when you turn around, hands reaching for his arms, his torso, trying to check on him, though you cannot see whether or not he is hurt.

“I’m fine,” he replies with that deep voice of his, catching your wrists before you can feel for yourself. “It’s not my blood.”

It never is.

“But are you hurt?” you press, still.

He frowns, and confusion sparks in his eyes.

“I told you. I’m fine.”

You shake your head.

“No, I mean— Does it hurt? Does anything hurt?”

Hyun-Su’s lips part. He closes his eyes. His body sways towards yours, and you freeze. You feel his breath against your cheek, and his grip on your wrist becomes lighter— a caress, at most. You just stay there, not wanting to scare him away, but not wanting to leave him to himself either. You feel a pull towards him, the urge to wrap your arms around him, and you resist it, knowing that he’d flee.

Finally, he snaps out of it, lets go of you, takes a step back.

“I’m fine,” he repeats for a third time.

You don’t push it.

“Do you want to take a bath?”

Clean water isn’t easy to come by these days. Fortunately for you, you have a complex system designed to retain rain water as well as morning dew, put in place by your father, when he was still around. It’s rained recently, and with the help of solar panels you’d stolen with him what feels like a lifetime ago, you’ll be able to have hot water. Showers, you haven’t mastered — though you’re sure your dad would have figured it out by now — but you can at least offer him a warm bath.

Hyun-Su’s eyes are on you, wide and focused.

They’re ever so slightly warmer than they were when he came in.

“I would like that.”

Hyun-Su comes out of the bathroom some thirty minutes later, clean and looking more like himself. He’s wearing clothes he’d left there on one of his other visits, which you’d washed by hand among some of your stuff.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice firmer than it had been earlier.

“It’s not a problem,” you reply, and you have to stop yourself from grimacing at how fake your nonchalance sounds to your ears.

If he notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Have you been okay here?” he asks instead.

You bite the inside of your cheek. The answer is complicated. You’ve been safe, physically that is. You have barely caught sight of a monster since he’s last been here — nine days ago. You can’t say you’re bored, either. There’s always things to do, to fix, to figure out around here.

What you are, is alone.

And, though you don’t want to admit it, lonely.

It might be the kind of answer he’s looking for, yet you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. It’s not even that you don’t want him to know.

It’s that you’re scared that if you did, if you asked him to stay or to take you with him, he would still leave you behind.

“I make do,” you reply, which at least isn’t a lie. “I keep myself busy.”

It’s your turn to freeze when Hyun-Su leans forward, trying to meet your eyes.

“Are you hurt?”

A smile escapes you at his cautious tone as he repeats your words at you. You look up, and there he is, inches away from your face, checking on you in the very same way you’d checked on him when he’d arrived — now that he’s had the time and space to collect himself. For half a second, the corner of his lips lifts clumsily to form a smile in response to yours, and then it’s gone, as he, too, realizes how close he is.

You see him sucking in a breath, then swallowing, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Your heart beats so loud in your ears, you can’t even hear the silence anymore.

“I’m not hurt,” you say, and it is true for now, at least.

Hyun-Su nods without moving away. There’s an intensity in his eyes that you’re not used to, a spark, a craving.

His eyes drop to your lips.

Your whole body is tingling with anticipation, yet you don’t move, no matter how badly you want to close the gap between you. You can’t rush him. You’d never forgive yourself, if he didn’t come back.

He leans forward, just by an inch, then closer again, so close and—

He turns his head at the last moment, late enough that his cheek brushes against yours, before he pulls himself back.

That hurts. It makes your heart ache more than you’ve let yourself hurt in forever.

“Sorry,” Hyun-Su mumbles, stumbling back. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You’re not sure if he’s apologizing for trying to kiss you, or for not doing it.

“I’ve brought you food,” he says in a rush, picking up his backpack by the entrance door.

You watch him as he does, and you can’t help but note the many wounds on his body. Most of them are half-closed, and you know that they’ll be gone by the next time he comes back, but that new ones will have had the time to open and heal halfway.

He hands you his offering of food, without meeting your eyes this time, and you take it from him. Your fingers brush against him, and he moves his hand away like you’ve just burned him.

“It’s late,” you say, your voice quiet even to your own ears, even now that you’re so accustomed to the lack of noise. You don’t want him to go, not just yet. “You should sleep here.”

But, just like you expected, Hyun-Su shakes his head and closes his backpack with shaky hands.

“I need to go,” he says. Then, when you don’t answer — can he tell you’re fighting back tears? —, he adds “I’ll come back. I promise.”

You nod. It’s your turn to avoid his eyes.

“I’ll be waiting,” you say.

You open the door for him, and you force yourself to look at him as he steps back outside, into the unknown, into the danger, and away from you.

He looks back, right before disappearing in the night.

“Stay safe,” you say, though you know he won’t.

“You too,” he says, knowing you will.

And then he’s gone, and you’re alone with the silence again.

next part

[jhyoos]

Of Roses And Steel

chapter three : stay in your place

knight sevika x princess reader

mentions : royalty au, medieval au, romance, vi was mentioned for a reason, jealous sevika, annoying mel, light smut, silco being a ally, drama filled, vi being the 3 fs: flirty, funny and fuckable, another long chapter

notes: wrote this right after chapter two 🤭

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You woke up to the soft, warm sensation of your cub’s tongue gently licking your face. Groaning slightly, you opened your eyes to find his fluffy form hovering over you, his bright eyes watching you expectantly. “Good morning,” you murmured, reaching up to scratch his head. “I really need to name you,” you added with a small laugh. He leaned into your touch before curling up against your chest, a soft purr rumbling from him as his warmth enveloped you.

Last night lingered in your mind like a fever dream—vivid and inescapable. You replayed every moment over and over, wondering what might have happened if things had escalated further, or if Sevika had uttered those three words you so desperately longed to hear: I love you. Closing your eyes again, you tried to let sleep claim you once more, but your thoughts betrayed you, pulling you deeper into the haze of unanswered questions.

Your moment of reprieve was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by a voice announcing the arrival of your maids, perfectly punctual as always. With a tired sigh, you sat up in bed and called out, “Come in…”

The door opened, and a flurry of activity followed as your maids bustled in. “Can we bring my pet his breakfast?” you asked, gesturing toward the cub, who now sprawled lazily on the bed. “Just bring a few cuts of raw meat—any kind will do.” One maid nodded and quickly exited the room, while the others began attending to your morning routine.

As you stood, the maids gently guided you toward the vanity. They worked quickly, their hands deftly brushing through your unraveled hair and preparing you for the day ahead. One of them hesitated, her gaze catching on the faint bite mark adorning your neck. “Are you all right, my lady?” she asked carefully, her tone laced with genuine concern.

You touched the spot instinctively, your cheeks warming as you hastily replied, “Oh, yes, I’m fine. He likes to bite a lot,” referring to the cub as you fabricated the excuse. The maid raised an eyebrow ever so slightly but said nothing, though you could sense her curiosity lingering.

Finally, the maids brought out the gown for the day—a breathtaking creation that sparkled like the morning dew. The dress was a masterpiece of intricate detail, its halter neckline plunging gracefully to highlight the delicate curves of your frame. The bodice was adorned with elaborate silver filigree, curling like vines in an enchanted forest, with an ornate key-like centerpiece resting elegantly between your collarbones.

The skirt of the gown cascaded like a shimmering waterfall, its sheer fabric embroidered with glistening beads and sequins that caught the light with every movement. Tiny floral appliqués adorned the train, adding a touch of whimsy to the regal elegance of the design. As the maids secured the gown in place, its ethereal beauty made you feel like you had stepped out of a dream.

Standing before the mirror, you couldn’t help but admire the way the dress hugged your figure, the light playing off its embellishments and giving you an otherworldly glow. The maids adjusted the final details, their hands brushing against the delicate fabric as they ensured every part of the ensemble was perfect.

As you gazed at your reflection in the mirror, a look of confusion crossed your face. This wasn’t the kind of gown you usually wore—ornate and dazzling, designed to captivate. You turned toward your maids, your brows furrowed. “What’s the occasion?” you asked, your voice laced with curiosity.

One of the maids stepped forward with a gentle smile. “The kingdom of Piltover is coming, my lady. The king wanted you to shine,” she explained, her tone full of reverence.

You blinked, taking in her words and glancing back at your reflection. The gown’s intricate silver detailing and sparkling embellishments made you look radiant, almost celestial. It was a deliberate choice, meant to make an impression.

Satisfied with their work, the maids gathered their things and began to file out of the room, their movements quiet and efficient. One, however, returned shortly after, carrying a small bowl filled with cuts of raw meat. She placed it carefully in front of your cub, who immediately perked up at the sight of his breakfast.

“Thank you,” you said softly, offering her a kind smile. The maid bowed low before retreating, leaving you alone with your cub, who was now happily devouring his meal.

You watched him for a moment, his small frame hunched over the bowl, his soft fur glowing faintly in the morning light. As you observed him, a thought struck you—a name, simple yet fitting.

“Eros,” you said aloud, your lips curving into a smile. The cub paused briefly, his ears twitching at the sound of your voice, before returning to his meal. “That will be your name,” you decided, feeling a sense of satisfaction at finally giving him an identity.

The name lingered in the air as you watched him eat, your mind momentarily at ease despite the day’s looming responsibilities.

A sharp knock echoed through your chambers, drawing your attention to the door. You tilted your head, curiosity flickering in your gaze. “Come in,” you called out, your tone neutral. The door creaked open, and standing there was Mel.

You let out a quiet sigh, rolling your eyes at the sight of her. Whatever she wanted, it couldn’t possibly improve your mood.

“I apologize for last night,” she said, her tone soft but hesitant. Her eyes roamed over your gown before she added, “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“I always do,” you replied coolly, adjusting the fabric of your gown. Your words were sharp and dismissive, but there was a faint air of satisfaction at her acknowledgment. “And I forgive you—only for Sevika’s sake. And so I don’t have to go through explaining to my father why I would have to send you back to Noxus.”

Mel’s lips pressed into a thin line before she dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Follow me out of my chambers, please,” you instructed, turning toward the door without another glance at her. “We have to meet the King of Piltover.”

Mel nodded, silently falling into step behind you as you strode toward the door. The two guards stationed there straightened at your approach, their armor gleaming in the light. They fell into formation as you exited, shadowing your every step.

Pausing briefly in the hallway, you glanced at one of the servants waiting nearby. “Please have someone check on my cub every hour and ensure he’s all right,” you instructed.

“Yes, ma’am,” the servant said with a respectful bow before hurrying off.

With that, you straightened your posture, your chin lifted with regal grace. The day was far from over, and there was much to do—but as always, you intended to handle it with the poise expected of you. With Mel trailing behind and your guards flanking you, you made your way toward the grand hall where the King of Piltover awaited.

The grand doors to the throne room creaked open, revealing a scene of splendor and familiarity. King Vander sat on a gilded chair at the head of the room, his presence commanding yet warm. Around him were his sons and daughters, their faces lighting up as they caught sight of you. These were friends you’d grown up with, companions from childhood whose bonds you still cherished despite the years apart.

Your eyes swept across the room, noting that your father was not yet present. Instead, Sevika’s unmistakable figure caught your attention. She was lounging in a chair near the corner, her legs man-spread with that air of casual dominance she always exuded. Her relaxed posture made her look untouchable, her sharp gaze scanning the room before briefly landing on you.

You didn’t linger on her for long, but it seemed Mel had. Before you could speak, Mel veered off toward Sevika, her footsteps quick and purposeful. You noticed the way her lips curled into a smile as she approached, but you chose not to acknowledge them. Instead, you continued further into the room, your attention shifting when a hand gently rested on your arm.

You turned your head, finding yourself face to face with Vi. Her short pink hair was tousled as always, and her confident smile brought an instant wave of nostalgia.

“Good morning,” you said, offering her a warm nod. “I didn’t see you at the tournament.”

Vi grinned, a little sheepishly, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I was out taking care of some things,” she replied before her expression softened. “Gosh, you look even more beautiful than you did all those years ago.”

Her words made your lips curl into a soft smile. “I would say the same about you,” you said, meeting her gaze. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other—since we were children.”

Vi chuckled softly, her hand on your arm lingering before she moved it to your cheek. Her touch was light, almost hesitant, and her thumb brushed against your skin gently. “I’m glad to see you again,” she said, her voice lower now, more intimate.

Her closeness and sincerity brought a flutter of warmth to your chest, but before you could respond, the sound of a loud laugh from one of Vander’s sons broke the moment, drawing both your attentions back to the room. You smiled, grateful for the distraction as you slipped away from Vi’s touch, though her presence remained close, a reminder of the bonds that never truly faded with time.

Your father entered the room with a warm smile, his face lighting up as he spotted Vander. The two men shared a hearty laugh before pulling each other into a bear hug, the kind that only old friends exchanged.

"My brother," Silco greeted, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

“It’s been far too long,” Vander replied, his tone just as affectionate.

“I’ve arranged an outdoor gathering in the garden,” Silco said, gesturing toward the sprawling grounds outside. “You’ll have to see it—it’s stunning this time of year. And, well, I thought it might spare you all from the misery of the cold you have back in Piltover.”

“Sounds perfect,” Vander agreed with a grin.

The garden was breathtaking, illuminated by soft golden string lights that cast a warm glow against the night sky. Tables adorned with delicate floral arrangements and elegant snacks were set up, inviting guests to indulge. The scent of fresh blossoms mingled with the crisp evening air, creating a serene yet lively atmosphere.

You wandered through the garden, a drink in your hand, observing the festivities around you. Laughter and chatter filled the air as nobles and their families mingled, their faces alight with joy. Even Mel and Sevika, who were deep in conversation by the fountain, seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Deciding to keep your distance from your ladies-in-waiting, you gravitated toward quieter corners of the party. Noblewomen and gentlemen approached you now and then, offering compliments and pleasantries that you returned with practiced politeness. But as the evening wore on, the constant interactions began to drain you.

Eventually, you slipped away, finding solace in the hallway just outside the garden. The dim lighting and gentle hum of the distant festivities provided a peaceful reprieve. You leaned against the flower-covered wall, letting out a soft sigh as you closed your eyes.

Your moment of solitude was interrupted by the familiar sound of boots on the stone path. Opening your eyes, you saw Vi approaching, a bottle of alcohol in hand. Her pink hair was slightly tousled, and her grin was as mischievous as ever.

“What’s this for?” you asked, eyeing the bottle she held out to you.

“To drink, beautiful,” Vi replied with a playful smirk, popping the bottle open. She poured a generous amount into your glass before taking a swig straight from the bottle herself.

You raised the glass to your lips, taking a cautious sip. The sharp taste made your face scrunch in displeasure, earning a hearty laugh from Vi. She was clearly used to drinking—her lack of reaction to the alcohol proved it.

“You’re not funny,” you said, though a small smile tugged at your lips as her laughter continued.

An hour later, the bottle was empty, and the two of you were sitting by the lake, far from the noise of the party. The gentle lapping of water against the shore served as the perfect backdrop for your conversation. You both laughed as you reminisced about childhood memories, the weight of adulthood momentarily lifted.

“I still remember the time we kissed,” Vi said suddenly, her tone softer now.

You smiled at the memory, the warmth of it spreading through you. “I remember it too. You were my first kiss…and my first girl kiss,” you admitted with a shy laugh.

Vi leaned in slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’d love to kiss you again.”

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, but you smiled, meeting her gaze. “I’d love to kiss you too.”

She cupped your cheek gently, her touch warm and steady as she leaned in. Her lips met yours in a passionate kiss that sent a thrill through you. You responded in kind, placing a hand on her shoulder as the kiss deepened.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, but smiles lingered on your faces. “Gods, how I’ve missed you,” Vi murmured, her voice full of emotion.

Before you could respond, she leaned in again, this time pushing you gently onto the grass. Her kisses grew more fervent, and you found yourself lost in the moment, your hands tangling in her hair.

The moment shattered as the sound of someone clearing their throat cut through the air. You and Vi pulled away from each other quickly, your heart sinking as you looked up to see Sevika standing there. Her expression was unreadable, her sharp eyes flicking between you and Vi before she finally spoke.

“Your father is asking for you,” she said, her voice calm but firm as her gaze settled on you.

“Right…” you mumbled, quickly standing and brushing off your dress to compose yourself. “I’ll see you later, Vi.”

Vi nodded, her mischievous grin softening as she looked up at you. “Later, beautiful,” she said, her voice low and playful.

As you walked away, Sevika fell into step behind you. The tension between you was palpable, and it didn’t take long before Sevika’s voice broke the silence.

“Is this your way of moving on? Kissing some random girl?” she said, her tone laced with irritation.

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face her with a glare. “Vi isn’t just some random girl. She was my first kiss, and she’s a princess. If I wanted to, I could marry her,” you said firmly. “And what business is it of yours? You seemed perfectly content with Mel today.”

Sevika scoffed, crossing her arms. “Mel and I were just talking. Don’t turn this on me.”

Your jaw tightened, but you said nothing more. The weight of her words hung heavily between you as the two of you reached the garden party.

Silco spotted you almost immediately, his piercing gaze softening as he extended a hand to you. You stepped forward, taking it with a small smile. “What’s wrong, Father?” you asked.

“Nothing, my dear,” he replied, his tone warm and reassuring. “I just wanted to see you. How are you enjoying the party? Have you had a chance to speak with Vi and Powder yet?”

“Yes, sir,” you said, keeping your voice measured.

Silco studied you for a moment before asking, “And what do you think of Vi? Would she make a good suitor for you?”

Your heart skipped a beat at his question, though you tried to keep your expression neutral. “Oh… so that’s what this is about,” you said softly, glancing away. “I don’t know, Father. I’ve talked to her, but I haven’t seen her in years. I’d need time to get to know her again.”

Silco nodded thoughtfully, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “Of course, that’s only fair. But you have all night to spend with her before she has to leave.”

“That’s not enough time,” you said honestly. “But… I could write to her after, if that would make you happy.”

Silco’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Of course, my child. That would be a fine start.”

You nodded, your mind still swirling with thoughts of Vi, Sevika, and the complex feelings tangled up between them. The night was far from over, but you could already feel its weight pressing on you.

The pounding in your head and the haze of alcohol clouding your thoughts made the decision impossible to face right now. You needed to return to your chambers and clear your mind. Without the usual accompaniment of guards, you made your way back alone, your steps unsteady but purposeful.

When you entered your room, the soft glow of candlelight illuminated a maid tending to Eros, who lay fast asleep in his bed. The cub was on his back, paws in the air, his round belly exposed—a clear sign he’d been well-fed and was completely content. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“Thank you,” you murmured to the maid. She nodded, gathered her things, and left quietly, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the rhythmic sound of Eros’s gentle breathing.

You sat down at your vanity, resting your head in your hands as you tried to sober up, your mind racing with conflicting emotions. The quiet didn’t last long, though, as your door suddenly creaked open.

“Gods, what’s with people barging into my r—” you began, lifting your head, but your words caught in your throat when you saw Sevika standing in the doorway.

Her gaze was intense, her shoulders squared as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “Did you do that on purpose? Trying to make me jealous?” she asked, her voice low and cutting straight to the point.

You stood up, gripping the back of your chair as you stared at her in frustration and confusion. “What?” you asked, your tone sharp.

But before you could say more, Sevika crossed the space between you in a heartbeat, her hand sliding to the back of your neck as she pulled you into a fierce, passionate kiss. Her lips were commanding, her touch electric, and you couldn’t help but melt into the moment. Your hands instinctively pressed against her chest as you kissed her back, your body responding to her closeness.

Sevika’s grip on you didn’t waver as she lifted you effortlessly, placing you on the edge of your vanity. Her hands moved to your dress, lifting it slightly, but before things could go any further, you reached out and stopped her.

“Sevika…you’re confusing me,” you said, breathless, your hands trembling slightly as you met her gaze.

She let out a deep sigh, pulling back and settling into the chair in front of you. She leaned back, her legs spread wide, her elbows resting on her knees. Her usual confidence seemed to falter as she looked up at you. “I know…I’m confused myself,” she admitted, her voice quieter now.

You swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts. “My father asked me to consider marrying Vi,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t know what to do. I can’t marry someone I don’t know if I love yet…but I know I love you, Sevika.”

Her jaw tightened at your words, her brows furrowing as she leaned forward slightly. “Then why were you kissing Vi if you love me?” she asked, her tone edged with hurt.

Your chest tightened at the question, guilt flashing across your face. “You were with Mel,” you replied defensively. “You still are. She asked, and I accepted it. What was I supposed to do?”

Sevika sighed, leaning back and placing a hand on your thigh. Her touch was warm, grounding, but her words cut deep. “You know me and you can’t get married,” she said, her tone steady but filled with a painful truth. “I belong to you, to your father, to this kingdom. I can’t promise I’ll always be here. What happens when I leave for good? What happens when I don’t come back? You’re too fragile…too weak to handle that.”

Her words struck you like a blow, but you said nothing, knowing deep down she was right. The thought of her leaving—of never returning—was unbearable.

“So,” she continued, her voice softening just slightly, “you should marry Vi. She seems to like you, even if she is…a drunk.”

“She’s not a drunk,” you said quickly, frowning. “She’s just…way too carefree.”

“Right…” Sevika muttered, pushing herself to her feet. Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, her expression unreadable. “From now on, I won’t bother you. I apologize for barging in and kissing you like that.”

Before you could say anything, before you could process her words, Sevika turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind her. The room felt emptier without her, the silence heavy as you sat there, torn between the choices laid before you and the ache in your chest Sevika’s absence left behind.

The next morning began like any other. The maids were already bustling around your chambers, preparing your dress and accessories as you sat quietly, letting them do their work. Eros, your beloved cub, had his breakfast first as always, his tiny paws clutching his food with delight. You smiled softly at the sight, though it didn’t fully reach your eyes. Once he was done, you picked him up in your arms. His soft fur and warm presence were a small comfort as you made your way to the throne room.

You were informed earlier that Vander and his children had departed at dawn to begin their long journey back. You were a little sad about Vi going so early. Not getting to say goodbye. The memories of last night were still raw, and it was something you couldn’t get out of your head.

The guards opened the doors to the throne room, revealing its usual lively atmosphere. Voices carried across the grand hall as nobles and servants alike mingled, sharing news and gossip. You walked with poise, nodding politely at those who greeted you, until you reached your ladies-in-waiting.

“Good morning,” you said to them, settling into your lounge chair with Eros nestled comfortably on your lap. His soft purring helped ease the tension in your chest as you listened to the chatter around you.

The gossip was lively today, full of intrigue and speculation about recent guests and political alliances. You smiled faintly, losing yourself in the distraction until something—or other someone—caught your attention.

Mel.

She strode into the room with a radiant smile, her golden complexion glowing as she approached your group. You stiffened, your grip tightening slightly on Eros as her eyes met yours briefly before turning to the others.

“Good morning, ladies,” Mel said cheerfully. Then, without hesitation, she dropped the bombshell. “Unfortunately, I am no longer a lady-in-waiting.”

There was a collective gasp, followed by murmurs of curiosity and confusion.

“Why?” one of the ladies asked, her voice laced with intrigue.

Mel’s smile widened as she held up her hand, revealing a sparkling ring. “Because I am now engaged to my beloved Sevika!”

The room erupted into cheers and congratulations, the ladies fawning over her and admiring the ring. Mel basked in their attention, her joy radiating in every gesture and word. But all you could do was sit there, frozen.

Your heart plummeted to the pit of your stomach as her words echoed in your mind. Engaged to Sevika. The air felt heavy, and the edges of your vision blurred as the pain settled in your chest.

Mel’s happiness was unbearable to witness, her grin brighter than the sun as she recounted the details of Sevika’s proposal. It was too much. Your legs moved on their own as you stood abruptly, Eros startled by the sudden motion.

“Excuse me,” you muttered, your voice barely audible over the commotion. You didn’t wait for a response. You turned on your heel and left the throne room as quickly as you could, desperate to escape the suffocating atmosphere.

She had Sevika.

Your feet carried you to the nearest empty room, and once inside, you slammed the door shut and leaned against it, sliding down until you sat on the cold floor. The tears came fast, streaming down your cheeks as sobs wracked your body.

It felt as though your heart had been ripped out and torn apart piece by piece. The weight of it all crushed you—Sevika’s rejection and now Mel’s victory. You buried your face in your hands, the pain too much to bear.

When you finally mustered the strength to leave the room, the sight before you stopped you in your tracks. Standing in the hallway was your father, flanked by two guards. His sharp, observant eyes softened immediately when he saw the tears streaking your face.

“Angel,” he said gently, his voice filled with concern as he stepped closer. He reached out and used his thumb to wipe the tears still falling down your cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, your heart aching from all the emotions you were trying to suppress. “I’m just… stressed,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, though it cracked slightly. “Everything that’s happened this past week… I just had to let it out.” It was only a half-truth, but it was all you could manage.

Silco’s expression remained tender as he opened his arms. “Come here,” he murmured.

You didn’t hesitate, stepping into his embrace. The moment his arms wrapped around you, his hand cradling the back of your head, the dam broke again. You sobbed against his chest, your shoulders shaking as the week’s events overwhelmed you all over again.

“We’ll find who put that bear head in your room,” he said softly, his voice low and comforting as his hand stroked your hair. “I promise you, Angel. They’ll pay for it.”

His words, though meant to reassure you, only made you cry harder. The mention of the bear head—the harrowing reminder of the fear and violation you had felt—added another layer to your emotional turmoil.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out between sobs, clutching the fabric of his coat as if it were the only thing grounding you.

“It’s okay to cry,” he said, his voice unwavering as he held you tighter. “You don’t have to apologize.”

The steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his embrace soothed you, though the tears didn’t stop. For a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into his strength, feeling like a child again in the protective arms of your father.

You pulled away from your father’s embrace, sniffling softly as you tried to compose yourself. “I’m okay now,” you said, offering him a small, forced smile.

Silco cupped your face with both hands, his sharp gaze meeting yours with an intensity that made you feel both safe and vulnerable. “Emotions are normal, Angel. Tears are meant to be shed,” he said firmly, his voice low but steady. “You’ll be a strong Queen. I taught you well.”

His words, laced with pride, soothed you. He let go of your face and adjusted his coat before turning on his heel, walking down the hall with his usual commanding presence. You stood there for a moment, watching him disappear, letting his words settle in your chest before taking a deep breath.

Turning back toward the throne room, you braced yourself and pushed open the doors. The lively buzz of conversation filled the air again, but it was quickly drowned out by the sound of Mel’s voice as she intercepted you, her lips pulled into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I hope you’ll be happy for us, your highness,” she said in a sickly sweet tone. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you not allowing it.”

Your eyes narrowed instantly at her emphasis on the word "bear," and your stomach twisted. “You put the bear head in my room?” you asked sharply, keeping your voice low but laced with venom.

Mel tilted her head, her expression smug. “Took you long enough to notice,” she replied, feigning innocence while the mocking tone in her voice was undeniable.

You glared at her, letting your gaze sweep her up and down with barely veiled contempt. “I find it amusing,” you started, your tone calm but cutting, “that you’re trying to use Sevika against me. Especially since we’ve already had a very fun night together just a night ago.”

Mel’s smile faltered for a split second, her confidence momentarily shaken.

You stepped closer, lowering your voice but letting every word drip with malice. “Enjoy your little broken marriage while it lasts. Because soon enough, you’ll be back in Noxus with your mother, who’ll no doubt be disappointed in your whorish ways. And as for Sevika?” You smiled, leaning in slightly. “She’ll stay here. Because Sevika puts Zaun, and this kingdom, before someone like you. Take that to heart before you go flashing that ring around like it means something.”

Not giving her a chance to respond, you brushed past her, your head held high as you returned to your ladies. They quickly quieted as you approached, sensing the tension radiating off you.

“From now on,” you said firmly, turning to face them, “do not speak to Mel. She’s not one of us anymore.”

They nodded in unison, not daring to question you. You settled back into your seat with Eros on your lap, focusing on the gossip of your ladies once again, doing your best to ignore the knot of satisfaction and lingering anger that twisted in your chest.

Sevika soon entered the throne room, her tall figure commanding attention even in the lively atmosphere. Her sharp eyes immediately found Mel sitting alone in a corner, away from the ladies, who were now avoiding her. Sevika’s gaze shifted, landing on you. The two of you locked eyes for a moment, and you felt your stomach churn at the intensity of her expression.

She approached you with measured steps, bowing slightly as she stopped before you. “May I speak to you, your highness?” she asked, her tone formal and respectful, mindful of the public setting.

You hesitated but rose from your chair, gently placing Eros back on the couch before nodding. “Very well,” you replied curtly, following her as she led you out of the throne room.

The heavy doors closed behind you, but Sevika didn’t stop there. Her hand lightly grasped your arm as she guided you down the hall and into the nearby garden. Once she was sure no one else was around, she finally turned to face you.

“You need to let me explain,” she said, her voice low and urgent.

You crossed your arms, keeping your expression neutral. “You marrying Mel is none of my business,” you replied, your tone cold.

Her jaw clenched, and she ran a hand through her short hair in frustration. “I don’t want to marry her,” she admitted, her voice laced with bitterness. “Look at me—I’m not the marriage type of woman.”

“Then why are you doing it?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

She sighed, her broad shoulders slumping slightly. “Because I was pushed into it,” she said. “Mel came up to your father in front of the court this morning. She asked for his blessing, and he granted it right there. I had no choice but to put a damn ring on her finger.”

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “I could’ve told you myself that she’s crazy. She’s the one who hung that dead bear in my room,” you said, your voice rising slightly in frustration.

Sevika’s eyes widened slightly, the information clearly catching her off guard. “Mel did that?” she muttered, more to herself than to you.

“Yes,” you confirmed firmly. “You figure this out, Sevika. Her mother is an important ally, and if you mess this up, it won’t end well—for either of us,” you added, your tone softening slightly but still carrying a sharp edge.

Sevika bit her lip, her usual confidence visibly wavering as she stared at the ground. For the first time, you saw her look vulnerable, conflicted in a way that felt foreign for someone so composed.

After a long pause, she straightened her posture and gave a short, resigned nod. “Fine,” she said curtly before turning on her heel and walking away, leaving you alone in the quiet garden.

You stood there, the weight of her vulnerability and the tension between you both lingering in the air. The garden felt colder without her presence, but you refused to let it show as you took a deep breath, straightened your dress, and prepared to return to the throne room.

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[milkteabinniechan]

♡The Silk Thief's Embrace - Han Jisung

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: perv! Han Jisung x fem! reader

summary: You've been Han Jisung's neighbors for a few months now and he's only spoken a few words to you. But when you invite him over to help around the house, he helps himself to a little souvenir to take back to his bedroom.

warnings: panty stealing, panty sniffing, pervert behavior!! masturbation, humiliation

“On earth; or damned because, half animal, One lacks direct instinct, because one wakes, Afloat on movement that divides and breaks.”

Han stood in front of his bedroom fan as it ocellated back and forth across his body. With the cold air only lasting a few seconds as it swept across his bare skin. Summer had swooped in and landed smack dab in the middle of his apartment complex. The entire building felt like a sauna and Han’s tiny fan was doing little to relieve him. The one solace he had, however, was seeing you. Thursday was laundry day. So he knew that meant for just a few brief moments of the day, he would stand with you in a cramped laundry room and talk about your days.

Han gathered his clothes in a small laundry basket and made his way down the hallway towards the laundry room. It was still early and he knew you wouldn't be there yet, but he was hoping to snag the two good machines that actually worked properly. He turned the corner to see you already standing at the washing machine. You turned and smiled, taking notice of him almost immediately.

“Oh, hi Han! So hot today, huh?”

You pulled at the collar of your shirt and obnoxiously fanned your face. Your skin was glistening and glowing with small dew drops of sweat. Your hair clung to your forehead, while your cheeks blushed a flattering rosy hue.

Han stood in the doorway for a moment before coming back to his sensing and making his way to you. He loaded up a machine of his own and nodded his head meekly.

“Y-yeah… Hot.” He said under his breath, barely above a whisper.

You continued to fan your face and you leaned actually against the washing machine behind you, your arms bent back at the top like a model on the beach, advertising for beer or sunglasses. Han’s eyes raked over your entire body, his hands still loading the machine with clothes. His eyes trailed up from your legs to your hips. From your hips all the way up to your breasts. Then from your breasts to your lips. Han’s vision lingered on your lips for a moment before tracing back down to your hips. You wore these jean shorts that hugged your body perfectly. Every curve and dip of your figure poured into those shorts like a fine wine.

In another life, I want to come back as a button on her jean shorts.

Han stood up slowly and pressed the START button on his machine. The cycle began whirling and thumping around as the two of you stood in the noise for a moment.

“Han, could I ask you a favor? It's kind of last minute.” Your soft voice cut through the rumble of the laundry machines.

Han perked up, his eyes wide and attentive. He nodded his head slowly,

“Sure. What's up?”

You looked down at your feet for a moment, as if the favor you had for him was something awful or embarrassing. Eventually, you looked back at him with an unsure expression.

“My A/C unit has been acting up and I really don't want to have to buy another one. Do you think you could come take a look at it?”

Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Han’s hands were beginning to sweat more than they already were. His mouth turned dry and the air in his lungs seemed to disappear for a moment. Somehow he willed the words “Yes” and “Sounds great” to come out of his mouth. You thanked him profusely and told him to be at your place at 6pm. You said you needed time to fold your laundry but Han didn't hear that part, his mind was elsewhere and now he just had to wait until 6pm.

Han stood outside your door that evening at 5:58pm. He fist hovered over your door and he stared at his watch. But without warning, you opened the door. You yelped at the sight of Han already standing there but quickly laughed it off. You motioned your hand inside and Han followed you. You started to walk towards your bedroom and Han was soon to follow. He immediately loved the smell of your apartment. The first scent was definitely your laundry detergent, something with lavender and lemon. The next scent was something sweeter, like baked goods. Had you been baking? He loved the idea of you baking muffins and cookies and other sweets.

“Here it is.” You stopped in front of your bedroom window where a large, and slightly rusted, air conditioning unit was wedged into the open window.

Han has recognized the model of a/c unit from his mother's house. She had never bothered to install central air so every summer Han went down to the basement and lugged up this behemoth of a device and placed it snug against the window of his mother's living room. Han looked over your air conditioning unit and gave a firm nod.

“I'll take a look.” He said confidently, giving you a soft smile.

You returned the smile and told him you would just be in the living room if he needed anything. And just like that you were gone. Han stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do next. He looked over the unit before crouching down in front of it. He noticed a small drip coming from the side and decided to follow it to its source. The search led him to a small tube that has been disconnected from the unit entirely.

Han smirked to himself and plugged the tube back into its proper place. He switched the unit on and soon felt the cooling arctic breeze of a functional air conditioner. Still crouched, he turned his body to shout the good news to you when his eyes caught something interesting.

Below your dresser, almost completely out of sight, was a pair of black lace panties. You must have missed them when you were putting your laundry away. They lay there on the carpet, almost calling out his name. Han’s breath hitched in his throat as he took in the sight. He was frozen again and unsure of what to do. His mind was scolding him, telling him to get that perverted idea out of his mind. But his cock… his cock was pleading with him to grab those delicate lace panties and shove them around his shaft. Han shifted a bit in his crouched positions, eyes still fixated on your panties.

“How's it going in here?” Your voice rang out from the living room but was drawing closer.

Han had to make a decision. It was now or never. As you stepped closer to the bedroom doorway, Han reached his hand out instinctively and grabbed for the misplaced underwear. He hastily shoved them into the pocket of his jeans and stood up from the floor.

“All good! Got it working now.” He responded, still a bit out of breath.

You ran over to the A/C unit and breathed in the cold air. You shamelessly moaned from the sensation and thanked Han in an equally breathless voice.

Han walked out of your apartment as quickly as he could. You offered to pay him or even split a pizza but he made up some excuse about needing to get home right away. When he finally reached his own apartment, his heart was nearly beating out of his chest. He slid his hand into his pocket and felt the lace material against his fingertips. He groaned low as he slowly pulled the panties from his pocket and brought them up to his face, breathing in deeply.

The first initial contact of your scent flew up through his nostrils and straight to his brain. Every cell was on fire with lust. Desire was pumping through his face and it was all he could do not to whimper directly into the fabric draped across his face. He let your panties lay along the top of his face as he slid his hand down his pants. Any common sense that once occupied his mind was wiped away with the first whiff of your scent.

His hand slithered down past his waistband and found his cock easily like it had so many times before. But now there were already small beads of precum beginning to form and drip out of his needy tip. He was so achingly desperate for you. He could feel it. The way his hips moved into his hand like he was moving into you. He gripped his shaft tighter and picked up the speed ever so slightly. He leaned his head back against the door and imagined you sitting directly on his face. Perhaps he just pushed your panties aside. He imagined each lick he gave you, his tongue also gliding across the fabric of your panties. Just the edge of them, as you rocked your hips with the motion of his head. His tongue flicking and lapping your most sensitive spots.

Your panties shifted and moved on Han’s face as he continued to give his hard cock long, pleasing strokes. He whimpered softly into the material as it made its way to his open mouth. He tongue lolled out of his mouth as your lace panties coated his tongue. Han’s whimpers soon became louder and more pathetic as he tasted you. His tongue swirled around the delicate fabric of your stolen lace panties.

Han’s hand pushed through the final pumped until hot, thick ropes shot out and onto the floor. He let out a low, animalistic growl as he sprayed and covered where he stood. He laid his head back on the front door and sighed heavily. He felt satisfied and disgusting all at the same time. And he couldn't wait to do it again.

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[hannieoftheyear]

we're all stardust [x.mh]

During the day, he's the one you're supposed to be against, who you have to be better than. But in the darkness, when the sun sets and there's no one to witness but the moon and the stars, every year you find yourself in his arms.

⋆ ✧˖* pairing: minghao x gn!reader

⋆ ✧˖* w.c: 5,9k

⋆ ✧˖* genre: researchers au, rivals to ?, angst, smut. MDNI.

🎧: orbit — the8, hai cheng — the8

⋆ ✧˖* warnings: kissing, jealousy, unprotected sex, open ending. not really proofread.

check out my main masterlist ♡

⋆ ✧˖* note: it's my first writing a gender neutral reader, i'd really appreciate if you let me know if there are any mistakes :)

⋆ ✧˖* disclaimer! i know nothing about congresses or research groups, so i tried to make it as vague as possible, but i apologize if it makes very little sense

hope you like this! I'd love to read your thoughts ♥︎

Dew falls softly on the cloudy evening, the surprisingly empty dock at the beach blurred completely by the fog as the sun sets on the horizon. The soft sound of the waves reaching the shore eases the thoughts that have been tormenting you since the morning.

Every year is identical to the one before, and every night, you find yourself in the exact same spot, yearning for the calmness of the place to help you clear your mind.

The morning presentation haunts your every thought, the little mistakes made omnipresent as always, refusing to spare you a moment of peace.

A few steps echo behind you, slow but determined, and even if you choose not to turn around, there’s no denying that’s the same person whose face is burned at the back of your mind, ever present in the memories causing you trouble.

Minghao is a formidable researcher, intelligent as they come, with an enviable special talent for public speaking. A partner that everyone wants on their team and someone who no one wants to be against.

The first time you saw him, all those years ago, your first congress, and his second one, he walked around, leaving everyone starstruck on his way. Not particularly because of his looks, even if they’re an undeniable help, but it was his way with words, capable of convincing anyone listening of the theory of his research.

Smart, handsome, part of an award-winning research group. You were undeniably under his spell too.

But that first impression was short-lived. Days later, when it was your dreaded turn to defend the research you’ve been working on for over a year, that fantasy shattered right in front of your eyes as he, most elegantly, destroyed your hypothesis in a few sentences.

Your peers assured you that it was classical of that particular group, that it had nothing to do with you. They cheered you on all afternoon, even if they pitied you to some degree, and it was okay. You only had one night left at that too fancy hotel for the coveted congress you fought so hard to enter.

That night, at the same spot you're finding yourself at every year, you met him.

As you hugged your legs to your chest, planning a way to knock it out of the park the following year, he sat next to you, calm as he always was.

“You’re good.” He said, with the same truth telling tone he used to contradict your every point earlier that day.

“Thanks.” The crescent moon, up in the sky and beautiful as ever, provided with little moonlight, but it was enough to catch a glimpse of the side of his face, sharp as it was during the day, but with no trace of arrogance.

“I hope I wasn’t so harsh.” A glimmer of a smile appeared on the side of his mouth, timid and friendly, but it disappeared as his eyes caught yours.

“Not at all. You just demolished an entire year's worth of work in ten minutes.” You sounded hurt, like what he did was personal, which you knew it wasn’t, but at that hour of the night, you had no energy left to pretend.

“Sometimes we have to do that. We do what we need to win the funds.” His honesty caught you off guard, and the confession caused your anger to peak for a split second. But that’s what had to be done, and you knew it.

“Good to know I was a close competitor.” You found it in you to joke, and the chuckle he let out was a relief.

“Honestly, it was between yours and mine.” He replied frankly, made it impossible not to believe him.

Not much talking was done that night, the both of you enjoying the quietness after a long day of endless talking.

The following year, you were ready. You thought of every possible rebuttal, prepared every answer, practiced your speech double the times. You weren’t going to let your hard work get trashed in front of your colleagues again. Not by anyone. Not by him.

It was the way for you to prove yourself as a respectable investigator. Winning the research funds for your institute was the most important duty that week. And maybe catching the look in Minghao's face as you answered his every critique confidently.

That first day, when your name got sorted to go first, you knew you had won. Your presentation went as smoothly as it could possibly go, maybe with a stutter or two, but nothing to set your confidence back. And Minghao tried. Him and his team asked question after question, but you were two steps ahead. Regardless, he didn’t look appalled nor defeated. No. He was amused, a knowing smirk appearing as you answered his last question, looking him right in the eyes.

Those eyes hunted you until the sun fell from the sky, and you sat on the dock, admiring the stars that the city hides.

He found you again. Or maybe you went there hoping he'd show up. But there you were, sitting beside each other again, in the cold of the cloudless night, in a comfortable silence that both relieved and scared you.

“Do you usually come sit here?” Your voice sounded louder than expected.

“Mostly when I need a bit of peace. After days like today, for example.” Something in the calmness of his voice made you feel safe. Like that wasn’t the same man threatening the future of your investigation hours before.

“I like that the stars are visible here.” You settled on replying, with a slight fear of annoying Minghao, but deep down, knowing he wouldn’t be there if he minded your presence. “Too much light contamination in the city to appreciate them.”

“Sometimes, I sit here and count them. It’s really good to take your mind off something.” He agreed in his own way.

And that night, you realized you two were much more alike than you thought. He seemed ruthless on the stand, with the complicated vocabulary he used in his speech, and the way he twisted his questions to make it almost impossible to answer without sounding like an idiot, could frighten even the oldest colleague in your team.

But as you spent another night with him, very few words exchanged, giving a whole new meaning to silence, you felt like you were beginning to understand him. The constant murmur that surrounds every minute of the congress and the false smiles that made your mouth ache at the end of the day, it all affected him the same way it affected you. If not, he wouldn’t be seeking a safe place in the night, in the relaxing sounds of the waves crashing on the shore, in the cold breeze sweeping the loose sand on the beach.

That year, your institute won the research funds for the first time in years, and he was the first person to congratulate you.

The first time he kissed you, you had been expecting it all week.

It was a particularly hard year. Every research presented had huge potential, and not even Minghao’s team’s antics managed to cause a big enough commotion.

You and Minghao found yourselves sitting at the dock every night, restless, overthinking, attempting to clear your minds, and accepting that maybe neither of you was going to win that year.

That last night, after the winner was announced, and everyone either went out to celebrate or went to sleep already planning how to be better the following year, you were resting against the unreliable wood railing on the dock, somehow not sad because of the defeat, but rather glad that the week was finally over.

The sun hadn’t set yet, letting you see him as he walked over to your spot, with a light smile on his face.

“You look happy for someone who lost.” After the days you had been through together, your interactions had become friendlier. You allowed yourself to joke more often, and he showed his smile at every one of them.

“You know I don’t care about winning. They deserved it.” He rested his hip against the railing in front of you.

His ability to be relaxed even after losing rose to be the one thing you envied him the most for. Public speaking, it took practice, broad vocabulary, you learn words every day, but rising above what affected you, it was nearly impossible.

“I’m sure you’re already planning what to do next year.” The golden light as the sun began to set gave a softness to the features on his face that you had never noticed until then.

“I don’t know if I’m coming next year.” The disappointment you felt as his words reached your side of the dock couldn’t be described. You’d never admit it was because you longed to see him every year.

“They’d be stupid not to invite you.” You couldn’t even imagine the idea of him missing the year’s event.

“It’s not that.” He played with the hem of his sweater as if for the first time in his life, he was having trouble finding the right words to say. “I’m thinking of taking a few months to rest. I love what I do, but the past years wore me out.”

“You should do it.” You stated as a reply, not even a second later. Not because if he didn’t show up, it meant you had a bigger chance at winning, but because, once again, you understood him.

“Don’t encourage me only so you can win next year.” He stepped off the railing, walking towards you with a growing smirk.

You recognized the sarcasm in his tone but still rushed to continue.

“I beat you once, I can do it again. I don’t need you to be absent to win.” He chuckled, now standing in front of you, leaning into his hand beside yours on the railing. “But I mean it, whatever first draft hypothesis that’s written in your notes can wait, your wellbeing can’t.”

“Aw, you care about my wellbeing.” The few inches that separated your bodies made it impossible for you not to react to his teasing, and the smell of his cologne surrounding you intensified everything.

“I can’t have a lousy opponent.” Your eyes rolled in an attempt to appear like you didn’t care. But he knew better.

“You’ll have to get ready for when I return because I won't be holding back.” He tilted his head slightly to the side, convinced he had you where he wanted. Maybe he did.

“You've been holding back this whole time?” Deep down, you knew what you wanted. But his brain remained a mystery, leaving you expecting his next move.

“I never held back when being against you.” Teasing you with his honesty had become normal for him.

“Believe me, I know.” Competing with him gave you the drive to improve, whether you cared to admit it or not. “Your team’s still going to harass me with terrible questions, though.”

“It’s just one year, love, don’t miss me too much.” He said as he moved his hand closer to your waist.

He trapped you against the railing, both of your weights resting against the creaky wood. And from one moment to another, the piece where you’d been standing against that whole time broke and fell down into the waves below.

You’re sure you screamed, convinced you’d be drenched from head to toe in an instant, but Minghao got a hold of your waist and secured you in his arms.

When you realized what had happened, you were staring into his dark eyes, sun fully set, leaving the moon to guard you, and his face so close to yours that the only breeze you felt was his rushed breath against your skin.

“Would it be okay if I kissed you goodbye?” He asked, his face just barely moving away so he could see your reaction.

He was still holding you, like you could've vanished if he didn’t stay with his arms around you. You refused to stand up straight, relishing in the feel of being surrounded by him. And you didn’t hesitate for a second to nod at his request.

Minghao’s plump lips first touched yours timidly, but as one of your hands sneaked behind his neck and held him there, he took more initiative. He pressed harder against you, mouth moving over yours as his hands began to wander around your back.

Neither of you cared about the temperatures dropping or about the pending question of what this would mean to the both of you. The only thing that mattered in that moment was your bodies tangled together, mouths moving deliberately, high on the other's sighs, and hands keeping your chests flushed.

It's unknown for how long you two stayed there, possibly the longest goodbye ever in the history of man kind.

It was the strong cold wind that separated your poor-clothed and hot bodies. The dreaded farewell was uncertain, feelings and thoughts remaining undisclosed due to the fleetness of your relationship.

The stars on the sky were the only witnesses to the two rivals becoming one, a shared connection no one was aware of. In the dark of the night, the blue moonlight could conceal what didn’t want to be seen and your late nights together that were implicitly forbidden to be shared.

The year he returned, two years after that kiss that never left your mind, it was like he came back with three times the will to win. A research like no other, and a look in his eyes that didn’t hide his newfound drive.

That year, you can say you truly didn’t care about winning, your needs blurred by his presence. Everyone knew who was going to take the funds home, your whole team, his team, and everyone you talked to. It was a given.

Minghao was the talk of the week. The ruthless mastermind was back to prove himself. Smarter, colder, and somehow more handsome, he took the stand as if he had already won, presented the research that he started after his break, and answered every question with a growing smirk.

You went just after him, already defeated, a full circle moment after your first time. And when his eyes landed on you, you expected to receive a serious look, not knowing what happened in the time you hadn’t seen each other. But the millisecond he registered it was you in front of him, the smile you were growing to love showed up on his face.

It was a rushed reunion. So many more people had joined the congress in the two years before, so the organizers were rushing him to return to his seat and pressing you to stand on the stage quickly. You barely had time to greet each other with teeth showing smiles before you got separated.

During that week, he never showed up at the dock, probably being kept hostage by his colleagues to talk to everyone at the dinner parties that you always skipped.

It felt too lonely without him out there, even more so than the year he missed the congress. Knowing he was there, so close, yet so far, was worse than losing. Deep down, you hoped he wanted to be alone with you just as much as you.

But you knew those feelings were wrong to have. What feelings could you possibly have for someone who you saw once a year for a few hours? His life outside of the congress was a mystery to you, just as yours was a mystery to him.

That final day, after a week of non-stop talking to other people, he finally sat down by your side on the damp dock.

You were about to give up. After waiting and waiting, you had come to the conclusion that he simply didn’t want to see you.

But he did. And he came to you.

“I heard your friend won the funds last year.” Were the first words he uttered to you.

“No one came even close.” You forced yourself to look ahead, not wanting to look at him and feel something you shouldn’t.

“I didn’t know if you’d be here.” He said quietly, a ruffling sound coming from his side overpowering the strong wind’s noise.

“I came here every day.” You weren’t mad, but your brain was only capable of coming up with short responses. Those five words meant so much more. You hoped he'd understand them.

“I wanted to too, but they were dragging me to all those dinners.” It was nice hearing that, even if deep down you had already figured out why he wasn’t showing up.

The neurons in your brain weren’t connecting properly, failing to deliver a response to his honest explanation. Were you sure what you wanted to say to him? Was there even something to say?

“How was your break?” You’ve never asked personal questions before that, fearing you might cross the imaginary line you’d drawn.

“Boring.” He chuckled. “I wanted to work, but they basically locked me out of the institute.”

They hadn't fixed the broken railing on the dock, but a new lamppost lit up your spot almost frighteningly well, leaving your bodies out in the open for anyone to see.

“That was nice of them.” You could feel his eyes drilling holes on the side of your face. “You’re too stubborn.”

“You're one to talk.” Your dynamics luckily hadn’t changed, encouraging you to have a little hope.

You chuckled back in response but uttered no witty reply. For the first time in all the years you had known each other, the suffocating silence was uncomfortable.

The moon stared down at you, and you could only stare back, hoping that looking at the peaceful night sky might give you some answers.

“Isn’t it crazy that the moon was made from a part of earth?”

As you both were staring at the stars, avoiding one another, the question left your mouth before you could even stop it.

“Everything we see from here is made of the same elements.” There was a tone underneath his calmness that drove your head to turn to him.

“Yeah, that’s true,” When he connected his eyes with yours, you instinctively looked away, “but the moon was formed after the impact, and it still stayed after.”

By that point, you had no idea what you were saying, just blurting out words in hopes of filling the silence. You needed him to say what you longed for. You needed to know if what you were feeling at that moment, he felt too.

“Can we not do that.” You’ve never heard Minghao being mad before that moment, but as your whole body got covered in goosebumps, you were almost afraid of what he meant by that.

“Do what?” Against your will, you found yourself analyzing his expression.

“Being vague.” He said shortly.

“You’re not being very expressive either.” You sneered back, not angry but definitely bothered. He sighed deeply as you had caught him in his hypocrisy.

He wanted you to be expressive with what you wanted to say, but was he ready to hear how his lips were the only thing you were thinking about? How your will to even go to the congress that year came solely because you were going to see him again?

“Do you remember that night?” He asked quietly, interrupting your rambling mind by voicing out exactly what was troubling you, as if he could read your thoughts. He didn’t have to expatiate on what night he was referring to for you to know.

“The night we both lost?” You answered to torture him a bit, even if you were sure he knew you remembered.

“Yeah,” he said after a few seconds of thought, “I forgot about that, but yeah, that happened too.”

It was an oddly warm night, not even the morning rain or the breeze running across the beach could do something to lower the temperatures. Maybe it was the weather, or maybe it was your body heating up at the mention of that night, or Minghao's body so close to you again, but the red on your cheeks was noticeable from miles away.

“Why do you ask?” His mind was always a wonder. When he uttered his thoughts out to you, it was easy to understand him, but the inner workings of his brain were something out of this world.

“Do you still think about it?” You weren't exactly shocked by the question, but you still lost your breath for a second. “I gotta make sure I'm not the only one.”

The conversation after Minghao’s semi-confession became a blur. Your mouth stopped asking permission from your brain to come out with words, and your skin ached to feel his against you.

Moment after moment, step after step, between breathy kisses and longing touches, you stumbled into your lifeless hotel room, crossed the door with tangled limbs and flying pieces of clothing. Not bothered to turn on the lights, the open window provided with light-blue moonlight to burn the sight of Minghao’s naked body on your memory forever.

You didn’t expect it to happen again the following year. It was fine for you if it only happened once, but as you walked over to his sitting body on your claimed spot, you knew. You both tried to nonchalantly talk as always, but your attention was placed on his lips moving, on his hands supporting the weight of his body, on his overly flirty tone. It was inevitable to end up between his arms again.

The friendly competition continued. Your group would win, then the next year his did. Nothing really changed, except the recurring visits to each other’s bed at night, the late-night conversations now regularly held in between the sheets, his arm under your neck and yours around his naked torso.

Even if in the mornings you’d wake up alone in your bed, or sneak out before the sun rises if you ended up in his, you had an unspoken agreement that it shouldn’t slip into your daily lives. You had to pretend your skin hadn’t been permanently affected by his touch, control your lingering glances, and limit the times you said his name to your colleagues.

As you feel the warmth of his body sitting by your side, you can only think of him on top of you, his lips kissing every inch of skin they can reach as he presses into you. But soon, you remember why you were sitting alone for longer than usual at the dock, and everything turns a slight red shade. 

“Didn’t think you’d come today.” You coldly say, failing to mask your jealousy. 

You know you have no right to feel a claim over him. Why should you? You’ve never talked about your relationship beyond that kiss, and no one else knows about your recurrent encounters. It’s normal for other people to flirt with him, and you shouldn’t get mad if he flirts back. 

“I wouldn’t miss my second favorite time of the day.” Minghao replies like he knows what’s on your mind.  

“What would be the first?” You dare looking to your side and find his eyes on you, a smirk forming on his lips. 

“Seeing your face after I finish my presentations.” You chuckle instantly as he finishes those words, a vague thought that he’s flirting with you quickly getting shut down. 

“I’m sure there are a lot more faces you’d rather look at.” If he hadn’t caught on to your jealousy by now, then you just blurted out exactly what was needed for him to. 

His fingers tumble over yours, electrifying grazes erupting goosebumps from your hands up until the hair growing behind your neck. 

“Didn’t take you as the possessive type.” He teases, and you take the bait. 

It comes to a point where it’s impossible to hide what’s on your mind from him, so being honest is the best way to get what you want. 

“I’m not possessive,” you snap your hand away from his, and you catch his eyes ready to tease again, “and I’m not jealous either. I just… notice what you do and who you do it with.” 

“So, if you’re mad, I’m guessing it’s because you disliked it.” 

“I’m not mad.” You can’t be mad. “I come here to relax, can we not.” 

“You’ve been ignoring me.” In a perfect world, you’d believe his disappointed tone was because of you and not your arrangement. If that’s what’s it called. 

“I've just been doing other things.” Trying to shake him off your head. Trying to see if you could resist his pull. “You're one to talk. You haven’t been coming here.” 

It's weird to talk about your spot like it’s a ritual between you two. Maybe it is. 

“I came every day, just later. You need to be more patient.” 

“What? So, I’m just supposed to wait for you until you decide to show up?” Your calm tone evaporates by the end of the sentence, finishing with more anger than you'd wanted to show. 

“If you wanted to see me alone, then yes.” 

“Wow.” His audacity leaves you speechless, barely a cough of air on your lungs. “You’re mistaken if you think everything I do here revolves around you.” 

“I didn't mean it like that.” His eyes soften as he tries to correct himself. 

“Well, that's how it came out.” A deep breath is all you need to calm down and look him in the eyes. “The most important thing for me here is my work, my investigations, and my team. If your perception of me is any different than that, then you’re not as smart as you think you are.” 

The world around you becomes silent just in time for you to hear his whisper. 

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply anything.” The needy part of you begs to give in to him. But the rational part screams at you to turn away, that you can’t give into someone who thinks of you that way. “You're the most intelligent person here. Every year.” 

How dumb you are. Dumb enough to fall again. 

You began to stand up some time in your ramble, and his hold on your hand brings you back to earth. You want to run away from him, your feet ready to do so, but his soft eyes and his fingers caressing the back of your hand erode the edges of the decision-making part of your brain. 

“You can't fix everything by touching me.” It’s merely a way to let it go for a while, a temporary band aid that only hides the issue and doesn’t heal it. 

“I’m being selfish.” 

He brings your body to his, so close that his chest heaving makes contact with yours, and his face is all you can see. His hands wrap around your waist just like they’ve done countless times, so naturally that you can’t bring yourself to stop him. 

Time stops as your eyes catch his, a flash of a moment of doubt before you give in and close the short distance between your lips. 

Neither of you ever dare to speak up about the affair that’s been going on for years, the pushing and pulling of competing against one another and then falling into the other's arms. Those feelings only come to light when no one’s to witness, when your lips dance synchronized and your hands roam each other's body with a need that can only be seen by the sea and the stars. 

This late at night, the way to the hotel and up to one of your floors is always empty, like a desert away from the oasis you just left behind. Minghao leads you to his bedroom this time, his hand not letting go of yours during the short walk away from the elevator. 

Whatever you had planned to tell him falls down your priority list as he opens his door and traps you against the nearest wall. His plump lips chase yours, continuing what you were doing at the dock before deciding the spot wasn’t secure enough for what the kiss was becoming. 

Your clothes fall to the ground seamlessly, leaving you bare only for his touch to feel. His fingers graze and tease every part of you he knows will have you ready for him, and you sigh into his mouth at every one of them. 

Getting his clothes off takes more effort from your part, as he refuses to get his hands away from you. His skin that you craved the entire day to touch is finally at your reach, hot against the cold air coming in from his open window. 

Admit it or not, you’ve been ready for him to take you since the day you arrived. So, when your bodies move towards his bed and the soft sheets pillow your back, when he slots between your open legs, looking down at your body with indiscreet hunger, you don’t need preparation for him to slide in. 

Minghao stretches you open slowly, letting you feel everything as he makes his way inside of you. The drive of his hips against yours makes of you a moaning mess, hitting every spot that causes your legs to tremble like it’s his second nature. 

His sensual, deliberate thrusts make your body react in ways only he is capable of. He’s inside you, but you crave more, need more of him. Your hands find their way up to his neck and push him down so his lips meet yours once again, but his grunts and your sounds make it impossible for them to connect for more than a second, leaving you moaning into his mouth as he reaches that point that has you mumbling nonsense, mind blurred by the pleasure. 

He might be babbling something too, his mouth moving over to your ear telling you that much, but you hear none of it. Every one of your senses has stopped doing what they’re supposed to, their job now solely focused on pulling the stars off the sky and into the hotel's bedroom ceiling. 

Minghao's thrusts become less calculated, more erratic, and you close your eyes as your legs wrap around his waist as tight as possible to help him steady and push him further inside. 

The time passed could be something between five minutes and two hours, as when you’re with him you’re somewhere else where time isn’t a thing. But there's one thing you’re sure of. As his hands grope every bit of skin of your chest he wishes to, and your eyes open to find his already analyzing your every feature, the realization that your connection with him is a one in a lifetime occurrence hits you unexpectedly like a crash. 

But you can’t develop on that thought, not when Minghao speeds up, drilling into you as he chases his own orgasm. He pounds hard, determined to get you to cum with him, but you can’t help to think there’s something more to it. Something more in the way his eyes refuse to leave yours, in the way his hands caress the sides of your chest with more care. 

Sometime between his touch, your thoughts, and his thrusts, something inside you snapped, white flooding your eyes and ears as you come around Minghao, tightening around him, making his hips falter. 

You don’t want him to pull out, yearning for him to stay inside you forever if that meant you’d never have to leave his bedroom and pretend you two have no relationship past being competing colleagues. But that foolish wish can never be fulfilled, and your dream remains unspoken as he thrusts for the last time before pulling out of you and painting your stomach white. 

After lazily cleaning up, naked under the white sheets, you become a tangled mess once again, staring at nothing as the breeze coming from the window fills the silence. 

“Do you think we matter?” Your thoughts push you to ask. “As in, what we do in our lifetimes.” 

Minghao takes a few seconds to answer, his hand drawing circles on your side never stopping. “I think we, what we do, and our work all matters for us right now. But in the entire universe, considering the thousands of planets and millions and millions of years of history, we don’t.” 

“Are we really just a speck in time? That would make our lives completely meaningless.” 

If nothing matters, why do you have to hide? Why does your life revolve around things that seem much simpler when taking into account the entire world? 

“I don’t think of it that way.” He disagrees calmly, but not to argue with you. Only on the stand you’re forced to fight for your thoughts, but if there’s no one listening beside you two, and maybe one lonely bird flying past the window, you’ve never felt the need to prove your point to the other. “I think we’re part of something bigger than we can ever imagine.” 

“Are you saying we could be connected to something at the other end of the universe? Even if it’s billions of lights years away?” 

“Of course.” You chuckle at his quick answer, looking up at him from his chest, and he lowers his chin to be able to look at you. 

“Explain it to me.” It seems to be a recurrent thought in his mind, and with your love for his interpretations, and a want to understand his train of thought, you can’t repress the need to hear him talk about it. 

“Think of it this way.” He starts, now brushing your hair away from your face so nothing stands in the way of your connected eyes. “Everything we know came from the explosion that originated the universe, that means that, at one point, every object in space was close to the other, made from the same elements, and only after millions of years they grew apart.” 

“A poet might say that we’re all made of stardust.” You reply in a breathy chuckle, not knowing what to add to such a beautiful explanation.

“They’d be right.”

Silence envelops you once again, the crickets hidden outside making an appearance. There are so many questions hanging in the air waiting to be asked, but you can’t bring yourself to. Minghao’s chest heaves under your ear, calmly reminding you of his presence.

He falls fast asleep under you, never letting go of his grip around your waist. But too much is happening inside your mind to relax and fall asleep with him.

The stars watch you from outside the window, the only witnesses of every part of your relationship with Minghao. There’s a choice to be made. Does it matter? Or is everything meaningless in the long run?

But you can’t afford to think like that. Your life, your work, the work everyone around you does and lives to do, that’s what’s important. And even if he believes in what he said earlier, Minghao knows it, too. That’s why neither of you dare to change your current situation.

You could not get up as the sun rises. You could stay in bed with him. You could let his warmth drift you off to sleep. You could wake up in his arms and tell him every thought that has passed through your mind while he slept soundly. You could ask him about his true feelings regarding your relationship and you. You could do so much more than stay still in bed waiting for a sign in the night sky to guide you.

note: i just wanted to say, for what it's worth, that when i started writing this story, i didn't have an ending planned. So, i as i approached the end, it became so hard to write that i got stuck for weeks. An open somehow ending felt right.

thank you for reading <3 i'd love to hear your thoughts!

[fableforger]

How do the ROs react if the MC is all clingy in the morning? Like hugging them from behind, softly begging them to stay, refusing to let go because ‘nooo don’t go to work yet 🥺’? Would any of them stay? Would some pretend to resist but secretly love it? Would anyone be immune?? I need to know who crumbles and who teases 😭🫶

Oh, thank you for this question. 🧡 Let’s wander into their mornings together:

Beware: Since this is a RO-related ask, there may be minor spoilers ahead. Please keep scrolling if you’d prefer to stay unspoiled.

..............................................................................................................................

Alexos / Alexa: They’d struggle. Not because they don’t want to stay (gods, they do) but because duty’s claws are already in their back. So they’d wrap you up in their arms for a fleeting moment, press a kiss to your forehead like it means everything (because it does), and leave. Fast. Efficient. Focused. But it will be noticeable how quickly they return. They won’t speak of it, but it’s written in the way they walk back to you like they were holding their breath the whole time.

???: Stay? Of course she stays. She flops right back into the blankets with a laugh, tucks herself into your side like it’s the most natural place in the world, and forgets entirely that she was supposed to be somewhere two hours ago. Eventually, someone very annoyed will show up to drag her out the door while she pouts and blows you a kiss. Regret? None. She’d do it again.

Drakon: If he truly has to leave, nothing can stop him. Not even you wrapped around his waist like the world depends on it. But it’s fine. He just picks you up. Under one arm, or draped over his shoulder, you’re coming with him. “Clingy?” he murmurs, amused. “Then cling. I don’t mind.” And he means it. You might just end up pressed to his back while he sharpens a blade, utterly unbothered.

Theron / Thera: You look at them with those eyes. Soft, pleading, sleepy. And that’s it. They fold like dew-soaked grass. A quiet sigh, a whisper of, “Just a little longer…” They’re already rearranging themselves to cradle you closer, lips brushing your hair. Later, they’ll mumble something about missed responsibilities, but they won’t regret a second of it.

Zephiron / Zephyra: Oh, they’ll smile. They’ll let you tug them close, hands sliding around their waist. They'll even melt a little when you whisper against their skin. But they’re wind, love. And wind doesn’t stay caged. So they kiss you, soft, slow, unfairly good, and then, while you’re blinking at the ceiling, they vanish like a ghost in the Underworld. “Miss me today, will you?” The words brush your ears like falling feathers. Then you’ll hear laughter fading down the hall. And you know: you will miss them.

Dorian / Dione: They complain. Gods, they complain. But they don’t move. Instead, they rest their cheek against your temple and stay exactly where you want them. If anything, they shift closer. You’ll notice it: The flicker of something too warm in their violet eyes. They won’t say a word, but you’ll know. They love this.

Rhaelos / Rhaela: They hesitate. Duty looms, justice calls, and their mind says go. But you look up at them with that ache in your voice, that sadness they can’t quite read. Is it playfulness? Or… do you truly need them right now? And that question alone roots them. They stand there, still and unsure, until you reach up, press a kiss to their cheek, and whisper, “It’s okay. Go.” They nod, grateful you freed them from the duty to you, so they can honor the others.

[actuallybean]

The Lakes*

In exile among wildflowers and silence, a goddess seeks to unbecome — until the god of mischief finds her sanctuary and asks, not for forgiveness, but for a place beside her in the stillness. *Contains sexual material: Minors DNI. Lots of fluff Inspired by "The Lakes" by Taylor Swift Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Reader Tag list: @mostlymarvelgirl Marvel Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You left the golden halls behind. Left the sharp cut of court whispers, the burn of expectation pressed into your spine like a branding iron. You left the realm that raised you, and the gods who forged you into something divine — because all the power in the universe meant nothing without peace.

You found that peace on Midgard, in a forgotten pocket of land that even mortals had abandoned — wild and still, tucked between towering cliffs and the deep, glacial curve of a lake that mirrored the sky. No palace. No thrones. Just a small, weathered stone cottage covered in moss, a firewood stack beside the door, and the hush of wind through evergreens that sounded like a lullaby.

You told no one where you went. Not even him. Not even Loki.

But he found you.

You don’t know how long he searched. You only know that one morning, while the mist still hugged the water and dew clung to the grass like the last breath of the night, you turned from your herb garden and there he stood — a dark silhouette at the edge of the clearing, soaked in fog and silence, as though the gods themselves had carved him out of shadow and sorrow.

He didn’t speak. Neither did you. You only stared — into those green eyes that once held mirth like fireflies, now dimmed by distance and time. His hair was longer than you remembered, damp and curling at the ends. His cloak hung heavy around him, as though it had weathered a thousand storms.

You didn’t rush to him. And he didn’t plead.

He just stepped forward, slowly. Like approaching a deer in the forest. Like he knew that one wrong move would scatter this fragile miracle back into smoke.

“I dreamed of this place,” he said quietly. His voice cracked at the edges. “I didn’t know it was real.”

You said nothing. Your throat was tight with unshed things — anger, longing, relief, fear. But you nodded.

It was real. You were real. And somehow, after all that had passed between you — the wars, the betrayals, the ache of nearly loving him in secret, in silence — he was here. Flesh and breath and breaking heart.

The wind stirred your hair as you took one step toward him. Then another. Until you were close enough to feel the warmth rising from his skin, to see the fine tremble in his hands.

“I came to forget everything,” you whispered. “To become no one. To stop being what they needed and just… be.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Do you want me to leave?”

You looked at him — really looked — and your heart, so carefully stitched back together in solitude, gave one final sigh of surrender.

“No,” you said, your voice low. “I want you to stay.”

✦

And he did.

At first, he slept on the floor beside the fire. Said nothing of your silence. Helped with your garden. Cooked over flame and brewed tea from wild mint. You would catch him staring sometimes — at the curve of your jaw, the back of your hand, the way your shoulders moved when you carried wood in the morning. But he never touched you. Never asked.

He waited.

And slowly, day by day, the tight coil inside you began to loosen.

You laughed. Once, then twice. You taught him which flowers bloomed first in the spring, how to coax honey from combs without angering the bees. He told you stories in return — not the grand ones of Asgard, but quiet things. How he used to sneak away as a boy to hide by a waterfall no one else knew. How he read poetry in stolen silence. How loneliness had become a language he learned to speak fluently.

And one night, as twilight spilled silver across the water and the fire warmed the stones of your cottage, you sat beside him on the woven rug. Your shoulders brushed. You didn’t move away.

His hand lay beside yours, so close you could feel the pulse in his wrist. You looked at it. He noticed.

“I won’t take,” he said, voice low. “Not ever again. You would have to give.”

So you did.

You laced your fingers through his. Slowly. Softly. A whisper of skin against skin. He turned his head toward you, and his eyes — gods, his eyes — were filled with more wonder than you had ever seen in all the stars.

And when he kissed you — finally, sweetly — it was not the kiss of a trickster god or a prince. It was the kiss of a man who had waited lifetimes to be chosen. And he kissed you like you were something sacred.

That night, you lay together by the fire, still clothed, simply holding each other like the world might shatter if you let go. He slept with his face buried in the curve of your neck, your fingers tangled in the ends of his hair.

It was the first time he had ever truly rested.

It was not until the first full moon of summer that you invited him into your bed — not out of loneliness, but because the ache inside you had turned to something bright and undeniable.

You waited until the water had turned gold with dusk, until the last candle burned low beside your bed. Then you reached for him.

And now, here you are, beneath him, the world quiet outside your walls. His fingers trace every inch of you like scripture. He whispers your name like a prayer. And you fall into him with trust and trembling need.

✦

The night wrapped around you like a silken shroud, cool and endless, the stars spilling like scattered diamonds across the heavens. The fire's glow flickered, casting soft golden shadows that danced across Loki’s face — the god’s emerald eyes locked on you with a fierce tenderness that made your breath catch and your heart thunder in your chest.

His hands trembled slightly as he reached for you, as if touching you was a sacred act — one to be honored, revered. Slowly, reverently, Loki’s fingers traced the delicate curves of your arms, sending sparks of warmth shooting through your skin. The touch was featherlight, but the electricity beneath it was undeniable, a silent hymn of desire.

With painstaking care, he peeled away the shimmering threads of your gown, revealing the smooth expanse of your skin, pale and radiant beneath the moonlight. Each inch of flesh he exposed was like a verse in a sacred poem, sacred and breathtaking.

His eyes darkened with awe as he drank you in, voice barely more than a breath. “You are more beautiful than the sunlit realms, more radiant than the stars themselves.”

Your pulse quickened, a mix of reverence and anticipation curling through your veins like liquid fire. When Loki’s hands traced the curve of your collarbone, fingertips feathering over sensitive skin, you shivered, leaning into the touch as though seeking to melt into him.

His lips brushed your neck, gentle and worshipful, each kiss a tender benediction that made your senses blaze alive. You arched toward him involuntarily, craving the warmth of his breath, the promise whispered in the tremble of his voice.

“You are mine,” he murmured, his voice thick with devotion. “My goddess. My heart.”

Your fingers tangled in the dark strands of his hair, pulling him closer until his mouth claimed yours in a kiss both fierce and tender, a sacred exchange of yearning and belonging.

Loki’s hands roamed over your body, worshipping every curve — the swell of your breasts rising and falling beneath his touch, the delicate hollow of your waist where his fingers curled with gentle possessiveness. You gasped softly when he cupped one breast, thumb circling the soft, taut skin with exquisite care, sending shivers racing down your spine.

His mouth followed the path his hands traced, lips trailing kisses from your jaw to the tender swell of your throat, to the edge of your shoulder where he nipped gently, eliciting a breathy moan.

The world narrowed to sensation — the heat of his body pressed against yours, the warmth of his hands, the sweet ache blooming low in your belly. Loki’s fingers dipped lower, exploring the curve of your hip, the smooth planes of your thighs, each touch a silent prayer.

When his hand brushed the sensitive skin between your thighs, you parted your legs instinctively, welcoming the delicious friction, the promise of more. Loki’s eyes searched yours for permission, and when you gave it with a trembling nod, a slow smile curved his lips.

He knelt between your thighs, breath warm and steady as his fingers teased the delicate folds, coaxing you to bloom beneath his touch. You trembled with anticipation, every nerve alight with need and reverence.

Loki’s tongue traced a path along your inner thigh, warm and teasing, a stark contrast to the cool night air that kissed your skin elsewhere. When his lips finally settled on the soft, most sensitive place, the exquisite heat of his mouth sent a shudder through you, your fingers clutching the moss beneath.

He worshipped you like a god would worship a goddess — with reverence, patience, and fierce, tender hunger. His tongue flicked and swirled, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing over you in intoxicating rhythm.

Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling as Loki’s hands gripped your hips to steady you, to anchor you to this sacred moment. You gasped softly, voice a broken whisper as his mouth worked magic beneath you.

Slowly, impossibly slowly, he lifted his head, eyes shimmering with adoration and desire. “Tell me what you need,” he murmured, voice husky with longing.

You reached down, fingers trembling as you brushed the length of his jaw, then pressed into the silken strands of his hair. “You,” you whispered. “I need you.”

Loki smiled, a slow, deep smile that promised worlds and centuries of devotion. He moved with a languid grace, shedding his cloak and tunic until bare skin met bare skin, the heat of him a living fire against your chilled flesh.

When he finally pressed himself against you, the divine weight of him was grounding, a sacred union that transcended the physical. The initial press, the slow, tantalizing stretch — every inch of Loki entering you was a prayer, a blessing whispered in the language of love and longing.

Your bodies moved together in a timeless rhythm — slow, deliberate, every movement an exploration of devotion and desire. Loki’s hands cradled you, thumbs stroking your skin as he leaned in to brush kisses along your collarbone, your shoulder, the shell of your ear.

You moaned softly, the sound a sacred hymn, echoing through the night air.

With every motion, your senses exploded — the rough strength of Loki’s hands, the warmth of his breath, the steady beat of his heart pounding beneath your palm. You felt his vulnerability as fiercely as his power, the fragile god who dared to bare his soul to you alone.

The night stretched on, endless and tender. Your bodies entwined in a sacred dance — a weaving of shadow and light, fire and ice, god and goddess united beyond time.

When at last the waves of pleasure broke over you like a tidal surge, you clung to Loki, breathless and trembling, the aftershocks pulsing through your veins like liquid starlight.

He held you close, lips pressed to your temple, whispering the words only you would ever hear.

“You are my forever,” he vowed. “My light in the endless dark.”

And as you nestled against him beneath the watchful stars, you knew this truth — in Loki’s arms, you had found your sanctuary, your home, your eternal love.

[revelboo]

WAIT!!! those little blokees are coming to walmart!? Ahhh i need them so bad! can't wait to see who I'll get! 🙏😫

I’m so ecstatic to see Blokees in a store, they’re getting more mainstream so hopefully they’ll keep making them. I need the Scavengers, TFP versions, more bugs…

Coin-Operated Boy Pt 6

Steve x Reader

• Nose wrinkling when your eyes are drawn inexorably to the glowing thing Steve had gifted you and really hoping that glow isn’t radioactivity, you’d ended up using it as a side table for your favorite chair. And it doubles as an only slightly unsettling nightlight. That might be irradiating you. Sighing, you head into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Sleepily yawning, you catch a flash of red glow through the window a foot from your face and scream, dropping the glass to shatter in the sink as your heart races. It’s like you’d summoned him just by thinking about him. Mouth open as Steve lifts a hand.

• Backing away at the sound of your muffled scream, his plating flares slightly before settling. Hadn’t meant to scare you, but Soundwave’s little pet had given him so many ideas. And Soundwave himself hadn’t hurt him for talking to them. Just stared him down, an arm lifting to point at the door after finding him, those tendrils of his lashing behind him. Threatening, but not punishing him. Shifting to try and track you through your little dwelling, he shifts on his peds. Finally, the door opens and he hesitates. What are you wearing? It’s very short, very thin and those fluffy things on your feet have faces.

• “Steve, sweetie, it’s one in the morning,” you manage, heart still pounding as he slowly kneels in front of you in the dew soaked grass. And his head tilts to make you think that time probably doesn’t matter that much to him. But at least it’s only him and not a bunch of his buddies to stare at you with that weird, almost reverence. And he’s lifting an arm toward his chassis and just pulling stuff out of nowhere like a magician as your mouth falls open. A fistful of boxed candy, stuffed animals, and part of someone’s rose bush is held out to you.

• Offering you the gifts he’d spent so much time finding and secreting away in his subspace, he waits as you just stare. “You didn’t seem to like my other gift,” he says, holding his hand closer, waiting. Doesn’t any of it appeal to you? The other human had seemed so sure these things would be liked. Needs to properly thank you for your kindness, his little human. He’s altered his patrols to include your dwelling so he can look after you, convinced some of his brothers to do the same so you’re protected at all times.

• Because you have no idea what his other gift even was, but he’s bending, leaning over you, visor dimming slightly. Will it hurt his feelings if you refuse? Reaching, you pick up a stuffed dog, smoothing a thumb over its soft face. “You don’t have to thank me for helping you. It was the right thing to do.” And his head tips, alien and unreadable. Like he doesn’t understand someone being kind, reminding you of how he’d reacted when you’d helped him. That he hadn’t seemed to trust that you weren’t going to harm him. Like he’s really not used to any kindness and your heart aches for him.

• Watches you shuffle to the side as he reaches past you, movements slow so he doesn’t spook you and deposits the rest of your gifts inside your dwelling. “You’re under Vehicon protection,” he says and you hug the stuffed animal to yourself, staring up at him. “Debts must be repaid in kind.” Hesitating, he slowly brushes the back of his servo against your arm, nudging you back into your dwelling. “I’m watching over you.”

• Why does that sound more like a threat than anything else. Not sure what to say as he gently nudges you inside and you hear his servos scraping the door as he tries to close it until you end up pushing it closed with a foot. What does he mean by watching over you? Peeking through the blinds, you see him fold up, transforming into a car in your yard a foot away from your door with his front wheels in your flower bed on your pansies. Oh, yeah that looks normal. The neighbors are going to think you were drunk. Wait. Is he staying the night? Too tired to try and figure out how his mind works, you grab a box of chocolates and shuffle upstairs to your bed. Not about to deal with the half a rose bush in your living room this early in the morning.

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