#i DO think there’s a tiny bit of that feeling. i think if he had been alive when jaime got back there would have been some PROBLEMS.

[slutla]

warnings: 18+, nsfw kinda (?), mostly suggestive tho, dry humping/grinding in public(?) afab! reader. indecency on public transportation. mark grayson. uhh he gets needy n desperate n wants 2 fuck idk

an: i had too much fun writing this icl, was heavily inspired by that one scene where omni man basically holds his head and crashes him in2 a train. don’t ask why idk either :3

This has to be some form of torture, Mark thinks. Not dramatic, just honest. You’d said you wanted the “real” Chicago experience. No flying, no speeding across rooftops, no superhero shortcuts. Just buses. Trains. Walking. Crowds. He hadn’t really thought it through when he agreed—just saw that excited look on your face and folded like a paper crane.

Now he’s regretting every decision that led to this moment. The train is packed. Sweaty despite the cold. Loud. You’re squished into the corner, and he’s right behind you, too close. Close enough to hear the way you exhale through your nose when the train lurches, close enough that his hand keeps brushing your side every time the car shifts.

You’re wearing that jacket he likes. He’s not supposed to notice that. But it smells like your perfume, and it’s driving him insane. You shift slightly, trying to make room, and it just presses your back more into his chest. He swears under his breath and stares hard at the wall.

This was supposed to be cute. An adventure. Maybe even romantic. But it’s turning into a slow, claustrophobic descent into madness—where he’s hyper-aware of every inch of you and desperately trying not to show it. You turn your head, looking back at him and say, casually as ever, “You doing okay back there?”

“Peachy,” he mutters. You laugh. He feels it more than hears it—vibrating through your spine, right against him. Mark’s been weirdly quiet since you boarded. He’s tall, broad, and currently using every bit of that to shield you from the crowd like some kind of human barrier. In a way, it looks like he’s doing you a favor—keeping the strangers at bay, making sure no one elbows you in the ribs or steps on your shoes.

But really, it’s a favor to himself. Because the moment the two of you got forced into this position—your back to his chest, nowhere to move, barely enough air between you—his body started betraying him.

You can feel it. Every jolt of the train, every hiccup in the tracks, creates a flicker of friction that goes straight to the space between you. And while you decide to stay still for now, pretending to scroll through your phone like nothing’s happening, you don’t miss the way he shifts just a little—like maybe if he angles his hips differently, it’ll stop. Like he doesn’t want you to notice.

Poor thing’s trying so hard to be respectful. But the way your ass fits perfectly nestled against him, the way every tiny sway of the train drags his semi-hard cock right along that curve—it’s making it nearly impossible. Makes his dick throb in excitement.

His fingers are white-knuckled around the rail, jaw locked so tight it’s a miracle his teeth don’t crack. He’s doing everything he can to keep still, keep quiet, keep from bucking forward and rutting into you like he’s lost every shred of self-control. You’re not helping anymore.

You roll your hips, agonizingly slow, grinding your ass right into him, and he chokes on his breath. A whiny, desperate groan rips from his throat before he can clamp it down—so raw and filthy it sends a shiver through you. You feel it through his pants—his cock twitching against you, straining, begging.

He wants to move. Wants to rut and push you up against the wall of this train and grind his leaky, needy cock into you until he’s dizzy. The heat is unbearable. The pressure in his jeans is starting to ache. If he had any less discipline, it’d be over already. Right here, in public. With you.

You tilt your head just slightly, voice sugar-sweet and cruel. “You sure you’re okay, Mark?”

He breathes in sharp through his nose, exhales even slower, and clenches his jaw hard enough to ache.

And right then and there, he decides this is the last time he listens or agrees to partake in these dumb ideas.

[revelboo]

Poor Shockwave mining and digging old memories he can't seem to remember. Makes me wondering what really happened between the Reader and senator shockwave.

Yeah, I wasn’t that enthusiastic about writing the good senator, because we know what happens to him. Same with Megatronus Prime, but people kept asking. So I’m figuring out their stories as I go, but Megatronus’s will likely be a happy for now ending with the story stopping before Sentinel betrays the Primes for power. Whereas this one… is a bit harder, but I think I know where I’m going

The Worst Is Yet To Come Pt 5

Senator Shockwave x Reader

• Eyeing him as messes with your console and his weird tablet, you blow out a breath. “Sure. Take away my only means of contacting another human. That’s fine,” you mutter as you debate whether to put your heavy gear back on. It’s not like the giant cares if you’re in your underwear, but it’s smothering with it on and cold with it off. Wish you had any idea what he was thinking, because his face seems almost kind as he glances at you. But maybe he’s just learning all he can about you before he decides to embalm you and stick you in a jar beside toothy over there.

• “Is that what you are? Human?” He asks as you fidget with your gear, pleased that the language patch came through and seems to be working. But he’s never heard of humans before, although, there are so many organic races scattered through the stars that it’s not too odd. Watches your hands still and your head tip up to stare at him as your mouth falls open. “Hello, little one.”

• “You can understand me?” You blurt, excitement spinning you tight, because you can understand him, too. Thank goodness. “You have no idea what it’s like to get slung somewhere and everyone’s giant. No one understands you and they chase you.” And you’re crying despite yourself, so thankful you can talk to him, understand each other. “Do you know where the other humans ended up?” If you can find the others, someone might be able to figure out a way home, because you have nothing.

• Holding up a hand as you excitedly babble, tiny fingers fisting in your suit and he flinches when you start leaking, tears rolling down your cheeks. “You’re the only human I’ve ever seen before,” he mutters, spark aching at your distress. Such a little, helpless thing. Making him want to make promises he’s not sure he can keep. To get you back to your people. “Start at the beginning, how did you get here?”

• Scrubbing at your eyes as the tears of relief just keep coming, you offer him a tremulous smile. Because he’s listening. Trying to help and you’re sobbing, breath catching like a frightened kid. Trying to explain it right when you know next to nothing about the science that got you here. You’d just been a paid volunteer. Expendable and hasn’t needed to know how the gate worked. But he listens to your convoluted story, only interrupting to ask questions. But you feel lighter, hopeful he’s going to help you go home.

Previous

[wordsofwhimsy]

❀ꗥ～𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 ～ꗥ❀

❀ꗥ～ Part Three ～ꗥ❀

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x Southern Belle!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice-of-life, southern charm still thick as molasses in the middle of a snowstorm, Mark starts tweakin’ a lil’ bit on the low LMAO

Word Count: 2,449

Synopsis: Mark shows up to school early only to be immediately wrecked by you, who’s handing out muffins & heartache. Mark finds himself caught between charm, jealousy, and the slow realization that he is already in waaay too deep.

a/n: thank you for the feedback on the poll but y’all are just as torn on the direction to go with this thing as I am ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i really don’t want to drag this series out too longgg cause i feel like y’all will get sick of her, but there is so much fun potential with them!! so when i do wrap it up i definitely still plan to do random drabbles/blrubs/headcannons. so if you have a particular scenario you want to see played out with these two let me knowww

read part two ❀ꗥ～Here! ～ꗥ❀

The next day, Mark got to first period a full fifteen minutes early.

He wasn’t trying to be extra—he just, y’know, happened to wake up earlier than usual. Showered for an extra minutes. Stared into his closet for even longer.

It was row after row of sweaters.

Gray sweater. Navy sweater. Slightly-different-gray sweater. The exact same maroon one he wore yesterday, and probably twice last week.

“Why do I own so many sweaters,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s not even cold.”

He glanced at the clock. He had exactly twelve minutes to leave the house if he wanted to be on time. But today wasn’t about being on time.

Today was about impressing the southern goddess who fed him homemade pie and called him sugar like it didn’t wreck his entire nervous system.

He yanked the maroon sweater off its hanger and immediately dropped it again. “No. You wore that when you met her. You can’t wear a sweater twice in a row, she’ll think you’re... sweater guy.”

He reached deeper. Somewhere in the back—past the knit graveyard—and he found an old, forgotten denim button-up he hadn’t worn in ages.

“…Okay. Alright.” He held it up, inspecting it like it might bite. “It’s not not cool. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

By the time he was out the door, he was buttoned up, hair freshly styled, smelling faintly like his dad’s aftershave (too much? was it too much?), and on track to arrive at school earlier than any teenager had ever willingly arrived before.

He passed one of the janitors on the way in. The guy looked at him weird.

Mark nodded like a man with a mission. “Big day.”

The janitor grimaced and went back to mopping.

Mark made it to class so early the lights weren’t even fully on yet.

He sat down, tried to play it cool, tapped his pen like he wasn’t losing his mind.

And then—you walked in.

Suddenly the semi-lit classroom felt too bright.

You were wearing another one of those flowy dresses—soft blue this time, with little white daisies scattered all over like a watercolor painting. Your hair was curled again, bouncing around your shoulders, and there was a tiny yellow bow tucked just behind your ear.

You were smiling, too. Big and bright, like it wasn’t still technically dark outside.

Mark forgot what breathing was.

“Good mornin’, sugar!” you chirped, dropping into the desk beside him in a way that almost made the hard plastic seem comfortable. “Ain’t it just the prettiest day?”

Mark looked outside.

It was overcast. Kinda windy. A bird hit the window and flopped off.

“…Yeah,” he croaked. “Gorgeous.”

You opened your notebook with a little hum, pulling out a pen that had a fuzzy pink pom-pom on the end. Different from your rhinestone student pencil from yesterday. Of course you had a whole arsenal of beautiful writing utensils.

Mark stared at it like it held all the answers to the universe.

“I brought peach muffins today,” you said, casual as ever. “Meemaw said I should bring a whole batch with me ‘cause they were too good not to share. I figured I’d bring you one.”

Mark’s felt like a fist had closed around his heart. “I’d die for a muffin.”

You laughed, light and lovely, not even fazed. “Well shoot, I don’t want you dyin’ for one. You just wait ‘til lunch and I’ll hand it over easy, no crime involved.”

Mark stared at you, helpless.

You turned your face to the window with a little sigh, completely unaware you’d just accidentally ruined him for every other girl on planet Earth.

The bell rang.

Mark didn’t even notice.

He was too busy falling deeper in love with the girl who brought sunshine and muffins into first period like it was nothing.

He was still riding the high of being called sugar and getting a personal smile when the classroom started to fill in.

You were already sitting beside him, scribbling little daisies in the margins of your notes and humming to yourself like you were the only one immune to Tuesday energy. You pulled a small zip-lock pouch from your tote and opened it to reveal a cluster of wrapped muffins, all neat and warm and clearly made with care.

“Good morning, sweetheart!” you said brightly—to the teacher.

Mark watched with stars in his eyes as you stood, walked to the front desk, and handed the teacher a muffin with both hands and a smile. “Mama always says nobody should have to start their day without a little somethin’ sweet.”

The teacher blinked, clearly caught off guard, then smiled back. “Well... thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

Mark practically swooned. Look at her, he thought. She’s so thoughtful. She’s so considerate. She’s like a vintage greeting card but better. An actual saint.

You turned around, still holding one more muffin in your hand—and then you walked right past Mark’s desk.

He froze. Wait. No muffin for him?

But then—worse—you stopped beside Brian.

Brian. The kid with glasses thicker than bulletproof glass. The one who wore suspenders without irony. Who once gave a ten-minute speech in class about his favorite graphing calculator.

You handed him a muffin.

“There ya go, sugar,” you said sweetly. “You always look so focused in here—I figure you deserve a treat.”

Brian turned bright red. “Oh! Uh! Thanks! That’s, um—wow. Thank you.”

Mark, from two desks away, silently short-circuited.

Brian?? He liked Brian! Brian was harmless! Brian was also now the luckiest man alive and probably didn’t even know it!!

Mark stared blankly at his own desk. The jealousy was illogical. He knew that. You were just being friendly. It was who you were. That was why he liked you so much.

Still.

He looked down at his empty hands, then at Brian, who was carefully placing his muffin into a Ziploc bag like it was a museum artifact.

Mark was still trying to pretend he didn’t feel weird about the whole Brian Situation™ when you turned back to him with your usual sunny grin—muffin bag in hand.

He straightened in his seat like a dog hearing the treat bag rustle.

“Don’t you worry, darlin’,” you said, tapping the top of the bag like it held gold. “I got your muffin all safe and sound for lunch.”

Mark blinked. “Oh—cool. Thank you.”

“But,” you added, eyes twinkling, “you look like you could use a little somethin’ sweet right now.”

His heart started to race. “I—I mean I—uh—”

You reached into the bottom of the muffin bag, broke off a little piece of golden, peach-flecked heaven, and held it out to him between your fingers.

“Open up.”

Mark’s soul left his body.

He opened his mouth automatically, like he was under some kind of southern-fried spell, and you gently popped the bite in—still smiling, totally casual, like this was just what people did.

The muffin was warm and soft and ridiculous. A spiritual experience.

You went right back to your notes like nothing had happened.

Mark sat there in stunned silence, chewing slowly, eyes wide like a soldier returning from war.

LATER THAT DAY — LUNCH.

Mark was already outside when you arrived—waiting under the tree like a man on a mission, trying to act like he hadn’t sprinted there the second the bell rang.

You showed up, bright as ever, holding that pastel lunchbox like it was the Holy Grail.

“Well hey, handsome,” you greeted, sitting gracefully beside him. “Hope you saved some room. I brought you the biggest one.”

He smiled—more like grinned—more like beamed. “Yeah, totally. Been thinking about it all day. Like… not in a weird way. Just. Y’know.”

You laughed, pulling out your container.

Then, completely oblivious to the emotional avalanche you were about to cause, you added: “Oh! And where’s your little friend? The one from yesterday? I brought extra for him too!” You took another cheerful bite of your muffin and glanced around the courtyard.

Mark froze mid-chew.

“William?” he asked, already knowing where this was going.

You nodded, casual as ever. “Mmhmm. I could’ve sworn he was in line for those lil’ curly fries they serve.” You pulled the spare muffin from your bag, holding it up delicately in its wax paper like it was a peace offering. “Wouldn’t feel right eatin’ this one without givin’ it to him. Poor thing’ll think I forgot about him!”

Mark’s smile was pained. “Oh. Yeah. That’s… thoughtful.”

You grinned, totally oblivious to the internal meltdown you’d just triggered. “I’m pretty sure he’s still in there honey. Go get him!”

He blinked. “What?”

You laughed gently, like he was being shy. “Go on, darlin’! Tell him I saved one just for him. He can come sit with us.”

Mark’s brain:

💔 This was our thing. 💔 Our spot. 💔 Our tree. 💔 Our muffin moment. 💔 Our marriage announcement was going to go here.

But all he said was, “…Right. Be right back.”

He stood up slowly, like he was going to the guillotine. “You sure you don’t wanna… I don’t know… surprise him later?”

You laughed again and shook your head. “Now don’t be silly. Ain’t no sense lettin’ this thing go cold!”

He nodded, a broken man. “Right. Of course. Warm muffins. That makes sense.”

You waved him off with a sweet little, “Tell him I said hurry, before I eat it myself!”

As he turned toward the cafeteria, he muttered under his breath, “…I was gonna marry her.”

Mark all but slammed through the cafeteria doors, eyes scanning the room like he was hunting prey.

There. At the far table. William, munching on curly fries like it was just another day, chatting with some guy from math class like the fate of Mark’s entire romantic future wasn’t on the line.

Mark rushed over, practically skidding to a stop in front of him. “Will,” he hissed, out of breath, eyes intense. “Please don’t ruin this.”

William blinked. “Ruin what? What’s happening? Are we being hunted?”

Mark leaned in, voice urgent. “She sent me to come get you. You. Personally. She has a muffin for you.”

William raised both brows. “...Oh. So this is about Muffin Girl.”

Mark looked around, already twitching. “She’s waiting under the tree. Our—my—spot. Please, please, I’m begging you, don’t linger. Just take the muffin, say thank you, maybe one polite compliment on her dress if you have to, and leave.”

William paused, chewing slowly, savoring the moment like it was his own muffin.

“Wow,” he said. “You’re spiraling.”

“I’m in hell,” Mark whispered. “I am in hell and she’s passing out baked goods like this is a church potluck. I need this.”

William popped one last curly fry in his mouth and stood. “Alright, alright. Don’t rupture anything. I’ll be cool.”

“You won’t be,” Mark muttered, following him out. “I know you. You’re gonna make this weird.”

William grinned over his shoulder. “Buddy, you brought me a muffin invitation like it was a golden ticket. This is weird.”

Mark groaned.

You spotted them before they even made it halfway across the lawn.

Mark looked like he was dragging William toward you by the soul. William, on the other hand, looked entirely unbothered—curly fry in one hand, mild mischief in his eyes.

“Well there he is!” you called out, waving that sweet little wave that made Mark’s knees go weak. “I was just about to send a search party.”

William grinned as they approached. “Sorry, ma’am. He tracked me down like a bloodhound. Said I was urgently needed.”

Mark muttered, “I did not say urgently.”

You patted the blanket beside you without hesitation. “Well come on, then! I don’t wanna be handin’ out muffins while they’re all cold and sad.”

Mark shot William a look. One that screamed: Don’t you dare.

William, of course, ignored it completely and sat down like he’d been invited to a five-star brunch. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, stretching out a little. “Beautiful day, huh?”

Mark stood awkwardly beside the blanket, hovering like he wasn’t sure if this was now a group event or if he should go lay down in traffic.

“It is!” You agreed with another beaming smile before handing William the wrapped muffin “Now these are peach flavored—my favorite,” you said, then added with a wink, “but I’m biased.”

William opened it like a kid on Christmas. “Man, you bake and you’ve got charm? Mark wasn’t kidding.”

Mark snapped his head around so fast it nearly detached. “What.”

William bit into the muffin like it was the last joy on Earth and moaned dramatically. “Holy crap. You trying to kill us with kindness? These are so good!”

You giggled. “Well shoot, if I knew y’all were this easy to impress I’d’ve brought somethin’ fancier!”

Mark finally sat down, a little stiff, very tense, watching William like a hawk. He took a bite of his muffin (a big one), and tried to look normal.

He did not look normal.

William, fully aware, turned to you. “So, how’d you learn to bake like this? You go to some kind of southern baking academy, or is this just genetic perfection?”

You laughed, delighted. “Lord, no! My grandma just taught me when I was little. Said a lady should always know how to whip up a good peach pie and a sharp comeback.”

Mark, halfway through his muffin and very much not chewing like a normal person, tried to chime in. "That's really cool," he said, muffled through a mouthful.

William glanced sideways at him with a smirk that had way too much knowing in it. "Didn’t know you were so into peaches, man."

Mark nearly choked. "I’m not—I mean, I am. I like muffins. Just—these muffins. Or... muffins in general."

You looked between the two of them, brows raised ever so slightly, and let out the softest little laugh. “Y’all city boys sure are funny,” you said, sipping your drink with a smile like this was all just playful nonsense.

Mark practically melted. God, she’s sweet, he thought. She doesn’t even know what she does to people. She’s literally just—

His eyes flicked sideways—and immediately caught William staring straight at him with a smirk that said everything.

Mark’s brain screeched back to reality like a record scratch. He cleared his throat, sat up straighter, took another too-casual bite of muffin.

“Anyway,” he said quickly, “uh… yeah. School’s wild, right?”

William didn’t say anything. Just took another bite of his own muffin, eyes full of judgment and joy.

[woniedarlin]

Shared Custody

Pairing: Ex! Jungwon x reader

Synopsis: Breaking up with Jungwon was one thing. But agreeing to co-parent a dog afterward? That was how you ended up in the weirdest post-breakup situation ever. Because what kind of exes still see each other at precisely 10 a.m?

You broke up. You’re sure of it. So why does it feel like your relationship never ended? Just… got a schedule and a leash?

Author's note: Another fic has been sitting in the drafts for too long. I finally decided to share it with you all. Hope you enjoy it! Happy reading!

Warnings: This story contains equal parts fluff and angst, with a dash of unresolved feelings, awkward ex moments, and a dog that might steal the spotlight. Reader discretion is advised! 🐾

Permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n @layzfy @firstclassjaylee @ijustwannareadstuff20

Here’s the thing no one tells you about breakups:

When you two bought a dog together while you were still dating, breaking up isn’t just about parting ways with a person. You get partial custody of an emotional support furball with no idea why mom and dad stopped living together. The breakup was mutual. There was no shouting, no ugly crying, no one storming out at 2 a.m. with a suitcase and a dramatic one-liner.

It was a quiet and tired conversation on the couch. Some nods. A few long silences. And Maeumi, curled up between you, unaware that his life was about to get complicated.

You probably should’ve fought over him. Or at least discussed like rational adults. Instead, you both just… didn’t let go. Now, you set schedules like divorced parents. Only with more awkward small talk and a lot of pretending it’s totally normal to see your ex every other day at exactly 10:00 a.m.

It started with meetups. Hand off the leash, say a polite hello, smile as if it doesn’t sting anymore. Then it became coffee afterwards. Then breakfast “because he looks hungry and I’m already here anyway.”

Then, last weekend, Maeumi ate an entire bag of chips and got sick all over Jungwon’s living room, which somehow led to you arguing about brand-name kibble.

“You were the one who said he needed variety!”

“Variety doesn’t mean junk food!”

“They were organic!”

“He threw up on my socks, (name).”

And you’re not proud of it, but you laughed. A little too hard. Then Jungwon laughed, and it felt like nothing had changed for a moment.

But everything had.

Now, you’re waiting for Jungwon in the usual meeting spot, Maeumi’s leash wrapped loosely around your wrist as he trots in excited little circles. Jungwon’s late. Not by much, just five minutes. Enough to make you wonder if he’s okay. Enough to make you check your phone. He shows up a minute later, hair a bit messy, holding two coffees. “Sorry,” he says. “I stopped by that place you like. The one with the stupid tiny straws.”

You take the cup without a word.

Maeumi barks, happy as ever, tail wagging because it was the best part of his week. Seeing his divorced parents together! ૮ ˶ˆ ﻌ ˆ˶ ა

“Did he eat?” Jungwon asks.

You replied. “Yeah. But he thinks spinning in a circle gets him more food now.”

Jungwon sighs. “You didn’t.”

You shrug. “It was funny. He almost knocked over my lamp trying it this morning.”

There was a slight pause before, “He seemed to miss you a lot when he was with me last week. A good thing he has spent with you these past few days.” Jungwon says, nudging Maeumi’s head.

You nod, eyes on your coffee cup. “I missed him too.”

You’re not sure which of them you’re talking about.

🍎

Maeumi planted his butt on the floor and refused to move. You tugged the leash gently. “Come on, it’s Dad’s turn.” Maeumi looked at you. Then looked at Jungwon. Then flopped onto his side. You sighed. “He’s being a brat again.”

Jungwon crouched beside you, holding out a treat from his pocket. “Maeumi, let’s not do this today.”

Maeumi sniffed the treat, stood up halfway, then turned around and pressed himself against your leg.

You and Jungwon exchanged a look.

“I think he’s made his choice,” you said.

“It’s not even a choice. It’s supposed to be my weekend.”

“You tell him that.”

Jungwon sighed and looked down at Maeumi, who was now rolling over, belly up, smug as ever. “You’re a traitor. You know that?”

Maeumi sneezed in response.

Eventually, after five minutes of bargaining and light bribery, Jungwon stepped inside your apartment to get him moving. One minute turned into five. Then ten. Now you were both sitting on the couch, a lukewarm mug of tea in his hands, Maeumi curled between you like a peace treaty in dog form. “You know,” you said, watching as Maeumi kicked his leg in his sleep, “he wasn’t like this when we first got him.”

“Nope,” Jungwon muttered. “He used to listen to me. Now he acts like he pays rent.”

“That’s your influence.”

He shot you a look. “My influence? You’re the one who started giving him tiny portions of your dinner because he’s a spoiled prince.”

You shrugged and grinned. “He deserves nice things.”

“He eats better than me.”

Jungwon glanced at you for too long, then looked away and sipped his tea.

You didn’t notice.

Well, yeah, you did, but you were pretending not to.

Jungwon leaned back a little. Then he looked toward the kitchen. And then he saw it. The mug. The one he bought for your birthday two years ago. You loved it to the point that you used it daily while you two were still dating. He nodded toward the cupboard. “Didn’t think you still had that.”

You glanced over. “Huh? Oh. Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything else, but his eyes stayed on it. That dumb, ceramic memory sitting there as if it had every right to exist in a post-breakup world.

You added, “It’s a good mug.”

Jungwon barely smiled. “Yeah. Real high quality.”

You didn’t reply.

He looked back at Maeumi, who was still fast asleep between you, snoring lightly. “I keep one of your spoons in my drawer,” Jungwon said suddenly.

Your head turned. “What?”

“You left it after that one trip. The one where we bought those instant noodles that tasted like cardboard.”

“Oh. Right.” You stared ahead. “That was a good weekend.”

“It rained.”

“I like rain.”

You both nodded and pretended the conversation didn’t sting a little.

Maeumi snored louder as if he were trying to cover the silence.

🍎

Your phone buzzed at 11:42 p.m.

You were half-asleep. Maeumi had gone home with Jungwon hours ago, but the apartment still felt…full.

You grabbed your phone.

Jungwon [11:42 PM]

Thanks for taking care of him this week. He seemed extra happy. When he saw you, his tail wagged about ten times per second.

You smiled without meaning to, your thumb hovering over the keyboard to send a quick "anytime" or maybe a "he missed you too."

But another message came in before you could type.

Jungwon [11:43 PM]

You’re still the easiest person to talk to.

You stared at the screen.

You didn’t know what to say. Or perhaps you did, and that was the problem.

So you… didn’t reply.

🍎

Jungwon sat on the curb's edge, nursing a canned coffee. Sunghoon was sipping from his drink, watching him spiral in silence. “I’m losing it,” Jungwon finally said. “She still knows how I take my coffee. Didn’t even ask.”

Sunghoon glanced over. “She made it the same way she used to? Back when you two were together?”

Jungwon nodded slowly. “Exactly like that.”

“And you’re upset because…?”

“I don’t know,” Jungwon shaked his head. “She laughs at my jokes the same way. She still says ‘bless you’ when I fake sneeze for attention. And today, I saw the mug I got for her birthday two years ago, sitting in her cupboard like it never left.”

“Maybe it’s just a good mug?” Sunghoon offered.

Jungwon stared at him. “That mug has a whale on it saying ‘whale you be mine.’ It wasn’t just a mug.”

Sunghoon choked on his drink and wiped his mouth. “Okay, yeah, that’s tragic.”

“And she still wears my hoodie,” Jungwon added. “She likes that hoodie.”

Sunghoon crossed his arms. “So, what’s the plan? Gonna ask for the hoodie back and confess your undying love in the same breath?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing. I thought I was over her. I thought we were fine being exes who raise a dog together.” Jungwon let out a long sigh and tilted his head back. “I don’t know when it started feeling like this again.”

Sunghoon crumpled his empty drink can and tossed it into the bin beside them. “You mean the part where you show up with her favorite foods, sit on her couch like you never left, and keep pretending Maeumi’s the only reason you’re still hanging around?”

Jungwon looked at Sunghoon. “…Okay, rude. But not wrong.”

“Exactly. Look, man.” Sunghoon turned to face him fully now. “You two broke up. Sure. But you’re still texting her late at night, still wearing the cologne she once said smelled nice, and still looking at her like she’s the only person in the room.”

Jungwon groaned. “She’s just being nice. She always was.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “No one’s that nice, bro. She has your hoodie. She made you pancakes last week. You said she cut the strawberries the way you like them.”

“She always cuts the ends-”

“Exactly.” Sunghoon gave him a look. “At this point, you’re not just co-parenting a dog. You’re toeing the line of a romcom reboot.” He added, “Seriously, who even does this? Shared custody over a dog? With your ex? This is the weirdest post-breakup dynamic I’ve ever seen.”

Jungwon didn’t even deny it. He muttered, “…Yeah, but it’s kind of working.”

Sunghoon nodded solemnly. “You’re doomed.”

Jungwon groaned. “I think I’m accidentally falling in love with her again.”

“No such thing as accidental. You just never stopped.”

🍎

Maeumi wasn’t himself. You noticed it the moment he refused his dinner. He moved slowly, dragging his paws across the floor, and his eyes looked distant. Something was off. He usually had a healthy appetite, but tonight, nothing. You knelt beside him, gently rubbing his back. “Hey, Maeumi, what’s going on?”

He let out a weak whimper. Panic rose in your chest. You didn’t know what was wrong but knew you needed help. You grabbed your phone without thinking.

Jungwon picked up almost immediately. “What’s wrong?” His voice was concerned, even though he wasn’t sure what was happening.

“Maeumi’s sick. He won’t eat, he’s not moving much… I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Don’t worry. I’m coming over.”

It didn’t take long for him to arrive, his face tense as he crouched down to Maeumi’s level. The dog barely acknowledged him, enough to make you both nervous. “We should take him to the vet,” Jungwon said after a moment.

You nodded, already on the phone, setting up an appointment. The drive was tense, your hand gripping the door handle while Jungwon kept one hand on the wheel, his eyes between you and Maeumi.

When you finally arrived at the clinic, it was quiet. You and Jungwon waited in the sterile, cold waiting room. Maeumi was lying on your lap, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. You rubbed his head absentmindedly, trying to calm yourself. “He’s going to be okay,” Jungwon said quietly, glancing over at you.

You nodded but didn’t answer. He touched his hand lightly near yours as he reached for the water cup beside you, and for a fleeting second, you felt his warmth. You looked at him, but his gaze was somewhere else, not meeting yours.

For a brief moment, you wondered if he missed this. If he missed you. But before you could even entertain the thought, the door to the exam room opened, and the vet emerged, pulling your focus back to Maeumi. Jungwon stood up. “He’ll be fine,” he said.

And you weren’t sure what to make of it, but for the first time since your breakup, you couldn’t ignore how much it stung to see him so close yet still so distant.

🍎

By the time you and Jungwon returned from the vet, Maeumi was already dozing off on the couch, wrapped in an old blanket and looking much more himself. The panic had eased. You stood by the kitchen, hands on the counter, watching Jungwon kneel to check Maeumi. You glanced at the time. “It’s late. You should eat before you head back.”

Jungwon looked up. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I was gonna cook anyway,” you said, opening the fridge. “Don’t expect a five-course meal, though.”

“I never did,” he said, smiling as he joined you in the kitchen. “You still burn rice, don’t you?”

You gave him a light shove with your elbow. “That happened once. And the pot betrayed me.”

Then, he washed the vegetables while you stirred the soup. It was annoyingly comfortable.

By the time dinner was done, the table was set. Jungwon set down the last dish and glanced over at you. “This… feels like we never broke up,”

You froze. Then, you replied, “We never used to have this much garlic.”

He huffed a small laugh but didn’t push it. And for the rest of dinner, neither of you brought it up again.

🍎

The dishes were washed. The leftovers are packed. Maeumi, finally feeling a bit better, had claimed his usual spot at the foot of your couch, tail thumping gently as he dozed. You stood near the sink, drying your hands on a dish towel, when Jungwon spoke from behind you. “I didn’t just miss Maeumi, you know.”

“I miss…” He let out a soft breath. “I miss all of it.”

“Do you still think about us?” he asked.

The silence was deafening. You felt him watching your back, waiting. And if the room had stayed that quiet a second longer, you would’ve said something honest. But Maeumi barked as if he’d sensed the tension rising and decided to cut it clean. You both jumped slightly. You turned with a light laugh, avoiding his gaze. “I think someone needs his water refilled.”

Jungwon didn’t press. He nodded before crouching to check Maeumi’s bowl.

Neither of you said anything else.

But the question stayed.

🍎

It happens on a night that should’ve been uneventful. A regular handoff. Maeumi is snoozing on your carpet, belly full. Jungwon’s quiet tonight. You notice it right away, but you pretend not to. You handed over Maeumi’s leash, but he didn’t take it. “You still have my hoodie,” he says.

You glance up. “What?”

He gestures vaguely toward the coat rack. “The gray one. I saw it last week. You used to sleep in it.”

You shrug. “It’s comfortable.”

His jaw tightens, but he laughs a little. “Everything I gave you is ‘comfortable,’ huh?”

You don’t answer.

“I saw your story the other day,” he adds. “Looked like a date.”

Now, you furrow your eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Jungwon runs a hand through his hair. “Forget it.”

“No,” you say. “You brought it up. So say it.”

“It’s confusing. For one moment, we laughed as if nothing had changed. Then, in the next instant, I remember how you used to fall asleep on my chest or steal all the blankets.” His voice wavers for a moment, but he pushes on. “I just can’t tell if I’m the only one stuck in the past or you’re better at pretending.”

You hesitate, then quietly. “I wish I could say I moved on, but I haven't.”

Jungwon’s shoulders drop a little. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?”

He looks down. “Because you looked like you were doing okay. And I didn’t want to make it harder if you were healing.”

“I wasn’t okay,” you say softly. “I’m still not.”

Jungwon lifts his head, his eyes locking with yours. “Neither am I.”

“I miss you,” he says. “Not just Maeumi. Not just Saturday mornings. I miss… talking to you. I miss knowing how you’re doing without having to ask.”

You look away. “Then why are we doing this?” you whisper. “Why are we acting like we’re fine?”

He lets out a breath. “Because maybe we don’t know how to be anything else.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

He says, more gently this time, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start an argument.”

You shake your head. “You didn’t.”

He bends down and clips the leash onto Maeumi’s collar. The dog wags his tail, clueless, happy just to be loved by both of you. Jungwon straightens up but doesn’t turn to leave right away. He looks around your apartment. His eyes land briefly on the hoodie by the coat rack, then the familiar mug on your kitchen shelf.

“I still love you,” he says suddenly.

You freeze.

“I didn’t think I should say it. I didn’t want to make this harder. I thought… maybe it’d get easier if I stopped talking about it. But it didn’t.”

He’s not asking for anything. Not a hug. Not a kiss. Not to come back. He was standing there with his hand gently resting on Maeumi’s back because it kept him from breaking. “You laughed at one of my jokes last week,” he says softly. “And for a second, I forgot we weren’t together anymore. That’s how easy it is to fall back into you.”

You swallow hard. But he keeps going.

“I didn’t want to make you feel guilty. Or corner you. I just needed you to know. It wasn’t because I stopped feeling everything when we broke up. I was scared. And tired. And maybe I thought it’d hurt less if we ended it on our terms.”

He finally looks at you. “But it still hurts.”

Maeumi lets out a soft bark. Jungwon reaches down and scratches behind his ears; for a second, it’s just the sound of his hand brushing fur. Then he straightens again, but now you notice his eyes are a bit glassy. “I’ll take him tonight. I’ll text you tomorrow. If you need anything, or if… you want to talk more, I’m one call away.”

You nod. Slowly. You can’t get your voice to work. But your eyes say enough.

Jungwon opens the door and glances back just once. “Goodnight,” he says.

And then they’re gone.

🍎

Jungwon sits on the edge of his bed, hair slightly damp from a rushed shower. Maeumi is curled beside him, his head resting on his paw, and his eyes blinking up at him as if he understands more than a dog ever should. Jungwon takes a small breath and runs a hand through Maeumi’s fur. “You don’t have to look at me like that,” he mutters. “I didn’t yell.”

Maeumi blinks again.

“Okay,” Jungwon sighed, leaning back a little, “I maybe said too much.” He sighed. “I don’t know, Maeumi,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “She just looked at me like I was someone from a different life. That sucked.’’ Jungwon glances down and smiles sadly. “Don’t worry,” he says quietly. “Mommy and Daddy were just having a little disagreement.”

He lays back on the bed. “I’ll bring her back,” he whispers. “I swear, Maeumi. I’ll bring your mom back to me.”

Maeumi lets out a soft woof.

🍎

The rain had been pouring since morning. You didn’t expect anyone when the doorbell rang, especially not Jungwon. But there he was. Standing at your doorway, drenched from head to toe, Maeumi dripped beside him and looked more like a soggy mop than a dog. “Uh,” Jungwon offered sheepishly. “He refused to walk anywhere else.”

You said in disbelief. “You could’ve called.”

“I did. You didn’t answer.”

You step aside. “Come in before Maeumi gets mistaken for a wet sock.”

Towels came out. You wrapped one around Maeumi, rubbing his fur as he wagged his tail. Jungwon was quieter. You handed him a dry hoodie from your closet, which was his, actually. It still smelled like him, though it had sat folded for months.

He changed. You made tea. He sat across you on the couch, rubbing Maeumi’s ears absently. “I’ve been thinking,” Jungwon started, voice gentle. “We weren’t ready back then. But maybe now…”

You looked at him, guarded. “I’ve changed,” he continued. “You have too. And I don’t just mean getting better at feeding Maeumi actual food.” You smiled a little. He took it as permission. “I guess I want to say I’m sorry. For everything I didn’t say before. For not knowing how to stay when things got hard.”

You met his gaze. “I’m sorry, too. For pushing you away when I didn’t know what I needed.”

“Do you think Maeumi would be okay if we lived together again?” Jungwon asked suddenly, eyes hopeful.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking for the dog or for you?”

A sheepish smile curved his lips. “Both.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned into his shoulder, your head resting there like it used to. “Maybe we could try again,” you said quietly. “For real this time.”

Jungwon’s hand found yours.

Maeumi snored at your feet.

And outside, the rain kept falling, washing everything clean.

[swizzlemynizzle]

Hello! I loved your george series so much!

Could I request a fluffy willne fic? Maybe a friend's to lovers or maybe an influencer trip and there's only one bed, that sort of thing, just really cute/cringe type of sweet 🫠🤗

Thankyou!!

-🦆

I kind of got sidetracked writing this and I’m not entirely sure it matches the request 😂 I hope you like it anyway!

Masterlist

One Bed, Two Idiots - Willne

The birds are chirping like they’ve got a vendetta. Some manic little dawn chorus ensemble that’s definitely out to ruin Y/N’s morning on purpose.

“You’ve got to be actually fucking kidding me!” she snaps, flinging another hoodie across the room like it personally offended her.

“Woah, babe, just breathe,” Sabina soothes on speaker, voice all honey and calm from the other end of the line. “It’s got to be somewhere.”

“Not helpful right now, Sab!” Y/N practically growls, yanking open a drawer she already checked twice.

The suitcase hits the floor with a dramatic thud as she empties it entirely, folded clothes unraveling like they’re mocking her too.

“I’m going to miss the flight,” she whispers, voice wobbling as tears start to burn behind her eyes.

Sabina pauses. “Okay, okay, keep looking—I’m calling Will. He’s on the later flight anyway, yeah? If worst comes to worst, you go with him.”

Y/N doesn't even respond before the line goes dead. She drops to her knees, the carpet beneath her soft and unhelpful, and presses her palms to her face. Her passport. Gone. Just... vanished. She’d had it two days ago, she swears. She’d even triple-checked, proud of herself for being prepared for once in her chaotic little life.

A shuffle down the hallway pulls her from the spiral.

“Heyo?” Will’s voice floats in, cheerful and warm and entirely too sunny for someone who's just turned into a human hurricane.

He steps into her doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder and hair still wet from the shower, that usual mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’m here to save the day.”

“You’re disgustingly chipper,” she mutters, glaring at him from the floor. “I’ve been up since five losing my entire identity.”

He snorts. “Alright, dramatic. It’s just your passport.”

She lifts her tear-bright eyes to him, exasperated. “I literally can’t get on a plane without it, Will.”

That softens him. His face shifts, the joking drops just a bit. “Hey. It’s okay. We’ve still got time. Let me help, yeah?”

And he does. For over an hour, the two of them tear apart every inch of her flat, hunting through shoes and makeup bags and even the fridge (because, as Will says, “You once put your phone in the microwave, nothing’s off the table.”).

Finally, finally—

“Aha!” she yells, emerging from the bathroom like a victorious knight brandishing a tiny burgundy book. “It was in the bloody sink drawer!”

She laughs, the sound light and ridiculous, and Will can’t help laughing too—even if he’s mostly laughing at how her hair’s all over the place and how proud she looks for defeating herself.

“Genuinely can’t decide if I’m impressed or deeply concerned,” he teases, eyes dancing.

“I contain multitudes,” she declares, smug.

In the Uber, she’s bouncing with adrenaline, singing along to the driver’s bizarre 80s Eurodance playlist and doing awkward shoulder shimmies in her seat. Will steals glances at her in the rearview mirror, pretending he’s not completely gone. She’s radiant in the way that only someone who’s just survived a mini breakdown and come out victorious can be. And when she catches him staring, she doesn’t call him out—just smiles, that slow, soft smile she only does when they’re alone.

At the airport, they’re halfway through weaving toward the gate when a crowd of school kids cuts in front of them—an ocean of red jumpers and backpacks the size of small houses. Without even thinking, Will reaches back and grabs her hand, threading their fingers together as he tugs her along behind him.

She freezes for half a second, just long enough to feel his hand, warm and solid and slightly calloused, close around hers.

“Come on,” he says over his shoulder, like he hasn’t just short-circuited her brain.

She follows. She doesn’t let go.

On the plane, he tucks her carry-on above her seat and flops down beside her with a self-satisfied grin.

“So,” he says, stretching his legs out. “Be honest. You were hiding your passport in your bathroom drawer on purpose, weren’t you? Trying to get some alone time with me?”

Y/N scoffs, elbowing him in the side. “Yes, Will. I masterminded an entire emotional meltdown for your company. You got me.”

“Not the worst plan,” he hums, cocky. “I am great on long-haul flights.”

She’s about to fire back something sarcastic when the plane jolts violently, lurching in a way that shuts everyone up at once. Her hand flies to his thigh without thinking, nails digging in slightly.

He grabs her hand. Steady. Warm. A quiet, “You’re alright. Got you,” whispered just for her.

And she believes him.

——————

The emergency landing is announced just an hour into the flight. They land somewhere outside Istanbul just after midnight—an unplanned layover thanks to a mechanical fault that the pilot described as “a precautionary measure” and Will described as “absolutely bloody terrifying” once they were off the plane.

The airline herds the stranded passengers into a nearby hotel. It's got that faded glamour look—dim chandeliers, gold accents that probably haven’t been real gold in decades, and staff that clearly did not expect 200 grumpy tourists tonight. Still, the sheets look clean, and there’s only one room left.

Which, of course, has only one bed.

Y/N stares at the receptionist. “You’re joking.”

The woman gives her a tired smile and a very European shrug. “All other rooms are full. You are lucky to have this one.”

“Lucky,” she mutters, dragging her suitcase toward the lift.

Will, beside her, is too smug. “You did say earlier you masterminded this whole thing just to get alone time with me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. If I was masterminding anything, it’d involve cocktails on a beach and not sharing a pillow with your massive head.”

“I have an average-sized head, actually.”

“The hat you wore last week disagrees.”

The room itself is nice enough—low lighting, a soft duvet, and a balcony with a view of distant city lights flickering through the mist. But the bed is a double. One bed. A single, intimacy-demanding slab of mattress.

Y/N kicks off her shoes and groans, flopping face-first onto it. “I give up. Istanbul wins.”

Will chuckles, heading into the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he returns, she’s lying sideways across the bed, one arm flung dramatically off the side like a Victorian widow.

He grabs the duvet corner and lifts it just enough to slide in next to her. “You alright, melodrama?”

She rolls her head to face him. “I just wanted to be sipping something tropical with one of those little umbrellas in it.”

“You can have a tap water with a toothpick in it. That’s the same thing, right?”

She snorts. “God, I hate how funny you think you are.”

“No, you hate how funny you think I am.”

A beat.

She laughs, quietly. “Okay. Maybe.”

The silence stretches, but it’s a nice one. Their legs brush beneath the covers, bare knees just touching. Neither of them moves away.

“Thanks again,” she murmurs. “For earlier. And, like… all of this.”

He tilts his head to look at her. “I didn’t mind.”

“No?”

He shakes his head. “You’re easy to be around. Even when you’re throwing jumpers and crying about birds.”

She gives a sleepy chuckle. “The birds were being dicks.”

“I’m on your side, don’t worry.”

Their eyes meet, and there’s a second—barely anything—where the air shifts. Where it feels like something is very, very close to happening.

Will reaches up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers linger just a moment too long.

“Your hair’s gone all fluffy,” he murmurs, soft and affectionate.

Y/N swallows. “Your fault for running your fingers through it earlier.”

“Could run them through again. For quality control.”

She laughs, cheeks going warm, but she doesn’t look away.

It’s quiet. The kind of quiet that hums with things unspoken.

Eventually, she shifts slightly closer, their faces a breath apart now. “If I kick you in my sleep, it’s nothing personal.”

“I’ll take it as a love tap.”

She grins, small and sleepy. “Shut up, Will.”

“Night, trouble.”

“Night.”

When the sun rises over Istanbul the next morning, it does so on two idiots halfway to the Maldives and even closer to something else entirely.

——————

Requests are open xx

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

Allergies!

Characters: Hyunju, Thanos, Namgyu, Gyeong-Seok, Young-Il, Gi-hun, Dae-Ho, Min-Su, Sang-Woo

Gdragon, Daesung, T.O.P

Mingi, San

Namjoon, Yoongi, Jhope

Kim seo wan

Roh jae won, Gong yoo

Summary: Tiny fics about their allergies!

Warnings: Allergies?

THEESE ARE NOT THEIR REAL ALLERGIES. THEESE ARE MADE UP BY ME!

Hyunju (coconut allergy)

Title: Absolutely No Coconut

The first time you find out Hyun-Ju is allergic to coconut, it’s almost a disaster.

Not dramatic, not ambulance-level panic, but definitely enough to make you panic internally for a full 15 minutes while she calmly rinses her mouth out at the sink like it’s just another Tuesday.

It started with a kiss. A sweet one. Lazy, post-lunch kind of kiss, the kind where she mumbles your name between pecks like it’s a prayer. Until she suddenly pulls back.

“You had something,” she says.

Your heart sinks. “What kind of something?”

She pauses. Her tongue runs across her bottom lip like she’s trying to pinpoint the taste. “Coconut?”

“…It was a protein bar,” you say, horrified. “I didn’t think—I mean, it didn’t even taste like coconut.”

“It never does,” she says casually, already heading to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.

You follow her, helpless. “Are you okay? You’re not breaking out or anything, right? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No, no,” she assures, waving you off. “It’s a mild allergy. Just tingling and swelling if I eat a lot of it. It’s more annoying than dangerous.” She rinses again. “I’ve been dealing with it since I was a kid.”

You watch her nervously. “You should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t think you’d be feeding me coconut kisses,” she teases, then adds more gently, “I should’ve told you. Sorry.”

You nod, still feeling guilty. “We’re tossing all coconut things. Every last one. Gone.”

Hyun-Ju smiles at you—genuine and a little amused. “You don’t have to—”

“I do,” you say firmly, already opening cupboards. “What if I forget again? What if I make cookies? What if we go out and I order something with coconut milk and I kiss you right after and you swell up like a balloon? No. Never again. The Coconut Ban begins now.”

She leans against the counter, watching you with a soft expression as you dig around for anything coconut-related. Eventually, she wraps her arms around your waist from behind.

“You’re kind of intense when you’re worried.”

“I’m intense because I love you and you’re allergic to surprise tropical death,” you mutter, placing a half-used shampoo bottle on the counter. “This even smells like coconut. It’s gone too.”

She laughs into your shoulder. “You’re really getting rid of the shampoo?”

“Don’t test me.”

Later that night, she curls into your side while you scroll through your phone, cross-checking products online for hidden coconut derivatives like you’re studying for an exam.

“You’re still researching?” she murmurs sleepily.

“Of course,” you say. “This is love. This is my coconut-free vow to you.”

She hums softly, nuzzling into your chest. “Thank you, baby.”

You kiss the top of her head. “From now on, it’s only hypoallergenic love in this house.”

Thanos (peanut allergy)

Title: No Peanuts, Please

It was supposed to be a chill night in.

Rain pattered gently against the windows, the lights were dimmed to a soft golden hue, and Su-Bong was sprawled on your couch in sweatpants, one arm draped over your shoulders while you both half-watched a movie and half-scrolled through your phones.

You had just brought out dessert—a plate of cookies you’d proudly made from scratch. “Try one,” you said, nudging the plate toward him. “I didn’t burn them this time.”

He grinned, took a dramatic whiff, and bit into one with all the exaggerated flair of a food critic. “Mmm. Okay, okay. Crunchy edges. Gooey center. Not bad. What’s in it?”

“Chocolate chips, oats, and a little bit of peanut butter,” you said casually.

The second you said peanut butter, he froze.

He stared at you. Blinked.

You stared back. “…Su-Bong?”

He calmly—but very quickly—got up and went straight to the kitchen. “Where’s your medicine cabinet?”

“What? Why? Are you—?”

“I’m allergic,” he said, already opening drawers. “Like, actually allergic. Like, we-need-an-EpiPen allergic.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “WHAT?! You ate the whole cookie!”

He gave you a look, still weirdly calm but clearly bracing. “I trusted you.”

“I DIDN’T KNOW—YOU NEVER TOLD ME?!”

He opened the right cabinet at last and grabbed the emergency allergy kit you didn’t even know you owned. You watched in stunned horror as he calmly jabbed the EpiPen into his thigh like he’d done this before. Which, apparently, he had.

“I thought I did tell you,” he winced slightly, leaning against the counter. “Came up during a date once. I said no Thai food. You laughed. I assumed that was… clear?”

“Su-Bong,” you said, a little breathless, “I thought you were just a picky eater!”

“I am picky,” he huffed. “But I also don’t wanna die.”

You rushed to his side, already dialing the local health line just in case. “Are you okay? Do you need to go to the ER?”

He reached out to squeeze your hand. “I’m okay. My body knows the drill.”

You still hovered nervously, watching the color return to his face little by little. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “I feel horrible.”

He gave you a tired smile. “You were just trying to feed me dessert. That’s kinda romantic, if you think about it.”

“Romantic?? I almost killed you!”

“With love,” he teased.

You groaned, burying your face in his hoodie. He patted your head like you were the one who needed comfort. “Okay,” you mumbled, voice muffled. “From now on, no peanuts. No Thai. No peanut M&M’s, peanut butter cups, peanut oil—”

He cut you off with a soft laugh and pulled you into a full hug. “From now on,” he said, “we cook together. You read labels. I double check. And maybe… we stop trying to impress each other with surprise cookies.”

“…So you were impressed?”

“Honestly?” He grinned. “Ten outta ten. Would die again.”

“SU-BONG.”

Namgyu (Latex Allergy) MILDLY EXPLICIT

Title: A Very Unsexy Emergency

It had been building all night.

That look Nam-Gyu gave you across the table. The way his fingers brushed yours when you reached for your wine glass. The quiet inhale he took when you leaned just a little too close while whispering something that definitely wasn't G-rated.

By the time you made it back to your apartment, you were both more than ready.

He kissed you like he'd been holding back for weeks. Hands in your hair, mouth trailing down your neck, clothes lost somewhere between the living room and bedroom. You laughed breathlessly against his skin as he lifted you onto the bed, eyes dark and warm.

“You’re sure?” he asked, even as his fingers teased at your hip.

“Positive,” you murmured, pulling him down for another kiss. “I have condoms in the drawer.”

He nodded, reaching over and grabbing one.

Latex. The standard kind. Neither of you thought twice about it.

Until—

“Ah—wait. Wait—shit—” he suddenly pulled back with a sharp hiss, his face twisting into confusion and discomfort.

“What’s wrong?” You sat up instantly.

He was already halfway off the bed, cringing, one hand covering himself protectively. “Something’s… something’s happening. It burns. Like—bad.”

Your eyes widened. “Did it break?”

“No, I don’t think it—wait.” He paused. Then swore. “I—I think I’m allergic.”

“To latex?”

“I’ve never used them before! I always used the other kind—polyurethane, or whatever. My ex had them, I didn’t think—God, this hurts.”

You rushed to turn on the light. “Let me see—”

“No, no, it’s not—sexy anymore!”

“I wasn’t trying to be sexy!” you cried, trying not to laugh even as your heart raced with concern. “I’m just—oh god. It’s getting red. Like very red.”

“And puffy.”

“Yeah.”

“Swelling.”

“Yeah.”

He looked like he might cry. “This is so humiliating.”

You grabbed your phone. “Okay, don’t panic. I’m looking up what to do. Ice pack, antihistamine, not scratching it—”

“Scratch it?! Who would scratch it?!”

You grabbed a soft towel and an ice pack from the freezer and gently handed them over. “Here. I promise I won’t judge.”

Nam-Gyu sat on the edge of the bed, holding the ice pack to himself like he was protecting the last shred of his dignity. “This is the worst night of my life.”

You wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and sat beside him, resting your head on his. “You’re still really hot, for the record.”

He snorted. “My dick is swelling like a balloon animal, and you think this is a compliment moment?”

“I’m just saying—I still want you. Like, very much. Just… maybe after a trip to the pharmacy.”

A beat of silence.

“…You’re not gonna break up with me over this, right?” he asked, half-joking, half-anxious.

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Nam-Gyu, please. If anything, this makes me love you more. You’re soft, and allergic to condoms. That’s so you.”

He laughed—finally—and let out a breath of relief.

“Okay,” he said. “But next time… you’re picking the condoms. Polyurethane, king-size, allergy-free.”

You raised your brows. “King-size, huh?”

“Don’t start.”

Gyeong-Seok (Pineapple Allergy)

Title: The Pineapple Incident

You and Gyeong-Seok had been planning this evening for weeks. A cozy dinner at home, just the two of you. No distractions. No work. Just relaxation. You had everything ready—fresh ingredients, soft music playing in the background, and a candle flickering gently in the corner of the kitchen.

“Tonight’s the night,” you said, grinning as you arranged a small bowl of fruit on the counter. “We’ve got all the makings for a perfect evening.”

Gyeong-Seok stepped into the kitchen, hands in his pockets and a smile on his face, like he hadn’t been looking forward to this all day. His hair was still a little damp from his shower, the fresh scent of shampoo hanging around him like a comforting cloud.

“I hope you’re ready to be impressed,” you said, winking.

“Ready for my mind to be blown,” he teased, leaning over to peek at what you were working on. “That salad looks great… What’s this?”

You smiled brightly. “Pineapple. I figured we could have a little tropical flair tonight.”

The instant you said the word, his face changed. It was subtle at first—just a slight tightening of his eyes—but you caught it.

“Pineapple?” he repeated, voice unusually tight. “You know… I don’t really—”

“Oh no, you’re not allergic, are you?” you interrupted, instantly concerned.

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck as if he was weighing how much to admit. “Well, uh… I wouldn’t say allergic. But it does make me feel weird, okay?”

“Wait, what?” You furrowed your brow. “What do you mean weird?”

He shifted uncomfortably, clearly reluctant to explain. “I get... itchy. My throat starts to feel weird. Like, it’s hard to swallow. It’s a whole thing.” He looked around the kitchen, trying to find a way to change the subject, but you could tell he was a little embarrassed.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a pineapple issue?” you asked, trying not to laugh. “I’ve been planning this entire tropical meal with pineapple as the star ingredient!”

Gyeong-Seok raised both hands defensively. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal! I can still eat it, just—just in small amounts.”

You immediately tossed the pineapple off to the side, crossing your arms. “Well, now I feel bad. We can’t risk you having a weird reaction on me. I’m not letting you die just because I wanted to try something fancy.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Die? It’s not like I’m gonna collapse on the spot. It’s just a little—”

But before he could finish his sentence, you reached for the bowl of pineapple and dramatically dumped it into the trash, making a show of it.

Gyeong-Seok watched, his mouth falling open. “Whoa, whoa, wait! I was going to tell you! You didn’t have to throw it away!”

“Well, I couldn’t have you looking like a swollen marshmallow in front of me, could I?” You grinned, clearly pleased with yourself. “I’ll make something else. You will survive without pineapple, right?”

He gave you a half-amused, half-panicked look. “I’m fine. I’m just… a little disappointed now. That salad was my favorite part of the night.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, smirking as you reached for another fruit. “I’ll make a new salad. This one’s going to be even better—no pineapple, just good vibes.”

You turned your back to him, chopping up some apples and cucumbers to make a new salad, when you heard his voice behind you.

“I still can’t believe you just threw it away.”

You spun around, hands on your hips. “I was saving your life, Gyeong-Seok. Do you know what could happen to you if you had a full-blown allergic reaction?”

He raised his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I get it. You saved me. I owe you my life, future fruit salads, and maybe even a dinner next time.”

You chuckled, turning back to the counter to finish preparing the food. “That’s the spirit. And hey, if you’re lucky, I might let you have the leftovers for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Leftovers? Oh no, that’s not how this works. You owe me a perfect dinner now. No more ‘oops, I almost killed you’ moments.” He shot you a playful smile, his eyes sparkling with that mischievous energy you loved.

You shook your head, smiling warmly at him. “Fine, next time I’ll check for allergies before I start cooking a five-course meal. I’m sorry, you’re right. I won’t let pineapple ruin the magic again.”

He walked over, wrapped his arms around you from behind, and kissed the top of your head. “As long as I get to enjoy the rest of the night with you, I’m happy. Even if it means I have to live without pineapple forever.”

“Deal,” you said, leaning back into his embrace. “No more tropical fruit disasters.”

But as he held you there, you couldn’t help but feel a little thankful for his pineapple allergy. After all, it had led to this sweet moment of laughter, the two of you tangled in the kitchen together—just as it should be.

Young il (Cosmetic Allergy)

Title: Makeup Mishap

It had been a quiet, cozy afternoon in the house, with sunlight streaming through the windows and filling the space with a soft, golden glow. The sounds of tiny feet padding across the floor and high-pitched giggles were the soundtrack of the moment.

Young-Il was sitting on the couch, attempting to enjoy a cup of coffee in peace while his daughters, Ru-Na and Do-Lin, played nearby. But peace wasn’t on the agenda for the day.

“Appa, we put makeup on you?” Ru-Na asked, holding up a colorful plastic makeup kit with a big grin on her little face.

Do-Lin bounced up and down next to her, nodding excitedly. “Yeah, yeah! Make you pretty, appa!”

Young-Il blinked, a bit surprised. He looked at the toy makeup kit in their hands—tiny brushes, bright glittery eyeshadows, and little lipsticks that didn’t stand a chance of sticking to his skin properly. He could already feel the warning twinge of his sensitive skin reacting, but the excitement on their faces was hard to resist.

“Hmm…” he thought for a moment, pretending to be serious. “Are you sure you can make appa pretty?”

“Pretty, pretty!” Ru-Na insisted, tugging at his sleeve with both hands. “gonna look so pretty, appa! Like princess!”

Young-Il’s heart melted at the sight of her eager little face. How could he possibly say no? “Alright, alright,” he said, chuckling. “But only because I’m the best appa in the world, okay?”

Do-Lin clapped her hands, her face lighting up. “Yay! You’re best appa!” she said, pulling at his hand. “Sit down, sit down! We do makeup now!”

So, with a little sigh of defeat and a big grin, he sat down on the couch, preparing for the inevitable chaos. Ru-Na immediately climbed up beside him, holding the makeup kit like a treasure chest.

“Close your eyes, appa!” she commanded, her voice full of seriousness as she picked up a bright pink eyeshadow brush.

“You sure you know what you’re doing, Ru-Na?” Young-Il asked, trying not to laugh as his daughter dipped the brush into the sparkly powder with a very focused expression.

“Yeah, I makeup artist,” Ru-Na said with absolute confidence, smearing the pink eyeshadow across his eyelids in broad strokes.

“Make pretty, appa!” Do-Lin added as she jumped to his other side, taking out a bright red lipstick. “I lipstick on you!” she said, eagerly pressing it to his lips with exaggerated care.

Young-Il chuckled, watching the two of them work in harmony. “Okay, okay, you’re making me look good, huh?”

But the longer he sat there, the more he felt an uncomfortable itch creeping across his skin. He glanced at his daughters, who were both grinning with pride, completely unaware of his growing discomfort.

He was trying his best to keep it together. But soon, the itch started to intensify. His cheeks grew warm, and then the tingling spread to his eyes, which began to water.

“Appa, look!” Ru-Na said, holding up a little mirror in front of his face. “You pretty now! So shiny!”

Young-Il blinked at his reflection in the mirror, and for a second, he almost didn’t recognize himself. His face was covered in layers of sparkles, pink, and red, but the makeup wasn’t the problem. The problem was his skin.

“Oh…” he mumbled, feeling a bit of panic settle in. The redness on his cheeks was spreading, and his face felt hot. “Uh, appa feels a little funny…”

“What’s wrong, appa?” Do-Lin asked, tilting her head with concern as she noticed his discomfort. “Okay?”

He rubbed his eyes, trying to stop the itching. “I think… the makeup is making my skin itchy, girls. I think I’m allergic to it.”

Ru-Na gasped, her eyes widening with worry. “Uh-oh! Appa, no! You no like it? You so pretty, though!” She frowned, wringing her little hands together. “Sorry, appa! Sorry!”

“No, no,” Young-Il quickly reassured her, his voice soft. “It’s not your fault, sweetie. Appa’s skin is just a little… sensitive, that’s all. But you made me feel really pretty, okay?”

Do-Lin reached up, her tiny hands patting his arm as if to comfort him. “Make it better, appa! We fix! We fix !”

“Yeah!” Ru-Na added, her voice full of determination. “We fix appa face!”

Young-Il smiled, though he could feel the redness creeping further. “How about we wash the makeup off first?” he suggested gently, rubbing his temples. “Then we’ll make sure appa feels better.”

The two girls nodded in agreement, and before he knew it, they had both grabbed a damp washcloth, pressing it to his face with great seriousness.

“Clean, clean!” Ru-Na chanted as she carefully wiped away the sparkles from his cheeks.

“Look, appa!” Do-Lin said proudly, holding up the washcloth. “Better now?”

He smiled, feeling the coolness of the cloth soothing the irritation on his skin. “Much better,” he said, chuckling. “I think I’m going to stick to being your handsome appa from now on, okay?”

“You’re best appa,” Ru-Na said, leaning in to give him a kiss on his cheek.

“Yeah! Best appa!” Do-Lin added, her little arms wrapping around him in a tight hug.

Young-Il hugged them back, his heart full despite the slight sting on his face. “I’m lucky to have the best little makeup artists in the world.”

The girls giggled and snuggled into his sides, and as he held them close, he realized that even though things hadn’t gone as planned, this was still a moment he would cherish forever.

Allergic reaction and all.

Gi hun (penicillin allergy)

Title: Beneath the Surface

It had been a long week for Gi-Hun. Between working odd jobs, trying to make ends meet, and dealing with the lingering stress of everything that had happened in the past year, he hadn’t felt well for days. His throat was sore, his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and he had that persistent cough that never seemed to leave.

You’d insisted he go to the hospital—after all, he was always so stubborn about his health. You’d known him long enough to know that he’d push through anything, even when it was clear he was running on empty.

"Gi-Hun, just go get checked out," you urged him for the third time that day, sitting on the couch, watching him shuffle around with a box of tissues in hand.

"I'm fine," he grumbled, his voice scratchy. "It's just a cold. It'll pass."

But you knew better, so you called an ambulance—partly because you were genuinely worried, and partly because you didn’t trust him to follow through on getting better.

An hour later, you found yourself sitting next to him in a sterile white hospital room. He looked miserable, slumped against the bed with an IV in his arm. The nurse had just given him a shot of penicillin, and while everything seemed routine at first, you couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

Then it happened.

Gi-Hun's face suddenly contorted, and his breath hitched. You stood up immediately, heart racing. "Gi-Hun? Gi-Hun!"

He tried to breathe, but his throat seemed to close. His eyes widened in panic. "I can't... I can't breathe—"

You rushed to the door, yelling for the nurse, but when you turned back, Gi-Hun's face was pale, his lips tinged blue. "Gi-Hun, hold on, okay? Stay with me!"

Nurses flooded the room, moving quickly, shouting orders, and before you knew it, Gi-Hun was surrounded by medical staff, their frantic energy filling the space.

“Is he allergic to anything?” one of them asked, eyes darting to you.

“I—I don’t know," you stammered, barely able to think straight. "I don’t think so. He’s never had any reactions like this before!"

They worked quickly, giving him an emergency shot of epinephrine to counter the reaction, and within minutes, Gi-Hun’s breathing started to stabilize, the panic slowly fading from his face.

You collapsed into the chair beside him, shaking. His hand found yours, squeezing it weakly.

“I—I’m okay,” he whispered, his voice raspy.

But you weren't so sure.

"You didn’t know you were allergic to penicillin?" you asked, still gripping his hand. His face was pale, but he gave you a sheepish smile.

"I guess I didn’t," he muttered. "I’ve never needed it before. I didn’t think it was that serious." He let out a shaky breath. "I’m sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. "Gi-Hun, you scared the hell out of me."

He reached over, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, a small but tender gesture. "I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice thick. "I never meant for you to go through that."

"You don’t get to apologize," you said, your voice trembling. "I was so scared. You’re all I have, you know that? I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you."

His eyes softened, and for a moment, you could see the vulnerability behind the tough exterior he wore so often. "I’m not going anywhere. I promise."

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Just… just don’t scare me like that again, okay?"

Gi-Hun chuckled weakly, despite his exhaustion. “I’ll try. But no promises.”

You stayed with him in the hospital room for hours, long after the nurses confirmed that he was okay and his condition was stable. He insisted he was fine, but the reality of the situation weighed heavy on you. This was just a cold. A simple cold, and yet it nearly turned into something so much worse. It made you realize how fragile everything was.

As you sat beside him, your hand still holding his, you finally let yourself breathe a little easier. The world outside still spun, and life would go on—but this moment, this quiet room, this fragile connection—it felt like the most important thing in the world.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his. He smiled softly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he repeated, tightening his grip on your hand.

And somehow, in that small, private hospital room, under the harsh fluorescent lights, you both knew that no matter what happened, you’d always be there for each other.

Dae ho (Hay Allergy)

Title: A Day in the Hay

It was supposed to be a simple outing. A weekend getaway to a quiet countryside farm, fresh air, green fields, and no distractions from the city. The perfect way to relax after everything that had happened.

But of course, nature had other plans.

You and Dae-Ho had arrived at the farm early in the morning, taking in the expansive views of fields and the distant mountains. The sky was clear, the breeze cool, and everything seemed like it had been pulled out of a dream.

Until you noticed Dae-Ho sneezing.

At first, it was small, subtle. A quick “Achoo!” followed by a deep breath.

Then, it escalated.

“Dae-Ho?” You watched him, his face scrunching in discomfort as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Are you okay?”

He managed a weak smile, but it was evident that something wasn’t right. “I think I’m allergic to hay.”

Your eyes widened, immediately feeling the tension build. “Hay? But you didn’t have this issue last time we—"

The words barely left your mouth when he sneezed again, this time harder than before. “Achoo! Ah... Sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing his nose with a tissue that had already been half-used.

You took a step closer, concern flooding your expression. “We should’ve checked for allergies first! Are you okay? We can go back to the car, and—"

“No, no,” he cut you off quickly, looking apologetically at you. “I don’t want to ruin the trip. It’s just... my nose won’t stop running.”

It was clear he was trying to push through it, but it wasn’t working. He sniffed again, and you could see his eyes watering. “Okay, but we’re getting you some medicine,” you insisted, gently guiding him towards a bench under the shade of a tree.

He sat down with a heavy sigh, rubbing his nose as he gazed around the wide-open fields. “I should’ve known. It’s just... I thought I could handle it. I miss these peaceful places. I didn’t expect it to hit me this hard.”

“I know,” you murmured, sitting down next to him, keeping a comfortable distance. “But look, we can still enjoy it. I’ll take care of you, okay?”

He gave you a look of gratitude, his usually strong and confident expression softened by the discomfort. “You’re the best, you know that?”

You smiled, reaching into your bag and pulling out a bottle of allergy medicine you’d packed just in case. “Hold still,” you said, gently tilting his head back and offering him the pill with some water.

Dae-Ho looked up at you, his eyes filled with appreciation, even though he was clearly not feeling his best. “I always thought I was the one who had to take care of you, but here you are, bossing me around.”

You laughed softly. “Someone has to. Besides, you’re my partner, Dae-Ho. I’ve got you, allergies and all.”

His lips curled up in a small smile, though it was tinged with a hint of exhaustion. “You’re really going to put up with me sneezing all day?”

“Absolutely,” you said without hesitation, rubbing his shoulder affectionately. “And if you need extra tissues, I’m your girl. We’ll make the most of this day, hay allergies and all.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, a soft warmth in his gaze. “I really lucked out meeting you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “I’m the lucky one,” you said, leaning in and planting a quick kiss on his cheek. “We’re in this together.”

He leaned back against the bench, breathing easier now that the medication had started to kick in, though his eyes were still puffy from the allergic reaction. “You know, I think I can still enjoy this. We’ve got this beautiful view, and now I’ve got a personal nurse,” he teased, his voice a little raspy but filled with humor.

You laughed, taking his hand in yours, and gave him a playful nudge. “I wouldn’t call myself a nurse, but I can handle being your personal assistant for the day.”

It wasn’t the perfect day you’d planned, but with him by your side and a quiet afternoon ahead, it was still enough. Even hay allergies couldn’t stop the two of you from making the best of it together.

)

Min sun (Gluten Allergy)

Title: A Bite of Care

You and Min-Su were sprawled across the couch, the soft glow of the late afternoon sun filtering through the blinds. The apartment was quiet, a rare moment of peace in your usually chaotic days, and you were both enjoying it.

Min-Su had his legs stretched out, one arm behind his head, while you snuggled into his side. You both had been debating which movie to watch when your stomach growled loudly, breaking the silence.

"Hungry?" he teased, turning his head to glance down at you with a playful smile.

You nodded, poking his ribs. "A little bit. Maybe we can get something to eat first?"

He frowned just slightly, his fingers absently brushing over the back of your hand. “You know I’m always down for food, but…” He paused, his voice dropping a bit. “Do you remember…?”

You blinked, the concern in his voice making you sit up slightly. “Oh,” you said, immediately understanding. “You’re worried about the gluten thing, right?”

Min-Su’s allergy had become one of those things that was never really in the way of your relationship, but it did make moments like this a bit tricky. You had learned to always double-check labels, and restaurants that didn’t offer gluten-free options were off the table for you both.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips tugging into a sheepish smile. “I’m just saying, last time we had takeout, I was… well, not my best self afterward.”

You laughed softly. “I remember. You were practically glued to the bathroom for a good two hours.”

“Exactly,” he groaned, his hand rubbing over his stomach like the memory was enough to make him cringe.

You shifted to face him more directly. “How about we make something at home? You don’t have to worry about restaurants or hidden gluten. I can make it totally safe.”

Min-Su raised an eyebrow. “And you’re sure I won’t have to make a run for the bathroom afterward?”

You grinned mischievously. “You trust me, right?”

He chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing. “I trust you with my life… not just my stomach.”

“Good answer,” you teased, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “I’ll make something light, and we’ll have a gluten-free snack while we figure out this movie thing.”

He smiled, his eyes softening as you stood up to head toward the kitchen. “You’re the best.”

You moved around the kitchen with ease, pulling out ingredients you’d made sure were gluten-free—everything from fresh vegetables to chicken. The comforting scent of garlic and olive oil soon filled the air. You could hear Min-Su in the next room, flipping through the TV channels and muttering about whether or not he could survive another rom-com marathon.

Soon enough, you finished preparing a dish you knew he loved—a chicken stir-fry with rice noodles and plenty of veggies. You even had a small gluten-free dessert ready: chocolate-dipped strawberries.

When you brought the plate to the living room, Min-Su’s eyes lit up, and he immediately sat up, his expression appreciative.

“Smells amazing, babe,” he said, reaching for a fork. He took a cautious bite, and his eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, this… actually tastes better than last time.”

You winked at him. “Because I put love in it. Plus, no gluten to worry about.”

He grinned, his eyes softening as he watched you settle next to him again. “You spoil me. I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do,” you said, nudging him gently with your shoulder. “Now, eat up before I finish it all.”

As he picked up another forkful, you both settled in for a cozy evening. No more worrying about allergens or ingredients. Just the soft, easy rhythm of being with someone who cared, who made sure your little quirks didn’t get in the way of your happiness.

Sang woo (Mosquito Allergy)

Title: Buzzing Trouble

It was a peaceful evening. The kind of evening that made you want to just curl up, relax, and let the outside world fade into the background.

You and Sang-Woo had spent the day running errands, picking up groceries, and making a nice dinner together. Everything felt ordinary—normal. Which, for the two of you, was a welcome break from the chaos of life. The apartment was cozy, the kitchen filled with the smell of fried chicken, and Sang-Woo was setting the table with a rare, calm expression on his face.

You were just about to pour yourself some wine when you heard it.

The faintest buzz.

At first, you thought it was just your imagination. But then the buzzing grew louder. It was unmistakable—a mosquito. You slapped at your arm reflexively, but when you didn’t feel anything, you glanced over to see if Sang-Woo noticed.

He was staring at the ceiling with an oddly intense look on his face. His brows furrowed, his eyes narrowed.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, tilting your head.

He didn’t answer at first. He just… stared. It was like he was waiting for the mosquito to make its move. His hands were flexing at his sides, almost like he was preparing to catch it.

You raised an eyebrow. “Sang-Woo?”

Suddenly, he shot up from his seat with a speed that startled you, making you flinch. “There it is!” he exclaimed, pointing at the ceiling.

You glanced up, squinting. Sure enough, you spotted the tiny insect hovering near the light. It darted around erratically, as if it knew exactly where you were—and it wasn’t about to be caught easily.

“Wait, is this… a big deal?” you asked, a little confused. Sang-Woo was always calm and composed, but now he was on edge, moving with a sort of purpose you hadn’t seen before.

He shot you a look that could only be described as a mix of frustration and desperation. “It’s a huge deal,” he said, rubbing his forehead with one hand. “I’m allergic to mosquitoes. It’s not just some little itch. They… they make me swell up. A lot.”

You blinked, processing his words. “You’re allergic to mosquitoes?”

He nodded, looking at you like you should’ve known this by now. “Yeah. And I swear, every time I think I’m safe, they find me. Always when I’m about to relax.” He narrowed his eyes at the buzzing creature. “That’s it. This ends tonight.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, unable to picture the usually composed Sang-Woo in this state. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic.” He grabbed a rolled-up magazine from the coffee table. “Watch.”

Before you could protest, Sang-Woo swatted at the mosquito, missing it by a mile. He tried again, but it zipped away, too fast for him to catch.

You watched as he ran around the room, magazine in hand, muttering under his breath. He was completely out of breath now, eyes wide and wild. It was like you were witnessing a new side of him—one where his usual calm demeanor cracked, just a little.

Finally, the mosquito flew too close to the table, and Sang-Woo seized the opportunity. With a swat that could rival a pro athlete, he finally nailed it.

You froze.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Sang-Woo stood there, his chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes still on the spot where the mosquito had been.

He turned to you, wide-eyed. “I got it,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “I actually got it.”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter. Sang-Woo, standing there triumphantly with his magazine in hand, looking more like a victorious gladiator than someone who had just conquered a mosquito.

He glared at you, his lips twitching in an attempt to hide his own smile. “You think it’s funny?”

“Kind of,” you admitted, holding your stomach as you laughed.

Sang-Woo sighed and sat back down at the table, looking slightly embarrassed but still amused. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You grinned, walking over to sit next to him. “You’re lucky I’m nice enough to laugh with you, and not at you.”

“Hey,” he muttered, “you better not let anyone else know about this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “About your mosquito battle?”

“Yeah,” he grumbled. “You’re the only one who can laugh at me about it.”

“Well,” you said, wrapping your arms around him, “your secret’s safe with me. But, next time? We’re getting you a bug net.”

He snorted. “I don’t need a net. I just need a little more peace and quiet.” He paused, a soft smirk tugging at his lips. “And maybe you to help me get rid of those pests a little faster.”

You smiled back, gently teasing his hair. “Deal. But only if you promise me that next time you have a dramatic moment, I get to witness it in its full glory.”

“Fine,” he agreed with a sigh, leaning into your touch. “But you’re not allowed to tell anyone about this.”

“I won’t,” you promised. “But if I start hearing about your legendary mosquito skills from other people, I’ll know who to blame.”

He shook his head, but the smile he tried to hide didn’t escape you.

Gdragon (Wasp Allergy)

Title: Stings

It had been a perfect afternoon. The sky was a soft blue, the air still warm with summer, and the two of you had been relaxing in a cozy garden café—just the two of you, with iced lattes in hand and your conversation drifting easily from one topic to another. The world felt peaceful, almost dreamlike.

Then, the wasp appeared.

You didn’t see it at first. It buzzed lazily around your table, circling your iced drink, before landing on the rim. But before you could even think about shooing it away, you saw Ji-Yong’s face turn pale.

His eyes widened slightly, and his hand froze mid-air. “Oh no,” he muttered under his breath. “Not again…”

“Ji-Yong?” You looked at him, confused by his sudden change in demeanor.

Without any warning, he stood up quickly, knocking his chair backward in the process. “Get inside! Now!” His voice was higher-pitched than normal, panic creeping into the edges of his usually calm tone.

Before you could react, you saw the wasp move again, and Ji-Yong jumped, swatting at the air in a flurry of panic.

“Wait—what’s going on?” you asked, genuinely worried now. You reached out to grab his arm, but he flinched away, his eyes darting from side to side.

“I—I’m allergic!” he blurted out, his hands trembling slightly. “To wasps. I’m allergic to wasps. I need to get inside.”

You stood up immediately, grabbing his hand. “Okay, okay, we’re going inside. It’s alright.”

But Ji-Yong was already backing away, still swatting at the air. The panic in his eyes was only growing as the wasp moved closer. He started to move toward the café’s entrance, but not fast enough.

With a sudden swish, the wasp stung his arm, and the next thing you knew, he was stumbling backward, holding his arm and looking even more distressed.

You didn’t think twice. You rushed forward, catching him just before he could fall.

“Ji-Yong!” you cried, supporting him with one arm around his waist. “I’m taking you inside now. Don’t move.”

“But... I’m…” he mumbled, his breathing a little shallow. “I… I’m scared… of the… swelling…”

“Don’t talk,” you urged gently. “Let’s just get you inside.”

Somehow, you managed to get him to the back of the café, into a small private area where you quickly helped him sit down. His eyes were wide now, his hand still clutching his stung arm, and you could see the panic rising in his chest.

“I—I need my EpiPen,” he stammered, voice thick with concern. “I don’t know where it is…”

You quickly glanced around, your mind racing. “I got you. I’ll call for help. Just stay with me, Ji-Yong, stay with me.”

You pulled out your phone and quickly dialed the number on the emergency contact card he’d given you. But even as you did, you were already trying to help him—rubbing his back and softly whispering, “You’re okay, Ji-Yong. Just breathe. You’re okay.”

You could feel him shaking, but he nodded, clearly trying to keep himself calm.

The call went through, and you were able to explain the situation. It wasn’t long before the staff from the café returned, rushing in with his EpiPen. You carefully helped him administer the shot, your hands trembling just a bit as you made sure he stayed steady.

As the minutes passed, you sat beside him, keeping an eye on his swelling arm. Slowly, his breath began to steady, and you could see the panic start to subside.

“You’re okay,” you whispered again, more softly this time. “You’re going to be fine.”

Ji-Yong let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed. “That was too close,” he muttered, voice shaky. “I really thought...”

“You’ve got me,” you reassured him, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he just leaned against you, his head resting on your shoulder. The chaos of the last few minutes faded into something softer, quieter.

“I’m sorry about the drama,” he said after a moment, his voice small.

“No need to apologize,” you laughed softly, brushing a hand through his hair. “You’re a rockstar. It’s okay to be human sometimes.”

He chuckled weakly, finally opening his eyes. “Human... who’s afraid of bugs.”

You smiled, kissing the top of his head. “You’re allowed to have your fears. And next time, I’ll make sure you’re extra safe from wasps, okay?”

Ji-Yong grinned tiredly. “Deal.”

Daesung (Sesame seed allergy)

Title: A Sprinkle of Caution

You never thought your life would involve checking ingredients for sesame seeds every time you went out for dinner. Yet here you were, sitting across from Daesung at a cozy café with a look of deep concentration on your face as you examined the menu like it was a science textbook.

“Y/N, it’s fine,” Daesung chuckled, leaning back in his chair, his bright smile lighting up his entire face. “I’ll be fine. You don’t need to inspect every dish.”

You glanced up from the menu to give him a skeptical look. “You say that, but remember last time when you ended up in the ER after that sandwich?”

“That was one time!” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “And it was a big misunderstanding.”

You rolled your eyes, but the worry in your chest remained. It wasn’t so much that you didn’t trust him—Daesung was a grown man who knew his limits. It was just that you couldn’t help yourself. Every time you were out, you couldn’t shake the feeling of dread whenever sesame seeds appeared anywhere near his food. It was like your brain had started running on an overactive loop of ‘what-if’s’ since you found out about his allergy.

“You’re so dramatic,” Daesung teased, reaching across the table to pat your hand. “I promise, I’m not going to eat anything with sesame in it. Now, let’s just relax, okay? I don’t want to worry you all the time.”

You sighed and gave him a small, resigned smile. “I know. I just… I don’t want to be the reason you get sick. Again.”

He grinned sheepishly. “You’re too sweet. But seriously, I’m good. See? No sesame anywhere.”

With a soft laugh, you nodded and reluctantly set the menu down, though you still couldn’t completely shake the concern bubbling in your stomach.

The waiter came by and you quickly ordered something safe, double-checking to make sure the dish was completely sesame-free. Daesung followed suit, though with a casual air, like the idea of allergies was just an abstract concept to him.

As you chatted about random things—his latest recording session, your plans for the weekend, how badly you both needed a nap—your food arrived. Daesung’s dish was a delicious-looking rice bowl topped with grilled chicken and vegetables. You eyed it warily for a second, just to be sure.

Daesung took a bite, looking up at you with a playful grin. “See? I’m doing great,” he said between mouthfuls.

You didn’t know whether to laugh or scold him, but in the end, you just gave him a soft, relieved smile. "I’ll always worry, Daesung. You know that, right?"

His eyes softened as he chewed, swallowing before giving you a serious look. "I know, Y/N. And I love you for it. I really do. I promise I’ll be careful."

It wasn’t until about halfway through the meal that Daesung’s face suddenly changed. His eyes widened, and he placed his fork down slowly, pressing a hand to his throat.

“Daesung?” Your voice immediately went from relaxed to panicked.

“I— I don’t feel… so great,” he muttered, his expression now strained. He tried to stand, but his legs seemed to give way, and he stumbled slightly.

Without thinking, you grabbed his arm, guiding him back into his seat. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

Daesung took in a shallow breath, shaking his head. “I don’t think… it’s the sesame. I didn’t— didn’t think it was in there—”

Your heart slammed in your chest as your hand darted to his neck, instinctively feeling for the signs of swelling or any signs of a reaction. You had seen this happen before, once or twice, but it never made it any less terrifying.

“Stay calm,” you told him, trying to steady your own breath as much as his. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

You quickly grabbed your phone, dialing emergency services, but as the operator’s voice came through, Daesung suddenly coughed—a small, sharp sound—and then looked up at you with wide eyes.

“Y/N,” he rasped. “It’s not the sesame…”

“What?” you asked, holding the phone between your shoulder and ear as you turned back to face him.

“I… I think I just choked on the rice.”

For a brief moment, you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Your whole body relaxed with a huge release of tension, and you dropped the phone to the table, muttering something between disbelief and relief. “You idiot!” you managed, smacking his arm lightly, your voice trembling. “You scared me half to death!”

Daesung chuckled weakly, rubbing his throat. “Sorry. But seriously, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how you react to my allergy.”

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t be so over-the-top if you weren’t always trying to test your limits,” you huffed, still a little shaken. “You should know better by now!”

“Maybe I do,” he said, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “But seeing that look on your face every time makes it worth it.”

You shook your head, giving him a soft, affectionate look. “You really know how to make me worry.”

Daesung smiled warmly, reaching out to hold your hand. “I promise, I’m okay now. No more surprises. I’ll stick to the sesame-free stuff, just for you.”

You sighed in relief, squeezing his hand. “Good. Because if I ever have to call another ambulance for you over something silly, I might just—"

“—might just what?” he interrupted, his mischievous grin returning.

“Not cook you dinner for a month,” you said, feigning sternness.

Daesung chuckled, leaning back in his seat and giving you a look full of fondness. “I’ll risk it. For you, I’ll risk anything.”

And for the rest of the evening, you knew that, no matter how much he teased you or put himself in the occasional danger zone, you’d always be there—looking out for him, keeping him safe, and loving him with all your heart.

T.o.p (Grass allergy)

Title: In the Weeds (Literally)

The day started off so well.

Birds were chirping, the sun was out, and your boyfriend—T.O.P, certified art snob and reluctant outdoor person—had actually agreed to a picnic.

“A picnic, Seunghyun. You. Outside. Voluntarily.”

“I’m growing,” he said solemnly, as he loaded a bottle of expensive wine and four types of cheese into a tote bag that looked like it cost more than your rent. “Don’t stifle me.”

You grinned, kissed his cheek, and thought nothing of it.

Until twenty minutes into your romantic getaway to a scenic riverside park, when Seunghyun's nose turned red, his eyes started watering, and he sneezed so hard he scared away a flock of nearby pigeons.

“…Bless you?”

He sniffled, looking utterly betrayed by life. “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying,” you said, laughing as you passed him a tissue. “You probably just have allergies.”

He dramatically flopped onto the blanket—then sat up with a yelp. “This grass is attacking me.”

“Oh my god, you have a grass allergy?”

“I thought it was the sun making me itchy,” he groaned, dabbing at his eyes like the world had personally offended him. “Why does nature hate me?”

You tried not to laugh (you failed) and leaned over to inspect his arms, already dotted with little red welts. “Okay, that’s a lot of hives. We’re going to the pharmacy.”

“No,” he said firmly, clutching the wine bottle like it was a life raft. “We’re staying. I brought vintage Manchego for you.”

You gave him a look. “You’re literally wheezing, Seunghyun.”

“Romance is pain.”

“Romance is Benadryl and you not going into anaphylaxis.”

He blinked at you through watery eyes, then sighed like a man who knew he was losing the battle. “Fine. But I’m keeping the wine in the car.”

—

The rest of the afternoon was spent not in a sunny park, but in the parking lot of a 24-hour pharmacy, with T.O.P reclined in the passenger seat, wrapped in your hoodie, sniffling and sipping sparkling water like an emotionally unstable Victorian poet.

“I was trying to be spontaneous,” he said with a pout. “Do something normal and adorable with my beautiful, tragically non-allergic girlfriend.”

You kissed his temple. “You are adorable. And this is honestly way more memorable than any picnic.”

“…You mean that?”

“Of course. I’ll never forget the day you got into a slap-fight with grass.”

He cracked a smile. “I hate it when you make me laugh while my nose is leaking.”

You handed him another tissue, laced your fingers through his, and whispered, “Next time, we picnic on a rooftop. Zero grass. Maximum dramatic skyline.”

He gave a sleepy nod, eyelids already drooping from the antihistamines. “Perfect. But only if there’s Manchego.”

“Obviously.”

Mingi (pollen allergy)

Title: Spring is Trying to Kill Me (But You Make It Better)

“ACHOO!”

You flinch as the tenth sneeze in a row practically shakes the windows. Mingi, red-eyed and sniffling, flops dramatically onto the picnic blanket beside you, a tissue still clutched in his hand like a white flag of surrender.

“I told you we shouldn’t do this,” he groans. “Spring hates me.”

You glance around the flower-filled park, then back at your boyfriend—eyes watery, nose pink, hair slightly tousled from his sneeze attacks—and try very hard not to laugh.

“Spring doesn’t hate you,” you say gently, opening the thermos of tea you brought. “Just your sinuses.”

He glares at you. It's not very threatening. Especially when he immediately breaks into another sneezing fit.

You hold out the cup. “Chamomile. For the war effort.”

Mingi takes it with a sniffle and a pout, dramatically sipping it like it’s a potion. “Why did you want to come here again?”

“Because,” you say, plucking a stray dandelion from the grass, “you’ve been stuck inside rehearsing all week, and you kept saying how you missed fresh air.”

“Fresh air, yes. Not death by daisy.”

You burst into laughter, nearly spilling your own tea. Mingi tries to pout again, but ends up laughing with you, despite himself.

You scoot closer and dig through the picnic basket until you find the tiny bottle of allergy meds you snuck in—just in case.

“You really thought of everything,” he says, watching you hand him a tablet and a bottle of water.

You shrug. “You’re cute when you’re cranky.”

“I’m not cranky,” he says, rubbing his nose. “I’m suffering. For love.”

You snort. “You’re suffering because you refused to admit you’re allergic to literally everything in bloom.”

He leans his head on your shoulder, half-whining. “I just wanted to see you smile in the sunshine.”

You pause.

“That’s… actually very sweet.”

“I am sweet,” he grumbles, muffled into your shoulder. “I’m a sweet, tragic man with failing sinuses.”

You kiss the top of his head and run your fingers through his hair. “Well, tragic or not, you’re mine. Come on. We’ll pack up and find a less flowery place to sit. Maybe under a tree?”

“Preferably one without evil spores.”

“Deal.”

As you gather the basket, Mingi grabs the blanket and your hand. He’s still sniffling, but now he’s smiling.

Spring may be trying to kill him—but with you, it’s almost worth it.

San (Wool Allergy)

Title: Fuzzy Logic

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about dating Choi San, it’s this: he’s equal parts soft and chaotic.

Case in point—he shows up to your apartment, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, arms full of groceries and a giant scarf wrapped three times around his neck like he was preparing for a snowstorm in Siberia.

You frown as soon as he steps inside. “Babe… is that wool?”

He freezes mid-step.

“...Maybe.”

You drop your forehead into your palm. “San. You’re literally allergic to wool.”

“I know,” he wheezes, already starting to sniffle. “But it looked so warm and cute on the mannequin, and I didn’t read the tag, and now my neck feels like it’s on fire but I didn’t want to be late and—”

You’re already tugging the scarf off him before he can finish his sentence, revealing a light rash blooming along his collarbone. His eyes are watering slightly, but he still manages a sheepish grin.

“Worth it?”

“Absolutely not.”

You haul him to the couch, muttering about stubborn boyfriends with terrible fabric choices. San pouts as you dab at his skin with a cool, damp cloth, but he leans into your touch like a sleepy cat anyway.

“I just wanted to look good for you,” he mumbles. “Like… cozy boyfriend aesthetic. Scarves. Sweaters. Winter vibe.”

“Baby,” you sigh, pressing a kiss to his temple, “you are the cozy boyfriend aesthetic. Just minus the wool.”

He brightens immediately. “Really?”

“Really. You could wear a trash bag and still be cute. Just… no more wool. Promise?”

He nods solemnly, like you’ve just asked him to take a sacred oath.

You toss the offending scarf into a donation bag, then come back with a hoodie you bought him months ago—soft, fleece-lined, definitely safe. San beams as you pull it over his head, then tugs you onto the couch with him.

“I like this better anyway,” he says, arms around your waist, voice already going a little drowsy. “Your hoodies smell like you.”

“Good,” you say, resting your head on his shoulder. “Because I’m the one who has to deal with your allergic disasters.”

He chuckles, already half-asleep.

“Best girlfriend ever.”

Namjoon (shellfish allergy)

Title: No Shrimp, Just Love

You didn’t mean to almost kill your boyfriend.

Let’s get that out of the way.

You had planned everything perfectly: a cozy at-home dinner date for Namjoon’s return from tour, soft jazz on the speaker, candles flickering, and a dish you had proudly learned from a cooking channel titled “Romantic Dinners That Make People Fall in Love With You.”

It featured pasta.

And, um. Shrimp.

You plate it with all the care in the world. You even sprinkle chopped parsley like they do in fancy restaurants and set down two glasses of wine, a little too proud of yourself to remember one very, very important thing.

“Wow,” Namjoon says when he walks in, eyes lighting up at the sight of you in the kitchen. “You made this?”

“Every last noodle,” you beam. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more.” He leans in for a soft kiss, the kind that makes you want to skip dinner entirely, but you swat his arm and guide him to the table.

He takes one bite and freezes.

At first, you think it's because he’s overwhelmed by the flavor. (You did use a lot of garlic. Maybe too much?) But then he clears his throat weirdly and puts his fork down very slowly.

“Uh. Babe?” he says, and his voice is tight.

Your stomach drops. “What?”

He swallows carefully. “Is there shrimp in this?”

“...Yeah?”

A pause. A long, terrible pause.

“Namjoon?” you whisper, dread already blooming in your chest.

He coughs once, and it's the kind of cough you never want to hear again. “I’m allergic to shellfish.”

You shoot up from your chair so fast it screeches. “OH MY GOD.”

It’s a blur after that. You run to the cabinet for antihistamines. You help him rinse out his mouth. You're crying, he’s wheezing, and somehow he’s still trying to comfort you through this.

“I-it’s okay,” he says hoarsely, sitting on the couch with a cool towel pressed to his neck while you pace in full panic mode. “You didn’t know.”

“But I should have known, Namjoon!” you wail. “You told me in like… our first month!”

He nods, patting your arm. “To be fair, that was a really chaotic month. You were distracted. I get it.”

“That’s not the point!”

He grins weakly. “I feel kinda special, though.”

You blink. “Special?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “First time someone tried to woo me with a near-death experience. That’s love, right?”

You groan and bury your face in his shoulder. “You are never letting me live this down, are you?”

“Nope.”

Later that night, after you've triple-checked that he's okay, tucked him into bed, and swore off seafood forever, you lie beside him feeling like the worst partner on earth.

But Namjoon turns to you in the dark, reaches for your hand, and kisses your knuckles.

“No more shrimp,” you whisper.

“No more shrimp,” he agrees. “But if you ever want to try cooking again… maybe pasta without death in it?”

You laugh into his chest, and he holds you tighter.

“Deal.”

Yoongi (Tomato Allergy)

Title: The Great Tomato Incident

It all started with a sandwich.

A really good sandwich, actually. You were halfway through making it in the kitchen, humming along to a lazy playlist, when Yoongi wandered in—sleepy-eyed and hoodie-clad, looking like he’d just woken up from one of his famous power naps.

“Mmm. Smells good,” he mumbled, leaning against the counter, eyes still half-closed.

“Want one?” you asked without looking up, already reaching for another slice of bread.

“Mhm. Whatever you’re having.”

You smiled. “Bold of you to say that without knowing what’s in it.”

Yoongi shrugged. “I trust you. Mostly.”

So you made it: toasted ciabatta, melted mozzarella, fresh basil, and—yep—tomatoes. Thick, juicy slices. The kind that made the whole thing come together.

You handed him the plate like a proud chef. “One gourmet lunch for the genius Min Yoongi.”

He took a big bite.

And froze.

At first you thought he was savoring the taste. Then you saw the panic in his eyes.

“Wait—” he managed between chews, “what’s in this?”

“Um… mozzarella, basil, and—”

“Tomato?!”

You blinked. “...Yeah?”

He dropped the sandwich like it had personally betrayed him and lunged for the sink, spitting out what was left in his mouth. “You’re trying to kill me,” he gasped, coughing dramatically. “This is how it ends. Death by love.”

“Oh my God, I forgot!” you yelped, instantly panicking. “I knew that! I’m so sorry!”

He waved you off, rinsing his mouth with water like he was purging evil. “It’s fine, I didn’t swallow. Just kissed it a little.”

“I can’t believe I almost poisoned you with a sandwich.”

He smirked, finally catching his breath. “Honestly? There are worse ways to go.”

You shoved him lightly. “You are never letting me live this down, are you?”

“Nope. Gonna put it in my will. ‘Please avoid tomatoes at the memorial lunch.’”

You sat him down, checked him for any reaction just in case, and refused to leave his side for the next hour—even when he insisted he was fine and went back to working on beats.

“You almost died. You don’t get to be chill about this,” you muttered, curled beside him on the studio couch with a worried scowl.

Yoongi glanced at you, his voice softening. “Hey. I’m okay. Really.”

You pouted. “I should make it up to you.”

He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “You want to? Kiss me. And maybe promise not to feed me fatal fruit next time.”

You giggled. “Tomatoes are technically berries.”

“That makes it worse.”

And he kissed you anyway—no tomato breath involved.

Jhope (Dust Allergy)

Title: Operation: Spring (Sneeze) Cleaning

“ACHOO!”

You pause mid-swipe, microfiber cloth in hand, and look over your shoulder.

J-Hope is standing in the hallway with a feather duster held like a weapon, eyes squeezed shut, nose scrunched, mouth open in anticipation of—

“AAACHOO!”

Another one.

“You okay over there?” you call out, grinning as you walk over.

He sniffles dramatically and gives you a pitiful look. “Why did I agree to this? I told you I have a dust allergy. This is a crime against my immune system.”

“You also told me, and I quote, ‘I want our apartment to sparkle like my stage outfits.’”

“That was before I inhaled the ghost of a dust bunny the size of Jungkook’s ego.”

You laugh and gently take the feather duster from him, replacing it with a bottle of lemon-scented cleaner and a microfiber towel. “How about you wipe surfaces and let me handle the high-dust zones?”

He pouts, but nods. “Deal. But if I sneeze myself into another dimension, tell ARMY I love them.”

You give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “And what about me?”

He blushes just a little and whispers, “You already know.”

The two of you settle into a rhythm—Hoseok tackling the kitchen counters while you handle bookshelves and window sills. He plays music from his phone, dancing a little even as he wipes down the stove, and occasionally spinning to steal a glance at you like he’s still in a music video.

You catch him mid-swipe, mouthing lyrics into the cleaning spray bottle.

“You’re ridiculous.”

He winks. “You knew what you signed up for.”

But thirty minutes later, the living room becomes his battlefield.

You open an old box of winter scarves and sweaters, and a cloud of dust puffs into the air like it’s been waiting for this exact moment.

From across the room: “Oh no. NO. CLOSE IT, BABE—”

Too late.

“ACHOOOO! OH MY GOD—ACHOOO! I’M DYING.”

You scramble to close the lid, laughing and apologizing at the same time, tears forming in your eyes from how dramatic he’s being. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know it was that bad!”

He flops onto the couch, sniffling and wheezing, nose red, tissues in hand. “My body betrayed me. This is the end. Write my goodbye letter. Bury me with my dance shoes.”

You sit beside him and tuck a blanket around his shoulders like he’s a frail Victorian man who just caught a chill. “Or, hear me out, we can take a break, drink some tea, and pretend this never happened.”

He leans his head on your shoulder, voice muffled through the tissue. “Marry me.”

You laugh, resting your head against his. “Only if you promise I never have to clean those boxes again.”

“Deal. We’re hiring someone next time. My sinuses aren’t built for war.”

You two sit there like that for a while—sneezes quieting, tea brewing in the kitchen, the chaos fading into cozy silence.

Maybe spring cleaning wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Kim seo wan (Perfume Allergy)

Title: A Breath of Fresh Air

Seo-Won had always been gentle with words, but you noticed the tension in his shoulders the first time he walked into your apartment and froze.

You were sitting on the couch, sorting through a pile of books you had recently collected. The soft scent of the lavender perfume you’d sprayed in the room lingered in the air. It wasn’t a strong fragrance, but it had a calming effect on you, making the space feel warmer, like a soft blanket wrapping around you on a chilly evening.

He walked in, eyes immediately darting to the corner of the room where a few perfume bottles sat on a small tray.

“Something wrong?” you asked, looking up at him with a confused smile.

Seo-Won blinked, his expression shifting slightly. “It’s the smell,” he said softly. “I—I didn’t know you used perfume.”

You furrowed your brow, trying to gauge his reaction. He wasn’t panicked, but the way his eyes flickered around the room made you realize something wasn’t quite right.

“Oh! I didn’t realize it would bother you,” you said, standing up quickly. “I can open the window and spray some air freshener. I’ll—”

“No, no,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “I’m fine. I just… I have a slight allergy to perfume, especially the floral kinds. It’s not your fault.”

You blinked, processing what he said. “You didn’t want to mention it earlier?”

“I didn’t want to sound dramatic,” he chuckled, but it wasn’t his usual lighthearted tone. He was trying to reassure you, but you could tell he felt bad about it.

“Well,” you said, a mischievous glint appearing in your eyes, “I guess it’s a good thing I don’t wear that much perfume. This bottle is a gift from my friend, and I didn’t expect it to bother you.”

Seo-Won gave a relieved sigh. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to make things awkward.”

You smiled, walking over to the tray and setting the perfume bottles aside. “No worries. Let me air this place out. Are you sure you’re okay?”

He nodded, but his usual calm demeanor felt a little off as he settled onto the couch. His fingers lightly traced the fabric of the cushion, his attention shifting between you and the space around him.

As you opened the window and let the cool evening breeze drift in, you turned back to him, leaning against the wall. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Hmm?” He looked at you, his eyes soft with curiosity.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about the perfume thing before?”

Seo-Won hesitated for a moment before answering. “I guess I didn’t want to seem like a burden. It’s not that bad, just something I try to avoid. It’s easier that way.”

“Seo-Won,” you said, your voice gentle but firm, “you don’t have to hide these things from me. I’d rather know.”

His gaze softened even more, and he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I just… didn’t want to complicate things. I know you like your perfumes, and I didn’t want to feel like I was imposing by asking you to change anything.”

You walked over and sat beside him, your knee brushing against his as you spoke. “You’re not imposing. We’re a team, right? If something bothers one of us, we figure it out. No need to hide it.”

His lips tugged into a small, grateful smile. He shifted closer, his hand gently brushing your own, the warmth of his skin grounding you.

“I appreciate you. You always make me feel safe, even when I don’t know how to say what’s bothering me.”

You tilted your head, your heart fluttering at his sincerity. “That’s what I’m here for. You don’t need to go through anything alone, Seo-Won.”

He met your eyes, the vulnerability in his gaze reminding you of just how much you meant to him. “And you’ll always be here for me, even when I can’t find the words?”

“Especially then,” you replied, your voice soft but resolute. “You can always count on me.”

He leaned in slightly, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand before resting it there, as if savoring the simple touch. “Thank you,” he whispered, and you could feel the gratitude in every syllable.

You smiled back, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “No need to thank me. It’s just what we do for each other.”

He held your hand gently, as though you were both savoring the quiet moment before the world outside intruded.

And, as the evening light faded, you realized that it wasn’t just the perfume that had changed the air in the room—it was the closeness, the understanding, and the comfort of being able to share even the smallest parts of yourselves without fear.

It felt like you could breathe a little easier now.

Roh jae won (Swordfish allergy)

Title: The Swordfish Incident

It wasn’t the first time you’d made dinner for Jae-Won, but it might just be the most memorable.

You’d been excited—really excited. You’d found the perfect recipe online for a cozy dinner together, something light but delicious. A nice, elegant plate of grilled swordfish, drizzled with a tangy lemon butter sauce. Simple but flavorful, just like you imagined a romantic evening should be.

You’d spent hours prepping. Everything was set: the candles, the soft playlist in the background, the wine chilling in the fridge. You could practically see the satisfied look on Jae-Won’s face as he walked through the door.

He did walk through the door, looking all relaxed, his brown hair messy in the best way possible after a long day. But when his eyes landed on the table, his expression faltered slightly.

“What’s that?” he asked, cautiously pointing at the plated fish.

You beamed, proud of your work. “Swordfish! It’s supposed to be really good. I thought it might be something new for us to try.”

Jae-Won’s eyes widened, and you swore you saw the faintest tremble in his hand as he ran it through his hair. “Ah…” he began, voice a little shaky. “I, uh, I’m actually allergic to swordfish.”

You blinked. “What? Since when?”

“Since… forever,” he muttered, now shifting awkwardly in front of you. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I thought it wouldn’t come up. We’ve never had swordfish before.”

You felt your stomach drop. “Oh no! I didn’t know! I—wait, what happens if you eat it?”

He glanced at the fish, still looking a little dazed. “Well… nothing too crazy, but my throat gets a little tight, and I start itching. I just avoid it, you know?”

“Okay, okay, I can fix this.” You rushed to grab the fish, but the guilt was starting to sink in. You had gotten so caught up in the idea of cooking something special, you didn’t even think to ask about his allergies.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you asked, a little more concerned now. “I can make something else! We can order out if you want, I didn’t mean to—”

He chuckled softly, his voice easing your nerves a little. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. Just no swordfish, okay?”

You gave him an exaggerated, guilty look and set the plate aside. “Right. No swordfish. Got it.” You grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the kitchen. “How about I whip up something else? I could make pasta, or, um, stir-fry?”

“Pasta sounds good,” he said, smiling at you, his earlier tension easing. “But, honestly? I think this is more of a 'you and me' thing now. No swordfish means more time together.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him in disbelief. “So, no swordfish and now you’re saying it’s a ‘romantic’ dinner?”

Jae-Won’s eyes sparkled, his grin widening. “It’s all part of the charm. Besides, I love that you cooked for me—even if it’s not what I expected.”

You both stood there, laughing softly. His easygoing nature was just the kind of reassurance you needed after your small blunder.

“Okay,” you said, “no more swordfish—ever again.”

“Good call,” he said with a wink, slipping his arm around your waist. “But, you know, this is the perfect excuse for me to be your taste tester.”

You leaned into him with a playful laugh. “I think you’re just trying to get out of cooking, huh?”

“Maybe.” He kissed your forehead, his voice low and teasing. “But also, maybe I’m just here for the company.”

The rest of the night went by smoothly, and you ended up making a creamy pasta with mushrooms and spinach, which he devoured with as much enthusiasm as your first, slightly disastrous attempt.

The swordfish incident? Well, it would be a story for later, but for now, you were just happy to be in his company���no fish required.

Gong yoo (Feather allergy)

Title: Feathers and Care

The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the apartment. You’d been awake for a while, stretching lazily in bed as the soft sounds of birds chirped outside. Your gaze drifted to the bedroom window, which was open just enough for a breeze to flow in.

“Good morning,” you whispered, turning over to see Ji-Cheol, his face softened in sleep, his dark hair tousled in that effortlessly handsome way he never seemed to mind.

But then… a tiny feather, from who knows where, drifted in through the window, fluttering lazily in the air. It was delicate, almost beautiful, and it hovered in the sunlight, catching it just so.

Before you could reach out to move it away, Ji-Cheol’s face scrunched up. His eyes fluttered open, and a small, barely audible sneeze escaped him.

“Ah-choo!”

You blinked in surprise, immediately reaching for him. “Ji-Cheol, you okay?”

His eyes were already watering, and his nose twitched as he sniffed, looking at you with a sheepish grin. “I’m fine… probably just allergies.”

“Just allergies? You don’t look fine.” You sat up, brushing the stray feather from the air, realizing that his reaction was more than just a slight irritation. The moment you made contact with him, he flinched.

“No, really.” Ji-Cheol’s voice was hoarse as he rubbed his eyes. “Feathers. I’ve… I’ve always been allergic to feathers.”

Your heart sank in realization. “Oh no, I should’ve closed the window earlier. Are you feeling okay?”

He tried to smile through the discomfort but ended up sneezing again, his face scrunching in a way that only made him look more adorable despite the allergy flare-up. “I’ll be alright. It’s just a bit of a nuisance.”

You weren’t convinced. His nose was turning pink, and his eyes had that slightly glassy look to them. It wasn’t just a nuisance—it was making him miserable.

Without thinking, you quickly hopped out of bed, grabbing a tissue and gently handing it to him. “Here, blow your nose. Let’s get you some medicine, and maybe you can rest for a while.”

Ji-Cheol reluctantly took the tissue, still looking sheepish as he obeyed. “I really hate being such a mess when you’re around.”

“Stop that.” You rolled your eyes, sitting next to him on the bed and tucking the blanket around his shoulders. “You’re my boyfriend. Of course I’m going to take care of you. You don’t have to be tough all the time, you know?”

He let out a small laugh, sniffling again. “I’ll take care of you once I’m not sneezing my head off.”

“You better,” you teased, standing to grab the allergy meds from the bathroom cabinet.

When you returned, he was still sitting in bed, looking at you with a tired but fond expression. You handed him the pills and a glass of water, making sure he swallowed them before adjusting the pillows behind him so he could lean back comfortably.

He let out a long breath, his eyes half-closed as he relaxed into the pillows. “You’re really something, you know that?”

“Just wait until you’re not a sneezy mess,” you said with a playful smile. “Then I’ll be something really special.”

He chuckled, but the sound was soft, and there was a hint of affection in it. “Even now, you’re pretty special. I never get sick like this in front of anyone else.”

You smiled at him, sitting down on the edge of the bed and gently brushing the hair from his forehead. “You can’t hide everything from me. Let me help.”

Ji-Cheol’s smile deepened, and for a moment, you both just looked at each other, the air between you two filled with a quiet understanding. He closed his eyes for a second, just breathing, as if enjoying the simple moment of being taken care of.

You sat with him for a while longer, talking about nothing and everything, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting away as the medicine started to kick in.

By the time he was feeling better, the feather that started the whole mess had long been forgotten, but it didn’t matter. You’d learned something more important: He wasn’t just the strong, unflappable Ji-Cheol everyone saw. He was also someone who let you care for him, even when he wasn’t at his best.

As he leaned over to kiss your forehead, his voice was low and soft. “Thank you. I’m lucky to have you.”

You grinned, leaning into his touch. “I know. I’m pretty lucky too.”

And with that, the rest of the morning passed quietly, the two of you wrapped in the soft cocoon of each other’s company. Feathers, allergies, and all.

[andforyouevan]

♣: Back scratches please?

oooooh another back scratches! I had to sit on this one for a little bit since I just did one, but I think I've come up with another idea for you. I hope you like it! This mentions a bucktommy kiddo in this snippet. This got really long for some reason lol.

Tommy's not sure he's ever been this tired but he's pushing through it because there's also nowhere else he'd rather be.

"Papa," Riley says and Tommy can feel his little body vibrate with a cough from where he's curled around him in his and Evan's big bed, where Riley had insisted on sleeping and Tommy hadn't the heart to tell him no, not while he's wracked with this cold. "Papa, hurts."

Tommy scratches his nails up and down Riley's back. "I know, baby. Daddy went out to go get more meds, okay? He'll be right back."

Riley coughs again and Tommy feels like his heart is in his throat. It's just a cold is what he and Evan have been telling themselves but it's not any easier.

Tommy can feel his phone go off in his back pocket and he reaches for it, expecting it to be his husband, but instead it's Hen.

Hey, I thought I'd check on our boy. Can I come in?

he breathes a sigh of relief. "Buddy, I'll be right back, okay? Auntie Hen is here."

"Okay, Papa," Riley's congested little voice says and Tommy gets off the bed and rushes out to the front door. Opening it, he practically collapses against her.

"Ooof," she says with a little laugh, wrapping her arms around him and patting his back. "You okay there, bud?"

Tommy lets her go and stands back so she can enter the house. It's a lot different from when it was Eddie's all those years ago, completely remodeled and repainted when they'd bought it after getting married. He marvels at it sometimes, this life they've made.

"Yeah," he says wearily. "Yeah, just our first cold."

He leads her to their bedroom and she pats him on the shoulder. "The first time Denny was sick, Karen and I were out of our minds. We're first responders, you'd think we'd be used to it, right?"

"I'm discovering that it's not the same when it's your own kid," Tommy says wryly as they reach the bed and Riley reaches for him. Tommy scoops him up, turning him in his lap so Hen can do her thing.

"Hi sweetie," Hen says, pulling her stethoscope.

"Hi Auntie Hen," Riley answers tiredly. "Gonna fix me?"

"Aw, baby," Hen says, shooting Tommy a soft look. "I wish I could. I just want to make sure your cold doesn't get icky, okay?"

"Mmk," Riley says and sits placidly. "Where's daddy?"

Tommy checks his phone again, and sure enough, there's a text from Evan.

Accident finally cleared, home in 10.

He text back a heart. "He's gonna be home soon, baby."

Hen checks Riley's lungs and looks at Tommy. "No fluid or anything, lymph nodes aren't swollen. Really is just a cold."

Tommy squeezes his son to him. "Thanks, Hen. I really appreciate it."

"No problem. I'll stay with you guys until Buck gets home, okay?"

Tommy squeezes her hand. "We'd love it."

When Evan gets home ten minutes later, they're still curled up on the bed, Riley under a bundle of blankets, watching old episodes of Full House on Nickelodeon.

"It's so cheesy," Hen groans.

"I know," Tommy admits with a grin. running his fingers up and down Riley's back again. "That's why I love it so much. Hi, sweetheart."

"Hi," Evan says setting the bag from the drugstore on the bed by Tommy's hip. "How are my boys?"

"Your boys are good," Hen answers. "One of them just has a simple cold and will be fine in a couple of days."

"Thank you for checking," Evan says gratefully. "Buddy, daddy got you some children's medicine, some soup..."

"Chicken and Stars?" Riley says, showing excitement for the first time in hours.

They all laugh. "So much Chicken and Stars," Evan confirms.

"Yay!"

"I'll go," Hen says, climbing off the bed. "Get some sleep, boys. Call if you need anything."

"We will," Tommy says, not moving from where Riley has now decided he's a toddler bed, sprawled across him like a tiny starfish.

"Thank you, Hen," Evan says. He walks her to the door and Tommy scoops the four-year-old into his arms to follow them out. "Say bye to, Auntie Hen, Riles."

"Bye, Auntie Hen!"

"Bye sweetie."

She leaves and Evan turns to them, giving them such a look of love that Tommy's heart is in his throat for an entirely different reason. These are his boys.

"Well, my guys," Evan says, clapping his hands together. "Shall we make some soup?"

"Chicken and Stars!" Riley cheers.

"If that's what he's excited about," Tommy mutters to his husband as they get to the kitchen. "I'll take it."

Evan grins at him. "Same."

[towasdandelion]

Could you do Hotarobi and Obscuary for texting the ghouls "I love you" late at night while thinking about the curse? Pretty please (*っ･з･)ﾉ 💜

Of course, I hope you like it!!

Texting Hotarubi and Obscuary ghouls "I love you" late at night while thinking about the curse

Haku still remembers the first time he met you on that train. You looked so lost, so confused. He noticed how hard you're working to adapt to your new life despite the curse on your shoulders. How you smile everyday, spreading your good energy whenever you go. He can't help but to admire you. And he wants to make sure you know it. You can always count on him comforting you. And what's a better way to do that than to cuddle you as you fall asleep?

Zenji's heart breaks a little each time your curse is mentioned. You're so sweet, so young.. you don't deserve this. At this point he wrote a whole small book of poetry solely about your life with a curse. Not only because he feels inspired, but also because it's an outlet for his own emotions. You're going through so much, so there is no way he can let you see how deeply your curse touches him. He will come over right after your text exchange, humming some tunes as your body slowly relaxes again.

Subaru really wishes it was over already. He hates seeing you scared and unsure of what will come tomorrow. You deserve happiness, and so he's going to focus most of his attention on the curse, clinging to even the smallest of clues. Like Zenji, he won't let it show how much your curse touches him. He will do his best to support you on this journey, often offering to bring you some herbal tea (as well as your favorite snacks to go with it) late at night when you can't fall asleep. He can spend the entire night talking with you, subtly steering the conversation to other things just so you can relax a bit.

Ed pities you. It's not any kind of mockery though. He simply thinks life is very unfair for humans. They only get to live so long and yet they have to deal with curses, diseases and traumatic moments. For the first time in years he's going to actually and actively rack his brain, read books and try to remember everything he possibly knows about your curse. He can't afford to lose his lover like that. And if all else fails.. No, he shouldn't think about that yet. He shakes off the thought as he looks at you sleeping in his arms before planting a small gentle kiss on your forehead.

Rui is the one who can actually understand what you feel the most. He also had a curse after all (for this scenario let's just say he managed to get rid of it) and he also had time where he thought nothing and no one was going to help him. He knows his support is crucial, and so he's going to focus on making you smile as much as possible even if it means making himself look like a fool. Will attack your face with tiny kisses the moment you open the door. He's going to kiss all your worries away.

Lyca might seem clueless at times, but he's definitely not. He picks up on everything. Every little shift in your behavior, every change in your expression. Perks of studying humans I guess. That's why he can sense whenever you're feeling down. He knows there's a lot of work to be done in order to break the curse, and he's determined. He's determined to protect you even if it means exposing his own skin to danger. The second you put your phone down he's already at your door, wrapping his arms around you without a word. You're safe with him.

[ephie-om]

Kitchen Adventures

Inspired by this post by @zephyrchama. I'm so sorry for this.

“Solomon’s been acting suspicious.”

“I hate to break it to ya, but that’s just the way he is.”

You frown at Mammon. “I know that. He’s acting more suspicious than usual.”

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t question ‘im. You probably ain’t gonna like the answer.”

He hunches back over, strong hands dwarfing the tiny pliers he’s using to fix your necklace. The room falls into a comfortable silence for a few moments, until your conversation finally catches up with Mammon’s brain. “You think he’s plannin’ something?” he asks, a worried crease forming in his brow.

It’s your turn to shrug. “Maybe. Like you said, there’s no way of knowing what he’s up to.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that. I said you might not like findin’ out. There’s plenty of ways to find out what he’s up to if you’re his-” Mammon sits up straight, clasps his hands together, and puts on a high voice, “adorable apprentice.” 

“He does NOT sound like that.”

“Sure he doesn’t. Anyways, I’m sure he’d tell you if ya asked him. Or at least give ya a hint.”

Without ceremony, Mammon dumps the silver chain into your hands, barely giving you a chance to catch it. “Are you in a hurry to get away from me?” you tease.

“If you’re tryna mess with whatever Solomon’s got goin’ on, I’m gonna put some distance in between us,” he chuckles. “Good luck.”

You push open the door of Purgatory Hall with a creak. You had knocked when you got here, but judging by the muffled explosions coming from deeper within the house, there wasn’t much chance anybody would be here to let you in. Peeking around the corner into the kitchen, you see none of the hall’s residents, bringing another frown to your face. 

The counters are messy with flour, an unknown substance splotched on the cabinets. Against your better judgment, you poke at it with a finger. It’s sticky, and, from what you can sense, vaguely magical. Yep. Solomon’s definitely been in here. You turn your attention to the sink, piled with dishes that smell like… well, like death. Sulfur and brimstone. The pits of the Devildom. Maybe that was an exaggeration, but you didn’t think so. 

A creak from the staircase draws your attention, and you finally see Solomon making his way downstairs. “Hey, MC,” he smiles faintly. “Looking for someone?”

“Yeah, I was trying to find you, but there weren’t any signs of life,” you joke.

Solomon pales. “Signs of life?”

“Uh… yeah. Like you, Simeon or Luke?”

“Oh! Of course,” his usual cocky smile is back, but not without a hint of something else under it. 

You squint at him. “Solomon?”

“Yes, my darling apprentice?”

“What did you do?”

“What did I- nothing! I haven’t done anything. Not unless you count being the wisest sorcerer alive, of course.” A bead of sweat trickles down the side of his head, and he pretends to fix his hair.

“Solomon.”

“Why don’t we go up to my room for a bit? I can show you what I’ve been working on lately.”

“Solomon.”

His shoulders slump in defeat. “You can’t tell anyone, alright?” 

You nod, still keeping a safe distance from him, and he circles around you. You back up a few steps, not quite trusting him to remember your fragile human bones. He rolls up one sleeve and- “EW, SOLOMON!”- plunges his hand into the sink. He feels around for a moment, face scrunching up in concentration, and finally pulls out his prize.

In his still-dripping hand sits a soggy brown blob about the size of a fist. It looks like unleavened dough, speckled with bits of herbs. A clump of flour bobs to the top slowly, then bursts, soaking back into the dough. “You were hiding this from me the entire time?”

Solomon holds up a finger. “Just wait.”

The blob shifts, and despite the stench, your curiosity wins out and you step closer. Two lumps form at its base, lifting it up, and slowly growing long enough to support the rest of its body. Two smaller lumps grew from its midsection, and the body began to separate into one part below and one at the top. The bit at the top caves in to form two small dents, just where eyes would be. It would look almost cartoonish if you were five feet away, but right now…

“Solomon, that looks fucking horrific.”

A high pitched whine fills your ears, emanating from somewhere in the blob. Solomon curls his other hand protectively around the blob-thing, and you try not to think about the puddle of sink water forming on the floor below it. “He can hear you,” he hisses, pulling it closer to his chest. Thankfully, the noise stops as he shields it from your view.

“I don’t know what level of sentience it’s achieved,” he whispers, looking cowed. “I don’t want to make a wrong move, so I’m trying to give it as much respect as I can.”

“He?!” you whisper-yell back. “Why are you treating it like a person?”

“You want to respect the demonic version of the Pillsbury doughboy? How did he even get here?”

Solomon gives you a pained look as he slowly removes his other hand from the thing. “It’s called a homunculus, for one thing. As for his creation, I was in the kitchen.”

“I gathered.”

“And I wanted to enhance the biscuits I was making, so I used magic, of course. I guess the way I worded the spell might have been interpreted as literally giving something life…” he trails off in thought.

“Weren’t you just talking about how you’re the wisest sorcerer alive?” 

“One last question.” He raises an eyebrow. “Why the hell is he living in the sink?"

Solomon hmphs in your direction. “Everyone makes mistakes; that’s how we learn,” he says sagely.

“Oh, he likes it in there.”

“He what now?”

“I think it’s because of the humidity. I tried taking him up to my room so I could keep an eye on him and he went dormant again.” 

“Dormant? Like when he’s curled up like that?” Solomon nods, and the two of you lapse into silence, both staring down at his unholy biscuit creation. 

“Do you want to name him?”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Well, we have to refer to him somehow. Who better than my lovely apprentice to choose a name?”

You stare at the blob. Little bits of dried leaves poke out from it, and its empty eye sockets stare ominously back at you. The doughy skin has started to shrink as it slowly dries, causing it to fold and crease where the limbs meet the body. You try to like it, you really do, but the more you look at it, the uglier it gets. You hope that your reflexes will be fast enough to throw it against the wall if it starts making that noise again.

“What did you say it was called?”

“A homunculus.”

You summon all of your incredible wordsmithing ability. It is your solemn duty to name this awful creation to save the world from the next Frankenstein’s monster. It has to be something affectionate, creative, easy to say…

“Homie. Lil’ Homie.”

“...homie? As in homunculus?”

You nod. “Exactly.” Lil Homie stares back at you, a tiny stem falling through his leg. “Can we please put him back in the sink now?”

Solomon obliges, nestling him in between several plates and scraping the dough from his hands as best he can. Lil Homie re-blobs, half-submerged in sink water. You and Solomon stare into the pile. Solomon leans over to whisper in your ear. “Don’t worry, I have plans to bake him if he gets too aggressive.”

[dismalflo]

can i request a remus x insecure reader who feels like she isn’t enough to deserve their relationship?

hi darling, thank you for requesting! i hope you enjoy <3

remus lupin x reader who thinks they should break up ✩ 1k words

cw: angst, tiny bit of fluff at the end, insecure/depressed reader

Something’s wrong. It’s in the way your shoulders sit high and tense, the restless shifting of your hands, the faint crease of worry etched between your brows. Remus notices how your eyes flit to him every so often, and each time, he pretends to read a book he hasn't turned a page of in minutes.

A quiet mix of concern and confusion stirs in his chest, just beginning to surface, when your voice slices through the silence—soft, fragile.

“I think we should break up.”

The world shifts. Everything around him narrows, shrinks, chills. You sink further into the cushions beside him, retreating inward, and Remus watches with wide, disbelieving eyes. His heart stumbles as he sets the unread book gently on the coffee table, his fingers trembling.

He swallows, throat thick. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“Why… why would you say that?” The words scrape against his throat, shaky with disbelief. “What happened?”

You draw your knees closer, shoulders curling forward. You don’t meet his gaze, and the small movement of turning away feels like a knife to his chest. Remus leans in slightly, as though closing the space between you could keep whatever this is from slipping further out of reach. The pressure behind his eyes builds.

“I just…” Your voice falters, lip caught between your teeth. “I just think it’d be for the best.”

Remus reels, emotions crashing hard—hurt, confusion, but above all, fear. Fear that he’s already lost you without knowing it. A wall has risen between you, quiet and invisible, but now impossible to ignore. You’ve always had moments where you retreat, but this? This feels different. You look… hollow. Like something’s drained the light from you, and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

In another moment, in another fight, maybe he’d reach out. Maybe you'd lean in, and this would all melt away. But now, his hands stay frozen in his lap. Instead, he fumbles for words.

“I don’t understand, dove,” he says finally, the nickname catching faintly in his throat. His voice is low, tender, uncertain. “Where’s this coming from?”

You don’t answer right away. Your fingers twist together in your lap. Then, so quiet he nearly misses it:

“Do you not get sick of me?”

His breath catches, sharp. For a moment, he’s not sure he heard you right. Your voice—so quiet, so broken—hits him harder than anything else could have.

"Sick of you?" He repeats, as if testing the words in his mouth, his mind struggling to comprehend. The confusion on his face deepens as he shifts closer. 

“No. I could never…” He trails off, struggling, voice fraying at the edges. “I don’t know what’s going on inside your head right now, but sick of you?” He shakes his head slowly. “That’s not something I could ever feel.”

You shake your head in return. The look in your eyes nearly undoes him.

“I just… I don’t think I’m a good partner,” you say, each word like a stone in your chest. “Not for someone like you. I feel like I’m holding you back—from someone who could give you everything you deserve.”

The breath leaves Remus’s lungs like a punch. Your words crack something deep in him, something tender and unguarded. He wants to reach for you, to insist you’re wrong, but he knows shouting down your pain won’t fix this.

So he chooses quiet.

“Do you expect me to be perfect?” he asks, voice low.

You look up fast, startled. “Wha– No!” you exclaim, eyes wide, cheeks damp.

Remus gives a soft, broken laugh — not unkind, just weary. “Then why would I expect that from you?” he murmurs.

He waits, watches the way that the question settles. Your lips part like you want to argue, to resist, but nothing comes. Your hands still in your lap. You look smaller somehow—like the weight you’ve been carrying has been pressing down for too long.

Remus leans in, just slightly, his voice still quiet, careful. “You think you're holding me back, but dove, that’s not– I love you. A lot. And I don't know what I’d do without you sometimes– most of the time.”

Your mouth opens, trembling, and for a second it looks like no words will come. But then they do, choked out through the beginning of proper tears that well and spill over before you can stop them.

“I don’t actually want to break up,” you confess, voice thick and warbling. “Not really.”

Remus's breath catches again, this time with something softer—relief, maybe, but wrapped tight in the ache of watching you crumble like this. Your apology slips out next, rushed and raw and muffled by your hands when you lift them to cover your face.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry, I just— I didn’t know how else to say it. I didn’t know how to tell you how I’ve been feeling.”

But he’s already moving.

He doesn’t hesitate this time. His arms are around you in a heartbeat, gathering you in and pulling you close, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, the pieces of you will start to fit back together. You press your face into his chest, and the quiet, shuddering breaths you take against his shirt break his heart in a hundred new ways.

He presses his lips to the crown of your head, voice gentle and steady against the shake in yours. “You never have to apologize for feeling like this,” he murmurs. “Not with me.”

You cling to him, fingers curling into the fabric at his side, and he just holds you tighter.

“Anytime you need reminding,” he says softly, his words a promise, solid and warm, “I’ll tell you. I’ll remind you how much I love you. How much I want you. All of you.”

Your shoulders start to ease then, just a little. The worst of the storm passes in his arms, and he doesn’t let go.

[kaxserlvr]

It was supposed to be a normal date. Just dinner, some casual conversation, maybe a walk through the park afterward. That’s all you and Kaiser had planned.

But a little girl, no more than five or six, standing in the middle of the park with a lost look on her face. Her tiny hands clutched a teddy bear, her eyes wide and teary.

You immediately crouched down to her level, your voice soft. “Hey, sweetie, are you okay?”

She sniffled, shaking her head. “I lost my mommy.”

Kaiser was standing beside you , arms crossed, looking annoyed. “We can’t just babysit some kid. We’re on a date.”

You gave him a side eye and ignored him, your focus completely on the girl. “Don’t worry. We’ll help you find your mommy, okay?”

The little girl nodded, wiping her eyes. Kaiser muttered something under his breath, but you didn’t catch it. You just stood up and looked at him. “Come on, let’s help her. It’ll only take a little bit.”

He sighed, looking around. “This is ridiculous.”

But even though he complained, you could tell he wasn’t going to walk away from a kid in need. He just stood there, reluctantly waiting for you to take the lead.

You guys spent hours walking around the park, asking around, checking every corner for any sign of the little girl’s mother. Kaiser was grumpy the entire time, rolling his eyes every time you knelt down to talk to the girl, offering her some comfort or reassurance.

But as the hours passed, something began to change in him.

The little girl clung to him more, her small hand reaching for his every time we walked. At first, he’d stiffen, pulling away, but then, slowly, he started to soften. Every now and then, he’d look down at her with something like gentleness in his eyes, even offering her a small smile when she’d giggle at one of his sarcastic remarks.

“You’re pretty good with her,” you said, glancing up at him as you guys walked down a new path, the girl holding onto his hand now.

Kaiser shot you a look, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m not the baby whisperer, you know.”

But his words lacked the usual bite. You could tell he was starting to enjoy the little girl’s company,how she’d shyly ask him to pick her up when she got tired, how he’d pretend to grumble but do it anyway. He was showing a side of himself you hadn’t seen in a long time, a softer, quieter side.

When you guys finally found her mother, a woman frantically searching the park. The girl ran toward her, and the woman scooped her up in a tight embrace.

“Thank you so much,” the woman said, tears in her eyes. “I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

You smiled, patting the girl on the head. “Glad we could help.”

Kaiser, who had been unusually quiet throughout the whole ordeal, cleared his throat. “Yeah, no problem,” he muttered.

You both waved them off, watching the mother and daughter walk away. The entire experience had been exhausting, but something about it felt… right. Like you could’ve stayed with that little girl forever, and Kaiser might’ve felt the same.

You guys didn’t say much on the way home, the air between you both heavier than it had been before. When you got back to your apartment, you set your things down and flopped onto the couch, tired but content. Kaiser leaned against the doorframe, looking lost in thought.

“You okay?” You asked, watching him closely.

He looked down at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just studied you with an intensity you weren’t used to. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice quieter than usual.

“You really are good with kids,” he said softly.

You smiled. “I like to think so. I’ve always wanted a family.”

Kaiser didn’t respond right away, instead, he walked over to the couch and sat beside you . His arm brushed against yours, and you could feel the tension in his muscles. He looked at you again, his voice low, almost thoughtful.

“I’ve thought I didn’t want kids,” he admitted, his gaze flicking to the floor for a second. “Thought I wasn’t the kind of guy who could handle it.”

You tilted your head, waiting for him to continue.

“But after today…” His fingers grazed the edge of your hand. “I don’t know. Watching you with her… it felt like family.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned to face him, eyes wide. “What are you saying?”

Kaiser’s expression shifted, his jaw clenching before he sighed. “I guess I’m saying I was wrong. I could be… I could be good at it. At being a father, I mean.”

The words hung in the air, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. He seemed to be processing it all, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by a rawness that was completely uncharacteristic.

Finally, he looked at you, his face flushed. “It’s just after seeing how you are… I can’t help but think you’d be an amazing mom. And maybe… maybe I could be a good dad, too.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, the weight of his words sinking in.

He suddenly leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. “I don’t know if we’re ready for that yet, but… I’ve been thinking about it.”

You couldn’t help but smile, reaching for his hand. “Maybe not now…but we’ll figure it out together.”

Kaiser stared at you, his face still soft, as if something inside him had shifted. He kissed you softly, and for a moment, it felt like you were already a family—no words needed, just the quiet understanding that whatever happened next, you’d be there for each other.

Always

[kuronarnze]

a/n: soooo yesterday night i was about to sleep and all the suddenly when i was making up random scenarios in my head and boom i suddenly had this idea, wellll enjoy the oneshot !! (Beware of Kaiser being kinda ooc here (⁠･ั⁠ω⁠･ั⁠))

Michael Kaiser x Reader !

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Red Thread, Red Scarf”

You never really stopped thinking about him.

The boy with cold fingers and a fire in his eyes. The one who always laughed like he didn’t feel pain, even when you knew he did. The one who never flinched when someone yelled, but always went quiet when someone reached out to hold his hand.

Michael Kaiser.

You remembered the first time you met—two kids, aged seven, you with yarn in your hands and him with dirt on his cheeks. You had offered him a tiny crocheted keychain that looked vaguely like a cat. He had stared at it like it was the first real gift he'd ever received.

He smiled at you that day. You fell a little in love right then.

But Kaiser vanished when you were fifteen. No goodbye. No note. Not even a whisper in the wind. He was just… gone.

You didn’t know he had gone to jail.

You didn’t know his father had done something so awful, it took everything from him.

You didn’t know.

So you left too. Japan was far, and peaceful, and quiet in the ways Kaiser never was. But the cold in your chest never went away. You crocheted and crocheted like your hands could fill the hole in your heart.

You never finished that red scarf. Not until you were seventeen.

And that’s when you returned to Germany.

The streets were different, but the snow still fell the same.

You were walking through the quieter part of town, bundled in wool and memory, when you saw him.

Bright blond hair—streaked now with blue. Piercing eyes. Taller. Sharper. A bit more arrogant in the way he carried himself.

But it was him. It was Michael. Your Mihya.

He turned as if he felt your stare, and for a second, his expression was guarded. Cold. Then his eyes widened.

“…You,” he whispered.

His voice was deeper. Rougher. But you’d recognize it anywhere.

You ran to him. He didn’t move—but he didn’t step away either.

“Where did you go?” you breathed. “I waited for you. I kept waiting.”

His jaw tensed. “You wouldn’t have wanted to know.”

You reached into your bag. Pulled out the scarf—his scarf. The red yarn now soft and finished, long enough to wrap around him twice. You held it gently, like you always had, and slowly—so slowly—you reached up to wrap it around his neck.

And this time… he didn’t flinch.

Not when your hands brushed his skin.

Not when your fingers tugged it snug.

Not even when you looked up at him with glassy eyes and whispered, “I made this for you. I never stopped.”

He swallowed hard, eyes locked on yours. “…It’s warm.”

You smiled, tears gathering.

“So are you, Mihya.”

The warmth lingered. He let you walk beside him, hands nearly brushing. He didn’t speak at first. Not much of a talker anymore. But he listened when you did.

You told him about Japan. About the silence there, how different it was from home. How you crocheted a hundred little things, but only ever finished one scarf.

You didn’t say it, but you didn’t have to: the scarf was his. Always his.

Kaiser eventually spoke. Bits and pieces. Of the mess his father left behind. Of the cops. The cold walls of the juvenile center. The strange miracle that was Bastard Munchen.

“They saved me,” he said. “But it still felt like I lost everything first.”

“You didn’t lose me,” you whispered. “You never lost me.”

His breath hitched. You looked up to see him staring forward, face tight.

“That’s the thing,” he muttered. “I thought you’d hate me if you knew. I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

“Michael.” You touched his arm. “You were fifteen. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His lip trembled just slightly. “I stole. I fought. I ran. I wasn’t a good kid.”

“But you were still mine.”

That finally broke something in him. He turned to you, eyes wild, the kind of wild that came from years of loneliness and trying to seem untouchable.

“Do you still mean that?” he asked hoarsely.

You reached for his hand. This time, he let you hold it. No flinch. No pulling away. Just your fingers in his, finally, finally.

“Always,” you said.

Snow fell softly on the red scarf around his neck.

And Kaiser, for the first time in a very long time, leaned in.

Not to run. Not to hurt. Not to pretend.

But to rest his forehead against yours, hands trembling, eyes closing.

“Don’t leave again,” he whispered.

You smiled through the tears. “I was waiting for you to come home.”

He still kept the scarf. Still wore it.

Even during training. His teammates teased him for it.

“Is that thing your emotional support scarf or something?”

Kaiser rolled his eyes but didn’t take it off.

Because it was.

It was you.

It was warmth.

And it was the only thing in the world that reminded him he had always been loved—even in the years he thought he wasn’t.

Red thread of fate.

Red scarf of home.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Thank you so much for reading !! Kaiser seems reaally ooc here but ou well 😓. Im obssesed with childhood to lovers troupes HAHAHAH. Anways have a good dayy !

[hauntedbysmut]

Through His Lens

Tags: photo shoot, boudoir photos, partially clothed, teasing, tension, Raf is a pussy eating fiend, PiV sex, switch! Rafayel

Feel free to take the link or read below the cut.

Gentle brushstrokes pressed into the canvas as Rafayel sat before it. His eyes flicked to the camera beside him, a picture on the tiny screen the inspiration for his newest piece. A small smile graced his lips as he created the impression of the plush red of her lips, the deep black of her lashes, and the gentle curve of her spine. Setting down the brushes, he stretched his arms over his head and stood from the stool he had been perched on for who knows how long.

His bare feet padded silently toward his bedroom, the moonlight from outside gilding her sleeping form in his blankets. Reaching her side, he admired her. Her lips were slightly parted, her brow smooth, and her breaths soft. He brushed her cheek with the back of his finger, smiling as she unconsciously pressed her face into his touch. He pulled the blankets up to cover her bare shoulder and walked back out to his studio.

Evening sunset eyes lit on the small piles of gauze shoved against the wall, his hand touching the ladder next to them now cold without her warmth. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, their combined scent faint, but still hanging in the air like a mist. A sigh passed his lips and he drew the memories of the evening forward into his mind.

She'd shown up in her usual casual wear, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder full of outfits and props. She'd given him a tentative smile, a flash of nervous excitement in her face as she moved further into the studio. He'd smiled back, noting the slight shake in her hand as she reached for him, the way her eyes took in every part of the room, including the props he had placed out.

“You don't have to do this, you know,” he murmured into her hair as she hugged him.

“I want to. I-” She bit her lip. “I need to see myself in a less harsh light.” She looked up at him, eyes searching his for confirmation.

“You know I already think you're beautiful, so this is totally up to you.” His voice was surprisingly soft. She smiled at him a little wider.

“It sounds to me like you're the one trying to get out of doing this. Worried you'll do a bad job?”

He scoffed. “You may think of me as an amateur photographer, but I'll have you know that the seagulls were thrilled with the pictures I took of them last week.”

She giggled and he watched as her shoulders relaxed. She dropped her bag at his feet and he pushed her toward the stool by the mirror he'd set up against the wall. Leaning down, he rummaged through her bag to pull out her makeup, setting it down in her lap as he unceremoniously dumped the rest of her bag onto the floor.

“Hey! What the hell, fishie?”

“It's all going to end up there eventually. I'm just moving things along.” He came back to stand in front of her and unzipped the small clutch of products. “Now shut up and let me work, cutie.”

She shot him a half-hearted glare as he rifled through the different items. She sat quietly, her leg jiggling with nerves against the bar of the stool as he worked. He curled her eyelashes before sweeping a couple of layers of mascara over them. He gently patted a subtle gold eyeshadow onto her eyelids, and gave her a thin line of eyeliner to make them pop even more. He lined her lips with a deep red before pressing the lipstick to the pillowy portion of them, blending the two with a tissue and topping it with a clear gloss to make them shine. A small amount of blush was tapped onto her cheeks above the contour he'd applied, and he finished everything off with a touch of highlighter to the inner corners of her eyes and tops of her cheeks.

He stepped back and nodded to himself before gesturing to the mirror. “Take a look.”

She shifted her gaze to the mirror, her heart thudding as she studied her own face. The makeup was natural, accentuating her features in a way she had struggled to achieve before on her own. Her eyes looked bright and wide, her lashes long and dark, her lips juicy, the apples of her cheeks high and rounded. She stared in stunned silence as he fidgeted next to her, waiting for her appraisal. Moisture gathered in her eyes. He stilled and leaned in close to her.

“It looks… really good,” she choked out.

Rafayel handed her a tissue, and she dabbed delicately to soak up the tears that hadn't begun to fall. When she looked back toward him, he was holding out a dark blue lingerie set that she didn't recognize.

“When you mentioned you wanted to do this, I took the liberty of doing some shopping for you.” His cheeks pinkened slightly as she reached out to touch the fabric. The silk slid through her fingertips and a small shiver worked its way up her spine.

“Go try it on.” His voice was gentle but firm.

She took a deep breath and bent to grab the silk robe that she had brought to wear initially. In his bathroom, she drew the fabric against her skin, a true blush rising to her face as she admired the effect of the blue silk and lace. Her hands dragged down her body, closing her eyes as she felt the different textures - the soft texture of her stomach into the silk of the lower cup of the bra into the lace over her nipples. It was a perfect fit. For the first time since she had arrived at Rafayel's house, she felt a thrill of pure excitement. The robe pulled over her shoulders, she tied it loosely at her waist before walking back to the studio.

Rafayel was pulling a pale red gauzy fabric over his ladder, turning his head this way and that before stepping back and taking a test shot with his camera. Without turning to her, he said, “You should probably stretch before we start. Some of these poses are going to be harder than you think.” He continued to move the fabric as she spread her legs and folded to touch her toes.

Somewhat satisfied with the draping he'd achieved, he turned toward her.

His breathing stuttered. His eyes trailed along her spine as she bent over. The smooth skin of her legs flowed from beneath the robe, the tease of the lingerie peeking from the back where it rode up slightly. The v at the front showed the top of her bra's lace. His ears heated as she continued to move through more stretches. It was minutes of torture while he watched her.

She shook out her arms and rolled her head along her neck. “I'm ready,” she said, pulling at the tie of her robe.

Rafayel coughed into his hand. “Great!”

The fabric dropped from her and pooled on the floor. His ears felt like they were on fire, and he knew that the blush that heated them was spreading across his cheeks. He glanced away, his eyes flitting back and forth between her and the “set” he had created as he tried to tamp down on his reaction. She was a vision in blue. Her chest was slightly flushed as she fought the urge to cover herself.

“Let’s start with something simple.” Rafayel directed her to stand in front of the ladder. “Place your hands on the top rung you can reach, then arch your back, head up, and push your…” he paused. “Push your hips backward so you feel a stretch in the backs of your thighs.”

She moved into position, the panties riding up on her ass, and Rafayel moved behind her, bringing the camera up to his eye. “Just like that.” She heard several snaps of the camera and the light shuffle of his feet as he got her from several different angles. He shifted to her right side. “Look at the camera,” he whispered. She turned her head and stared into the lens. “Bite your lip.” Her teeth sunk into her lower lip. He made a small sound in his throat as the shutter clicked several times. Peering at the screen on his camera, he nodded. “Good.” He swallowed heavily.

“Can I see?” She asked, curious. He nodded and turned the screen toward her as she relaxed her arms, rolling her shoulders and hips to loosen her back again. He flipped through them quickly. With each consecutive picture, she felt her self-confidence rising. Whether it was the way he had framed them or the inherent sexiness of the photos, she could understand why other women did this.

He posed her in several more ways in the studio before directing her to the bedroom. “Lay on the bed with your head close to the edge. It should barely be hanging off.” He helped bring her hair to flow off of the bed with her. “Push your right hand into your hair, left hand lightly against your throat, arch your back, and pull your legs up so they create an opposing angle with your back, pointing your toes a little bit into the mattress.” It took several adjustments, and her abs clenched with the effort to hold the pose. Rafayel moved around her quickly, directing her gaze several times as he shifted.

When he finally gave her the go-ahead to relax, he cleared his throat and she looked up at him. “Do you want to do any uh… partially clothed… poses?” His ears were blazing red and she smirked to herself at his reaction.

“Yeah, I think I’m ready for that.” She sat up, reaching behind her and unhooking the eyes of the bra. Eyes locked on Rafayel, she pulled the straps from her arms before grabbing the center between the cups and pulling it from her torso.

Rafayel’s eyes shifted to the ceiling and she giggled. “How are you going to take the pictures if you can’t even look at your subject?” she teased.

He glanced at her quickly and his cheeks deepened in color. He coughed into his hand before he seemed to purposely drag his eyes to hers and hold them. “Same pose as last time, but covering your breasts this time.”

The shoot continued, the tension rising steadily with each new pose. On her knees, she refused to cover her nipples and arched her back, dropping her head back and pressing a hand to her stomach and throat. Rafayel made a tortured sound and she grinned as she heard the shuffle of feet and the rapidfire photos.

Suddenly, his footsteps moved away. She leaned back up to sit back on her heels and looked around his room. He was nowhere to be found.

“Rafayel?” She called.

He reentered the room with a long piece of red gauze. “The lighting is almost perfect, but I had an idea.” He pulled her knees so her legs straightened back out and tossed the fabric onto her torso. He let the camera hang from his neck as he shifted it around, pressing on either side of her breasts until her nipples hardened and pressed against it. She felt a blush heat her chest at the proximity of his hands to them. A single sweep of those long fingers and he could brush the hardened peaks that she could swear were broadcasting for him. She pressed her legs together as the heat spread throughout her body. A flash of his hands on her with nothing between them filled her mind’s eye and she groaned out loud. Rafayel froze, looking up at her with wide, desperate eyes.

Her lips parted and a hot breath puffed past her lips as she waited to see what he would do.

He pulled his hands back as if he had been burned, grabbing his camera and raising it to his eye, snapping a picture of her before she was ready. He looked down at the preview and bit his lip. The evening glow coming through the window created ambient streaks across her bare skin, the fabric holding and blocking it in different places where the creases lie. The sharp peaks of her nipples strained against the fabric and her mouth was tipped open, eyes glazed and lusty. He pressed his fingers against his temples, closing his eyes and mentally berating himself for the movement in his increasingly tightening trousers. He looked back up at her and she was watching him with a knowing grin on her face.

With a grimace, he grabbed the edge of the fabric and began to pull. Her back arched, her mouth popping open and a surprised squeak left her as it dragged against her nipples and goosebumps rose on her skin. He paused long enough to lift the camera and pulled again.

Rafayel’s mouth was drier than a desert as his finger repeatedly held the shutter-button, catching every wriggle and gasped breath on camera while the fabric pulled from her body. His erection pressed insistently against his pants and he held the gauze in front of himself as he panted with her.

“Do you have a tripod?” She asked breathily. He nodded, unable to keep his eyes from dragging down her body, her muscles twitching with shivers as she held herself up on her elbows.

He held out his hand for her to take and pulled her up from the bed back toward the studio. The bare ladder came into view and he backed her up against it, his clothed chest brushing against her skin and sending more shudders through her. He leaned in and nipped her earlobe. “Climb up a few rungs, but stay facing outward toward me.”

She nodded quickly and repeatedly, her arms reaching back for the rungs of the ladder and climbing up a few steps. Grabbing his tripod from the pile of supplies he had ready, he set it up as quickly as he could, trying to ignore the hard press of his cock into his waistband.

Rafayel adjusted the height, clicked the camera into place, and shifted the angle until it pointed where he wanted it to. He pulled his shirt from his pants, undoing the buttons with dexterous fingers, eager to remove it as quickly as possible. He could feel her eyes on him the entire time, the awareness zinging through his body and exciting him further. With a last check of the camera angle, he set the timer and strode over to the ladder, standing just beneath her. Her head was slightly higher than his, and he had to tilt his head backward to look at her.

His fingertips grazed her ribs and she shivered, placing her hands over his shoulders and looking down at him. His eyes were practically purple, the blue and pink dark and hot as they stared into hers. Her hand skimmed the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the hairs along his nape. He leaned his head into her shoulder and she turned her head to press her lips to his cheek. The snaps of the camera faded into the background as she rubbed her hands across his back, her lips dragging across his face, kissing his moles and breathing against his ear and into his neck as he let his own hands traverse the soft skin of her stomach and thighs.

Stepping back, he undid his buckle and unzipped his pants, letting them drop to his feet before stepping out of them. She climbed tentatively down the ladder and followed him back toward the camera. Shoulders pressed together, they looked through the pictures it had taken. Each one was sensual, the waning light creating shadows in Rafayel’s back muscles and the sides of their faces.

“I have an idea for one,” she said, her voice low and sultry. She backed away toward the bedroom again and Rafayel grabbed the tripod and followed her, intrigued and delighted that she was feeling confident enough to direct them.

Her eyes never left him, even as her knees hit the edge of his bed. “Put the camera down there,” she pointed to the end of the bed. “Then come here.”

Rafayel set it up, an idea of the vision she was creating pervading his mind. He crawled onto the bed next to her and she tutted in annoyance.

“No, silly fishie. On top of me.” Her hand pulled his arm until he was over her, her legs spread wide around his hips as he crawled to lean over her. Her breath tickled his ear, “Grab my ass with this hand.” She tapped his left arm. He pushed his hand under her and his fingers briefly caught along the edge of her underwear as he situated. “Look into my eyes.” Her right hand came up to cup his face, a smile lighting her face as he leaned in for a kiss. She pressed her left hand to his chest, holding him just out of reach of her lips, and he let out a small whine.

“C’mon, cutie…” he pouted. She tilted her chin and brought her lips within breathing distance, still not touching his. His neck strained to press his lips to hers and she giggled at his frustration.

“Time to adjust the camera again,” she said, shimmying out from under him and moving the tripod to angle just above and to the left of their heads.

Instead of scooting back down under him the way she had come out, she walked around behind him, dragging her hand along his side and across the curve of his ass. With a playful swat and a shocked squeak from Rafayel, she dropped her shoulders to the bed, pressing his legs outward and slithering up underneath him from below, letting her lips skim the inside of his thigh as she moved.

His breathing was labored when she got back to his head, and his ears and cheeks were bright with heat, eyes glazed with lust. She pulled him in and kissed him soundly, her lips and tongue pushing against his until he opened and they devoured each other. With a press to his chest, he pulled back, opting to press his lips to her neck and jawline instead. Her eyes closed and she hummed happily. Using her legs to hinge her hips, she pressed her hips into his and he groaned long and low.

“Feeling pent up, baby?” She whispered. He nodded fervently, feeling like a fever was spreading over his skin as the want increased. She stroked his hair back from his eyes and placed a peck to his slightly kiss-swollen lips. “Just one more pose.”

Sitting up and pressing him back onto his heels, she turned and faced the camera. Rafayel waited for direction, not sure what she was intending.

Her hands took his and placed them directly over her breasts. Her head dropped to rest on his shoulder and he leaned his forward to place kisses along her shoulder and the curve of her neck. He squeezed her breasts, lifting them slightly as she moaned. He fit her nipples between his fingers and pulled his hands away from them just enough to give them tension without letting her go. She ground back against his cock, the wet spot on his boxer briefs growing as pre-cum leaked from his tip.

His hands began to shift, knowing the camera had already gotten the pose she wanted. One hand moved up to cup her chin, lifting her head so he could lick and suck against her neck while the other slipped down her stomach and cupped her through her panties. The silk was wet, her inner thighs shaking slightly as he dragged two fingers against the seam of her. He ground against her ass again, breathing heavily into her neck as his exploration continued.

Without warning, she pulled away, shoving him backward until he was flat on the bed, a dazed and confused expression pulling his eyebrows together. She reached out and pressed her hand against his erection, running a fingertip over the wet spot and smirking before sticking that same finger into her mouth and letting out a deep, satisfied moan. “You taste so good, baby,” she said, climbing over him.

Hands gripped her thighs as she moved higher and higher on his body, the smell of her arousal becoming stronger and stronger the closer she got. His mouth watered in anticipation, hoping her goal was the same as his now was.

She dropped her hips when her pussy was above his mouth. “Lick,” she ordered, her eyes glassy and dark with heat.

His tongue darted out and flattened against the crotch of her panties, licking a stripe up and groaning with pleasure as her taste burst across his tastebuds. “Fuck, princess, please.”

“You want me?” she whispered, lifting her hips as he tried to lick her again. He nodded aggressively.

“Say it, Raf. Tell me what you want.” He clamped his hands down on her thighs, fingers digging into the flesh and pulling against her. He whined and she felt his hips buck into the air, no doubt craving the friction she was denying both of them.

“I want to lick you,” he murmured petulantly. “Please…”

“Good boy.” She stroked his cheek and dropped her hips back to his mouth.

He dove in with fervor, his lips and tongue working her through the satiny material. She dug her hands into his hair and let her weight rest just above his head. Her head fell back and a series of broken moans left her mouth. A sudden heat hit her inner thighs and the gusset of the panties melted away.

“Rafayel!” He hummed contently as he shoved his nose against her clit and she squealed as his tongue entered her. “Oh, fuck!” He dragged his tongue through her slick, lapping at her like he was eating his favorite meal. She rocked against him, his nose and tongue alternating pressure on her clit until she was shaking with the force of the orgasm building along her spine. Her incoherent babbling was driving him crazy, and he pulled her down as hard as he could until her weight fully rested against his face and he could delve into her depths the way he wanted to.

With a scream and a cry of his name, she came on his face, his mouth opened wide and tongue striking her clit and labias until she was twitching so hard that she pulled his head back by his hair to get away from the sensation. She fell to the side, her mind blank and blissful.

Distantly, she felt the pull of what was left of her panties pulled from her body and Rafayel readjusting her so her head laid on the pillows at the top of the mattress.

She looked up at Rafayel, noticing his new lack of underwear, his cock pink and dripping as he lined it up with her sopping entrance.

“My turn, cutie” he smirked, pressing the full length into her in one slow thrust.

She arched and cried out at the feeling of fullness that suddenly took her, his echoing groan of pleasure creating a symphony of sound between them. His hands grabbed hers and he twined their fingers together, leaning down over her as her feet locked behind his back.

“Eyes on me,” he mumbled as he kissed the edge of her mouth. Her eyes were bleary, unfocused, and he was thrilled at his ability to make her so cock-drunk she couldn’t think anymore.

He began with slow, deep thrusts, their eyes locked together with each gasp, moan, and groan. Releasing a hand, his hand reached down between them as he watched her, fingers deftly circling her clit and causing her eyes to roll back in her head as he picked up the pace.

“So fucking beautiful. So gorgeous even when you don’t believe it. How are you mine?” he babbled to her as he thrust. She lifted her free hand to tangle in his hair, pulling his lips to hers for a deep kiss. Their tongues thrust in time with his cock, breaking to breathe when she felt the familiar tension of her impending orgasm winding tighter and tighter, a bow string ready to snap. His hips crashed against hers, his rhythm becoming sloppier as he got closer, his own climax dangerously close. “Come for me, baby - fuuuuccckkk - need to feel you come around my cock.”

She keened loudly as her peak crashed into her, her body shaking violently as he thrust a few more times before shallowing his movements and releasing deeply into her. They kissed sloppily, both of them drunk from the pleasure. Rolling from atop her, Rafayel tucked her into the blankets and her heavy eyes blinked at him as they lay together on the pillows.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes beginning to close as she yawned.

“For what?” he whispered back.

“For making me feel beautiful today…” Her breathing evened out and she was asleep. Rafayel gently stroked her hair back from her face, tucking the blanket closer around her body.

“Any time, my bride.”

Hearing the distant click of the camera’s shutter, he looked back over his shoulder to see the camera still clicking away. He climbed from the bed and turned the auto-shutter off, scrolling through the hundreds of pictures that had been taken in the last couple of hours.

Inspiration struck him hard and he pulled his underwear back over his legs as he rushed into the studio, camera in hand, screen showing the picture that had gripped him.

With a fresh canvas placed on his easel and his clean brushes nearby, he sat down on his stool and started to paint.

[versevibess]

Commandress

Cassian X reader

PART FOUR

Part Three

Part Two

Part One

SUMMARY:

Now it’s Cassian’s turn to propose an offer to the Comandress. One she cannot refuse.

WARNINGS:

NOTHING BUT I PROMISE THEY’RE COMING. Okay maybe some suggestive themes idk. A bit of Azriel coming to the rescue if u squint really hard.

Feyre swirled her berry red wine around a thin glass, her grey eyes flickering to the rim as she did so. I watched carefully as her lips parted, wondering whether her next question would be for me.

We were dressed for dinner, which Mor had insisted on helping me do so, considering we would be dining out for the night. It felt slightly odd, holding a cut crystal glass of whiskey with a dagger hoisted in the band of my underwear, all whilst wearing a gown so elegant I was sure it would have grown a pair of legs and walked away from Morrigan as she reached for it. A sleek, deep red gown made from fine satin clung to the upper part of my body, the fabric below my hips becoming softly pleated before it flowed along the ground. Not only was my cleavage exposed, but so were my scars, my back.

I opted to wear my hair down.

“I heard our lovely General was kind enough to give you a tour of Velaris.” Feyre said, her head nodding towards me before she took a small sip of wine. She was wearing a crystal studded dress of midnight blue, one similar to the one she wore the day she came to retrieve me; her hair half up and half down, igniting her soft yet beautiful features.

Mor laughed from beside her, her smile bright enough to light up any room. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” She followed before taking a large swig of wine. Molten gold, that’s what she was wearing.

Amren, who held no glass, lifted her eyes to meet mine. “If he aggravates you enough, girl, put that dagger to good use.” She sneered almost playfully, almost truthfully, gesturing a slender pale hand towards the imprint on my hip. She was wearing a simple slate grey blouse and trousers, only adding to the intensity of her silver glowing eyes, glimmering jewels of ruby dripping from her neck and wrists. She didn’t need extravagance to radiate power.

My eyes dragged to the dagger, then back up to the ladies. “He also took me to Illyria.” Was all I replied, my finger tracing the rim of my glass slowly.

Since he had left, I had a hollow feeling growing inside of me, one that I simply couldn’t explain. Although it had only been a mere few hours without him, it made my body and mind believe that it was forgetting something, like something was amiss. It made me feel pathetic, weak, yet I would simply rather die than have to ask why it was. I just told myself that perhaps it was the change in food making me ill, that once I was used to this all it would go away.

It was when I was in the privacy of my bathroom when focused my mind to the second time setting eyes on him after the war. That tap in my chest, I could almost feel it, like a tiny bony finger had weaved its way inside of me and prodded me firmly. As I scrubbed my arms and legs to rid myself of the dust of Illyria, I tried to think back to a time when any male had made me feel something other than disgust. And I couldn’t. Even on the battlefield, in a place so brutal and hostile and cruel, all I thought about was his face.

“And how was that?” Feyre asked with a grin, her eyes narrowing at me.

I was about to speak, perhaps tell her my thoughts on the female warriors that we had watched spar, although I was sure a High Lady had little interest in such a thing. But I was saved by the lounge room doors bursting open, revealing two and a half, already merry, Illyrian’s.

Feyre’s attention was diverted elsewhere as her mate sauntered in, a smug look plastered across his dark features, before he leant down to give her a soft kiss. I looked away as they exchanged affection, the hollow feeling which had been eating away at my flesh and bones diminishing once my eyes settled on Cassian. The realisation that perhaps it wasn’t the food making me ill made me want to vomit.

He grinned at me with a flash of white teeth, wings stretching out wide behind him before he walked over to Mor to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. I tore my eyes away, watching as Azriel stepped into the room silently, with no need to make an entrance, black shadows curling around his feet.

He gave me a nod. “Commandress.” He acknowledged with a subtle smile tugging at one side of his mouth.

“Shadowsinger.” I acknowledged in return.

I didn’t bother to stand as Cassian swanned over to my chair, considering we had spent majority of our day together. Seemingly, he had the same thought as he didn’t even do so much as to greet me; instead, he slid a hand into his pocket and fumbled around for a moment.

He threw his suede money pouch onto the cherrywood coffee table separating the High Lady and I. My eyes grew wide as the heavy metal inside clanged against the surface.

“Delivering your earnings.” He declared as the room grew silent.

He had definitely stuffed more than one hundred gold marks into that pouch.

“Keep your money, General. I’m sure you will find other ways to loose it.” I glared at him out of the corner of my eye as I spoke, standing from the armchair and gripping the bag with a tight fist.

I stepped to him, his bulging arms crossed over his chest, a sly smirk on his lips. His head tilted to the side, his eyes narrowing on mine before he spoke, “you already seem to know me so well. But what you don’t know is that I always deliver on my end of the bargain.”

I tilted my head, mirroring his. “Is that right?” I asked, dropping the bag into my other hand before turning to face the rest of the circle. I raised it slightly as I took in their faces, all smug with something I was unaware of. “I suppose dinner is on me then.”

•

Dinner was not on me.

In fact, the restaurant owner, Sevenda, outright refused to let us pay.

The food was like something I had never experienced before, however I was aware that cooking poverty cuts of meat over a camp fire was hardly any comparison. I truly had to hold back a moan when I took my first bite. Even something as simple as vegetables were delectable, I could have feasted on them alone all night.

I was quiet during the dinner and although I was enjoying stuffing my face with many different delicacies, a curdling sickness had settled in the bottom of my stomach. Something didn’t feel right. Whether it was the guilt of enjoying such exotic food, or whether it was contemplating the feeling of emptiness once the General left my side, I could tell something was amiss.

Or maybe, it was the fact that Cassian’s eyes had not left my breasts all night.

I believed he thought he was slick, sitting beside me and leaning his jaw on his knuckle, averting his eyes from my chest once my attention was drawn back to him, or every time someone at the table addressed me. It was only when I caught him in the act when I spoke.

Rhysand was telling a story, so loud that he had gained the attraction of the entire restaurant. Nobodies eyes were on us as I leaned over to whisper to him,

“My eyes are up here, General.”

He nearly choked on his drink, Azriel shooting him a look of concern from across the table as he attempted to play it off. Amusement flicked inside of me as I leant back in my chair, watching as he slowly did set his drink down and did the same.

His usual bright hazel eyes had clouded over, his focus only partly on Rhysand’s war story as he leaned over to me, his shoulder brushing mine.

“I can’t help but wonder where they came from?” He purred, looking down at me with heavy eyelids, or my chest rather.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I wear leathers two sizes too small so pigs like you won’t notice them.” I sneered and he couldn’t help but tilt his head back and let out a bellowing laugh. Eyes were drawn to us, which I returned with an awkward, uneasy smile; Cassian didn’t seem to care.

Soon enough, the tables chatter died down, the usual clatter of cutlery and song of the restaurant surrounding us as we sat slouched with our bellies full. I would share occasional glances with the others, but kept my eyes on my empty plate, my thoughts heavy and swirling around my mind. I hadn’t forgotten that I had promised the General Commander an answer by tonight.

It was Morrigan who first broke the silence.

“Anyone fancy a trip to Rita’s?” She asked, excitement radiating off of her.

Although I didn’t know what Rita’s was, the thought of even walking after such a heavy delicious meal made me wince. I could think of nothing more satisfying than a hot bath and a good book before curling into a cozy bed. The thought made the hairs on my nape stand on end.

Eventually, one by one, the circle began standing from their seats and bidding goodbye. Feyre and Rhysand kindly declined Morrigan’s offer, however it seemed like Azriel and Amren were eager to move on to the next venue.

I stood from my chair, eyes raking over Cassian who did the same. He turned to me as I tucked the seat beneath the table.

“Will you be joining us?” He asked.

I shook my head immediately. “My bed is calling my name.”

He leant over and turned his head with a look of mischief plastered across his handsome face. His lips were a few moments away from brushing my ear, leaving me stood like a startled deer. “I’m sure if you listen closely enough, your bed is calling my name too.” He said softly so that only I could hear. I screwed my face up in disgust, although I couldn’t fight the pooling heat in my stomach as I swatted him away with the back of my hand.

“Pig.” I sneered. But the heat travelled from my stomach to my cheeks.

We soon trailed our way out of the restaurant, our feet padding against the cool stone brick floor until we spilled out into the crisp outside air. We stood along the pavement, the High Lady clinging to her mate for some sort of warmth as Morrigan, Amren and Azriel had already began their descent towards a large brick building with flashing lights and blaring music in the distance.

Rhysand shot Cassian a look, one that I couldn’t quite place, before he wrapped his arms around his grinning High Lady. Cassian simply shuffled his feet, his powerful wings shuddering from the cold behind him.

“We will see you soon, don’t have too much fun tonight.” Rhysand winked cheekily, before him and his mate vanished into a cloud of swirling black and violet smoke.

My hands gripped my upper arms, rubbing up and down in an attempt to gain some heated friction against the harsh winter night. “Are you joining the others?” I asked, filling the silence which had settled around us.

He peered over at the three of them growing smaller in the distance, Morrigan swaying from side to side as she interlinked arms with Amren and Azriel. “Eventually.” He said, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked back down at me. “Let me walk you home first.”

My eyebrows knitted together, “if you believe I am incapable of walking home on my own then you are asking the wrong person to help lead your armies.” I said, the sickness in my gut twisting tighter with the more words I spoke. Perhaps I would arrange to see a healer in the morning.

He raised his eyebrows, lips stretching out into a wolfish grin. “You must really want to climb those ten thousand steps.” He remarked.

I rolled my eyes, once again, completely forgetting the unnecessary height of that House.

“Fine.”

“Would you like to walk or fly, sweetheart?” He asked, steps training just behind mine; I could hear the stupid grin he had on his lips. That stupid, handsome, grin.

“Let’s walk.”

I had been so caught up in the beauty of Velaris at night that I paid no heed to the harsh breeze ripping at my hair, brushing the strands over my shoulder. I was too busy watching the fae playing music in the streets, watching the star dusted sky stretch high over the mountains. We didn’t have the privilege of such a view back at Creta, just white sky’s with the occasional bit of sun in the spring and summers, the prime time for hunting. It felt strange to know I wouldn’t have to do that again.

Cassian fell quiet behind me, and I was none the wiser that my ink and scar ridden back was on full display to him, too consumed by the scenery around me. My breath caught in my throat as I realised, jaw clenching as we rounded a corner and I swiftly brushed my tendrils of hair back over my shoulder. Perhaps it was too dark for him to see.

“I see you found your tattoo.”

I wanted to scream at his words. Those black wings that I stared at for too long each night, with both malice and awe. A taunt and a gift. I didn’t respond to him, instead picked up my pace, eager to spot the House in the distance.

“You said you would have a decision for me.” He said again, despite my silence.

My lips rolled inwards as that same dreaded sickness coiled in my gut, my steps coming to an abrupt halt. I looked at him and narrowed my eyes. “I will stay, but I wish to tell the High Lord and Lady on Solstice eve. As long as my people are cared for properly, I no longer mind where I wind up.” I responded curtly. “But I want you to answer me one thing, Cassian.” I watched as his face faltered slightly at the firm use of his name. “You watched me in that battle for a mere few minutes between carving the heads off of the Kings soldiers, you have men that you have watched fight your whole life - you didn’t even ask to see me spar whilst we were in Illyria. So why me? Why choose me as your second when you know so little about me?” My head tilted to the side as I spoke, my eyes never leaving his as my words fell from my lips with such sturdiness it sounded as if I was scolding him.

Dark pupils flickered over my face for a moment; he was reading me. My nerves sparked along my bones in anticipation to his answer, his throat bobbing, forehead creased, tongue darting out to wet his lips before he parted them to speak.

Yet he didn’t, instead, he reached for my hand.

He held it as if it was fragile, as if it was made from the thinnest daintiest glass. I furrowed my eyebrows as he placed my fingers along the left side of this chest, below his armour. He was warm, firm, and through the mountain of muscle I could feel the soft patter of his heart. It wasn’t racing, yet it wasn’t steady. Almost as if it was trying to tell me something.

“I felt it in here.” He said and I could tell he was as nervous as I was, those silver wires of tension appearing and beginning fray between us once again. If it were any other circumstance, any other male, I would have perhaps scoffed, laughed at the thought of it; but I could tell it was genuine. “The moment I saw you, amongst the chaos, the blood, the brutality of it all, when I saw you take that soldiers head off his shoulders as if it was effortless; I pictured you, training our warriors, guiding our females.” I felt his heart slow beneath my palm with his words. It was the bare honest truth.

His hazel eyes, still so bright despite the darkness of night, met mine as if he was searching for something. I could feel the sickness that had raked through my body begin to settle, the pounding of my heart in my ears a mirror to his.

“I will lead your women to success.” I breathed, rather overwhelmed with it all. “I promise.”

His lips turned upwards and I had grown oblivious to the fae who strolled past and gawked at the Generals presence, who gawked at my hand on his heart.

“And in return, I may have a gift for you.” My hand slid from his chest, the clammy skin of my palm subtly rubbing against the material of my dress.

“May?” I questioned, beginning to step slowly again in hopes that he would now walk beside me.

His eyes remained focused ahead, his throat bobbing and I watched as his shoulders tense slightly. I took the moments silence as an opportunity to appreciate the fine rugged features he possessed.

He swallowed. “My wings were shredded during the war,” he started, and my eyes flickered to the dark leather like skin of his wings which stood proudly behind him. The sentence alone was enough to make my skin crawl from memory, the feeling of my wings being grated from my back whilst still entirely conscious, a time I wished to forget. “Rhysand and Azriel didn’t believe they would heal, were grasping at whatever they could possibly find to help me when they came across a healer from overseas.”

My breath hitched in my throat.

“I got in contact with her the moment Rhysand returned and told me your story. It is a horrific, brutal process, but people have lived to tell the tale of how their wings have regrown as mighty and as strong as before.” My eyes began to burn. “She is a hard lady to come across, and charges a high price at that, but if it means that the General Commandress has a chance to teach our Illyrian young how to fly, it is a price I am willing to pay.”

I outstretched my hand, grasping the taught skin of his arm exposed between his different layers of leather and a wave of emotion washed over me. His siphons flared bright from the contact. “Please,” my voice wavered, and I had to take a deep breath before I continued. “I assure you I am too far gone, but please send her to a mother, a young female who has been brutalised-“

“- I can’t,” his hair flowed around his face as his head shook. “She will not treat just anyone, for her own safety. The process takes so much of her power that she is only able to treat so many and if the tradition struck males who still continue the practice find out such a thing is happening, they will try to kill her.”

I couldn’t speak, and if I did I would only cry.

He looked at me one last time before we reached the House, yet even then I still couldn’t find the words to express how I felt.

It was once he was flying me up those ten thousand stairs, the air tunnelling in around us, the night sky our only witness as my grip around his neck and shoulders tightened. He looked to me with concern, the beat of his wings slowing as I nodded. Nodded with tears brimming in my eyes, and I could have sworn I felt that tap beneath my chest once again.

•

A horrible, brutal process. That’s how he described it.

I described it as a painful, slow transition into death.

Within a matter of a few days, Cassian and Rhysand had left to seek out the healer, and bought back an elderly female who spoke very little words.

Hunched beside my bed in a hood of charcoal grey, her spindly fingers tugged and pulled at my aching bones, prodded at the fire ignited beneath my skin. She offered no pain relief, no special tea to ease the burning of my skin or my muscle which felt as if it was being picked away from my flesh.

I laid there for two solid days, unable to bathe, unable to eat or drink or even do as much as open my eyes for longer than a few seconds. It was as if the treatment had drained every ounce of energy, every drip of soul and life out of my body and scattered it along the streets of Velaris. She hardly mumbled two words to me during the trauma of it all, she only told me that once she was finished, I would sleep.

Everyone had tried to visit, which I could only decipher who from the sounds of their voices, my black spotted vision merging all of their faces into one. And even then I had a difficult time, the ringing in my ears like a choir of screaming children from the moment it began, to the moment it finished.

The only remedy gifted to me for my pain was Cassian.

He came once it began, and came just before I fell into darkness; sprawled along the bed beside me with his boots dangled over edge. I remember the flashes of his face in my distant memory, the way he looked down at me and swiped the hair from my sweat beaded forehead, how once I began to shiver he had lifted the covers over my trembling convulsing body; despite the healers protests.

Although I could hardly decipher the words he spoke to me during that time, I could remember as my eyes drifted open and closed that his mouth moved and he said,

“The General Commandress of the Night Court,”

Before his lips brushed my temple and he left one last time.

•

My sticky eyelids peeled open, a soaring ache shooting through my spine once I gained consciousness. At first I believed I was dead, that the heavenly view of Velaris from the arched bedroom window was a result of my soul leaving my body and entering the over world. But I was very much alive, and all of this was real.

I blinked a couple of times, fingers twitching beneath the sweat saturated sheets until they gained back some sensation. My breath was shallow, shuddering and warm.

And then I saw it from the corner of my eye, creeping into my vision like a shadow. Black membrane, delicately stretched over wires of bone; veins like thunderbolts in the nights sky; new muscles beneath my shoulder blades which twitched with every strained movement.

I couldn’t even look at them, my eyes immediately screwing closed as nothing but joy escaped them. Hot salty tears streamed down my flushed cheeks, slipping into the corners of my dry mouth. With every shudder of my shoulders, pain shot through my body like arrows being twisted through muscle, and yet the pain was welcomed. Something I had dreamt of since they were carved from my body, something I never deemed could be possible before my very eyes. And I couldn’t even look.

Eventually, as my sobs turned into quiet gasps and my shoulders grew still, my eyes slowly trailed from my clenched trembling fists to the great wing draped from the side of the bed and along the grey stone floors. I twisted my torso, and despite the pain, they shuddered; the sound like the echo of a storm along a cabin roof, powerful and mighty.

I could have kept my eyes strained on them for hours and still believe it wasn’t real. No matter how much I twisted and turned and tensed that new found muscle in my back, making them flinch and flutter along the floor, I couldn’t believe it was real.

My curiosity got the better of me, the creaking bones in my legs shifting from the bed until my feet grazed the ground softly. I winced and hissed as I planted my feet on the ground, hauling the heavy weight of my wings like a sack of bricks slung over each shoulder. My knees caved at first, my backside hitting the bed and almost flattening the mattress with the added weight of my muscle. But I tried again, and again, until I was finally able to stand.

Determination pushed through my veins as I took that first step, wings dragging along the floor behind me. I could feel the spirit of my mother slap me on the back of the head, ‘lazy thing,’ she would scold me if I let them anywhere near close to the ground. I used the bedposts to haul my weight towards the bathroom, my hand slamming down heavily on top of the door handle as I reached the threshold of the bedroom. I near crawled to the sink.

Starring back at me through glitter like glass, were my wings. Although they still skimmed the cool ivory tiles of the bathroom, peaks of high muscle towered high above my head, much higher than Rhysand’s, Azriel’s, Cassian’s. Goosebumps coated my body as my eyes trailed to the apex, where bone like talons should have pointed towards my head. Yet there wasn’t any to be seen, instead, glowing bright crystals of emerald green, emeralds which seemed to flicker with every twinge of pain in my body.

Siphons. My talons had been replaced with siphons.

My mind burned as I focused on them, eyes narrowed at the near foreign reflection which starred back at me. And as if the wings themselves held a mind of their own, two threads of glowing green light poured from the tips and laced around the widest points; outstretching them so wide that they almost skimmed the walls of the spacious bathroom.

For the first time in what seemed an eternity, a smile of genuine happiness spread across my face, excitement and nerves all bundled into one spinning and erupting inside of me like a flame to liquor.

My happiness, my wings.

•

Azriel had found me clawing at the stairs in my night wear, attempting to find my way to a hot meal and a very strong glass of whiskey.

I was in absolutely no state to be seen by the circle, however considering they had watched me wither in the same sweat stained clothes for three consecutive days, I no longer cared.

Those days before the healer came, I had grown closer to the group; it was as if I was slowly slotting into place. My mornings would consist of sparring with Cassian, treading the ice crusted Illyrian grounds and throwing grimaces towards the Commander of Windhaven; by night, we would all bound together to eat dinner and share stories until our eyes grew tired and our glasses were no longer full.

My family by flesh and blood had died so long ago; majority of my soldiers joining them high above the clouds in the over world. It seemed like the Mother was gifting me opportunity upon opportunity to be surrounded by love and warmth. And here, I no longer had to care for everyone. Instead, I was cared for. It had been years since I had indulged in such a rich feeling.

Azriel’s arm clasped clasped below the stem of my wings, his fingers pressed into my side as he slowly lowered me to each step with a shaky breath, almost as if he was afraid he may hurt me. Each time my foot would hover in the air, he’d count down from three, bracing me for the strain which would shoot from my feet, all the way to my wings. He was a dark soul, yet a quiet one; gentle, almost.

Once he set eyes on my wings for the first time, the look on his face was priceless; bulging sockets with a mouth hung wide open, I had wished Cassian was there to see it. It was the most emotion I had ever seen on him, it made pride swell in my chest.

He hoisted me to the sitting room, although I had healed enough to make a few pathetic steps, and swung the heavy doors open with what seemed like an effortless push. I raised my eyebrows at the motion, my mind still partially hazy from the trauma which had been inflicted on my body.

The High Lord let out a low whistle at the sight, Feyre’s eyes practically rolling out of her head and onto the polished marble floor beneath her.

“And they say an Illyrian males length could be determined by his wingspan.” Rhysand said beneath his breath.

“Don’t listen to him.” Azriel muttered through gritted teeth.

I shot the High Lord a glare, which he simply winked at in response.

Azriel settled me into a chair which faced the two fae, briskly walking off to retrieve my glass of aged liquor and a hot plate of food. I grumbled and groaned as I shifted, my wings draped along both arms of the plush velvet seat and fluttering along the cool floor.

Feyre’s eyes darted over my face. “How are you feeling?” She asked, yet answered her own question shortly after. “You look rather well - in fact, you’re glowing.” She beamed her pearly white teeth.

I almost glared at her, but I pulled back the muscles in my face before I could. “I feel like I’ve been shot with one thousand arrows.” I murmured, my lips pressing into a firm line of thanks as Azriel set a crystal cut glass into my palm, filled three-quarters of the way with amber liquid.

I threw it back in one gulp. It didn’t even touch the sides.

My head nodded towards the High Lord as Azriel disappeared once again, as quiet as a cat.

“You can remove the tattoo now that I have my wings.” I said.

He furrowed his eyebrows, his bottom lip curling outwards as he looked towards his mate.

Feyre’s posture straightened slightly, lips mewled together as she looked down at her slender hands clasped in her lap.

I raised my eyebrows at her.

“I gave you the tattoo.” Was all she said.

My mouth fell open slightly, head jolting to rearrange my thoughts.

“What?” I asked.

Azriel walked back in, a bowl of stew with crusted bread plated at its side in his grasp. He settled it down on the coffee table before me, a spoon just beside it, lining up almost perfectly. He stalked around the back of my chair to find a pew of his own.

“You didn’t make a bargain with Rhys, simply agreed to come to our court… It was me who made a bargain with you.”

Her words failed to register in my brain. All of a sudden my roaring hunger had vanished.

“Well,” she chuckled to herself, rather satisfactory, “I made a bargain with myself regarding you.” She explained, however I remained in the dark, absolutely none the wiser.

My mouth opened to speak, yet no words came out.

I went to breathe, but the breath got caught in my throat.

“I promised myself that you would find true happiness here, that I would not rest until your heart was content.”

My face had entirely twisted with confusion. I almost thought she must have believed I was ungrateful to have my wings back. Which couldn’t be further from the truth.

A mischievous smile etched its way to her lips, her shimmering grey eyes meeting mine through her thick lashes as she slowly stirred her tea.

“It seems to me as though your heart isn’t entirely full yet.”

[miidnighters]

Flynn has to admit, he likes hearing Cass laugh like that.

"See, a full fashion report - that's the lengths a good boyfriend should go to. You're already winning the brownie points." Flynn laughs. It wasn't necessary, and truthfully, he didn't really expect Cass to remember outside of this conversation, but it was nice that the other even thought to say it.

Cass leans back - Flynn feels his knee shift - and Flynn's brow furrows slightly as if trying to figure out why. And then his hand withdraws.

Logically, Flynn knows he's done nothing wrong, but there is a tiny little niggle lingering in the back of his mind.

"A warm-up date?" He tries to refocus on the conversation. "Yeah, actually. Maybe that's not the worst idea you've ever had. Probably a good idea for you to be out somewhere with me, too and see what it's like." After all, going out with Flynn - especially if he left Fred at home, which he might to make things as close to the party as possible - had its differences to going out with someone who could see. "I really don't think the flirting will be an issue anyway. I enjoy a bit of back 'n' forth."

Had he meant to admit that?

"But sure. I could do either night this weekend if you wanted to go out for dinner?" Ah yes, moving on with plans for their dress rehearsal. Perfect.

Cass lets out a laugh, quick and unrestrained, at the southern grandma comment. "Yeah, no, we're not doing honey. Makes me feel like I should be knitting and offering you fruitcake. Not the vibe I'm going for, sweetheart." He glances down as Fred stirs, and without hesitation reaches over to give the dog a gentle scratch behind the ears. "I'll find him a bowtie anyway," he says, voice softening with fondness. "Even if you can't see it, I promise I'll give you the full fashion report. You'll be able to feel how dashing he looks." But when Flynn gives him the date, Cass leans back a little, expression shifting — still playful, still wearing that teasing ease, but more attentive now. "Next weekend, huh? Alright. That gives us just enough time to get my fake-boyfriend game on point," he says, giving Flynns fingers a subtle squeeze before letting his hand retreat. Then, lightly, "Might be smart to have a warm-up date before then. You know — iron out our backstory, rehearse our couple chemistry, maybe figure out how to flirt without making you regret ever roping me into this." He lifts an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. "What do you reckon? Dress rehearsal this week, baby? I'll even pull your chair out and everything. Real classy."

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I kinda had this idea of different levels of being glitched

Cross: the final overwrite gave him back all the memories of his past iterations. I imagine his code has a lot of extra data now. Some of it are repeating code unneeded, others are drastic changes and clash with other parts of his code. I think he has one main code and all the other codes from past iterations is just backed up data saved to his soul he can access it but it’s separate from who he is now if that makes sense. He wouldn’t want it fixed though they were all him at some point.

Dust: I remember in Dusttale canon he didn’t originally remember the player changed him so he would remember. Anyone looking at his code wouldn’t find much a couple extra lines of code and one line of code changed from No to Yes (remember timelines). I don’t see him wanting it to change cause on some level he doesn’t want to forget he doesn’t deserve to just forget after everything he’s done.

Geno: His code wasn’t changed but it is different. Parts are missing so his body made new code to replace the missing parts. Some parts are a little scrambled around but don’t affect much. He’s fine with how he is it’s not all that different from who he was really. Fatal: His code has been butchered it’s still there just not the same anymore. Parts have been cleaved out in thin strips. A lot of it is scrambled around the missing parts aren’t making new code so he’s stuck with empty pockets of code in his being. He would want to be fixed to be who he was again he didn’t ask for this.

Error: His code looked like it was put in the blender shredded to tiny pieces all mixed up with a couple big chunks standing out then they poured it into the shape of a skeleton. He can’t miss what he doesn’t remember he doesn’t really care about his messed up code he knows he’s an error it doesn’t change his goals. Blueberror/Blooper: His codes been scrambled all around less then Error bigger chunks remain and it’s not completely shredded. He wants to be who he was before not the thing he is now is that too much to ask for.

Killer: Anyone looking at his code would’ve disturbed. Huge chunks of his original code are missing leaving behind crumbs of who he once was. Someone shoved in new code regardless of the size and then used more code to stitch the edges to stay connected. Parts are scrambled around, missing, added, some parts are even burned which didn’t even think could happen. There’s also the data attached to him so much it starts to black out the sky when looking at his code as they overlap into pure darkness. There’s more oddity but it would require looking deeper. You know what they say you stare into the abyss and the abyss stares back. He knows you’re looking at him and he doesn’t enjoy it. It’s complicated feelings on the matter of fixing himself because that is his goal but parts of himself don’t want to be fixed it doesn’t feel like it would be them anymore.

I imagine that code and the soul are one in the same. The soul stores all of a persons code and date inside them. Changes to the soul changes the code and Vice verse. To mess with either is horrible thing to do someone. I imagine that all errors have their code scrambled and bits missing from their time in the anti-void although it differs in how long they’ve been there, mental strength, and personality.

~Musical Anon

Wonder how the different levels of code alterations would effect different individuals, from hardly anything noticeable to huge shifts in personality. Maybe even identity and sense of agency.

And i definitely agree that code and the SOUL are one in the same, and id even say that’s the canon interpretation for Undertale: Something New, given that whenever Killer’s SOUL changes into a different Stage—the example we’re shown is his SOUL changing into Stage 2–we also see his code changing from an unidentifiable mess to something like k1ll_sans.

On top of that, Killer states he’s interested in studying others’ SOULs because “each soul has its own unique code,” and I believe we’re shown further examples using Fell Sans and I believe Swap. So at some point, Killer realized the existence of codes, and their ties to people’s SOULs.

And realized that, at some point, his own was changed—although I doubt he realized this in the beginning at all, even if he likely knew about or at least believed in the existence of Players.

And I highly doubt finding out his code alternation changed anything for him in Stage 1 at all. It was still that body’s hands that accepted that Deal, picked up that knife and that bucket of water, and it was still those hands that snuffed out every life they latched onto.