#i think this may be the last one lads

[johnbly]

[obligatory job hunting is hell post]

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Nsfw scenarios/hcs for the LADS boys with their MC in ABO!AU (Idl if I wrote this right 😅) please? Like how they marked their mates, how they treated their mates during the rut and heat, etc.

+ Omegaverse, sexual content, alpha boys/omega reader, female reader

General

9/10 possessiveness level

Xavier is the most possessive of the main boys and gets jealous the easiest. He may seem calm about other alphas standing a little too close or talking a little too long to his mate, but the tension in the air is thick and unpleasant. There's a specific eery calmness to his face and falsely polite tone to his voice when he happens to cut into the conversation. He always wants to know the topic of conversation when you talk to anyone who has his suspicion. Xavier suddenly gets a little needier than usual, always trying to figure out a way to draw your attention back to himself. Or, purposely sliding an arm around your waist and holding you close in a silent hint that whoever is talking to you should back off, or he will drop his head against your shoulder, saying he’s tired, and asking you to hurry up so you can go home together,  he emphasizes. His last resort isn't pretty. 

While calm, he has a little of a competitive streak with others, whether that means scoring higher in your hunter team battles or building the largest snowman together. He is competitive for your attention against those he thinks are interested in you; and when he has you alone, he insists on scenting you or mating you. You better be prepared to hide large bite marks or hickeys by the time he’s done claiming you.

Protective Level: 6/10

Xavier has no problem with you running about your daily life. He has confidence that you’re strong and don’t necessarily need much protection. He only insists on coming with for two things: (one) if he’s jealous of the person you’re meeting or (two) if you’re going somewhere to fight on your own.

As long as he’s around, he’s confident that things will work out fine. However, he gets extremely protective when you’re hurt, asking for you to stay behind him, rushing ahead to be the vanguard, and trying to take on the brunt of everything himself. And if you get hurt being rash, prepare for him to be upset with you and insist that you allow him to protect you more.

Scenting

Scent: Fresh Linen

Xavier smells good, but there isn’t something to pinpoint about his scent that is unique to him. Simply put, he smells clean, like freshly dried laundry with a touch of lavender.

Xavier loves covering you in his scent, cuddling and sleeping with you until you’re no longer entirely sure what your scent smells like not mixed with his. He scents your things, like your plushies, before you even need to ask. 

He likes to tease you, asking if you want him to scent his hoodies even more since you take them so much, and he’s always happy to oblige. His first instinct to calm you down consists of three options: scenting, cuddles, and food, in that order.

Mating

Xavier already likes to mate with his partner a lot, like a constant rut minus the attitude that comes with it; always wrapping his arms around you, nudging the back of your neck, and lightly coercing the situation to where he wants it to end up whenever the opportunity shows itself.

In a rut, he’s twice as easy to rile up and much more direct about wanting to be alone with you, wanting to hold you and shove his head into the divot of your neck, and audibly inhaling your scent. You can already feel him against you in more ways than one.

He doesn’t waste his time trying to play games with you during this time, choosing to show you exactly how much he wants you before taking charge. You’re burnt out by his energy when you’re used to him napping right after a round or two. This time he isn’t letting up, but he promises that he’ll treat you so well, promises that he’ll get you there twice in exchange for letting him have one more time, as if you're aren't already overstimulated with jellied legs.

He asks if you're already tired. He'll let you sleep but can he at least squeeze and kiss you while he uses his hand. He promises to clean his mess if it gets on you. He'll be good, he swears, and he's so puppy eyed that you let him.

When he finally is tired, he’ll fall asleep while inside you. His knot stopped swelling a long time ago, but he enjoys your warmth around him as he nuzzles the back of your head.

Xavier does his best to tend to his mate when they’re in heat. He’ll get warm compresses and try his best to cook for you (most likely failing) and offer to nap with you when you’re in pain. He’ll let you use him how you want as long as it makes you feel better, whether that’s using his hands, mouth, or knotting you.

There’s a small bit of worry from him, with the way he asks,

“Where do you need it?” “Like this?” “Are you sure you only want my fingers? It’s okay to ask for more.” “Open your legs wider. You don’t have to be embarrassed. It's only me." "Next time, I'll let you take care of me, deal?

You’re so cute like this, needing and wanting him, but he hates how it causes you pain.

General

3/10 possessiveness level

Rafayel tends to have confidence that he can have you before anyone else, trusting your judgment to take care of yourself. He also has pretty high esteem of himself when it comes to the social world. A few properly chosen words is usually enough to get any seducer to back off. Rafayel can’t believe someone else could possibly think they’d have a chance with you when you have him.

As repentance, he wants you to do things for him after little incidents like that. It’s so exhausting chasing lesser alphas off, after all. Whether he’s serious or not when he says he could use some affection after his omega so cruelly ignored him for another alpha remains to be determined.

If there ever is a time where he feels insecure or jealous, he isn’t above trying to cut off someone’s relationship with you. If it comes to threats so be it, but it will end. It doesn’t matter if it’s from your side or the pursuer. It’s an ultimatum, either him or the other person, but not both.

He has a bigger concern about you not needing or growing bored of him than falling in love with someone else. Otherwise, he tends to have faith in you.

Protectiveness Level: 8/10

Rafayel knows you’re strong. Trust him—a twisted arm and playfights abound—he knows. But you are also bulledheaded and naïve. He worries you might end up getting yourself injured; or worse, killed.

So, he’s observant as always, watching for any suspicious activities with the people you’re around, whether warranted or not. He wouldn’t just do that for anyone, only for his precious mate and also for his precious peace of mind. He tends to operate from the background to not be too overbearing, but he doesn’t mind being the one to step in—to get hurt—if it means keeping you safe.

Scenting

Scent: Beach Sand with a Hint of Citrus

Rafayel smells of white beach sand and tropical fruit. He smells like the first hint of salt air and the ocean breeze and mineral. It reminds you of family vacations and old memories. He insists most Lemurians have scents like these, but his is special! It's the only one that mixes so lovely with yours.

He does scent you when you ask, but he requests that you do the same. It’d be much better for you to scent each other. He loves to tease you when you ask him to scent things for you.

“If you like it so much maybe I should make it into a perfume.” But he’d hate it if you actually agree. “Wait, let’s not be too hasty. A perfume really can’t compete with the natural source.”

Mating

Rafayel dislikes his mating cycle only because he dislikes losing his sense of control over himself. But when you’re there, with your scent clouding his mind, it’s all bets off. He’s so needy and HAS to have you. He feels like he’ll die if he isn’t burying himself in your scent, your presence, in you. He needs to feel your hands on him and isn’t below demeaning himself or being more forceful than usual to get it.

He’ll constantly seek you out, calling you late at night. He has nothing to say. He just needed to hear your voice, just keep breathing for him, he’s almost there. He needs you to come over to his place right now. It’s all your fault he’s burning like this. You need to get there immediately and take responsibility before he goes insane. He's already dizzy and his hand isn’t cutting it anymore.

In person, he grabs your hand, and the look in his eyes is begging in place of his mouth that’s too heavy with pants to talk straight as he savors your touch, desperate and gluttonous. 

“Right there...don't make me beg…just a little bit longer.” “I need to feel you. There. You feel incredible.” “If you want my knot, you can have it. Say you want it for me, and I’ll give it to you. Say it.”

When it’s your turn to go manic, he’s going to have his revenge for all the bullying and petting you did while he was rutting. He’s going to coo and fawn over how much you need him, and make you ask him nicely for his touch, but he’ll always give in to his little mate. He knows what’ll make you feel good, and he’s going to give it to you in due time. He thinks you look so pretty when you’re about to cum, covered in sweat, body tensing, the shallow, quick breaths.

“I wish I could paint you like this, but I don’t want to look away.” “Do you really want me to breed you that bad? Don’t say you didn’t ask for it.”

Rafayel is going to make sure you have an easy time, clearing out your schedule for you and letting you stay in the studio with him. Thomas' calls are going to go unanswered for a while.

General

6/10 possessiveness level

Zayne is able to get jealous; however, he isn’t one to distrust you. It’s other people he doesn’t trust. He’ll drop hints he doesn’t like something you’re doing, a sarcastic jab here, a polite warning there, and even a “you should be careful of the company you keep.”. He always introduces himself as your mate to ensure there are no misconceptions about your relationship with him.

Zayne occasionally has to remind you that he’s your partner especially when you insist on teasing him and being a brat, poking at that jealous side of his to rile him up. It doesn’t take long for you to get the idea after having him between your legs. It’s really more of a funny thing, seeing him possessive, because he becomes a lot more short-tempered but absolutely refuses to admit he’s being possessive.

However, he calms relatively easy with some reassurance, and he doesn’t care as much if someone likes you after he knows you have zero interest in them. It’s more of an annoyance than something for him to fear.

Protectiveness Level: 10/10

Zayne is always so worried about you. He always has to tell you to be careful, to watch where you’re stepping so you don’t trip, to not drink too much without him there to take you home, and to watch for injuries. It might be a bit of his doctor attitude coming out, but it’s so much worse when it comes to you. You know no one else who adds the weather of the city you’re in to confirm you’re okay.

He’s also protective of your mental wellbeing; he tends to be the rock you rely on. If someone is bothering you, you can tell him, and he’ll be sure to handle the issue immediately.

Scenting

Scent: Bamboo Forest

Zayne smells like bamboo forests, a mix of floral and earthy. It kind of reminds you of him, calm and quiet but strong and solid like the earth. Fresh, green, and slightly woody. It smells like nature.

He scents you when you ask, and he quietly scents you when he wants, always overthinking if it’s something you want him to do or appropriate at a given point in time. It doesn’t take long for him to become better at knowing when you want it, when to leave something with his scent for you when you’re upset, and when to simply cradle you against him. His mood improves exponentially whenever you shove your face into his chest and mumble about how good he smells.

Zayne loves the way you smell. It’s a familiar and comforting thing to have your scent greeting him after a hard day at work. It lets him know you’re doing okay, and he gets worried whenever your scent is off. He can usually tell the slightest changes of your mood, and it makes him agitated whenever you try to pretend you’re fine when he can clearly tell different from smell alone.

Mating

Zayne tries his best to control himself and avoid you during his ruts. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you, which leads him to being too restrained whenever he’s with you to the point where you can tell he’s not handling himself well.

It’s going to take a few times to convince him that you can handle it, that he can let go and give you everything before he finally allows himself to dive into his hormones, throw you against the bed, and kiss you hard. It's almost like a completely different side of him. Sure, he could always be dominant in the bedroom but there was always a control to it. Instead, he's instinctive, running off the rush of endorphins to reach the peak he desperately wants to tumble over, harsh and tunnel visioned as he chases the sensation of you clamping down around his knot.

“Hold it there, we’re almost there. You can handle it.” “Let me have you a few more times. Then, you can rest.” “Good girl. You’re doing so well. So good to me.”

During your time, he is meticulous. Zayne knows you almost as well as you know yourself, knows what sweets you like to eat, what positions make you the most comfortable, and tips on how to keep yourself together.

That only works so long, however, and soon he takes a more hands on approach in helping you through your heat cycle. His fingers curled up inside you, pushing that sweet springy spot inside you that has your juices pouring over his palm. He shushes you as you beg for him to give you more and more, to please stop this edging and fuck you already.

He promises he’ll make it good, but he has to slowly work you up first, so you won’t get overstimulated. Then, he’ll give you what you want until you pass out.

“Hold still, or do you want me to stop?” “Does it feel that good? I’ll be sure to remember that for next time.” “See what happens when you follow directions?” “You’ll have your reward soon. Which do you prefer to have—my fingers or my knot?”

Zayne also takes special care of you no matter the situation, making sure to wipe you off and hold a warm rag to your swollen and puffy cunt as he makes out with you. He scents you heavily afterward and lets you fall asleep against him until it all starts over again.

[defmaybe]

J’adore

5.2k words

aespa’s Yoo Jimin/Karina x Male Reader

Prequel to Not Shy

A/N: Kind of extension to Not Shy! Also, this is my last sprint before the midterms lol, I’ll be back after that and try to write something good. Kinda rough bc there’s no beta-reading lol. Thanks for reading as always!!!

—

Spring

“You? A student council member?”

“It’s just the treasurer!”

It’s the easiest position, according to your seniors, which seems to be much, much more credible sources than Kai, the friend you got caught in a debate with.

“Just the treasurer. Mate, have you seen the lads from last year? I swear that one of them almost died.”

“I have to build my portfolio, man. You even have your dance club!” You retort, trying to grasp on something.

“Well, it’s because I like to dance.” Kai says in a mocking tone. He doesn't mean to be condescending, of course. He’s your best friend, after all. “Do you like to work with Excel?”

“I mean–”

“Board games? No, too nerdy. Cheerleader? No, too demanding. And then you fucking jumped onto the student council? I swear, man, you definitely have some kind of death wish,” he says.

You sigh, surrendering to his points. Still, you're too deep in the application process to turn back now. You look back at your phone, seeing all the completed questions in the form.

“I’m not leaving you behind, still,” Kai says, patting your back. “I’ll give you caffeine when you need it.”

Do you think you’re qualified to be a student council member?

Yes.

“I’m sending it now.”

“Good luck.”

Submit

Thank you for your submission. We will announce our selection by May 1st.

—

Summer

Maybe it was how the last year’s council members turned out to be. You were the only one who applied for the treasurer's position. Hell, even the other ones aren’t any more popular either. There was no one in the head of first aid, and they had to roll out another round of applications for that.

The fresh faces of the new student council members are all standing inside this meeting room—so determined, so passionate. Their chatters fill the room up with life.

You glance around the room. You’re familiar with some of them, walk-pasts in the hallways, sitting-fars in the classes, until one woman catches your eye.

Yoo Jimin, you’ve heard that she beat the second place applicant for president by quite a margin. Her confidence is probably what makes her so alluring to the students. Also, her face, fuck, her face, she’s the fucking epitome of perfection.

Maybe it’s the way you stare at her for just a little too long; she starts to walk towards you, and that’s when you fell into her trap for the first time.

She stops just a step away, offering you a handshake—firm, assured.

“Yoo Jimin,” she declares—stern, expressionless.

“Pleasure to meet you, Jimin.” You accept her grip, lips curling inward, letting out a minuscule smile—relaxed, reserved.

“We’ll be working together for the next year. I’m looking forward to it.” She keeps it professional in the expression she makes. There’s nothing to be made of it, except for the fact that she’s very reticent with her face.

You force out another small smile. “I’m also looking forward to it, Jimin.”

—

“Areas! I need two tables and four chairs. Parcels, get your equipment ready.”

The first meeting between the freshmen and their seniors is always the hardest to perfect. There’s the idea that the first impression defines the future of the relationship between the two. So, here you are, in your faculty’s First Meet event. You’re lucky that they let you use the air conditioners on the d-day. Those fucking run-throughs got you all melted.

You have little work to do today, having managed the proposals and preparing to do the post-production stuff. So, you’re at the core team’s table, playing whatever your old laptop can handle, until—

“Are you free?”

You look up from your screen to see the angelic figure that is Yoo Jimin standing in front of you, towering you with ease with you sitting in your seat.

“Uh–,” you can only let out a hesitation.

“I guess you’re—” she bends over the desk to see the gaming screen, before letting out a small laugh. “—free?”

“Y–Yes, Jimin.” A slight view of her cleavage can be seen with her posture, and you have to do your best to find something else to look at.

“Good. Can you help us carry a few tables?”

You look at your frail arms—should’ve done some more work at the gym. “If you want me to tear my biceps.”

Jimin chuckles, before closing on your ear, left hand pressing on your right thigh, “Don’t worry that you wouldn’t be able to jerk off, treasurer. I can do it for you.”

You freeze, not believing the words coming out of her mouth. Did she just say that? Such lewd words?

Jimin, sensing your tensed up body, pulls back from you and laughs. “Oh my god, look at you. I was just fucking with you!”

“Good grief, Jimin. You could’ve killed me,” you huff.

She shoots back a beam. “Come on, let’s get to work.”

—

Fall

The clicking sound of your keyboard and the scratches of the bills you’re arranging permeates the room this evening. Jimin is sitting on the other side of the trash-ridden table—stationeries, snack wraps—eyes unfocused as she swipes one short video after another. Her thoughts seem to be elsewhere now. Dinner? Bed? Someone? You’ll never know.

“Fucking hell, this bitch again,” she mutters under her breath, which you catch. You look up from the budget plan you’re working on, meeting her eyes.

“Sorry, Tinder stuff.”

You return her a tiny smile before going back to inputting the bills. Still, you can hear Jimin’s tossing and turning in her chair as she seems to type something into her phone, before smashing her thumb on the right side of its poor screen. You can’t help but let out a chuckle, one that she catches.

“Yeah, it’s pathetic, isn’t it?” Jimin rhetorizes, placing her phone on the table. “A student president that just can’t find any partner.”

You shrug, still typing, “Well, the work is gruelling.” And she chuckles at your statement.

“Yeah, I guess so. But it’s just, how to explain?” She furrows her eyebrows, tapping her chin to seek the right word in the air, before coming to an answer. “I just can’t find the right person, you know? Half of the line is gone once I show any bit of confidence, and the other half are, well, clingy ass bitches.”

You smile back at her, trying to give her some solace in solitude. “I’m sure you’ll find the right person soon, Jimin. You like–have the whole faculty in your hands.”

She gives you a weak smile. “You always have pleasant words for everyone, treasurer.”

You smile back before returning to your accounting work, unbeknownst to the light bulb brightening up inside her head.

“So, how’s your love life?” She asks, rising from the other side. She leans forward ever so slightly, hands supporting her frame on the white table, slightly revealing the valley of her breasts.

You break yourself from the laptop, once again, meeting her cleavage in your line of sight for a split second. It’s magnetic, but you’re able to resist it, for now.

“Hmm?”

“I mean… you don’t seem to be an awful choice for women, or men, judging from… how many months?”

“Four,” and you gulp.

“Yeah, four months with you, my treasurer. But I’ve never quite caught you being involved in anything,”—she stands up straight, before slowly striding towards your seat, hips swaying at each nifty step—“romantic.”

You clench your eyes ever so tightly at her alluring motion—the swaying hips, the crossing steps—as if there’s anything to examine but her burning lust. “Well, Jimin, I don’t think the passive mid-table guys get much,” you state.

“Is that so? Because you don’t seem to belong at the mid-table.” The distance between you two is shrinking, slowly. And with a few more small steps, you find her towering over you, chest basking in front of your face.

Jimin bends down slowly, revealing just a slight sight of her gorgeous cleavage. The poor crop top is struggling to hold her supple flesh within, even with the workshop shirt helping. You shift just slightly in your seat.

Your eyes are doing their best to resist the magnetic force, but her big brown eyes aren't a sanctuary, either.

“Thanks, miss president.”

Her Dior J’adore is enrapturing you.

“You know, I notice the perfume you wear every day, even if it’s just CK One.” She forces sultry into her perceptive words, and to say, it works. She drags her right middle finger along the length of your arm, lighting a fire in its trail.

You try to keep your composure; it works, for now. She doesn’t seem to notice the sweat hanging off your forehead yet.

“Or how you dress so damn well to class, even if it’s some fuckass subject,” Jimin continues, tracing her hands up to your forearm now.

Your breath hitches, and you can just connect the dots so easily.

“W–Why me, though, Jimin?”

“Oh, clever boy, I just need the real thing, that’s all,” she coos. Her digits are playing with the line of your collarbones now. 

“See, I’m just so fucking sick of my—well, what’s the word, devices. They’re pleasurable, sure, but unlike a real person, which in this case—is you—” Her hand grabs your chin from behind, and you can’t find any resistance. Her sonic reduces into a sensual whisper into your ear. “—they lack warmth.”

“S–So, do you want to have—”

“Sex? Yes, I want you inside me, baby. I want you body clashing against mine, while you moan my name like you’re some common whore.”

It’s haywire, your mind. You are lost in her—her voice, her face, her body, everything that’s about Jimin. Is she really inviting you to have sex with her? Is this interaction even real?

“So, what do you say, wanna go somewhere after this? Somewhere—small, somewhere—private.” Her voice dives into a whisper beside your ear, and you can feel a smile forming beside it. “I’m sure you can work on your bills—anywhere.”

You stare forward, trying to look unfazed to cover your crumbling composure.

“I–I can work on the bills anywhere, Jimin.” Your voice betrays you.

She gives a quiet laugh, “Good to know, treasurer,” before lightly grabbing your chin, with her index and middle finger resting on your lips. Are they seeking silence or entry?

Slowly, they push your upper lip ever so slightly, eliciting a whimper from you. Fuck, is she trying to—

“You know what to do, baby.”

Rejection.

Hesitation.

Submission.

You open your mouth for her—now courtesy of Yoo Jimin. You take in her fingers. They’re cold from the air conditioner. Bite. Lick. Swallow. You close your eyes while doing so, absorbing her taste with your tongue. You feel you’re under her control—so submissive. It’s ecstatic.

“God, do you like being called a whore? Because you’re acting like one right now,” Jimin asks.

You profusely nod at her statement, continuing to suck on her fingers.

“Then keep doing it, whore.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you can hear her giggle. And as your vision comes back to her, the free hand is rubbing against her clothed core now. Mewling sounds can be heard.

“God, keep sucking it, baby. I’ve never cummed as fast as this before.”

“Ngh.” And you keep sucking her fingers.

A sound of the door stops you in your tracks though.

“Guys, I need a few chairs–am I interrupting something?”

Ning Yizhuo, head of student welfare, barges into the room. She stares straight at you two. Good thing Jimin pulls her digits out and puts them behind her back before Yizhuo’s eyes catch sight of you glistening on her, leaving you stranded in your burning desire for your president.

Maybe it’s the way your eyes are still fluttering. Maybe it’s the way your mouth ever so slightly hangs open. Maybe it’s your quick breaths.

Yizhuo wants to know what’s up.

“We’re just–” Jimin tries to find the right word in your eyes. Her blinks are rapid. She’s concerned. She’s afraid.

“You’re–what?” Yizhuo isn’t a patient figure. She’s trying to gauge something out of Karina.

“I–I’m adjusting his posture! O–Our dear treasurer has a bad sitting posture and–”

“Cut the shit, Jimin. What the fuck did you guys do?”

“S–See, he’s sitting a lot, you know? B–Bills. Accounting. Excel stuff.” Jimin’s brows hint at the concern within her chuckle. She pushes the middle of your back to set you straight up. As you follow her move, Yizhuo clenches her eyes.

“Just get me some chairs and don’t fuck inside this room.”

—

Jimin swings her door open, and as expected, every single bit of it is immaculately kept clean. There’s not a single piece of trash on the floor of her white room; the table is meticulously arranged; the bed is folded. There’s a Meteora vinyl placed on her shelf. God, what a tasteful woman.

“Drop your bag.”

You comply as she also does so.

And she immediately pounces on your body, consuming your taste and scent at your nape. Her lips are wet, sending shocks through your pliant frame.

“Mmph, keep this perfume, baby. I just wanna have this scent of you every day.”

It’s CK One.

She plants her kisses along your neck—standing up straight—ever so determined to make you hers. Her hands lock your shifting, shaking body in place, despite being so eager to feel every inch of you—up and down.

“So—pliant, so—submissive,” she whispers.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you deflect, trying to have a hold of the battle. There’s a glint of brattiness inside you that wants to resist her just a little, just before you give in.

“Is that so?” Jimin mewls, before pushing you onto the bed.

“I’m not letting you have me that easily, miss president,” you say with your back against her soft cushion. Jimin is straddling her lean, lengthy legs over yours. She looks so damn tall from this view—you lying beneath her.

“Sucking my fingers, then decide to be a bratty bitch right now—” She lightly taps the tip of your nose, also scrunching hers. “—I like that.”

You say nothing, giving her just a wink from below.

“Oh, baby, I’ll have you scream my name so many times.”

“Fucking make me then.”

And fires ignite in her eyes.

She dives onto your left ear—nibbling, biting, swallowing, whatever she can do with her mouth without tearing your auricle off. Her deep moans send suppressed shudders through your neurons.

Jimin spreads saliva all over your ear, no sign of relenting. Slurping sounds of her flesh ring in your head. She plants each lick with purpose, and it sends jolts and jolts through your body. Still, you’re far from falling apart—tethered on the ground.

“Tsk, i–is this the best y–you can do?”

“Oh, baby, you’re already stuttering? I can do more if you want~,” she tastefully threatens. Then, she brings her right hand into play, tilting your chin up. Your mouth is right beside her neck. The pale smoothness of her skin is presented in front of you, and you just can’t help but—

“F–Fuck!” Jimin yells, clearly enraptured with the swipes of tongue you are giving her. Still, she keeps spreading her saliva on your ear as if it’s hers (it’s hers).

“Oh, b–baby boy, maybe you can use your t–tongue on other things instead,” she whines.

“Your cunt?” You keep stretching your tongue onto her nape, getting a taste of her sweat.

She pulls back from you, robbing the sensations away from your throat. “Clever, now just lie like this. I’m riding your pretty face.”

Jimin then takes off her purple lace panties, giving you a hint of her wet cunt—unshaved—as she lifts her leg, before stuffing the garment onto your nose. Fuck, her musk is so intense; you can just die happily right here.

“You just love it, don’t you?”

You sheepishly nod, pressing her panties against your nose even tighter, eliciting laughs from her sinful mouth.

“I think that’s enough, baby. I wanna fuck your face now,” she says, before tossing away the filthy garment.

Jimin then moves forward on her knees, bringing her heat closer and closer to your face. God, the fact that she’s unshaved only brings you higher. You need to slurp her juice; you need it on your face, you–

“Ready?”

Her cunt is hovering above you now, she’s pulling her skirt up, letting you see her face for the last time before being buried under her.

You nod.

And she sinks onto your face.

The first contact is soft, so, so soft. You’re practically making out with pussy, as she shakes above you erratically. There isn’t much light, with her skirt darkening your vision of what’s around, but it’s like you’d complain. You’re eating your student president out in her room, and you’re doing it so, so well that it sends shivers through her body, again and again.

“Ngh, f–fuck!” Jimin shouts from above—the things you’d do to see her face right now, to see an effect you’re having on her.

You say nothing, just keep lapping up her folds enthusiastically. Her juice drips into your mouth—sweet.

Jimin starts to grind her hips, as the moans grow louder. She’s getting wetter, and you’re still happily drinking her sugary nectar—drunk with it.

“Ah, ah, y–you’re doing well, my treasurer.”

You give her a thumbs up. You keep licking her cunt as if your life is depending on it. She moans so loud; everyone on this floor is probably going to hear that, but you don’t care anymore. The only thing in your head right now is to please Jimin—only Yoo Jimin.

And you can feel her thighs tense, shaking with pleasure. She’s going to cum. Her moans grow more chaotic and shorter than they were.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, fuck!”

She cums hard, collapsing onto the bed, cunt still on your face, ass up in the air. Her core clenches and clenches on your face, and she just forgets to breathe as her hips convulse.

“No squirt today, huh?” you joke from below.

She snaps back into the situation she’s in, sneering, “Fuck off, don’t fucking play stupid with me, wh–whore.”

You laugh, “Alright, alright, let’s get to the main course, shall we?”

“Y–Yeah.”

Jimin lifts off from you, leaving a string of her lubricant between your lips and her cunt.

“God, that’s hot,” you just can’t help but say it.

She giggles, and you can now see the sweat forming on her forehead; there’s beauty in it.

You two, in a haste, discard all of your clothes until you’re left with nothing—just bare bodies on the bed together. You’re sitting opposite of her, expecting her to say something.

She looks ethereal under the room light. The messy hair, the perfect features, the bare body, they all combine into the epitome of perfection right in front of you. Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

“Can I suck your tits?” you mutter. Fuck reticence, you need her, now.

She chuckles. “Sure, but only if I’m on top of you.”

“You just have to find a way to dominate me, don’t you?” you huff.

“Don’t say it like you don’t like it, baby.” She caresses your cheeks, and you shiver at her touch.

You lie down, as she slowly eclipses the light above both of you. Her large breasts are hanging down so close to your face. And—

“F–Fuck!”

You latch your mouth on her right breast as if it’s innate, with your hand kneading on the other. She lets out empyrean moans that only makes you want to suck on them even more. God, you can do this all day.

And not wanting to wait anymore, she impales her cunt with your cock, and you can only moan into her tits. This sensation, it’s overwhelming. Her velvety walls are hugging you so, so tightly. It’s so warm. She’s warm.

“Fuck,” she groans, eyes rolling into the back of her head. “Your cock is so well-bent, baby. It’s hitting my g-spot so good.”

“T–Thanks, J–Jimin.” Your mind is so damn clouded by the pleasure that you can say nothing but her name right now.

And a crack starts to form when she moves—up and down. Her unshaved cunt dragging along your digit, emanating pleasure all over your body from the core.

“B–Babe, c–can you stop s–sucking my tits?” she pleads.

You pull yourself out of her mounds, as she’s still riding you like there’s no tomorrow, and you let out small moans at each contact. “W–What? Ngh.”

“I wanna kiss you.”

You freeze under her. She’s still motioning herself to squeeze the cum out of you, whimpering each time your cock hits the hilt. Is it a confession? Does she love—

“B–Babe,” she brings you back to the mortal world.

“Y–Yeah, kiss me.”

She invades your mouth as if it wasn’t already hers at the second she sits on your face. Your tongues intertwine in a quest to declare their feelings of their owners.

Your hands are still squeezing her breasts. It’s addictive. You press and press into her flesh just to feel her as much as you can. This might as well be the only body you want to have just to yourself, as you dedicate yours to her. Every curve, every contour, every limb, you want her; you want her to want you; you need her. This kiss, fuck, it’s doing wonders to you.

She’d be the one to break off from the kiss to pant above you, hips still smashing into yours in a perfect rhythm.

“W–Wanna go out with me?” she asks.

She’s desperate, all the Tinder dates, all the–

“Babe, I–I fucking know that it’s desperate, yes or no. Fuck those Tinder dates, fuck those guys and girls, I–I want to go out with you, t–treasurer,” she pants.

Maybe it’s her J’adore that’s permeating all over you. Maybe it’s the way your hips are clashing into each other. Maybe, just maybe, it’s the glint in her eyes.

But if you have to recall, it’d be the confidence she’s radiating in clashing your flesh together just right now.

You nod.

Jimin smiles, pulling you into another kiss. You swear it can tear you apart if you have to let this woman go—figuratively.

She pulls off, her breaths becoming shorter and shorter again. “C–Can you cum with me, baby?”

Again, you nod, smiling. It’s inside your loins, building up, building up. Your body tenses up beneath her, same as hers. It’s there. It’s there.

“Fuck, baby, breed me. I’m yours, just breed me, just–ugh!”

And her whole body freezes, juices flowing onto your crotch. Her face is contorted by the pleasure coursing through her. Again, she forgets to breathe, back arching. You don’t slow down, though. Your orgasm is coming too.

“B–Babe–ah!”

It breaks. You busy yourself inside her to the hilt. Just like her, you forget to breathe. You shoot spurts of your seed deep into her womb, intending to breed her as her wish. Your cock shakes inside her, as she moans at each twitch.

It subsides, eventually. The shots get softer and softer to the point the cum just dribbles off the tip of you now. Fuck, your juices even leak out of her cunt onto your crotch, mixed together.

“F–Fuck,” is all she can say, before collapsing onto you, chest pressed up against yours.

“The plan’s still up?”

“Yeah.”

And she slips to the side, embracing you from behind, as you two doze off in the nocturne.

—

“Can I use your toothbrush?”

A long drag of uncertainty comes from the outside. Sun has risen hours ago, yet you two are still in the drowsy state.

“Or do I have to kiss you again for the answer, Jimin?”

“Put your morning breath away from me!”

At least she’s quick with her riposte.

As you brush your teeth, naked, she saunters into the bathroom, still similarly bare from last night. Her breasts bounce ever so slightly with each step in the mirror. Despite the disheveled appearance, her natural beauty shines through the mess—a seraphic being, one might say.

“Ha, yeah, I know I’m pretty, baby,” she says. “People would kill to have a body like me.”

You finish your clean up, before saying, “You’re insufferable, you know?”

Jimin laughs, before giving you a quick peck on the cheek, emanating mellow all over your face. Fuck, you can feel the blood rushing to your erection now.

“You too, babe.” She smiles, before grabbing her mouthwash for a gargling.

Your cock, again, finds the condition to rise in front of this woman. It’s twitching, and you just have to turn back before she notices it.

Still, her sharp eyes find you, and she gives you a small slap on your bare ass, sending pleasure rushing through your body.

“Hey!” she growls with the mouthwash, before quickly disposing of it. “You’re fucking hard again?”

“I–I–I–uh–”

Jimin then presses herself up against your back, arms ever so tightly trapping you from behind in a hug. It’s warm. She’s warm.

“Let me, baby,” she whispers against your wobbling right ear. “I can’t have my co-workers’ needs go unsated.”

“F–Fucking hell.”

In one careful motion, Jimin slides her arms down to your erection, right hand grabbing the length. “Wouldn’t mind some respect from my baby boy~” Her grip and the languid, careful strokes make your legs wobble.

“Tsk, n–no fucking way, J–Jimin,” you muster any inhibition you have left to deflect.

“Well, then.” Jimin then tightens her hold on your cock, transpiring both pain and pleasure to you. “How about now?”

“Nghhhh, f–fuck,” you cry out, the contorted expression appears in the mirror.

“Just like that, baby, moan for me. Show me who owns you,” Jimin coos, loosening her hold a slight, still keeping the adagio tempo.

“Nnnh, J–Jimin.”

“Good boy, good boy,” she murmurs.

She drags her filthy hand up and down your cock so leisurely, finding the rhythm for your pliancy. She strokes and strokes to build you up to the second release with her, this time by her hand.

It feels like eternity—the way her unhurried digits find the pace that would make you want so much more, or how she whispers ‘good boy’ into your ear every time she wants a whiff of reassurance of control. It’s like she needs one, anyway, judging by how you’re moaning like a bitch right now.

“God, you’re making so much sound for me.” The way she swipes her index finger at the tip of your cock on each stroke, fuck, you can fall onto the floor right here and now. “Wanna see your face in the mirror, baby?”

You turn your head leftwards to find reflections of a contorted face and a grin side by side. Her hand is diligent as ever—building you up to your inevitable release.

“What do you say, baby? Wanna see our faces in the mirror?” she inquires again. You can feel a mischievous smile beside your ear.

“Ngnh, a–alright.”

With ease, she forces your body to turn into your image of the ball of lust—the shower of kisses on your neck; the hand sliding up and down your cock; the thigh pressing up against your ass. You shift and shift within her restraint, and that seems to only fuel her fire.

“Moan some more for me, baby. I wanna hear your voice. I want my men moaning.”

You comply, letting out a series of whimpers just for your student president. The sensation of her hand is so damn enthralling—each slide, each nick of a finger, each twist of her wrist, they are all designed to make you surrender to her.

“Good boy. Your moans are so pleasing to hear, you know that?”

“Nngh, t–thanks, Jimin.”

“Wanna up the ante, baby? I can do it faster~” As if her languid tempo isn’t already doing its job in trapping you inside her overflowing lust.

You hesitate, finding yourself wanting this act to go on to such lengths, maybe even when the sun sets again. Being under her comforting warmth is too satisfying.

“I–I don’t know, Jimin.”

“Oh, this baby can’t decide? Guess I’ll just have to–”

She suddenly lets go of your length, cutting your string of desire so easily. You whine, as Jimin lets out a laugh.

“Don’t!” you say in a rush, and letting go the hand you haven’t realized you’ve been holding—hers.

Jimin giggles. “Say please, baby.” She tightens her hug on you, squeezing the plea out.

Your eyes meet hers in the mirror.

“Please, Jimin.”

“Good boy.” And she wraps her hand around your erection again, casually stroking it.

“Ngh.”

The sound of her jerking your shaft fills the room. It’s heavenly—her voluptuous chest pressing up against your arching back with right hand busy sliding on your rod. She does it so cleanly—the technique, the pace. You swear you will cum by the second she whispers another ‘good boy’ into your welcoming ears.

As if she knows your inevitable release, she seeks a higher speed on your cock, stroking it with a swiftness that tries to draw out your moan and your cum as much as she can.

“Ngh, J–Jimin,” you whimper.

“Oh, gonna cum already, baby?” Jimin giggles at your crumble, before giving a peck on your left cheek. “Go on, cum for me. Cum, just like you did last night inside me.”

White spots start to form within your vision. Your breaths become more erratic. It’s there. It’s there.

“Jimin~”

And you explode all over her mirror, painting white streaks on it. You are left with ecstasy on your face as Jimin smiles at your release. Your body shrieks and shudders in her embrace. Your cock twitches in her hand, sending flying ropes of cum everywhere. Fuck.

“Yes, baby, just like that.” Her voice is deep—so seductive.

You continue to shake in her hold, not being able to subside from your high so quickly. Your release grows lighter and lighter in her hand, until it comes out in drops, finally letting you catch your breath.

“Good boy,” Jimin says, before forcing your body towards hers. You are spun around, and she gives you a kiss.

It’s short, but it’s powerful—no tongue fighting for dominance, no slurping sounds, just a kiss.

And she pulls back from it once she’s satisfied, judging from the smile on her face.

“Wanna do this again?” she asks.

“Definitely—well—maybe. You know Yizhuo would beat our asses if she catches us again, right?”

“Just shut up, babe. She won’t know if you’re good with secrets like me.”

You pout, bringing out a laugh from her.

Winter

“It’s going well, isn’t it?” Kai asks.

You give him a small smile. “It’s bearable, yeah.”

“Good to know, good to know.” He then takes a sip of his latte from his cup, looking outside.

“Fuck, I forgot to ask you this,” you say. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Oh yeah! In fact, there’s a woman I've been seeing recently, Yizhuo. You probably know her, right? You guys are working together,” Kai answers.

“Oh,” you utter. “Oh.”

He chuckles, before continuing, “Yeah, I know it’s weird–”

“No, no, not at all, bro,” you deflect with a chuckle along with him. “I’m happy that you’re happy.”

Kai, still chuckling, inquires, “How about you? It’s gotta be more than ‘bearable’ for you to be all happy like this.”

You give him a smile.

[icypopz]

bathing with them ♡

↬ request from anon ; Hiiii may I pls request the love and deepspace boys with a reader who loves taking baths with them??

↬ notes ; rafayel, xavier, zayne x gn!reader

↬ from ice ; ice active era?! jk we all know i'm lying atp HAHAHA but here's my annual post which is also my first post for LADS :> i changed the prompt a bit but i hope u enjoy !

↬ warning(s) ; tiny spoilers for rafayel's backstory, xavier's is like microscopically suggestive

please reblog ! it helps a lot :)

[ rafayel ! ]

rafayel absolutely adores taking baths with you, even though he loves to tease you about being too clingy (he's actually the clingy one, but he'll never admit it for the world). he loves just chilling in the bathtub with you, especially on winter nights where he'll pull you closer in the hot water, complaining that "i need more warmth! protect me from the cold, miss bodyguard!"

he would get playfully annoyed when you joke about wanting to see his mermaid tail when he gets into the bathtub, scolding you about how lemurians also have powers to lure humans in and he'll be doing that to you if you don't get in the bath with him "right now!" also rafayel doesn't really like rubber ducks, he says it's weird that humans like to put toys like that in the water when they could just go swim in a lake if they wanted to see ducks. but! he does love bubble baths, he loves to put the bubbles in your hair, and when you make a beard for him with the foam, he finds it the cutest ever.

rafayel definitely has like several hundred bottles of soap, shampoo and conditioner in varying scents, claiming that their fragrance was so inspiring he just had to buy all of them. (the truth is, he wasn't sure which one you'd like so he just bought everything.) it's really helpful for when you stay over at his place though, you don't have to worry about packing a vanity case because he keeps everything ready for you, from your favourite toothpaste to a spare toothbrush. he also loves seeing you wrapped up in a towel, he thinks you look so adorable.

more content utc !

[ xavier ! ]

xavier isn't picky, he doesn't mind using either a bathtub or a shower, but after you visit him a couple of times, you definitely tell him he should use the shower instead. he always ends up falling asleep while he's soaking in the bathtub! he definitely loves showering with you though, he'll always do stuff like scrub your back or help comb through your tangled hair without you needing to ask. but it's almost impossible for both of you to bathe quickly, because you always end up getting distracted. who can you blame you though? it's not your fault xavier is so muscled from all his training!

xavier is the type who showers in freezing cold water, but he's willing to compromise if you don't like that. he ends up realising that hot water is more fun because he gets to write silly messages and draw hearts for you on the glass since it gets fogged up from the steam. also xavier's brain would totally crash the first time he showered with you, it would be that one tender night card all over again except better LOL. he's just that obsessed with you, you're the prettiest person with the best personality he's ever seen!

xavier would be one of those guys that has like the '10-IN-1! SHAMPOO, CONDITIONER, SOAP!' soap bottles. it's not that he isn't bothered about hygiene, he just finds it a lot simpler to use one single bottle for everything, and it evidently works for him since his skin is so clear and his hair is so fluffy. but ever since you've started staying over, xavier takes note of your favourite soaps and stocks up on them (especially after you tease him for that pitiful bottle of soap in his bathroom - he's the type to squeeze out every single last drop of soap from the tube so the bottle definitely looks like it has been through The Horrors).

[ zayne ! ]

zayne would usually prefer showering over bathing usually, because he's used to maximising time for work in his schedule, so he likes everything in his personal life to be extremely efficient. but once he starts dating you, that does kind of change. on days where he doesn't have to rush into work for urgent cases, or nights after a hectic day, he enjoys relaxing with you in the bathtub - it's a little slice of heaven for him to have you pressed up against him in the warm water.

zayne likes using his evol to tease you while you're showering. though he isn't usually a playful person and his humour is quite dry, the intimacy of being in such close proximity to him makes him act up a little LOL. so when you ask him to soap your back or anything like that, he'll purposely make his fingertips cold so you shiver when he touches you. "zayne!" you'll scold him, and he'll just let out a soft chuckle before doing what you actually asked him to.

zayne would just have the bare minimum essentials in his bathroom, but i also think he would be the type to buy in bulk so he only has to go out shopping once in a while. this way, when his soap runs out he can just get a new bottle from his cupboard. he likes going into his bathroom and seeing little traces of you all over the room, like your toothbrush in his cup or your favourite soap on his shelf - it makes him happy because it's like a reminder of you even when you aren't there.

✧ thank you for reading ! if you have a request, feel free to send it in 🌠

© icypopz 2024. do not repost or modify in any way.

[madamecaos]

Crush(ing) pt.2

Summary: Where Ghost goes a little too rough on you in training then makes up for it.

6k+ ish words │ Ghost (Simon Riley) x Y/N

Warning: Mature filth, probably depression

A/N: You know the drill, no proofread found here. (This is literally an experiment to fight head-on my perfectionism lol)

Part 1

Part 2

Johnny must have said something, you realized the next morning. There was no way the strict management would provide him a personal room without providing some sort of information of a necessity.

And the team was… nicer. You couldn’t explain nor figure out if Johnny had told all the details. Or at least some because no one looked at you with pity.

Training was the same, no sparring today, just some laps and some cardio-inducing sweat. You hadn’t seen Ghost anywhere yet, but something told you he wouldn’t go near you anytime soon. Despite this team being one of the most secretive amongst the military branches, it wouldn’t be excluded from a bureaucratic process if you were to accuse him of something.

Of what, you weren’t sure. You were angry, but you weren’t there yet.

Everything was… as if you weren’t just another ‘lad’ in the team. Soap greeted you with his usual jolly good morning, kept an ongoing conversation like usual, but he filled up your tray and carried it to your table. This was the first time someone had done that. Gaz offered to carry your gym bag back to your room. Price rescheduled a briefing on the intel, allowing you to have fun and explore the city, or whatever that meant without any sort of security to follow you around.

Odd, and confusing. You weren’t sure you were complaining at the sudden reprieve from military treatment, but you weren’t sure if you were comfortable with being treated like a child. As something fragile.

Whatever, your complaining could wait a few days. You wanted to get your hair done and get some coffee that didn’t taste like water and bitter mornings.

So you did, you went shopping for clothes that you weren’t sure about when and where you would wear. At the same time, you eyed the open-back blouses wistfully, a little part of you wishing that your life wasn’t so filled with bruises and scars.

But that was the job. You had to get by.

The taxi left you at the entrance, the driver not having the credentials to enter the base, but that was not a problem.

You couldn’t find your badge, the guard’s expectation making the rummaging of your purse more aggressive. And again, that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that, when the guard opened the gates, making you think that he had recognized you and would allow you in, Ghost was standing right smack at the middle as they parted, expecting you. He was as casual as yesterday, a long sleeve tee and the expected balaclava.

You returned his inquisitive stare for a few seconds, the handles of the shopping bags digging into your bruised-enough arms. The hot shower last night had helped tame down the swelling, but not enough to not to feel it.

Keeping that in mind, you walked forward with all intention to ignore him. As you neared-

‘Ma’am-“

“She’s with me,” Ghost said, not allowing any doubt in his tone. The guard, given Ghost’s no-nonsense attitude, didn’t argue. The guard had recognized you but was jut being difficult, surely.

“May I?” He asked as he matched your pace, the whirring of the gates closing behind you occupying the silence.

You faltered and cursed internally. So much for not being affected by him.

Without hesitation nor expecting an answer, he took your bags, and you couldn’t help but notice he avoided skin contact.

The walk to your room was tense. His footsteps were not as quiet as usual, which made you think he made noise on purpose, enough for you to be aware of how far behind he stayed.

Somehow that put you somewhat at ease, but not enough. Ghost being nice? Something was happening, you just didn’t know what, but at the same time you were done assuming things about him and what his actions meant.

“I’m in a different room.” You explained as you neared the corner of the hallway that used to be your bunk bed.

“I know,” he answered just as briefly.

From your peripheral, you eyed him. You returned your gaze forward immediately when you met his, as he was already looking at you. His eyes seemed to have more depth under the fluorescent lights, no horror nor worry to be found this time.

But they weren’t blank and unexpressive as usual. 

Eyes centered forward, you finally neared your room, eying warily the small cooler right by the door. When you opened your new room, you turned to ask for your bags.

You should’ve known this was a trick as he shouldered himself into what was supposed to be your safe space.

Tiny and cautious steps led you in as he placed the bags on the simple desk. You left the door open.

Then, he had the gall to point at the bed. “Sit.”

He turned back, and returned as he closed the door, now cooler in hand.

You stood frozen in the middle of the room. The frown that marred your face was enough for him to falter. You looked at the bed slowly, then back to him.

This room, away from the others, was all him. The room was far away from the people that knew there was tension between you two, and now he was demanding that you sat on the bed. There was no question as to what this might lead to.

You were no barrack bunny.

Your heart wanted to crawl up your throat.

“Please…” He showed his hands as a peace offering, placating. You were too in your head to notice the ice packs. He made another gesture towards the bed. “Cold helps swelling go down.”

You wanted to think that he genuinely wanted to help, but that tiny monstrous voice in the back of your mind told you he must want the bruises gone because they were proof enough of his brutality.

Intrusively, the dark thought developed. He must want a blank canvas to ruin again.

“You can barely see them now,” you said, knowing that your strong reprieve would loosen if you felt his hands on your skin.

He took a deep breath in, seeking patience at your resistance. “Right.”

Droplets hit the floor as the ice packs melted. When you realized he wouldn’t move, you sighed and took them from him. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.”

You sat on the corner of the bed and begrudgingly placed an ice pack beneath your shirt, the size of it barely covering the span of your shoulder. Thankfully, you were strong enough to hold in the hiss at the contact. “There, happy?”

“No,” he reached for more inside the cooler. “I know it’s not only your shoulder.”

He waited for you to act, but not patiently, that much you could tell, but he was smart enough to not push you. Instinctively, you held in an eyeroll and laid down on the bed, belly down. If this is what you had to do to get him out of here faster, then so be it.

Tentatively, he grasped the bottom of your shirt, avoiding skin. He managed to lift your shirt halfway, before it became troublesome for him to reach all the marks.

There was hesitation in his actions. The sure soldier now timid, uncertain, not knowing what was required. There was no way your clothes wouldn’t soak as the ice packs melted, and there was no way he could reach the bruises on your upper back without seeing.

He paused and you knew what he was asking of you, silently and unwearyingly. At least, he was smart enough not to make demands when you laid in this vulnerable position.

But, when you sat up and shed off your shirt and bra, he took a trembling breath as if he was the one being splayed open. Ghost looked away respectfully but caught the deep shades of blue and purple in the corner of his eye.

After shedding the only layer that covered your back, you laid belly down, pretending that you weren’t as nervous as him.

You expected clinical detachment from the man that had shown you only that, but as he sucked in a breath at the sight of your spine, you knew this was anything but.

Your arms pillowed your head as you faced the wall, concentrating on counting from one to ten as cold burned along the length of your spine.

Instinctively, you hissed when the cold packs reached a really sore mark that had been beneath the clasp of your bra all day.

“Easy,” he mumbled, deep voice doing nothing to help the rising goosebumps along your skin. “Going up now.”

He warned before you felt the branding of his fingertip, tenderly brushing away the hair from the nape of your neck. The shiver that racked through your body had nothing to do with the cold.

“Tickles,” you grumbled, burying your face further into the sheets.

“Yeah?” He mused gently, doing nothing to hide the fond undertone.

The voice inside your subconscious kept screaming that this meant nothing. That this was a soldier taking care of another. A weak link in the team meant repercussions.

The time passed in silence, and going against your instinct, you did nothing to fill it.

What could you say? That you mark easily? That it wasn’t his fault?

You said nothing, just like him. Thankfully, in the shadows of the sunset that bled into the room, you found yourself asleep before you had to face another awkward goodbye from the man that, surprisingly, felt something other than disdain for you.

--

This had been the offset routine for the last two days. And, for the first time in a while, you wished one of the terrorists reappeared for a whole other reason. This break had to end, or you would lose your mind.

“Easy,” he coached as he always did when he iced your back, as he’s been doing every night.  Only the phantom-like of his fingertips brushed against you as you hissed. “There we go.”

His hushed worry didn’t help.

The tension and the edging had you holding in the urge to squirm. The gnawing lust you felt for the man must be unnatural, and in the midst of your grudge, you thought he was doing this on purpose.

But, to your disbelief (and delight), he’s done nothing but be a gentleman inside and outside the bedroom.

During drills, he checked in often. Inconspicuous to your teammates, he let you off on not running the last lap. He also refused to let you spar with anyone “until you’ve recovered” he said once. The first day at training was fine, the second day you remembered why you were mad in the first place.

Despite doing the most in your mock fights, he didn’t believe you were strong for this job overall. The Lieutenant didn’t believe you were his equal.

But the third night you thought it over because, when the night was at its darkest, he visited your door, awaiting for entrance and a silent forgiveness for what he’d done.

When you removed your shirt, he looked away. He asked, checked and coddled you as he placed each icepack, never allowing his flesh to touch yours. Also, you weren’t going to pretend that he didn’t caress your hair away, being the opposite of methodical.

So you found yourself on the third night, laying belly down on the bed. The bruises were almost already gone, most yellow and transparent.

Part of you knew this was the last night he would do this, and part of you wondered if he would find another excuse to interact with you? Should you leave it up to chance and wait for him to act? Did he even want to? Or was this a one-time thing, a reprieve for the brutality he had put you through? That would mean that, when all wounds were healed, there was nothing else tying you two.

Maybe this was the last time you had the opportunity to speak with a semblance of privacy, outside of the norms of a soldier. This gave you enough bravery to do something different.

This time, as he was placing the last icepack on your upper back, you turned your head, now facing him.

If you weren’t so in tune with his movements, you wouldn’t have caught the slight falter as he pressed gently, right by your shoulder. Unintentionally, this was a sign that the dynamics had changed.

He didn’t have as much power as he thought, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. There was a conversation to be had, and he couldn’t bully nor punch himself through it.

Two days ago, you would’ve been furious at yourself for reading him so easily.

With no other space left to blanket your back, he leaned backwards, sighing heavily into his chair. At your ongoing stare, you dared to believe he looked defeated.

“The team is leaving in two days, 0800,” he started.

You merely blinked and his fingers twitched, fighting the urge to fidget.

He blinked back, the balaclava doing nothing to hide the tightening of his jaw. “Price has scheduled a briefing for tomorrow.”

“I heard.”

There was some information he wanted from you, but you weren’t sure what. The details mentioned were already rumors around the whole base, they were no secret.

After a pause, he looked around the barren barrack. “I haven’t heard of a request for transfer.”

“The Captain would be the only one privy to that information, would he not?”

He grunted in agreement. A long pause, then Ghost played again with the skin of his knuckles. What an odd time to notice that he hadn’t been wearing gloves this whole time.

“Just tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Don’t be difficult,” he snarked, baiting you for an answer in your usual anger, but you thought a lot about how you wanted this night to go. You laid placidly, feeling the ice melting against your back.

“More demands then,” you sighed, merely disappointed, cheek pillowed against your arm.

“Demands? You threaten to leave, and then I ask if you’ve requested a transfer-“

“That would imply that you, indeed, asked a question,” you said, gently as you kept staring at him, unexpressive. “The only question you’ve asked me since we’ve met is ‘are you dumb?’ three weeks ago while training.”

He went still and you waited for a refusal, an excuse that the military was no place for questions or politeness. He had been trained to take, follow orders and for others to do the same.

“You don’t ask.”

“I don’t… I only want to know if you’re leaving. After…”

-After he had to ice your back for several days straight after he didn’t know how to measure the severity of his strength. You were stealing one of his tactics, one that worked well with you. Allow the other to make the assumptions, fill the silence and reap the benefits.  

“Then ask.” You said, as if it was the most obvious thing. “What do you want to know, Lieutenant?”

In the dimmed lighting of your temporary reprieve, the silhouette of the man that had driven you near insanity moved and leaned in, elbows resting on his knees.

“Are you leaving?” he asked, lowly, as if it were a secret between you two.

You played along and tilted your head downwards minutely. His eyes followed the movement along as if he was starved for it. “Would you like me to?”

Just as gradually, he shook his head. The slow denial whilst holding your stare did something to you, enough to forgive that he hadn’t rebutted your leave with words. But, given the deep breaths he was taking, which might have been unnoticed for anyone else, you knew he was meticulously observing you, gauging you for your wants and needs.

You knew that look, the sudden shift. He was a soldier in a battlefield, a soldier with a mission. Ghost wanted you to stay and, right now, he was quietly asking what would get him exactly that.

“Anything else you wanted to ask me?” You asked, acting oblivious to his intensity.

You could play games too.

After a beat, still and unmoving, he shook your entire belief that he was cruel and uncaring. “Do you forgive me?”

Your breath stuttered, cool girl act failing, hardly hiding how those words affected you. Wide eyed, you stared and muttered dumbly a ‘what?’

While this night passed in the secret of your bedroom, you thought it would all be forgotten. Somehow, in your expertise as to what was Ghost, he was a man of action, not words. As you laid there, ice reddening the skin of your back, you believed that as soon as the bruises disappeared, nothing else would be mentioned. No words necessary. Transgressions would have never been declared again, and Ghost would’ve gone back to the cooly and indifferent Lieutenant you’ve come to known.

Asking for forgiveness and admitting fault felt like a whole other monster entirely.

At your silence, he leaned forward, allowing one knee to fall, then the other with a thud. The chair creaked at the movement as the man left the seat.

By your bedside, Ghost carefully knelt with hands splayed on his thighs. The bed wasn’t tall enough, so even kneeling, he had to hunch himself to keep eye contact with you. His eyes roved over your face, with thirst for any reaction that wasn’t hatred.

“Do you forgive me?” he asked again carefully, trying to get through your petrified form.

You merely blinked without words coming to mind, avoiding the burn behind your eyes. Along with a faltered breath, a shiver racked along the length of your spine, drawing his eyes to the goosebumps rising on your skin.

The ice had already melted, wetting the towel pinned beneath you. He had thought of everything.

Ghost returned his stared back to yours, finally catching the minuscule nod as an answer to his question.

He returned your nod with one of his own.

It seemed that the confirmation sprung him into action, like that was all he needed to hear. He stood and you did nothing else but lay there, immobile with your back exposed as he returned the melted ice packs to the cooler. Other nights, you had fallen asleep before he left, even with the cold covering your back.

You had often woken up with a towel-dried skin and the covers drawn up to your neck.

This time, you weren’t sure what to expect. Was this it? Now that you said yes, would it all go back to normal? Would he avoid you in the hallways and bark instructions in the battlefield?

The click of the cooler closing seemed to echo in the room and a sense of finality settled in.

You sat up, clutching the towel to your chest, doing the impossible to cover the shivers running through your body.

Despite his rapid movements to clean and organize every item he brought up, you knew he was running from the mere second he was vulnerable. There was no way this man had gotten on his knees before, not for anyone.

Given his braveness, you dared to ask the question that had plagued you since he stood up. “Is this it?”

No begging in your tone, no expectations. If he said he was done, you wouldn’t bring it up, wouldn’t claim nor believe he owed you anything, you decided. You weren’t also blind to the fact that he was always the one that set the tone for whatever sort of relationship you two had.

The man was always covered, always on guard, always a higher ranking, always more methodical.

And you already said what he needed to hear. There was no solid reason for him to come back.

“Are we… normal now?”

Ghost turned slowly, and you weren’t sure what he saw when he looked at you, but his intent gaze definitely brought you flashbacks. It wouldn’t be the first time he had looked at you like that after having access to your body, and then turn away and out of your life as if it meant nothing.

You had expected him to do the same as that night, the night where you found reprieve in each other’s bodies, then never spoke about it again.

Expectation kept you still, bracing for whatever nonchalant rejection came your way.

“You look at me as if you expect the worst from me,” he said as he turned towards the entrance, no hurry in his pace. His hand reached for the handle; cooler left behind at the desk. The lock clicked shut. “I aim to change that.”

You didn’t know what was more important, to breathe, to speak or to run.

He didn’t leave space for that as he headed towards you, expectation building at his leisurely pace. As if he had all the time in the world, he knelt again before you, eyes leveled with yours. This time, he was closer, enough for you to feel the heat through his clothing.

Hands that had known nothing but violence reached for your face, slowly but steady.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, something akin to worry in his tone. Thumbs caressed your cheeks as he held your face, searching for any reaction that might be against this.

“I’m cold,” you replied in barely a hush, shoulders caving at your vulnerable state.

Decidedly, you wanted to do the same. He saw the intention behind your actions as you gave him enough time to stop you.

Carefully, you reached forward, allowing the towel that covered your chest to drop, and rolled up the balaclava that had you spiraling over the last few missions.

Simon didn’t look down but searched for your eyes as you took in the face of the man that had plagued your dreams and nightmares.

You chuckled and he tensed.

“ ‘s not fair.”

His blonde eyebrows furrowed, distorting slightly the scar above his right eye.

“You can’t be buff and pretty,” you jested, eyes crinkling at the corners when you tried to hide your grin.

Uncharacteristically, he rolled his eyes and huffed at your joke. This made your smile widen, thinking about how expressive he really is as he was used to hiding behind a mask.

And you wanted to live in this moment, where you could appreciate every detail of his face, something that you’ve had the sole honor to see, but your anxiety was driving you wild.

You hated yourself for a moment, as he held your face fondly, for not being able to accept the present and wonder if this was a one time thing. After this night was done and he had proven he was more than pain and passion, would this tender moment live in your mind and your wishes for more.

It was sad but not unusual to expect crumbs.

As if sensing the shift in your mood, his head tilted, observing. Hands that radiated warmth drifted down to your neck, your shoulders then your hair as he caressed the wisps down your back.

“What is it?” he asked, low and worried.

The fact that he asked was monumental, but not enough to get you out of your spiraling.

“I’m not… I don’t expect anything,” you started, or tried to as the wide circles massaged into the tense muscles of your lower back served as a distraction. “But do I have to…”

His pinning and inquisitive stare had you stuttering and quivering.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I know but…” You dared to finally look back at him and asked meekly. “Do I have to pretend this never happened? Like last time.”

No answer from him, merely a sigh and you bit your tongue. You sat up straight with a mournful smile as he retreated his arms from your body and you crossed your arms across your chest.

He stood up and this time you expected him to leave, truly.

Instead, you got a, “turn around and take off your pants.”

He certainly could be blunt when he wanted to. At your confusion and furrowed eyebrows, he took the liberty to manhandle you into what he asked of you. With his hands on your hips, you stood with no space between you two. As you stared, he methodically undid your belt with a clink and unclasped your pants, then knelt, bringing your pants down with him. One hand behind your knee had you lifting your foot, then the other, leaving you in your underwear.

You kept looking down at him, asking silently what the hell got into him that had you standing in your underwear. The expression on his face dared you to say something.

Did he look like that every time you had been stubborn?

Without regrets, he turned you then pushed down on you, until you laid flat, belly down, similar to what you had been 10 minutes ago.

“You might be bipolar, has someone told you that?” You huffed, annoyed, about to use your arms to rest your head. That was until your wrists were taken, arms placed by your sides.

Then, the bed dipped with the weight of a full-grown man as he sat behind you, inches away from your thighs. Unlike the other nights, you expected an icepack to be placed carefully on your skin. Instead, you felt something liquid and cold after something clicked open.

You hadn’t even noticed he had caressed your hair away, leaving the span of your back exposed.

Then hands burrowed into your skin, massaging away the shocking cold from the lotion that sat innocently on your nightstand. Simon was now digging his thumbs into the knots of your back and the nape of your neck, ignoring the hisses you let at the pressure.

If this was the way he would act whenever you bombarded him with a vulnerable question, you might do it more often.

“No,” he said after a few minutes, your mind already drifting to a calmer place.

“No, no one’s told you you’re bipolar?”

“No,” he answered gruffly. “You’re not allowed to pretend this didn’t happen.”

You kept your eyes closed despite your surprise as the pressure of his hands drifted downwards, avoiding your underwear, heading directly to knead your legs, your calves. The proximity of his thumbs between the apex of your thighs had you squirming.

“If you do, I’ll have to find ways to make you remember.”

You barely held the groan when his thumbs dug away into the sole of your feet. If he noticed, he didn’t mention it.

“You be stubborn. I’ll keep finding ways to make you feel good.”

Despite your newly found relaxed state, you couldn’t fight the sensation pooling in your lower stomach. You might’ve drifted to sleep in this tender moment, but your mind kept wondering what else those hands could do. How much pressure could those thumbs do?

As he drifted upwards, he caught on your squirming, teasing gently as he kept massaging your thighs. Just as carefully, his fingertips brushed against the edge of your underwear.

“Need something, sweet girl?” He taunted but did nothing to hide the grave tone of his own lust. Not long after, his thumbs ‘accidently’ brushed against the cleft between your legs.

You bit your tongue, aiming to be stubborn and curious as to what he would do without guidance.

After he had enough, your underwear was tentatively pulled down to your feet. Then the hands that had been so through on relaxing you were now silently positioning you upwards to your parted knees, back arched as your torso laid placidly.

When he got you like he wanted, his fingers dug into your upper thighs for leverage, expecting you to run away. And that you did as a soft breath brushed against you before the slickness of a tongue delved into you.

You flinched instinctively at the sensation with a whimper, but he held you to him. He was no shy adventurer.

Simon had been teasing all night, and it seemed he was done playing games. His tongue, along with his lips, left nothing unexplored. His hands roamed along your flesh, issuing pressure to your lower back when needed to keep you arched enough for him. There were no tentative licks nor touches as he hummed into your folds, slick running down his chin.  

Thumbs splayed you open, and your whimpers rose into moans as he lapped at your clit with enough tension to make you gasp for breaths. Instinctively, you reached back, fingers latching into a full head of hair.

When you pulled, he moaned just as loud as you. That seemed to unravel him, his careful lapping now an intense suckling as he inserted one finger, then two. The hollow beneath your lower stomach now partially full. You were wet enough to accept whatever he had to give you.

When he dug down, aiming for your upper walls, you keened. He rubbed and rubbed, fingers so thick he had no problem hammering away into your g-spot repeatedly.

Now your moans were let out brazenly, gasping into the pillow as he did his best to burrow himself into your skin.

The shaking started on your calves, the tension rising upwards to your lower back. The sensation seemed to spur him on into a continuous pattern where he kept his mouth latched on you as your nerves coiled into and impending life-changing orgasm.

With a shock, your body spasmed with a silent scream, the soldier holding you tight through your tremors. Violent shock after shock racked through you until you managed to get some air in a keening moan. After seconds, Simon petting you lightly with his tongue and feeling every spasm, you laid back down placidly, all energy sucked out of you.

At the first flinch of overstimulation, he languidly let you go, barely letting his hands off your skin as he laid you flat on the bed.

He was out of breath too, but something told you it had more to do with the tent in his pants than lack of oxygen.

Owlishly, you looked back at him through the haze. As soon as he started petting your hair, you knew you lost whatever battle had been going on between you two.

Simon had done the impossible; proven he was going nowhere and that he was just as obsessed with you as you were with him.

And, as if nothing short of extraordinary had happened, his hands drifted lower to keep the ongoing massage as the remnants of your pleasured haze pulled you to sleep.

[amazinglyashy]

hello!! can I request fluff reactions of the boys to mc craving something to eat in the middle of the night?

thank youu have a good day 🥰

I'm laughing because you asked this like it would be the most off the cuff situation, when literally every single one of these men canonly have an awful sleep schedule and nighttime habits. Like, there is absolutely nothing weird about this at all except the fact that you're awake when they're awake.

LaDS men when you crave something to eat in the middle of the night -

Zayne -

In all honestly, he was just now getting home from a shift at Akso hospital, so it takes him just a few moments to register why the situation in front of him was abnormal.

He can't help it, he's usually coming home in the early evening, not at three in the morning.

So when he sees you sitting at the counter, snacking on something, he simply sets his stuff down near the door and removes his tie, before coming over to give you a peck on the cheek in greeting.

He's made it halfway to the bathroom, yawning wide and telling himself to get some good sleep tonight- well, technically this morning- wait… morning…? What on earth were you doing up-

He's back in the kitchen in a second, with your eyes flickering back to him in an innocent question, confused as to why he's looking at you so bewildered.

'Why', is the only thing that comes out of his mouth, and when you finally process what he means by that, you can't help but give him a chuckle and a smile, still eating whatever you had gotten from the fridge or cupboard.

"I was hungry."

Not even going to question why you acted on your impulses to eat at three in morning. He'll just sigh, and tell you to make sure you get to bed soon for the sake of your health and mood tomorrow. Gives you one more kiss before heading off to get ready for bed himself.

Sylus -

He's probably just getting up.

So when he starts to rise and notices you lying awake, he's going to be confused, hoping to himself that you didn't have some freakish nightmare, especially not any possibly involving your past experiences with him-

No.

Turns out, you're currently trying to make yourself go back to sleep, despite wanting something warm to eat, but also not wanting to cook.

He's going to find it terribly endearing, letting out a little snicker and making you blush at his reaction, his hand carding through your hair as he leans down over you.

"I think you're forgetting something, kitten. I wake up around this time- meaning, I need to have something for breakfast before working on anything. You do know you can ask the chef to make you something right now, right sweetie?"

He won't say it, but you can tell he's so pleased to be eating with you, even though he knows you'll be heading off to bed right after, it's a nice change of pace for him. He's more than happy to have your company, no matter the odd hour.

Rafayel -

He's finally ready to kick himself into going to bed, but the moment he opens the bedroom door, he runs into you.

At first, he's worried.

Secondly, he's miffed that you got up to come and harrass him into coming to bed again.

Thirdly, he's extra miffed that none of the previous answers are true, but you're actually just hungry.

He's seen the way you snack, he knows you're not just making something up. And he can't exactly let you go back to bed hungry so-

That's how he ended up making a late night dish rather than finally heading to bed.

Any protests to him cooking fell on deaf ears. He's having none of that. He can tell you're still sleepy, and since he hasn't wound down yet, he isn't. So he's more than happy to cook for you.

Definitely wasn't hungry himself, definitely didn't forget to have dinner, no sir-

He'll sit and eat with you, asking if you had any interesting dreams, before making up scenarios that may have occurred involving food monsters and treat fairies.

He's not trying to hear that beautiful sound that is your laugh. Not at all. He's trying even less hard to make the meal last longer, just so that he can spend a little bit more time with you-

Xavier -

He probably saw you on his own way to get a snack, in all honesty.

You two just have to share a look, contemplating the situation, before the both of you begin to grin, realizing what the other is awake doing.

He offers to walk you around the block to the corner shop that's open 24hrs, so that the two of you can get some junk food or spicy microwave noodles to have together.

If you don't want to go anywhere, he'll either go himself or order delivery from somewhere that's open all hours so that you guys don't need to cook. He doesn't want to put out a fire for his attempts this late at night, and you either don't feel like it, or you're not the best at it yourself.

(You're still better than him though.)

Whenever the two of you end up getting your food, you sit together on the couch, legs folded over one another as you tangle together to watch an episode of something you've been binging.

You'll both wake up completely different though- having fallen asleep together on the couch after finishing your food, and ending up snuggled closely, a bundle of warm blankets and pajamas mixed with the relaxing sensation of the other's breathing.

Thank goodness today was the both of your day off...

[hyperfixationhobo]

SPICY! SPICY! SPICY!

NSFW UP AHEAD!!! 18+ ONLY

—————————————————————

Ok so I saw the vote, and yes it was a week long one but I meant to put it as a day and tbh I didn’t want to go back and redo the whole thing cause it’s obvious y’all want the spicy. For those who didn’t want the spicy I put a giant loud warning at the top so you can avoid this post if it brings you any discomfort or if you just don’t want to read it. No shame in knowing your boundaries!!!

Ok before we dive into the spicy, quick disclaimers! You may not like some the headcanons and that’s perfectly fine! These are just how I view the LADS and you aren’t obligated to like them! Second, I am putting how the guys are being tops and also bottoms. I’m a dom myself and there’s not a lot of bottom writing for these guys and I plan on fixing it. Third, MC in this is not specified to have specific genitalia. I want this to include everyone!

Ok let’s get on to the spicy!!!

Xavier

. Someone in my last headcanon post said that I wrote him boy coded and I honestly can’t agree more but for the spicy I see him more along the lines of ‘puppy coded.’

. Needy, so fucking needy.

. You have definitely walked in on him humping something waiting for you, mostly a pillow.

. “I’m sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

. Talkative as shit. Mostly babbled nonsense.

. So many compliments even if you can’t understand half of them.

. Favorite position is definitely the spooning position. You’re close to him and you can hear him moan. It’s a win win.

. I had to search up position name for like 15 minutes only to find out it’s just called spooning.

. I personally think he would be more sensitive than the other guys so he easily gets overstimulated.

. Doesn’t stop him though.

. Can definitely go multiple rounds.

. Also has a thing for overstimulation.

. He’s tired when he’s finished so aftercare is just wiping you both down then cuddles with a long nap.

. Will treat you to your favorite snacks after the nap.

If you top Xavier

. You pinned him down once and something in his DNA changed.

. Somehow got even more needy.

. Will wear outfits he knows that drive you insane just to get you to ravage him.

. Has to be touching you in some way.

. Won’t shut up once if he bottoms, you want him to be quiet you’ll have to shove something into his mouth.

. Take that as you will.

. Begs a lot.

. He will beg you to keep going even after he finishes.

. Put a collar on him I beg.

. We all know those bunny ears were used in more than just the photo shoot.

Zayne

. Temperature play most definitely.

. Loves holding you close cause I think he just loves warmth.

. He’s a doctor, definitely uses that to his advantage.

. I think he’s pretty vanilla out of all the guys.

. He will not cum until you do.

. Likes being ridden and I’m only saying that cause of that rocking chair scene from that one card.

. Definitely does quickies cause he’s mostly on the move.

. You send him a risky video while he’s at work you better be prepared to deal with a pent up Zayne when he comes home.

. “And what did you hope to achieve by sending me that video?”

. Aftercare involves gentle massages, hydration, healthy snacks, a bit of sweets, followed by sleeping cause he probably has work in the morning.

If you top Zayne

. You have one job and one job only; make him not able to think.

. Being a famous cardiac surgeon and looked up to 24/7 is tiring and right now he doesn’t want to think.

. You’re not allowed to call him Dr or anything like that.

. When he bottoms he’s not some super smart doctor that needs to know every answer, he’s just a guy who needs to be held and taken care of.

. He wants you to do all the thinking.

. You gotta be soft with him in this state.

. You know you’ve done it when he hardly makes noise and tears up slightly cause for once his mind is quiet and he can’t remember the last time he could just feel.

. Aftercare with a subby Zayne involves cuddles, sweets, and him being the small spoon.

. He’s floaty in this headspace and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Rafayel

. Bratty top and a bratty bottom.

. Also likes being ridden but that’s cause he’s a pillow princess.

. The bed is covered in rose petals and the fluffiest pillows.

. No candles. He learned his lesson from last time.

. That or he’ll gladly take you in a bubble bath.

. I think he switches to his native language when he’s close.

. Perfume definitely does things to this man.

. I personally think he’s the only one of the guys who would own a “toy”. Zayne’s too busy, Sylus doesn’t even really think about pleasuring himself when he’s running his business, and Xavier just simply isn’t interested.

. After care is a nice bath with fruits and soft praises.

If you top Rafayel

. You thought he was bratty as a top? You haven’t seen anything yet.

. Bratty as all hell.

. He’ll purposely won’t listen to you and test your patience just so he could get a punishment.

. “What are you gonna do? Punish me?”

. Until he actually gets the punishment and now he’s regretting it.

. Edging is the one thing he hates so use that to his advantage.

. I’ll say this once MARK 👏 HIM👏

. Scratch him, bite him, grip his hips so hard they bruise, he wants it all.

. Definitely looks at himself in the mirror the next day to watch all the bruises set in.

. Wears slightly revealing clothes to flaunt them off.

. Has definitely painted full body portraits of himself with the bruises and keeps those paintings stored somewhere.

. He just loves being yours.

. Also loves being pinned down

Sylus

. I know that most people see him as a rough top but honestly I can’t really see it.

. When I think of dragons I think of them being soft and careful with their treasures and the same I apply to Sylus.

. Takes his time, drags it on and on.

. Definitely teases.

. I think he’ll like doing it under the covers for the fact that it feels as if he’s shielding you with his wings like he used to and he honestly misses that feeling.

. Most definitely gets possessive.

. Bites, a lot.

. Also grunts a lot.

. Can definitely be rough but that’s only if it’s like a punishment.

. Won’t collapse on top of you when done cause he’s aware that he will quite literally crush you.

. Aftercare is a long soak with your favorite scented oils and Epson salt with whatever meal you’re craving.

If you top Sylus

. Bratty but not in the way you think.

. He’ll happily bottom if you want him to but he ain’t gonna make it easy. You gotta earn it.

. Tame the dragon basically.

. Chains, so many chains.

. So many collars too.

. Definitely likes being bitten as well.

. Wants you to be as possessive with him as he is to you.

. Call him your treasure and he’ll be a blushing mess.

. You had shoved his face into the pillow once and he froze.

. “….shit I think I might be into that.”

. Teases you just as much as if he was on top.

. I personally think he’ll be the hardest to get to submit only cause he will put up a fight until he thinks you’re worthy of doming him.

[iluvzaddies]

drunk confession

pairing: thomas shelby x reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, slight nsfw

summary: thomas shelby walks into your bedroom in the middle of the night and confesses his love for you.

you awoke from your slumber after hearing the door to your room suddenly open in the middle of the night.

you felt your heart pound through your chest, scared that it was one of billy kimber’s men, ordered to harm you as a way to get back at the peaky blinders.

but you needn’t fret for it was only thomas shelby.

thomas was the leader of birmingham’s renowned gang, the peaky blinders, and the second eldest son of the shelby family.

you knew him when he was a young lad. he used to be a troublemaker, always bringing trouble everywhere he went. he laughed a lot too.

you, on the other hand, used to be a loner. you didn’t have a single friend whatsoever. you were always alone, a sad look plastered on your face as you watched other kids getting along and playing with each other. young tommy felt bad for you, therefore, offered to let you play with him and his siblings. from then on, you became close and formed a bond, not only with him, but with his siblings too.

it was sad how much things have changed after the war in france.

the horrors of the war had changed him drastically.

he became a soulless, empty shell.

but there was one thing that didn’t change, and that was his feelings for you.

he always felt a sense of peace whenever you were around. you were a breath of fresh air and a reminder of his childhood days, where he hadn’t gone to the war yet, where he didn’t live a life of crime, where everything was normal.

he didn’t want to admit it, though. he was never good at expressing himself…

…until tonight.

“tommy!” you gasped. “why are you here?”

“because i can.” he said nonchalantly.

“just because you can doesn’t mean you should.” you huffed in frustration.

he shrugged.

“how did you get in my house?”

“key under your doormat.” he drawled, approaching you drunkenly.

you let out a squeak as he collapsed on your bed, nearly crushing your legs.

“okay, congratulations for knowing where i keep my house key, but that doesn’t give you the right to just barge in my house.” you looked at the clock on your wall, checking the time. “especially at three in the morning, you dimwit!”

“‘m sorry… it’s just… i’ve been thinking about you.. a lot– actually, an unhealthy amount. i couldn’t help it. i just wanted to see you again.”

“what?” you blinked.

“you heard me.”

“yes, i did, but…” that was unexpected. “what exactly do you mean by that?”

“by god, woman.” he sat up and you flinched when he started to yell. “how fucking oblivious are you? i’m in love with you, for fuck’s sake!–“

you covered his mouth, shushing him, trying to get him to calm down. you were already dealing with a drunk thomas, who barged into your home uninvited, and the last thing you wanted was to deal with noise complaints from your neighbors.

“please, quiet down, will you?”

he grabbed your wrist, prying your hand off his mouth and guiding your hand to his cheek. he closed his eyes, sighing in bliss, reveling in the warmth of your touch.

“tommy.” you muttered under your breath.

“i mean it, (y/n). i love you. i’ve loved you ever since we were kids.”

was it true?

was it really true?

well, you were aware of the saying: “drunk words are sober thoughts”

and that made your face heat up.

“i–“ you gulped, trying to build up the courage to confess, so he didn’t think it was one-sided. “–i love you too, tommy. i’ve loved you ever since you offered to let me play with you when i had no one to play with.” you moved your thumb up and down his cheekbone. “you may be a dangerous gangster to the world, but you’re just tommy to me. my tommy. you think you’ve changed, but deep inside, that innocent, kind-hearted little boy is still there.”

thomas’ lips curved up, a genuine smile on his face.

you widened your eyes.

it had been so long since he smiled in such a way that you had forgotten just how beautiful it was.

he leaned towards your face and connected your lips together. you were caught off guard, but happily obliged and kissed him back.

he tasted like a mix of cigarettes and whisky. nonetheless, it was amazing.

he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. he entwined your fingers together and with his other hand, he pulled your body against his.

he proceeded to gently place you on your back, with him on top of you, not breaking the kiss for a second.

“fuck, i love you.” he said in between kisses. “i love you so much. i’ve been dreaming about this moment my whole life.“

he roamed his hands around your body whilst you raked yours through his hair.

he pulled away just to get a quick glimpse of your messy appearance before reconnecting your lips.

he slithered a hand under your nightgown and you moaned as his fingers made contact with your clothed clit, rubbing it through your undergarment until a wet patch formed.

he moved your nightgown up to your stomach, fiddling with the elastic band of your undergarment, and yanked it off. he reached down to touch your bare pussy, inserting two fingers inside. with how wet you were, he was able to put them in with ease.

your moans were becoming louder each time he thrusted and curled his fingers against your walls, so you clasped a hand on your mouth to prevent any more noise from spilling out.

he stopped and demanded, “no, let me hear.”

“my neighbors–“

“if they even think about coming here and ruining this, i’ll fucking send them six feet under.”

he scooted backwards, placing his head in between your legs. you could feel his hot breath hitting your core and your core clenched. he darted his tongue out, licking a long stripe up your clit, before attaching his entire mouth onto it. he sucked harshly, eating you out like he was a man starved, making your eyes roll back at the insane amount of pleasure he was giving you.

your vision turned white as the coil inside of you intensified into a powerful ball of energy. and then it bursted, the ecstasy setting all your nerves ablaze.

it felt good, so so good.

he crawled back on top of you, kissing you, letting you taste yourself.

then, he pulled away once more to admire his work.

he loved the way you looked beneath him.

how swollen your lips were.

how breathless you were.

how red your cheeks were.

he loved knowing that your current appearance was caused by him and only him. rightfully so.

“all for me, eh?”

his deep, sultry voice sent shivers down your spine.

“all for you, tom.”

note: help, my unexperienced ass doesn’t fucking know how to write nsfw content. this is so bad.

[tbaluver]

Hi! May I request headcanons with a reader who at first glance looks cold ,mean and introverted, but then when LaDs boys get closer to her, they realize that she is quite kind and sweet.

I also want to say that I adore your work, seriously, thanks to you, I open Tumbler every day and re-read your works. You're one of my fav authors ❣️

I hope everything goes well for you!

(´｡• ᵕ •｡) ♡

When You Look Mean and Introverted- The Love And DeepSpace Men

⤷ synopsis: when reader looks cold, mean, and introverted but actually she's kind and sweet! parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: fluff fluff a/n: hihi my lovely anonnie ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ it is such an honor to be your favorite author! (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝) i love re-reading my favorite authors works and to hear you re-read my works makes my silly writings feel so seen and appreciated so thank you for supporting my works it means a lot to me truly -`♡´- i hope this was okay lmk ! i ended up writing a story build/ up to their relationship but enjoy reading luv ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

You two first crossed paths during a Hunter’s mission when you found him asleep. At first, he didn’t think much of it, but after several unexpected encounters, he started to notice your cold and mean expression. Worry started to wash over him every time you met. Were you upset with him? Did you not want to resonate with him the first time? Do you not want him to be there? Even though you two hardly spoke, he couldn’t help but feel like he did something wrong. He has been looking for you through galaxies and back and he did not want to mess this up.

It wasn’t until another unexpected mission that you two crossed paths again. The energy fluctuations from Wanderers were rising and you found yourself in need of help. Luckily, he was right there by your side, swiftly taking down each one left and right before they could inflict any more serious harm on you.

He rushed to your side to check for your injuries after all the Wanderers were gone. To his surprise, you complimented him, shattering his belief that you might dislike him. Your warm smile brought a surprising warmth that eased his worries and revealed a kindness he didn’t notice before.

You asked if he was any part of the Hunter’s association and when Xavier replied no, you encouraged him to join, expressing how much potential you saw in him. It was at that moment he realized you weren’t unapproachable at all- your kindness and support shined through your reserved exterior, showing a thoughtful and caring person beneath.

You two would be later assigned for missions together and your conversations became more frequent and he began to see glimpses of your thoughtful and kind personality behind your reserved exterior. He had no problem anymore that you were quiet and you two would enjoy your time together.

As you both continued to spend time together, whether strategizing for missions or simply just enjoying each other’s company, the walls between you began to crumble as if they were never there. He was more than happy to know that you were more comfortable with him and pondered on taking your relationship to another step.

Zayne:

It had been years since you two last saw each other, the last time when you were just kids. Now both of you were adults, your paths crossed again in an unexpected way. He was your doctor and you were his patient. At first glance, he quickly realized that your expression might come off as reserved, something he understood all too well as many people perceived him the same way.

It would take a few patient check-ups and casual conversations to confirm that you were just a reserved and introverted person who needed time to open up to others.

You started becoming more open with him. You shared stories about your life and your missions and asked about his life. You found yourself texting him outside of the hospital, checking in to see if he’d slept well or had eaten that day.

During your next patient check up, you brought over his favorite sweet treats- something you remembered him pointing out of his favorite bakery nearby the hospital. A small smile crept across his face and he couldn’t resist taking a quick bite of one two before diving into your examination.

You couldn’t tell from his stoic expression but he was melting inside. He felt grateful that each moment you spent together brought you two closer and he was eager to find ways to connect outside of your patient check-ups.

While he examines you, he pondered whether to invite you out after his shift or to suggest getting together the next time he was free to grab a meal. The thought of spending time with you after all this time, fills him with excitement.

Rafayel:

You were the first human he would ever find intimidating. Your first encounter took place in his studio during a mission. While he fought alongside you against the Wanderers, you barely exchanged any words with him. Your cold expression left him feeling intimidated and uncertain. Luckily, he manages to get a few words out of you and somehow convinces you to be his bodyguard.

He was definitely freaking out in his head when you were coming over to his studio. What could he say? What could you both do? He was worried the next encounter would end up in a disaster and he would have to wait another hundred years to meet you again. He was not willing to die in this lifetime just die in embarrassment.

He was internally a mess when you were over at his studio. Every time you went quiet during your chats, his nerves kicked in, but he kept talking, hoping to make you feel at ease. He hoped that by sharing more, he could help you feel comfortable. He would never force you to talk but he would always leave the conversation open for you to join whenever.

But then, it’s as if the sea gods have heard him. When you spoke up, you referenced a topic from his earlier conversations. It dawned on him that you had been listening intently all along. You responded thoughtfully, engaging with his stories in a way that made him feel valued and cared for. That realization made his anxiety inside of him transform into something much more warmer and more at ease.

He would later then ask you questions, if you were comfortable with it, about you and your life. The conversation flowed effortlessly between you, as if it had always been this way. You two could easily chat for hours and he was more than happy to listen or talk about your stories, enjoying every second of your growing bond.

You both grew closer during your visit to the hospital when he had a serious injury. As you both strolled through the hospital garden, he watched in awe as you spotted a fish struggling in the fountain. Without hesitation, you knelt down, entirely focused on rescuing the little creature.

Seeing your determination and kindness warmed his heart. It reminded him of the layers beneath your reserved exterior and stirs the past  memories from 800 years ago when you selflessly tried to save him. The echoes of the past resonated deeply within him.

As you finally freed the fish, he couldn’t help but let out a smile. His heart aches with a longing for you, each shared moment igniting a deeper desire. With every second spent together, he felt the distance between you shrink, drawing him closer to the warmth of your presence.

Sylus:

He wasn’t scared or worried-at first, he liked a challenge. You were mysterious and quiet and it genuinely captivated him, sparking a genuine curiosity to learn more about you. Even though your first encounter or him trying to force you to resonate with him wasn’t ideal, he was determined to bridge the gap between you two and show you in depth of who he truly was.

He discovered there was much more to your personality through Luke and Kieran while you doodle in your book back in your room that you stayed at in his estate. An unfamiliar feeling stirred within him- an ache of longing and a mix with a hint of jealousy. He couldn’t shake the desire to be the one to uncover the layers of your personality.

One time he passed by you in his estate, the silence between you felt heavy and he couldn’t help but assume you still held some resentment toward him, not that he could blame you. But he refused to give up.

He invites you to a fancy auction where you could find the protocore you needed for your mission. Yet, his true mission was to learn more about you, to connect on a deeper level.

On the night of the auction, you both dress to impress and he couldn’t help but spoil you in compliments before you both left the estate. He also can’t hide the amusement on his face as he manages to convince you to link arms as you enter together. To his delight, you didn’t protest, your smile warming up the building but more so, him. The playful banter and shared glances as you walked in together only fueled his hope that you just might be opening up to him after all.

This has been the most that you two have talked through the entire night and each second felt like a gift. Hearing your laughter was music to his ears and hearing your stories was something he would want to listen to for hours. It was then he realized that maybe you were just reserved after all and how he wished your encounters could’ve been more different and how he regretted handling them

Unfortunately what would’ve been a perfect night was ruined by an ambush of Wanderers unleashed at the auction. As instinct, he shielded you from harm, taking any several blows himself. He barely flinched as he focused on defending you. Together, you fought side by side, the adrenaline surging you both until the last Wanderer fell.

As the chaos died down, you rushed to his side, the concern written on your face as you saw fresh wounds on him. Some had already healed, but others were fresh and needed attention, completely oblivious to the fact he could just heal himself. He watches you intently as you carefully tended to him, your gentle touch igniting a warmth within him that he so had been longing for.

A breathy chuckle escaped his lips and a small smile crept onto his face as he took in the sight of you. Maybe it was a perfect night to him after all. It seemed your reserved walls were crumbling down. The way you tended to him spoke volumes and the connection that he has been wanting has sparked beyond attraction.

"Did the kitty finally put away her claws?"

"Shut up Sy..."

[strwbrychffoncke]

"santa, baby,, 3.2k words synopsis: after being spoiled by sylus all year round, you struggle to find the perfect thing to gift back— so you decide, what better than to gift yourself ? contains: sylus x f?reader (no phys. desc. but later described to be wearing a dress so take that how u will) not specifically lads mc but u are a hunter (there's just one line from his melodic waves (?) card + called "miss hunter" by the twins) ,lots of fluff ,starts off w unestablished relationship (& later unfolds.. the feelings are mutual) ,slight yearning ,angst if you squint hard enough ,sylus throwing money at u bc he can ,decorating ft. the twins ,kinda needy sylus ,teasing (goes both ways) ,soft!sylus ,kissing -> makeout ,slight marking (receiving) ,sylus slings you over his shoulder (wander in wonder style.... heart eyes) ,implied suggestiveness + twins shenanigans at the end LOL that should be it.... note: managed to write an excuse into the story for releasing this after christmas heh.... i seriously was so stuck & maybe it was bc the amount of fics i cranked out after not writing fics for so long?? but i still like this & hope you will too :x dedicated to the sylus lovers: i love u i hope u can forgive me for being late w this

-

sylus has never been one for the holidays.

he didn't really have a reason to celebrate anything, so he didn't go out of his way to do so, continuing with business as usual while barely registering when these dates would come and go.

the only tell that such holidays were close was the small decorations set up around the base, courtesy of the twins.

he grew accustomed to walking into his office, a small christmas tree set up on his desk along with a string of little red lights draped across the front of it, small crow embellishments hanging around the place and paper snowflakes strung from the ceiling.

and he doesn't think he can forget the sight of the twins struggling to fit a ridiculously-sized (and real, mind you) spruce tree through the front of the door.

at the time, sylus only shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"what do you two think you're doing?"

"oh, hi boss!" they'd said in unison before kieran continued.

"well, you know, christmas is coming up already," he started.

"-and you don't have a christmas tree!" luke finished.

"...did you two cut this one down yourselves?"

"why, of course!" they answered together proudly.

sylus only sighed in response.

"do whatever you wish..." he trailed off, walking out of the living area back down the hall, some classic holiday song fading as his steps receded further.

this was all until you entered the picture.

as your relationship (whatever it may be) continued to grow with sylus, so too did your visits to the N109 zone, and by extension, his mansion.

for this reason, your more frequent visits reflected in the usually dark mansion: a cute yet out-of-place mug in the sink, pink towels in one of the bathrooms, some clothes left astray in the guest bedroom, even some cute lamps and decorations in the main living area (that sylus would make a teasing comment about once noticing, but make no move to take down, even encouraging you to add anything else you like. to him, his space was yours).

but in your most recent visit to sylus' place, you noticed the sheer lack of any change since you'd last stopped by about a week prior.

—not that he was one for decorating in the first place, but did he really not have any festive cheer anywhere in his little den?

when you barged into his office and spoke out about how the place looked exactly the same when christmas was so close by, joking about him having no holiday spirit, he only let out a hearty chuckle before offering you his card with a simple "then why don't you fix that, sweetie?"

he watched amused as your eyes glimmered with excitement, snatching up his card before happily scampering away to your laptop to begin your shopping, his eyes following you all the way till you were out of sight.

"such a simple kitten," he muttered to himself, smirk adorning his lips before he got back to work.

in no time at all, the halls were adorned with shiny silver tinsel (in which mephisto had so generously helped you put up), a faux black christmas tree was set up in the living area with cute twinkling lights, and silver and red ornaments came in several boxes (among all the other small decorations you had to put up in other various rooms).

when luke and kieran stumbled upon you opening the ornament boxes, they basically offered themselves up to help you with the tree.

you tilted your head at them, confused.

"you two really want to help me?"

"please, miss!" luke begged.

"we won't cause any trouble, swear it!" kieran finished.

"no, its not that— you can help, that's fine, but—"

"yay!" they cheered in unison.

"—if you guys like to decorate, then why didn't you put up any decorations for christmas?"

they blinked at you behind their masks.

"did you miss our decorating job?" luke tilted his head.

"yeah, we did more than we usually do!" kieran piped up.

you blinked at them.

"what are you—"

"didn't you see the little christmas tree in boss' office?"

"and the little hat by mephisto's perch!"

"not to mention our hand-cut snowflakes... those are difficult, you know???"

"...you call that decorating?" you deadpan. "what's so different about them this time, then?"

"ah," luke began, excited.

"we put up a bunch of mistletoe!" they spoke in unison.

"thats—"

"now, lets get to the tree!" kieran quickly changed the subject.

"yeah, im itching to put these up!" luke finished, eyes trained on the boxes of ornaments.

in your momentary shock, they seemed to have closed the distance in the blink of an eye, sorting through the boxes themselves and beginning to map them out on the tree.

while they begin their fun, you imagine being caught under the mistletoe with sylus, imagining the look in his eyes as he looks down at you before closing his eyes, leaning in, his lips moving closer and closer—

you snap back to reality, shaking the image out of your head.

you breathe out a sigh to try and calm your racing heart, turning around as you wonder if sylus put the twins up to that, or if they decided to hang them all up on their own accord.

you push the thought away as you join the twins in embellishing the tree, ignoring their bantering as they babble about how perfect mephisto would act as the tree topper instead of some lousy star.

-

"hey," you pipe up, hanging an ornament on a free spot between the branches. "what would you two like for christmas?"

the twins stop for a moment before looking at you behind their masks, tilting their heads.

"huh?"

you look back at them.

"what do you want for christmas?" you ask again, eyes darting between both masks trained on you.

the idea being foreign to them, they think about it for a long moment before ultimately shrugging.

"dunno," they answer in unison.

"well, try thinking of something. a new gun, another type of weapon, new matching masks, anything at all."

"hmmm...."

while they're lost in thought, muttering to each other about how their current gear could benefit from an upgrade even if its still perfectly intact, your mind drifts back to sylus.

what would sylus want for christmas?

you think about everything that he has, how he so easily either hands you or swipes his card without batting an eye, and where you are right now: in his mansion.

what could you possibly gift to a man who already has everything?

-

a couple of days later, sylus takes his leave for a deal, expecting it to be over quickly. he tells you to stay at the mansion if you wish while he's gone before he's out the door (not without taking one lasting glance at the decorated tree, a pleased smile subconsciously curling on his lips before the door clicks shut).

having him leave is both a blessing and a curse: you can easily brainstorm more ideas of what to get for him out in the open, but your heart seems to long for his presence within an hour of him gone.

which is how you find yourself plopping down into his office chair, spinning back in forth in it as you let out a sigh, allowing the lingering scent of him to envelop you as you think.

anything you thought up either seemed too simple, or it was something he could easily have.

jewelry? he had plenty, for you and him both, and could easily obtain more.

cologne? he already had a small collection, but would favor the ones that you said you liked the most.

vinyls? not a bad idea, but you weren't sure if you were willing to sort through his entire collection to find one that he was missing (or if one you got him would even be his taste).

when you asked the twins, they both answered "a new karaoke machine!" to which you swiftly shut down and left the room, mumbling about how they were no help at all.

not that his actual singing voice was any bad per se, but....

you shuddered at the ego boost he'd undoubtedly get from receiving such a gift from you.

like you needed to inflate it any further.

your mind wanders to him; the way he seeks you out in the form of bugging you, always finding a way to turn the tables on you and tease you after he started something, the way he'd never back down when you bite back, the constant petnames and lasting glances—

the way he'd playfully (or not) respond to something you said, on several occasions:

"i'm not sure friends is the right term for us, kitten."

you jolt at the memory of his words hearing his voice crystal clearly, remembering how close he was when he murmured them to you, the way you looked back at him wanting so badly to close the distance when the moment was interrupted, leaving you wondering if there was truth to his words (the look in his eyes definitely suggested it) or if he was simply teasing you again.

and suddenly, it hits you.

what if... i gift myself to sylus for christmas?

you ponder the idea for a moment.

as ridiculous as you think it is, you want more than anything to go through with it anyway.

in the worst case, he may just laugh it off and tease you to no end.

embarrassing at most, sure, but nothing you (probably) couldn't live with.

and in the best case?

"..."

you shake your head, taking deep breaths as you try not to work yourself up with your wishful thinking before rolling the chair back slightly.

with the anticipation of sylus' reaction to this genius idea, you start thinking about an outfit that would be fitting for the occasion.

and given the nature of your gift, the only thing you really need is some ribbon.

-

sylus was tired. the meeting of the deal lasted much longer than anticipated, and all he wanted was to return back to the mansion and spend his precious time with you.

he had half a mind to call it off and blow the place up for wasting his time before dashing back to you, pulling you close and never letting you go.

—but this client would serve to benefit him, so he restrained himself enough to power through it

(images of your cute, angry expression at pulling such a stunt almost tempted him but the thought of you berating him crossed his mind served in helping him to resist the urge).

when the day finally came to return home to you, he wasn't afraid to hide how eager he was, wrapping everything up swiftly before letting them deal with the rest, and hastily making his way back to you via driving.

when he arrived back, the first thing that floated through the entrance was some festive, almost flirty christmas tune.

he shut the door, making his way through the place before pausing at the sight before him.

-

sylus had texted you over an hour ago, with a simple "be home soon, kitten," leaving you to run around and prepare your surprise, ultimately resulting in your current position.

"come on..."

you're sat by the foot of the tree, trying to tie the last piece of ribbon over your head when it slips from your grasp yet again.

"ugh..."

for your outfit, you settled on a cute off-the-shoulder knitted dress paired with some stockings, leg warmers, and some pretty jewelry to finish it off— it was the cutest outfit you could put together while also ensuring you'd stay warm (considering you weren't too sure how long you'd have to wait, and the mansion seemed to have a natural cold air about it, even with the fireplace running).

you'd tied the ribbon into bows around each of your wrists and ankles, even going as far as to add a silly stick-on bow that was meant for wrapped gifts onto your chest, giggling to yourself at the absurdity of your plan.

you grasp the ribbon you're struggling with, curling it around your neck instead, thinking it a better place to tie a bow when a voice interrupts you.

"well, this is a surprise."

you almost jump at the voice, turning your head to meet with the man of the hour, hands on on his hips, head slightly tilted, and most notably...

his sharp, crimson gaze directed completely on you.

sylus' eyes drag over your figure, admiring the way the dress hugs you, accessories sitting pretty (your bare shoulders seeming to beg for his attention), adorned with cute ribbons all tied up around you, short laugh escaping him at the sight of the bow stuck to your chest.

"we-welcome back," you breathe out, suddenly nervous under his intense gaze.

he slowly steps towards you.

"how did this pretty little kitten find her way under my tree, hm?"

at his tease, you manage to get over your initial shock enough to bite back a response.

"you know what it means for something to be under the tree this month, don't you?"

he's right before you now, eyes dancing with amusement as he continues gazing down at you.

what a sight you were this up close.

"hmmm, its been awhile. why don't you remind me," he bends down to your level. "kitten."

"well," you tilt your head slightly. "during this month, presents are placed under the tree, waiting to be opened by their recipients on christmas day."

"go on..."

"the presents are also wrapped up in pretty paper and sometimes decorated with bows."

"uh-huh," he nods along.

you've dragged out the explanation knowing he already knows all of this, and he's still waiting for you to explicitly say why you're there yourself.

"so... it seems you've gotten a pretty expensive gift this year."

he smirks.

"oh? the sender must be quite.. generous."

"quite generous, indeed." you agree.

he kneels down properly now, hand reaching out to grasp your chin between his fingers before tilting it up.

"this... gift... wouldn't happen to come with an instruction manual or anything, would it?"

his free hand is slowly tugging at the bow you'd just tied around your neck, loosening it as he keeps the end grasped between his fingers.

his gaze holds both mischief and something else.

admiration? adoration?

who knows.

you laugh.

"nope. the only thing you need to know about this gift," you reach a hand out, holding it against his chest. "is that it's all yours."

and thats what does it for him.

the second he processes those words, no other response is given except his lips crashing into yours, his scent (the real thing) enveloping you as you're slowly consumed by him.

before you know it, you're lying on your back against the floor, sylus hovering over you as he continues, lips dancing with fervor against yours, silk ribbon lost somewhere between you both leaving your neck more barren— not that you really noticed.

when he separates to catch his breath he does so for only a moment before diving down to kiss your jawline and down your neck. your arms are wound around his neck, panting as you try to catch your breath.

"sylus..."

"you are all i've ever wanted," he speaks against your skin, kissing across your shoulders before nipping at the skin.

"well, i th-thought, you might appr-eciate the pre-sent, hah" you manage in between gasps due to his ministrations.

he pulls back to look into your eyes, the love and adoration circling his dark gaze so deeply you momentarily get lost in them.

he cups your cheek in his warm hand, watching as you immediately nuzzle into it.

his eyes rake over you again, now slightly disheveled, still catching your breath in puffs of air through your parted lips, watching him expectantly as pretty marks already begin to bloom across your exposed neck and shoulders.

he shudders.

"i think... id like to play with my new gift someplace else."

before you can ask him what he means, your vision is turned upside down as he easily lifts you up with one arm, slinging you over his shoulder before standing upright, and making his way towards his bedroom.

though, on the way, he's interrupted (much to your embarrassment).

he's halfway down the hall when a voice pipes up out of nowhere.

"boss! oh- and miss hunter!"

its none other than the twins.

"sylus, sylus! put me- put me down!" you plead from behind, hitting at his back and kicking at his front.

"what is it?" sylus speaks curtly, paying absolutely no mind to your pleads and hits, instead bringing his free arm to hold your legs down firmly against his front.

"first of all, welcome back!" kieran starts.

"secondly, we were wondering..." he trails off, feeling a little strange.

"—when we'd get to open our presents!" luke finishes for him, kieran nodding along excitedly.

sylus deadpans.

"what?"

"well, miss hunter said she would get us presents—"

"—and we want to know when we can open them up!"

sylus lets out a short, pleased laugh.

"is that so? well, miss hunter, what do you think?" he turns his head slightly, awaiting your answer.

you've given up fighting him at this point, having gone limp in sylus hold, but respond anyway.

"you're supposed to open them christmas morning—"

"but didn't we miss that because boss was gone?" kieran interrupts.

"yeah, you insisted to wait for him so that we could open them all together!" luke accuses.

sylus' expression takes one of surprise suddenly.

"oh? is that true?"

"yes!" the twins answer for you.

"well in that case.. you can't make them wait forever, miss hunter," sylus teases, dragging out the pet name as he jostles you slightly in his hold.

the movement elicits a sound of surprise from you, gripping onto sylus shoulder with one hand and his arm that's holding you securely with the other, steadying yourself before lifting your head up slightly, enough to speak into sylus' ear.

"they can open them once we're done!"

you glance back at the twins as a pleased smirk curls on sylus' lips.

"you'll get to open them soon enough, just practice exercising a little more patience. we'll be ready shortly."

and with that, sylus walks past the twins, whisking you away to his bedroom and making sure to lock the door (should the twins get any ideas in their inevitable impatience).

a light snow had begun to fall and a quiet calm enveloped the base as sylus took his time to unwrap you, savoring you and keeping you warm from the cold, finally uniting together and become one another's in the truest sense, words of love and affirmations warming you both to your cores.

and sylus thought maybe, just maybe, the holidays really were worth celebrating, so long as it was with you.

-

extra:

the twins had watched sylus make the rest of his way down the hall with you in tow, waving at you as you mouthed apologies behind his back before you both disappeared behind his door.

"do you think theyre—"

"oh definitely," luke answered, knowing what his brother was thinking.

"hell yeah, boss man!" kieran cheered, fist pumping in the air.

"but in that case... how much longer do you think we'll have to wait?" luke wondered aloud, mask turning to look at his brother.

"hmmm...." kieran gave it a long thought.

"..."

"we're definitely not opening them tonight."

-

a/n: omg i finished it??!!? im quite pleased w this one, might need one more editing job later but i feel satisfied.... to the rafayel kissers.... what would u say if i said i had not a single idea for his fic.... im sorry ill figure it out, promise, i'll take a short (short) break from this one before trying to draft it & see how it comes out... thanks for your understanding......

[manikas-whims]

request for LADS

what if u have to fake date the guys for some reason but its starts becomin difficult for ur heart cuz you start catching feelings

thank you 🙏

thanks for this request! ♡ i went a lil overboard with this LOL. WARNING ⚠️ long post..

Fake Dating the Love and Deepspace men but you catch feelings pt. 1

ZAYNE

❄️ Tara keeps trying to set you up with one of her colleagues, and no matter how subtle she acts about it, you're getting tired of it. Thus, you come to this decision! You request Zayne to play your fake boyfriend for a while.

❄️ The matter of his own feelings aside, Zayne just thinks that fake dating someone to avoid potential dates is incredibly crazy. “You can simply ask your friend to stop.”

❄️ His suggestion is baffling. You feel like an idiot for ignoring the obvious solution. But only a moment later realize that even asking her to stop won't likely deter Tara. At least not until she sees you with a person better than any of her chosen candidates.

❄️ So you decide to let go of the little self-respect you have and beg Zayne to do this for you. He is amused by this ridiculous proposition but agrees nonetheless since he can never really say no to you.

❄️ It's an amazing experience cause Zayne is the perfect boyfriend anyone could ever ask for— handsome, smart, caring, strict when needed, protective and very accommodating.

❄️ The first time Tara meets him, her eyes literally glow with admiration. And she pats your back like a proud aunt, winking suggestively as she does so.

❄️ However, Zayne has always been great at adapting to the situations at hand and soon your arrangement starts becoming a bit of a problem for your delicate heart.

❄️ It is one thing to show him off to your colleagues. But Zayne has started doing stuff like dropping you home everyday after work, his only explanation being “that's what he would do if he was your REAL boyfriend”.

❄️ And this isn't all. He's taking breaks in the afternoon to have lunch with you everyday and make sure you don't miss any meals. He slips your hand inside his coat pocket on particularly colder days. He even focuses on the little things like wiping a coffee stain from your bottom lip or gently pushing the stray strands of hair behind your ear. All this while, his explanation is: it's what he would do if he were your real boyfriend. And you aren't sure your heart will manage long if this goes on.

❄️ The real issue arises when one of your colleagues point out how they've never seen you kiss. And this makes Tara perk-up too.

❄️ In your defense, you spout some nonsense about how Zayne is kinda shy by nature and doesn't believe in PDA much. “When we're alone, he's very passionate.”

❄️ This leads to Tara and a bunch of colleagues secretly tailing you when Zayne comes to pick you up one evening. For they also wanna see this passionate side of him.

❄️ “Um..Zayne, can we kiss?” You whisper, your eyes averted, and fingers fiddling in nervousness. Its not that you are worried about the "kissing" part. Thats easy. You are actually worried about kissing Zayne.

❄️ As for Zayne, he is confused and shocked at first. Even blushes a little. But thanks to his perceptive nature, he quickly spots your colleagues and understands.

❄️ So as you clumsily teeter closer to him and raise yourself on your feet to reach his height, he chuckles at your efforts as well as the pained expression on your face.

❄️ “Relax.” He commands and magically, his words do calm your nerves a little.

❄️ He smiles then, his big arms wrapping smoothly around your waist as he lowers his head and lets his lips gently linger against yours, igniting a desire within you.

❄️ When he finally pulls back moments later, you nearly loose your footing.

❄️ This is it. The last shred of your sanity blown away. It may have only been a few moments but the kiss leaves an impact on you. Your heart can't take it anymore. Because you enjoyed the kiss more than you should have. And its made you realise that you may have actual feelings for Zayne.

XAVIER

⭐ There's this creepy resident at your apartment complex who's been trying to make moves on you but he's just been so nice and subtle about it that you have no idea how to turn him down. Thus, instead of that, you ask Xavier to play your fake boyfriend for a while.

⭐ “This doesn't seem like a good idea.” He says, hesitantly scratching his cheek.

⭐ Xavier also believes beating the shit out of the guy is a better option, and a permanent solution. But again, you can't do that because the guy hasn't actually done anything threatening or concerning. Thus, any sort of unwarranted violence against such a guy will only result in more problems for Xavier and You.

⭐ So Xavier sighs, and nods with a smile. “Fine. What do you need me to do?”

⭐ “Just do things only a boyfriend would do whenever that guy is around.” You tell him and he nods.

⭐ And so it starts with you dragging Xavier out for morning laps and evening walks around the complex, and you always make sure to hold onto Xavier's arm whenever you spot the strange guy.

⭐ But as the days go by, you sense as if Xavier may be a little too good at his new job.

⭐ One evening as you are working out at the gym on the top floor of the apartment complex, the guy walks in and approaches you. To your annoyance, he begins his usual small talk. But he's barely strung two words together when you feel the warmth of a hand gliding along your waist.

⭐ You look up to find Xavier, his clothes sweaty from workout. He tucks his chin on top off your head, his arm around your waist tightening ever so slightly. “Do you know this guy?”

⭐ It takes a moment for you to realise you're gawking! At the same guy you had asked to pretend to be your boyfriend. And it's not just his fingers stroking circles on your belly but also the way his voice sounds more intimate!??

⭐ Quickly, you compose yourself and stammer a response. “N-Not really. He's a resident just like us.”

⭐ And with that said, you're being steered out of the gym, Xavier's arm never leaving your waist.

⭐ Ever since you've known him, he rarely breaches your personal space without permission. A gentleman through and through. It's you who's been messing with his hair, squishing his cheeks and poking his chest to tease him all this time.

⭐ But ever since you asked him to play boyfriend, he's the one initiating skinship at the most unexpected moments. It's as if this fake dating arrangement has given him a free pass to do everything he usually holds back from.

⭐ Now he holds your hand whenever you're walking together, idly plays with your hair strands when hanging out at your place, and ALWAYS makes sure his arms are around your waist or face nuzzling your neck in the presence of that strange guy.

⭐ You may have been the one who requested him to do this but you aren't so sure about this whole thing anymore.

⭐ A few weeks have passed but the guy is persistent. Now he's always trying to find you when he's sure Xavier won't be around.

⭐ “It's not working. We need to do something more convincing.” You say in a deflated tone. You and Xavier are standing in the hallway of your floor, having just returned from a mission.

⭐ And that creep is lurking at the end of the floor by the elevator, waiting for Xavier to leave so he can ask you out yet again.

⭐ Xavier tucks a hand under his chin, his nose scrunching in thought. “Something more you say..”

⭐ Then in the very next moment, he pushes you against your own apartment door, a hand coming to rest upon it to keep you in place; his other hand gently cradles your face, arching it slightly before he presses his lips against your own.

⭐ Only a moment later he pulls away, then kisses you again. This time with more fervor than needed to fake it. And when he breaks the kiss again, his lips gravitate towards your neck.

⭐ “Xa..Xavier..?” You're stunned. You're not even sure how you are meant to react.

⭐ Xavier pushes away from you slightly and turns his head, his gaze directed right at the strange man. “She’s mine.” He asserts.

⭐ The man is as shocked as you are and immediately runs away.

⭐ Xavier looks back at you and flashes his usual soft smile. “This should convince him enough.”

⭐ Seriously!? Who cares about that guy anymore? Your heart is the most convinced that you may possibly be falling for Xavier.

RAFAYEL

🌊 “Miss Bodyguard, would you like to date me?” Rafayel asks one day out of the blue, and you are left feeling equal parts flustered and confused because WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!?

🌊 He enjoys watching you trying to act nonchalant when your fidgety movements and flushed cheeks clearly tell him otherwise.

🌊 Finally he explains how he has accumulated quite the fanbase, thanks to not just his art but his gorgeous looks. And now these same loving fans are becoming slightly toxic with how they stalk him around, making it impossible for him to even go out in peace. Aa such, he wants to promote you from the position of his bodyguard to fake girlfriend.

🌊 You don't like the sound of it. You can already smell trouble from afar but you know he'll keep pestering until you relent. So you agree to it in the end.

🌊 Only later you realise what you've actually gotten yourself into.

🌊 Rafayel is already kinda clingy by nature but now that you've agreed to his dating charade, he's fully taking advantage of it.

🌊 Everytime he drags you out to a public spot, he makes sure that the two of you hold hands. And rather than going to places that may inspire him for his paintings, he drags you to expensive fashion brands stores.

🌊 Even as you refuse to let him buy any of it, he makes you try on the outfits for hours, making you turn this way and that, asking you to pose in specific ways as he snaps numerous photographs (which he'll definitely use as reference for his portraits of you). And just when you think it's over with all the fancy clothes, he makes you try on footwear next.

🌊 He's also buying you all these gifts you never asked for. He's basically spoiling you with things you can't otherwise afford.

🌊 He's also posting a lot of cringe yet cutesy couple photos with you on his social media accounts.

🌊 And you may not admit it but you are beginning to enjoy being spoilt like this.

🌊 Weeks pass without you even realising. This arrangement is becoming more and more dangerous for your heart. Because lets be honest Rafayel may be enjoying playing around with you like this but the same can't be said for you. You know that if this goes on any longer, your heart is bound to make space for him.

🌊 “How much longer do we need to keep this up?” You ask one day.

🌊 He merely winks at you. “Just a little longer.”

🌊 You try your best to keep your emotions in check. You just need to endure him and his charm for a little longer. Heck! You kill wanderers for a living so the matters of heart shouldn't be anymore difficult than that. Right? Right?

🌊 Oh how foolish you are.

🌊 It happens during a private gala Rafayel is invited to and of course as his “girlfriend”, you're supposed to go with him.

🌊 That, and the other reason being this crazy musician who will be there. Apparently she's been hitting on Rafayel for a while now, and your appearance may finally make her retreat.

🌊 So there, amidst the crowd of snobbish strangers, Rafayel asks you for a dance. And in the dim glow of the hall, paired with a slow, romantic tune, he feels closer than he is. And it happens..your resolve falters.

🌊 He wiggles a brow towards the corner of the room, and surely enough, you spot the aforementioned crazy musician. Indeed, she doesn't seem very happy with the way Rafayel has his arms around you.

🌊 And to deliberately spur her further, he lowers his head. His breath is ticklish along your skin as he whispers in your ear. “You’ve moved along quite well to my tune. You're a good dancer.”

🌊 For some reason, you don't like those words. Rafayel complimenting you so freely cannot be a good sign.

🌊 “Just endure a little longer, Miss Bodyguard. Tonight will be the last run of this charade.”

🌊 Then he tucks a lose strand of hair behind your ear and leans his face in, his lips gently brushing along yours before pressing harder.

🌊 The kiss is slow and lingering, just like the song being played. But it seems that the moment you begin to give in and truly relish it, the moment ends. He pulls away and smiles.

🌊 Yet you can't muster enough strength to smile back for its happened. Your resolve is broken. Your heart has already reserved the best spot for him. And you aren't ready to let go of this charade any time soon..

here's [PART 2]

i have 4-5 more LADS requests to finish. i'm working on them and will post them soon ✌️😊

THANKS FOR READING ♡

SEND ME REQUESTS FOR LOVE & DEEPSPACE HEADCANONS VIA ASKS.

» MASTERLIST «

[fangdokja]

This Valentine’s, your heart might be the last thing you give away.

❤︎ Synopsis. This Valentine’s, four enemies are about to learn that love isn’t sweet—it’s twisted, obsessive, and definitely not the happily-ever-after they were hoping for. Between roses, revenge, and unexpected affection, survival may just be the most romantic thing you’ll experience.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Various x Fem. Reader

♡ Novella: Valentine's Special. Red Roses, Black Hearts - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 10,609

♡ A/N. I don't really like celebrating Valentines Day. Not really my thing nor do I care, but it's alright. It's not like I hate it. I'm more of… it's just there. That's it. wdym it's too early. Well it ended up becoming a series, so… shiz. Still debating whether I should go unrestrained horror or dark humor psychological style... who knows. Also, since my friend doesn't like Caleb, I can officially create LaDs Caleb content.

Valentine’s Day.

The dreaded season of saccharine, mass-produced romance, where the air reeks of cheap perfume and artificial chocolate, where every single person you know—whether it be classmates, coworkers, or that one annoying neighbor who plays obnoxious love songs at full volume—suddenly acts like they’ve ascended to a higher plane of existence because they have the privilege of holding clammy hands with another human being.

It is disgusting.

And you, well, you would rather gargle bleach than partake in this glorified corporate scam of a holiday.

It’s not like you’re bitter about being single—no, that would imply you even wanted to date in the first place. Your aversion to real-life romance isn’t a quirky personality trait or some cute little eccentricity. It is a deeply ingrained, visceral disgust, an allergic reaction that sends metaphorical hives across your soul whenever someone suggests that you, you, might want to experience “love.”

No. You don’t want it. You don’t need it. And you sure as hell don’t need a day dedicated to parading around in pink and red like some kind of overgrown toddler hopped up on love hormones and mass-market capitalism.

Of course, none of this means you aren’t completely obsessed with romance in fiction. But not just any romance. No, your tastes are far more refined—sophisticated, even.

You don’t waste your time with vanilla, run-of-the-mill love stories about two people meeting in a coffee shop and awkwardly flirting over lattes. No, you prefer your romance with a side of psychological horror, a dash of violent obsession, and an unhealthy dose of possessiveness.

That’s right. You read—and write—male yandere content.

Fictional love? Amazing. Real-life love? Revolting.

There is a fine line between passion and psychopathy, and you would rather be dragged to the depths of hell by an obsessive, controlling, morally bankrupt fictional man than even consider the prospect of holding hands with a real person.

You’ve built an empire of anonymity, a carefully curated online persona where you unleash your deepest, darkest, most unhinged thoughts onto unsuspecting readers. Nobody knows your secret, and nobody ever will. By day, you are the quiet, aloof, slightly unsettling individual that people cautiously respect but never truly understand. By night, you are a prolific creator of stories so deranged that even the most experienced horror fans would hesitate before clicking on your masterlist.

It is a beautiful life. A perfect life.

Except for the fact that, no matter how hard you try, you cannot escape the insufferable assault of Valentine’s Day.

The pink. The flowers. The terrible, terrible poetry plastered across every store window. The couples who think they’re being subtle with their PDA but are actually one step away from engaging in unspeakable acts right in the middle of the sidewalk.

It makes you want to die. Or kill. Either works.

Even your professors, the very people who should be upholding the sanctity of academia, have succumbed to the plague. There is an entire essay prompt dedicated to writing about the meaning of love, and you can already feel the bile rising in your throat at the thought of having to regurgitate some sappy nonsense about “soulmates” and “eternal devotion.”

You stare at the prompt. The prompt stares back at you. A staring contest between two soulless voids.

You could write about how love is a chemical reaction, nothing more than a biological impulse designed to ensure the continuation of the species.

You could write about how love is an illusion, a social construct perpetuated by media to manipulate lonely people into believing they need another person to feel whole.

Or… you could write about him.

The perfect man. The kind of man who would rip out his own heart and place it at your feet as an offering. The kind of man who would kill for you. Die for you. Stalk you from the shadows, leaving behind cryptic, bloodstained notes that would send shivers down the spine of anyone who wasn’t completely deranged (which, unfortunately for your mental stability, you absolutely are).

The kind of man who only exists in the realms of fiction, where love is not soft, nor gentle, nor kind, but something dark, twisted, and entirely consuming.

You smile.

Your professor is going to need therapy after reading your paper.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow.

Tonight, you have a yandere fic to update.

────────────

You live in the comfort of your room, tucked away from the world, basking in the glow of your screen. The outside is a horror show, a grotesque landscape of expectations and human interaction that you’d rather not partake in. You could stay locked up forever, hunched over your laptop, writing the most depraved, spine-chilling, erotically twisted stories known to mankind—and you would—if not for her.

Her.

The bane of your existence. The one force of nature capable of tearing you away from your self-imposed isolation.

Your best friend.

You’re not entirely sure how it happened. You’re certain she just decided one day that you were her responsibility, like a stray kitten she picked up off the street and forced into domestication. You didn’t agree to this. You didn’t want this. And yet, here she is, constantly invading your space, forcing you to experience social interaction against your will.

And the worst part? She’s a pervert.

Not just any pervert. An extreme pervert. A monstrous, unholy abomination of a pervert.

You, despite writing the most detailed, graphic, heart-stoppingly intense smut known to man, feel absolutely nothing. Your readers foam at the mouth over your work, leaving you comments that range from awe to pure degeneracy. Meanwhile, you sit there, dead inside, typing out the filthiest, most depraved acts with the same level of emotion one might have while compiling tax documents.

But her? Oh, she eats it up. Devours it. Worships it.

She texts you at ungodly hours with things like:

“BRO. BRO. THIS SCENE?? THIS SCENE??? I’M GOING TO PASS OUT.”

Or

“You’re lying to me. There is NO WAY you’re a virgin. NO WAY. YOU HAVE TO HAVE DONE THIS BEFORE.”

And your personal favorite:

“HOW ARE YOU NOT HORNY RIGHT NOW. EXPLAIN.”

It’s exhausting.

She has no shame. She’ll read your work aloud while you’re trapped in a car with her, watching your soul leave your body as she dramatizes every sinful act with the enthusiasm of a Broadway actor. She’ll corner you and demand explanations for why a character moaned a certain way, as if you have an answer other than, “I don’t know, it just sounded right.”

Your dignity is in shambles.

And what’s worse? She can make anything sound perverted. Anything.

You could be eating a slice of pizza, minding your own business, and she’ll somehow turn it into an innuendo. You could be talking about the weather, and she’ll find a way to make it sexual. The sky is looking a little gray today? “Yeah, just like the color of my soul after that last chapter you wrote. That ruined me. That made me feral. I’m in shambles. You’re a monster.”

You sigh deeply. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve sighed today.

You’re sitting at your desk, typing away, trying to ignore the looming presence behind you. She’s reading over your shoulder again, eyes scanning the screen at an inhuman speed. You can feel her judgment. It’s suffocating.

Then she lets out a dramatic gasp.

“Oh. My. Damn.”

“No,” you say, preemptively shutting her down.

“You did not just write that.”

“I did.”

“That’s illegal.”

“It is not.”

“That should be illegal.”

“You’re overreacting.”

She grabs your shoulders and shakes you. “HOW ARE YOU NOT SCREAMING WHILE WRITING THIS???”

You blink at her, unamused. “Why would I scream?”

“Because this is HOT. I’m sweating. I’m disoriented. I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting down.”

She grips your arm. “You’re a menace to society.”

You turn back to your screen, continuing to type as if she isn’t having a crisis right next to you. You’re used to this. It happens every time. You don’t know why she keeps acting like this is new information.

She groans, falling back onto your bed dramatically, arm draped over her forehead. “I don’t understand you. You have the power of God and degeneracy in your hands, and yet you feel NOTHING.”

“I’m here for the horror,” you remind her, voice monotone. “The thrill. The psychological torment.”

She sits up. “And the sex.”

You scowl. “I don’t care about the sex.”

“You write it really well for someone who doesn’t care.”

You shrug. It’s true. You do write it well. It’s not your fault that you have a gift. If anything, it’s a burden.

She narrows her eyes at you. “So you’ve never felt even a little bit—?”

“No.”

“Not once?”

“No.”

She exhales, long and suffering. “You’re broken.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

“I have to be. You need a keeper.”

You roll your eyes. “I need to be left alone.”

“NEVER.”

She launches at you, wrapping her arms around you in a suffocating bear hug. You try to pry her off, but she’s strong—unreasonably strong. She’s always been like this. The kind of woman who could probably snap a grown man in half but still giggles at cute animals. The type to offer sage, older-sister advice to people in need, only to turn around and read the most degenerate smut imaginable.

You give up, slumping in her grasp. You’re used to this, too.

She rests her chin on your head. “So, when’s the next chapter coming out?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble into her arm. “Whenever.”

She gasps. “That’s not good enough.”

“That’s all you’re getting.”

“You’re lucky I love you.”

You pause. Your eye twitches. “You say that, but it feels more like you’re holding me hostage.”

“Same thing.”

You sigh again. The longest, most suffering sigh known to mankind.

There is no escape.

────────────

The moment you agreed, she clasped her hands together like a demon about to perform a blood ritual.

"I knew you’d come around, my little goblin," she cooed, grinning like the Cheshire Cat on steroids.

You stared at her, deadpan. "I want you to know that I have never hated myself more than in this moment."

She ruffled your hair like you were a golden retriever puppy who just learned how to sit. "And yet, you agreed. Love that for you. Love that for me. Love that for us."

You wanted to die. She could probably arrange that, but she was having too much fun watching you suffer.

———

This all started three days ago, when you were sick at home, curled up in bed with a fever, blissfully unaware that your best friend was about to declare war on your social ineptitude.

Somehow, against all logic and reason, you had a friend group. Well, they were more like her friends, and by extension, you were just there. If they were a pack of wolves, you were the black cat perched in the distance, watching, unblinking, knowing full well you were above the food chain nonsense.

That was until some idiot decided to open his mouth.

"Dude, why does she never go out? What, is she scared of people? I bet she’s never even been on a date."

Your best friend paused mid-drink, setting her bottle down with a slow, deliberate motion that sent warning signals to every single person at the table.

"The fuck did you just say?"

The guy shrugged, completely oblivious to the incoming hurricane. "I mean, no offense, but she just gives that, y’know, scary, reclusive serial killer vibe."

Silence.

Then, your best friend let out a laugh, one of those fake, manic laughs that made her seem like she was about to flip the entire table over. She leaned forward, eyes gleaming with something deeply, deeply unholy.

"Oh, bet? You think my best friend—my personal goblin—is just some socially inept cryptid? You think she can’t get a date?"

The guy snorted. "I mean—"

"No, no, no, shut up. Shut the fuck up. You just declared war, asshole." She slammed her fist onto the table. "I will have her slaying at prom, and when she does, you’re gonna take your L like a little bitch."

"Dude, chill—"

"No, no, no, fuck you. I’m gonna make her so hot that when she walks into prom, everyone’s gonna be like ‘who’s that mysterious goddess’ and you’re gonna sit there in your crusty ass suit looking like an extra in a high school romcom."

The whole table was silent. She downed the rest of her drink like a shot, wiped her mouth, and pointed directly at the poor bastard.

"Watch me."

———

"No."

"Oh, come on, it won’t be that bad."

"No."

"Just a little blind date."

"No."

"Okay, what if it’s not a date? Just an interaction. A social experiment. Like putting a chimp in front of a mirror to see if it recognizes itself."

You stared at her, unimpressed. She beamed.

"No."

"You wound me," she sighed dramatically, flopping onto your bed as if her soul had been shattered by your sheer refusal to entertain her bullshit. "Do you not want to broaden your horizons? Experience life? Have someone fall madly in love with you and offer you their fortune?"

You turned your head ever so slightly to glare at her. She grinned.

"No."

"Babe. Babe." She sat up, crisscross applesauce. "I need you to at least leave your house before I have to start smuggling you vitamin D supplements like a shady drug dealer."

"I get vitamin D from my phone."

She looked personally insulted. "That is the saddest shit I’ve ever heard."

"Then leave me alone."

She gasped, clutching her chest. "Betrayal. Backstabbed. Left for dead. I hope you know this is going to be war."

———

And war it was.

The next day, she was outside your house. 7 AM. Dressed like a fucking FBI agent. Sunglasses. Black suit. Earpiece.

"Ma’am, step outside the vehicle."

You shut the window.

The next day, she showed up at your job. (You didn’t even tell her where you worked. She just knew.)

"Hey, babe," she greeted, all smiles and sunshine. "What time do you get off? There’s someone I want you to meet."

You turned and walked the other way.

The next day, you were grocery shopping. She cornered you in the cereal aisle.

"Surprise bitch, bet you thought you’d seen the last of me."

You gripped your basket tighter.

"You will go on this date."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

She leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "What if they’re rich?"

You hesitated.

Her grin turned victorious. "I knew it, you little capitalist gremlin."

"I will set this entire aisle on fire."

"And that’s why I love you, babe. Now, let’s talk outfits."

────────────

You stare at the massive stack of papers in front of you like it's a corpse that just plopped onto the dinner table. A thick pile of documents, neatly arranged (a feat you did not think possible for her), bound together with an actual fucking paperclip.

"Alright, bitch," your best friend announces, slamming her hands down on the table with enough force to rattle your soul, "we're finding you a man."

You want to die.

"I really don't think—"

"Shut up."

"But—"

"Shut. Up." She slides the first page in front of you with the precision of an executioner. "Now, look at these premium selections. Hand-picked by yours truly."

You glance at the first paper. It lists a name, age, occupation, social status, and what appears to be a 'Yandere Rating' out of ten. Your soul attempts to astral project.

"Why does this have a yandere rating."

"Because you love that toxic, possessive, I-would-murder-for-you shit, don't act like you don't. I read your stories, bitch."

You close your eyes. "I never should've told you about that."

"You didn’t. I found out."

"Even worse."

She ignores you, shuffling the papers with the excitement of a game show host. "Okay, let’s see. This one—absolute beast. Ultra-rich, emotionally stunted, crazy in the head but hot. Probably gonna pin you against a wall and tell you he can't live without you within the first three dates. Very murder-y. A solid 9.5/10 yandere rating. Thoughts?"

You blink. "That sounds terrible."

She cackles. "You're lying."

"I'm not."

"Bitch, I will expose your AO3."

Your face remains neutral, but internally, you’re already calculating how quickly you can erase your existence from the internet.

She slaps another paper onto the table. "Okay, next up—he's got a crime record."

"Absolutely not."

"Listen, listen, it's not murder, okay? It’s just minor felonies. Some fraud, a little blackmail, typical rich people crime—he’s clean otherwise."

"I literally don't even want to date."

"Yes, and yet here we are." She flips through the stack before pausing, then, without hesitation, crumples an entire sheet of paper and tosses it into the trash. "Nope. This one's ugly."

You exhale slowly. "You’re judging a criminal less harshly than an ugly man."

"Priorities." She shrugs, as if this is the most obvious fact in the world. "If they're gonna be toxic, they have to be fine as hell. Otherwise, what’s the point?"

"I don’t think that’s how—"

"Ohhh, this one!" She practically vibrates as she holds up another paper. "Listen. He’s possessive, dominant, completely depraved, but he’s got the money to spoil you rotten, and he’s super hot. A high-quality psycho."

You press your fingers to your temple. "This is literally a human trafficking scenario."

"But he’s rich."

"So is Jeff Bezos."

"Exactly."

You stare at her. "Do you even hear yourself."

She leans forward, her grin sharp. "Yes. And I stand by it."

You take a slow, deep breath, contemplating your life choices, then glance at the remaining stack. "Are all of these just different variations of ‘hot psychopath’?"

"No. Some are just regular psychopaths."

You stare at her. "...How did you even get these?"

"Connections."

"What connections?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"No."

"Good. Now, next on the list—" She pauses, frowns, and immediately chucks another paper into the trash. "Nope, too soft. You’d step on him, and he’d say ‘thank you.’"

"Just kill me."

"We need balance!" she insists, gesturing wildly. "You’re emotionally dead inside, so we need someone who can handle that without crumbling into dust. If we throw in another doormat, it’s gonna be pathetic. What you need is someone who can keep up with your depressing ass and also fuck you stupid."

You violently choke on air.

"You’re deranged," you rasp out.

She merely grins. "And yet, you’re still here listening to me."

"Because I literally have no choice."

She slaps a new document in front of you. "Alright, final one for now. Listen to this. Business empire, genius, emotionally bankrupt but functional, probably into some nasty shit but looks good in a suit."

You eye the paper. "This sounds like a corporate mafia drama waiting to happen."

"Exactly. And we both know you’d eat that shit up."

You don’t answer. She doesn’t need you to. The smirk on her face tells you she already knows she’s won.

She leans back in her chair, utterly self-satisfied. "So. Who’s it gonna be?"

You stare at the remaining stack, then at your best friend, then at the way your soul is currently floating ten feet above your body.

"You know what," you mutter, defeated. "Just pick for me."

Her grin is positively diabolical. "Oh, bitch, you’re gonna regret that."

You already do.

────────────

You sit slumped over in your chair, staring blankly at the absurdly thick stack of documents your best friend just dumped on the table like she was presenting the results of a scientific breakthrough. You have suffered long and hard for this moment. And by suffered, you mean you had to endure watching her go through an entire lineup of would-be suitors like some kind of overenthusiastic auctioneer while you stared into the abyss, hoping it would finally stare back and drag you into eternal peace.

But here you are, still breathing, against your will.

“Alright, after an excruciatingly thorough vetting process, four candidates have survived. I know, tragic.” Your best friend sighs dramatically, as if the whole ordeal was emotionally devastating for her. It wasn’t. She’s enjoying this. You know she is.

She pushes the first file toward you, tapping it twice. “Now, before you say anything, I already know what’s on your mind—‘But aren’t they all just cliche tropes ripped straight out of a questionable romance novel?’”

“That is not what I was going to say,” you respond, monotone.

“You were thinking it,” she accuses. “And okay, fine, I admit it—yes, they’re cliché as hell, but trust me, darling, these are the closest to your… preferences. Or at least the closest you’ll get.” She leans forward, a glint in her eyes that spells danger. “Trust me. I can tell.”

You exhale sharply through your nose. “I don’t have preferences.” She ignores your comment.

"Alright, bitch. Four finalists. Four potential future providers of dick and distress." She claps her hands together with a grin so smug it should be illegal. "I know you don't give a single fuck, but I need you to understand that these are the best options available to your pathetic, unromantic ass."

You stare at her. "I hate you."

"Love you too, dumbass. Anyway." She dramatically flips a folder open. "Before you start bitching, let me clarify something. These guys? Technically, not yanderes."

You blink. "Then why am I here."

"Because they're the closest match to your degenerate tastes. Trust me, I can tell."

You press a hand to your forehead, contemplating if slamming your skull into the table would grant you the sweet release of unconsciousness.

Then you let out a long, slow sigh, resigning yourself to the inevitable. "Just do it."

She smirked. "You always make it sound like I'm about to execute you. But fine. Let’s start with the first one."

———

She yanked the first folder open and dramatically shoved the profile in front of your face. The rich prince, the untouchable student council president, the golden boy.

You glance at the file. His extracurriculars are a cursed list of everything you despise: fencing, business management, charity events, and what you dread most, hosting school galas.

“This motherfucker. Top of the hierarchy, heir to a ridiculous empire, and so disgustingly charming he could probably get away with tax fraud in broad daylight. He’s a genius, annoyingly good-looking, and has an ego the size of the national debt. Basically, a walking privilege check.”

You just stared at her. “I hate him already.”

“I know, right? That’s why you’ll get along so well. He’s the type to flirt with you just to piss you off. Loves playing the fool, but make no mistake—he’s got a god complex that even Jesus would side-eye. He’s also obscenely rich, so if nothing else, you can mooch off him. Plus, imagine the sex."

You immediately regretted breathing. “I don’t want to imagine that.”

She gave you a pitying look. "It’s okay, I’ll imagine it for you. I’d say he’d be the type to pin you down with a cocky little smirk and make you beg just because he can. The kind of guy who teases you for hours just to see how long you last before you break." She tilted her head in deep thought. "Yeah, he’d be insufferable about it. But you like a challenge, so it works."

You were considering launching yourself out the window. “Next.”

“Fine, fine. Now, this one’s fun.” She slapped open the second folder.

———

"The delinquent. Your classic bad boy. Most famous troublemaker in school. Absolute bastard. Arguably a feral animal with human rights."

You glance over the profile. Multiple suspensions, record-breaking number of detentions, rumors of gang affiliations. The worst part? Top physical scores, zero effort in academics, still passing with minimal attendance.

You stared at the profile. “Why does it say ‘once bit a teacher’ under notable achievements?”

“Because he did.” She snickered. “This guy’s a walking crime waiting to happen. Fights just for the hell of it. If a fire breaks out at school, he was probably involved. I don’t think he even knows what rules are. But the man is sharp. He’s the kind of guy who will break someone’s nose and walk off whistling. Imagine the sheer lawlessness of your dynamic.”

"Why."

"Because he's a menace. A hot one. And if you're going to be dead inside, at least let someone else do the thrill-seeking for you. Plus, look at these notes on his dating history—nonexistent. He's a territorial little shit who probably wouldn't even let you look at other men without giving you a possessive death glare. He'd fight a guy for breathing the same air as you."

You rub your temples. "Isn’t that just primal jealousy?"

"Yes. And it’s hot. And just imagine the sex,” she cooed.

“No.”

“Listen, this is important. He’d be rough, no doubt. Fast, reckless, all adrenaline. Probably the type to take you in places that are very much not legal or appropriate. And he’d absolutely mock you about everything. If you blush, he’s got ammo for years. You’d hate him, but in a fun way."

You wanted to detach your soul from your body. “Moving on.”

———

She snorted and opened the third folder. “Alright, this one’s different. The intelligent doctor and artist. A rare combination of someone who can both kill and heal you.”

You stare at the profile. High-level intellect. Medical prodigy. Specializes in surrealist paintings. No known scandals. Speaks in a way that makes people question their mortality.

You peered at the profile. “He seems... disturbingly normal compared to the others.”

“Oh, no, he’s not,” she assured you. "He’s just the quiet kind of unsettling. Genius intellect, ridiculously composed, and there’s something really fucking off about how serene he is. The kind of guy who watches people like they’re puzzles he already solved. He’s patient, calculated, and definitely has secrets you do not want to find out.”

“Sounds exhausting,” you muttered.

She grinned. “But wouldn’t he be hot about it? You’d think you were safe, and then bam—suddenly you’re alone with him, and he’s looking at you like you’re a rare artifact. He’s the type to say the most poetic, devastating shit in bed. Imagine him whispering some existential nonsense in your ear while ruining you. Tell me that wouldn’t be the most intense experience of your life."

“I refuse to answer that.”

“Anyway, he’s refined, patient, and he has the aura of someone who would casually sketch you while you’re sleeping.” She sighs dreamily. “Also, I have a strong suspicion he has some absolutely filthy thoughts beneath all that cold intelligence. You know the type. The ones who look all deep and poetic but actually have the most deranged kinks.”

Your soul leaves your body. “I don’t need to know this.”

She pats your shoulder. “You do.”

“I really don’t.”

———

“Boring ass,” she muttered, flipping open the last folder. “And finally, the academic. Your intellectual equal. Top scholar, scientist in the making, will probably end up running some research institute and using it for shady experiments."

You glance at the file. He’s at the top of every academic competition. Scores are beyond perfect. Cold, logical, reclusive.

“He’s the most similar to you,” she says. “Which is either really good or really bad.”

“Bad.”

“Good.” She smirks. “Because that means you two could theoretically hold an entire conversation just arguing over who’s smarter.”

“A fellow miserable overachiever. Fantastic,” you deadpanned.

“See? That’s why you’d get along. He’s practical, logical, and absolutely ruthless when it comes to proving a point. He’d challenge you constantly, and you’d hate how much you respect it. I guarantee your conversations would either be deep philosophical debates or petty arguments over who’s right about something stupid. And the sex—oh, the sex.”

You dropped your face into your hands. "Please stop."

She ignored you. "With him, it would be clinical, controlled, and ridiculously efficient. He’d make sure every move is perfectly calculated. You’d think he’s cold, but it’s just because he’s too fucking logical. He’d be treating it like an experiment on your responses, and you’d be left questioning if he actually cared or was just collecting data. Kinda hot."

You slowly exhaled, staring into the abyss. “Why are you like this.”

She shrugs. "Because I care about your sex life. You’re welcome."

She then grinned, patting your shoulder. “Now, who’s your pick?"

“I’m picking death.”

“Death isn’t an option.”

“Neither is any of this.”

She gives you a sickeningly sweet smile. “Oh, bitch. You underestimate me.”

────────────

It starts with a sigh. It always does. A deep, long-suffering exhale that feels like it drains a year off your lifespan as you pinch the bridge of your nose, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

Your best friend? She’s laughing her ass off.

“Let me get this straight,” she wheezes between snorts, nearly doubling over from how hard she’s laughing. “All four of them—every single one—you managed to piss off all of them?”

“Yes,” you say flatly.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

She gasps, clutching her chest like you’ve personally stabbed her. “Not important?! The four most powerful, well-known, and untouchable guys in the entire school—wait, let me correct myself—the four most untouchable guys in the entire damn city hate your guts, and you didn’t think that was important?”

You blink. “Not really.”

She howls. Actually, physically howls. She slaps the table, wheezing between fits of laughter, practically sliding off her chair from how much she’s losing it. You just watch, unimpressed.

“Holy shit,” she finally gets out, wiping a tear from her eye. “Dude. You’re the worst.”

“I’m really not.”

“No, you are.” She takes a deep breath. “Alright, hold up. I need to hear this one by one. From the beginning. How the hell did you manage to make enemies with all of them?”

You roll your eyes. “I wouldn’t call them enemies.”

“You wouldn’t call them enemies,” she parrots. “Because you don’t have any social skills. Everyone else would.”

“I think they’re just being dramatic,” you deadpan.

“Uh-huh.” She leans forward, grinning like a wolf about to hear some premium entertainment. “Alright, out with it. How’d you piss off the prince first?”

You sigh. Again. You should start charging for this.

────────────

You weren’t one to talk to people. It wasn’t a matter of shyness, or even preference. You just didn’t see the point.

Words were tools, necessary for survival, but beyond that? Completely overrated. People wanted to chat, to laugh, to bond. They wanted connection. You wanted quiet. You wanted them to stop existing in your general vicinity. So you did what you did best: you stayed out of their way.

It worked.

Until it didn’t.

────────────

The day you made an enemy of the most powerful student in school, you were just trying to turn in a form.

It was a simple task. A direct, no-nonsense mission. Enter the student council office, dump the document on the desk, and leave. No engagement necessary. No unnecessary eye contact. You even timed it perfectly—right when the council president was known to be out, probably hosting another insufferable pep rally for an event nobody cared about.

Except he was there.

And he was lounging like a self-satisfied deity, feet kicked up on the desk, twirling a pen in one hand while flipping through paperwork with the other. The sight alone was annoying. The sheer audacity of a person to be so… obnoxiously present. Fluffy neat hair, bright eyes, a grin that looked like it had never known a moment of humility. He radiated untouchable, almost divine levels of confidence.

He looked up. And in that moment, you knew.

He recognized you.

“Ohhh,” he mused, dragging out the sound. “If it isn’t the human black hole.”

You paused. Blinked. “What.”

“You know,” he said, waving his hand vaguely, “you just kinda suck all the joy out of a room. Like a void. A really cold, dead void.”

You tilted your head. “...Are you trying to flirt with me?”

His grin widened. “Are you into that?”

“No.”

“Then yes.”

You stared. He smirked. The paper in your hands crinkled slightly as your grip tightened.

“I need to submit this,” you said, monotone, lifting the form like an offering to some insufferable god.

“I’m not taking that.”

You blinked again. “You’re the student council president.”

“Exactly! I delegate. That’s the secret to success, y’know?”

Your eye twitched. “Your name is literally on the submission instructions.”

“Well, yeah, because I like the attention.”

You inhaled slowly. Deeply. Somewhere in your head, you heard your best friend’s voice narrating your own life: And this was the moment she seriously considered homicide.

“Fine,” you said, dropping the paper onto his desk, “then I’ll just leave it here.”

He reached out lazily, grabbed it, and without breaking eye contact, slowly—painstakingly—shoved it off the desk.

The silence that followed was almost religious.

You stared at the fallen paper.

He stared at you.

“I’m not picking that up,” you said.

“Neither am I.”

Your fingers twitched. He smirked. The room temperature dropped several degrees. For a long, long moment, neither of you moved. It was a battle of sheer, unbreakable will.

“...You’re so mad right now,” he said, delight dripping from every word.

“I hate you.”

“You don’t.”

You did. You really did.

The silence stretched. A battle of wills.

You were still standing there, staring at the paper on the floor, while he sat back with the self-satisfaction of a man who had never known loss.

“C’mon,” he drawled, chin propped on his palm. “I know you wanna pick it up.”

You said nothing. You just stared at him with the deadest, most soulless gaze known to mankind. He looked back, and you could see the amusement glowing behind his bright, insufferable eyes.

You exhaled through your nose.

Then, without hesitation—without a single wasted movement—you picked up his cup of hot chocolate and, with the precision of a surgeon, dumped it directly on his head.

A rich, dark cascade poured over his fluffy, previously immaculate hair, dripping down his forehead, staining his pristine uniform. It was perfect. It was artistic. It was poetic justice, crafted in under three seconds.

He froze.

The room went completely, utterly silent.

You, however, weren’t done.

Swiftly, efficiently, you pulled out your phone and snapped a photo. The flash illuminated the scene in sharp, unforgiving clarity.

Dripping hair. A stunned, slack-jawed expression. Hot chocolate soaking through the fabric of his blazer like a crime scene.

You took a second, longer look at the picture. Then, with an air of complete disinterest, you saved it directly into your drive backup.

His shock hadn’t even caught up to him yet. His brain was still buffering.

You calmly turned the screen toward him, showing him his own humiliation.

“If you mess with me again,” you said flatly, “this is going on the school forum.”

He blinked once. Twice. His expression twitched. And for the first time, you saw it—an actual, genuine crack in that unshakable confidence.

It lasted a fraction of a second.

Then, slowly—so, so slowly—his mouth curved into something new. Not the usual cocky grin. Not the smirk of someone who thought he had the entire world wrapped around his little finger.

No.

This was something else.

A slow, wicked, positively unholy grin.

Like a beast just realizing it found prey worth hunting.

“Ohhh,” he breathed, eyes gleaming with something both predatory and exhilarated. “You are so much fun.”

You tucked your phone away. “Glad you think so. I hate you.”

“Liar.”

You turned and went to leave, not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction.

But, just as you reached the door—

“You’re gonna regret this,” he called, voice deceptively light. “I’m a very petty person.”

You paused. Glanced back.

Then, in the most monotone, unimpressed voice you could muster—

“So am I.”

As you exited the student council room, you heard the faintest sound behind you—low, breathless laughter.

Like someone who had just discovered their new favorite game.

────────────

The second one, you met him in detention. Because of course you did.

Technically, you weren’t even there for anything interesting. Not for fighting. Not for vandalism. Not for anything remotely impressive. No, you were here because a teacher had asked for your opinion, and you—being a natural-born social disaster—had given it.

“‘An archaic relic of bureaucracy that produces nothing but misery and debt’ is not an appropriate way to describe the school’s education system,” your teacher had snapped.

“Would you rather I say it’s good?” you had asked, genuinely confused.

Apparently, that had been the wrong answer.

So here you were. Sitting in the back of the room, arms crossed, eyes blank, waiting for time to pass like a medieval peasant awaiting the guillotine.

And then he walked in.

You immediately clocked what kind of person he was. He carried himself with the casual arrogance of someone who had never followed a rule in his life. Tattoos peeked out from under his uniform sleeves, his tie was nowhere to be seen, and his uniform was barely recognizable as one. He had the lazy stance of a guy who made teachers question their career choices and a presence that made people instinctively shrink back.

Unfortunately, you weren’t people.

His gaze landed on you like a predator spotting an unsuspecting rabbit.

Except you weren’t a rabbit. You were just... unfortunately here.

He strolled over, dropping into the seat beside you, his body language loose, confident, exuding the kind of energy that made authority figures reach for blood pressure medication.

“New?” he asked, his voice a slow drawl, eyes flicking over you with open curiosity.

“No.”

His smirk widened, sharp and lazy. “You talk like a corpse.”

“And you talk too much.”

That made him pause. Just for a second. Like he was recalibrating. Then he grinned, the expression laced with something both amused and dangerous. “Not many people have the guts to talk back to me.”

You blinked. “I don’t have guts. I just don’t care.”

He let out a short laugh, a low, considering sound. “Huh.”

You returned your stare to the front of the room, hoping that was the end of the interaction.

It wasn’t.

“So, what’d you do to get stuck in here?” he asked, propping his chin on his hand like you were a puzzle he was trying to solve.

“Answered a question.”

He frowned. “That’s it?”

You nodded.

His frown deepened. “You mean you ran your mouth.”

“I answered honestly.”

“Yeah, ran your mouth.”

You sighed. “Are you always this insufferable?”

His smirk stretched, sharp with amusement. “Only when I’m interested.”

You gave him a long, unimpressed stare. “Wow. I’m honored.”

“You should be,” he shot back, grinning.

You rolled your eyes and returned your attention to the front of the room. Not that there was anything interesting up there—just a barely functional projector and a wall clock that seemed to have stopped in 1973.

Silence. For a glorious ten seconds.

Then:

“So, what’s your deal?”

You inhaled slowly through your nose. “I don’t have a deal.”

“Everyone has a deal.”

“Well, mine is not talking to annoying people.”

“Guess you’re breaking your own rule then.”

You turned your head, making a show of staring at him with dead, soulless eyes. “Lucky me.”

His smirk widened. His chair creaked as he leaned back, stretching like a particularly smug cat. “You know, I don’t usually take an interest in people like you.”

“People like me?”

“Yeah. Tiny. Mouthy. Clearly incapable of winning a physical fight.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t just poison you instead.”

His laughter was sudden, sharp-edged. “You’re funny.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” he said, still grinning. “That’s what makes it funny.”

You sighed, returning to your previous strategy of ignoring his existence.

It didn’t work.

“So, do you just piss people off for fun, or is that an accidental talent?”

You didn’t look at him. “Why? You feeling pissed off?”

“Nah.” A slow pause. “Not yet.”

Something about the way he said that made you glance at him again. His smirk had cooled into something else—something harder, more assessing. You’d known from the second he walked in that he was bad news, but now you could feel it, thick and tangible, like a storm about to break.

Still, you weren’t one to back down.

“I could try harder,” you offered.

His eyes darkened, something flickering behind them—something you probably should have taken as a warning.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured, tone deceptively light. “Go ahead.”

You tilted your head, considering. Then, you shrugged. “You’re a walking cliché.”

That got a reaction. His smirk vanished, replaced by a sharp-edged stare.

“Excuse me?”

You gestured vaguely at him. “The whole ‘too cool for rules, bad boy with authority issues’ thing. It’s exhausting. You should at least try to have a personality.”

He stared at you, expression unreadable. Then, in a disturbingly calm voice, he asked, “You ever been hit before?”

You blinked. “Not recently.”

He exhaled, tilting his head back. “God. You’re fucking annoying.”

“You started this conversation.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders, “biggest mistake of my life.”

“Wow. Must be nice if this is the worst mistake you’ve ever made.”

His jaw twitched. For the first time, he actually looked pissed.

Good.

Unfortunately, that also meant he was now visibly debating whether or not to knock your teeth in.

Your eyes flicked to his hands—bigger than yours, calloused, flexing slightly, like he was restraining himself. He was taller, broader, a lot stronger than you. You weren’t stupid. If he actually decided to swing, you were probably going to die.

But hey. What’s life without a little risk?

You met his glare head-on. “Are you about to hit someone half your size?”

He tilted his head, exhaling slowly. “Thinking about it.”

“That’s pathetic.”

He actually growled, low and irritated, and you barely had time to register the movement before he was shifting forward, one hand reaching out like he was about to grab you—

And then the door creaked open.

“Alright, detention gremlins,” the teacher’s voice drawled from the front of the room, “keep your murder attempts to a minimum.”

You didn’t even blink, just turned lazily in your seat as if you hadn’t nearly gotten your face rearranged.

He, on the other hand, pulled back immediately, exhaling sharply, clearly forcing himself to relax.

The teacher shot him a look. “Sit still, delinquent.”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t say anything. He just slumped back into his chair, arms crossed, eyes flicking briefly to you.

You met his stare.

Slowly, you smiled.

His fingers twitched.

This was going to be fun.

────────────

For the third man, the first time you met him, you were sitting in a hospital bed, staring at the white ceiling, contemplating your existence and whether or not you could convince the nurses to let you leave early. The fluorescent lights hummed a dull tune, matching the flatlined rhythm of your enthusiasm for life. You didn’t even want to be here. The injury wasn’t even that bad. But the moment you’d said, “It’s fine, I can still walk,” and then promptly collapsed, the people around you decided that maybe you weren’t the best judge of what counted as ‘fine.’

And that’s when he walked in, the doctor assigned to your case.

Tall. Elegant. His every movement controlled with the same level of care you’d expect from someone painting the Sistine Chapel, even though all he was doing was picking up your chart. His black-gloved fingers trailed over the paperwork before he flipped it open, eyes skimming your medical history like he was reading a novel he had already figured out the ending to. Cold, calculating, and frankly, a little theatrical.

You stared. He looked like the kind of person who’d be the main villain in a psychological thriller.

“You have a concussion,” he said, his voice measured, precise.

You blinked. “Oh.”

There was a pause. The kind that stretched a little too long, like a piece of gum being pulled between fingers. He looked at you. You looked at him. Then, with the kind of energy that could only be described as ‘well, I guess I have nothing better to do,’ you muttered, “Neat.”

He blinked, once. A slow, unreadable gesture. “I wouldn’t describe a traumatic brain injury as ‘neat.’”

“Well,” you deadpanned, “I would.”

Silence. He adjusted his gloves, movements smooth, unhurried. You were pretty sure this man had never rushed anything in his life. The air of quiet, detached arrogance practically radiated off of him in waves.

“You seem disinterested in your own well-being,” he observed, as if he were commenting on the weather.

You tilted your head, expression blank. “And?”

His brows barely twitched, but you swore you saw a flicker of something behind those eerily calm eyes. Like a candle in a dark room. Something minute, almost imperceptible. A single frame of a horror movie before the jump scare.

Then, without a word, he set your chart back down and began his examination, his touch careful, professional. You sat there, letting him check for signs of worsening symptoms, feeling absolutely no inclination to make this easier for him. He had the air of someone who rarely got rattled, and for some reason, that made you want to rattle him.

So when he was checking your pupils with a penlight, you stared unblinkingly into his eyes and said, “You look like the kind of guy who has a hidden art studio where you paint unsettlingly lifelike portraits of people you find interesting.”

He paused.

The light flickered over your eyes as he considered you. Then, calmly, as if answering a normal, everyday question, he replied, “And if I did?”

You shrugged. “I’d say you’re pretty bad at hiding it.”

Another pause. Then—so brief it could have been a trick of the light—the corner of his lips twitched upward. Amusement, buried beneath layers of restraint.

He pulled back, setting the penlight aside. “I don’t have a hidden art studio.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s exactly what someone with a hidden art studio would say.”

He exhaled through his nose. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

His gaze flickered over you, assessing, weighing. “Difficult.”

You smirked, feeling a spark of something sharp and insubordinate curl in your chest. “Only with people who think they have me figured out.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just studied you with an unreadable expression, as if deciding whether to be irritated or intrigued. You had a feeling he wasn’t used to being challenged. People probably either feared or revered him, treating his words like gospel. You, on the other hand, had the distinct urge to annoy him purely because you could.

The tension stretched between you, coiling like a taut wire. Then, with an air of finality, he turned away, retrieving a prescription pad and beginning to write. “I’ll be keeping you for observation.”

Your eye twitched. “Why?”

He didn’t look up. “Because I suspect if I let you leave, you’d immediately do something to worsen your condition.”

You opened your mouth to argue, then promptly closed it when you realized he was absolutely right. Damn it.

“You can’t just hold me hostage in a hospital,” you grumbled.

He tore the prescription from the pad, setting it aside. “I’m your doctor. I can.”

You glared at him, but he remained entirely unbothered, like a marble statue in a white coat.

For the first time in a long time, you had the distinct feeling that you’d just met someone who was actually going to be a problem.

And judging by the glint in his eyes when he finally met your gaze again, you had a sneaking suspicion he felt the same way about you.

────────────

The fourth guy?

It started with a test. Not just any test. A national-level competition meant to determine the brightest academic minds of the generation.

You sat at your desk, filling in the answers with mechanical efficiency, while the only other student in the room doing the same was him. The top scholar. The prodigy. The golden boy of academia. He who must not be named because if you ever say his name out loud, you might actually vomit.

The two of you had been at this for years. Competing. Spiting. Resenting.

The rivalry was so intense that your parents had to be physically separated at parent-teacher meetings, lest they start arguing over whose kid deserved to be hailed as the superior intellectual. The problem was that neither of you ever pulled ahead definitively. Sometimes you won. Sometimes he did. Sometimes it was a tie, which was the absolute worst because it meant the war had to continue.

The one thing you both silently agreed on? No one else needed to know.

So in public, you two were strangers. A nod at most, a passing glance, like two ships in the night. But the moment you were alone? The gloves came off.

And today, the moment came in the form of a single test result.

You finished your exam a fraction of a second before him, slamming your pen down triumphantly. He, sitting at the desk beside you, slowly turned his head to look at you, expression unreadable.

You smirked. He narrowed his eyes.

Neither of you spoke.

You both already knew what this meant.

It had always been like this. Subtle gestures. Microexpressions. Entire conversations conveyed through a single glance. And this time, your glance said:

That’s right. I beat you by 0.2 seconds. Cry about it.

His glance, in return, said:

You think this means anything? You’re delusional. Enjoy your fleeting moment of victory while it lasts.

You both turned in your papers and walked out without a word, maintaining the illusion that you had no connection to each other. That was, until you reached the hallway.

“You look extra dead inside today,” he said, adjusting the strap of his bag.

“Yeah, because I had to sit next to you.”

He scoffed. “I make you look alive by comparison.”

“You make me wish I was actually dead.”

“Touché.”

And that was it. That was your normal conversation. Because no one else knew, it was always like this—just pure, undiluted antagonism with an undertone of reluctant respect.

But the moment you stepped outside where other students could see, you both went back to pretending the other didn’t exist.

———

The problem with childhood rivals is that you know too much about each other. He knew about the time you threw up in second grade because you drank three chocolate milks in one sitting. You knew about the time he cried in fourth grade because he lost a chess match to a five-year-old. These were secrets that, if revealed, would destroy either of you instantly. And so, an unspoken truce existed: Mutual Assured Destruction. If one of you fell, the other would go down as well.

But that didn’t mean you had to be nice to each other.

The school’s annual debate competition was proof of that.

You weren’t even supposed to be on stage today. The original competitor from your class had gotten sick at the last moment, so your teacher shoved you in as a replacement. And, of course, standing across from you at the podium was none other than him.

“I see fate continues to curse me,” you muttered, gripping the microphone.

“Likewise,” he replied, adjusting his tie.

The topic? “Should academic rivalries be encouraged?”

He was on the pro side. You were on the con side.

The sheer irony nearly made you laugh. But the moment the debate started, it was war.

He argued that competition drove people to improve, citing numerous studies. You argued that it created unnecessary stress, pointing out various psychological reports. He said rivalry forged discipline. You countered that it led to burnout. Back and forth, your arguments clashed like swords, neither side yielding. The audience watched, captivated, unaware that this was nothing new to either of you.

It wasn’t until the Q&A round that things got personal.

One of the judges asked, “Do either of you have experience with an academic rival?”

You and him made brief eye contact. A single second of hesitation.

Then he, ever the smug bastard, smirked and said, “No, I don’t have a rival. No one has ever truly been on my level.”

Your eye twitched. Oh. Oh, he wanted to play it that way? Fine.

You smiled, saccharine sweet. “Oh, same here. I’ve never met anyone who could actually challenge me.”

The audience laughed, completely oblivious to the nuclear warfare happening in your minds.

You won the debate by a narrow margin. He took it in stride, shaking your hand like a good sport, but you both knew this wasn’t over.

It was never over.

———

Years of this. Years of pretending. Years of knowing that he was the only person who could truly get under your skin, and vice versa.

And yet, despite everything, despite the constant battle for dominance, there was a grudging acknowledgment: neither of you would have been as good without the other.

But you’d never say that out loud.

Not unless you wanted to lose the war.

────────────

Back in the present, your best friend is still wiping away tears of laughter. “I swear, you’re cursed. Only you could turn four of the most powerful guys in this school into your sworn enemies without even trying.”

You sigh. “It’s not my fault they’re all easily irritated.”

She grins. “Enemies-to-lovers speedrun?”

You groan. “Absolutely not.”

But she just smirks.

Because honestly? The way things are going, it’s inevitable.

———

You take a deep breath, leaning back in your seat as you finish recounting the absolute disaster that was your past. "So, yeah. That’s how I managed to piss off the entire unofficial ruling class of this school without even trying. It’s not my fault they’re all allergic to basic human interaction."

Your best friend? Oh, she’s wheezing. Bent over. Completely losing it.

You just stare, dead inside.

"I cannot believe you," she chokes out, clutching her stomach. "Four. Not one, not two—four of the most powerful guys in this school are now your sworn enemies. I swear, you’re a walking curse. A divine anomaly."

You sigh, propping your chin on your hand. "See, this is exactly why they can’t be the choices."

That only makes her laugh harder.

"No, no, no, you don’t get it," she wheezes, slamming a hand on the table. "This is why they have to be the choices. Like, this is fate. This is math. The sheer statistical improbability of you randomly antagonizing the four most dangerous guys in school without even trying—"

"—Means they’re going to murder me in my sleep, not fall in love with me," you interrupt flatly.

She shakes her head, eyes gleaming. "No, no, no. This is the setup for the best enemies-to-lovers arc I’ve ever seen. This is gold. This is poetry. This is—"

"A death sentence."

"—A story unfolding before my very eyes!" She gestures wildly. "Four. If it was just one, okay, sure, maybe it’s just bad luck. Two? Fine, you have a talent for pissing people off. But four?" She leans in, deadly serious now. "That’s fate."

You stare at her, unimpressed. "You’re literally using the fact that I’m universally despised as an argument for romance."

"And I’m right."

"Objectively false. I can present multiple counterarguments—"

"Oh, I bet you can," she interrupts, grinning. "And you know what? They’d all be wrong."

You cross your arms. "Fine. Let’s debate this logically."

She cracks her knuckles. "Bring it."

"One: They hate me. Like, actively hate me."

"Great foundation for romantic tension."

You scowl. "Two: I have no romantic interest in any of them."

"You say that now."

"Three: They have power, money, and influence, and could absolutely ruin my life at any moment."

She smirks. "Oh, so they could ruin your life. But haven’t."

You narrow your eyes. "Yet."

She shrugs. "Or maybe, deep down, they’re already obsessed with you."

You groan. "That’s not how real life works."

She leans in, voice smug. "Then explain why none of them have done anything too serious to you yet. With the power they have, you should’ve been completely crushed by now. But instead? They’re keeping you around. Engaging with you. They want your reactions."

You hesitate for a fraction of a second.

She grins, sensing her victory.

"Don’t even start," you mutter.

She tilts her head. "Too late. You are the main character in an enemies-to-lovers story, and I will see this through."

"Over my dead body."

"Listen, if it happens, it happens. I’ll be there at your wedding, sipping my champagne, telling everyone, ‘I told her so.’"

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. "I am never telling you anything ever again."

But she just laughs. Because she knows.

And that’s what terrifies you the most.

———

You shake your head, exhaling sharply. "This is bullshit."

She grins, clearly enjoying your suffering.

Your eyes drift to the side, landing on a thick stack of papers—her so-called research. A Frankenstein’s monster of printed profiles, handwritten notes, and stapled-together disasters. This is what she’s been using to "help" you find a so-called suitable match before she apparently decided to scrap the entire thing and make your life a living hell instead.

You reach over and pull a few sheets from the pile, scanning them briefly. Your eyes land on someone near the bottom of the stack. Someone you haven’t met. No noted incidents. No mortal enemies. Just a generic, normal guy with no apparent psychotic tendencies.

"Alright," you say, holding up the page. "This guy."

Your best friend leans forward, glancing at the name, then immediately scoffs. "Him?"

You nod. "Yeah. He looks the most normal, statistically conquerable, and unlikely to plot my untimely demise."

She groans, tilting her head back like you’ve personally offended her. "Are you serious? This is the blandest option in the entire lineup. This is, like, choosing plain toast at an all-you-can-eat buffet."

"Exactly," you say, unfazed. "I don’t want a disaster. I want stability. Normalcy. Someone who doesn’t have the power to ruin my life."

She gestures dramatically. "And this is what you land on? A literal NPC?"

"He has a face. He has a name. That’s already enough for me."

She smacks the table. "That’s bare minimum! You’re literally picking a filler character when you have the Final Four right in front of you!"

"And I’m perfectly fine with that," you say, deadpan.

"No, no, no. You don’t get it." She leans forward, voice firm. "You cannot settle for Generic Background Character #12. Look at the narrative potential! The power struggle! The development!"

You sigh. "I am not a character in a novel."

She smirks. "You keep saying that, and yet, the evidence continues to pile up against you."

You roll your eyes. "Look, just because I have bad luck doesn’t mean I have to indulge it." You tap the paper. "This guy is a logical, safe choice."

"Safe choices don’t make history."

"They also don’t make headlines for scandals, criminal activity, or blood feuds."

She groans again, slumping in her chair. "You are so frustrating. You have four absolute powerhouses lined up, each with the potential to make your life an experience, and you want—what? A guy whose biggest personality trait is that he’s 'nice'?"

"Yes."

"Disgusting."

"Predictable."

"Boring."

"Stable."

She narrows her eyes at you. "You are dodging fate so hard right now, it’s embarrassing."

"I am making logical decisions so hard right now, and you refuse to acknowledge it."

She smacks the table again, exasperated. "I’m not saying you have to date them! I’m just saying you should at least consider them before you throw yourself into the void of mediocrity!"

You cross your arms, staring her down. "And I’m saying you are severely overestimating my ability to survive a romantic entanglement with any of them."

She grins, tilting her head. "Or underestimating their desire to keep you alive and entertained."

You pause.

She smirks.

You scowl. "No."

She leans back, victorious. "Just saying. It’s gonna happen."

"It is not."

She winks. "We’ll see."

────────────

The next day starts off normal. Or at least, as normal as it can be when you’re still recovering from the previous night’s argument with your best friend. You’re just trying to make it through the school day without incident���low profile, no chaos, just peace.

And then your phone buzzes.

You glance down, expecting something trivial. Instead, you see a message from an unknown number.

Unknown: You owe me for last time. Meet me after school. Don’t make me come find you.

You blink. Stare. Read it again.

There’s only one person you "owe" anything to in the eyes of certain individuals.

You: No.

No response.

Your phone buzzes again. Another unknown number.

Unknown: Be at the café near campus at 4. I already told them you’d be coming. Don’t embarrass me.

Your eye twitches. What.

Buzz.

Unknown: I assume you have no plans. I’m picking you up at 6. Don’t make me wait.

Your stomach sinks. There is no way. There is no way.

Buzz.

Unknown: I’ll be outside your place at 7. Don’t even try to run.

You slowly, slowly lower your phone.

You already know who's responsible.

Your best friend. Your traitorous best friend.

You whip your head around the classroom, eyes locking onto her immediately. She’s sitting at her desk, chin propped up in her hand, scrolling through her phone like she didn’t just orchestrate your demise.

She knows.

She feels your glare.

And she grins.

You stand up so fast your chair nearly topples over. You’re going to kill her.

────────────

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[hachiane]

ranking the LADS boys on who takes the best Instagram photos for you

a/n — just my headcanons!! may be OOC, majorly she/her reader pronouns

count : 950 words

#1 Rafayel Qi

— takes one look at your inspo photos and scoffs, “puh-leaase, i can do better than that.”. under his calm exterior, his painter's eye is roaring to life, the gears in his brain immediately turning when your phone is passed into his hands.

Rafayel matches your freak instantly and pretends he is like every photograph boyfriend every it-girl online seems to have; he's guiding you to pose, where to place your hands, tilt your face so he captures all your best angles, even the ones you didn't think you had. your personal hypeman as he snaps away, "yesss, cutie! you look so good!' "kill me with those sexy eyes of yours!" "makeup on point! show off your pretty lashes!"

it doesn't end there. Rafayel is also looking over your shoulder helping you choose the best shots, giving his small comments and suggestions as you edit them in your phone, things like "up the contrast, the shadows are dark in this one" or "why are you cropping like that? this makes you look taller".

after your impromptu photoshoot, he sings praises about you being the most beautiful muse, the cutest bodyguard. and of course, you have to take some couple selfies with him too as reward for his hard work.

Rafayel is your first like, first comment when you post, bombarding your notifications with comments. “that’s my bodyguard right there 😍” “you’re sooooooo hot 🔥🔥” “slay queen 💅🏼✨”

he'll do everything again, no doubt about it.

#2 Xavier Shen

— when you asked him the first time, he was hesitant. he says he read a book about it but never put it to practice, warning you that you might be disappointed. you shove your phone into his hands and that you're fine with whatever he gets in the end. (unintentionally that awakens his inner prince, determined to ensure his princess look her best in every frame)

the entire time, Xavier says nothing. you hear him snap away and hum to himself, but he's not saying anything to you; doesn't tell you how to pose, where to place your hands or if you should be looking at him. so most of the time, you’re by yourself testing out the poses you saw online and placing your blind, full-hearted trust that he gets the picture you imagined. 

the thing is, while poses look good on you, Xavier behind the camera much prefers your candid moments, because these says much more about you than poses other people have thought of. you in your natural state is the most beautiful to him, and he says so, “i only take pictures of pretty things and you like this is the most pretty to me”.

later, being the old soul he is, he purchases a polaroid printer to get physical copies of your photos and stashes them away in a journal or box, for these memories of you deserve to last lifetimes.

#3 Sylus Qin

— his pictures of you are decent enough. when you asked him the first time, he says he’ll get you a personal photographer if you so desire good photos, but your cutesy pleading and debating your point about the sentimental value of photos taken by him makes him give in. he follows your inspo photos to the T, but because of his height, you notice the angles are slightly higher than what they should be. like Xavier, he doesn't tell you how to pose; he just taps away on the shutter button as he moves around you here and there, occasionally hunching down for a low angle shot, with his other hand in his pocket, nonchalant as Sylus usually is.

accidentally left the live photo feature on for most of your photos, and while perturbed at first, those become his favourites; he gets to see a glimpse of your genuine smile at his ministrations before your expressions snap into a smouldering, radiant look that he would fall to his knees for time and time again. he sends the photos to himself afterwards without asking, shrugging when you question him about it when he was being so indifferent at first, “sentimental value, kitten”.

#4 Zayne Li

— unfortunately, Zayne takes photos like an aged father with two daughters; straight on, no angles, no direction, not much effort given the first few times. but after seeing your slightly disappointed look as you review the photos, even when you reassure him you're okay with them, he knows he’d done you wrong.

the next day, Zayne promptly asks his female colleagues and acquaintances with a photography hobby at the hospital for some tips and crash courses. of course they oblige him (because who could say no to the Dr Zayne when he asks for a favour?) with simple go-tos and the tricks. and Zayne being Zayne, he notes them all down in his personal notebook, studies it in his downtime, brings it home to read and practice on some "subjects" lying around the house: your collectible figures, the fresh bouquet for the living room, and so forth.

the next time the opportunity comes up, he breaks it to you he's been studying for this exact moment and asks if you would give him another attempt. although the photos end up not what you expected when he said he's been "learning", it's miles better than the first few times. Zayne would look at you expectantly for your reaction, and he heaves a sigh of assured relief when you compliment his improvement. when you post the recent photo he took of you, he cracks the widest smile he's had all week, liking and saving the photo to make it his phone background (though you've probably already sent it to him).

[icypopz]

coming over when they're drunk ♡

↬ request from anon ; Hiiii, may I please request the LADS boys getting really drunk, and they decided to come to her house late at night (they either live together or just came to her apartment). It can be only Zayne, tho.

↬ notes ; caleb, rafayel, sylus, xavier, zayne x gn!reader

↬ from ice ; hihi!! it's been like 7000 years since i last wrote but caleb's announcement has resurrected me!! this prompt was so fun and silly... anyways i hope you enjoy this!

↬ warning(s) ; all LIs are drunk, caleb antis dni, mc is described as shorter than all of them, sylus + zayne's are p suggestive

please reblog ! it helps a lot :)

[ caleb ! ]

"caleb?" what are you doing here?" you gasp as you open the door and see his familiar figure leaning against the frame. he's so tall that he has to duck to enter your apartment, and he stumbles as he does, making you rush to support him. "y/n..." he mumbles, his voice deep and husky, and you feel your heartbeat speed up at the way he says your name, "missed you..." "tsk, you're so dumb," you scold, though your heated cheeks betray how flustered you really are, "going and getting drunk even though you know you can't handle alcohol?" "mmphhh..." he groans as you both somehow manage to land on the sofa, his head resting on your chest, "sorry." you roll your eyes affectionately, threading your hands through his hair, "it's fine, silly. you're going to be the one hungover tomorrow." he nuzzles further into your chest, making you squeak, "hey! caleb!" "just let me sleep here..." and just like that, he's out like a light, his head tucked perfectly in the crook of your neck even though he's so much taller than you. well, you've known him for so many years that being this close is fine, right? it's totally fine that your heart is racing at a million miles per hour from how your dear childhood friend is sleeping on you... right?

more content utc !

[ rafayel ! ]

"ugh, raf, get off!" you groan, trying (and failing) to shove the purple-haired artist off you. "you're too heavy!" "but miss bodyguard~" he whines, lifting his head from how he's draped all 183cm of himself onto you, arms wrapped tight around your shoulders as if daring you to leave. his cheeks are flushed red from the alcohol, crimson dusting his ears when he gazes at you, "you're so warm! and it's sooo cold! you don't want your precious rafayel to freeze, do you?" he pouts, jutting out his lower lip in a way that's deceivingly adorable, and it almost makes you fold. keyword: almost. "well, you don't want your precious miss hunter to get crushed, do you?" you retort, even though you press yourself further into his comforting embrace. "if it's with me, then it's fine," rafayel teases, "i'll take care of you even if you're a pancake." "you're so annoying," you huff, though there's no real anger in your tone as you tuck a strand of purple hair behind his ear. "i'll even get you the best maple syrup and everything!" "...go to sleep, rafayel."

[ sylus ! ]

"sylus?" the two of you are in his mansion in the n109 zone, and he's just returned from another protocore auction. you help him slip off his masquerade mask, though you know he doesn't need to conceal his identity in someplace like this where his name is fear-inducing enough. "are you okay?" your palm presses against his cheek and forehead, checking if he has a fever, "you seem a little flushed." his eyes flutter shut and he leans into your touch, exhaling slowly, "it's nothing... i might have drank too much earlier." his large hand envelops yours, and he opens his ruby eyes once more, fixing his intense gaze on your face, "you're making me want to do very bad things, kitten." "i haven't even done anything- ah!" you argue, but your sentence is cut off as he sweeps you into his arms, lifting you easily into a princess carry. "you talk too much," he teases as you half-heartedly punch his chest, "ugh, sylus!" "i can think of several better ways for you to use that mouth of yours," he smirks as he kicks open your bedroom door, "so let's put those pretty lips to good use, hm?"

[ xavier ! ]

it's two in the morning when you hear a thump on your balcony. arming yourself, you stalk forward slowly, only to see, "xavier?!" "ah. hello, y/n." he stands up shakily, only to lean sideways and fall into a chair. "i was trying to teleport back home... but i guess i ended up at your apartment instead." he looks at you with his irresistible puppy eyes, and you can already guess what he's going to say next. throwing your hands up in defeat, you sigh, "sure, you can stay over." but as he stands up once more, almost toppling over again, you raise an eyebrow, "xavier, are you drunk?" "...not really." he looks away, and you can see how his neck is flushed, "liar. come here, let me help you." as you help him balance with his arm around you and head back inside, xavier's familiar scent wraps around the two of you like a soothing hug. "do i get to share a bed with you?" his eyes light up when you push open the bedroom door, "yeah, i feel too bad making you sleep on the couch when you're like this." his other hand sneaks up underneath the back of your shirt, pressing against your bare skin and sending waves of heat through your body. a gasp slips past your lips, and when you look up at xavier, he merely smiles, "i guess it's a good thing that i ended up here tonight after all."

[ zayne ! ]

"hmm..." you pretend to look thoughtful, gaze roving over zayne's tall figure as he sits on your couch, "is the famous dr. zayne perhaps... drunk?!" your voice turns dramatic, "how scandalous!" zayne looks at you confusedly, dark eyes seeming even darker and rounder than usual like a pair of twin boba pearls, "...what?" "aw, zayne! you're so cute like this!" you gush, giggling and wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into a hug. "my senses are not that impaired," he retorts, though his voice softens as he feels your familiar weight on his lap, "i am just... tipsy." "mhmm, whatever you say~" you tease, pressing a flurry of kisses along his neck. "d-don't do that..." he gasps, breath hitching as your lips drag over his pulse point, "i might not be able to hold myself back." "so don't." you lean back and tilt your head smugly, knowing that he's putty in your hands, "who said i wanted you to hold back anyway?" his eyes narrow behind his glasses, "don't say things you don't mean." "i mean it one hundred percent~" you smirk, leaning forward to steal his breath with another heated kiss. zayne's hands tighten their grip on your waist before he pins you underneath him, "whatever you say, y/n."

✧ thank you for reading ! if you have a request, feel free to send it in 🌠

© icypopz 2024. do not repost or modify in any way.

[novemberheart]

{overview} While your relationship with the pack is seemingly off to a good start, you can't help but feel like this may not be the pack for you.

{warnings} a/b/o dynamics, cursing, impersonating a medical professional, cursing, crying, female reader

Chapter 4 <- Chapter 5 -> Chapter 6

Simon had fallen asleep again soon after that. You continued to project your scent on and off for the next fifteen minutes before the door creaked open.

“How’s it going?” Kyle whispered like he was afraid to wake the sleeping beast. You smiled at him over your shoulder.

“Fine.”

He entered the room, shutting the door behind him. He grabbed a chair by the door, setting it down a few inches away from you.

“He woke up for a bit.”

“He seem out of it?”

You shook your head. “Not really. We talked a tiny bit.”

“He was nice to you,” Kyle questioned. You quickly nodded your head. “Then he was out of it.” he chuckled a grin across his face. You rolled your eyes before they flickered to Simon. The washcloth suddenly looked all too dry. You stole it from Simon's forehead heading into the bathroom to refresh it. You set it back on his forehead, another pleased grumble echoing in his chest.

As you sat you couldn't help but notice the slight awe on Kyle's face.

“Been here for three hours and have already tamed the beast.” he sighed, shaking his head. You giggled looking back at the hulking man.

“I haven't seen a beast yet.” you smiled.

“How are they doing in there?” John questioned as soon as Kyle closed the door.

“Turned him into a house cat.” Kyle chuckled. It was time for the shift change. Kyle being replaced by John.

“Better than I thought the outcome would be.” He rumbled back. He quickly checked to make sure the hallway was clear before leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to Kyle's temple. “You and Sunshine swing back to pick her up for dinner then bring her home, yeah?”

“You got it, Cap.”

“You don't have a phone or something?” Simon grumbled, causing you to jolt out of your slump. His russet eyes peering over at you.

“I do.” you stumbled. “It was raining when I got here so I slipped it into my backpack so it didn't get all wet,” you explained. “Left it back in the room.”

“What room did you get?” he hummed. His voice was groggy and you quickly got up to fetch more water.

“The one between yours and John.”

“That's the good one.” he took the straw between his teeth, finishing it with a quick thanks. The nurse had just come in around twenty minutes ago giving him another round of painkillers. The little movement he had slipped further away. “Johnny plays rain sounds to fall asleep, like we're in the middle of a hurricane every night.”

You chuckled at this. Throwing the cup away.

“I might like that. I enjoy the rain.” you sighed. You weren't sure if you could bear to sit down anymore. Your legs becoming sore and your butt going numb. “What about Kyle?” you hummed.

“He's a good boy.” Simon complimented. His hazy eyes watched as you walked back and forth in front of his bed. You stopped suddenly, your hands resting on the footboard.

“Are you hungry? You haven't eaten since I've been here,” you questioned.

“Like you can read my mind, pup.” he complimented. “Nurses ‘round here are stingy.” he huffed.

“I can hunt something down for you.” you offered, already heading towards the door.

“Take one of the lads with you,” he ordered after you. “Walking around base smellin’ like that,” he said the last part just below a whisper.

“He's hungry,” you told John as soon as you opened the door. He looked up from his book, already moving to stand. “Is there a cafeteria here?”

“I think they have a small one. But I'm pretty sure it's just for nurses and doctors, honey.” John looked around, rubbing at his eyes. Part of you wanted to grab him and find a bed for him to sleep in. “Should be bringing him dinner soon.”

“You know what floor?” you asked.

His brows furrowed, surprised you hadn't shown any signs of determent. “One with the kitchen I think,” he answered. You nodded your head in thanks before beginning your trek towards the elevator. Floor five was where you needed to go. John followed you, his eyes reflecting with curiosity.

“Stay here,” you commanded. He stopped just outside the elevator watching you carefully. You peeked your head around the corner. There was a small line of about ten hospital personnel lining up to get some food. Lucky for you there was a cleaning cart a few feet away from you with a white coat thrown on it. You reached out grabbing it, working fast to put it on and hold it shut with your arms. It was long on you. Too long. Hopefully, no one would pay too much attention.

John leaned against the wall suppressing a chuckle at your newfound mission. You disappeared around the corner, sneaking your way into the line. The person in front of you lifted their nose taking a few deep sniffs before looking at you.

“Just came from the omega ward. You know how that is.” you grinned- admittedly a bit awkwardly. The person gave you a small nod before turning their back to you. You parted with a breath you didn't know you were holding. When it was finally your turn you grabbed a heaping spoonful of rice and some type of beef stew. You also grabbed a brownie. Not for Simon but for you for successfully achieving your mission. You quickly rounded the corner, handing the bowl to John, peeling your coat off and tossing it back on the cart.

“I must say that was quite impressive.” John smiled at you.

“Thanks.” you beamed, taking a bite out of your brownie. He watched you for a long moment. Between the sparkle in your eyes and the smell of happy omega, you were hard to take his eyes off of. A rose in the desert. As the elevator doors opened you took the bowl from him practically bounding over to Simon's door. You seem to have built a bond with him fast. Unexpected. But it made John optimistic.

“Special delivery,” you smirked, leaving the door open in case John wanted to come in.

“No you didn't,” Simon growled. If he wasn't so medicated he would've skyrocketed up in his bed. “How’d you swing that?” he questioned. You put his food down on his tray, searching around for the lever that would sit him upright.

“Can you sit up or will that hurt you?” you checked, just as John came in closing the door.

“I’ll survive.” Simon insisted, his pupils dilating.

“She went undercover for that, better enjoy it.” John sighed, sitting down. You finally found the up arrow, slowly raising Simon towards the tray.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmmhhm,” John smirked. He had a proud look on his face. A look that you're not sure you've ever seen before. You flushed, looking back at Simon, whose eyes were drifting between the two of you. You grabbed Simon's right hand, placed a spoon in it, and set it on the tray. He moved as quickly as possible to scoop up the food. You sprang into action slowly, peeling his mask up to his nose.

“Might as well take it off, pup. Seen most of me by now anyway.” you bit the inside of your cheek, pulling the band away from one ear and peeling it off the other. John stayed silent, his eyes watching the both of you like it was a suspense film.

Simon was handsome. Not in the rugged way John was, or the pretty way Kyle was, or even the flat-out hot way Johnny was. He was a fighter. His nose was bent and bumpy, scars from badly healed wounds littering his face. His jaw was strong, covered in a five o'clock shadow from not being able to shave. His eyes easily described as dead. His lips were full, but you quickly averted your eyes not wanting to get caught staring at them. You made yourself busy by preparing another cup of water and placing it near his tray. Then taking the washcloth that had fallen into his lap in the bathroom to dry.

“You look better.” you heard John murmur.

“I've had a bit of help.” you heard Simon mutter back. Your first instinct was to believe he was speaking about you. The satisfied omega in you quickly shook off when you convinced yourself he was probably talking about a nurse. Course. All you did was put a wet rag on him and give him some water.

You re-emerged from the bathroom, eyeing the brownie you left in the entryway. It felt rude to eat it now. Simon was eating at a snail's pace, but he seemed content that he was eating.

“The boys are going to swing back around to pick you up for dinner then take you home.”

Home? It felt like a leap. One that you weren't quite sure you were ready for. While they had all been nice to you there was something strange in the air. Maybe it was just because they were all bonded and you weren't, but you felt like you were imposing. You also tried not to think about the fact that the only reason they wanted you in the first place was for the healing properties of omegas. Would they want to get rid of you after Simon healed?

“Honey?” John spoke again. You shook yourself out of your thoughts, nodding your head in agreement.

“Sounds good.” you smiled nervously. He eyed you up and down, before letting it rest.

“So tell me more about this undercover mission.” Simon drawled, between bites.

“I impersonated a doctor.” you shared.

“Stole the coat and everything.” John chuckled, putting his feet up on the same ledge you had.

“Isn't that a felony,” Simon smirked, causing your throat to dry. You hadn't thought about the consequences. What if someone found out? Would you get in trouble? I mean it wasn't like you were passing out pills and injecting people. “Relax, pup. Your biggest concern should be this one recruiting you.” Simon shot, sluggishly nodding his head towards John.

“Now he's right about that.” John smiled, patting your knee in comfort.

By the time Kyle and Johnny had come to collect you, you were starving. The focus of projecting your scent made you burn more fuel. Plus the added emotional toll of being in a new environment, with new people and scents.

It was nice to be by the betas again. Less pressure. They had you sandwiched between them as they walked, people eyeing you in the hallway.

“Hungry, Peaches?” Johnny asked, looking over at you. His hand was ghosting over the small of your back. You just assumed he was guiding you in unfamiliar territory, but in reality, it was a claim.

“Very.” you groaned. Your stomach twists even more at the smell of food drifting throughout the halls. “Just hope for something good,” you added.

“I'm sure we can scrounge something up,” Kyle assured, holding open the cafeteria doors for you and Johnny. Luckily it was something good. A deconstructed shepherd's pie- which Johnny adamantly insisted wasn't even close to being accurate. You loaded up on extra mashed potatoes, the meat looking a little precarious.

“Have you ever gotten food poisoning from here?” you questioned, as you all worked through the line.

“No,” Kyle answered quickly, amusement in his eyes as they flickered over to Johnny.

“Aye. I may have once or twice.” Johnny practically mumbled.

“Cause you'll eat anything, mate.” Kyle snickered. “Decided the shrimp cocktail was worth trying,” Kyle explained, causing you to laugh.

The dessert was chocolate chip cookies. You resisted the urge to grab five of them, just taking one. Kyle added two more to your plate. “You can eat Johns and Simons. They won't mind.” he smiled down at you. You grinned, turning back to the front of the line.

“Can I get a to-go dinner?” Johnny asked once you got to the front. “This one's on mine too.” He nodded over to you, before swiping a blue card. The lunch lady nodded, passing him a takeout container.

“You had to pay?” you questioned, following Johnny as Kyle swiped his card.

“No. I think they just use it for tracking purposes. So they know how much everyone is eating.” he explained. You “oohed” before sitting down at the same table you had that afternoon.

“Is this your table or something?” you hummed already shoveling potatoes in your mouth. Johnny nodded his head through his stuffed mouth.

“Simon and John like it because they can see the whole cafeteria,” Kyle explained sitting down next to you. His scent blockers had begun to wear off because you caught a small whiff of fresh linen. The smell went directly to your brain and you could feel a tingle arising at the base of your head. It always amazed you how much closer you could feel to someone just after one sniff. You supposed that's why everyone around here wore scent blockers.

You wondered what John and Johnny smelt like.

“Paranoid bastards,” Johnny grumbled, with a slight pull of his lips.

‘Protective’. The word echoes in your head. It was every omegas dream. Be protected. Have an alpha that would protect you- a pack that would protect you. Kyle had already displayed that quality. A shiver ran up your spin at the thought of being something worth protecting. But you had never been deemed that before, why would that change? If Kyles's earlier behavior was anything it was probably just to check an alpha. It probably had nothing to do with you. You suddenly felt full.

They walked you back ‘home’ and you were halfway there when Johnny dipped out to give John his dinner.

“So how was your first day?” Kyle asked, holding open the front door for you.

“It was good.” you smiled tiredly, your hands rubbing your eyes. Truth be told it wasn't how you imagined your first day. You would often imagine your first day with your new pack. Everyone would be sitting around, getting to know each other, and it would feel as though all of you had known each other for a lifetime. Instead, you had spent most of your time with a drugged-up alpha. Maybe you had just been naive.

“Probably not what you had in mind, yeah?” Kyle lightly chuckled. You know he didn't mean it, but the chuckle had rubbed you the wrong way. Maybe it was the tiredness, or your headache, or the feeling of being let down. He was a beta. The drive to join a pack wasn't as strong for him as it was for an alpha or omega. He didn't seem to understand this was going to be the rest of your life. The only one who had really made an effort to get to know you was Johnny, but he seemed like he would be content chatting with the wall.

“Not really,” you admitted. You gave him a small smile before heading towards ‘your’ room. “I'll see you tomorrow, Kyle,” you finished. You wanted nothing more than to take a quick shower and go to sleep.

You dug your phone out of your bag noticing two missed calls from Kate, exactly fifteen minutes apart. You pressed her contact.

“You must be having fun.” She greeted picking up after one ring. You sighed, causing her to frown on the other end.

“It's alright,” you murmured, beginning to peel off your clothes. You suddenly realized that your bag was still packed.

“What's wrong.” her tone was a bit snappy, but not against you. She just wanted to get to the bottom of things.

“What's wrong is my bag is still packed.” you nearly whimpered, your knees hitting the ground. You rested against your bag, staring up at the ceiling trying to hold on to the tears.

“Are you tired?” Kate asked softly. Her tone was softened by a motherly one.

“Yes.” you huffed. “But that's not the reason I'm upset.” you continued.

“Talk to me.” she pressed. You could hear her shuffling on the other line and the slight squeak of a chair. You could picture her leaning back in her office chair, her forehead resting on her fingertips.

“They don't care about me,” you muttered. You suppressed the hurt whine that threatened to claw its way out of your throat. “They're just using me, Kate. I mean I show up, but I don't get time to settle in or unpack my stuff. Then I get put straight to work like I'm some miracle worker who's going to get Simon better overnight.” you paused for a moment finally letting a few fat tears roll down your cheek. “I'm not saying they’re mean- they haven't done anything to make me feel unsafe. I just don't have a bond with any of them, Kate,” you used your discarded sweater to wipe at your face.

“I’ll talk to them.” Kate declared, causing your heart to drop.

“No!” you said- a bit too loudly. She growled on the other end.

“Well, what can I do?” Kate annunciated. You know she was at her wit's end. If there was one thing Kate Laswell hated it was the feeling of losing control. “I know you're upset, honey. I am too. But it's your first day. Please give it some time.” she pleaded.

“I will.” you agreed. “I just needed to vent.” you sighed with a sniffle. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks for listening,” you said softly.

“Of course, honey.” she had returned to normal. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Around the same time?” She felt out. You nodded your head before agreeing verbally.

You tossed your phone on ‘your’ bed, before beginning to rip at the zippers of your duffle. You took a few deep breaths to steady yourself, blinking back some surprise when you smelt a familiar hint of fresh linen in the air. You brushed it off.

Meanwhile, Kyle had his ear pressed against your door, his heart racing a million miles a minute. They had a lot of making up to do.

Hi everyone! 🤎 The story will begin to pick up after this I promise! Thanks for the support and I’ll see you all in two days for chapter 6!

[cheerysmores]

My wife once told me she would never play Baldur's Gate 3 because 'it's that slut game.' One year later she finally caved and did her very first playthrough.

May I present: Mrs. Cheery's chaotic gremlin adventure to Baldur's Gate.

Act 1

Our hero is the drow fighter, Lady Coolio. To this day we do not know whether Lady is her name or her title. She has a big sword, big tits and one goal: get to The Baldur's Gate with no distractions.

Escaped the 'Meat Bus' (Nautaloid). "Right how close am I to Baldur's gate? Like three hours?"

Sold her camp clothes by accident and was very sad that all she had to run around in was a grey hobo sack. (No mods. Sorry wife)

Asked if Withers was Solas's Dad.

Lady Coolio calls Astarion rat boy. In Wifey's words “he told me ‘when I was a little lad Cazador made me eat rats.’”

To be fair she isn't great with names so Halsin = Hoisin Sauce, Lae'zel = onion lady, Volo = Volvo, Cazador = Calzone (sometimes)

In camp: Gale "I'd like to show you something rather magical". Lady Coolio: "I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR MAGIC PENIS"

“There are so many dead bodies everywhere this entire place has got to stink” (just act 1 generally)

Act 2

Ran into the shadow cursed lands very under levelled and Last Light inn instantly got sacked. Bad news as she was romancing Karlach and now can’t get her second upgrade. Lady Coolio firmly blames Isobel for "triggering like three opportunity attacks when she could have... not done that."

Died to the shadow curse a LOT. Her: “Why is everyone dying????” Me: “Remember the moon lantern?” Her: “The what?” Me: “… that thing with the swearing pixie in it” Her: “ I still have to use that????” Me: “ yes, because Isobel is dead” Her: "WHY IS SHE STILL CAUSING PROBLEMS."

Hates the Gauntlet of Shar. Asked Shadowheart, “Is Shar the only goddess with an Olympic qualifier to join her religion?”

And now a series of comments on the Dead 3's chosen: “so the bad guys are evil undead Santa, Lady Gaga and the ugliest man I’ve ever seen?”)” “Is Gale… horny for that crown??” “Maybe Myrkul would be more threatening if he wasn’t standing in an giant toilet and not moving”

On discovering the Emperor) “wait my fairy god mother is a SQUID??? oh :( ”

She did however become half illithid but hated that she ended up with varicose veins on her boobs.

Gale and Astarion then graduated to “those weak pudding men” because they kept getting stuck halfway across the map by missing jumps. Act 3

Said “Brexit means Brexit” every time she met someone who was complaining about the refugees.

Went to see Raphael at Sharess's Caress. Didn’t sign his contract “ I trust neither Lord Farquad nor squid man but I’m not selling my soul to someone who has such bad vibes.”

At Gortash's coronation. "I thought he was popular? Like seven people turned up to watch it. Is it because he's really ugly and smells like Lynx (Axe) body spray?"

She wanted to eat Orin's outfit because it looks like delicious bacon.

Walking around the city: "so where do I go??" "Anywhere you like." "I hate this."

She would not stop stealing things. I think she murdered the entire battalion of flaming fist in the lower city because "a lady's gotta eat." She also killed everyone in sorcerer’s sundries including Rolan.

Had the prototypical stress aneurysm while doing the iron throne but somehow managed to get ALL the hostages out.

Lae’zel was kidnapped by Orin for 9 in game days . When I asked about this she said “FINDING CLOWN MEAT IS MORE IMPORTANT.”

“Why does every door here lead to the sewer????? And why are there so many live mines in the sewer??”

(in the basement of the elfsong) “soo because the Emperor has a shitty basement I’m supposed to be best friend with him now? This soup recipe does not make me trust you squid man”

Halsin “nature used all its powers when crafting you” Wife “well it also crafted bacon lady (Orin) so swings and roundabouts”

Astarion stayed a spawn and she convinced Gale not to use the crown. “No one is becoming ultimate bitch on my watch”

Despite her distrust of the Emperor she still allied with him in the final fight. Because, and I quote, "Lady Coolio's goal is to stop the Absolute. The Emperor has the same goal. I don't know when I became everyone's therapist and in charge of them making better choices but I'm putting my foot down at replacing dehydrated onion queen with baldy prince king over here. The Gith's religion is not my problem."

In her canon Lady Coolio and the Emperor high fived when they won.

85 hours later and Lady Coolio is the hero of Baldur's Gate. Please enjoy this picture of our heroine.