#it won’t get much attention I know that

[grimmweepers]

ok shit after i sent this to my drafts i didn't realise it cut off some of my tags bc it didn't tell me that i had reached my tag limit LMAO. pls read under the cut after the tags <3

OH AND THE SMUT SCENE WAS FANTASTICCCCCCCC KJSUTGIWITGEWUGYUGWUYGWUGU BUT I WILL FOREVER WAIL AND THROW MYSELF ON WALLS AT THE MENTION OF HIS GRANDMOTHER AND PARENTS.

this fic pulled on my heartstrings. but it also made my heart race and jump. i laughed but some parts also left me clutching my chest. i cried but i also smiled. this just tells me that reading your work is always an experience <3 AND WHAT A WONDERFUL GIFT YOU HAVE <3 THANK U FOR SHARING IT WITH US

like a lotus in spring, you are mine to bloom — ft. alhaitham

synopsis: at twenty one, you’re just a girl he meets as he trains for the role of scribe. at twenty four, you’ve become everything he loves in this world. after three years of knowing you and nearly two and a half decades of life, alhaitham finally realizes why his father left letters for his mother instead of just saying the words outloud

❤︎ word count: 7.7k words — we find ourselves here in the same old situation again, i see LOL pls give it a chance though!! plssss

❤︎ before you read: female reader ; 18+ content — not suitable for minors ; not proof read ; strangers to friends to lovers ; mutual pining but not at the same time for a bit (he falls first <3) ; jealous alhaitham ; hinted drunk sex ; getting together + love confessions ; alhaitham character story spoilers + references to his grandmother and parents ; semi-clothed unprotected sex ; no prep ; some nipple play ; creampie ; the cringiest love letter at the end LOL

❤︎ comments: guys every time i write alhaitham it’s so corny and cheesy but . he is my fav genshin guy of all time i deserve to be allowed this okay

TWENTY ONE. 

You’re still a student when you first meet Alhaitham. (Not a student for much longer, but a student all the same. With a little luck on your side and good graces from your darshan’s sage on your thesis, you’re expected to graduate in just a few short months.)

You don’t have the best first meet. In fact, your impression of Alhaitham starts off entirely on the wrong foot. 

He’s newly graduated, just freshly rewarded a degree for his (impressive) efforts, and is now well on his way to training for the role of scribe—you heard he was offered far more prestigious roles, but for some reason, a genius like him settled for a role like that. You try not to judge. People have their passions, after all, and if that’s what he wants to do, well…who are you to make comments? (But amongst a school that only houses the brilliant, Alhaitham is, very undoubtedly, a standout. It’s hard to stand out in a school filled with only the best minds, but he manages to do so with ease. Sometimes, you’re almost jealous. You can’t help but wonder why he doesn’t aim a little higher than he does.)

He trains in the house of Daena. His first order of training is to fact-check ordinance drafts using books so he can better get the hang of drafting them himself in the future. You’re also in the House of Daena to find the last book for your thesis—after weeks of begging, you’re finally granted access to the restricted section to find it. 

And you do. Except your palm meets warm skin instead of the cold leather cover of a book. You pause, glancing up as sharp, teal eyes meet your gaze, staring at you expectantly as if you should be the one letting go. But you need this book. It’s the final research element to finish your thesis, and you’d like to be done with it. End of story. No matter how devastatingly handsome the man (because he is handsome, you’ll admit at least that much), you will not be handing over the last, final key to your academic freedom.

“Um, excuse me,” you say politely, “I was kind of reaching for that.”

“As was I,” he says, staring at you with a bored, almost uncaring expression. Your eyes narrow. “Now, if you’d please kindly take your hand off of mine.”

“I believe it should be you taking your hand off of mine,” you correct, huffing as you add stubbornly, “I reached for it first.”

He blinks at you, bland and a little irritated, as he points out, “Your hand is on top of mine, which means I reached the book first.”

Well.

Maybe if you were feeling particularly patient, you’d be inclined to admit that, yes, he does have a point. But stubbornness, combined with pure exhaustion, has you at your wit's end, and if you have to play the role of a difficult student, then so be it. You’re pretty sure you need it more, and you’re probably a much speedier reader anyway. You’ll have it done and returned in no time.

This guy, on the other hand…he doesn’t look too bright. You’re not willing to take your chances and let him walk off with a book that you might never see again.

“I started reaching for it first,” you scowl, “you just sped up your hand once you saw me. I should get it.”

“Unlikely,” he scoffs, “I didn’t even see you. Although,” he gives you a once over with his eyes, making you feel uncomfortably seen under his judging gaze, “I suppose you were a bit easy to miss.”

You gape at him. “Just what does that mean?”

“It means,” he smirks, taking the opportunity to grab the book as you stand in shock, “that I got here first.”

“Hey!” You glare at him, seeing red for a moment. What a perfectly good waste of a perfectly handsome face—and such an awful attitude coupled with his ridiculously smug grin couldn’t make for a worse combination. But, before you can even say anything, the book is being pressed back into your hands.

“You seem like you want it more than I do, though,” he hums, “I suppose I can let you have it. It’s a bit outdated for this ordinance, anyway.” With that, he saunters off. You push down the soft flutter in your heart for a moment and force yourself to hope you’ll never see him again. (Faintly, you hope your wishes don’t come true—but you refuse to admit it to yourself.)

Unfortunately (and fortunately at the same time) for you, you do see him again. Many, many times, in fact. When he works in the House of Daena as often as he does, and you like to spend all your free time there to study if you can, you’re both bound to run into each other often. Very often. 

And sometimes, it’s quite literally running into him. 

“Oof,” you hiss, staggering backward and hitting your head against the bookshelf behind you as you bump into a sturdy figure. You drop the books in your hand, blinking before reaching to rub your read as you start to apologize. “Sorry, I didn’t see you—oh. It’s you.”

“It’s me,” he says, looking mildly entertained. Alhaitham is everywhere. Everywhere. You can’t escape him if you try, and now, you can’t even avoid him in your own personal space. “Although, I think I should be the one apologizing this time. I was too busy reading to pay attention. This section is usually empty at this time.”

“How often are you in here to know what section is empty at what time?” You raise a brow. 

“Too often to be considered good for my well-being,” he says dryly, sighing in misery. You crack a smile at that. Oddly enough, so does he—you don’t think you’ve ever heard someone say they’ve seen Alhaitham smile. It must be a rare sight that only you, and perhaps a very few others, can say they’ve witnessed. “I was just about to take a break to buy a coffee—I’ll bring one back for you, too, to make up for the cranial damage I’ve supplied.”

“A most wonderful idea,” you perk up instantly, “I love when I get to drain the wallet of a man.”

He gives you an amused look at that. And somehow, bringing you a coffee along with his own during his breaks is a habit that seems to stick for a long, long while after that. 

────────────────────────

TWENTY TWO.

Alhaitham’s feelings are hurt. Not a lot of words tend to do that—he’s been blessed with thick skin and an unbothered attitude to a fault, sometimes. But something about today, for some odd reason, hurts his feelings. 

Your words to the waiter who took your order keep ringing in his head. 

Oh goodness, no, we are definitely not dating!

Most people mistake you and Alhaitham for a pair of lovers rather than a pair of friends. It’s just the way things go when a man and a woman are seen together for extended periods of time over and over. It doesn’t help that Alhaitham doesn’t really have any friends. He had one before you, but…well, things are complicated now. Far too complicated to think about it more than necessary. He has you, and that’s enough. But the matter still stands that most people tend to assume that something blossoms between the two of you that isn’t just friendly. 

He was starting to think it was true himself, too. He knows it’s true from his end, at least. But you say those words with such a sure, definitive tone that it almost sounds like you’re offended by the notion of being seen as his girlfriend. And sure, he would be disappointed—he’s no liar—if you didn’t feel romantically for him, but he’d understand. It’s not something you can help. But you brush off the idea like it’s an anomaly of sorts in the universe for someone like you and someone like Alhaitham to be a couple. It hurts his feelings. More than it should. 

(He knows deep down, in the depths of his heart, that you don’t mean it that way. You never would. But irrationality is but one of many feelings that bloom when it comes to romance.)

Alhaitham knows from a young age he’s different than most kids his age. This fact doesn’t change as he gets older. He’s brighter than most of his peers—which is certainly saying something because Sumeru is a nation filled with enough sharp minds, it’s as though brilliance were the average trait. People don’t typically like Alhaitham (which is fine by him, he doesn’t like most of them, either. They mostly don’t meet his standards). The kids don’t play with him in the parks that Grandmother would leave him at while she shopped around at the market, and they don’t sit with him on his one and only day at the Akademiya when he is but an elementary scholar. It never bothered him. He preferred reading under the trees and self-learning at home, anyway. When he’s older and enrolled in the Akademiya full-time, they don’t prefer to partner with him for projects for any other reason than simply being guaranteed a good grade, and they don’t spare him a glance when they all converse in groups outside of class. He never cared for freeloaders, anyway—he only trusts himself for projects, and he is at the Akademiya to learn, not make friends. 

It’s not until he meets Kaveh does he consider the idea that friendships are meaningful enough to spare some effort into. But the end result of that only solidifies that he is best when in solitude. 

But then he meets you. Some part of Alhaitham knows very early on that you would never be just a friend to him. If it was friendship that he craved, he would have looked for it elsewhere before running into you. Something about you from the very beginning makes him yearn for things much deeper than that. Things that remind him of his parents. 

Friendship is fleeting. People at the Akademiya go their separate ways and meet new people. They fall out and have arguments. They grow up and grow apart and become different. But love blooms like the Kalpalata lotuses on a vine, timeless as time itself. It starts and never ends, one root stemming into more and more vines until they never stop growing.

Alhaitham has fallen in love with you. Logic tells him it’s only a recent development, but his heart has known this outcome would be brought about for a long, long time. And, in all truthfulness, your words have hurt his feelings. 

And yet, he still loves you through it. He thinks that even if you crushed his feelings with a cold, indifferent smile, he would still love you through it. 

A hand waves in front of his face, pulling him from his thoughts as you take a sip from your coffee. Puspa Cafe is not as busy at this hour, most people are in the middle of a work day, but Alhaitham is allowed to pick his lunch hour, and yours happens to be earlier than most.

“Sorry, I just have to ask—are…are you upset?” you ask gently, making him pause. 

Yes.

“No,” he says simply, “why would I be?”

“You seem upset.”

“I’m not.”

“You were fine up until…I don’t know, a few minutes ago. Is something on your mind?”

You know him so well, he thinks. How could you not see how perfect the two of you are together?

“I’m simply concerned about your sugar intake is all,” he eyes the cold, iced drink in your hands with more syrups than he deems necessary. You always have a penchant for choosing the sweetest drink off the menu, and Alhaitham will never understand how your teeth don’t rot.

“Well, that’s very funny,” you roll your eyes, “because I was just thinking about how low on vitamin D you must be—do you ever leave your study to see the sun?”

He spares you a soft chuckle at that, shaking his head before taking a sip of his own coffee—hot and black and with two spoons of sugar. Simple, like how he prefers. You make a face at his drink as he sets it down. 

“Have you ever thought about what you look for in a partner?” he asks suddenly, making you blink in shock for a moment. He flinches at his own forwardness just a tad. 

“Umm, I suppose a little here and there…why do you ask?”

“No reason,” he shrugs, “just curious what your type was, that’s all. You’re painfully single, so I figured your taste was rather distinct.”

“Rude,” you scoff, rolling your eyes enough that he thinks it’s safe to assume you’re not suspicious. “Are you here just to poke fun at my choices today?”

Alhaitham should not be asking you this. Not when the answer so clearly is going to hurt his already very bruised feelings. Of course, your type won’t be him. And, of course, he is going to mourn your answer the second you give it, which is his own fault considering he’s the one who asked. (He has to wonder, for a moment, if this constitutes as an undiscovered hidden kink of his and whether or not he really just gets off on some unnecessary pain. Why else would he willingly subject himself to this?)

But, he’s caught off guard when you shrug and simply say, “I suppose someone who’s intelligent. I’d appreciate some good discussions. And…and maybe someone who’s kind, y’know? I would be rather sad if they were mean,” you pretend to sniffle dramatically.

“That’s…that’s it?” He tilts his head in equal parts shock and equal parts confusion. 

“What did you expect me to look for in a partner?” You snort, “A three-story mansion? A rock-solid, chiseled chest to lay on?” 

“Well, no,” he rolls his eyes, “Maybe something a bit less generic to narrow down your pool, I suppose, but if that’s your bar, so be it. There are far too many men who are intelligent and kind, you know.”

“Yes, but none of them show me any signs of interest,” you pout, “I must be undesirable or something.”

I desire you, he wants to say. He can’t quite find the courage to get the words out, though—and as if the universe has it completely out for him, the same waiter from earlier who is responsible for asking you the question that kills Alhaitham’s mood for the day comes back with the bill. And something else, too. 

Something that kills his mood for the week. 

His jaw clenches a tad when you flush at the note scribbled on a napkin for you, eyeing your flustered reaction while you read over the words: I get off at eight if you’d like to find me. You stare for a moment before you murmur, “Well, look at that. A sign of interest—it must be the Dendro Archon’s divine power.”

“The Divine have no say over who you fall for,” he insists.

“You don’t know that,” you hum thoughtfully, “The God of Wisdom knows her people better than anyone else, you know. I’d like to think she knows when love is bound for two people.”

You fold the napkin carefully and keep it in your pocket, and Alhaitham fishes out his mora pouch with stiff fingers. He leaves a very shoddy tip on the table before he exits after you. 

────────────────────────

TWENTY THREE.

You wake up in his bed. 

It’s a foggy memory, but you know you fucked Alhaitham after more sips of wine than you can count and one flirty comment too many. It happened in a blur last night, and you can’t say you’re surprised that it finally happened at all. Alhaitham is a man just like any other, and mingling pleasure with friendship is a normal thing to do. Falling under him on his mattress is not something you never had daydreams of—but the truth of the matter is that your daydreams don’t just stop with the bed.

They end with a toothbrush beside his in the bathroom. A mug next to his in the kitchen. Your shoes kicked off along with his at the entrance of a home. Your laughter and his bouncing off of the walls. A ring, maybe. One on your hand and one on his. 

In your imagination, it starts with pleasure, but it ends with love.

Falling in love with Alhaitham is a peaceful ordeal. He’s dependable and inherently kind. Strong and impressively capable. Intelligent and objectively handsome. You’d bring him home to your mother and father, and they’d thank Lord Kusanali for smiling down upon their humble little family and their darling little daughter by sending such a divine man your way. 

You don’t think you can pinpoint when exactly it is you started to love this boy, but you know loving him became as simple as breathing. You never thought about it. Never learned to do it. Never questioned it, even. You inhale the scent of his spicy, woody cologne and exhale the warm breath of your affections stored in your lungs. He lives somewhere nestled so deep in your ribcage that you think you’d have to crack each of them one after the other before you could pry him out.

You love Alhaitham. You think you know everything there is to know about loving him. You think you’d do it right—better than anyone else. 

He only drinks his coffee when it’s piping hot, and his wine can never be one degree less than iced. He has dry hands, but he hates the feeling of lotion. He doesn’t like raw onions but he doesn’t mind them cooked. When the sun is in his eyes, he’s in a foul mood, but he enjoys napping under the warm rays, much like a cat. He laughs surprisingly boyishly from his belly if you manage to deliver a dry yet clever enough joke, and he clears his throat and gets a bit shy once he’s realized he’s let it out. He twirls his pen in his hand when he’s bored, and he only uses the kind with gel ink because they write smoother. 

You love Alhaitham. For you, it’s always been him. 

When you wake up to his bare, warm body next to yours, breathing peacefully with an arm thrown over your waist, you can’t help but selfishly wish he’d stay asleep all day. Just for a day. Just for the amount of time you get in between the sun’s departure and the moon’s arrival. Just so you can watch him exist in this moment where it’s you, him, and the liminal space between friends and lovers. Just so you can admire how beautiful he is without worrying about his eyes opening and the inevitable conversation of what you’re both doing is brought up. 

People (like Kaveh, or Dehya, or Tighnari, or…anyone) tend to insist that Alhaitham loves you. It’s obvious, they say, just as obvious as your love for him. You never believe it. It’s not because he’s bad at love or because you’re bad for him. You think he’d make a good lover—contrary to popular belief, you don’t think Alhaitham is uninterested in intimacy or affection. And you think you’d make a good girlfriend—unlike other people, you understand him and like what you see. 

But he doesn’t love you. That much is a fact you’ve long accepted. It’s not because you’re bad for him or because he’s incapable of feeling—but rather, it’s just that bitter, soul-crushing reality that you can’t help who you love and who you don’t. Alhaitham doesn’t love you—it’s not something either of you can really change. Because if he did, he’d waste no time. He’d get to the heart of the matter and quit dancing around the issue. 

It’s just the kind of guy that he is. 

So, because this is your first and likely last time seeing him this way, you slowly reach over and brush a few strands of messy, unruly bedhead from his forehead before cupping his cheek in your hand. His skin is soft and warm under your palm, much more delicate to the touch than you anticipated from how chiseled his features are. Your thumb gently brushes along the slant of his cheekbone, eyes softening at how he lets out a puff of air as he sleeps. 

“Morning,” he says hoarsely, eyes still closed and making you jolt in surprise. He lets out a quiet, sleepy chuckle that would make you melt if not for the way your heart still pounds from the shock. 

“You’re awake?”

“Mhm,” he hums, nodding before finally cracking an eye open. “For a while now.”

“Why pretend to sleep then, you creep?” You scoff, glaring at him as he sits up slightly and glances at you with a teasing glint in his eyes. No part of him seems to be shocked about you being nude in his bed. Or the fact that you’re even in his bed at all, nude or not. 

“You’re the creep if we’re being technical here. It’s undoubtedly a little on the creepy side to study someone with such careful touches while they sleep.”

“That’s your main concern…?” You stare at him—and for lack of better words, you’re dumbfounded. You and Alhaitham have been friends for two years and counting. You’ve never once crossed the line or even toed at it to step beyond the border of anything more. And, yet, here you are. In his bed. Completely nude. He was lying there and felt your delicate touch along his skin, felt you act like a lover and not a friend on a quiet, intimate morning when in fact, you both should be shamefully avoiding each other’s eyes in a moment that’s anything but intimate as you leave. 

He makes no move to ask you to leave or even question why you’re still here. You make no move to really leave—it’s not like you want to. 

“What should my main concern be, then?” he looks at you expectantly, like he really doesn’t know.

“Oh, I don’t know, Alhaitham—shouldn’t you be a little more panicked by the idea that I’ve trespassed into your bed and seen you…bare?”

“Well, to be fair, you didn’t trespass. I let you in—and also, to be fair, I saw the same for you, too, so we’re even.”

“You’re oddly calm about this,” you hiss. “This doesn’t bother you even a little? That things might change?”

He looks at you funny—like you’ve just told him a joke that hardly makes sense but makes him want to laugh anyway. “You’re too brilliant to be this dense,” he murmurs. “Maybe I’m quite open to the idea of change.”

You take offense to the first part enough to completely miss the second part of his statement. 

“I am not dense,” you huff, “I’m incredibly bright. I’ll have to send you my thesis sometime.”

“No need,” he responds through a low hum. He pulls you closer, flush against his chest. Bare skin on skin. Intimate skin, at that. You shiver for a moment as his warm, large hand wanders lower and lower before stopping just at the small of your back, rubbing slow circles at the dimple where your spine ends. “I’ve read it plenty of times. It was very insightful.”

“Well, in that case, you should know not to insult my intelligence—”

“If you don’t notice my affection for you, I’m afraid you might not be as observant as I initially thought.”

You pause. Your heart flutters. Then it feels like it decays. Your eyes widen a fraction. Then they feel like they need to be squeezed shut for fear of tears. You feel your fingers twitch to reach for him. And yet they stiffen in distrust. 

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you whisper. Because you don’t.

You really fucking don’t. You thought you knew. His feelings and how to read them. His thoughts and how his mind works. Every little quirk of his and how he approaches every damn thing in this world. You thought you knew.

Now you feel like you don’t know much of anything, especially not what he means right in this moment. 

“You don’t?” He whispers, hand moving to grab your wrist and bring it to his cheek so his lips can brush along the delicate lines of your palm prints. (If he was brave, he’d tell you that his destiny and yours are written in those very lines. Maybe someday he’ll build the courage.)

“No,” you say through a shaky whisper. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I love you. Just like you love me.” He says it so plainly, that you almost feel like it's a dry, cruel joke. (You know him a little better than that, though, to know he’d never.)

“How do you know I love you?” you challenge just because it’s all you have left to cling to—easy, instant denial. 

He laughs. Soft. Quiet. Melodic. So fucking sweet. “I’m too smart to act dense,” Alhaitham teases. And then, for a moment, his eyes soften enough that they almost look vulnerable. “And only someone who loves me could deal with my… peculiarities. Though, I will admit, it took me quite a while to reach this conclusion. You made me work for it.”

“If you’ve known all along—” 

“Not all along,” he corrects, “like I said, it took me a while to come to this conclusion. But once I did, it was rather obvious.”

You scowl with a finger prodding into his chest, eyes misty with relief and the faintest traces of agitation, “Well, regardless, why haven’t you said something all this time? Obviously, I wasn’t as aware as you seem to be, so the least you could have done is spared me the pining and heartbreak of wondering if you’d ever look at me—”

“I wanted to make sure I could offer you a peaceful life first,” he says gently. You blink. He smiles, eyeing something in the distance—you don’t quite catch it, but you think it might be the old, worn-out stack of envelopes sitting on his desk. 

“What?”

“When you’re with me,” he whispers, leaning in so that his lips brush over yours, “I can lead a peaceful life. I wanted to make sure I could give you the same.”

“And what does that consist of?” you raise a brow. 

“Well,” he murmurs, pecking the corner of your mouth, “A stable job with a generous income, which I now have. A fixed schedule, which I have also negotiated. A proper home to house the both of us, which you are comfortably laying in. And…” he grabs your hand, bringing it to his chest where his heart is beating erratically, “A rock-solid, chiseled chest to lay on, which I have dedicatedly worked to add to my physique for you.”

“Haitham!” you squeal, shoving him away with a horrified shriek as he laughs with a wide grin. You don’t even know why he still remembers that comment to poke fun at it, but you suppose that is the tragedy of falling for a prodigious scholar. His mind is sharp. And so is his memory. “Enough!”

“Okay, okay,” he grins smugly. “I want us to lead a peaceful life.”

“There’s not a lot of peace I am counting on with you.”

“I will elect to ignore that statement,” he says dryly, “But that’s why I waited this long,” he buries his face into your neck, nose pressing into the skin as he inhales, “I’m afraid I can’t wait any longer, though. Won’t you accept my frugal attempt at a serene life with you?”

“Perhaps I can make do,” you fight back a stupid grin.

He smiles into your neck. You can feel it. You can practically see it. You hope you’ll grow old with it, too. 

“Then I suppose I’m forever indebted to your graciousness, my love.”

────────────────────────

TWENTY FOUR.

When Alhaitham was eight, Grandmother told him the story of how his parents had fallen in love. It was a typical love story, he thought at the time—nothing overly special or unique. A simple, sweet bond between two people who became friends and something more along the way.

What stood out were the letters. Not very much at first, but with time, he’d realized how special they were. 

Grandmother handed him the letters with a soft, melancholy look in her eyes that made him realize he hadn’t just lost his father and mother. She had lost her son and daughter-in-law. Alhaitham felt the absence of his parents often. It was hard not to at that age—he didn’t have a father to throw a ball to or tag along with to the market. He didn’t have a mother to hum him a melody or make his favorite dish for dinner. But Grandmother filled the gaps in those places well enough that even if his heart bled, not too much blood spilled between the cracks.

But he was no son. Not a proper one for her at her age, anyway. She raised him like he was her own, but she grew older every day, and he didn’t grow fast enough to keep up. He couldn’t take care of her in her old age the way his father would have. He couldn’t do much besides bring the vegetables for her to cut or set the table while she cooked. He couldn’t offer her the mora when she went to the market or carry too many of the heavy bags while they walked home. He couldn’t let her rest in her old age too much because, regardless of how mature and bright he was for his age, Alhaitham was just a child. Her child, nonetheless—Grandmother didn’t let him forget that fact. But a child.

When she died, he arranged the funeral alone. He didn’t cry throughout the whole ordeal. Her old colleagues from way back in her Akademiya days came, as did some of his parents’ old acquaintances. No one he knew too familiarly, though—no one who really mattered when they clasped his shoulder and told him to hang in there.

She was a good woman. He knew that already.

She was very intelligent. A very obvious fact.

She was exceptionally kind. A rather unsurprising observation.

She loved very deeply. Well. That one stung—as true as it might have been.

He remembers it so vividly still. How he had walked home alone after it all. How he had taken off his tie (a very poorly tied tie, at that—Grandmother had always helped him before) and silently entered his room.

It wasn’t until he had eyed his desk that finally, it all sank in. The notes—the ones his father had so carefully written his mother while they were still just starting to fall in love, sat there as if waiting for him. He read them one by one, just like he had so many times before. He didn’t realize he’d started crying until a rivulet of his sorrow landed from his cheek to the page, staining the paper a darker shade of heartache. 

Alone. 

That’s all Alhaitham had ever been since the tender age of four. At least, that’s what people had always thought—but he’d never felt the sorrow people tended to feel for him. Not having a father and mother was okay. Hard at times, but okay. Grandmother had been everything he needed. More than what he needed, in fact. 

Grandmother was everything. And she had left him just the same way his parents had. He’d cried that night—alone in a house that was nothing more than just a house. Not a home, not a place where he could return to and look forward to it. Not a place where love was waiting for him to shelter him as soon as he came back from the cruel, outside world.

Grandmother was gone. Mother and father had left so long ago. But they all had each other—in whatever world they’d crossed to, they’d had each other. 

He remembers it all so vividly still. How he’d read his father’s words, and for the first time in all his life, he’d craved it. What his parents had. 

To my love, my soul, my heart. I am yours, always. 

He wondered that night, through teary and blurry eyes, if love like that would ever find him. If he’d one day be able to call someone his love, soul, and heart.

He thinks now, as you laugh with your head tilted forward and a tweezer in hand while sitting on his lap, that he can. 

“Hold still, you,” comes your teasing remark, “you said this would be nothing. Now look at you.”

“You’re being too harsh,” he grumbles, pouting slightly. With a smile, you bend your neck down and press a soft kiss to his jutted lips, humming before pressing an extra one to the corner of his mouth for good measure. (And yes, the grand sage—acting, you can almost hear him correct in your own head—can pout. He is rather frequent at curling those lips of his in your presence when he wants something, in fact. Or when he is teased too much. Something about you brings about a side of him that is much less stoic and far more dramatized.)

“You can just admit it hurts, you know,” you say through an amused snort.

“It won’t hurt if you just do it right.”

“I’m an expert at tweezing eyebrows,” you huff, “I do mine all the time. And I would know that it hurts.”

“It can’t be that painful,” he clicks his teeth, “just be gentle.”

“I cannot gently pull out a hair from your follicle, Haitham—I don’t know what you want me to—hey!”

He grabs the tweezers from your hand and pulls you close, hugging you tight enough that his nose digs into your skin a bit as he buries it into your neck. It’s Saturday. His first out of two days off for the week—standard scribe work weeks are nine to five on weekdays, and he very much appreciates his weekends away from the bustling, lively Akademiya nonsense. 

Saturday happens to be your day off, too. 

“Where is Kaveh?” you ask quietly, playing with the hem of his shirt. He raises a brow, eyeing the suspicious movement of your fingers.

“Working with a client in Aaru Village. He won’t be back until tomorrow evening. Why am I not enough company for you?”

“Oh, be quiet,” you roll your eyes, and this time, your hands wander under his shirt, palms slowly dragging along his chiseled, planed abdomen while he shivers slightly under your touch. “I was just asking if…”

“If…?” he urges you to continue.

You know he knows. But, for the sake of indulging his smug, teasing little game, you huff and push his shirt up to expose his chest before murmuring, “If we would be interrupted or not. I don’t fancy such awkward run-ins with your roommate.”

“Our roommate,” he corrects, “this is your home, too.”

“Yes,” you smile, brushing your palms over his pectorals, watching as he stiffens when you graze along his nipples, “I suppose it is.”

“Well, he’s not here. And he won’t be, so kiss me,” he demands through a breathy whisper. You do. You kiss him instantly—because kissing Alhaitham is what you do best. When he’s happy, sad, angry, distressed, or just plain tired, kissing him is how you know him the most. When your breaths exchange and your life force and his mingle to become one, singular unit. 

You sigh into his mouth, letting his hands cradle your jaw and tilt your head to better meet his mouth, all while your hands still explore his upper half. He moans under your touch, cock springing to life slowly below you through his pants. You angle your hips forward, inching higher up his lap to drag your crotch along his and help the erection grow against the friction. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, hard and heavy between his legs in no time. 

“Haitham,” you breathe, feeling that familiar ache build between your own thighs. 

You kiss him like that for a bit. Messy, deep, sloppy, and so, so slow. With all the time in the world. Languid strokes of your tongue against his as he rolls his hips up from underneath you, dragging his clothed, bulging cock against your dripping cunt. The fabric separates you, rudely so, and it’s not long until you both grow tired of it. 

“Off,” you whine, tugging at his pants, “off, off, off!”

“So demanding,” he chuckles, pecking your nose sweetly before he lifts his hips, letting you slide off his sweatpants. “Satisfied?” 

“Yes,” you beam, “You always give me what I want. It’s my favorite thing about you.”

His gaze darkens at that—not for any other reason than it makes him so incredibly filled with lust when you speak to him like that. So spoiled and happy about it because it’s him. Him. You’re happy that it’s him. And he’s happy that it’s you. 

You don’t even bother undressing yourselves fully—he pulls down your own pants just enough to expose your pretty, leaking folds, and his hands wander under your shirt, where he almost short-circuits for a moment. Braless. Because you just love to drive him mad, he thinks. This much easy access to your soft, delicate breasts and the pert nipples that decorate them is enough to make him curse under his breath as his thumbs tease over them. 

“You’re a tease.”

“For simply existing?” you gasp, making him crack a small grin. 

“Yes,” he hums, “Your existence on its own teases me at all times. I’m afraid it drives me mad.”

You hum, reaching forward to gently take his hard, leaking cock into your hand and give a light, teasing squeeze. “Maybe my goal is to turn you completely into a lost cause.”

“Then,” he groans, throwing his head back against the couch cushions while he breathes harshly, “then you’re definitely succeeding. Is that what you wished to hear?”

“Yes,” you whisper, kissing his jaw, “It is, actually.”

It doesn’t take long at all before Alhaitham has tossed you back against the couch, laughing as you shriek at the sudden change of position. You glare at him, fighting back your own chorus of giggles as he moves to hover over you, kissing and biting playfully along your cheeks. 

“I love you,” he mumbles.

“Aw, so sweet,” you coo, “say that again.”

He rolls his eyes. His lips curl into the brightest grin at the same time. My love, my soul, my heart—the words are ingrained in his memory always. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” you whisper.

He leans in for a soft, slow kiss as the tip of his leaking cock slides against your folds, tapping against your clit before rubbing along your entrance. You gasp, shuddering against him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. 

“You know,” he murmurs, “I could get used to this.”

“Sex on the couch? We can do that any time—”

“A weekend with just the two of us,” he groans, dropping his head to your neck as you laugh loudly. Bright. Airy. A sound the wind carries to him in his subconscious. He hears you even when you’re not there—even when you aren’t around, he searches for you. 

“Oh,” you say playfully, “Yeah, I guess that’s nice too, isn’t it?”

“I’ll show you just how nice it’s about to be,” he hums. The tip of his thick, blunt head is pressed against your folds—you’re leaking just as much as he is. You slick, and his pre cum mix for a messy collision of arousal as he presses into you slowly, so carefully, you feel like you could break at any second with how he handles you. 

He’s patient. When Alhaitham fucks you, he’s patient enough that you feel like his other half and not his means of pleasure. Like he fucks you for you and not for himself. 

“More,” you insist, impatient as you add, “I can take it.”

“Patience is a virtue,” he clicks his teeth, “I want to take my time feeling you.”

And he does. He rolls his hips slowly. So slowly, you feel delirious. It’s a painful, gradual build-up of pleasure that has you trying to roll your hips into him to meet him halfway, a pathetic attempt when he’s on top of you to press his weight down on you to keep you in place. 

“Please, Haitham,” you whine, sweat shining across your sweet, pleasure-hazed face as he stares down at you, “Please more. I need it—need you. Need all of you.”

“You have all of me,” he groans, feeling the tight walls of your cunt squeeze around him, the squelching noise of his thick girth bullying into your folds in and out, in and out, in and out, driving him to the brink of insanity. “You’ve always had every piece of me.”

“I want more,” you hiss. 

He lets out a breathy laugh that turns into a soft moan. “If that’s what you want.”

The next thing you know, two strong, muscled arms are grabbing your thighs and bringing them around his torso to wrap around him, and his large hands grab your hips and pull, practically manhandling you deeper onto his cock. You shudder, letting out a shrill, high-pitched gasp as he intrudes further into your cunt, nudging the head of his cock against your sweetest of spots and making your body tremble. 

“Haitham,” you gasp, “Haitham, fuck—fuck, you feel so good. So deep—love when you fuck me like this.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, kissing in between your pretty little scrunched-up eyebrows, “I love fucking you like this, too. When you take me so well, squeeze so tight, and let me feel you like the good girl you are.”

His words make your folds squeeze around him, and fuck—he’s close. So fucking close, the pad of his rough, callused thumb meets your clit as he rubs circles, trying to bring you to the edge before he goes plummeting himself. 

“‘M close—almost…almost there,” you pant.

“Me too, baby,” he groans. He slams into you, skin slapping against skin and the glistening sheen of it mixing your sweat together. His mouth parts with pretty, low sounds of his pleasure, and your face twists with the devastating rush of yours. 

Once. Twice. A third time, and you fall apart as he thrusts into you and presses the tip of his thick length against the spongey spot in the back of your walls. 

“Haitham,” you gasp, legs tightening around him as your nails press crescent shapes into his back. “Fuck, I’m c-cumming…oh, Gods.”

“Good,” he gasps, and with one last roll of his desperate hips, he spills into you, too. A thick, sticky, familiar rush of heat fills your cunt, ropes of cum painting you white within with every twitch of his aching cock. “Fuck—you feel so good. So perfect—you were made for me. Me.”

“You,” you whisper, breathless. 

You let him shudder over you, fingers running through his hair as he finishes releasing his load into you before he slumps his weight over your body. It’s a small couch—decorative more than functional. (All thanks to Kaveh, of course.) But you don’t particularly care when you’re under him. It feels right all the same. 

“We have the house to ourselves this weekend,” he reminds you after some time of catching your breaths. “So…so we can do this all you want.”

You giggle, rolling your eyes as you poke his forehead. “You’re obscene.”

“I’m romantic,” he corrects, “I just want to be with you and nothing else. Can’t blame a man when he’s been gifted such a beautiful sight before him.”

“And cheesy, too,” you huff. 

He smiles. My love, my soul, my heart. 

——————————

You wake up Monday morning to Alhaitham already gone—it’s rare that he’s ever up before you. He leaves the house just in time to make it to work exactly on the dot and not a moment sooner or a moment later. But, as is with any Akademiya position, there are quarterly meetings that even the scribe can’t avoid. You giggle at the image in your head of a grumpy Alhaitham carefully tiptoeing around the room as he miserably gets ready for an early morning of extra work, all while making sure he doesn’t wake you. 

You yawn, sitting up to start your morning for your own day of work ahead—but it catches your eye before you can fully rise from bed, making you pause. 

A note? No, you realize almost instantly. Not just a note—a letter:

To my love, my soul, my heart: Kalpalata lotuses will bloom soon. I forget how beautiful the world is sometimes, and I suppose it’s because I am always distracted by your beauty alone. Will you laugh as you read this? I suppose you might because even I must admit, it is a rather cliche thing to say. I can just picture your smile now, and I am certain I will have it memorized until my last breath. It’s easy to remember it so well when it’s all I see in my dreams. Have I told you how often I see you in them? It’s difficult to think that there was once a time in Sumeru when we did not dream. It seems like sleeping beside your body is no longer enough—your presence is required even in my slumber for me to truly be at peace.  Perhaps when the lotuses bloom, we can take a trip to the deeper parts of the rainforest to catch a glimpse of a few. They say the vines are blessed by The Lord herself. I was never one to seek out the divine, but perhaps with a gift as sacred as you, I should take the time to thank Lady Kusanali for granting such brilliance to take bloom in my presence. Only, the difference is that here with you, there are no cliffs to climb or seasons to await. You are mine to bloom, always—my precious, beautiful lotus.  Forever yours,  Haitham ♡

ITS DONE. HAPPY LATE BDAY TO MY FIRST AND LONGEST LOVE. YOU MEAN EVERYTHING AND MORE TO MEEEEE

[m4tthewmurd0ck]

Strawberry Sweet

── Azriel x Fem!Witch/Fae Hybrid Reader

also featuring platonic best friend! cassian x reader, and platonic best friend! rhysand x reader

I ~ INTRODUCTIONS ── PART TWO ── TABLE OF CONTENTS

based on [THESE] lyrics

obviously not book canon. references to battles that didn’t happen in the books, ooc inner circle, etc… 🤷🏻‍♀️ no use of y/n but i do use she / her. no descriptions other than reader being shorter than all 3 bat boys. reader is also able to winnow.

When you first met Azriel, you were sure he hated you.

With the rest of the inner circle, it had been easy. You met the High Lord first after saving his life, and you remembered the day like it happened yesterday.

Rhysand had taken to the skies one night, flying over Velaris and looking down at everything below. An ambush on Day Court had all the high lords on edge, with the message that the attackers weren’t finished being loud and clear. He knew it was bad when Helion reached out personally.

When he was attacked, it was 5 against 1. He ended up plummeting nearly 1,000 feet. As luck would have it, you were just returning home from a very late night trip to the markets.

Ever the quick thinker, you snapped your fingers, and all of your purchased goods floated into your home and all put themselves in their proper place. Then you turned your attention to the man falling from the sky. You held out a hand, and a blue light so dark that they almost resembled shadows, flowed from your palm and slowed the man’s descent just before he hit the ground.

You used your other hand to turn you both invisible until you were able to get him into your home.

To keep a long story short, because that was a tale for another time, it took a lot longer to heal him than you thought. You don’t know how much time passed, all you know is that it was completely dark outside when he fell but when you finished, you could see the sun was about to rise.

Rhysand woke up not long after you finished healing his wings.

You anticipated the first question he asked, so you beat him to it. Giving him a brief version, you explained that you were half witch, half fae. You didn’t explain your family history, or how you came to live alone. There was a sense of relief when he didn’t ask more questions, though you could tell by the look on his face that he wanted to.

“Not that I don’t love hosting you, but shouldn’t you be going? I’d imagine a lot of people are worried about you.”

You felt him trying to get into your mind, and wished you could’ve taken a picture of his face when you told him that wouldn’t be possible unless you allowed it. Centuries of practice ensured that even the strongest mind reader wouldn’t be able to access your thoughts so easily.

When he finally felt strong enough to stand, you followed closely behind him as he headed to the door.

“I’m not officially a healer, obviously, but if you ever need help, you may return. I only ask that you don’t tell anyone that I’m here. If word gets to the wrong person—”

“I won’t tell a soul, you have my word. You’ve saved my life, and I owe you a debt far greater than anything I could pay you.”

You shook your head and insisted you didn’t need, or want, money.

“Well if there’s ever anything you need, no matter how big the request, please come find me.”

“Thank you, High Lord. I will keep that in mind.”

He managed a small smile. “You used magic to stitch part of my wings back together, please, at least call me Rhys. Or Rhysand if it makes you more comfortable.”

You nodded and after he thanked you again for saving his life, and after you said you did it because you wanted to help and not because you wanted something, he took to the skies. You wondered if you’d ever see him again.

But there was still a war going on, and you shouldn’t have been that surprised when he returned a few weeks later. What did surprise you, and even made you a little angry, was that he had not 1, but 2 people with him. Not living under a rock, you recognized them right away. And this was how you ended up meeting Cassian and Nesta.

That anger disappeared when you saw just how injured Cassian was. He could barely stand, even Nesta was having to help keep him upright.

Turning around, you went back into your home and snapped your fingers. Seconds later, everything on your dining table lay in neat piles on the floor. You were thankful that you’d opted for a larger table, and don’t think he would’ve fit on your bed.

You got to work healing him the moment Rhys set him down on the table. Although you worked fast in an attempt to ease his pain, it was clear he was still in a lot of it.

“I need to put him to sleep. He has broken bones and I promise none of you want him awake when I put them back in place.” You looked up at Nesta then, and for the first time since entering your home, her gaze left her mates, and she looked at you.

Unable to speak, she only nodded, silently giving you permission. He was out not long after that, and you worked for another 2 hours until you were satisfied that he’d be alright.

Nesta finally spoke up then, asking if you were going to wake him up. You explained that while putting him to sleep was fairly easy, you didn’t think it was the best idea to wake him up. That required going deep into his mind and wandering around until you found the part of it where he was waiting. That act in itself would give you access to every thought and memory that Cassian has ever had, and you didn’t like to do that to anyone without their explicit permission.

After explaining that it wouldn’t be long before he woke up on his own, as you redid one of Cassian’s bandages, you noticed Nesta give Rhys a look. He only shook his head and whispered that he trusted you.

You were right as you knew you would be, and it was just 10 minutes later that the general of the Night Court was opening his eyes and sitting up.

“Why… am I on a table??”

Nesta hated showing any sign of being vulnerable, so none were more shocked than Rhys and Cassian when she walked over to you and pulled you in for a hug.

“Thank you,” she spoke softly. “I don’t know how we can repay you.”

You smiled when the 2 of you stepped apart. “No payment is needed, or wanted. I promise—” It felt like all the air left your body when Cassian took his turn with a hug, only he lifted you off of the ground and seemed to be trying to squeeze the life out of you.

“Cass, I happen to like her and would appreciate you not killing her.”

“Sorry! Just, you know, thanks for saving my life.“

After they left , all repeatedly thanking you on their way out, you wondered if what just happened was some sort of fever dream.

Over the next few months, the 3 would occasionally pop in, but all for different reasons. Rhys was still fascinated by you being half witch, half fae. All he wanted to do was sit and ask questions, and he’d hang on to every word you spoke as you answered. Cassian, who insisted you call him Cass, did come to you for healing. But for ‘injuries’ he very much could’ve handled on his own. He healed faster than a normal human, but you lost count of the amount of times you opened your door, or he opened it and barged in, telling you about a paper cut or the smallest bruise.

The first time Nesta came to visit, and you greeted her with “Lady Nesta”, you almost laughed at the daggers she sent your way. You quickly learned it was just Nesta, or Nes. During her second visit, the subject of fighting somehow came up. You mentioned your basic knowledge of hand-to-hand combat, but that you wished you were more advanced, or at least knew how to fight with a weapon. Ever since then, she’d come to visit at least once a week to try and convince you to join her on training with the Valkyries.

“I don’t know that I’d actually be any good,” you admitted, adding on that you were so used to fighting with your powers that you genuinely couldn’t remember what it was like to do so without them.

A month of pestering persuading had you finally agreeing to sit in on a training session with the Valkyries. And that was how you came to meet Azriel.

The following day, Nesta showed up at your front door bright and early. Well not bright, since the sun had yet to even rise, but with how you felt as you slowly got dressed, you knew it was definitely early. She assured you that Valkyries didn’t always train so early, but she wanted to get some one-on-one training with you.

After a brief discussion in which she promises you’ll end up having fun, you ask if all of her family will be training. She says no, with the Valkyries it’s usually only her and Cass. Rhys occasionally pops his head in to observe, but has been busy with everything going on so not so much lately.

“Oh I forgot you haven’t met everyone yet. Feyre, my sister and Rhys’ mate, prefers to train solo so you probably won’t see her today. Then there’s Azriel, he used to train with us a lot, well help train the women, but Rhys has been sending him out a lot lately. What with everyone being on edge from the attacks, we’re all eager to find out who’s behind it all.”

She explains where to go and you take her hand, winnowing you both to the training grounds.

“There she is!” You jump a little at Cass’ voice. He’s all the way on the other side of the room, but so loud that it’s as if he’s right next to you. He puts down a stack of papers and quickly makes his way over to you and Nesta. “You’re just in time, look.” He holds up his hand, showing you the tiniest of paper cuts on his left index finger.

You can’t help but laugh as you take his hand in yours and use your powers to close the cut.

Nesta shakes her head. “For a warrior, you sure are a big baby.” She turns to you, “you can just tell him to suck it up next time.”

Cass gasps, putting his hands on his face. “She’d never do that! At least she cares about me.”

“Do I really though?” You tilt you head.

“Hey! Just for that I’m not going easy on you today.”

“Wait you’re training me?”

“I’m going to take that as wait really! Wow I’m so lucky Cassian the general of the Night Court is training me. Now chop chop, let’s go!” He gently pushes you towards one of the larger mats on the ground.

You turn back to Nesta, who only shrugs and mouths good luck, before joining the other women.

Much like when you were focused on healing Rhys and Cass, time goes by in a blur. Before you know it, you’ve managed to knock Cass onto his back for the third time. You look at a clock nearby and find that nearly 2 hours have gone by.

“Woo!” The 2 of you stop and turn towards the door and see Feyre leaning against the door frame, clapping as she calls out your name and shouts his congratulations.

Cass rolls his eyes, but smiles when you hold out a hand to help him to his feet. “You kicked my ass today, I’d be a little upset if I wasn’t so impressed.”

When you use your powers to immediately dry all of your sweat, you’re happy you get to use your powers for more mundane things like this.

“Ahem!”

Now it’s you turn to roll your eyes. Still, you face one of your hands towards Cass, and he’s also dry just a few seconds later.

“Thank you,” he gives a dramatic bow before telling you all he’s going to go shower.

Before you can ask why he made you do that if he was just planning to shower anyway, Feyre finally approaches you and Nesta. You become aware of how affectionate the inner circle can be, when Feyre pulls you in for a hug, not saying anything for a moment.

“You saved Rhys, I owe you everything. Thank you,” she whispers.

“I promise, you don’t owe me a thing,” you shake your head. “I’m just happy he ended up falling outside of my home. If it had been anywhere else I wouldn’t have seen it, or I wouldn’t have been able to slow his fall.”

Cass pops his head back in the room. “Anyone know if Az is coming by to train later? I couldn’t get a hold of him earlier.”

Feyre nods, “he got back less than an hour ago, I think he told Rhys he’d be by here at some point. Oh, never mind.”

The last part of her sentence comes when she looks toward the door, this time towards the ground. You watch as what looks like a series of small clouds slowly makes their way towards you. Upon closer inspection, you realize they’re shadows.

“Azriel is a shadowsinger, right?” When Nesta nods, you continue. “Do they often travel like this without him?”

“No,” Feyre watches them get closer. “I mean they can if he sends them somewhere but I don’t see why he’d send them here when he knows it’s only us…”

When the shadows finally reach you, they move faster as if they’re excited. One makes its way to the top of your head, swirling around your face. It’s a cool, almost ticklish sensation. Another weaves its way around your legs, while the last one circles your hands, as if it can sense the power you hold.

Healer.

“No,” you shake your head. “I mean I guess technically yes, among other things. But I’m still working on my healing abilities so—” You look up to find Nesta, Feyre, and Cass all staring at you. “What?”

Cass just stares at you, now with his mouth open in shock.

“We didn’t say anything…”

“Wait did — were you talking to the shadows??”

Now you were confused. “Yes… it asked, well it said I was a healer and I was just explaining—”

“You can understand them?!”

“I… they don’t speak to all of you?” You watched in amazement as the shadows continued to explore you.

Cass finally breaks his silence. “No. We’ve never heard them say anything. How the hell…”

Magic. Friend.

You smile. Holding your hands out and palms facing up, you produce 2 dark blue clouds a lot similar in appearance to the shadows. They swarm your clouds, but return to you once they realize that they’re not real shadows.

Feyre observes this, a small smile on her face. “Interesting.”

All at once, 2 of the 3 shadows stop their movements, then quickly make their way back out of the room. A minute later, the shadowsinger himself enters the room.

“Dude!” Cass began to make his way towards his brother, but Nesta elbows him in the ribs as she grabs his arm to keep him in place.

When Azriel looks at you, he freezes. He can only stand and watch as the shadow that remained in the room continues to move between your hands and your head. But when you look up at him, your first thought is that you’ve somehow offended him with your actions, so you drop your hands and step back, closer to Nesta.

The lone shadow finally returns to Azriel, hovering around his right ear. You wish you could hear what it’s telling him.

You’re further embarrassed when all Azriel does is quickly look away from you before he asks Cass to speak to him.

Once the 2 men are out of the room, you voice your concerns out loud. “I should apologize when Azriel comes back in.”

Nesta looks at you, clearly confused. “What, why would you apologize? You haven’t done anything.”

“I just… I don’t think he liked that his shadows were paying so much attention to me. I don’t know if he heard me speaking to one but I don’t want to offend him or cause any trouble.”

Feyre’s expression softened. She replaced Nesta at your side, and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “That’s just Azriel, at least with someone he isn’t familiar with yet. It’s not often we bring anyone new around. He just needs time.”

You didn’t stay much longer after that, chatting to the 2 Archeron sisters for only a few more minutes before making an excuse to leave. It was obvious why you were in such a rush, but you were grateful that neither woman tried to persuade you to stay.

When you finally winnowed back to your home, you forced yourself to take a shower before collapsing onto your bed. Maybe a nap was what you needed.

You couldn’t help but think about Azriel. Everyone else was quick to warm up to you, and you still thought that you offended him by how you interacted with his shadows.

As you lay there and waited for sleep to pull you under, you wondered if he’d end up hating you.

what a shitty place to end it hahdjdnsdkc BUT part 2 picks up right where this leaves off! if i kept going we’d end the chapter at like 6k which is too long for my liking.

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[juricel]

seeing your posts and as a small attempt to break authors block here's a lil request (^_-)

ok so id like to request yandere shadow milk cookie with a s/o who somewhat acts like candy apple cookie? like... not ACTUALLY candy apple cookie but theyre obsessed with him and is willing to do everything he desires and commands + gets really jealous when he interacts with someone ^o^

-🐧 anon

(btw ive read your old orphaned fics in ao3 and miraculously found your tumblr you dont know how happy i am)

a/n: okay first of all... how... and second of all, we do NOT talk about my orphaned ao3 fics. not in this household. zip mouth.

— yandere! shadow milk cookie x obsessive! reader

໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა ۪ ׂ CONTENT WARNING: yanderes, heavy possessive and obssessive behavior, unhealthy relationship, implied forced established relationship, implied emotional abuse, psychological manipulation, emotional abuse, threats of physical violence, imprisonment/kidnapping, coercion, control, dependency, non-consensual power dynamics, potential ooc.

𖦁 to say that he adored your obsessiveness is an understatement—no, he was besotted with it: savoring your sweet fixation like a sugared poison on the tongue, watching with bright, slitted amusement as you knelt before him without question, without hesitation, a devotee at the altar of his caprice. how you squirmed beneath the lightest flick of his attention, how your breath hitched when he, with deliberate carelessness, let his interest wander elsewhere. ah, but that was his favorite part—the way your jealousy trembled at the edges of you, coiling tight, teeth bared but mouth shut, the way your hands clenched in your lap, as if to keep yourself from lunging, from begging. he would press upon that wound like a scholar taking notes, tilt his head to better see how it darkened in your chest, how it shaped the curve of your shoulders, how it swelled against your ribs like a swallowed scream. It was divine, this spectacle of you unraveling in real time, caught in a dance between anger and longing, between dignity and desperation, ah, you were just too cute like that, he couldn't help himself from prodding on it, gently, softly, and slowly making you break in jealousy! but more than that—more than your ire, more than your brittle restraint—it was your fear that delighted him most, that quiet, gnawing terror that, if he ever truly turned away, you might cease to exist altogether.

𖦁 cruelty? oh, but that was such an ugly word, so ill-fitting, so crass. he never meant to be cruel—never. he was merely curious, merely an observer conducting a harmless little experiment, a scholar of your trembling devotion. how could he resist the temptation to nudge, just a little, just to see? a whisper here, a lingering touch elsewhere, a fleeting glance in another’s direction—what a marvel it was, the way you burned. and if you had not responded so exquisitely—if your breath had not hitched so prettily, if your fingers had not curled into your palms, if your voice had not quivered with that delicious mixture of fury and desperation—then, surely, none of this would have been necessary. but you had, and so it was, and really, really now, how could you blame him for indulging in such a delectable reaction? oh, but please—don’t cry. won’t you look at him? won’t you listen? there’s no need for all these trembling lips and damp lashes, no need for those hands to shake at your sides as if they don’t know whether to strike or to cling. he’ll never leave you, not ever, so why weep as if he would? and really, as much as he wants to regret it—the tears, the way your breath catches between sobs, the exquisite fire in your eyes when fury overtakes sorrow and your hands lash out, striking him with more love than hatred—he simply can’t. because you are beautiful like this, you are his like this, raw and fraying and utterly caught in the web of him. surely, you wouldn’t mind a few lies, would you? soft ones, sweet ones, warm as milk and thick as honey, sliding down your throat. if only you had paid him more attention, this wouldn't have happened. if only you had never turned away, never left his side even for a moment, he wouldn't have done this. if only you had been good enough, loved him enough, wanted him enough—then, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, he wouldn’t have needed to do this at all. but he knows you understand, don’t you? you always do. that’s what he loves about you. wasn't he such a sweetheart? a cruel obsessive lunatic

𖦁 oh, but perhaps, perhaps… if you came to his spire, if you lived in it, breathed in its air, let its walls wrap around you like an embrace—if you stayed within the sanctuary of his love, right beneath his pinky, tucked neatly where you belong—then maybe, maybe he wouldn’t have to be so cruel. yes, yes—that was it. the answer had been so simple all along! if you stayed, if you never left, if you allowed yourself to melt into the fabric of his world, then surely he wouldn’t need to do such things, wouldn’t need to test you, wouldn’t need to watch you unravel just to be certain you were still his. stay, won’t you? let him love you properly, let him keep you as you should be kept. it’ll feel just like home, he promises—just like home, only better.

𖦁 you’ll do anything he says, don't you? of course you will. you always do. so then, listen closely—for this was his command: be good. be quiet. be his. come to him, right where he can see you, right beneath his strings. it’ll be heaven. oh, it will—a place where you don’t have to think, don’t have to fight, don’t have to worry. just let go, let him pull, let him move you as he pleases. wouldn’t that be easier? wouldn’t that be beautiful?

𖦁 surely you won’t mind being kept in a cage, right? after all, isn’t this what you wanted? to be his, to have his undivided attention, to be held so tightly you could never slip away? oh, but he’s giving you everything—his love, his time, his adoration. isn’t that enough? isn’t that what you craved? so don’t ever leave. don’t even think about it. because if you do—if you even try—then, well… he’ll have to make sure you never do it again. he’ll have to fix you, won’t he? break you down, piece by piece, until you can’t walk, can’t eat, can’t move without him. until every little thing you do, every breath you take, is only possible because of him. oh, but don’t look so afraid. this is love, isn’t it? this is what you wanted, this is what you've yearned and sought for all along, there was no use in thinking anymore, he'll help you! for he has more than enough knowledge to assist you.

a/n: I loathe shadow milk cookie so much I want to wrap him up in unmarred flowers, let the thorns of roses prickle his skin and watch until his blood mingles with the petals, till air thick with the smell of iron, till life drains from him in a slow, sickly feast of pain.

anyway, for those who had requested during my hiatus, please resend your requests if you still would like it done! the second owner usually deletes them without a glance so I could pay more attention to my studies and church duties (all requests after this work has been deleted as i immediately went into hiatus afterward)

[twistedpink]

Mayhaps I sneak in a husband!Lilia into your Lilia collection? 👀

You were so right for this!!

Husband!Lilia settling down with you in retirement <33 He’s just so tired- Of the work, the people, doesn’t he deserve a pretty spouse to share his time? And wouldn’t you like to live in semi-luxury, accompanying him on party crashings and midnight games of boggle? Of course you do!!

Husband!Lilia hates nothing more than your discomfort, and he’s got the perfect remedies for anything that may afflict you! He tries his very best making you soup, (Silver’s on the phone for supervision) and nearly freezes you with all the ice packs he digs up- This is love! Putting forth effort! He only wants for you to be happy and healthy again, won’t you help him out?

Husband!Lilia that clings, as if he’s afraid you’ll run off. He’s more than happy to follow you anywhere you’re willing to take him. In his magicless state it’s much safer to travel in groups with all the wildlife in your area- And he’s sure you don’t mind the company tooo much. If you really need time alone, your bedroom has a perfectly fine lock! He’ll respect your peace by shutting up, but when you leave the sanctity of the bedroom you’ll find him curled up on the floor, waiting. Nothing is worth doing unless he can do it with you <3

Husband!Lilia does anything you ask- Only after a little giggling and jabbing, of course, it’s still him after all. He even pushes you to do stuff! Please take a couple classes or pick up hunting, it’s good for the soul! He just can’t travel anymore- But he insists that if it’s one of your goals, then you should just leave him behind. He won’t make you stay, but that needy, selfish part of him appreciates your attachment. It’s so,, Human of you.

Husband!Lilia yearns for your attention- He hardly goes to town anymore, so it’s you or the squirrels! He does pick up gardening for when you’re gone, if only to keep his hands busy. Normally, he wouldn’t be able to keep up a routine like this, but his partner just so happens to be an excellent alarm. Good job, hun! You’re the one who puts his plants on life support when his memory lapses, and it’s all worth it to see his smile during the harvest :)

Husband!Lilia may not be as strong or fast as he was during his prime, but he’s much preferring the golden years if he gets to spend them with you! The kids visit during holidays and runaways, but the rest of your time is spent alone. Together. With all the socializing you miss, he knows exactly how to get busy after a spot of crochet <3

@bju3c0re

[gottencents]

Love Life - Giselle

pairing. idol!giselle x streamer!reader

synopsis. While streaming a GTA Online race, Y/N gets completely distracted when Giselle walks in.

Y/N was fully focused on their GTA Online racing stream, gripping the controller as their car sped down the neon-lit streets of Los Santos. The chat was roasting their driving, per usual.

“Okay, okay, I know my turns are bad—chat, stop clowning me!” Y/N groaned, swerving dangerously close to the edge of the track. “This car handles like a literal refrigerator.”

Just as they were about to make a crucial turn, their bedroom door creaked open. A second later, Giselle strolled in, completely stealing the attention from both Y/N and the chat.

She was dressed in a sleek, effortlessly cool outfit—black cargo pants, a cropped top, and a leather jacket draped over her shoulders. Her makeup was flawless, her confidence effortless, and the way she carried herself made it impossible not to stare.

“Hey, Y/N,” she said, striking a playful pose. “How do I look?”

Y/N’s brain malfunctioned. Their fingers twitched on the controller, and—

BAM.

Their car slammed straight into a pole, the screen flashing a dramatic Wasted across it.

“Oh, for—” Y/N choked, dropping their controller as the chat erupted into chaos.

LMAOOOOOOO THE TIMING

Y/N JUST DIED IRL AND IN GAME

nah y/n is GONEEEE

giselle walked in and y/n forgot how to function pls

Giselle raised an eyebrow, glancing at the screen before turning back to Y/N with an all-too-knowing smirk. “Did you just crash because of me?”

Y/N scrambled to recover, their voice an octave higher than usual. “What? No. That was—that was lag.”

Giselle scoffed, stepping closer, placing one hand on the back of Y/N’s chair as she leaned down slightly. “Oh, really?”

Y/N swallowed hard, their grip tightening on the armrests. “…Yeah?”

Giselle tilted her head slightly, her face just close enough to make Y/N’s pulse go haywire. “So if I do this…” she murmured, her voice teasing as she brushed a stray strand of hair off her shoulder. “…I won’t distract you?”

Y/N was done for.

The chat went into full meltdown mode.

HELP THEYRE FLIRTING ON MAIN

GISELLE KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT SHE’S DOING LMAO

Y/N IS A GONER. CONFIRMED.

CLIP IT CLIP IT CLIP IT

Y/N cleared their throat, sitting up straight in a weak attempt to regain composure. “I—I think you should go before your friends leave without you.”

Giselle grinned, clearly enjoying every second of Y/N’s suffering. “Fine, fine. But don’t miss me too much.”

She turned to leave, and Y/N watched as she strolled toward the door. The moment she disappeared into the hallway, Y/N exhaled loudly and buried their face in their hands.

“Chat, I’m never recovering from that.”

WE CAN TELL LMAOOOO

nah you gotta go give her a real goodbye

you just let her walk away after destroying you like that??

be serious y/n GO AFTER HER

Y/N stared at the chat, still feeling like they had just been hit by a truck. But as the messages flooded in, something clicked in their head. They really did just let Giselle walk away like that after completely ruining their entire ability to function.

Before they could overthink it, Y/N hastily took off their headset and stood up. “Chat, you win. I’ll be right back.”

Leaving the stream running, they hurried out of the room, following the sound of Giselle’s voice toward the front door. When they reached the entrance, they found her casually checking her phone while waiting for her ride.

Giselle looked up as Y/N approached, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Didn’t think you’d leave your game just to see me off.”

Y/N ran a hand through their hair, feeling weirdly nervous. “I figured I should give you a proper goodbye. Since, y’know, you did completely wreck my ability to play.”

Giselle smirked. “Not my fault you get distracted so easily.”

Y/N scoffed. “Oh, it’s definitely your fault.”

Giselle tilted her head, studying them for a second before stepping a little closer. “Well… how do you plan on saying goodbye, then?”

Y/N hesitated for only a moment before reaching up to straighten the collar of her jacket, letting their fingers linger slightly before pulling away. “Have fun, okay? And don’t be too cool without me.”

Giselle chuckled. “Impossible.” She held their gaze for a second longer before leaning in just slightly, whispering, “Try not to crash any more cars while I’m gone.”

With that, she turned and stepped outside, leaving Y/N standing there, completely dazed all over again.

When Y/N finally made it back to their stream, they sat down and put their headset back on, their face still slightly flushed.

“…Chat, I hate to say this, but I think she knows exactly what she’s doing.”

The chat was, unsurprisingly, losing it.

YOU THINK????

THIS IS THE FUNNIEST THING EVER

Y/N IS SO DOWN BAD OMG

BRO Y/N LEFT STREAM FOR HER WE WON

nah the way giselle EATS THEM UP EVERY TIME

Y/N shook their head, groaning. “I should’ve stayed asleep today.”

But they didn’t mean it. Not even a little bit.

[hees-mine]

My neighbor - L. Heeseung

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader!

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, cum eating, cursing, dirty talk, alcohol, oral, age gap and the gap is gapping so if that makes you uncomfortable please do not read.

WC: 4,247k

-

You sighed for the thousand time while you sat on the couch watching whatever boring show that was on the tv.

You much rather be out having fun, partying, and enjoying yourself, maybe even getting fucked.

But no.

Instead, you’ve sat two cushions away from your neighbor while he “kept an eye on you.”

It was ridiculous you were old enough not to need someone checking in on you, but your parents insisted that it’d make them comfortable knowing a trusted adult was watching over you while they went on a romantic getaway.

You looked over at him with a glare while he laughed at something on the screen that you weren’t paying attention to. You eyed him from head to toe, and there was a look of disgust on your face. If it wasn’t for him, you could be out having the time of your life, but you calmed yourself down, reminding yourself it wasn’t heeseung’s fault. After all, he was a good friend of your parents. After moving into the lot next to yours a few years ago, he hit it off with your parents right away and soon became a staple in your household, coming over on weekends for dinner and family game night.

He was nice, and you enjoyed his company, don’t get it wrong, but right now, you didn’t, especially when you tried to sneak up to your room with hopes that he wouldn’t notice. Maybe you could escape out your window and enjoy your night after all, but alas. “Ah ah ah, sit down, missy.”

You sighed again, plopping down on the couch after he caught you.

A smile tugged at heeseung’s lips. He’s a bit too old to be fooled by your tricks. He’d been in your shoes before, so there was no way anything you did would get by him tonight.

“Come on, don’t be like that. It’s only one week,” he says as if that wasn’t like a thousand days to a teenager. “Are you hungry? I’m not much of a cook, but I could make some tomato soup, or we could order out whatever sounds good to you.”

You appreciate his offer, you really do, and you should happily accept, seeing how he’s taking time out of his week to make sure you’re safe fed and taken care of, but that itch of defiance and frustration overpower you, and you find yourself declining.

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” You slouch down in your seat, folding your arms over your chest and getting a pouty look on your face.

Such a crybaby, heeseung thinks, but doesn’t say it out loud, knowing you’d hate it if he called you that.

“Well, I’m starving, so I’m gonna order a pizza,” he announced and pulled out his phone, ordering everything he liked.

It only takes twenty minutes for it to arrive again. You attempted to run off, but sadly, the transaction between heeseung and the pizza delivery guy was too short for you to make your great escape.

You don’t know how long it’s been now, but long enough to get you even more agitated because you could be at the party you were invited to. It’s been started for an hour or more, but instead, here you are, stuck with your neighbor while he sits across from you, dining on his pizza like it’s a delicacy.

“Can I please go out, heeseung? I promise I won’t tell if you let me,” You give in, pleading with him to let you go out.

“No can do it. It’s my duty to make sure you stay here. Besides, your parents trust me, and I wouldn’t want to break it,” he says strictly.

You throw your head back exaggeratedly, and he can’t help but laugh, making your head snap back to look at him with eyes that could kill.

“What’s so great out there anyway?” he asks, taking a sip from his pop.

“Music friends drinks,” you list out all the things you’re missing out on. “Dick,” you mutter, but he hears you anyway, nearly spitting out his drink.

“You drink?!” He asks wide-eyed because you’re underage, and that’s why he’s so shocked.

“Duh, get with the times, old man.” You roll your eyes at him.

“I’ll have you know I’m only thirty-eight,” he replied, unamused by you.

“Yeah, old.”

“I’m gonna ignore that comment since you’re an emotional teenager figuring yourself out.” This time, you look at him unamused by what he said. “What? Fair play.” he shrugged, both of you, knowing there was no real harm meant by your exchange. “Anyway, I’m still not understanding your problem because everything you want is right here,” he says nonchalantly.

You looked at him weirdly, wondering what he meant by that.

Noticing your confusion, he elaborated.

“There’s booze in the cabinet. I can play some music. We’re friends, I think? And well,” he sets his food aside, spreading his legs on the sofa and facing you. “I have a dick,” he says casually.

He couldn’t help the slight smile that graced his features by your shocked reaction. He didn’t know why you were so surprised. He supposed his idea was a bit outlandish, but it kills two birds with one stone. He’ll know for a fact. You’re safe, and you can have your little party at home with him.

“Heeseung, stop joking.” Laughing nervously, your eyes shifted away from him, unable to comprehend what he said. You understood it perfectly fine, but you couldn’t quite grasp that he was actually being serious.

“I’m not. besides, this solves our problem. I know that you’re safe with me, and you can get everything you want.”

Okay, as good as that sounded, you have to decline. That would be stepping over boundaries you could never uncross.

Besides, it's heeseung you couldn’t. He was too near and dear to your parents. You couldn’t risk it and muddy up their relationship by fucking your neighbor. You don’t know how they’d feel if they ever found out something like that. “Heeseung, we shouldn’t my parents trust you.”

“Oh, so now you understand my point of view,” he laughs. “But it’s alright.” he places his hand on your thigh, scooting closer to you. “I’m sure you can keep a secret, isn’t that right, little alcoholic?” he teases you about your drinking habits, giving your thigh a light pinch.

“Stop it,” you giggled, pushing at his shoulder playfully.

“It’s up to you, Angel.” You nearly lose it at the nickname, his voice going straight to your core.

Since when were you attracted to your neighbor?

“What if I say yes?” You ask, your hand placed on his chest and trailing down to his stomach.

“Then I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.” he leans in his hot breath, fanning your face. “So what’s it gonna be?”

“Yes,” you whisper, lips brushing across his from the proximity.

His soft lips press against yours, and his eyes flutter shut. “I’ll be right back,” he parts from you to go to the kitchen, grabbing the alcohol from the cabinet and two shot glasses before turning off the kitchen lights and coming back to you.

“Oh?” you say with a raised brow, noting the liquor he chose.

“Thought you might like it,” he said, sitting back on the couch.

“It’s my favorite.” he smiles at that, grabbing the remote to put on his R&B playlist. After setting the remote down, he grabs the bottle, pouring you both a shot. “To secrets.” he holds his glass up to yours, clanking it softly.

“To secrets,” you smirk at him, both of you downing the shot.

The alcohol burns through your system, already heating your body up with a very familiar desire.

His eyes drop to your lips, zeroing in on the sheen from the alcohol that covers them, making them look so much more enticing than they already do.

He doesn’t hold himself back from leaning into you and pressing his lips against yours. He pulled back a little, resting his forehead against yours with a breathless chuckle before he reattached his lips to yours.

You don’t shy away from cupping his face, tilting your head to the side to feel more of him.

He placed his hand on your right thigh, rubbing sensually to the music that plays in the background.

He’s the first to open his mouth, giving you full access to him. Immediately, your tongue finds his as you lick your way into his mouth, and you could have never imagined your neighbor was such a good kisser.

He slides his hand upward, slipping it underneath your shut to cup your covered breast, and you moan softly into his mouth. He hums at the softness, his other hand doing the same.

Both his hands work to unclasp your bra, the material sliding down your waist, leaving you with nothing to separate the feeling of his warm hands kneading your tender breasts.

You cry out as he toys with your hardened nipples. Unable to keep the kiss in rhythm, he opts to leave wet mout,h kisses along your jaw as your hands tangle in his hair. You arch into his touch, heat pooling in your core.

He teases the tip of your earlobe with his tongue, and from then on, the quiet whimpers that leave your lips are endless.

His warm wet tongue traces along your jawline before he nibbles your ear lobe, and you can’t say your pussy didn’t clench from the feeling. “More heeseung, please.”

Releasing your earlobe from his mouth, he leaned back to take in your flushed state.

Wordlessly, he tugs on the hem of your shirt, and you lift it over your head, tossing it on the floor.

He smirks at the sight of your bare chest, feeling his dick grow harder as he eyes each of your perked nipples. Using the couch to brace himself, he hovers over you, tongue flicking on your left nipple as your hands desperately work on his button-up one button at a time till they’re fully undone.

“Heeseung,” you moan, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and revealing his broad chest.

Your hands have a mind of their own as you caress his body up and down. He shivers from your touch, nipples growing hard as your fingers graze them.

One hand slides up his back and into his hair, the other going lower to press down on the bulge in his pants. “God,” he grunts as you stimulate his sensitive cock under his pants.

He lazily licks up your chest kissing and sucking anywhere he can reach. He takes his shirt off the rest of the way to caress your body, his large hands gripping and pulling you closer by the waist.

Inpatient, you tug on his pants, letting him know you want them off, and he’s quick to give you what you want. Standing up, he sheds his pants off, throwing them to the other side of the living room.

Joining him, you stand as well, and before you can, he’s already yanking your pajamas down, and you giggle at his eagerness.

He laughs softly and raises a brow, looking at your panties that cling to your crotch with arousal, and it’s obvious what he wants. “What?” You say, pretending to be oblivious.

He steps closer, fingers dipping into your waistband, and he’s happy to clear up any confusion on your end. “Let me eat that pussy, baby” he lets the waistband snap and hit your skin, making you let out a soft moan.

He presses himself against you, his cock nudged right against your pussy, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck, pushing your core against him. “Please,” you whimper as you feel him intentionally rubbing his bulge on you.

He easily picks you up, placing you down on the edge of the couch and kneeling in front of it, spreading your legs open. “Let’s take these off” he grabs your panties, pulling them off your trembling legs and revealing your soaked cunt.

Looking up at you, he smirks at the sight of your cunt. It’s literally dripping. “You look so fucking good,” he grunts, eyes nearly rolling back in his head. Your little cunt is all wet and messy all because of him.

He bends down, inhaling your scent, eyes falling shut as his cock twitches beneath his underwear. “Smells so good,” he whispers, his breath blowing across your pussy lips, watching as you clench around nothing.

He pressed his lips to your clit, making you jolt from the first contact, and he smiled already from how reactive you were to his touch. Opening his mouth, he flattened his tongue, licking upwards between your folds, the tip of his tongue right on your hole where your juices flow out of.

“Tastes good, too” his brows knit in concentration as he makes out with your pussy sucking, kissing, and licking all the parts that had you roughly gripping his hair and whimpering his name.

“Feels so good, heeseung fuck” you cry out, watching as his skilled tongue pleasures your pussy. The sight was almost too much for your racing heart to handle.

He caressed and massaged your thighs, his right hand sneaking up to play with your hole, circling his thumb around it, teasing your engorged folds that beg for releases.

“Please put your finger in me.” Looking up at you, he shoves his thumb inside your hole, feeling you clench immediately.

“Yes fuck” you whimper as his tongue circles your clit, and he fucks your hole with his thumb.

He hums in satisfaction, sending little vibrations on your clit, and you made the huge mistake of locking eyes with him. The moment you did, you came crashing down embarrassingly quick, your moans mixing with the lewd wet sounds of him eating your pussy.

Your legs quiver, thighs clamping around his head as he works you through it, moaning into your pussy cause of the beautiful taste you left on his tongue.

You breathe out shakily, your hands slowly combing through his hair as your cunt throbs uncontrollably, sucking on his thumb, and he can’t wait to feel the same on his dick.

He cleans everything that your hole pushes out with his tongue lapping and savoring every last bit of it. “Love the way you taste,” he moans, not leaving any inch of your pussy untouched by his tongue. He made sure to collect every last drop of your release. “Could eat you all day.”

A shiver runs down his spine as the taste of you lingers on his tongue, and he might just be obsessed with you after that.

Kissing your inner thighs, his thumbs circle your flesh, your fingers tickling his scalp making his dick twitch.

Reluctantly parting from you, he stands up, and the unmistakable bulge in his boxers catches your eyes. You involuntarily lick your lips just at the thought of his cock.

He smirks, reaching for your hands and placing them on the waistband of his underwear, waiting for you to make the next move. With a swiftness, you pull down his underwear freeing his hard dick.

He bites his bottom lip softly as your right hand wraps around his girth, the other teasing at his waistline with your fingertips.

You hear him groan quietly as you twist your wrist, massaging his cock in a circular motion.

He outstretched his arm, his left hand teasing your nipple, tugging on it while you worked his length. The moment a bead of precum leaked from his tip, you immediately gathered it on your fingertip, tapping the head of his cock lightly.

You brought your finger to your mouth, sucking his precum off, eyes meeting his as you swirled your tongue around the tip.

His cock twitched at the action, and you placed your hands on his waist, pulling him forward until he had no choice but to join you on the couch, his knees resting beside your legs as he hovered over you.

The position confuses him at first, but the moment you sunk lower on the couch, leveling your face with his crotch, he knew he was in for it.

He looked down just in time to watch you open your mouth to lick his tip, his body shuddering as he let out a short breath. “Hmm”

Swirling your tongue around his shaft, you opened up wide, hands going to the backs of his thighs, taking his length into your mouth.

You nudged him closer, giving him a hint, and he slowly began to move his hips, thrusting forward carefully into your mouth. “Shit,” he hisses, dragging his length out, then pushing back into the wet warmness of your mouth.

-

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[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

Can I see some hcs on a sub Mydei (if you can see it even being possible) there's barely any and I want to see him being a sub for once...

୨ৎ Warnings : dom!fem reader．nsfw/smut hcs ， bratty Mydei ， using a strap on Mydei while he sits on your lap ，forcing Mydei to wear a tight shirt that shows is physique ，pegging ， holding organsm ，small fic bonus under the cut ! ✧

୨ৎ Note : tysm for sending this ask to me nonnie! sub mydei is so underrated! (˶˃ᆺ˂˶)

Sub!Mydei who always… manages to stir up trouble, pushing your buttons with that playful grin. He loves to test your patience, and the way he smirks at you only makes your resolve stronger. He knows he’s getting under your skin, but deep down, he craves the kind of attention that only you can give him.

Sub!Mydei who always… wears that tight shirt you forced him into, showcasing his toned physique perfectly. It clings to him, accentuating every curve and muscle, and you can’t help but admire the view as he sits on your lap. “Do you like what you see?” he teases, his voice dripping with playful confidence. You respond by tightening your grip around his waist, reminding him who’s in charge.

Sub!Mydei who always… finds himself squirming as you strap on the harness. As he sinks onto your lap, you slide the tip of the strap-on against him, feeling him pulse with anticipation. “You know how much I love it when you sit on me,” you say, your voice low and sultry. He bites his lip, trying to keep his composure, but you can see the desire in his eyes. “You’re going to take it like a good boy, right?”

Sub!Mydei who always… tries to act tough, but you can feel his resolve waver as you press the strap-on inside him. He gasps, his body instinctively arching against you, and a teasing smirk crosses his face. “I didn’t think you had it in you,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, but his breath hitches, betraying his need. “Maybe you’re not as dominant as you think.”

Sub!Mydei who always… pushes back against you, eager to take control as he starts to ride you. You relish in the way his hips move, the way he tries to regain dominance, but you know how to remind him of his place. “Careful now—I might have to teach you a lesson,” you say, your voice thick with authority. He grins, mischief dancing in his eyes, and challenges you, “Is that a promise?”

Sub!Mydei who always… finds himself losing focus as you pull him closer, your fingers gripping his waist, guiding him with just the right pressure. “You love this, don’t you?” you whisper, watching his expression shift from playful defiance to pure pleasure. “You can admit it; I won’t tell anyone.” He gasps, the heat of your words sending him over the edge.

Sub!Mydei who always… succumbs to the pleasure you provide, desperately chasing after release as he grinds against you. Each thrust sends shockwaves of ecstasy through both of you, and you can feel his cock straining against the fabric of his tight shirt. “I can’t take it anymore!” he gasps, his voice laced with desperation. “Please, I need you to let me cum!”

Sub!Mydei who always… tries to maintain his playful demeanor but can’t help but let out moans that betray him. “You’re so much better at this than I thought,” he admits, breathless and overwhelmed. “Maybe I should let you take control more often.” You smirk, enjoying the way he surrenders to the pleasure while still trying to cling to that teasing nature.

Sub!Mydei who always… finds himself completely at your mercy, his body responding to every command you give. As you guide him closer to the edge, you remind him how good it feels to let go. “Just relax and let me take care of you,” you coax, watching as his eyes roll back in pleasure. The tension in his body builds, and with one last push, he’s finally spilling over the edge, calling out your name as he finds his release.

ఌ Bonus : (Riding sub!mydei’s cock)

You find yourself in the dimly lit room, the air thick with anticipation as you watch sub!Mydei, his posture relaxed yet alert, sitting on the edge of the bed. The sight of him in that tight shirt, clinging to his toned physique, makes your heart race. You can see the outline of his cock pressing against the fabric, a clear indication of his excitement.

“Are you ready for me, Mydei?” you ask, your voice sultry as you step closer, a teasing smile on your lips. He looks up at you, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’ve been ready for a while now,” he replies, his tone cheeky but laced with genuine need. You can’t help but chuckle at his audacity, but you know he’s about to get what he wants.

You slowly climb onto the bed, positioning yourself above him. The sight of him, the cock that’s waiting just for you, makes your breath hitch. You feel the heat radiating from him, and you’re ready to take control. “Then let’s see if you can handle me,” you say, lowering yourself onto him, feeling the head of his cock brushing against your slick entrance.

Mydei lets out a shaky breath, his eyes darkening with desire. “Damn, you feel amazing,” he groans as you sink down, taking him deep inside you. The fullness makes you moan, your body instinctively adjusting to him. You love the way he fills you, the feeling of his cock stretching you just right.

As you begin to rock your hips, you can see his resolve start to crumble. “You’re such a good boy for me,” you purr, relishing the way he bites his lip, trying to suppress his moans. “I want to hear you, Mydei. Let me know how good this feels.” With every thrust, you bring yourself closer to that sweet, familiar tension, and you love seeing him unravel beneath you.

“God, you’re so tight,” he gasps, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements. You can feel his cock hitting all the right spots, sending electric jolts through your body. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he admits, his voice breathy and desperate. You can feel your clit throbbing in response, each roll of your hips igniting the fire within you.

“Then let’s make it worth the wait,” you reply, picking up the pace, riding him harder. Your body moves in a rhythm that drives you both wild, and you feel the heat building within you. You can tell he’s close, the way his breath quickens and his grip on you tightens. “I can feel you getting close, Mydei. Are you going to cum for me?”

“Yes! Please!” he cries out, his voice filled with urgency. “I need to feel you cum around my cock!” The way he begs only heightens your desire, and you feel a rush of power knowing that you’re the one bringing him to this point of bliss.

“Not yet,” you tease, slowing down just a bit to make him squirm. You want to prolong the pleasure, to see how much he can take. “I want you to beg for it.” The challenge in your voice only fuels his need, and you watch as he tries to regain his composure, a mixture of frustration and longing on his face.

“Please, I can’t hold back much longer! I need to cum!” His desperation only adds to the intensity, and you quicken your pace once more, taking him deeper and harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with the moans and gasps that escape both of your lips.

“Good boy,” you whisper, feeling your own orgasm approaching. You lean forward, capturing his lips with yours in a heated kiss, the taste of him igniting every nerve in your body. “Cum for me, Mydei. I want to feel you fill me.” The command spills from your lips, and that’s all it takes.

With a loud groan, he finally releases, his cock pulsing inside you as waves of pleasure crash over him. You can feel him spilling his essence, filling you completely, and the sensation sends you spiraling into your own climax. The two of you ride out the waves together, lost in the bliss of the moment.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[holylulusworld]

Collateral Damage

Summary: He only wanted some coffee.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: secret admirer, kinda love-struck Bucky, shooting, violence, blood, getting shot

Bucky hates it when things go wrong. He just hates it. Especially when he didn’t expect things to go awry.

On any other day, he’d expect things to turn out for the worst. Just not today. Today, of all days, shit had to hit the fan.

All he wanted was a coffee at his favorite café and a slice of the pie the owner bakes every Friday.

If he’s honest, Bucky would admit that he comes to the little bakery every Friday afternoon to see the woman he spotted some months ago.

She’s there every Friday after work to order tea, chamomile, and a cupcake. Sometimes she’s adventurous and takes a cinnamon roll.

Bucky chuckled when he heard her talk to the barista, telling her she wanted to be wild that day. He couldn’t help but smile at her innocent guilty pleasure. She was so unlike the people in his life. Sweet and kind.

Today, he wanted to talk to her. Today, he planned on introducing himself to the sweet woman stealing his heart bit by bit over the last few months.

Fate had different plans...

One hour earlier.

Bucky is in a good mood. No, he’s having one of the best days of his life. Business is good. He’s on top of the food chain, and he will finally talk to the woman he’s going to make his queen one day. – One step after another.

He opens the door to the little café he found when he was aimlessly roaming the streets of New York. Bucky only wanted to blow off some steam and sort his thoughts but ended up at the little café with coffee and pie. Finding so much more.

Bucky smiles as the little bell above the door rings. It feels like coming home every time he enters this place.

The owner greets him whenever Bucky is around, and the barista knows his favorite order. A risk, Bucky’s best friend Steve would say. Escapism from his life, Bucky would say.

She’s already there, engrossed in yet another book. This time, it’s a dark romance novel about a mafia boss and a shy librarian. Bucky knows because he googled the name to find out as much as possible about the books she loves to read.

“Hello,” the owner waves at Bucky, smiling as she passes him by. “Frankie will get you the usual.”

“Thank you,” Bucky nods before looking for a table closer to her. It’s the first time he’ll sit close to her, not at his favorite table, to watch her from afar.

“All for our favorite regular,” she says, walking away to check on the pies in the back of the café.

Bucky smiles. A soft smile, a genuine one. This place holds magic he can’t explain. It’s the calm in his life. Haven. An escape.

“Coffee and cherry pie coming your way,” the waitress says, balancing a tray in one hand.

Bucky frowns. He’s not a fan of changes. The new face walking toward his table, chirping and smiling as she struggles to not drop the tray, brings tension back into these fleeting, peaceful moments he spent at the café.

His instinct kicks in seconds before the waitress drops the tray to point her gun at him. Bucky takes her out with one precise shot, a bullet to her forehead.

People start to scream, and chaos breaks out. Most of the customers ran out of the café, along with the owner.

“I won’t miss,” the barista he chatted with so many times says. They jump over the counter, gun aimed at Bucky. “Your time has come.”

Bucky huffs. He’s about to shoot his attacker when a book hits the barista’s head. It’s almost hilarious. If not for the gun pointing in his direction, Bucky would laugh.

“Bitch,” the barista turns their attention toward you, their attacker. You gasp and drop to the ground, crawling under the table as they shoot in your direction.

Bucky reacts in a split second. He tackles the barista to the ground, taking them out with one hard punch to the chin. “Bastard, I’ll get to you later.”

He gets back up to look for her, his savior, and the sweet woman who enchanted him. Bucky gasps, watching you hunch over, blood soaking your pretty sundress.

“Doll, no,” he crouches beside you to cradle you in his arms. Bucky presses his hand to the wound on your arm, sighing because it’s not a deadly wound. “I’m so sorry. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“I,” you carefully touch his hand. “That wasn’t how I expected to get to know your name finally…”

[kaxserlvr]

Im not sure if you write for him but could you write megumi x reader and like a quiet intimate moment between them pls and ty

Synopsis: After a hard mission you feel down until Megumi gives you words of advice

The night was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. You sat on a crumbling stone ledge overlooking a vast canyon, the stars above reflecting faintly on her face . You stared up at them, your expression distant.

Megumi approached silently, his footsteps soft but deliberate. He didn’t announce himself, but you always seemed to sense his presence.

“You’re not much for sneaking around, are you?” You said without looking at him, your tone light.

“I wasn’t trying to,” megumi replied, his voice as calm and measured as always. He stopped a few feet away, folding his arms as he glanced at her. “You’ve been quiet since the mission.”

You shrugged, keeping your eyes on the stars. “Guess I just needed some air. Things have been… a lot lately.”

Megumi didn’t reply immediately. He could tell from the way your shoulders tensed that you weren’t just “getting some air.” He hesitated—vulnerability wasn’t his strength—but eventually stepped closer, leaning against a nearby rock.

“I know what it’s like to feel… unbalanced,” he said at last.

You finally looked at him, your eyes searching his face. “Do you? Because right now, it feels like I’m the only one who can’t seem to keep it together.”

Megumi met your gaze, unflinching. “You’re not.”

The sincerity in his voice startled you, and you turned your attention back to the sky. “Sometimes I think about what it’d be like if I wasn’t… this. If I wasn’t a sorcerer, fighting to save other lives —while trying to keep mine” you chuckled bitterly. “Would it make a difference?”

“You don’t know the answer to that,” Megumi said firmly. “And you won’t until you figure out who you really are.”

You sighed, pulling your knees to your chest. “Easy for you to say. You already know who you are—or at least, you think you do.”

Megumi’s jaw tightened. “You think I have it all figured out?” He shook his head, his voice quiet but edged with emotion. “I’m still trying to answer the same questions you’re asking now. And I’m still searching.”

That confession caught you off guard. You turned to him again, your expression softening. “Then… why don’t you just stop? Why keep going if it’s so hard?”

Megumis’s dark blue eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall silent. “Because there are people worth fighting for,” he said simply. “And I think you might be one of them.”

You felt your breath caught in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You weren’t sure if it was his words or the way he looked at you, as though he saw every part of you—the broken pieces, the doubts, and still found you worth saving.

But, as always, Megumi was quick to pull away, his expression hardening once more. “Don’t let what happened control you,” he added, standing upright. “You’re stronger than that.”

“Fushiguro…” you started, but he was already turning away, his stride purposeful and deliberate.

He paused just before disappearing into the shadows, his voice softer this time. “The stars don’t remember what they were before they burned. Maybe you don’t need to, either.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you staring after him, your heart a mix of emotions you weren’t sure you’d could name.

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

General Sevika Headcannons (p.2)

Sevika x Female Reader (Fluff)

Content: Slightly modern Zaun.

Proofread || Note: These are so random, I just happen to love this woman.

Sitting at an empty table, waiting for the rest of Silco’s goons to show up, she’ll turn the paper straw covers into tiny rings for you. She’ll even ask the bartender for a pen and draw shaky little hearts all around it. Has she ever given you them? No, she’ll ends up stuffing them in her vest if she finds it cringe.

Real life stalker. Let’s say you’re out on a girls night, drinking and dancing in your short little dress with your face all prettied up with makeup. Sevika, who knew how dangerously sexy you looked in your outfit, went out to.. watch over you. She wouldn’t use the word follow, shadow, nor stalk. She was just.. well, protecting you. Keeping all the drunken men away from her goddess of a girlfriend.

Has candles around her apartment to mask the smell of sweat, alcohol, and cigarettes. Her signature scent? A nice, warm woody smell. She dislikes rough perfumes that smell like cakes and cookies, something softer for the nostrils is her go to.

Takes you out on library dates in Piltover. She wants you to have more options, more opportunities to read books from the city of progress. But, in her personal opinion, she prefers taking you to libraries in Zaun. Yes, she will get a discount but, not only that, the “aesthetic vibes,” she learned that from a kid, fit you. The dark oak of the bookshelves with the worn, yet loved conditions of the rest of the place, she thinks you prefer that more than the bright, obnoxious lighting of the libraries in Piltover. Is she biased? Yeah. She is. She won’t deny it. She loves Zaun, no matter the condition.

Brings home a new blanket every month. Walking past the Everything Store, she’ll come across a fluffy new blanket with designs that just catch her eyes. Without a doubt, she’ll risk being ten minutes late for her new and exciting blanket— that she’ll fold and keep on the sofa in case the apartment got too chilly.

Was never into shirts until you smothered her with affection after seeing her in a red and black button up. She has never gotten over that and, almost everynight, will think about it with her cheeks all heated. Now, she wears them every day she’s off duty. Wandering around the apartment impatiently waiting for you to notice her.

Lets you tie her hair into pigtails and draw whiskers on her cheeks.

She knows how much you love “yapping” to her. Be it drama from a year ago that you randomly remembered, how your day has been, or even if you came across an old friend, Sevika will happily listen to your rants with full attention. But, if you grow too emotional [sad, angry, hurt] she’ll shut you up with a brief kiss on your lips.

Collects beads. Any color. Any type.

On your one year anniversary, she gifted you a necklace that she, herself, had made. The charm being two bullets from the finest gun she owned, she even went further and wrote the both of your initials on them.

Would love to have her hair cut by you but she’s scared you’ll give her a fat bald spot. So, she lets you trim her ends and give her layers— she even suggested matching with the hairstyle.

Okay bye I’m tired

[feralmode]

it actually pisses me off so much whenever anyone calls andrew a sociopath. ik not everyone is privy to the details of his life but you want to come after andrew minyard??? the love of my damn life??? and pretend he doesn't have FEELINGS????

andrew, who finally found a loving mother after years of abuse in the foster system and wanted so badly to be loved he tried to force himself to endure more abuse, and only put a stop to it to protect a brother he’d never met

andrew, who fights fiercely to protect other people's boundaries no matter who they are, even if it's his own family crossing a line

andrew, who learned exy in juvie and managed to put enough effort into it to become the best damn goalkeeper in class 1 exy

andrew, who told his uncle about his abuse to make sure his abuser wouldn’t have access to any more kids after him, only to be told it was a misunderstanding

andrew, who nearly killed the men who attacked his cousin and then was drugged against his will for nearly three years and took every opportunity to fight for sobriety even though it made him sick

andrew, who promised to protect kevin on only the hope of a future will to live because he wanted it so badly, because kevin told him he was worth something

andrew, who befriended renee when he discovered how similar they were and trusted her with his past and learned from her a way to protect himself and the people he cares about, who talks to her about the zombie apocalypse and world war 3 and spars with her when he's upset and only wins half their fights and never treats her like her faith or kindness make her weak or fragile

andrew, who fully trusts and believes in bee's ability to help him, laughs when she sends him funny texts, buys her souvenirs at the airport, and would go back for her in an apocalypse

andrew, who shut down the goal because wymack asked him to, but pretended it was for the booze

andrew, who falls for a man who’s an obvious liar and a runaway, knowing it could kill him to let someone in again, "maybe i'm not as smart as i thought i was"

andrew, who says yes to neil because neil is the only one who actually pays attention to how andrew thinks and listens to his reasons and offers him something in return for his loyalty, who gets close to neil because neil respects his no, "that's why"

andrew, who’s afraid of heights

andrew, who fights fiercely to protect the people he loves but won’t tell them why, because caring almost killed him the first time, who keeps his promises, "fuck you for expecting anything else"

andrew, who is fighting so, so hard to be alive and never gets any credit for it

andrew, who does end up smiling after he comes off the drugs, god damn it i will die on this hill!!!!

literally don't say shit to me about andrew "has feelings" minyard

[kathaelipwse]

GOT7 | Headcanons

Theme: Members As Friends And Lovers

Requested by: @canigotosleep--plz

Warnings: Fluff and just fluff, Neutral gender!reader, my personal opinions!!!

Word Count: 1.0k

Mark Tuan

❀ As a Friend:

The type to listen quietly and then drop the most insightful advice.

Will send you a simple "You good?" text instead of asking too many questions.

Always down for a spontaneous road trip or late-night drive in silence.

The one who remembers your favorite food and orders it for you before you ask.

Rarely starts conversations but always responds when you need him.

❤️ As a Lover:

Love Language: Acts of Service & Quality Time.

Prefers subtle physical affection—hand-holding, thigh touches while driving, and soft back hugs.

He’s not the type for over-the-top gestures, but he makes sure you know he loves you through actions.

Might not say "I love you" often, but his eyes show it every time he looks at you.

Loves watching you when you’re not paying attention—he thinks you're the most beautiful when you're just being yourself.

The kind of boyfriend who lets you nap on his chest and absentmindedly plays with your hair.

Lim Jae-beom

❀ As a Friend:

Looks out for you like a protective older brother.

Roasts you all the time but will fight anyone who actually upsets you.

Is the first one to notice if you’re stressed and forces you to take a break.

Would drive you home at 3 AM just to make sure you’re safe.

If he says he’ll be there for you, he means it—he’s as loyal as they come.

❤️ As a Lover:

Love Language: Physical Touch & Words of Affirmation.

Super touchy but in a non-obvious way—lingering hand touches, resting his hand on your thigh, or pulling you close when walking.

Lowkey enjoys cuddling but won’t admit it—he just “accidentally” falls asleep with you in his arms.

He might act cool, but he’s obsessed with kissing you, especially slow, deep kisses.

If he’s jealous, he won’t say anything—he’ll just pull you closer and make sure everyone knows you’re his.

Finds excuses to touch you, like fixing your hair or tracing small circles on your back when sitting together.

Jackson Wang

❀ As a Friend:

The ultimate hype man—your biggest cheerleader in life.

Insists on FaceTiming you instead of texting.

If you're sad, he’ll take you out for a fun adventure to cheer you up.

Will introduce you to every single person he knows and brag about how amazing you are.

Gets over-the-top dramatic about everything just to make you laugh.

❤️ As a Lover:

Love Language: Physical Touch & Quality Time.

Super affectionate—hugs, kisses, and hand-holding all the time.

He has zero shame about PDA—if he loves you, the world should know.

Loves lifting you off the ground when he hugs you.

Needs constant physical closeness—he’ll drape himself over you from behind like a human koala.

If you’re apart for too long, expect a dramatic “I missed you so much!!” the moment he sees you again.

Park Jin-young

❀ As a Friend:

The mom friend—he always makes sure you're making smart decisions.

Likes intellectual conversations and debating random topics for fun.

Pretends to be serious but actually has the best sense of humor.

He'll send you book recommendations and expect you to discuss them with him.

If you have a problem, he’ll help you solve it logically but with a side of sarcasm.

❤️ As a Lover:

Love Language: Words of Affirmation & Quality Time.

Prefers small, meaningful touches—a hand squeeze, brushing your hair away, or a soft kiss before leaving.

He’s not the type for over-the-top PDA, but in private, he’s incredibly soft and loving.

Loves slow, deep kisses that last longer than expected.

Would rather whisper sweet things in your ear than say them out loud in front of others.

Writes you letters when he’s feeling sentimental but acts like it’s “not a big deal.”

Choi Young-jae

❀ As a Friend:

A literal ray of sunshine—his energy is contagious.

Always sending you memes and dog photos to brighten your day.

Will drop whatever he's doing if you need help.

If you're sad, he’ll hug you until you feel better (and maybe write a song about it).

The most genuinely happy for your successes.

❤️ As a Lover:

Love Language: Physical Touch & Words of Affirmation.

Loves cuddling—he could stay in bed all day just snuggled up with you.

Will randomly grab your hand and swing it back and forth while walking.

Likes to playfully boop your nose or poke your cheeks just to make you laugh.

Gets shy when expressing feelings but his touch says it all—soft, lingering, and full of love.

The type to hug you from behind while you’re doing something and just stay there for a while.

BamBam

❀ As a Friend:

Your fashion guru—always wants to go shopping with you.

Loves taking aesthetic photos of you for Instagram.

Teases you all the time, but if someone else does, he gets defensive real quick.

Randomly calls you just to gossip and catch up.

Will buy you a ridiculous gift “just because it reminded me of you.”

❤️ As a Lover:

Love Language: Gift Giving & Physical Touch.

Always flirting—he loves seeing you blush.

Loves PDA but in a playful way—wants to make others jealous of how cute you two are.

Randomly grabs your face and kisses you just because he can.

Buys you expensive gifts but acts like it’s “no big deal.”

If you’re feeling down, expect a shopping trip and a fancy dinner date to lift your mood.

Kim Yugyeom

❀ As a Friend:

The gentle giant—sweet but surprisingly mischievous.

Always down for a random dance battle.

Loves sending you weird, funny TikToks at 2 AM.

The friend who carries your bags without you asking.

If you need a hug, he's got you covered—big, warm, comforting bear hugs.

❤️ As a Lover:

Love Language: Physical Touch & Quality Time.

Loves touching you absentmindedly—playing with your fingers, resting his head on your shoulder, or leaning against you.

Slow kisses are his thing—deep, meaningful, and just enough to make your heart race.

Likes to wrap his arms around you from behind and sway gently.

If he’s lying down, expect him to pull you into his chest for cuddles without asking.

Prefers spending time together over texting—even if you’re just sitting in comfortable silence.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 19 - XOXO

@wolfstarmicrofic February 19, word count 575

“Remus, can I ask you something?” Harry hovered by the kitchen door. Remus put down the parchment he’d been pouring over and gave Harry his full attention. 

“Anything, fire away.” He waved Harry towards the wooden chair opposite him. Harry sat down and stared at his clasped hands. Remus waited patiently for him to begin. Whatever it was must be big, as Harry wasn’t usually shy with him. 

“Okay, so I’m sending someone a Valentine’s Day card, and I don’t know how to sign it off. You’re the only one I can ask who won’t laugh at me. I asked Sirius, and he ended up rolling around on the floor making kissy faces at me.” Remus cleared his throat, forcing the laughter bubbling inside him to dissipate. Harry needed a parental figure, and as usual, Sirius was more like a big brother than the guide Harry needed. 

“What ideas have you got so far?” He asked. Harry squirmed a bit on his chair, his cheeks burning red as he tried to control his embarrassment. 

“XOXO,” He winced as a loud snot escaped Remus’s nose. 

“Sorry, sorry, won’t happen again, promise,” Remus apologised to a stricken Harry. “Right, er, does this person know you like them?” He asked once he’d got a grip in himself. Harry nodded. 

“Yeah, I’ve er. I’ve kind of been seeing someone in secret for a little while.” Harry admitted, ducking his head so he couldn’t see Remus’s reaction. Remus blinked away his bewilderment. 

“Harry, that’s wonderful. Do I know this lucky person?” Harry’s face went, if possible, even redder. 

“Sort of. I wouldn’t say you know him—” Harry’s mouth snapped shut. Clearly, he hadn’t meant to out himself. Remus would need to tread carefully. 

“Harry, you know I have absolutely no problem with that, right? I mean, you know Sirius and I are together. How could I ever have a problem with you liking boys?” He stood up and knelt on the floor beside Harry’s chair and looked up at his worried ward. “Harry, whoever it is, I’m sure we’ll love them.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Harry scoffed, but he had a smile on his face as he did. 

“Don’t put XOXO. A simple kiss will do. Much more romantic, in my opinion.”

“Thanks, Remus,” Harry leant over and gave him a hug before pulling a card out of his pocket and a ballpoint pen. He opened the card, put an x at the bottom of the message inside, and quickly snapped it shut. “Well, I’d better go and send this.” 

Remus watched as Harry stuffed the card into an envelope and rushed out of the room to go and deliver it. 

“So he likes boys, huh?” Sirius asked, walking into the kitchen after the front door had slammed shut. 

“Apparently so,” Remus replied, getting up from the floor and walking into Sirius’s waiting arms. 

“Suppose we should have the talk with him?” Sirius chuckled in Remus’s ear. 

“Probably. Let’s leave it until after Valentine’s Day, though.” 

“He’s going to be gone a while, I bet,” Sirius said, kissing along Remus’s jaw. “We should go practice what the booklet says, just so we can be sure we’re familiar with the literature.” Remus laughed joyfully and let Sirius lead him up the stairs to their bedroom. Remus didn’t want to take any chances and made sure to lock their door, just in case Harry happened to come home sooner than they thought. 

[alienoresimagines]

Those drunk confessions are so good for clegan. What do you think of #17?

Hiii, I hope you're well <3 It's been SO long but here it is, finally, 8.9k words of Buck and Bucky yearning for each other :)

Clegan Masterlist

17 : "I’m not drunk. Can a drunk person do this?" "You’re not doing anything." "But… I sent you my love. Did you… did you not get it?" by @creativepromptsforwriting here

Are there some aces up your sleeve? (Have you no idea that you're in deep?) | Buck x Bucky (Link to AO3)

“You’re so pretty, Buck.” John’s gaze flicks up and down his face before his face softens in a way that has Gale’s knees weak and his heart kicking up. One of John’s hands comes up to his face, slow like John’s expecting him to bolt but he stays frozen in place. His breathing is ragged, and he might be on fire but then the tip of John’s forefinger gently traces a line on his cheekbone, where Gale knows his skin is dotted with beauty marks he’s never paid much attention to before this moment. They seem like the most important thing now, and something twirls in his stomach as Gale struggles to keep his gaze on John’s face without flushing bright red. John giggles gently then, his voice breathy with what can only be wonder. “You even got stars lovin’ you.” Or A night out featuring an arrogant lieutenant and a drunk Bucky might just shift Gale and John's friendship forever.

Snippet under the cut ;)

For someone for whom anger has always been the greatest fear, Gale should not feel so warm at the evidence of John being so angry on his behalf but he can’t help it. As he rises to his feet, John looks up at him with a frown etched on his face, blue eyes sharp and worried. Not reaching out to soothe the lines on his forehead with his fingers is a battle Gale worries he’ll lose, so he squeezes John’s shoulder instead as he shimmies over him out of the booth. Before he can leave though, John reaches out to loosely hold his wrist, eyebrows pinched together as his eyes flicker all over Gale’s face, drunkenness seemingly forgotten. 

“Buck, you sure about this? I’ll punch the bastard, you don’t-”

“It’s fine, Bucky. I’ve been sittin’ in this booth for so long anyway, I was starting to get restless.” John still doesn’t look convinced, halfway to a full standing position.

“Besides,” Gale grins again, feeling the wild thump of his heart and the adrenaline already flowing through his veins, “I’ve had a very good baseball teacher, and his honor being sullied just won’t do.” 

John blinks, eyes wide and searching, and Gale feels too exposed, like a dog presenting its belly. But then, just as his palms start to sweat and his shoulders tense, John makes a sound caught between a laugh and a scoff.

“You fell asleep the only time I tried teaching you the rules.” John’s mouth quirks in a soft smile, and embarrassment creeps up his neck but Gale can’t bring himself to care, not when his chest feels so light he could be floating under John’s undivided attention.

“I did not.”

John raises an eyebrow teasingly and a genuine smile pulls at Gale’s lips. 

“It’d been a long week.” He protests half-heartedly, though he’s well aware his slumber at that time had more to do with how John had felt so warm and safe next to him. Gale hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep until he’d woken up with his head on John’s shoulder as the other desperately and valiantly tried to keep still.

You can find the rest here and my other Clegan fics here ! ❤️

[gallifreyan85]

Cup Runneth Over

pairing: mentor!Agatha x reader

summary: during your lessons, agatha likes to push. one day, she goes a bit too far.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

Agatha’s basement was chilly. Even in the summer the walls and floors stayed cold, and it was the slow beginning of winter now. You sometimes wondered if that was because stone needed time to absorb heat or because of some magical barrier that separated the room from the rest of the world. Your attention was pulled away to what was in front of you by Agatha’s displeased voice, snapping you back to reality.

“I said concentrate.” she said, her expression a mix of frowning frustration.

She was standing in front of you, expectant, looking more annoyed by the minute, and the two of you had been down there for at least an hour and a half.

“Go again.” she said, so you rose your hands and tried, really, you did-- but the magic just wasn’t listening. It crackled, you felt it shoot through you, briefly, and then poof- nothing. Agatha sighed. Her hands dropped to her sides as she circled you, and you could see she was growing impatient. You didn’t like disappointing her, but today things just weren’t going your way. No matter how much you tried.

“Okay, this clearly isn’t working.” she muttered, stopping abruptly in front of you, “What are you doing, hm? Where’s your mind at? You’re supposed to be concentrating—”

“I am—” you tried, but she just laughed.

“Oh, you are? If this is what you call concentration then I don’t want to know what it looks like when you’re distracted. Go again.”

“Agatha-”

“Again. Now.”

You shifted your feet, rose your hands, let them linger above the old tome in front of you, a single writing quill on top of the darkened covers. And it did not budge. You held your breath, tried again, focused on it--

Nothing. Not an inch of movement.

Agatha chuckled from beside you. It wasn’t happy, a sort of mocking, desperate, I-should-be-giving-up-on-you chuckle. It made your insides hurt a little. You kept your hands in front of you, still trying, trying--

Still nothing.

“If you can’t even move a single feather how do you think you’re going to break a real binding spell, hm?”

You sighed. But when you lowered your hands, Agatha tsked. You looked up.

“What?”

“What do you think you’re doing? We’re not done here. Let’s go, come on. Again.”

You almost groaned.

You were tired. Cold. Standing here for almost two hours, not feeling the tips of your fingers, trying to make a dammed feather move from being bound to a damn book. And she was right.

Of course she was. If you couldn’t do this then how on earth would you ever break yourself out of a spell if someone tried to bind you?

“I can’t do this.” you said finally, “I need a break.”

Agatha looked at you, her blue eyes narrowed. “A break?” she echoed, her voice raising an octave, “Oh, you want a break? You think your captors will give you one, hmm? You think they’ll be all nice to you and say ohh, pumpkin, here’s something warm for you to drink—” you felt a twinge of hurt at the nickname used mockingly, “here, rest for a moment, get some sleep then try again. No—”

You tried to interject but she went on, now talking heatedly.

“You won’t get a break if you’re in trouble, pet. You’ll only get more tired, more hurt, and the more you wait-- the more your chances of survival go down. Now suck it up and get back to it.”

You stared at her, unmoving for a moment.

She glanced away, back around the room, and added, lowly,

“And be grateful that I’m letting you practice on something as easy as this. A true lesson would be binding your hands together and watching you try to break yourself free.”

“This isn’t easy—”

“It’s not supposed to be easy! You think you can learn anything from me giving you pretty spells to practice on? No. You gotta do the real work.”

“But you just said it was—”

“Don’t talk back to me. Try again.”

“No—”

“Again. Now, pet. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You huffed, now feeling just as frustrated as she looked, and slowly rose your hands again. Your fingers trembled slightly, your breathing shallow. You concentrated. Tried. Thought. The magic was there, thrumming through your blood, you felt it move down your arms, through your wrists, your fingers, and then--

It stopped.

You closed your eyes. Lowered your hands. You could already hear Agatha talking to you in the background, briskly asking what you thought you were doing, that this was supposed to be a quick lesson, not two hours wasted of her time, of your time, and you tried to block out her voice, the reprimands, the constant flow of words that made you feel even worse but they just kept coming--

“Two hours—”

And coming.

“--the simplest spell, and you can’t even—”

And coming.

“Hopeless--”

“Stop,” you tried, your voice coming out quiet.

You weren’t even sure she’d heard you. She just kept talking at you, again and again, and--

“Agatha, just stop it—I need a moment--”

“You need to toughen up, dear. You think the world is gonna wait for you? Give you a moment to collect yourself? Well think again—”

“No, I just—”

“Honestly, sometimes I wonder why I’m even doing this.”

And that was the bit broke you. Pushed you over the edge you'd been teetering on for the past half hour.

You stopped, let your hands fall back down, head bowed in defeat as you felt the first of your tears gather in your eyes. You’d been holding them back, not wanting to cry out of frustration, not wanting to give up, but it seemed you couldn’t anymore.

“Fine.” you made out, not liking the way your voice did an odd sort of wobble,

“T-then don’t. Find someone else to mentor. You’re r-right. I’m hopeless.”

And you sat down, crumpled into the nearest chair, let your face fall into your hands, and cried.

Agatha stared.

For almost a minute there was silence, apart from the sound of your hitched breaths, uneven breathing and muffled sobs. You wondered, in the back of your mind, if you had this coming. You hadn’t been doing as well as you usually did in the past few weeks. Maybe it was the stress, or the outside cold, or the onslaught of foreign words and symbols and objects and spells that the two of you had stared to cover, but it had finally gotten to you. Half of you was expecting her to straight up leave when you started crying-- you could already hear her practiced grumbling in your head as she made her way upstairs, but surprisingly, that didn’t happen.

If you’d been looking up you would have seen the barrage of emotions that crossed her face when you first sat down, the confusion, the reluctance, the surprise. She sighed softly, letting her shoulders slump. Most of her anger dissipated at the first sign of your tears, and she was starting to feel bad.

Her. Feeling guilty.

She didn’t like that.

She hated that.

But somehow, begrudgingly, she hated the image of seeing you so sad, crying into your hands, more. She frowned.

“Stop crying.”

You of course, did not.

She groaned internally. “You can’t get all weepy every time someone raises their voice at you.”

Nothing. Just more quiet sniffles from you and the occasional whimper.

She didn’t know how to approach. She wasn’t good at this, the comforting, the coddling. But she didn’t want to be like her mother--Her hand gingerly settled onto your shoulder.

She sighed.

Long.

Like this was painful for her.

“Pet…”

You didn’t look up. Didn’t show any indication that you’d even heard her, so she tried again, a little softer this time.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry. I didn’t—” she paused. Cursed herself for a moment. “I didn’t mean that. You… you aren’t hopeless.”

You gave a sort of strangled sob in response.

Sighing, she kneeled down in front of you—kneeled, and gently tilted your head up, pulling your hands away from your face. Her heart twisted at the sight of your tear-streaked face, your watery eyes.

“Oh, hun…” she whispered. “Look at me. You aren’t hopeless. You think I’d let you stick around if you were? Waste my time on you if I thought you couldn’t do it?”

“M’ stupid.” the words left you before you could stop them. Something in her burned.

Agatha’s eyes darkened, her tone serious.

“No. Don’t let me hear you say that again. Ever. You are not stupid.”

You sniffled. “But I keep doing it wrong.”

Agatha stayed quiet.

Gods help her, she really wasn’t good at this. What does one say to a crying student? But you weren’t just that. Of course not.

“Listen, hun…. You’re… You just need some more practice, okay?”

You gave a reluctant nod.

“And I wasn’t trying to make you cry, darling, I just want- I need you to know that in the real world, it’s not like this. When someone attacks you they don’t give you time to breathe. You need to keep that in mind.”

Another sniffle. “I k-know. I just don’t think I can… not right now. I’m sorry.” you mumbled tentatively. Agatha studied you for a moment. She looked into your eyes, trying to think of a way to make you feel better without completely ruining her reputation. You somehow always managed to make her say or do something ridiculously soft.

She sighed. Softer this time. Not in anger, but resignation.

“Come on.” she said, aiming to get up.

She offered you her hand, and you stared at it, unsure.

“I’m trying to be nice here, pet. Don’t make me use magic to get you upstairs.”

“You’re not…mad at me?”

She chuckled, a half scoff.

“Mad? I’m frustrated maybe, that you keep forcing me act all-- feely-- but no, I’m not mad.”

And before she could stand up you took her hand.

But you didn’t get up.

You slid off the chair and onto the floor with her, pressing you face into her shoulder and holding on tight. She stilled.

“Great. And now you’re—” her voice was gruff but she didn’t push you away. “I don’t do hugs.”

You clung on tighter.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do it right.” You mumbled.

Her hand, previously above you, hovering uncertainly, settled onto the small of your back. And in contrast to her words her touch was soft. Gentle. Like a mother’s warm embrace. You melted into it. Closed your eyes. Let yourself relax.

She let herself slowly rub your back. “You know, pet…” she started softly, “Magic doesn’t just require power.”

You listened, feeling your tears slow, your soft sobs turning into quiet sniffles.

“Real magic, one that works the way you want it to, it requires knowledge. Training. Understanding what you’re doing. And you… you have potential.”

You stilled at that. She thought that? That you--

“I do?” you murmured, and she angled her head down a little, a knowing smirk ghosting across her features.

“Oh, you think I just let anyone into my home, and teach them magic, hm?”

“I-- well no, but-”

“But nothing, darling. You have potential. I can feel it in you. It’s strong, powerful, simmering beneath the surface. What you need to do is learn to channel it. You have to be the one controlling it, not the other way round.”

You sniffled. Wiped your eyes. She glanced away, still holding you close, and murmured,

“You know, it took me years to figure out teleportation.”

You frowned a little. Looked up.

“Really?”

She laughed, a quiet, soft laugh, a hint of something resembling self-deprecation there.

“I know what you’re thinking, but yes. Even someone as amazing as me can struggle with magic. It’s not easy. If you’re doing it right it probably isn’t.”

“So how did you do it?”

“A lot of failed attempts and knocking into things. It wasn’t a fun time.”

You felt a smile tugging at your lips. She gently flicked your head, a scoff ready on her lips.

“Don’t laugh at me, pet. And if you tell anyone—”

“I know. I know. You’ll do something I won’t like.”

“Exactly.” she said back, but her voice held a hint of warmth that hadn’t been present before.

She adjusted her arms a little better around you, and you ducked your head.

“We’ll take a break, since it seems you need one.” she said, “But just ten minutes, you hear me? And then we’re going back at it again.”

Your heart sank a little. You didn’t want her to yell at you again.

“Agatha?”

“Yes?”

“Can you… be a bit nicer this time?”

She smirked. “What, this isn’t nice enough for you? Do you know what I’d be doing if you were someone else, pet? This would not be happening and they’d be looking for a new teacher.”

You looked down, but she tilted your head back up towards her, warm fingers gently touching your cheek.

“But not me.” you murmured.

You needed to hear it. Some reassurance, a rare thing from her, but still…

“No.” she said softly. “Not you. You’re… different.”

“Special?” you smiled faintly, hopeful.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but yes. Maybe. Just don’t think you can get used to this.” she said, “Got it?”

“Got it.”

She shot you a brief smile. “Good. Now about those pathetic attempts you called trying, that’s not the right way to cast a spell. It’s not the right way to cast anything.”

“Can you show me one more time?”

You were hesitant, but to your surprise she nodded quickly, and extended her hand.

“Give me your hand, dear.”

You did.

She took it lightly, guiding your movements gently, positioning your fingers in the right way.

“There. And now…” she leaned down to whisper in your ear, softly, quietly. “Focus. Feel it. Don’t think about your hands, think about the outcome. See it in your mind--”

Her hand, still on yours, guided your movements gently.

The feather moved the slightest bit.

You gasped in genuine excitement. Agatha rolled her eyes.

“Don’t get all giggly on me now, pet. Keep at it. C’mon.”

You focused. Pictured it floating away from the book covers, unbound, gliding through the air at your command. Maybe it was Agatha’s hand top of your own, or your thoughts going too fast, but--

It wasn’t as graceful as you’d imagined. It just flopped, rather violently to one side, and the tip of the quill dug itself into the wood of the table, pointing upwards like a tiny knife-- stuck.

Agatha tilted her head in consideration.

“Not very sophisticated,” she drawled, her hand leaving yours, “but it’s something.”

You exhaled, relieved, feeling a bit more hopeful now.

“Can we take that break now?” you smiled sheepishly.

Agatha rolled her eyes, but she was already on her feet, coat swishing and halfway to the stairs.

“Come, pet.” she said, disappearing out of view into the living room.

You followed. Hurried after her. Settled in the kitchen, and made yourself a cup of tea. She didn’t tell you anything else, nothing sweet or kind or hardly reassuring as her words could be, but you caught her watching you from the corner of her eye as she studied some book in the living room. So what if those supposed ten minutes turned into twenty, and you came back down with another mug of hot tea, and a plate of cookies?

She watched you in silence, that schooled aloofness back on her face, as you slid the plate towards her, a shy grin on your lips. She looked down at it. Back at you. Completely disinterested.

When your smile began to falter, she took one off the plate, but into it, and huffed, shaking her head.

“Don’t think this counts as a bribe, pet. I’m still gonna make you do it over again until you get it right.” But there was an unmistakable grin on her face that you simply couldn’t miss. You took another sip of your tea, shoved half a biscuit into your mouth, and stood up to try again.

A/n: Hellooo. Thank you for reading. This scene has been stuck in my mind for a long time and I just didn't have the will to write it out, finally did. For all you new followers (💜) I don't usually post fics this often but AAA has really jogged me back into the writing mood so I'm making the most out of it before my new semester starts, or, trying to. The title is from the song Cup Runneth Over by Kiki Rockwell. I just feel like all her music has this witchy vibe so I thought I'd use it. Also feel free to say if this is too long, I try to keep my fics between 1-3k words. Love y'all!! <3

[prettyangellllll]

No Way Out

Summary: Kildare Island has always had its fair share of secrets, but nothing compares to the masked killer that haunts its streets. A string of brutal murders has left the town on edge, and you find yourself caught in the middle of the nightmare when you start receiving calls from an unknown number. The voice on the other end is deep, teasing, and eerily familiar. As the body count rises, you realize the killer isn't just terrorizing the town—he's coming for you. And he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.

Pairing:ghost face Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Horror, slasher elements, stalking, obsession, graphic violence, blood, murder, home invasion, explicit language, psychological torment, toxic dynamics, fear play, dark themes, and strong sexual tension.

----

The first call came just after midnight.

You were alone in your house, curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped tightly around you. The TV flickered, casting eerie shadows across the walls as a horror movie droned in the background. The storm outside howled through the trees, the wind rattling the windows.

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table. Unknown Number.

You frowned but picked it up.

“Hello?”

Silence. Then, a deep, distorted voice hummed through the speaker. “Do you like scary movies?”

A chill ran down your spine. The question sounded too rehearsed, too much like a line from the movie playing on your screen.

“I guess,” you replied cautiously, your fingers tightening around the phone.

A low chuckle followed. “You don’t sound sure. Let’s test that.”

Your stomach twisted. “Who is this?”

The line went dead.

You swallowed hard, trying to shake off the unease crawling up your spine. It was probably just some prank. Kids messing around because of the recent murders that had shaken Kildare Island. Everyone was on edge.

But then the second call came. And the third. Each time, the voice got more familiar. Each time, the words got more personal. Until tonight.

You were in the kitchen, rinsing a glass, when the call came in. This time, your gut told you to ignore it. But something inside you—morbid curiosity, maybe—made you answer.

“You shouldn’t ignore me.” The voice was smooth, dark, laced with amusement. “That’s rude.”

Your breath hitched. “Who the hell are you?”

“You already know.”

Your heart pounded. There was something about the voice—the way it dipped at certain syllables, the teasing lilt—that struck a chord of familiarity.

Then, the power cut out.

Darkness swallowed the room, the only source of light coming from the moonlight bleeding through the window. Your heart leapt into your throat as the house fell silent.

The phone was still pressed against your ear.

“Now that I have your full attention…” The voice was closer now, like he was standing right behind you.

Your body tensed, breath coming in sharp gasps. A creak echoed from the hallway.

Someone was inside the house.

You dropped the phone and bolted, tripping over furniture in your rush to get to the front door. But as you reached for the knob, a gloved hand clamped over your mouth.

A scream never had the chance to escape.

“Shh,” the voice murmured against your ear, a ghost of amusement in his tone. “You scream, and I’ll have to make this hurt.”

You thrashed, kicking and clawing, but he was stronger. The grip on your mouth tightened, forcing your head back against his chest. And that’s when you felt it—the solid, muscular frame, the faint scent of expensive cologne mixed with something metallic.

Recognition struck like a lightning bolt.

“Rafe,” you choked out.

The grip loosened slightly, and then he laughed. “Took you long enough.”

A scream bubbled up your throat, but he spun you around, slamming you against the door. The Ghostface mask stared back at you, the hollow eyes empty, soulless. But you knew who was behind it.

Rafe Cameron.

Your mind reeled. The recent murders, the taunting calls, the way the victims had all been people connected to you. It all made sense now.

“Oh, baby,” Rafe cooed, tilting his head as he ran the tip of his knife along your jaw. “You should see your face right now.”

Your chest heaved, panic clawing at your throat. “Why?”

“Because you were supposed to be mine.”

His voice was raw, possessive. “But you kept running. Kept acting like you didn’t want this.” He pressed the cold blade against your throat, forcing you to tilt your head back. “I had to remind you.”

“By killing people?!”

“They were in the way,” he said simply, as if he hadn’t gutted half the island. His free hand trailed down your arm, gripping your wrist. “I knew it would bring you to me eventually.”

Tears blurred your vision. “You’re insane.”

Rafe grinned beneath the mask, dragging the blade lower, tracing the neckline of your shirt. “And yet, your heart is racing for me.”

You wanted to deny it, to shove him away, but fear tangled with something far more dangerous—familiarity. Rafe had always been intense, always had a darkness lurking beneath his blue eyes. You just never thought it would come to this.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear through the mask. “Say it.”

You swallowed hard. “Rafe—”

The sound of sirens wailed in the distance. His head snapped up, the moment broken.

His grip on you tightened before he sighed, almost disappointed. “Guess we’ll have to finish this later.”

Then, in a blur of movement, he was gone—disappearing into the shadows like a ghost.

Leaving you breathless, terrified… and waiting for his return.