#like i was surprised but delighted he was there

[linddzz]

I am slamming that validation button like a rodent wanting more sugar water so here's more mostly rough draft Jayvik.

A continuation of the nicknames fic. More science dorks being dorks, this time greatly featuring some seriously questionable boundaries between totally normal lab colleagues, and much more briefly featuring Viktor being so horny it makes him stupid. Also appearing is Jayce Talis, ADHD King and allusions to Viktor's past slut era. Both fics are a sort of preview chapter in the bigger thing @amahhi and I are working on!

Thank you to @avelera for planting the idea of platonically dubious scritches in my head, and for being a constant sounding board!

Rating: PG

Pair: Jayvik pre-relationship

----

It continues to be surprising, how not surprising everything is when it comes to Jayce.

A week into the partnership, and that initial bright thrill of something new has not dulled in the slightest. Nor has the perfectly ordinary, easy comfort that he feels with Jayce. The un-remarkability of this calm is what makes it remarkable. With Jayce, there is none of the discomfort of dealing with another person. None of the abrasive tension that arises when Viktor must face other people as distinct personalities which he must contend with, instead of the larger concepts of People. People as an idea have problems that he can solve, whose suffering he can reduce without any needs for interaction causing issues.

But Jayce functions outside of these issues Viktor often finds himself in. Jayce slots into a space Viktor hardly knew existed, like there had always been this jagged edge to him that, to his great surprise, was actually part of a puzzle that Jayce had the other half to.

Past experience would have him expecting that, with time, the shine would wear off. The glow would dim. He would learn all the little faults and human contradictions of Jayce and would grow to feel that jagged tension return. Spending hours upon hours each and every day for a solid week with him have revealed Jayce’s little foibles, yet not one has grown into a frustration. In actuality, Viktor has had nothing but further data points to add weight to his newly forming thoughts of destiny and its relation to himself and Jayce. For each little fault and lacking Jayce has, Viktor can help. He can, perhaps, be the puzzle piece that returns the favor to fit neatly into Jayce's life.

For example, Jayce can grow blind to his surroundings, his mind too caught in their work. Viktor had assumed that the apartment was in the state he first found it in due to an explosive force of arcane power. He still thinks that, but he has learned that this great force was not the struck gem amplifying and reflecting the kinetic force aimed at it to exponential levels, but Jayce himself. He often forgets his keys, or his mugs, or his pencils behind an ear, his goggles on his head, his tools, everything but his journal really.

It was the third time that he left his keys in the lab (on top of twice that he came in groaning that he had locked himself out of his temporary housing), that Viktor realized what the pattern was, and that he could provide a solution.

Jayce had more important things to focus his mind on, so it was both useless and counterproductive to adjust Jayce’s behavior or habits so he could track the little necessities of life. Fortunately, Viktor is well practiced on keeping track of what he needs to. It’s a skill that was refined when he first used it to avoid detection in the Academy, and then even further developed as Professor Heimerdinger’s assistant. When Jayce left his keys behind again, the answer was simple and obvious. They were already missing from Jayce’s person, so Viktor simply took them to the sort of establishment in the lanes that would never ask any questions, but would always make a perfect copy of any keys brought to them.

Jayce’s keys were neatly returned to him, and Viktor took no small delight in waiting for the next time Jayce smacked his forehead as they left for the day, realizing that he had once again locked himself out of his rooms, to reveal his backups. There was a brief moment, where Jayce stared at the keys hanging from Viktor’s finger, when he worried in a flash that this was not something a friend or colleague should do, that he had overstepped in some way. Then Jayce snorted with his grin, called Viktor brilliant if a little terrifying, but mostly brilliant, and everything was perfect.

The key was only for Jayce’s temporary rooms in the Academy housing, but Viktor could make another set once the apartment repairs were complete, even if it seems wasteful to have Jayce eventually move out of the building that Viktor lives in.

Jayce is also wonderful at taking notes for his work, but less skilled at going back to reorganize or refine those notes. His notes are exemplary, even with the little flair of him signing every single page, but it leads to problems.

These problems are their current struggle in the cramped space of their semi-lab at some odd hour of the night. Viktor stands and contemplates the board crowded with copies of Jayce’s notes, additional observations both have about that first successful arcane spell, and Viktor’s little chalked notes next to clusters of paper denoting what sections of an article each goes to. Behind him, Jayce is not exactly pacing, which would require repeating of one path, but he is in a constant state of muttering movement with occasional bursts of frustration over paperwork.

Because they can make a fully stable arcane frame that affects the gravity within the dean’s office, but that means nothing to the academy if it is not properly written and submitted for review. They are on their fourth draft of the paper, and the initial excitement over being published has dwindled with every draft that has been returned with Heimerdinger’s cheerful blue ink slashed across the pages. One of Jayce’s faults, Viktor is finding, is that he does not take such things gracefully. It takes the second set of revisions for Viktor to realize that pride is not the primary hurt that Jayce feels, but the thread of anxiety Viktor had seen woven through Jayce’s journal. The need to prove himself, and the fear of impending failure at every turn.

“How else do they want me to explain it?” Jayce groans, and Viktor does not need to turn around to know that the perfectly clean cut hair is likely sticking out in every direction.

“I was hoping the Professor would not have edited “crank it” so quickly out of the methodology.” Viktor muses. That was his greatest disappointment. “I am deeply curious on how he expects us to find half of the citations he has requested for this entirely new scientific field.”

“And when the Academy insists there aren’t more tomes on mage lore!” Jayce snarls.

“We will have to expand outside of the Academy in the future.” Viktor agrees, turning a little to once again look over the taped up pages of their latest draft and what blue marks are where. “However, I think a more concrete description of the runic array you conducted into the stabilizer may be our ticket past many of the other issues he has found.”

Instead of grumblings or more huffed complaints, a heavy weight thumps onto Viktor’s shoulder. He pauses, realizing immediately that it is Jayce’s head that has slumped against him, and Jayce’s impressive body heat against his back indicating that there is, at most, a few inches of space between them.

“I don’t know how.” Jayce groans, but it’s less petulant and quieter, almost fearful. “I don’t know how to describe what I did.”

“Hm.” Is all Viktor can say in that exact moment. He is, briefly, distracted by Jayce’s hair brushing against his jaw with the strong scent of some sort of…of fancy wood. It is not an unpleasant scent.

“Sorry.” Jayce mutters. “Sorry, I know you’re not touchy I just- gimme a second I gotta think.”

“That’s perfectly alright.” Viktor assures him. It is alright. Jayce is correct that Viktor is not nearly as tactile as Jayce is, but he is at this point well acquainted with Jayce’s propensity towards touch. His own lack of aversion or any other strong reaction to it was one of the earliest surprises in their partnership. “Take your time gathering your thoughts. This is a far less dire circumstance than that first stabilization was.”

“You told me there was no pressure then.” Jayce mumbles, already sounding a little less miserable.

“That is because I was lying.” Viktor hums, delighted at the snort he gets, and the way he can feel Jayce’s movement from the small laugh.

“Seriously V, I just remembered that night, remembered what the mage looked like and what all the magic looked like and I…did the same thing. But it wasn’t the same thing, because no one got teleported. I don’t even know if what I did was a spell.” Viktor thinks he can feel the resonance of Jayce’s voice through his core, spreading in waves from the point where Jayce’s forehead presses down at the top edge of his shoulder.

The distraction is not a true distraction however, because Viktor catches something in what Jayce is muttering. “You can remember how he moved, what the runes he summoned looked like?”

“I remember everything about that night.”

“Yes but-” There is something here. He has already seen Jayce's remarkable skill at memorizing things that Jayce deems worth memorizing. If Jayce says he can remember it, Viktor does not doubt it. “The order of them, could you remember that?”

The head on Viktor’s shoulder shifts as Jayce rolls it slightly to one side, but he doesn’t move it in the other to shake his head. It’s a contemplative movement. “Maybe…I think so. Let me...ok this is going to sound so weird but can I just uh, hang out here for a second? It helps me think.”

“By all means.” There’s something particularly marvelous about becoming a stabilizing agent for Jayce’s mind, he would be a fool not to agree to the opportunity. As Jayce calibrates himself, Viktor once again considers their paper, the problems it has given them. Jayce had moved the dial of the stabilizing framework like a conductor, with precision. Heimerdinger wants written out theories and explanations and citations, but what if they could instead find a formula. What if the precision of Jayce’s input could be broken down into components and quantified…

His free hand moves with habitual lack of awareness to where it would usually begin fiddling with his own hair, and it takes a few moments for him to notice the slight change in both texture and location of the hair he is rolling between his fingertips. Even then, he only notices because Jayce’s head becomes an even heavier weight on his shoulder.

“Ah, apologies.” He says, stopping the movement, thinking this might be a thing to feel awkward about. “Force of habit, it helps me think.”

“No, s’fine.” Jayce says, voice thicker in a way that is dangerous for Viktor’s higher thought processes. “It’s nice, actually. I don’t mind.”

After a second, Viktor continues. This time he notes the finer texture of Jayce’s hair. It’s very soft, sleek almost, with traces of the gel he uses to style it making sections of stiffness that crunch away under Viktor’s fingers.

“You smell nice.” Jayce mumbles.

A response to that requires some consideration. Viktor…considers.

There was a time, not all that long ago, where he would have leapt on someone with Jayce’s build telling him he smelled good while standing a scant inch away from Viktor. He would have assumed that the intent was for him to leap. Viktor is more discriminating than he used to be about sexual escapades, mostly because he began finding the nights spent on dalliances not worth the distractions, but even he can admit that if Jayce had put a head on his shoulder and told him he smelled good a week ago, Viktor would know exactly how to respond. It would have involved leaning back against that broad heat, turning lightly twirling fingers into a fist in Jayce’s hair, then gleefully seeing where things went from that point.

But now…

Jayce fits in like a missing puzzle piece. Whatever Jayce is, it is not one of Viktor’s brief encounters. Viktor would want to tell Jayce he didn’t need to get his apartment repaired, when Viktor lives much closer to the lab and things would be much more efficient if they lived together. Viktor can be wildly in love with this man in every definition of love that exists, but romantic or sexual entanglements (and if there is one, Viktor very much wants the other as well) often end. In Viktor’s personal experience, they ended before morning, and that was only considering the sexual entanglement. Heightened intimacy was desperately tempting, but it risked a greater end to the entire partnership. Even if nothing ever started, a proposition alone could forever poison what there already is.

Jayce is tactile in a very casual way. He flirts with everything that smiles at him for more than three seconds, and there has been nowhere near enough data for Viktor to calculate the risk of losing that side of the puzzle, or how much of a reward he would gain from taking that risk.

“Thank you.” He says eventually, slow and still considering. Then, because that feels incomplete and awkward, he adds, “I use soap.

Jayce snorts again, the head on Viktor’s shoulder shaking as Jayce’s body shakes with quiet laughter. Viktor knows he is shaking with it, because every other hitch up of Jayce’s shoulders causes a tiny sway forward, which bumps Jayce’s chest against Viktor’s back. Each of these millisecond bits of contact makes Viktor once again run through the considerations of risk versus reward in relation to getting his hands on that chest. Under the shirt. He would need both hands. There is an awful lot of chest, after all. Maybe both hands and his mouth. Definitely all three. It really is so much chest.

He takes the fantastic effort to rein his mind away from Jayce’s prodigious chest, even more effort to pull it further from contemplating the amount of shoulder matching that chest and what the rest of the torso probably looks like. There should be a response in kind to Jayce’s. A friendly compliment to return a compliment.

“Your hair is very soft.” He decides, as that seems safe as well as relevant to Jayce's compliment. Jayce’s silent laughter turns into some small hitched sounds that near a squeak, which means that Viktor’s thoughts are successfully pulled away from the sexual distractions, but only into the romantic sort.

“Thank you.” Jayce says with a dreadful mimic of Viktor’s accent, which only strengthens Viktor’s resolve to not take any uninformed risks that could lead to him losing this, “I use a leave-in conditioner.”

Viktor’s hand drops from Jayce’s hair, and he turns his head as much as he can to shoot a baffled look at the top of Jayce’s head.

“Why the fuck would you leave in a hair conditioner?” He asks, affronted. “Conditioner already feels dreadful. It’s heavy and slimy, absolutely horrendous.”

Jayce shoots up (which is a shame) so that he can lean around and give Viktor a look of equal outrage. “What does- Viktor it’s a different thing from- do you not use conditioner!?”

“Of course not. It feels terrible, I already said that.” Jayce makes a pained sound, and Viktor waves him off. “Enough of that nonsense. It is a waste of time. I have an idea.”

Jayce moves up next to him, facing Viktor with an intent eagerness. “What is it?”

“You are going to describe to me exactly what you remember. Each rune, each movement, as much as you can.” Another thought occurs to him, and Viktor snatches his cane from where it’s leaning on the board so he can turn to the inert stabilizing frame sitting on a table. “And I want you to dial in the stabilizer as you did in Heimerdinge’s lab as you do so. I will record everything. I believe there may be something we can measure, some sort of constant in the timing and the runes used, a way to-”

“We can make it an equation.” Jayce interrupts, breathless and awed, knowing what Viktor is thinking without Viktor needing to explain any of it. He so deeply wishes Heimerdinger had let them keep “crank it” in the paper. “Something concrete.”

“Precisely. The runes are instructions, a code. Perhaps the clockwise and counter-clockwise cycles of them are additional instructions. We can use your stable field as a baseline to begin working on a formula.”

“We can give them a solid theorum.” Jayce is already rushing to the stabilizing frame, even recreating the hunched over pose he had that wondrous night. “Okay, tell me when you’re ready.”

Any thoughts on conditioner or smells are gone. In the future, it will be as common as breathing for them to be drawn together when they need help thinking. Jayce’s head will always find Viktor’s shoulder, and Viktor will learn that playing with Jayce’s hair further settles his restless mind and channels his thoughts towards solutions. Whatever else there is, the most important goal to further all other goals of Viktor’s life is to keep the partnership. In the partnership there is the work, the thrill. The endless infinitesimal ways they fit together, two pieces destined to find the other. In the moment, Viktor takes up his notes and marvels again on the nature of fate, of probability, and of magic.

[puck-luck]

home for the holidays | luke hughes

warnings: holiday quickie, gotta be quiet bc there's family around so like semi-public sex, fingering, unprotected p in v, dom!ish luke, light dirty talk, marks, light gag (fingers in mouth), talk about using toys

pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: you and luke make a no-sex pact during your time at luke's home, but that quickly breaks after you exchange christmas presents.

wc: 2027

It’s your first Christmas with Luke’s family and the agreement was that you wouldn’t have sex in Luke’s bedroom with all of his family around. You’re already feeling lucky that his parents are the kind of people who allow partners to share beds during the holidays, rather than splitting them up and sending the partners to the guest room. Given the fact that there are a couple of girlfriends visiting this Christmas, it would be a tight fit in the guest room. You love a sleepover with the girls, obviously, but you’d rather have a sleepover with your boyfriend.

The fast pace of the NHL only breaks for three days– Christmas Eve, Christmas, and Boxing Day– so the “No Sex” pact should have been easy. Three days is nothing. It’s only 72 hours, six of which you spend in the car or on the airplane, so it’s more like 66 hours. You also have eight hours of sleep per night, and you’re staying for two nights, so that’s another 16 hours lost. So, really, you only have to make it through 50 hours without having sex. 

You make it through the first 24 hours just fine. You’re done with Christmas Eve dinner and you’ve all hung out for a little while, drinking eggnog and exchanging stories and laughter with Luke’s relatives. 

His hand had grown heavier on your thigh or waist throughout the night, as you consumed more of the cream-colored drink. It was rare for Luke to leave your side, except to refill your drink, and he’d had the wherewithall to cut you off after two cups of the spiked eggnog, knowing that you’d hate to have a hangover in front of his family the following morning. 

By the time the clock struck midnight, you were beyond ready to go to bed. The relatives had left the house with kind “see you tomorrow”s for the formal Christmas dinner that would take place at Luke’s grandmother’s house. Luke’s parents had gone to bed, too– Jim climbed the stairs right away, while Ellen hung out with the boys for about thirty minutes before going upstairs herself. That had just left the boys and the girlfriends, who had shot the shit for as long as they could, but you all were yawning after such a long day, so the party was cut short.

You and Luke had decided to do one more thing before bed on Christmas Eve. You were going to exchange gifts.

You’d gone first because Luke had insisted. You’d gotten him one of those handheld massage guns. Jack had one for their apartment already, but he was always hogging it because technically it belonged to him, so Luke wanted one of his own. 

The delighted surprise on his face and his earnest thanks, as well as the sweet kiss he’d given you, already had you hot and heavy. Luke’s body was no stranger to you and, probably partially because of the eggnog, you were in the mood to reconnect with him.

Then you’d seen the necklace. You’re still gaping at it when Luke speaks.

“It’s a sapphire,” Luke says softly. “I know you said you didn’t want an ‘L’ necklace, so I got you something more subtle. Sapphire is my birthstone– I looked it up– and I thought the blue would look pretty on you.”

“I love it,” you tell him. You carefully extract the necklace from its box and hold it out to Luke. “Will you put it on me?” You turn from him, moving your hair to the side and baring your neck. 

With gentle hands, Luke reaches around and sets the necklace in place. The sapphire heart rests between your collarbones. After he fixes the clasp, Luke’s fingers trail along the nape of your neck. You feel his lips brush against your skin, reverent and loving, and your “No Sex” pact goes entirely out the window.

The kiss is rushed and, while you’re the one leading it, Luke is not far behind. He’s actually rather quick to cover your body with his hands. His right goes to your behind, laying on your cheek and groping the flesh. He splays the fingers on his left hand, which engulfs a good expanse of your back. 

Your clothes seem to fly off, as do Luke’s. You’re left in your bra and panties, while Luke is in his boxers, and he pulls you to the bed. Tongues tangled, Luke lays atop you and brings his hand to your core.

You moan aloud when Luke sheaths two fingers into your pussy, working quickly to open you up. You and Luke freeze, eyes wide. Your legs are spread and his fingers are still inside of you, so anyone who wakes up and comes to check on you would get an eyeful.

Luckily, no one does, and Luke chuckles in relief. “You gotta be quieter, baby,” Luke mumbles before kissing you again. “I don’t want anyone interrupting us.”

“I will,” you promise hurriedly, tangling your fingers in Luke’s curls and tugging him closer.

Luke curls and scissors his fingers inside of you. You honestly try your best to stay quiet, but Luke’s digits always manage to draw noises from you without much effort. You kiss him. You press your lips together. No matter how you try to stifle yourself, noises leak from your mouth anyway. 

It isn’t until Luke plants his other hand over your mouth that you’re silenced. 

“You never shut up,” Luke says with a goofy smile, sounding more proud of himself than upset that you can’t follow his suggestion. “Do I make you feel good, sweetheart?” He strokes your g-spot after asking, which has you moaning into his palm like an answer to his question and arching your back. Luke grins. “Ready for my cock, baby?” Another stroke to your spot and another moan.

You feel his fingers withdraw from your cunt, which leaves you feeling empty and wanting for more. He’d nearly brought you to orgasm and now he’s taking it away. “Luke,” you whisper against his hand. He goes to remove it, but you grasp his wrist and hold him in place.

Luke quirks his eyebrows. He wipes the slick from your cunt on his boxers before pulling his cock from the flap in the front. “So no one sees my ass if we wake them up,” he explains, stroking himself. He makes sure the crotch of your panties stays to the side, then begins to inch forward.

Your eyes flutter shut and you melt into the mattress. You sigh, lips slackening at the sensation of his cock rubbing against your insides.

“Gonna be quick,” Luke tells you, dipping his head to kiss against your jawline. “You feel so good.”

You nod, blinking at him and maintaining eye contact. He feels so good. He’s the one who makes this feel the way it does.

His hips roll into yours rapidly, sending sparks through your being. Now that Luke doesn’t need to line himself up with your core, his hand has found its way above your shoulder, planted securely against the bed and keeping himself steady. 

Your nails find his arm, then his bicep, then his back. Angry red lines rise on his skin, which will hopefully fade by tomorrow. It would be terrible and scarring for one of Luke’s parents to catch you in the act now, but you’d feel pretty embarrassed if they were to notice the scratches and ask Luke about them tomorrow. You bring your hands back to Luke’s hair.

Chancing it, Luke groans under his breath and removed his hand from your mouth. He kisses you, trailing his tongue along your bottom lip. 

Tilting your chin down, you capture his mouth and suck on his tongue. 

He uses his free hand to draw your knee up over his hip, which brings his cock to a new spot inside of you. It’s deep and he’s constantly hitting your walls, sending jolts through your stomach. 

“Oh, fuck, Luke,” you whimper, louder than intended. 

Luke quiets you with a hush, then pushes his index and middle fingers between your lips. The pads of his fingers press down on your tongue, stealing some of the breath from your lungs. 

Your tongue starts to move, sucking on his fingers like you would suck on his cock. 

“Greedy girl,” Luke coos. He pistons his hips into yours. “Touch your clit for me, baby. Touch it like I would.”

Spit pools in your mouth when your jaw drops at the allure of his words, hand finding the apex of your legs and circling the bundle frantically. 

“No,” Luke chastizes. “You know that’s not what I’d do.”

You draw your eyebrows together and whine petulantly, but you halt your movements anyway. 

“Go on,” Luke encourages. “Do it like me or don’t touch at all. I’ll make you come regardless.”

He slows his hips and eyes you, challenging you. You know that he’ll stop if you don’t listen and you cannot fathom having his cock leave you.

Closing your eyes, cheeks burning a little bit, you pinch your clit between your fingers and roll it. It’s a move that Luke discovered when he was toying with you after morning practice one day, edging you mindlessly and testing to see what you like. It was relatively early in your relationship and you swear that Luke’s “discovery” was just the culmination of a bunch of near-orgasms that he had torn away from you. He’s been using this move for months and it has brought you to the edge more times than you care to admit. 

Smiling devilishly, Luke begins to fuck into you quicker than before. “That’s my girl,” he says. “Can’t believe you’re going to come in my old bed. So slutty, baby. I love it.” He pushes his fingers further into your mouth, silencing your response to his dirty talk. 

As embarrassing as it is, the pinching and twisting of your clit provides a bizarre mixture of pain and pleasure, which make your nerves feel abused and overcome in the best way. 

You start to breathe heavily, panting around Luke’s fingers as his cock batters your insides and your fingers stimulate your clit. A bit of drool pools between Luke’s fingers, mouth as wet around his fingers as your pussy is around his cock. 

Luke gags you on his fingers, his thumb pressing against the soft skin under your jaw while his digits flatten your tongue. You suck desperately, whimpering around him. Your cunt clenches in time with your swallows, which pulls Luke to the edge.

He comes undone first, orgasm starting as a trickle then turning into a series of spurts inside your pussy. It feels scalding against your sensitive inner walls, mixing with your juices. 

“Come with me,” Luke tells you as his orgasm hits. He comes closer and bites over your neck, refusing to suck and mark since he knows it’ll bother you the following day. “Come, babe. Keep touching your pretty, swollen clit and milk my cock when you come.”

His words tip you over the edge, tinging your eyesight with black spots. His fingers act as a wonderful gag, as they’ve been doing all night, but the addition of his ring finger keeps your wanton moans from shaking the house. 

Luke fucks into you through the aftershocks, truly allowing your entrance to squeeze every last drop from his member. He pulls out only to plug you again with his fingers, the ones that had just left your mouth. They slide inside you easily, aided by your spit and the mixture of cum that resides inside of you.

Plastering himself to your side, Luke kisses you sweetly. “So, you like the necklace?” He asks. 

You breathe out a little laugh. “Love it. It’s so cute, Luke.”

“Aw, just like you,” Luke says with a shit-eating grin.

You hit his shoulder, blushing. “Shut up. You’re so weird.”

“Just complimenting my pretty girlfriend,” Luke continues. He bends his arm at the elbow and props his head up on his fist, looking down at you. “Hey, do you think we can use my massage gun as a vibrator?”

notes: merry christmas to those who celebrate and happy end-of-year to everyone who DOESN'T celebrate christmas but still wants to be included! love you guys. i hope this was a satisfactory christmas present <3

[neuvilette-tea-party]

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ Mon petit coeur ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Steb x F!reader

Words : 7679

You borrow a shirt from your lover for a lazy morning, unaware of the turmoil it will create in your boyfriend's heart and loins.

Tags: established relationship, heavy making out, Steb is selectively non-verbal, first time together, Cunni, Steb is pussy drunk, P in V, creampie, knot, mating press, wet humping, slight breeding kink, Steb has carnivorous tendencies

Request open for Best boy Steb <3

You yawn, making your spine pop. Next to you, Steb’s spot is cold already. You smile, imagining him biting down a toast completely hypnotized by one of his chess tactics books. 

You throw the covers off your body and rummage through your closet to put a thing on. It’s Sunday, you don’t work, have nothing planned, and don’t feel like dressing up. You let your gaze travel and end up on Steb’s white shirt on the back of the chair. You take and detail it, you could think it is a clean shirt with how neat it is, but he wore it yesterday. You press it against your nose and inhale his scent deep into your lungs. 

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah... Delicious. 

Smells like love. 

You take off your pajamas and put his shirt on, leaving you in a simple white shirt too big for you and your panties. It’s not like you have to impress someone today. 

You inhale his smell again with delight, sighing satisfied, and lazily go down the stairs, yawning. You can hear Steb in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. 

He is so nice, you’re so lucky to have him, you think.

You enter the dining room which is more of a mix of a kitchenette, a dining area, and a living room. You discover Steb busy at the stove, cooking some salmons. He’s wearing a tight black turtleneck and dress pants, clearly more worried about his general appearance than you in the morning. 

You approach on your tip toes and surprise him with a big hug, making him gasp in surprise as you wrap your hands around his large chest. 

“Hello, handsome!” You greet, kissing his neck, pulling on the collar, making his fins tremble as he deeply exhales at the caress of your lips, “Thank you for breakfast” 

You part from him and he turns to you with a smile, only to make a double take with a shocked expression.

 “What?” You ask as he fixes you up and down intently, “I hope you don’t mind the shirt, I didn’t feel like dressing up.” 

He slowly shakes his head, his ears shaking once, visibly under some tension. He turns back to his salmons but just... looks at them.

 You shrug and start to empty the table of all the papers and clutters to make some place to eat. True to your lazy mood, you don’t bother skirting the table to grab everything and just bend over the table to reach the last objects. 

You jump hearing a broken glass sound. You spin your head towards Steb, who was visibly checking you out, observing the now-destroyed spice container on the ground with a discomfited expression. 

“Are you all right Steb?” You immediately ask as he lowers himself to collect the shards. 

You crouch next to him to help and notice his hands trembling slightly as he picks up the glass, visibly distraught. His face scales undulate without stopping while his cheeks are getting rosy. You press your hand to his forehead to take his temperature. 

He’s quite hot. 

“Do you have a fever, handsome? You should have stayed in bed, I would have cooked you something myself!” 

He sighs, nudging his forehead against your palm as he shakes his head in disagreement. 

“You don’t beat the allegations, treasure. Go sit, I’ll take it from here.” You softly order.

You both throw the shards and you resume the cooking, adding some salt and pepper with other spices, opening up the herbs bouquet to add later, and drizzling a stream of lemon juice. You sniff, feeling a burning sensation on your exposed skin, like a heavy gaze on your form. 

You turn your head to see Steb, leaning against the counter right behind you, his hands wrapped around the edges, nails dug into the woods, breathing deeply as his eyes devour your body in this less-than-modest garment. 

“... You’re all right, sweetheart?” You finally break the silence after several seconds. 

He raises his eyes back at you, fogged with fever. He takes a step forward and seizes your hips delicately in his large hands, pressing his tall body against your back, sensually swaying his hips, guiding yours. 

“What’s with you this morning?” You cannot help but giggle, adjusting the sauce. 

For sole response, he lets his deep breathing resonate in your ear, the tip of his fingers sliding just under the shirt to brush the hem of your panties.

Delicately 

Slowly 

He licks the shell of your ear with a grunt that you feel spreading down your very core. Your own breath gets caught in your throat as his fingers pass just the hem of your panties, teasing the sensitive skin of your venus mound. 

Just a brush, just a touch 

Like a secret... 

He kisses your ear before biting the lobe, never ceasing the sway of his hips with yours, a low growl making his chest vibrate. You gulp, feeling your hands trembling over your fish as you try to follow your recipe the best you can. 

Quite hard when Steb is making advances, you realize. 

He never made advances before. 

You always initiated, learning rapidly that he was not so interested in sex that much and liked taking things slow. So slow you never saw each other naked yet... 

He gently tugs on the shirt, begging for attention, letting his fangs graze your ear shell. You turn the stove off and he gently makes you spin in his embrace, blocking you between the stove and his tall body. 

He brushes your nose tips, pressing his forehead to yours, letting his lips hover over your mouth with a sound between a pressed growl and a begging whine. One of his hands snakes its way into your back, under the shirt, eagerly discovering your skin while the other lower down to your ass to caress it. 

He devours your face with bedroom eyes, taunting you with the kiss he holds back from you. You purse your lips and rise on your tip toes to reach his mouth, he meets you mid-way, capturing your lips like a hungry man. 

He presses himself tight against you, towering over you with his full height, you can feel his groin starting to heat up and bulge as he devours your mouth, purring in satisfaction.  

He suddenly grabs your thighs to lift you up, forcing you to circle his hips with your legs with a yelp. He purrs loudly, grabbing the back of your head to press your lips together and not let you escape. His gills open wide to breathe while you’re left completely pantless in that demanding kiss. 

You never saw him like that! So eager and needy, so demanding! So... Desperate. 

Your lips dance together in a sensual embrace, locked together, exploring each other like your lives depend on it. He licks your lips, demanding access, and your tongues meet to hug each other. 

Steb’s tongue is longer than a human’s, swirling yours like a snake, robbing you of your breath so easily... You can say you have never been kissed in such a way before. You feel your legs getting like jello under his ministrations but he holds you firmly to not let you fall. 

He gently carries you out of the kitchenette and you expect him to go up the stairs to enter the bedroom but he puts you down on the dining table and with a large gesture pushes all the papers and clutters you had to put back down on the ground. 

“Steb!” You protest! 

That’s going to be a pain to tidy everything! 

But Steb is clearly in no state to care about such details, he captures your lips back with a groan, gently forcing you to lay down on the table. He lets his body weight rest on yours as your mouths discover each other. 

His hands brush your side to gently pull on the hem of the shirt, revealing your stomach to his eyes, he immediately lowers himself to kiss your tummy, pinching the flesh of your side with a smile as you yap. He takes a big lap at your stomach with his long tongue before going higher, revealing your breast to his ocean eyes. 

He stops, admiring what he has in front of him, his scales undulating like a dance. Your nipples perk up in the cold and he immediately makes them roll with his thumbs tenderly. He makes it slow and gentle, soft circle with the pad of his thumbs, making you whine. 

He takes them between his fingers delicately to brush them, titillating your nervous buds with delight while you whine. At some point, he cannot take it anymore and lowers himself to take one in his mouth, thoroughly licking it.

 “Fuck... Steb!” You complain in a pitiful gasp. He hums in response, focused on the candy in his mouth. You feel his tongue twirling your nipple easily, lathering it with his drool while he kneads your other boob with his large hand. He suckles your tit thoroughly with an appreciative purr, letting his saliva roll down the hill of your boob.  

He never breaks eye contact, his deep blue gaze set on yours, commanding your attention.

He gives a peck to that boob and kisses his way to the other, taking it between his teeth and gently biting it down, making you start. He chuckles before teasing it like he did the other, giving it the same amount of love and attention. He sucks down hard, hollowing his cheeks as he does it. 

Once satisfied he stands back up, towering over your trembling, lying form, observing his work with... delight. His blue eyes seem to shine as the light of the room over his head gives him an angelic halo. One of his hand come dancing on your breast, barely brushing the skin before snaking down, grazing your stomach with delicate intentions until it reaches your panties. 

He hooks the hem and lets it slap your skin, tilting his head at your whines and jumping. You gulp, not used to being scrutinized this way, especially half naked, but his gaze travels your skin with absolute focus, memorizing any nook and crannies of your body. 

His finger traces your panties until you suddenly squirm under his touch, telling him he located your clit. He tilts his head at you again, circling the vicinity of your pearl, never touching it directly, teasing you to no end. 

You gasp and gulp, digging your nails in the wood of the table as he toys with you with his infuriatingly beautiful face. He keeps his gaze on yours, opening your thighs wider slowly.  

His eyes grow larger and his ears shake with vivid interest when he flicks your clit out of nowhere, earning an ungodly moan from you. He brushes his fingers in his luscious hair as he lowers himself down between your legs. 

He looks at you like he dared you to stop him, taking deep breaths in anticipation, parting your legs. He nudges the side of his face against your inner thigh, letting his cheek fins tickle your thin skin, making your leg jolt instantly. 

“Ah!... I...” You let out, raising a hand with hesitation, “I never...” 

He blinks at you with his third eyelid, silently inviting you to finish your sentence, his hand wrapped around your thigh meat. 

“I’ve never done that...” You admit, embarrassed. 

His gaze lowers like he is thinking and for a second you think he’s about to lose all interest and stop everything. But instead, he tightens his grip on your thighs and leaves a soft, infinitely reverent kiss on your inner thigh, closing his eyes to savor the instant. He nibbles on the skin fondly, leaving several lovebites all over your thighs with the application of a devotee praying. 

You roll your hands in fists with short breaths under his ministrations. You yelp when he purposefully bats his cheek fins to tease your skin again. He replaces himself between your thighs and presses his lips on your clothed pussy, where he found your pearl and loudly kisses it. You exhale, on edge while he peppers kisses all over your clothed pussy before taking a big lap, wetting the fabric. 

Sharp blue eyes deep into your febrile gaze. 

He purrs loudly, satisfied with his new position between your thighs before gently pushing your panties aside and revealing your pussy for the first time to his eyes. 

You cannot take it anymore and close your eyes as you feel the tip of his fingers caressing your slit so gently, humming in appreciation at his new toy. He details your little cunny with great focus, tracing its line tenderly, testing your reaction to this or this sweet pressure. 

He gulps, his gills wide open with excitation. That’s a beautiful sight... Do you taste sweet or salty? Savory for sure, he knows it deep down in his guts. He licks his lips to prepare them as a low growl escapes his eager mouth. 

He wants to taste you... So badly. 

You gasp feeling him part your fold with his fingers and blow air on your hidden flesh, playing with your nerves.

“Mon petit coeur...” You hear his too-rare voice rise in the living room full of tension, “Look into my eyes, mon amour...” 

You wince, gritting your teeth. You don’t want to look at him, you would die of shame and embarrassment on the spot! But he only speaks for grave matters, fighting the physical pain when he uses his voice. 

Signifying you that it really, really matters to him. 

You gulp and reopen your eyes, lowering them to his. You cannot find anything else but love, tenderness, and adoration in his orbs which makes you slightly tremble.  

Keeping eye contact he lowers his mouth just above your exposed pussy, letting his breath brush your sensitive flesh, like a promise. 

That everything is going to be all right. 

And he takes a long slow lap at your cunt, tracing your entire slit with the flat of his long tongue. You immediately melt and whine, with a shudder. 

This is such a foreign sensation... So...So... 

He doesn’t lose a second and does it again, his pupils wide open, all the fins of his body trembling. He licks your pussy thoroughly like he’s eating his favorite dish. His purr perks up each time his wet appendage touches your folds, tasting your flesh in an entirely new fashion. 

An addictive new fashion he realizes... 

His breath quickens as he keeps licking, coating your folds with his saliva enthusiastically. His expression leaves no doubt about his mood, his amusement and pleasure illuminating his face as he savors you like ambrosia. 

He dives his nose into your pubes to deeply inhale your sexual musk and his ears shake irrepressibly as he lets out a gasp, breathless, eyes closed shut. 

You do not have time to worry if it is a good sign or not he immediately resumes the lapping, digging his fingers in the flesh of your thighs. He trails your slit with the tip of his tongue several times before taking another big lick, opening his mouth wide like he is about to devour you. 

You cannot catch your breath under all of those attentions, all those new sensations swarm you without mercy, and you feel your blood beat inside your cunny. 

He leaves a big kiss on your pussylips and focuses slightly higher, on your little clit. He flicks it once with the tip earning a dramatic tremor coursing your entire body, much to his pleasure. He does it again, titillating your small pearl with glee, sending waves of raw pleasure into your pussy. He flicks it, drums it, and whips it with abandon, leaving you no time to catch your breath. 

You cry out as you feel his purr making his whole tongue vibrate against your sensitive pearl, bringing you to your knees. 

How...? 

How does he do that? 

It feels even better than with a toy with the wet, soft sensations and his warm member. He licks it up and down like he’s savoring an ice cream and with the same enthusiasm. You are lying on the solid table but feel yourself falling as his attentions set your nerve endings on absolute fire you are convinced actual lava was poured into your veins.  

He sucks it hard, making it roll between his lips, twisting it so gently as he crosses it with his tongue. He lets out a long and deep guttural moan of raw satisfaction escape him, getting high off of your cunny. 

He takes great joy in feeling your delicious pearl puffing up and swelling up under his gentle care, he wants nothing more but for you to enjoy yourself thoroughly between his large hands. 

He will devote himself to the craft and perfect his techniques until you break down crying, begging for him to stop giving you so much, that you are about to break into a million pieces under such tension and bliss. 

That promise to be so fun, he feels his heart jolt at that prospect!

Each of his tongue movements sends a shiver into your very core and you can feel your inner muscles gorging themself with blood, getting all fluffy as your slick starts to drip out of you. Stebs notices immediately and loses no time tasting it too, lapping you clean. 

His powerful muscles roll dangerously under his skin, like a predator ready to jump but he never stops, keeping your clit in his mouth like a lollipop that he savors like a child, letting you hear his grunts and moans of pleasure. 

Steb was always a caregiver to you, but make no mistake, this one is as much for himself as it is for you. He eats you out because he ardently craves it, like a fish needs water to breathe he feels like he now needs to be between your thighs forever. 

You? You’re at the end of your rope. These new touches are just... Too much! 

This is too much...  

The assaults of pleasure are too powerful and you try to push his head away gently, for just a second... 

His response is immediate. 

He lets you hear the most pissed-off growl you ever heard from him, looking at you with the angriest face you’ve ever seen him. 

You will not take that away from him! Not now that he sank his fangs into it. 

You round up your eyes in full surprise and a bit of apprehension. 

Realizing his reaction, he immediately softens his expression and reverently kisses your cunt as a sorry gesture while he detaches your hand from his head to intertwine your fingers together, locking you with him for that intense experience. 

He nibbles your clit that swoll up, palpitating hard and he can feel it vibrate against his tongue in tandem. He kisses it several times as he feels your essence dripping on his jaw to the ground. 

What a waste, he thinks to himself. 

It is also ruining his distinguish turtleneck but that is such a small price to pay to be between your luscious thighs. 

He opens your pussylips again with a purr and presses the tip of his tongue against your entrance, letting it stretch the ring of your flesh as he pushes it inside. You immediately tense feeling the flexible wet member invading your most secret place, stretching your inner muscles with surprising ease. 

You feel it wave and undulate to push deeper, dancing like a real succubus, leaving no surface of your pussy untouched and uncared for. You hear him drinking your slick with large gulps and reveling mewls. You feel it twirl inside for a moment, grazing and caressing all of your deepest sweet spots, pushing you to the end of your sanity until it gently retracts to focus on your G spot. 

You gasp, digging your nails into the fabric of the white shirt and the flesh of Steb’s hand as he waves his textured tongue against your sensitive spot, you feel his tip grazing and circling it in a maddening dance leaving you pantless and sweaty on your dining table. Your thighs’ muscles immediately contract as you feel your wetness worsening, dripping all over your Vastaya’s jaw.  

Your legs instinctively try to close to refuse him access and stop the attacks of pleasure on your exposed flesh, but he holds your thighs firmly open, lecherously drinking like an animal. 

He twists his tongue into different angles, testing all your reactions, studying each and every tremor shaking your helpless body in his embrace, taking thorough mental notes for future times when lust seizes him once more.

Oh how he adores how defenseless you are right now, no filters, no masks, and pure, raw reactions, the truth shining on your blissful expressions as he toys with you for both of your pleasure. 

He whines, feeling parched and desperate against your swollen pussylips, this is a lot to take in but not yet enough for him, he is ravenous and your supple flesh is all for him to take and devour.  

The line between lust and bloodlust is so thin and he had to temper your advances and hopes to not risk wounding you in his fury. He silently thanks the Enforcer order who demanded him to file his sharp teeth down to human teeth. He felt dispossessed for a long time, but right now he doesn’t know if he would have had the self-control to not bite into your flesh like the carnivorous Vastaya that he is. 

But he waited for so long... And you taste just so good, he is getting absolutely mad, wondering what your blood tastes like. He immediately mentally slaps himself, refocusing on your shivering body, all for him to toy with and take care of. 

He circles your marvelous spot and starts to furiously lick it with his tip. You gasp, biting down your finger to silence yourself, throwing your head hard against the table as your back arches in an impressive fashion hypnotizing him completely. 

Such an honest body you have, a delight to play with and taste all to his heart’s content. He curves his tongue in a new angle and admires how your body undulates once again, like magic. 

Magic right at the tip of his long flexible tongue.

He quite likes that. 

“Steb! F-fuck...!” You shout as he feels your slick overflowing out of you, rolling down your thighs and his jaw, beading on his gills wide open to not stop for a second to breathe! 

He devours you like a hungry beast, too impatient to carry you to completion to wait any longer! He wants you squirting in his mouth right this instant! 

And you will give it to him or he’ll be damned! 

In a flash of lucidity, he realizes he is absolutely and irrevocably pussy drunk. His own body is absolutely shaking like he got addicted to drugs, leaving him disoriented and on autopilot.

Only his sexual instincts are at the command to guide him at this moment, all reason and common sense just abandoned him when he took his first lick at your pussy. 

Damning him like a cursed soul. 

But he would lie if it did not taste marvelous. To become a sinner between your thighs was the best decision of his life and he feels more blessed than a devotee praying to their idols. Guess he just needs to remain on his knees from now on. 

Praying between your luscious spasming thighs. 

He slightly winces as he feels your nails deep in his hand’s skin as he brushes your tender spot with sensual fury, but how could he stop when you taste this good, when he’s the one guiding you to orgasm...? 

He cannot just stops like that without you cumming! That’s unthinkable! 

He releases your thigh to palp his warm bulge under the table for a bit of relief. He is so tense it is painful, but your taste combined with your desperate mewls and moans are just so exciting and alluring, all his blood flew south to gorge his member full and his pants feel terribly constricted and uncomfortable. 

Your free thighs try once more to close down, only managing to cage his head against your pussy, suffocating him against your wetness. You can feel his gills and cheek scales fluttering. Who cares really? If he dies between your thighs, giving you pleasure, he will die happily. 

What better death than satisfying son petit coeur?  

And suddenly 

The tension snap.

You feel a tight scorching hot knot rupture in your cunny like you flipped a switch and all your muscles contract hard, your back arching up high as your toes curl, blinding firelights under your closed eyelids. You cannot refrain from the scream of Steb’s name in your small house, your little pussy clenching hard against his long tongue as you squirt violently in his mouth. 

And you fall. 

Whatever was holding you together snaps too and your entire body collapses against the hard wood of the table, leaving you blind and deaf for several full seconds. Your chest rises up and down rapidly to take as much air as possible, while sweat rolls on your skin between the goosebumps.

You are exhausted beyond measure, feeling the waves of your orgasm slowly subsiding, allowing you to assess your surroundings at last.

Steb leaves several gentle kisses on your quivering pussy with a loud purr and rises back on his feet, towering over your shaking form once more. He pants heavily, ocean eyes crazy with fever and dark energies, your slick beading off his perfect jaw to soil his nice turtleneck that he adores. 

That is so far away from his mind right now, if only you knew. 

He seizes the hem of his turtleneck and gets rid of it, throwing it carelessly in the corner of the room to be forgotten, leaving him bare-chested, revealing his own sweaty body, his large pec and well-defined abs glistening under the crude light of your dining room.

You look at him through half-closed eyelids, still in some sort of shock as his powerful muscles dance and roll under his magnificent green skin.

You let your head fall down, trying to make sense of that entire situation. 

Man, it was just a shirt... 

You quake and reopen your eyes as you hear the sound of a belt opening. Steb makes quick work of it and gets rid of his dress pants to reveal his constricted boxer, leaving little to the imagination when his cock is hard and tense under the fabric. 

You gulp at the bulge.

He licks his lips clean with a hiss and lowers down his grey boxers to reveal his cock to your eyes for the first time. 

Your throat dries up as your eyes round up, apprehensive. 

He has been... generously endowed by Mother Nature. She decided to craft a champion and chose him.

 He roughly fists his entire length, hungry eyes on your exposed naked body, a low growl escaping his gritted teeth before he seizes your hips with his two hands and drags you until your hips collide, making you yap. 

He plays a bit with his tip before lathering his impressive shaft with his precum, titillating his ridges all over his shaft while his other hand returns to caress your clit with his thumb making you cry out, overstimulated and exhausted. 

He aligns himself and lets his member hit your pussy as you whine at how warm and hard it is. He does it several times, his ears spasming, until he starts a back-and-forth movement, teasing his cock by caressing it between your folds, lathering it with your slick. He releases your clit to seize your hips with both of his hands, letting his ridged member tease your pearl.

 He huffs before throwing his head backward at the sensation of your two bodies finally carnally meeting each other.

It took so long but it has been worth it... He doesn’t regret one second letting the tension rise and frustrating the both of you if this is the final reward. 

You yelp and mewl as his shaft brushes your oversensitive pussy mercilessly, grazing your clit still under the spell of your former orgasm, swollen and palpitating. 

He slicks his disheveled hair back with a hand, his glistening muscles contracting under his skin as light dances on his exposed flesh, carving him like a god. You gawk at that immaculate sight.

He is well-made on all fronts! 

He finally stops and trails your soaked slit from bottom to up with the pad of his finger and sticks his tongue out to wipe it off, lowering himself with his tongue out to capture your lips, letting you taste yourself on his lips. He languorously kisses you, his tongue hugging your smaller one, robbing you of your air, feeling your spriting heart through his own skin, putting him on edge.

You bite down his tongue when you feel his tip poking your entrance, gently probing your pulsating pussy to get it used to his circumference until you feel him push past your tight ring of flesh, entering you for the very first time.

You throw your head backward at his invasion, giving him the opportunity to attack your neck with joy. You feel his mouth sucking your thin flesh, leaving a tight collar or lovebites all around your throat. 

You tremble, feeling his cock stretching your inner muscles, all his ridges making you cry when they brush past your G spot. This is your first time with a non-human and you did not expect all of that. You are not even sure your vagina is meant to accommodate this kind of member, but Steb seems eager to discover it.

Your mouth opens in a perfect ‘O’ as he keeps pushing deeper and deeper, making you discover depths you did not even know you had, his hands kneading your sides, digging his nails into your soft flesh. He rolls his shoulders several times with a gasped growl as he feels your tightness strangling his cock for the very first time.

It feels just so good to have you all around him... 

It feels so right. 

This long-desired and cherished moment of your two bodies finally making one... 

He selfishly dreamt of it for so long while refusing you, keeping his own dark urges on a leash.

He exhales deeply when your hips meet, his shaft finally fully inside your warmth, weighting down your core. He bites his lower lips discovering the bulge your two bodies created with a whined breath. 

This is just so hot.

He cannot help but caress the bulge with the tip of his long fingers, pressing it down with his palm to squeeze his member, teasing himself through your welcoming flesh.

 “Oh, mon petit coeur...” He manages to breathe despite the pain of talking.

 If only he could drown you under pet names and love declarations like he wishes he could! You would tear off your ears of exasperation. 

He cannot help but snigger. 

He fondly draws circles with his thumbs on your hips, anything to ease your predicament, begging for your foggy gaze on him, to help maintain his composure and not just crumble between your luscious thighs like an impotent.

But your body is just so much for him to take and experience, that delicious pressure all around his member, wet and warm, welcoming and debauched. So much pleasure courses his body right now like electroshocks.

He slowly slips out of your dripping sex until just the tip remains and pushes back in as gently as possible to not upset you. He feels you stretching all around him, working hard to accommodate his length and girth, welcoming him in your warmth and softness. 

Like a gentle indulgence... 

You close your eyes under the pressure, your entire body tense like a bowstring and threatening to snap once more. Steb just stuffs you so full, like a decadent cream puff, opening your secret temple wide to let his shaft inside. 

And now you are supposed to take him moving and survive?

You choke as he starts rolling his hips, installing a gentle back and forth movement, leaving and entering your tight canal, your former orgasm helping prodigiously as his cocks slips in and out easily with your abundant slick that you still feel dripping along your thighs.

And now Steb’s thighs too, you imagine. 

You grit your teeth as he splits you in two with such ease.

You feel him moving inside, making gentle love to your exhausted body even if his fingers are painfully deep into your hips. The pace is languid and loving. You can feel his impatience bubbling under his scaled skin, but he prefers going slowly to appreciate. 

To savor. 

Each. Second. of that experience. 

You bob up and down as he grunts and purrs, burying himself up to the hilt into your warmth. He gasps and growls and moans and mewls, vocalizing his pleasure out loud without any shame, letting you know what a delight your body is to him. 

Oh how he wishes he could remain buried inside of your sweet, sweet pussy... 

It feels like heaven, like he is at his true place at last.

Maybe he could cum inside and...  

Breed you 

Son petit coeur, all round with his baby... 

All his muscles violently spasm at that idea! 

He has just the tool for that...

You try to speak but only let escape an incoherent string of syllables getting cut each time he pushes his entire member back in. You grit your teeth as all your muscles try to welcome him back each time, it gets easier and easier each time but it is not simple for all that! 

You wince in slight discomfort as you try to breathe, and Steb’s immediately notice. One of his hands releases its tight grip over your waist to travel all the way back to your little clit he tenderly caresses and brushes again, easing and helping your tense muscles to relax all around him. 

Your sigh of relief is cut short by another moan of pleasure as he undulates his hips like a pro. You bite back down your finger as your nails claw the wood of the shaking table under you, following the rhythm of Steb’s gentle thrusts. 

He bites his lower lips to blood, admiring how your little cunt swallows him whole greedily like never before. He can already admire a creamy ‘O’ at his base making him lose it a little more and accelerates his thrusts.

He tries hard to keep himself in check, but you’re bringing him to his knees, leaving him pantless and disoriented. Each time your little cunt clenches around his cock the entire room spins around him, forcing him to hold onto you to remain sane and grounded.

Soon his rutting is deep and fast, punching all air out of your lungs with force. Gone is the sensual and tender lovemaking, he is plunging his cock deep, impaling you on his length while he hisses and rasps. His fingers keep grabbing your hips and waist, leaving bruises flourishing on your contused skin, while the other furiously loves your clit.

But he can’t help himself, what if you found a way to escape his grip? He holds onto you like the remnant of his sanity, if he slips out right now his mind will shatter into millions of pieces. 

He cannot let go. 

That would kill him on the spot. 

He greets his teeth, feeling his orgasm approaching rapidly. He must hold on still! You’ve not yet cum and it is capital for the breeding! 

You spoke of him of a little one with sparkles in your gorgeous eyes, but each time he tempered your daring advances, the light died little by little. 

He cannot deny you anymore,

he wants it,

he craves it,

he needs it... 

“Steb...! Steb...!” You gurgle between his ravaging thrusts.

You have no idea what you are trying to say to him, you feel your brain melt with every delicious rock of his hips against yours. 

But while he might become crazy, he isn’t deaf and responds to your cry for help. He grabs your two legs and throws them on his shoulders, grabs your hips firmly, and adroitly jumps with you onto the table, tilting your hips up, he lays on you, pressing your knees against your breast to reach your desperate mouth to kiss it. 

This position magically opens you up, allowing him to deepen his rut so much he can feel his tip brushing your cervix. He winces, deeply conscious of the delicateness and fragility of that zone of the female body, and tilts his hips to not hit it too hard.

Each one of his movements earns a reaction from you, your limbs tremble and shake at his demand and your pussy clench and squeezes him at his will. He very quickly noted what to do for deeper feelings for the both of you. 

He smiles in the kiss as he notes that you drooled all over your jaw, forgetting yourself under his sensual care. 

In his fury he grabs your two hands to wrap them around his neck, keeping you just a little closer for the comfort of his heart 

His two hands on each side of your head, he digs his claws deep into the wood and hears it crack and complain under your lecherous activity. He feels your hands palping, grabbing, pinching, and searching for what to do in your utter confusion. 

He gives you a nasty thrust and you immediately dig all your nails deep, deep in his shoulder blades, tearing the skin apart, making him roar in the kiss. 

He adores that.

That sudden sharp pain in his flesh keeps him grounded and he wants it again, hoping you will dig deeper, and claw his entire back, giving him scars like you would give him a medal.

Steb demonstrates extraordinary stamina, the result of his Vastaya nature and intensive training as he keeps going without a single sign of fatigue yet while you hold onto him for dear life. 

You try to part from his mouth to just breathe but he doesn’t allow it, clasping them, locking them in a sultry embrace, a raw purr making his entire chest vibrate against your thighs’ skin. You bite down his tongue several times as he plows you down like a jackhammer. When he finally releases your lips a string of saliva connects your two decadent mouths as you take a big breath, instantly getting heady with the significant smell of sex filling the entire room, seeping into every fabric. 

You almost bite off your own tongue as he ravages you, each hip thrust deadly precise. The wet sounds of flesh slapping flesh are getting to your head dangerously. You lower your hazy gaze between your two bodies, admiring how they meet and connect, the significant bulges in your womb as he slips in and out repeatedly. 

What’s that mass at the base of his cock? 

Does he have a ...? 

You cannot finish that thought, his rocking forces you to throw your head backward as Steb licks your cheek, tasting your sweat with delight, and kisses your entire face, your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your eyelids, your chin... Begging for your tenderness in his craze.

 Just a soft touch his way.

One of your hands caresses its way to his face to cup his cheek gently, caressing his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb. He instantly melts and nudges in your palm with a jubilant purr, caressing his cheek and kissing your open hand like you held his heart in your grip.

And maybe you do... 

Holding him tight like that, making his soul chant blessed verse in your embrace. You ravished him, body, heart, and soul!

He wants your affection and your rage, your caresses and your bites, pouring fire in his veins as you love him without any mercy. 

He wants everything and its opposite at the same time.

He wants to crush you under his weight until you cry from overstimulation and to submit to your hand, handcuffed to the bed, helpless to your whims, his entire exposed body for you to play with...

Everything in due time. 

You feel him wrap one of his arms under you, hugging you tight, suffocating you in his embrace, holding you close to his febrile heart, his other hand travels between your two bodies to return to your neglected pearl. He lovingly fondles it while giving you devastating hip sways, proving his desire to do good by you, even pushed to a more animalistic state.

Your comfort and pleasure remain at the forefront of his mind no matter how far he’s gone! 

Your little cunny immediately clenches at this added touch, constricting his cock hard between your fluffy walls making him snigger and grunt, trying to keep it together. 

“Steb...!” You cry, big tears rolling down your cheek.

Your pussy shakes and convulses all around his member as he rocks his hips hard, squeezing him so tight he sees stars.

He brushes your nose tips, foreheads pressed together, inhaling each other’s musk to climb higher again. 

You are surrounded by Steb’s inescapable presence, he holds you tight and fills your head with his groans and your nose with his salty musk. His tall and large body looms over yours, shielding you from everything, keeping you stuck under him as he pounds you down. 

The table complains heavily but holds on while he rearranges your guts with abandon.

You gulp and gasp at each thrust as you feel your orgasm approaching like a furious tsunami looming over you, ready to drown you, you feel pleasure waves spreading inside your cunny at each of his movements and his relentless caress on your clit until- 

The tsunami reaches the shore and crashes down, ravaging everything in its wake.

Your breath gets cut and you think your heart stops beating for several seconds under the impact. The entirety of your body contracts violently under the shock, as all your nerve endings are set ablaze with wildfire. Fireworks explode behind your eyelids as deep shockwaves incapacitate all your limbs. Your tight pussy spasms and convulse all around his girthy cock, trying to keep him inside.

Your mouth open to let go of a deep scream that Steb immediately swallows in a languorous kiss, silencing you in the most exquisite manner he could think of. 

Your own orgasm pushes him off the cliff and after four erratic hip jolts, he pushes a final time. 

“What the ...?” You feel the weird mass against your entrance. 

He hisses and pushes a little bit harder, and while you were sure your pussy will be torn apart by that mass, it gently extends all around and swallows it whole, plugging your tight cunt shut.

Steb audibly gasps, fully buried up to the hilt deep inside of you, and unloads his seed deep inside your womb, reveling with delight at the sensation of your cunt milking him dry for all his worth, your cute tummy getting full with his semen.

He pants with a satisfied breathy laugh as he licks your jaw and chin.

He cannot resist the urge to tenderly caress where your womb hides, drawing tender circles as he purrs like a satisfied cat, nudging against your smaller body with delight.

He peppers kisses all around your neck, letting his imagination run wild. Maybe... You’ll get pregnant with his baby today?  

That sounds so wonderful to him! 

A little one to both of you! 

Witnessing you getting rounder and rounder with his child, having to help you with everything, catering to all your needs, taking care of everything for you while you bear his blood and flesh...

 “You... You have a knot?” You finally ask, panting. 

He pours his eyes into yours and nods with a tight smile, hoping really hard you like that quirky part of his anatomy he kept hidden all his life. 

“You know I am not on the pill?” You warn him. 

He knows it. He also smelled and tasted it with his Vastaya receptors on his nose and tongue. Nothing about you escapes him.

“That doesn’t bother you?” You investigate, suspicious.

After all, tales of women being left to fend for themself after the discovery of a pregnancy are nothing new in Piltover and he kept denying you each time until now, that you have all the right to be suspicious. 

But the thought of you pregnant with him... 

He cannot describe the warm joy spreading in his chest at that simple thought. 

A family, after that war that took everything from him, he would have his own family at last. 

With you, son petit coeur... 

What more could he ever ask for? 

That simple thought manages to keep him hard, ready for another round, feeling his cock twitch with real impatience inside of your little pussy. 

He will let you breathe for a moment and then beg you for a rematch. After all, a Vastaya and a human have lower chances of procreation, he needs to give you a lot more to ensure a pregnancy. 

His ears and cheek scales twitch at the thought of tasting you again once pregnant, will your taste change? He cannot wait to try! He will have you for breakfast every day until the delivery and then spend all of his moments with you and your baby.

For now, you will hug each other tight and listen to your heartbeats, like a symphony. 

At peace at last. 

He brushes your nose tips and reverently kisses your lips, pouring all the love of his heart into the fountain of his lips for you to get drunk off of it. 

Son si cher petit coeur... 

☆☆Taglist☆☆

@dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @brandy-and-bane @sp-the-fae-queen @sofiyathelast-blog @aeeliy @sanktastuff @telephoneonawire @daichisito 

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One ThirtyNine

prompt from @mugloversonly @after-the-end-times @spectrum-spectre

It’s a little odd having a birthday banner hanging across the Christmas Tree, but everyone was pretty determined that this is Eddie’s birthday, and that’s a totally different thing to Christmas Eve. So everyone is here; Joyce even baked a proper birthday cake, and now they’re doing the thing where they bring out the cake and everyone sings.

It feels bittersweet to Steve; Eddie’s first birthday. It was a year ago today that Steve pulled Eddie out of the pool. A year ago today Eddie came back to him. He remembers vividly struggling to get Eddie up the stairs. Cleaning all the filth off him. How he’d looked, with no hair at all, all skin and bones, wobbling his way down the stairs. The noise he’d made the first time he ever tried bacon; the startled look on his face the first time he’d ever hiccuped.

Eddie stays where he’s been put, sitting at the head of dining room table, proudly wearing a Birthday party hat. Eddie’s been to a couple of birthdays this year, mainly for the kids, so he knows what’s coming. He looks fucking delighted at the sight of the cake, but he still checks, “I can blow out the candles?”

“Yeap,” Steve tells him.

“Make a wish first!” Joyce calls.

“I wish-”

“Nooooooo!” probably half a dozen people yell, “keep it a secret or it won’t come true,” Robin adds. Eddie stares hard at the candles for a long second, and then he looks up, finding Steve. Steve can see the moment Eddie settles on his wish.

He’s still staring at Steve when he blows them out.

“So...things with Eddie are good then?”

It’s a little uncomfortable, but all the stuff that happened feels like it was a long time ago now. Nancy has definitely been making an effort to build a fresh friendship, and Steve can’t fault her for it, not really. Steve finds Eddie, he can see him through the doorway into the kitchen, making something with Robin and Chrissy, “yeah everything is...great. Like really great.”

“I was...a little surprised, you know?”

“Yeah that’s...understandable,” and it is. Eddie is literally a creature from The Upside Down; he didn’t even look remotely human to begin with, half of him was literally a fish. Plus Steve’s never really been interested in guys before, but he guesses there must have always been a little something there for him to take to it so easily. Granted the circumstances forced his hand a little, and he’s still had a couple of things to work through but...he feels pretty good about it. Besides, Eddie still isn’t even really human, so it probably doesn’t exactly count. Not with his lack of nipples and his downstairs situation anyway; you can’t exactly try to stick Eddie into a category...he’s Eddie, a unique and perfect thing all his own.

In the kitchen, Robin spills something, Chrissy shrieks and Eddie manically dashes for a cloth, cackling. The chaos of it makes Steve smile at them; everyone is at least a few drinks deep, Steve’s sure.

“You really care about him though?” She presses a little. Nancy’s never been able to just let it go, especially if she doesn’t understand it. She always needs to know, Steve’s pretty sure it’s not a nosiness thing; more an understanding thing.

“Yeah, yeah I love him,” Steve tells her unabashed, it is the truth, “he loves me too.”

“You’re sure it’s not just...I mean you did rescue him, plus, where would he even go if you weren't together-”

“Are you suggesting Eddie has some sort of-of-of Stockholm syndrome?” Steve can’t help but laugh, a little incredulous at the suggestion.

“Well no, I just. Think you should both be sure-”

“How are you and Jon then?” Steve cuts her off. He chooses to lean into the spirit of Christmas and assume that Nancy’s concerns all come from a good place. Even so, it’s not a good intention Steve has to tolerate if he doesn’t want to. He raises his eyebrows at her, waiting.

Nancy draws breath, like she’s not done, but then clearly rethinks it and chooses her battle, Steve can see the moment when she decides not to pursue it, sipping her drink before she replies, “yeah, really good,” over her shoulder, Eddie, Chrissy, and Robs have their heads together, the conversation clearly turned serious.

“That’s good Nance,” Steve chooses to be the bigger man, “I’m just really glad you’re both happy,” he tells her pointedly. In the kitchen, Eddie’s turned to find Steve, watching him back. Steve can’t quite decipher the look on his face, but Robin’s clutching his arm, on her toes, speaking urgently to Eddie. She looks kind of panicked, which immediately worries Steve.

“Well, I mean, obviously I want you to be happy, I mean I’m glad, really glad it all worked out for you.”

Eddie has a look on his face that Steve’s pretty certain he’s never seen before. He can’t quite work out what it means other than...Eddie’s pissed. Like, really fucking angry. And he’s marching closer, shaking off both Robin and Chrissy in the process.

Steve has no clue what’s happening as Eddie approaches, pushing Steve away from Nancy to press him against the wall and then...kisses him. Steve has his eyes open, not sure what to make of Eddie’s rage, but he soon lets them slide closed. He melts against the wall. Eddie’s kissing him like he’s got something to prove. He’s almost bitey as he sucks at Steve’s lips, leaving little scrapes that don’t quite break the skin. The passion is surprising, but so fucking hot Steve leans into it fast, matching Eddie’s energy and he sucks on Eddie’s tongue, curling his fingers around Eddie’s hips to pull him closer, no longer wanting to stop to question Eddie’s motives.

Eddie pulls back, pink and flushed, an inch of space between them, panting for breath Eddie asks, “you and Nancy used to be together?”

“I-” Steve can’t help his gaze flicking side wards to Nancy, and then back to Eddie, Eddie’s eyes narrowing at the sight, something flashing in the depths, “yeah?” Steve confirms weakly.

Eddie presses closer, his claws pricking Steve’s skin through his clothes; Eddie’s never been possessive like this before, and Steve is...well they’ve had a lot of sex, and Eddie pressing himself against Steve like this, kissing him like that...Steve’s body is only reacting the way it always does, which is a little mortifying in a room full of people.

Eddie leans his face closer again, his hair brushing Steve’s forehead, his breath warm as he growls, “you had sex with her?”

“Eddie!” Steve splutters, but apparently even that is too much, Eddie has him by the wrist, not quite painful, but very harsh compared to Eddie’s usually gentle nature. Eddie turns, pulling Steve along and he...bares his teeth at Nancy, actually hissing at her on the way past.

“Eddie!” Steve starts again, shocked, this time a reprimand, “be nice!” That’s no way to behave, and Nancy is unnerved enough that she takes a big step back. Steve is dragged along behind Eddie, ending up locked into the downstairs bathroom together. Eddie pins him against the door with his body, kissing Steve soundly.

“Baby,” Steve starts, his words broken by kisses, “what’s gotten into you?”

Eddie just growls. It’s not a sound Steve’s ever heard before, and he can feel it, rumbling in Eddie’s body where their chests are pressed together, “need you.”

Eddie starts nipping at Steve’s throat, stinging kisses that makes Steve’s hips roll, looking for friction against Eddie’s thigh. His brain feels like it’s going a little mushy, Eddie’s being unusually forceful, and Steve’s vaguely aware that everyone is still out there and, probably, are now very aware that they’re shut in here together but...as Eddie’s questing fingers find the button on Steve’s jeans, he’s struggling to care about that stuff.

“We’ve got to be quiet,” Steve breathes out, a final token protest, giving in to what's about to happen. Eddie huffs dismissively, tugging down Steve’s jeans and underwear together, Steve angling his hips away from the door to help. Eddie abandons them there, bunched around Steve’s thighs, surging up for another possessive kiss. Eddie grabs Steve’s bare ass with both hands, his claws digging into the meat a little as he squeezes, pulling Steve against him.

“She not touch you again,” Eddie growls against Steve’s mouth, words choppy, “promise.”

“I...I promise baby, of course,” Eddie stares into Steve’s face, their warm breaths mingling as Eddie inspects him from inches away, like he’s searching for any hint of a lie, “no one else ever again, I swear it.”

Eddie nods once, sharply, before spitting into his palm and grabbing Steve's now, very hard cock. He had no idea he’d be into this, but possessive, bossy Eddie is lighting him up in a way he didn’t know he’d like, his brain turning to mush a little as Eddie touches him. He feels too warm, flushed and sweaty already, the world narrowed down to Eddie’s touch on him, hard and fast, intent on getting him off.

“And you,” Steve’s mouth is insisting before his brain catches up, he needs it, needs to make Eddie feel good too. Eddie doesn’t stop jerking him, but he does slow it down, leaning back a tiny bit, giving Steve space to reach past the bend of Eddie’s own arm to get to the button on his jeans.

Steve sees the fabric move. He can see Eddie’s cock desperately wriggling for freedom beneath his zipper. Eddie’s told him before that it gets real uncomfortable real fast, and Steve tuts quietly, “baby.”

Eddie’s cock forces it's way free before Steve even has the zipper half down, already having found it’s way through the slit in Eddie’s boxers, it rushes into Steve’s fingers, greeting him eagerly and tangling itself firmly there. Eddie groans, shuffling close again. The head of Eddie’s cock opens, setting sucking kisses on every part of Steve’s hand and fingers it can reach. They arrange themselves as Eddie’s hand speeds up again, “fuck, baby, yeah.” Steve’s cock is leaking, making Eddie’s hand slick, but Eddie still stops to spit again, landing the glob on the exposed head of Steve’s cock. It’s red already, and Eddie squeezes, forcing Steve’s foreskin up to roll back up and partially cover the swollen head.

Steve’s guts are tight already, the muscles in his ass and legs tensing, he can’t stop the shift of his own hips as he works his thumb in circles across the head of Eddie’s own cock. Eddie jacks him again, slow and so firm, forcing a massive dribble of pre come out of the head of Steve’s cock. Steve groans again, “baby, I’m gonna’-”

“Wait,” Eddie uses his free hand to push Steve’s hand off himself, letting his cock to wriggle free between them. It stands tall, searching, the black petals rippling.

Eddie angles Steve’s cock out, pulling the head down and towards himself, and Steve instantly knows what Eddies planning, “oh fuck baby, yes, yes please.” They’ve never done this before, but just the idea of it makes Steve hips shift, his balls going tight, the orgasm bubbling at the base of his cock, “please, now,” Steve vaguely aware that he’s whining, loud and desperate.

People can hear; he doesn’t give a fuck. He wants this.

Eddie’s cock latches to the head of Steve’s, the black petals stark against the dark pink spongy head. The fit is perfect, the slit of Steve’s cock, the head, being suckled and gently rubbed by all those little bumps, the sucking pulse feels like a mouth, the texture incredible. Eddie drags his hand upward, forcing Steve’s skin up again, his foreskin sliding over top of the petals. Eddie makes a choked noise, his free hand scrabbling again at the meat of Steve’s ass. Steve desperately locks his knees to stop himself from falling. The pulsing, sucking, pulling sensation is relentless.

Eddie moves his hand again, dragging Steve's foreskin back down, revealing the filthy sight of those jet black petals cupping the head of Steve's cock, the body of Eddie's cock writhing. Steve’s head thumps back against the door, his hips wriggling now, unable to stop himself moving in tiny little thrusts, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” Steve groans, “baby-”

Eddie leans up for a kiss. It’s messy, uncoordinated, both of them groaning and panting into each others mouths, and Steve cries out against Eddie’s lips as he comes. The pull is sharp, the stimulation on the head of his cock turning frantic as, just like with Steve’s spit on his cock, Steve’s come works to push Eddie into his own orgasm. Eddie accidentally catches Steve’s lip with his teeth, and the sting is delicious. His orgasm seems to go on forever, Eddie's cock suckling fiercely, and Eddie’s hand working him so perfectly.

Eventually, Eddie slumps forward onto Steve, Steve using his back to the door to keep them both up. “That was…” Steve starts, but doesn’t know where to go. He doesn’t know how to describe what just happened. It was maybe the best orgasm of Steve’s life.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, muffled where his face is smushed into Steve’s shoulder. The head of Steve’s dick is suddenly cold, and he figures Eddie’s dick has gone back in. They stand there for a few minutes, Steve rubbing Eddie’s back, gathering themselves. Eddie clears his throat, lifting his head so he can look Steve in the eye, “I’m sorry.”

Steve frowns, brain still a little flooded with happy chemicals, “what?”

“For before. I just...I found out about you and Nancy and I got...I got so angry. It,” Eddie makes a motion between them, a churning of his insides that he can’t express, “I’ve never felt like that before it was...like I hated her. And I needed you and I don’t understand-”

“You were jealous, baby?”

“I...yeah, it was horrible. And stupid- I didn’t – there’s no-” Eddie huffs, struggling for the words.

“How you feel doesn’t always make sense. There’s no...rules, you know.” Steve frowns, remembering, “should probably say sorry to Nancy though, you like, hissed at her which, kind of funny but still.”

Eddie looks a cross between horrified and mortified, “I don’t even remember.”

“Wow,” Steve can’t help being smug, “got it bad for me, huh?”

Eddie limply slaps at Steve’s chest, sighing through his nose, “shut up.”

Steve hums, “uh huh. We should get cleaned up.”

“Probably.”

They peel themselves apart, Steve leaning to grab for some tissue off the roll as Eddie starts to pull his pants down a little, but as Steve investigates, his finds his cock dry, “huh, where did it go?” He wipes up a little, the skin tacky with spit and precome, but otherwise everything is clean and dry, “uh...is my come on you? I can’t, uhm, find it?” He tucks himself away, pulling everything up so he can help Eddie.

“I don’ t think so?” Eddie replies, touching himself, his slit, the crease of his thighs, when Steve goes to wipe at him with the tissue, since Eddie usually makes a lot of come, there’s nothing, “I’m clean,” Eddie tells him.

Steve frowns, “did you come?”

“Yeah,” Eddie huffs, “I definitely, definitely did. That was…”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, “but you’re dry?”

“Yeah,” Eddie scissors his thighs together, something he normally does when he’s spreading all the jelly like come about, “nothing there.”

“This is weird, where'd it all go? And why haven’t you, you know?” Steve feels for himself, running two fingers gently along Eddie’s slit, pushing in to part him the tiniest bit, Eddie makes a breathy little noise as Steve pulls away, “you sure you came?”

“Steve,” Eddie replies flatly, pulling his pants up and buttoning them.

“Right right it’s just...weird, right?”

Eddie shrugs, “makes it easy?”

“Yeah...don’t look a gift horse in the mouth I guess, considering we now have to go out there and face everyone.”

Eddie grins, “I like that they know.”

“Of course you do,” Steve sighs, fixes his hair in the mirror, and opens the door.

It’s after midnight; Eddie’s birthday is officially over. All the kids have gone home with Hopper and Joyce, and before everyone else heads home, since it’s Christmas, they’re going to exchange gifts now.

Steve had been, mildly mortified after they came out of the bathroom, not really wanting to face Joyce's raised eyebrows or the girls giggling...Eddie however, has been strutting around like a proud peacock, so Steve hasn't been feeling too ashamed about the whole thing. He is however, glad of the distraction of the gifts.

All the gifts are stacked under the tree, and Steve has been voted to distribute. A lot of the labels have been made from cut up magazine letters so that the hand writing won’t be recognized; to Steve they vaguely look like ransom threats.

They go around the room, opening their gifts one at a time, trying to guess who got them. They mostly work it out. Steve isn’t that interested in his own; he’s more interested in what Eddie got. The box is actually kind of heavy, and it’s pretty big.

Eddie opens it happily, pulling out a record that Steve knows he’s wanted for ages. And then...a denim jacket with no sleeves that Steve knows he was eyeing at the thrift store. Steve watches with mounting suspicion as Eddie pulls out a book he's talked about. The box, now Steve’s thinking about it, is wrapped with very familiar wrapping paper.

“Eddie, you got loads, they definitely didn’t stay on budget. Who got Eddie? Steve, was it you?”

“No, no it wasn’t me,” Steve quietly chuckles to himself. He half listens as Robin goes around the room, and every single person denies getting Eddie.

“Whoever pulled your name must know you pretty well, huh Baby? They got you exactly what you wanted.”

“Yup,” Eddie grins happily.

“Steve, come on, it must have been you, it wasn’t any of us.”

Steve just shakes his head in denial before turning back to Eddie, “baby...it’s kind of against the rules to pull your own name.”

Eddie frowns, “no it isn’t,” the whole room erupts into laughter around them.

Steve tries to clear up some of the aftermath, but it’s nearly two in the morning and he can’t be fucked really. He collapses on the couch, finishing his now warm flat soda. He can hear Eddie pottering, “we should go to bed!” Steve calls. He’s not loud, not much above speaking volume really, but he knows Eddie will hear him.

“Can we do our gifts now?” Eddie asks from the doorway.

“Sure Baby, if you want to. We’re going to be out most of the day tomorrow anyway,” they’re spending Christmas with the Hopper-Byers brigade, and Steve is kind of looking forward to it. Eddie’s second ever Christmas.

Steve heads off to his hiding place in one of the spare rooms to get Eddie’s gifts, Eddie does the same; Steve knows his are stashed out in the utility.

He’s been pretending not to know.

“Okay, me first,” Eddie says, sitting and pulling out what Steve knows is the record. Steve eyes the gift he has from Eddie; just the one, but it’s fairly big looking. Square. Steve has no idea what it could be.

Eddie likes the record; he absolutely loves the book of Metallica tabs and almost leaves to get his guitar right there and then, but Steve stops him, “tomorrow baby. We really need to sleep after this.”

Eddie laughs at himself and his own excitement, agreeing. When he opens his final gift, the guitar pick necklace, he puts it on immediately and swears he loves it so much he’s never going to take if off. Steve’s glad to hear it, even if it makes him feel, momentarily, a little weirdly possessive.

“Okay, this first,” Eddie pulls over the box, “Chrissy helped me,” he admits as Steve unwraps it, carefully pulling out the frame inside. It’s wrapped in soft packing paper, and Steve pulls that away to reveal his crown. It’s been artfully arranged behind the glass, all dried now, the tufts of grasses stand tall, still twined up with all the little flowers that Eddie had included. Clearly someone spent a very long time carefully setting it out, and it looks beautiful. Steve had carefully stored it away in a shoebox, so he hadn't even noticed it was gone. He’s...touched, by the memory of them in the woods around Hopper’s cabin. Eddie had told Steve he loved him for the first time not long after.

“Thank you...it’s so thoughtful. Thank you. I can hang this up and remember it forever, I love it.” Eddie smiles, slipping off the couch to kneel in front of Steve. Steve sets the frame down.

Eddie pulls a little velvet box out of his pocket, “I didn’t understand what it meant,” he starts slowly, “when you put this on me,” he lifts his left hand, rubbing at the ring with his thumb. “I didn’t know what being engaged was, or weddings or...any of it. I didn’t know, but you loved me anyway, and I’ve never taken it off,” Steve swallows thickly, he knows, he knows in his bones where this is going, but he lets Eddie speak. If Eddie’s saying so may words in one go, it means he’s really thought about, and Steve won’t interrupt him. “But I know now. I understand all of it, and I know I’m a guy, and...we can’t get married, but I...wanted to show you that I know. I know now, and I love you too.”

Eddie opens the box, it’s a simple silver band, thicker than Eddie’s but still, it matches. Steve isn’t sure he’d be able to speak, his eyes already feel wet, so he silently holds his hand out for Eddie to slide the ring on; it fits perfectly.

Steve feels like he’ll crack open if he tries to talk about what he feels right now, it’s too big, too much, “you measured my finger didn’t you. Before the mall? So sneaky.”

Eddie nods, his own eyes looking suspiciously misty, smiling and biting at his lip, clearly nervous, “do you like it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I love it, thank you. I love you.”

Eddie smiles, sitting up for a kiss, “love you, too.”

[blurd-blue]

⚠️! Major Sonic Movie 3 Spoilers Ahead !⚠️

MY BABY BOY!!!!

And Amy too!

All jokes aside, I just got finished watching Sonic 3, and here's my honest review.

I loved this movie, It was an all around fun time with Amazing action scenes, Gorgeous visuals, and an unsurprisingly compelling story.

Shadow was of course a huge highlight of this film for me, And Keanu did just as amazingly as I expected him to. What I didn't expect was Jim Carry to surprise me as much as he did, Gerald was a surprisingly Compelling villain, It was Lowkey menacing at times, and really felt like a threat, Though when he wasn't doing that he was being Jim Carry and that kind of Bumped down his intimidation factor, though not by much.

I had to stop myself from jumping out of my seat every time Live and Learn played, even though I knew I'd be in the movie it still Delighted me every time it showed up.

As everyone hoped, the human characters were kept to a minimum and I feel the time they were on screen was used well, And they honestly got me with Tom's injury, I really thought they'd kill him off for a minute.

I was not expecting how much They'd use the super forms, as they were in them for pretty much the whole third act. Sonic and Shadow's fight was Honestly stunning, but also a bit haunting seeing Sonic essentially go full Fleetway on Shadow during it.

They killed off the Olive Garden guy, that honestly made me a little sad.

And as made clear before, I was overjoyed to see my darling baby boy Metal Sonic—and Amy—at the end, and I can't wait to see what they do in the fourth movie. They can either go with a Plot inspired by Sonic CD or by the looks of the Post credits scene, Sonic Heroes. Though likely they'll do a mix of both.

All in all, I loved the movie, and will be watching it 5011,000 more times.

Also that Scene of Sonic and Shadow on the moon watching the Sunrise was Gay as Shit!

[novaursa]

Legacy (dragonstone)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: The canon plot doesn't match the timeline of this story.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: contingency

- Next part: of bloodline

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal

The air on Dragonstone was thick with the salt of the Narrow Sea, carried by the ever-present winds that swept over the volcanic cliffs. The castle stood stoic against the horizon, its black stone spires jagged and ancient, looming as a reminder of a time when dragons ruled the skies and their riders held the world in awe.

In one of the smaller courtyards, where the breeze was calmer and the sun bathed the stone with a golden glow, you sat with Damon. The boy, now walking on his own, toddled across the soft grass with surprising determination. His tiny hands reached for the wooden dragon toy you had set before him, and he squealed with delight as he gripped it, waving it triumphantly.

A faint smile touched your lips as you watched him, your heart full at the sight of his uncontainable joy. “Careful, little one,” you murmured, rising slightly from your seat to steady him as he wobbled.

Behind you, Jaime Lannister leaned against the stone railing of the terrace overlooking the courtyard. His golden hand rested lightly against the edge, the faint wind tousling his hair as he watched Damon with a faint, unreadable expression.

“You’re good with him,” Jaime said after a moment, his voice breaking the peaceful silence.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, your lips curving faintly. “He makes it easy. He’s a bright, happy boy.”

Jaime nodded, his gaze lingering on Damon as the child turned to you with a wide, toothy grin. “He’s strong,” Jaime said softly. “Like his mother.”

“And his father,” you added with a wry smile.

Jaime huffed a quiet laugh. “Yes, well, the Lion of Casterly Rock would never admit to anything less.” He pushed off the railing and moved closer, standing beside you as he continued to watch Damon toddle across the grass.

For a moment, there was silence, save for Damon’s delighted giggles as he waved his toy dragon in the air. Then, Jaime spoke again, his tone softer, more contemplative. “Do you remember that festival?”

You frowned faintly, glancing up at him. “Which festival?”

“All those years ago,” Jaime said, his green eyes distant as though looking through the fog of memory. “When King Aerys—your father—still sat the throne. The festival in honor of his reign, in King’s Landing.”

Your brows furrowed as you thought back, the faint recollection stirring something in your chest. “I remember,” you said slowly. “It was a grand affair, full of spectacle and excess. My father loved such displays.”

Jaime nodded, his expression shadowed. “It was more than that. He… ranted. You must remember. He spoke of fire, of dragons returning to the world. He was restless, agitated, but then—he said something else.”

“What did he say?” you asked, your voice careful, your gaze fixed on Jaime.

Jaime’s jaw tightened slightly, his golden hand flexing at his side. “He said, ‘The fire will come again, and with it, the one who will command it.’ At the time, we all thought it was just more of his madness. Another delusion.”

Your heart clenched faintly, unease settling in your chest. “And now?”

Jaime turned to look at you fully, his eyes focused. “Now I wonder if he saw something more than madness. Something connected to you… and Viserion.”

The name of the she-dragon hung heavy in the air, her presence felt even when she was not near. Damon let out a happy squeal as he tumbled into the grass, his tiny fists clutching the wooden dragon, oblivious to the weight of the conversation around him.

“You think my father saw this?” you asked softly, your voice laced with disbelief. “Viserion, Damon, me—do you believe he foresaw it?”

Jaime shrugged, though there was a stiffness in his posture that belied his nonchalance. “I don’t know what to believe. But the way he spoke that day, it wasn’t like the other times. There was something… different. Something almost lucid, as though he were speaking a truth he couldn’t fully understand.”

You exhaled slowly, your gaze dropping to Damon as he sat in the grass, happily babbling to himself. “He was a man consumed by fire and shadows,” you said quietly. “His mind was broken long before that festival. Perhaps he glimpsed something, or perhaps he was just lost in his own madness.”

Jaime studied you for a moment, his tone softening. “And yet, here we are. A dragon at your command, a son who carries both fire and a lion’s strength, and a husband who rules with an iron will. Tell me, Y/N, does it feel like coincidence?”

You hesitated, the question hanging heavy between you. Your thoughts drifted to your father’s descent, to the visions you had seen at the High Heart, to Viserion’s unexplainable bond with you.

“No,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It doesn’t.”

Jaime nodded slowly, his gaze returning to Damon. “Then perhaps the Mad King wasn’t entirely mad. Perhaps he saw the fire in you, even then.”

You didn’t respond immediately, your thoughts too tangled to form words. Damon let out another delighted laugh, pulling your attention back to him. You knelt to scoop him up, holding him close as his tiny hands grasped at your hair, his innocent joy a balm against the heaviness in your chest.

“Whatever my father saw,” you said finally, your voice steady, “it doesn’t matter now. What matters is the future we shape for him”—you glanced at Damon—“and for the realm.”

Jaime watched you, his expression unreadable, though there was a faint trace of something like respect in his gaze. “Then let’s hope the fire that burns doesn’t consume us first.”

You nodded faintly, holding Damon close as you turned back toward the keep, the weight of Jaime’s words lingering in the air like the distant roar of a dragon.

The air inside the Dragonmont was oppressive, thick with heat and the faint metallic tang of sulfur. The torches along the stone walls flickered weakly, their light consumed by the vast shadow of Viserion, who lay coiled near the center of the chamber. Her cream-and-gold scales shone faintly in the low light, and her golden eyes followed every movement of the men below her with unnerving intensity.

The Lannister soldiers moved cautiously, hauling a fresh kill—an ox, its hide still streaked with blood—toward the she-dragon. The beast let out a low, rumbling growl, a sound that vibrated through the stone and sent shivers down the men’s spines. Her wings twitched slightly, a subtle reminder of her power, and her sharp claws scraped against the floor as she shifted her massive frame.

Tywin Lannister stood at a distance, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the scene unfold. His expression was unreadable, though his posture betrayed his ever-present command. The men were careful, their movements precise, but Tywin’s presence alone was enough to ensure their discipline.

You entered the cavern quietly, your steps light on the stone floor. The heat wrapped around you like a heavy cloak, but your gaze was drawn immediately to Viserion. The she-dragon had grown since the last time you’d seen her fed—her body larger, her movements more deliberate, more dangerous.

“She’s grown,” you murmured as you approached Tywin’s side, your voice soft but steady.

Tywin glanced at you briefly before returning his gaze to the dragon. “As she should,” he replied. “A dragon that does not grow strong is a dragon that dies. She must be at her full strength if she is to deter our enemies.”

You studied Viserion, the flicker of fire deep within her throat visible as she sniffed the air, her growl growing louder. “Enemies… and other things,” you said quietly, your words laced with a deeper meaning.

Tywin’s sharp gaze flicked to you, his eyes narrowing slightly, though he said nothing. His silence, as always, carried weight.

Viserion let out a powerful roar, her wings unfurling slightly as the ox was finally dragged closer. The sound echoed through the cavern, sending the soldiers scrambling back, their faces pale as they retreated to a safer distance. The dragon lunged forward, her jaws snapping shut around the carcass with a sickening crunch.

Tywin turned from the scene, his expression composed as always, though there was a flicker of something colder in his eyes. “Come,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “This place is no setting for conversation.”

You followed him out of the Dragonmont, the cool night air beyond the entrance a welcome relief after the suffocating heat of the cavern. The stars above were scattered like shards of glass, and the faint crash of waves against the cliffs below filled the silence as Tywin led you back toward the castle.

When you reached the privacy of your chambers, Tywin’s demeanor shifted slightly. The sharp edges of his command softened as he turned to you, his gaze lingering as though weighing his words. “You’ve spent too much time with your visions,” he said at last, his tone low but steady. “Do not let them consume you.”

You met his gaze, your expression calm but firm. “And if they’re more than visions? If they’re warnings?”

Tywin studied you for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then, with deliberate precision, he reached out, his hands resting on your arms as he drew you closer. “Then we will face them, as we have faced everything else,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a rare note of reassurance.

The tension in your shoulders eased slightly as you leaned into him, your head resting against his chest. His arms wrapped around you with a firmness that was both protective and grounding, his strength a quiet anchor against the storm of uncertainty within you.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you filled only by the faint crackle of the hearth and the distant roar of the sea. Tywin’s hand brushed gently along your back, a rare gesture of affection that spoke volumes in its quiet simplicity.

“You are stronger than you realize,” he said softly, his lips brushing against your hair. “Do not let shadows take that from you.”

You looked up at him, your gaze steady as you reached up to touch his face, your fingers brushing lightly against the hard lines of his jaw. “And you are far more than the lion the world sees,” you murmured.

His expression softened, just barely, as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. The weight of his presence, the solidity of his resolve, was a comfort unlike any other.

“Rest,” he said finally, his voice low but firm. “The world will demand enough of us come morning.”

And with that, he guided you toward the bed, his touch lingering as though he were reluctant to let you go, his rare moments of affection a reminder of the bond you had forged in fire and strength. Together, you faced the unknown, the weight of the realm and its secrets ever pressing—but for now, the shadows remained at bay.

The warmth of the hearth added to the quiet hum of the room, where the faint clinking of silverware and soft rustling of servants filled the silence. The table was modestly set compared to the grandeur of feasts, with fresh bread, fruit, and steaming plates of roasted fish caught from the Narrow Sea.

Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the table, his posture as rigid and commanding as ever, even during the quiet of breakfast. A goblet of wine rested beside his plate, untouched as he meticulously cut into his food. His pale green eyes were focused, though his expression was calm.

You sat beside him, Damon in a high-backed chair beside you, babbling happily as he clumsily grasped at bits of soft bread and fruit laid out for him. His wide eyes sparkled with curiosity as he looked at you, giggling when you handed him a small piece of pear.

“You’re enjoying yourself this morning,” you said softly to Damon, your tone warm.

The boy responded with a delighted squeal, dropping the pear piece and reaching for it again with chubby fingers. Tywin glanced at the display briefly, his expression unreadable as always, though his gaze lingered on his son for a moment longer than necessary.

“He’s restless,” Tywin observed, his voice calm but deliberate. “Perhaps too much excitement yesterday.”

You smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from Damon’s face. “He’s a boy, Tywin. It’s his nature to be curious.”

Tywin inclined his head slightly, though his sharp gaze shifted back to you. “And what mischief are you planning to indulge him with today?”

The hint of humor in his tone wasn’t lost on you, and you arched a brow, setting down your goblet of water. “Not mischief,” you replied smoothly. “I’ve been thinking about taking him flying with me.”

Tywin’s knife paused mid-motion over his plate, his gaze snapping to yours with a sudden intensity. “Flying,” he repeated, his tone even but edged with a hint of skepticism. “With Viserion.”

“Yes,” you said, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “She is my dragon. She would never harm him. I’ve been considering it for some time now.”

Tywin set his utensils down carefully, folding his hands on the table as he regarded you. “Do you think it wise to place our son on the back of a dragon at his age? He is barely walking, let alone capable of understanding the dangers involved.”

You leaned forward slightly, your voice calm but firm. “It isn’t about understanding the dangers, Tywin. It’s about bonding with her. He carries the blood of the dragon, as I do. He should know her, and she should know him.”

Tywin’s brows furrowed faintly, his sharp gaze assessing you. “He is a child, not a rider. This is not a matter of blood; it is a matter of safety.”

“I know you think of everything in terms of risk and gain,” you countered softly, your tone measured, “but this is different. Viserion already watches him as if she understands. She’s part of his legacy, Tywin. Part of ours. If not now, then when?”

Tywin was silent for a long moment, his eyes unyielding as they searched yours. Damon, oblivious to the conversation between his parents, clapped his hands happily, the piece of pear forgotten as he babbled incoherently.

Finally, Tywin exhaled through his nose, his voice calm but laced with authority. “You are determined.”

“I am,” you replied firmly.

He glanced at Damon, who was now gnawing on a piece of bread, his tiny fingers sticky with fruit juice. Tywin’s expression softened ever so slightly, though his tone remained resolute. “If you insist on this, then you will take every precaution. The saddle must be secure, and the flight must remain low and brief. I will not risk his safety for sentiment.”

You inclined your head, a faint smile curving your lips. “I wouldn’t dream of being careless. Thank you, Tywin.”

Tywin picked up his goblet of wine, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. “You would have done it regardless of my opinion.”

“Perhaps,” you said lightly, brushing Damon’s hair with your fingers. “But it’s easier when you agree.”

Tywin huffed faintly, though it wasn’t quite a laugh. He turned his attention back to his plate, though his gaze flicked occasionally to Damon, who continued to babble happily between bites.

As the morning light continued to fill the room, you felt a sense of anticipation building within you. Soon, Damon would take his first flight—not as a rider, not yet, but as part of something far greater.

And though Tywin’s stern presence remained a constant, you couldn’t ignore the faint glimmer of pride in his eyes as he watched his son, a lion born under the shadow of a dragon.

The warmth of the morning sun had given way to the cool shadows of the strategy chamber, where Tywin Lannister stood at a large table strewn with maps, missives, and sealed letters. A small brazier crackled in the corner, filling the room with the faint scent of smoke and iron. Varys, ever the picture of composed deference, stood a respectful distance away, his hands folded neatly in his flowing robes.

You lingered near the door, Damon balanced on your hip. His tiny hands were clutching the edge of your gown, his head resting against your shoulder as he dozed lightly after his morning meal. The room was quieter than usual, save for the occasional flick of paper or the soft scrape of Tywin’s quill against parchment.

Varys’s voice broke the silence, smooth and measured. “The Greyjoys have been notably restless in the past moons, my lord. Euron Greyjoy, in particular, has made waves. Rumors of his ventures to the east—exotic ships, dangerous alliances. I would advise keeping an eye on them.”

Tywin, who had been scanning a missive, did not look up. “The Greyjoys are a rabble, more pirate than ruler. They’ll amount to little unless someone more competent than Balon leads them.”

“Indeed,” Varys replied, his tone calm but pointed. “And yet, a rabble left unchecked can turn into a storm. Euron is ambitious, and ambition, as you know, can be as dangerous as fire.”

Tywin set the missive down and glanced at Varys. “I will not waste resources chasing rumors across the sea. If they dare bring trouble to Westeros, they will be dealt with.”

“As you say, my lord,” Varys said with a faint smile, inclining his head. “But it is often the smallest ripples that precede the greatest waves.”

Tywin’s expression remained impassive as he returned his attention to the documents before him. “Is that all?”

“For now,” Varys said, his pale eyes flickering briefly toward you and Damon. “Though I must commend Lady Y/N’s skill in diplomacy. The whispers from King’s Landing suggest her presence has quelled some of the more… vocal concerns.”

Your lips curved faintly, though you remained quiet, gently rocking Damon as he stirred against your shoulder. Tywin offered no response to Varys’s observation, his focus firmly on the papers before him.

With a final bow, Varys excused himself, gliding out of the room like a shadow.

The silence that followed was broken only by the faint crackle of the brazier and Damon’s soft breathing. You moved to a nearby chair, settling Damon down gently on your lap as he continued to doze. His tiny hand curled against your sleeve, and you smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

Tywin’s voice, calm but unexpectedly casual, cut through the quiet. “Do you want another child?”

You blinked, startled by the abruptness of the question. “What?”

Tywin didn’t look up, his eyes scanning a document in his hand. “Another child,” he repeated, his tone as matter-of-fact as if he were discussing troop movements. “Do you want one?”

You tilted your head, studying him carefully. “That’s a sudden question.”

Tywin finally set the document down, turning his gaze to you. His expression remained calm, though there was a flicker of something thoughtful in his eyes. “It’s a practical consideration. Damon is strong, but the realm’s future depends on legacy. Strength comes from numbers, especially in uncertain times.”

You glanced down at Damon, your fingers brushing over his tiny hand. “He is still so young, Tywin. I’m not sure I’m ready to think about another child so soon.”

Tywin’s gaze softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. “The decision is yours, but you should consider it. Our enemies grow bolder with each passing moon. A strong line ensures stability.”

You met his gaze, your voice calm but steady. “And what of love, Tywin? Do you want another child, or do you only want to strengthen the family name?”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change, though there was a pause before he spoke. “I want what is best for the realm. And for you.”

You tilted your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Sometimes, I wonder if you truly believe those two things can coexist.”

“They can,” he replied without hesitation. “When guided correctly.”

You sighed softly, turning your attention back to Damon, who stirred slightly in your lap. “I will think about it.”

Tywin inclined his head, as if satisfied with your answer, before returning his attention to the documents before him. But as he worked, his gaze flickered toward you and Damon more than once, the faintest trace of something unspoken lingering in his expression.

For now, the conversation was left hanging in the air, but the weight of it remained—a reminder of the delicate balance you both walked between duty and desire, between family and legacy.

The sky over Dragonstone was a perfect shade of blue, unmarred by clouds, with the salty wind sweeping in from the Narrow Sea. The sun hung high, casting light across the black stone of the ancient Targaryen keep. In the sprawling courtyard near the cliffs, a gathering of lords and ladies, along with Tywin Lannister and his retainers, stood in anticipation.

Viserion, the great she-dragon, loomed nearby. She stretched her wings wide, the movement sending a rush of air through the gathered crowd. The beast stood at the edge of the cliff, her massive frame poised as though she were preparing to leap into the sky. Her eyes followed every movement, every sound, her watchful gaze sharp as a blade.

You stood beside her, dressed in a riding gown reinforced with leather, your hair flowing freely in the breeze. At nearly two years old, Damon stood beside you, his chubby hands clutching at the edge of your cloak. His bright eyes were wide with curiosity, darting between you and Viserion as though he already understood the gravity of what was about to happen.

“Are you ready, my love?” you murmured to him, brushing a strand of his hair back. Damon responded with an excited squeal, his tiny hands reaching toward Viserion as though he could already claim the skies.

From a distance, Tywin watched, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes followed every movement with an intensity that left no room for doubt—he was scrutinizing everything, from your placement on the saddle to the way Viserion shifted her weight in response to your touch.

“Is it wise, my lord?” one of the visiting lords asked, his tone carrying a note of skepticism. “The boy is so young…”

Tywin’s gaze did not waver from you and Damon as he replied, his voice cold and resolute. “My son is a Targaryen as much as a Lannister. It is his birthright to know dragons.” He paused, his tone sharpening. “And his mother would not risk him lightly.”

The lord hesitated, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to press further under Tywin’s glare.

Nearby, Jaime Lannister leaned casually against a stone railing, watching the scene with mild curiosity. “You almost sound proud, Father,” he said, his voice low enough to be for Tywin alone. “A lion embracing the fire of Valyria.”

Tywin shot Jaime a stern look but said nothing, his focus returning to you as you adjusted the straps of the saddle on Viserion’s back.

You turned, carefully lifting Damon into the special riding harness you had commissioned for him. It secured him snugly against your chest, leaving your arms free to guide Viserion’s reins. The little boy laughed, wriggling with excitement as you climbed into the saddle, your movements practiced and sure.

“Easy now,” you murmured to Viserion, patting her side. The she-dragon rumbled in response, her body shifting slightly as she adjusted to your weight. Her massive head turned, one golden eye watching you as though awaiting your command.

From the cliff’s edge, Tywin’s voice carried over the wind. “Keep her low,” he called, his tone sharp. “No unnecessary risks.”

You glanced back at him, offering a faint smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Viserion let out a low growl, her wings extending fully as she began to crouch. Damon giggled again, his tiny hands reaching out as though he could grasp the sky itself. The crowd murmured nervously, several of the ladies clutching their cloaks as the dragon’s powerful muscles coiled in preparation.

With a single, mighty leap, Viserion launched herself into the air.

The force of her takeoff sent a rush of wind through the courtyard, scattering dust and causing the gathered lords and ladies to shield their faces. Tywin remained unmoving, his gaze following the dragon as she ascended into the sky.

Viserion’s wings beat powerfully, the sound like distant thunder as she soared upward. You guided her carefully, keeping the flight low and steady, circling the cliffs of Dragonstone. Damon’s laughter rang out like music, his joy uncontainable as he looked out over the vast expanse of sea and sky.

“Do you see, Damon?” you said softly, your voice carrying over the rush of wind. “This is what it means to be part of something greater. To touch the skies, to feel the fire in your blood.”

Viserion rumbled beneath you, her body moving with an ease that spoke of the bond you shared. The dragon’s eyes flicked back toward Damon, her gaze almost protective as she continued her steady flight.

From the courtyard, Tywin watched with a sharp eye, his expression unreadable. One of the retainers ventured to speak. “It’s… remarkable, my lord. To see them like this. The boy will grow into a legend.”

“He’ll grow into a man first,” Tywin replied coldly, though there was a faint flicker of pride in his tone. “Legends are only worth what they can achieve.”

Jaime smirked faintly. “And what about her?” he asked, nodding toward you and Viserion. “Your wife is already a legend.”

Tywin didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the dragon as she glided effortlessly through the sky. Finally, he said, “She’s my wife. That’s all that matters.”

As Viserion began her descent, the crowd murmured with awe, the unease in the air palpable as the dragon circled once more before landing gracefully on the cliff’s edge. The force of her wings stirred the air, sending cloaks billowing as you dismounted with practiced ease.

Damon was still laughing as you lifted him from the harness, his tiny hands reaching for Viserion as though he couldn’t bear to leave her side. You kissed his head, your heart full as you turned to face Tywin.

He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over you both with quiet intensity. “You’ve made your point,” he said, his tone clipped but not unkind. “He will know his legacy.”

“And he will be stronger for it,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze.

Tywin nodded once, his expression softening for the briefest of moments before he turned back to the waiting lords and ladies. Behind him, Viserion let out a low rumble, her eyes watching over you and Damon with a presence that felt almost… maternal.

The crowd began to disperse, the awe of the moment lingering in their whispers, but you stayed rooted where you were, your son cradled in your arms and the dragon at your back.

The cold wind whistled through the Wall, carrying with it the icy bite of the north. Castle Black stood as resolute as ever, its black stone walls a stark contrast against the endless white expanse beyond. The fires in the courtyard burned low, sending thin streams of smoke into the sky, their warmth doing little to stave off the relentless chill.

Jon Snow, now the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, stood in the common hall with Samwell Tarly, a mug of warmed ale clasped in his gloved hands. The room was sparse, lit by a few flickering torches, their flames casting long shadows over the rough-hewn wooden tables.

Sam sat across from him, bundled in layers to ward off the cold, his face pink from the wind. He was speaking animatedly, as he often did when his curiosity got the better of him, though Jon’s expression remained as stoic as ever.

“You must’ve heard by now,” Sam said, his tone hushed but excited, as though speaking of something forbidden. “About her. About… the dragon.”

Jon raised a brow, sipping his ale. “All of Westeros has heard, Sam.”

Sam leaned forward, his eyes wide with wonder. “Your mum. She has a dragon. Can you imagine? I mean, she raised you, taught you the ways of Winterfell, and now she rides a dragon. It’s… incredible.”

Jon’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. “She’s not my mother, not by blood.”

“Not by blood, no,” Sam agreed, waving his hand dismissively. “But in every other way that matters, she is. She raised you, didn’t she? Taught you to be honorable, like your father—like Ned Stark.”

Jon nodded, his expression softening. “She did. She was always there, even when I wasn’t easy to deal with. She never made me feel like a burden.”

Sam tilted his head, a curious smile playing on his lips. “And now she rides a dragon. A dragon, Jon. Can you imagine? What’s it like, knowing your mum commands something so… so legendary?”

Jon’s gaze drifted to the mug in his hands, his voice quiet but steady. “I don’t know. It’s strange. I remember her teaching me to care for the direwolves when we first found them. She told me to respect their wildness, their strength. Maybe it’s not so different with dragons.”

Sam let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Not so different, he says. A wolf’s one thing, but a dragon? Jon, that’s a creature of fire and fury. It could burn armies to ash.”

“She wouldn’t let it,” Jon said firmly, meeting Sam’s gaze. “She’s not like that. She’s… measured. Careful.”

Sam nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Still, it must be something. To know she’s out there, riding a dragon like the Targaryens of old. Like… like she’s from a story.”

Jon let out a faint huff of laughter, though there was no humor in it. “She always said dragons were more than fire. That they were a symbol of strength, of something ancient.” His voice softened, and he added, “I never thought I’d see the day she’d have one of her own.”

Sam’s brow furrowed as he studied Jon. “Do you think she’s happy? I mean, with all of it—being tied to a dragon, to… to the Lannisters.”

Jon hesitated, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know. She’s always done what she thought was best—for her, for her family. If she made that choice, it’s because she believed it was the right one.”

Sam nodded, though his expression remained contemplative. “And you? How does it feel, knowing she’s out there, riding a dragon, shaping the world in ways we can’t even imagine?”

Jon leaned back slightly, his gaze distant as though looking beyond the walls of Castle Black. “It feels… strange. Like the world’s moving faster than I can keep up with. But if anyone can tame a dragon and still hold onto who they are, it’s her.”

The two men sat in silence for a moment, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. Finally, Sam spoke, his tone quieter now. “She’d be proud of you, you know. Of what you’ve done here.”

Jon glanced at him, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Maybe. But I think she’d still tell me to stay out of trouble.”

Sam chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “That sounds like her.”

Jon’s smile faded as his thoughts drifted again, his mind filled with images of dragons, fire, and the woman who had been a mother to him in all the ways that mattered. Somewhere out there, beyond the Wall and the reach of the Night’s Watch, she was riding a beast of legend, carrying the weight of her choices and her legacy.

Sam leaned forward, his elbows resting on the worn wooden table, his curiosity etched into his round face. “Jon,” he began hesitantly, his voice softer now, “didn’t you say… when you were beyond the Wall, nearly a year ago—you thought you saw her?”

Jon stiffened slightly, his gaze dropping to the mug of ale in his hands. The memory stirred something uneasy within him, something he hadn’t fully allowed himself to confront. “I thought I did,” he said finally, his voice low, distant. “But it wasn’t… clear.”

Sam’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean? What did you see?”

Jon exhaled slowly, setting the mug down on the table as his hands rested flat against the wood. His eyes were shadowed, the weight of his recollection pressing heavily on his shoulders. “It was like a specter,” he said, his voice steady but laced with uncertainty. “Like she was there—but then she wasn’t. Like something from a dream.”

Sam straightened slightly, his curiosity piqued. “But it was her? You’re certain?”

Jon hesitated, his jaw tightening as he thought back to that moment. The icy winds of the far north, the endless expanse of white, the shadows that moved at the edges of his vision. And then… her. Or what he thought was her.

“She was hurt,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “There was blood. And her face… it looked like her, but different. As if the cold had reached inside her and—” He stopped, shaking his head. “It didn’t feel real. It felt like… like she was a memory trying to take shape.”

Sam leaned back, his expression contemplative. “A specter,” he repeated, his voice thoughtful. “The north is full of strange things, Jon. Ghosts, shadows, things that shouldn’t be. But if it was her—if even a part of her was there—maybe there’s something more to it.”

Jon glanced at Sam, his dark brows drawing together. “What are you saying, Sam?”

Sam shrugged slightly, though his tone remained serious. “Maybe there’s a reason you saw her. A connection. You said she raised you, taught you everything you know. Maybe that bond runs deeper than we understand.”

Jon frowned, his gaze drifting to the fire as he considered Sam’s words. “I don’t know, Sam. It felt… wrong. Like she wasn’t supposed to be there.”

“But what if she was?” Sam pressed gently. “What if she was trying to protect you? To warn you?”

Jon’s jaw tightened, his thoughts turning over the possibilities. The memory of her face, pale and distant, haunted him still. He had dismissed it at the time, chalking it up to exhaustion, to the tricks the north could play on a man’s mind. But now, with Sam’s words stirring doubts, he wasn’t so sure.

“If it was her,” Jon said slowly, his voice heavy, “then she was in pain. She didn’t speak. She just… looked at me. Like she was trying to tell me something, but she couldn’t.”

Sam’s expression softened, his gaze steady on Jon. “Do you regret not going after her?”

Jon shook his head, his voice firm. “There was nothing to go after. She was there, and then she wasn’t. Like a shadow disappearing in the light.”

The room fell into silence, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Sam fidgeted with the edge of his cloak, his thoughts clearly racing, while Jon stared into the fire, his expression unreadable.

Finally, Sam broke the quiet. “If it was her, Jon… maybe it’s not too late to find out why. Maybe she’s still connected to you, somehow.”

Jon didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the flames. The thought of her—of the woman who had been his mother in every way but blood—lingering out there, tied to him in ways he couldn’t comprehend, sent a shiver down his spine.

“I don’t know what it means, Sam,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “But if she’s out there, I hope she’s safe. That’s all I can hope for.”

Sam nodded, his expression thoughtful but filled with quiet determination. “Then maybe the north isn’t done with her yet. Or with you.”

Jon didn’t answer, the firelight flickering in his eyes as his mind drifted back to that frozen moment beyond the Wall, to the specter of the woman who had given him strength when he had none. And though he didn’t say it aloud, a part of him wondered if he would ever see her again—not as a shadow, but as the woman she truly was.

[seongwars]

strangers by nature | v

Pairing: heir!Song Mingi x heir!Reader AU: non-idol | arranged marriage | enemies to lovers Genre: angst, humor, fluff in future chapters Rating: NC-17 Summary: After a life-altering car accident, Mingi is given one final shot at redemption—reborn as a fuzzy little puppy. To earn a second chance at life, he must complete three tasks or risk being doomed to the afterlife forever. Word Count: 6.4K Warnings: a little angst, mentions of stalking, one swear word, only 50% proofread because of the holidays, panic attack

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a/n: I struggled to write this chapter, but things will definitely be picking up soon! as always feedback is appreciated! i love reading everyone's thoughts!

The faint jingling of the bell announced your arrival as you stepped into the cozy coffee shop. Mingi trotted in behind you, his tiny paws clicking against the tiled floor. Heads turned almost immediately, and the quiet murmur of conversation gave way to coos and giggles.

“Look at that dog!”

“He’s so cute!”

Mingi puffed up his chest, his little tail wagging in satisfaction as he soaked in the admiration. His tail wagged in satisfaction, a clear sign that he was enjoying the attention. Someone nearby pulled out their phone, angling for a picture, while another patron whispered to their friend about how much he resembled a fluffy toy.

Despite his tiny form, he still had his ego intact. He strutted a few steps ahead of you, taking in the praise from others. 

“I’ll get us something quick,” you muttered to him, scratching behind his ears. He gave a soft huff, clearly not impressed with the idea of waiting, especially when a cup of whip cream was to be had. 

You straightened and made your way to the counter, your eyes scanning the menu overhead. Behind you, Mingi entertained his growing fan club, a gaggle of customers marveling at his antics as you stepped aside to wait for your order. 

“Y/N?”

Turning, you were greeted by the sight of Park Seonghwa standing near the condiment bar, a takeaway cup in one hand and the other tucked into his pocket. It was rare to see the heir to Park Enterprises out and about like this, given his reputation for being both elusive and endlessly busy. That fact that he was here at all felt oddly serendipitous.

“Hey, Seonghwa.”

His smile widened slightly, and he took a step closer. “Fancy running into you here.”

“Yeah, I’m on the way to the hospital to stay with Mingi. Just stopping by to grab coffee before heading over.”

As if on cue, Maro let out a sharp bark, turning Seonghwa’s attention downward. His brows lifted in surprise and delight as he took in the tiny, proud pup sitting at your feet.

“Mingi let you have a dog?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated. “Well... not exactly,” you admitted, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. 

“It’s...complicated.”

“Complicated, huh?”

Still, the thought lingered in your mind: would you have to give up your puppy once Mingi woke up? Maro had simply happened, and now you couldn’t imagine not having him around.

“I found him,” you blurted. “Or, I guess, he found me.”

Seonghwa’s gaze lingered on Maro, his expression softening slightly before he returned his attention to you. 

“Knowing Mingi,” he said carefully, “I can’t imagine he’d be thrilled about this.”

You laughed, though it came out a little strained. “Yeah, well, he doesn’t exactly have a say right now.”

The humor in the moment dissipated almost immediately. Seonghwa’s teasing expression softened, giving way to something more serious. 

“How is he?” he asked quietly.

“The same,” you admitted. “No changes yet.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice so low it barely reached you over the hum of the coffee shop. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now.”

You nodded, lips pressing into a tight line as you fought the sudden swell of emotion in your chest. 

“If you need company at the hospital,” he offered, “just let me know.”

Now hold on! Mingi growled, his tiny body stiffening. His big brown eyes locked onto Seonghwa, narrowing as much as his puppy face would allow. Park Seonghwa, for all his charm was still Park Seonghwa, a man with a reputation whose commitment issues rivaled Mingi’s own. 

You glanced up at him, managing to raise an eyebrow as you struggled to muster a semblance of a smile. His offer, so simple yet so unexpectedly kind, caught you off guard.

“Is it because your family owns Hala Medical?”

“Maybe,” he replied, his tone playful as though he could sense you needed the levity.

Mingi didn’t care how successful Seonghwa’s family was in healthcare, or how much he was trying to play the concerned friend right now. He wasn’t going to let him swoop in with his perfect hair, stupid face, and infuriatingly genuine smile to worm his way into your life while he was stuck in a coma, unable to defend himself.

And you’re a married woman! If Seonghwa thought he could charm his way past that little detail, Mingi was more than ready to remind him otherwise. The puppy let out another indignant bark. You shot him a quick look, tilting your head in confusion. 

“What’s with you?” you muttered softly, rubbing his back in an attempt to soothe him.

Mingi growled louder this time, his tiny body practically vibrating with the effort. Did Seonghwa think he was fooling anyone? Mingi was onto him, and he wasn’t going to let the infamous Park Seonghwa forget that you were spoken for.

“Don’t mind him,” you said with a sheepish laugh, shifting Mingi in your arms. “He gets like this sometimes. It’s all that puppy energy.”

Seonghwa raised a brow, his lips twitching with amusement as he leaned slightly closer. “Protective, huh?” he remarked, his tone light. 

“Guess he has good instincts.”

Of course I do! Mingi thought, puffing out his little chest. If he’d had hands instead of paws, he’d have already swung on Seonghwa for good measure. A man like Seonghwa didn’t just casually offer to visit hospitals out of the goodness of his heart. No, he had an angle, and Mingi was determined to sniff it out.

Still, you were oblivious to the growing tension between the two males. “I should grab my order,” you said, glancing toward the counter and adjusting your grip on Mingi. 

“I need to get there before visiting hours are over.”

Seonghwa nodded, stepping aside with a gracious smile. “Of course. Don’t let me keep you.”

Mingi let out another low growl, shooting one last withering glare at Seonghwa as you turned your attention back to the counter. As far as the pomeranian was concerned, this wasn’t over. 

⋆

Yeosang’s car rolled to a stop in front of the hospital. As soon as the door opened, Mingi’s tiny legs worked furiously as he darted toward Yeosang, his fluffy tail wagging so hard it looked like he might fly away.

“Hey buddy,” Yeosang chuckled, scratching behind Mingi’s ears before scooping him up. “You ready for another sleepover?”

Hetmon barked from the backseat, his paws resting on the window. Let’s go already!

“Thanks so much for meeting me here! Sorry today’s drop off is a little out of the ordinary,” you said, handing Yeosang a bag of baked goods from the coffee shop.

“No worries. It actually works out great! Having the park between my apartment and the hospital is pretty convenient. I told Hetmon we’d stop by and let him and Maro run around before heading home.”

“You’re a lifesaver, I can’t thank you enough. Hetmon is more than welcome to stay with us whenever he’d like.”

“Careful, he might take you up on that offer and never want to come home.”

Laughing, you bent down to give Mingi a kiss between his fluffy ears. “Be good for Uncle Yeosang, okay?” Mingi gave an enthusiastic bark in response, his tail wagging so furiously it made his whole body wiggle.

“Thanks again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With a final wave, you turned and headed toward the hospital, glancing back once to see Maro already pawing at Yeosang’s leg, eager to get going.

Once they reached the dog park, Mingi wasted no time. The moment Yeosang unclipped his leash, the little pomeranian shot off like a rocket. He barked gleefully, weaving through the open field with such speed that even larger dogs stopped to watch in astonishment.

Hetmon trotted after him at a more measured pace, as if he knew Mingi would wear himself out eventually. Finally, the puppy skidded to a stop under the shade of a tree, panting dramatically as the doberman joined him, settling down onto the grass with a huff. But before Hetmon could catch his breath, Mingi launched into a tirade.

“So, get this,” Mingi began, his tiny voice surprisingly serious despite the constant wagging of his tail. He paced in front of Hetmon, his little legs moving with purpose. 

“There’s this guy. His name is Seonghwa, and he was hitting on Y/N at the coffee shop.”

Hetmon tilted his head, his ears perking up. “Seonghwa? Who’s that?”

“He’s not important,” Mingi snapped, spinning around dramatically. “What’s important is that he thinks he can just charm his way into Y/N’s heart.”

“Well, if he’s not important, why are we talking about him?”

“Because!” Mingi barked, “He’s literally perfect and I don’t want Y/N to replace me! She’s my wife and I… I…”

His voice faltered, the words catching in his throat as if saying them aloud might make them too real. His paws stilled mid-step, and he froze, staring down at the ground.

Love her.

Was this love really his? Or was it just some puppy instinct to adore the person who cared for him?

He thought of the way you’d let him curl up in bed with you, ignoring how much space his small, fluffy frame somehow managed to take up. You always tucked the blankets around him, murmuring something soft and sweet. He felt safe there, pressed close to you, as though nothing could hurt him as long as he was with you.

He thought about how you scratched behind his ears, those tender moments when he’d rest his head on your lap. You’d tell him, you love him and each time, he could feel it in your voice, in your touch. It wasn’t just words. 

You meant it.

You didn’t just care for him. You saw him. You saw past all his flaws–his arrogance, his pride, and you still stayed. Even as he was in a coma, you chose him. 

And if that wasn’t love, what was?

“I don’t want to lose her,” Mingi admitted, his voice trembling. 

He sank onto his haunches, his tail lying limp against the ground. Yet, the act of speaking them aloud released something within him. It was like stepping into the sun after years of darkness. 

It wasn’t just the loyalty of a pet. It wasn’t just some fleeting puppy affection. It was real. He loved you. 

But love, he realized bitterly, came with its own demons. It came with fear, sharp and gnawing. The fear that you’d leave him. The fear that one day, you’d look at him and realize you deserved better.

Mingi's chest tightened, his breaths coming out in short, shallow huffs. What if you already realized it? What if the only thing keeping you by his side was pity? That thought was unbearable. 

His tail gave a tentative wag, hesitant at first but growing stronger as he allowed himself to lean into the feeling. It wasn’t just relief. It was hope.

“I love her,” he declared, this time with a small smile. 

“Aww, look who’s grown a heart.”

Mingi’s ears perked up, and he whirled around to see Wooyoung perched on a low-hanging branch, his black tail swishing lazily. The cat’s eyes twinkled with amusement, his signature smirk in place. 

“It’s the cat!” Hetmon barked excitedly, bounding over to the tree with his tail wagging furiously. He let out another bark, practically vibrating with energy as Wooyoung hopped down from the branch. 

“What are you doing here?” Mingi narrowed his eyes to gaze at the Judge. 

“Am I not allowed to congratulate you? You’re knocking these tasks out in record time” he drawled, arching his spine and flexing his claws. “Touching confession, by the way.”

Mingi puffed up, his fur fluffing indignantly. “What do you want?”

Wooyoung stood, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder with his paw. “I came to remind you that there’s more work to be done. The little girl? That was only task two. Don’t get too comfortable.”

Mingi scowled, his fluffy tail flicking in irritation. “I know that. You don’t need to remind me.”

“But it’s so entertaining,” Wooyoung shot back, his grin widening mischievously. 

“Watching our little hero overcome life’s obstacles for love.”

Then, to Mingi’s surprise, Wooyoung’s expression softened, his usual smirk giving way to something quieter and more thoughtful. 

“Look,” he said, his voice dropping to something almost gentle, “you did well.”

Mingi blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in Wooyoung’s demeanor.  

“You’ve got more heart than you give yourself credit for. You’re capable of putting someone else’s needs before your own. That you can be selfless when it matters.”

Selfless. That wasn’t a word he’d ever used to describe himself. In his human life, everything had been about him: his ambitions, his comforts, his endless need for validation. If something didn’t serve his desires, he’d ignored it, or worse, pushed it away.

He had been selfish. He could see that now, clear as day, and the realization stung. He’d hurt people—hurt you. He’d dismissed your efforts, neglected your feelings, and then, when things fell apart, he had blamed you. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Mingi asked finally, his voice quieter than he intended.

“Because, as much as I enjoy giving you a hard time, I’d rather see you win. For her, but also for you.”

For a moment, Mingi didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t used to this side of Wooyoung—supportive, almost kind. It threw him off balance, but at the same time, it felt…good.

He swore he’d work harder, not just to make things right, but to make you happy. This wasn’t just about earning back his humanity, it was about earning back your trust, your happiness, and maybe, if he was lucky, your forgiveness.

“Hetmon! Maro! Let’s go home!” 

Clutching their leashes in hand, Yeosang hurried toward the dogs, crouching down to clip the leashes onto their harnesses. As they started toward the park’s exit, Yeosang cast one last glance over his shoulder, his jaw tightening. 

“Excuse me?”

Yeosang turned, his usually calm expression darkening as he took in the middle-aged woman approaching him. Her clothes were simple and unremarkable, but her presence carried an unsettling air. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of desperation and misplaced affection that made Yeosang’s skin crawl.

“Can I help you?” he asked flatly, keeping his tone polite but distant.

“C-Can you tell me more about that dog?” she asked, pointing to Mingi. Her voice quivered, but it wasn’t the kind of nervousness Yeosang could dismiss as harmless. It felt...like she was trying too hard to seem unassuming.

“He’s just a pomeranian.”

“Oh, it’s just...he’s so unique.” 

Her smile was tight, forced, and her hands fidgeted restlessly at her sides. “I couldn’t help but notice him. Where did you get him? He’s not from around here, is he?”

Yeosang stiffened, his instincts screaming at him to end the conversation. “I can ask his owner for more information, but—”

“Owner?” she interrupted, her eyes widening slightly. “Oh, so he’s not yours?” She took a step closer, her gaze fixed intently on Mingi. 

“No, but I’m sure you can find a pomeranian for adoption if you reach out to your local shelter.”

But the woman didn’t seem to hear him. Her eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity, and her smile grew wider, almost manic. 

“What about the girl?”

Yeosang’s eyes narrowed. “What girl?”

“The one who owns him,” the woman said, her gaze shifting between Yeosang and Mingi. Her expression softened into something disturbingly wistful.  

“My daughter.”

Yeosang froze, his heart thudding in his chest. “Your daughter?” he echoed, his voice flat and cold, masking the unease creeping up his spine.

The woman nodded, her smile growing wider but no less unsettling. “She’s grown into such a lovely young woman, hasn’t she?”

Yeosang’s grip on the leashes tightened, as he scanned his surroundings for any sign of Hetmon and Mingi. The two were playing under a tree, which was a relief. He took a deliberate step back, placing himself between the woman and the dogs. 

“That’s none of your business,” he said sharply.

But the woman didn’t seem to notice his hostility—or chose to ignore it. “Is she married? Does she live nearby? Does she walk the dogs often?”

Yeosang felt his patience snap. His usually calm demeanor was replaced by a simmering anger. Who was this woman?

“Listen to me. You’re asking invasive, inappropriate questions about someone you don’t know. That’s not curiosity, that’s stalking.”

The woman’s smile faltered but she quickly recovered, her expression twisting into something defensive. 

“I didn’t mean any harm,” she replied, though her tone lacked sincerity. “I just wanted to know more about my daughter. I haven’t seen her in over twenty years ever since her father took her away from me!” Her voice rose on the last part, as if she were struggling to contain an outburst. 

“I don’t know what your problem is, but if I ever see you here again, or if you go anywhere near…your daughter, I won’t be this polite.”

For a moment, there was silence. Her hands trembled slightly, and her breath quickened, but she didn’t speak. Instead, her gaze flickered over to the dogs, then back to Yeosang. With a sharp exhale, she finally turned on her heel, her movements stiff with rage. She stalked off, muttering under her breath, her words inaudible but tinged with frustration.

He watched her retreat, his eyes following her until she was out of sight, and only then did he allow himself to relax slightly. Clutching their leashes in hand, Yeosang hurried toward the dogs, crouching down to clip the leashes onto their harnesses. 

“Hetmon! Maro! Let’s go home!” 

Yeosang kept his eyes scanning the park’s perimeter, making sure the woman didn’t return. His thoughts kept circling back to her, the way she’d spoken about you, referring to you as her daughter. 

He shook his head, trying to push the unsettling thoughts away but the voice in the back of his head kept telling him that you were in trouble. Gripping the leashes a little tighter, Yeosang quickened his pace, the dogs trotting happily at his side as he rushed home. He had to let you know that something was amiss and that you were possibly in danger. 

⋆

You sighed, stretching your stiff muscles as you laid on the sofa. It had been about a month and a half since Mingi’s accident, and the doctors still hadn’t seen any improvement in his condition. The days blurred together–you’d get up, take Maro out, feed him, get ready for your day, check in on the foundation, before contemplating your existence. 

The sofa you’d claimed as your makeshift bed creaked faintly as you shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, though it did little to chase away the cold.

“Found you.”

The voice broke the silence, and you startled, jerking upright as your heart raced. Blinking against the dim light of the hallway, your eyes landed on a figure standing a few feet away.

“Seonghwa?”  

His dark suit was impeccably tailored, his shoes polished to a mirror shine, and his hair so flawlessly styled that you doubted anything about him had ever been out of place. Even now, standing in the dim, unflattering light of the hospital, he looked more suited for the cover of a magazine than the depressing private suite of your comatose husband. Park Seonghwa and his stupidly perfect face and personality, everyone would say. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice still low, more out of habit than necessity.

“I had a meeting with the board,” he said, stepping into the room as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

“At 9 at night?” you asked, eyebrows raising in disbelief.

“Hospital boards don’t keep regular hours,” he replied easily, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

You frowned, pulling your blanket tighter around yourself. “I didn’t think hospitals held board meetings this late.”

“They usually don’t,” he admitted, taking another step closer. “But some discussions can’t wait.” His gaze swept over the room, lingering briefly on the sofa before settling back on you. 

“And what about you? Shouldn’t you be at home? Or at least in an actual bed?”

“I told you,” you muttered, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. “I’m staying with Mingi.”

His expression softened, though the concern in his eyes remained. “You’ve been staying here for weeks, haven’t you?”

“Isn’t that a violation of patient privacy?” you shot back, crossing your arms defensively.

Seonghwa’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk. “First, you’re not a patient. Secondly, news spreads fast when your mother-in-law is…your mother-in-law.”

The mention of her made your jaw tighten instinctively, your grip on the blanket pulling it tighter around you like a shield. You didn’t want to sound ungrateful, she cared in her own way, you supposed. But it was hard not to feel resentment every time you were left to sit by Mingi’s side alone, her absence a glaring reminder of how much he’d been left to you to shoulder.

“I just don’t like the idea of him being left alone.”

“Running yourself into the ground won’t help Mingi. If anything, it’ll make things harder for him, and for you.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he held up a hand, stopping you.

“Humor me,” he said. “When was the last time you did something for yourself?”

You hesitated. You opened your mouth again, searching for a reply—something to prove him wrong—but the words wouldn’t come. Because the truth was…you couldn’t remember.

When was the last time you did something for yourself? Getting coffee with Jiwoo and Jongho didn’t count. The same thing goes with taking Maro out for a walk or hanging out with Yeosang and Hetmon. No, those moments weren’t for you. They were distractions at best, small glimpses of normalcy in the chaos, but they hadn’t been about you.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, his voice softer now. He straightened, motioning toward the door. 

“Come on.”

“Come on where?” 

“For a walk,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“In the middle of the night? In a hospital?”

“My family owns the hospital,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with a faint smirk. “And you need fresh air.”

You stared at him. For a moment, you contemplated saying no, coming up with an excuse to stay planted on the sofa in the darkness of the suite. But the weight of his gaze and his stupid handsome face left little room for argument. 

“Fifteen minutes,” he added softly. “That’s all I’m asking.”

The courtyard was quiet, save for the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant hum of city life. He walked beside you at a leisurely pace, his hands in his pockets, giving you room to gather your thoughts.  

“So,” he said finally, “How are you?”

You blinked, glancing at him. “What?”

He turned his head slightly to meet your gaze. “How are you doing?” he repeated.

The question caught you off guard. Not because it was strange or unwelcome, but because it had been so long since anyone had asked you that. Really asked. 

“I’m fine,” you replied, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

“Try again.”

You frowned, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket. “I said I’m fine,” you repeated, your tone sharper now.

His lips quirked at the corners, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “And I said try again.”

Your frustration flared, but before it could boil over, Seonghwa leaned back against the edge of the fountain, crossing his arms. He took a moment to study you. You were always a little strange, he thought, but not in a bad way. It was in a way that made you stand out amongst the world of the elite. 

You lived in a world of sharp edges, where power was everything, and kindness was a weakness waiting to be exploited. Yet, amidst the cutthroat games of high society, you wore your heart plainly. Somehow, you remained standing, untouched by the corrosive allure of wealth and status. It wasn’t rebellion that set you apart, it was something gentler, something more enduring.

Seonghwa had always admired this about you, even from afar, catching glimpses through the whispers of your peers.

His voice was softer when he spoke again. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he said. “But don’t lie to me either. You’re not fine.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words were caught in your throat. Instead, you sighed in response, stuffing your hands deeper into the pockets of your jacket. Seonghwa didn’t push, though his gaze lingered for a moment longer before he glanced away.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence again, this time with a lighter tone. “What’s the plan when Mingi wakes up?”

“I haven’t thought about it,” you admitted quietly. “I’m just…focusing on what’s in front of me right now.”

“You’re running yourself ragged for someone who might not do the same for you.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t have empathy for him.”

Seonghwa let out a low hum, his expression thoughtful. “No,” he agreed, his voice almost a murmur. “It doesn’t. But you’re allowed to have empathy for yourself too.”

“You’re too good for our world,” he added. When your eyes flicked to his, he gave you a small, almost wistful smile. 

“You don’t belong in all this chaos, Y/N. You’ve always been…strange.” 

“I get that alot,” you scoffed. “You’re not the first one to point that out.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because people like you get hurt the most in a world like this.”

You turned to look at him, startled by how sincere he was. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say, your arsenal of witty comebacks failing you. Seonghwa wasn't pitying you nor was he being condescending. He was acknowledging you, comforting you. Reminding you that compassion was a strength and it was something you were worthy of receiving, too.

“Is this…” you started, trying to mask the slight tremor in your voice with a teasing tone, “is this part of that charm you’re so infamous for?”

Seonghwa’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Infamous?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smirk and crossing your arms over your chest to regain some sense of control. 

“Your reputation almost rivals Mingi’s.” You hesitated, your voice dipping just slightly as you added, “but, you know, with fewer tantrums.”

“Fewer tantrums, huh? Should I take that as a compliment or an insult?”

You shrugged, feigning indifference, though the teasing glint in his eyes made it harder to keep a straight face. 

“Take it however you want,” you replied lightly.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, his grin softening as his tone shifted. “But seriously, you know I’m always around, if you need someone. I mean it.”

You instinctively raised your hand, wiggling your fingers to display your wedding ring. “I’m a married woman.”

“Take it however you want,” he teased, throwing your own words back at you with a wink. “But the offer stands.”

You stared at him, momentarily stunned. Was he genuinely offering support? Or was he trying to make a move on you? Before you could figure out how to respond, the shrill ring of your phone caught you off guard.

Your gaze dropped to the screen, where Yeosang’s name lit up. Grateful for the interruption, you glanced back at Seonghwa with a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

He nodded, leaning back with an easygoing shrug, though his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer.

“Hey Yeosang.”

“Hey! How’s the hospital?”

“Same old,” you replied with a sigh. “Nothing’s really changed with Mingi.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he said, and you could feel the genuine sympathy in his voice. “Maro and Hetmon are all tucked in and asleep in the fort, but I wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure, what’s this about?” you asked, your posture straightening as a flicker of worry crept in.

Yeosang hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Your mother…is Kim Youngji, right? Former Jinhit heiress?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t she be?”

“Well…” Yeosang’s voice lowered, and you could hear the tension creeping in. “There was this strange woman at the park asking questions about Maro like where you got him and whatnot. At first, I thought she was just a dog lover, you know? Interested in him because he’s such a unique breed or something. But then…”

“Then what?” you pressed.

“She started asking about you,” Yeosang said, his voice laced with unease. “And not in a casual way. She was way too specific, Y/N. She claimed you were her daughter.”

“What!?” you exclaimed, your voice rising in disbelief. The absurdity of his words collided with a chilling sense of unease. You looked over to Seonghwa, who had stepped closer, his brow furrowed with concern. 

“She kept pressing,” Yeosang continued, his frustration clear in the clipped tone of his voice. “Her questions got more invasive. She asked if you were married, if you lived nearby, if you were the one who walked Maro most of the time. And then…” He paused, his voice dropping lower. 

“Then she said your dad took you away from her. Like she was claiming he took you away in a custody battle.”

Your heart sank further, a cold knot forming in your stomach. “She said that?”

“Yeah. That’s when I lost my shit. I told her to get lost, grabbed the dogs, and got out of there as fast as I could. But…I have a bad feeling about this, Y/N.”

Your grip on the phone tightened, and you felt Seonghwa’s gaze on you. He didn’t say anything, but the slight tilt of his head reminded you that he was there if you needed him. 

“Thanks for letting me know,” you said finally, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’ll…I’ll talk to my mom about it. Maybe she’ll have some idea of who this woman is.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Yeosang agreed, though his tone remained cautious. “But be careful, okay? Whoever she is, she didn’t seem stable. Take your time with pick up tomorrow.”

“I appreciate that,” you said quietly, “Thanks for looking out for the puppies.”

The call ended, leaving a tense silence in its wake. You lowered the phone, exhaling a shaky breath as you tried to process what you’d just heard. The threat felt closer now, less like a shadow lurking in the background and more like a storm rolling toward you.

“Everything okay?” Seonghwa asked. 

“Yeah…It’s getting late, I should head back.”

Turning on your heel, you made your way back toward the suite, your steps slower now, the conversation playing on a loop in your head. Every shadow seemed sharper, every sound amplified. You tried to focus on the steady rhythm of your breathing, but the sound of Yeosang’s voice wouldn’t leave you.

“Maro! My baby!” you cooed as Mingi bounded toward you. You scooped him up, burying your face in his fur as his excited yips filled the air.

Yeosang stood nearby, a faint smile softening the tension on his face. He held onto Hetmon’s leash, but his gaze kept darting toward the park’s edges, his encounter the day before still fresh. 

“How was he?” you asked, squishing a very happy Mingi against your face. 

“An angel as always,” Yeosang chuckled, scratching the Hetmon between the ears. 

You smiled, but the way his attention flickered nervously to the surrounding trees didn’t escape you. Setting Maro back on the ground, you straightened up, crossing your arms. “What’s wrong? You’ve been on edge since I got here.”

“Just making sure she isn’t lurking around,” Yeosang said, his tone low and cautious. 

“I think she knows more about you than she let on. When she saw Maro yesterday, she called you ‘the girl who owns him.’” He paused, glancing at Maro, who was sniffing the grass. 

“She’s seen him before—maybe even followed you.”

“What did she look like?” you asked. 

“Maybe… mid-forties? Dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail. She had a dark coat, but it wasn’t even that cold yesterday.” He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he recalled the encounter. “And her eyes… She had this deranged look, like she was completely convinced of whatever twisted story she’s telling herself.”

A shiver ran down your spine. You crouched beside Maro, stroking his fur absentmindedly as you tried to process Yeosang’s words. You tried to recall where you’ve seen or heard that description before. But you couldn’t quite figure out where. 

Mingi lifted his head, his nose twitching as an unusual scent wafted through the park. His tail stilled, and his ears perked up, alert to the approaching presence. 

There was a hint of coffee, Black Opium, the faintest whiff of ink and…multiple affairs. The pomeranian’s eyes narrowed, his small body tense as a low growl rumbled from his chest. His gaze snapped to the pathway ahead, where a figure was approaching, and his growls turned to a sharp bark.

You glanced down at him in confusion. “Maro?” you asked, crouching to stroke his head.

Mingi’s growl softened slightly at your touch, but he stayed on high alert, his fluffy frame taut with suspicion. He sniffed the air again as Seonghwa came into view, his presence impossible to ignore.

“Seonghwa?” you said, surprised, turning to find him approaching you and Yeosang. “What are you doing here?”

How convenient Mingi thought bitterly, his gaze never leaving the man. His barks grew more insistent, clearly directed at Seonghwa now.

“Just on my way to grab coffee. Hospital coffee isn’t exactly the best,” Seonghwa explained casually, though his attention drifted to Mingi, who looked seconds away from launching himself at him.

“I see someone’s still not a fan,” he quipped.

“Sorry about that,” you muttered, crouching again to pick up Mingi. “He’s usually so well-behaved.”

Mingi huffed indignantly in your arms, clearly disagreeing with your assessment. Meanwhile, Hetmon, who had been lounging nearby suddenly perked up. His ears twitched, and his nose wriggled as if catching a scent in the air.

Oh no, Maro’s upset, I can feel it. Seonghwa? Is that Seonghwa? The one who was trying to hit on Y/N? The one who almost took her away from Maro? When my friends are upset, it’s my job to help. That’s what I do, I help. Because I’m a good friend!

Time seemed to slow as Hetmon sprung forward, charging toward his unsuspecting target, his powerful frame sending Seonghwa stumbling backward. The man’s eyes widened in surprise as he fell, the force of the impact knocking him off balance. A muffled thud followed as Seonghwa hit the ground, his suit jacket crumpling beneath him. Hetmon stood triumphantly on his chest, barking loudly in satisfaction.

“Hetmon, get off of him!” Yeosang rushed forward, his laid back demeanor replaced by outright horror at the sight of his usually gentle dog standing on Seonghwa’s chest, unrepentant.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he grabbed Hetmon’s harness. “I have no idea what got into him. He’s never done anything like this before.”

A few steps away, Mingi wiggled out of your arms and trotted over to the scene. His tail wagged furiously, his eyes glinting with smug satisfaction as he gave a sharp, triumphant bark. It was clear he approved of Hetmon’s intervention.

You stepped forward to help Seonghwa, stifling a laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Behind you, Hetmon and Mingi sat like a united front of mischief, but your smile faltered as an icy sensation crawled down your spine. The air felt heavy, like an unseen gaze pressing watching you, and your chest tightened as your thoughts scattered.

Mingi’s ears flicked and let out an uneasy bark. He sensed it too—something was off.

“I should probably get going,” you said abruptly, your voice wavering despite your best efforts to steady it. 

Both Seonghwa and Yeosang turned to you, concern etched across their faces, but you avoided their eyes, focusing instead on scooping up Mingi. Your legs felt unsteady, each step toward the park’s exit requiring more effort than the last.

“Y/N! Wait, is everything okay?” Seonghwa called after you.

You glanced back just long enough to nod, offering a weak, unconvincing smile before hurrying away. The icy sensation prickling at the back of your neck refused to dissipate, no matter how much distance you put between yourself and the park.

When you reached your car, your hands fumbled with the keys, dropping them twice before you finally managed to unlock the door. You slid inside, slamming it shut and locking it with trembling fingers.

Tears blurred your vision as you struggled to calm yourself, gripping the steering wheel tightly in a futile attempt to ground yourself. Mingi whined softly, climbing into your lap and pressing a paw to your chest. His warm, steady presence was a quiet reminder to breathe, to focus. You closed your eyes, taking shaky, uneven breaths, trying to mimic the calm he radiated.

“Just breathe,” you whispered to yourself, though it sounded more like a plea than a command. Breathe. 

Mingi’s paw stayed firmly on your chest, nuzzling against your chin. If he could, he’d wrap you in his arms and take away all the fear and panic that had overtaken you. He hated seeing you like this, scared, fragile, and hurting, and he wanted to do more. He needed to do more to make sure he could shield you from the world. 

The tears came slower now, the overwhelming panic easing into a dull ache in your chest. You rested your forehead against Mingi’s, whispering a soft, broken “thank you.” He nudged you, promising that he wouldn’t let anything harm you, not while he was by your side.

You closed your eyes and leaned back against the seat, still stroking his fur as he rested against you. “Let’s go home,” you murmured softly, smiling down at your puppy. Mingi’s tail wagged and his ears perked up at your words.

Yeah, let’s go home.

<< iv | vi >>

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@molberto @litolmochi @intowxnderland @yn-reincarnate @lemonkait00

@corgilover20 @randomgworlypop @taegi1016 @almondtofu006 @ateezaddict24

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@vcutparis

[eggyrocks]

EGGNOG & MISTLETOE

happy holidays @nowoyas i’m your secret santa and this is for you <3 part of the hq x reader secret santa organized by @lale-txt

tags/warnings: nishinoya x gn reader, holiday party, mentions of alcohol, jealousy

word count: 1.1k

Nishinoya’s stomach is churning. He keeps telling himself it’s because of the rum-spiked eggnog Tanaka insisted he drink, and not because of the way you’re looking at Kuroo Tetsuro.

He came to this party for you, put on this itchy holiday sweater for you, and he’s really trying not to be upset over the fact that he’s not here with you. That instead of you staying glued to his side all night, you’re smiling eagerly as Kuroo regales you with tales of his fancy office job, or whatever.

And really, he knows that he shouldn’t be this jealous. He couldn’t even recall the last time you’d seen Kuroo, and it’s not like you ever talk about him, so he shouldn’t have anything to worry about, if he’s been honest with himself. But it just irks him, seeing you smile at someone else like that. It should be him. That’s really all Nishinoya is able to think about as he watches the scene play out before him.

It should be him.

It gets too hot there, standing there with his spiked eggnog and his stuffy red sweater. And then, Nishinoya has to watch as you giggle at something Kuroo says, and it becomes too much. He suddenly, very desperately needs some air. He deposits the half-full cup of eggnog in the trash and makes his way towards the back of the house, sneaking out the backdoor.

What Nishinoya doesn’t see though, is how your eyes follow him. The second he breaks away from the crowd, your eyes follow him, and Kuroo becomes an after-thought.

Nishinoya opens and closes the door behind him and takes a seat on the step. It’s cold, but he appreciates it. His face is red, and his thoughts are spinning. He tries to calm them, attempting to conjure up images of anything other than you and Kuroo. But it’s not working; he squeezes his eyes shut and sees yours squinted up in a delighted smile at Kuroo’s words.

He groans. He knows he doesn’t have a right to be jealous. He knows you can talk to Kuroo all you want. Despite his wishes, you’re not his, so there’s nothing he can really say. And it sort of just feels like shit, for him.

Nishinoya’s in the middle of these agonized thoughts when the door opens and closes behind him once again. His head turns to see you, and his mouth pops open slightly in surprise. “What are you doing out here?” he asks, watching as you take a seat beside him.

You sit, the side of your thigh brushing against his. “Saw you coming out here, figured I’d join you. Why are you out here?”  

He shrugs. “I just needed a breather, I guess,” he admits. And it’s true. Thirty more seconds of witnessing the scene before him and he might’ve snapped, intervened when he shouldn’t’ve.

“That doesn’t sound like you,” you remark, and he has to agree. Normally he’d be chugging that god-awful eggnog along with Tanaka and signing along horribly to some old Christmas song. Of course you’d notice. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Nishinoya says. “Just thinking. It’s hot in there, so the cold’s nice.”

“Hmm,” you muse, rubbing your hands together. Nishinoya watches them, and thinks they might be cold. He has this impulse to grab them and hold them in his own. “I missed you. I feel like I haven’t gotten to see you all night.”

His heart thumps a bit harder at this. “Yeah, I know. Kuroo’s hogging you, the dick.”

You snort, and you drop your head down to rest it on his shoulder. And Nishinoya takes this a sign. He reaches over, and places one of his hands on top of yours. They’re cold to the touch, and he hopes you’ll appreciate the warmth. You guys are close, he figures, it won’t seem so out of place.

“Well, you know,” you say, eyes dropping to your hands, “I’d much rather be spending my time with you, anyways.”

And at once, Nishinoya’s mood spins around, and he suddenly can’t help but puff up his chest a bit in pride. “Really?” he questions.

“Of course,” you say, pulling away your head to look him in the eye. “There’s no one else I’d rather spend my time with.”

And Nishinoya hears you, but all he can focus on is how close you are. His eyes scan over the details of your face, from the curve of your mouth to the way your eyes sparkle in the light that emits from the house. And he’s always known that he’s loved you, but he really feels it then. He feels it with his whole chest. He loves you, and he wants to kiss you. He wants it more than anything.

“Yeah,” he says, though it feels awkward coming out of his mouth. His throat feels dry, all of the sudden. “I feel the same.”

There’s a slight smile on your face that makes Nishinoya feel like there’s something erupting inside of him. He wants to kiss you. He thinks he’s going to kiss you.

And then, the door slams open behind the two of you. Nishinoya jumps.

Tanaka is standing there, body language sloppy and leaning against the door frame. “Oh, there you two are,” he slurs, obviously drunk off of his own creation. He holds up on hand, and Nishinoya’s gut drops at the sight of a bundle of mistletoe pinched between his fingers. “Been looking for you everywhere, now you gotta kiss.”

Nishinoya reaches out and swats at his shins. “Man, fuck off,” he says, though there’s no bite in his voice.

“No,” Tanaka insists. “You guys gotta kiss, those are the rules.”

You tug at Nishinoya’s hand, and he turns his head back to look at you. You lean in, and place a soft, warm kiss on his cheek. It lingers there for a second, and Nishinoya can’t help when both his jaw drops. He thinks his chest might burst.

You pull away and smile at him, before turning to Tanaka. “There, you happy?”

“Mistletoe rules have been satisfied. Now come back in, we’re doing karaoke, and I need my duet partner, man.”

Nishinoya groans, but you stand, encouraging him to follow by interlocking your fingers with him and tugging him to his feet. “C’mon,” you tell him with a soft smile, “we can talk more later.”

He follows, and delights in the way you never let go of his hand in the process. Nishinoya stares at your interlocked hands, and grins.

And later in the night, after his duet with Tanaka and several more drinks of that horrible eggnog, he finds a confused Kuroo, and proudly declares that he won.

happy holidays y'all <3

[s4kura-tr3]

Jjk men — they dress up as Santa

An: happy holidays everyone!

Gojo satoru

Gojo Satoru as Santa was not something you ever expected to witness—mostly because his usual flair for dramatics meant he didn’t need a costume to be the center of attention. But when your little one excitedly declared that they had to meet Santa, Satoru decided it was time to step up.

He emerged from your bedroom dressed in a ridiculously high-quality Santa suit, complete with glittering snowflake patterns on the red coat (of course he’d have it custom-made). His signature white hair peeked out from under the hat, and he wore a pair of sunglasses instead of the classic round spectacles.

“Ho, ho, ho!” he bellowed, striking an exaggerated pose in the living room. “Santa Gojo has arrived to spread Christmas joy!”

Your child gasped, their eyes lighting up like the twinkling fairy lights on the tree. “Santa!” they cried, running toward him.

“Careful, my little elf!” Satoru said, scooping them up effortlessly and spinning them around. “Have you been good this year?”

“Yes!” your child nodded vigorously, pointing to the cookies you’d helped them bake earlier. “We made you cookies, Santa!”

“Well, well, you must be my favorite little helper!” he grinned, setting them down gently before dramatically sniffing the air. “Mmm, smells like the best cookies I’ve ever had. You sure you didn’t use magic to bake these?”

Your child giggled, and you rolled your eyes, standing back and watching the scene with amusement. Satoru caught your gaze and winked over the top of his sunglasses, clearly enjoying himself way too much.

Once the presents were opened and your child was fast asleep, Satoru dropped onto the couch beside you, tugging the Santa hat off and tossing it onto the coffee table.

“So,” he drawled, leaning closer with a smirk, “how do you think I did? Pretty convincing Santa, right?”

“You looked ridiculous,” you teased, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

“Ridiculous?” he gasped, clutching his chest as if you’d wounded him. “I was the perfect Santa! Admit it, you couldn’t take your eyes off me.”

“You’re impossible.” You laughed, shaking your head as he pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you like a warm, festive cocoon.

“And yet, here you are,” he murmured, his voice softer now, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

Geto Suguru

Suguru Geto didn’t need much convincing when his two little girls asked him to be Santa. You’d teased him at first, thinking he’d wave it off, but he surprised you when he casually came home with a Santa suit, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.

On Christmas Eve, he disappeared into the bedroom, emerging a little later dressed as Santa. The suit fit perfectly, the white trim contrasting against his dark hair. He even had a beard, though he wore it slightly crooked, clearly finding it amusing. His girls squealed in delight, clapping their hands and jumping up and down.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Suguru boomed, crouching down to their level with a warm smile. “Have my little angels been good this year?”

“Yes, Papa—I mean, Santa!” one of them giggled, giving him an obvious once-over but deciding to play along.

The other clung to your leg, shy but smiling, as Suguru extended a hand to her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Santa’s here to make Christmas magical,” he said gently, and she ran to him, wrapping her little arms around his neck.

You stood back, heart full as you watched him distribute the small gifts he’d secretly wrapped earlier. He made a show of handing them out, exaggerating his movements to make the girls laugh, even pretending to trip over the beard once or twice.

When the girls were finally tucked into bed, Suguru joined you on the couch, peeling off the beard and hat with a content sigh. He leaned back, pulling you close to him.

“How’d I do?” he asked, his voice softer now, his arm draped lazily over your shoulder.

“You were perfect,” you murmured, resting your head against his chest. “The girls loved it.”

“And you?” he teased, tilting your chin up so your eyes met his.

“I think Santa suits you,” you said with a small smile.

“Oh yeah?” he smirked, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. “Maybe I’ll wear it more often.”

You laughed, swatting at his chest. “Let’s not traumatize the kids.”

Suguru chuckled, pulling you closer, his fingers lacing with yours. “Merry Christmas, love,” he murmured. “Thank you for making our little family so perfect.”

Nanami kento

Nanami Kento as Santa Claus was something you never thought you’d see, mostly because it was hard to imagine him doing anything he deemed “unnecessarily festive.” But when your child looked up at him with those big, pleading eyes, asking if Santa would visit this year, he sighed in resignation.

That’s how you found yourself helping Nanami into a Santa suit on Christmas Eve. The red coat was perfectly tailored—of course, because Nanami refused to wear something that didn’t fit well—and he begrudgingly donned the hat, though he skipped the beard with a firm, “This is ridiculous enough as it is.”

When he stepped into the living room, your little one’s face lit up like the Christmas tree. “Santa!” they gasped, running toward him.

Nanami crouched down, a soft smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “Hello there,” he said in his warm, even tone. “Have you been good this year?”

“Yes!” your child declared proudly, holding up a plate of cookies they’d helped you bake earlier. “We made these for you, Santa!”

Nanami took the plate with a small chuckle, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment, filled with quiet affection. “Thank you. These look delicious.” He made a show of taking a bite, nodding in approval. “Best cookies I’ve ever had.”

Your child beamed, clapping their hands before Nanami handed them a small, wrapped present. “Merry Christmas,” he said, his voice softer now as he ruffled their hair.

Later, when the gifts were opened and your child was fast asleep, Nanami joined you on the couch, the Santa hat still perched slightly askew on his head.

“You’re a natural,” you teased, leaning against him.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t go that far. But it was worth it to see them happy.”

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. “You know, I think you make a pretty great Santa.”

He glanced down at you, a rare smile playing on his lips. “If it makes you and our child happy, I suppose I can endure it again next year.”

“Endure?” you teased.

He leaned down, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured, his voice steady and full of love.

Toji

Toji Fushiguro wasn’t much for dressing up or indulging in festive traditions, but for his family? Anything was possible. When little Megumi started pointing excitedly at Santa decorations in store windows, babbling about how he wanted to meet the “real Santa,” Toji couldn’t resist.

That evening, with you in on the plan, Toji grumbled his way into a red Santa suit, complete with a hat and an overly fluffy beard that he insisted was itchy. The sight of his broad frame squeezed into the costume had you stifling laughter.

“Stop laughing, woman,” Toji growled, adjusting the belt. “This thing’s ridiculous.”

“You look perfect,” you teased, smoothing the fur trim on his coat. “A little too muscular for Santa, but I’m sure Megumi won’t complain.”

As night fell, Toji made his grand entrance into the living room, where Megumi sat on the floor surrounded by twinkling lights and scattered wrapping paper. He froze when he saw Santa.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Toji said, his voice deeper than usual as he tried to sound convincing. “Merry Christmas, Megumi!”

Megumi’s eyes widened, his little fists clenching in excitement. “Santa!” he squealed, running to hug Toji’s legs.

You stood off to the side, heart melting at the sight of the usually stoic Toji kneeling to hand Megumi a small gift he’d picked out earlier. Despite his gruffness, Toji’s eyes softened as Megumi thanked him, clutching the present with all the joy in the world.

Later, once Megumi was tucked into bed, Toji collapsed on the couch, tugging at the beard. “Never again,” he muttered, though the fond smile playing on his lips gave him away.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You made his night, Santa.”

“Tch. I’m retiring,” he grumbled, pulling you onto his lap. “Next year, it’s your turn.”

Sukuna ryomen

Getting Ryomen Sukuna to dress as Santa Claus was not an easy task—it required a hefty mix of bribes, teasing, and the promise of “entertainment” later. Despite his usual disdain for human traditions, he finally relented after your child toddled over to him, tugging at his sleeve and asking, “Will Santa come to visit us this year?”

That’s how the King of Curses ended up standing in your living room, dressed in a crimson Santa suit that clung to his broad frame in a way no Santa suit ever should. The hat was slung low over his pink hair, and though he’d refused to wear the beard, he’d charmed his face into looking slightly more “jolly.” His tattoos glowed faintly under the soft light of the Christmas tree, giving the whole scene an oddly magical feel.

“Ho, ho, ho,” Sukuna drawled, smirking as your little one squealed with delight. “Santa’s here, brats.”

“Papa—”

“Santa,” he corrected, arching an eyebrow.

Your child giggled, running up to him with arms wide open. Sukuna bent down, effortlessly scooping them up into his arms, the faintest trace of a grin tugging at his lips.

“Did you bring presents, Santa?” your child asked, eyes wide with wonder.

“Hmph. Of course,” Sukuna said, reaching behind him with exaggerated flair to pull out a brightly wrapped gift. “You think I came all this way for nothing?”

You watched from the doorway, stifling a laugh at the absurdity of it all. Sukuna caught your eye, his smirk widening as he mouthed, You owe me for this.

When the presents were opened and your child was happily playing, Sukuna finally flopped onto the couch beside you, tugging the Santa hat off with a low growl.

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done,” he muttered, though the way his eyes lingered on your child’s joy said otherwise.

“You loved it,” you teased, leaning against him.

He huffed, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Tch. Don’t get used to it.”

But as his hand absentmindedly traced soothing patterns on your arm, you knew better. The mighty King of Curses might grumble and scowl, but for you and your child, he’d play the part of Santa every year—whether he admitted it or not.

Megumi fushiguro

Convincing Megumi Fushiguro to dress up as Santa Claus wasn’t easy. He didn’t see the point, claiming it was “unnecessary” and “a little embarrassing,” but when you and your child teamed up with matching pleading looks, he finally gave in with a defeated sigh.

On Christmas Eve, he emerged from the bedroom dressed in a simple Santa suit that he begrudgingly agreed to wear. The hat sat a little awkwardly on his messy hair, and the coat was slightly oversized, but he looked endearingly uncomfortable, tugging at the sleeves as he stepped into the living room.

Your child’s eyes lit up the moment they saw him. “Santa!” they shouted, running over to him with a delighted grin.

“Uh… Ho, ho, ho,” Megumi mumbled, his ears burning red as he crouched down. “Have you been good this year?”

“Yes!” they chirped, holding out a plate of cookies. “We made these for you!”

Megumi took the plate, glancing at you as if asking for reassurance. You gave him an encouraging nod, suppressing a laugh at how out of his element he looked.

“These look… great,” he said, nibbling on one with a small smile. “Thanks, kiddo.”

When it came time to hand out the gifts, Megumi got into the spirit a little more, smiling softly as he passed your child a small box. He even managed to crack a joke, though his delivery was so deadpan that your child found it even funnier.

Later, after your child had fallen asleep, Megumi collapsed onto the couch beside you, the Santa hat slipping off his head.

“That was… exhausting,” he muttered, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“You did great,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder. “I think you’re officially the best Santa ever.”

He opened one eye to look at you, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “You’re just saying that because I caved.”

“Maybe,” you teased, reaching up to adjust his messy hair. “But you made them really happy, Megumi. That’s what matters.”

His expression softened as he glanced at the sleeping form of your child, their face still glowing with excitement even in their dreams. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I guess it was worth it.”

Then, without warning, he leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “Merry Christmas,” he said, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of pink.

Yuji itadori

When the idea of Yuji dressing up as Santa Claus came up, he was immediately all in. No hesitation, no complaints—he was excited. “Santa? For the kid? Say no more!” he declared, grinning from ear to ear.

On Christmas Eve, he went full out, donning a slightly oversized Santa suit (because the store didn’t have his exact size), a fluffy white beard, and even a pair of round, fake glasses for the look. His pink hair stuck out from under the hat, making him the most cheerful and youthful Santa you’d ever seen.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Yuji bellowed as he burst into the living room, nearly tripping over the hem of his coat. Your child squealed with delight, clapping their hands and running toward him.

“Santa!” they shouted, their face lighting up with pure excitement.

“Hey there, little one!” Yuji said, crouching down to scoop them up in his arms. “Have you been good this year? Like, really good? Eating your veggies, brushing your teeth, and helping out around the house?”

“Yes, yes, and yes!” your child giggled, nodding enthusiastically.

“Wow, you’re a superstar!” Yuji said, setting them down and reaching into his sack of presents (a laundry bag he insisted on decorating himself). “Then you definitely deserve this!”

He handed over a carefully wrapped gift, watching your child’s face light up as they tore into it. You stood by, your heart full at the sight of how natural Yuji was at this. His energy was contagious, and your child was clearly having the time of their life.

Later, after the festivities wound down and your child was asleep, Yuji flopped onto the couch beside you, still wearing the Santa hat but minus the beard and glasses.

“Well?” he asked, flashing you that goofy grin. “How’d I do? Best Santa ever, right?”

“You were amazing,” you said, leaning against him. “Though I think you enjoyed it even more than they did.”

“Hey, Santa’s job is to spread joy,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “If I don’t have fun, how’s anyone else supposed to?”

You laughed, tilting your head to look up at him. “You’re such a dork, Yuji.”

“And you love it,” he teased, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Merry Christmas, babe. Thanks for making this holiday so perfect.”

[nanamiscocksleeve]

Darling Love I've missed you! 💋💋💋

May I have 7 with Choso please? I wanna be his present so bad. 🙇‍♀️

Hello there! Hope these holidays have been treating you well. 💜💜💜

"You're the first gift I want to unwrap on Christmas morning." Note: Slightly changed dialogue

--------

Teaching Choso about human holidays had been fun. He'd been quite surprised at the fact that Christmas usually warranted buying other people presents. It delighted you to watch him open his Chrismas presents, each once bringing a fresh face of happiness.

"Do people count as gifts?" he asks as you collect the strewn wrapping paper.

"Huh? Why?" Confused, you stare at him and Choso blushes.

"It's nothing but...I thought...You'd be the first gift I'd unwrap on Christmas morning."

Your eyes widen and you're unsure whether to laugh or not. "Me? Why me?"

"Because you're the best present anyone could receive." Your heart melts as you look at his sweet, puppy-like eyes and you can resist the pull. You lean towards him and brush your lips against his.

"We can still make that happen. Come on." You tug his hand and he follows you into the bedroom. You're grinning widely, still touched by his compliment as you start to take off your clothes, Choso's eyes following your every move before you start to undress him. He's already hard, a patch of his precum visible on the crotch of his boxers as you pull off his clothes.

"Oh my poor baby," you murmur as you finally slide off his boxers and his cock springs up proudly, a bead of milky fluid gathering at the tip. You angle him with your hand and teasingly lick away the salty bead and Choso moans, his hips reflexively bucking into your mouth.

You open and with a loud slurp, take him halfway into your moist cavern. The feel of your warm tongue and the soft scrape of teeth has Choso's eyes rolling into the back of his head, uninhibited noises of pleasure leaving his mouth.

"Oh, that's so good," he groans, trying not to thrust further and choke you, but he's trembling from head to toe. You take as much of him into your mouth as you can, leaning down towards his base before you ease up, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his cockhead as you withdraw. Choso's heart races at the erotic sight.

You can see his pupils dilating and give a kiss to his swollen head before running your tongue all over his slit, putting the tip of it right into the opening. Choso's noises grow more animalistic as you tease him and he whines as you start to slurp him down again, letting his length fill your mouth as you bob your head along his length. Lewd, wet noises fill the room as you do so and Choso's fingers sink into the mattress as you drive him closer to the edge.

You feel him before he comes, the way his cock twitches before he explodes, filling your mouth with salty cream that you swallow eagerly.

Licking your lips, you grin at him and Choso gives you a shy smile back. "That was amazing."

You push him down on the bed. "We're not done yet."

[mcrdvcks]

Stardust

chapter summary: Din surprises you with a trip.

word count: 974

pairing: Din Djarin x gn!reader

prompt: stars

notes: this is my first time writing for din so i'm sorry if it's not accurate :) anyways, since i'm going to college for astrophysics, this seemed like an appropriate prompt for me to do (also because i'm a space nerd)

this is another prompt from @dindjarindiaries for dincember!

star wars masterlist

The Razor Crest hummed softly as it drifted in hyperspace. You sat at the small makeshift workstation, tinkering with a malfunctioning thermal detonator. The compact device refused to cooperate, its stubborn wiring fraying your patience. Grogu babbled from his floating pram, watching your every move with wide, curious eyes.

"Don't touch that," you warned, flicking a glance his way. His tiny claw hovered over the edge of the table, aiming for your hydrospanner. "I mean it, kid."

Grogu cooed in protest but retracted his hand. He pouted, but his expressive ears perked up when a shadow crossed the threshold of the cockpit. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Din. His presence was as familiar as the hum of the Crest.

“Is that thing gonna blow up in your face?” Din’s modulated voice carried a teasing lilt.

“Only if I’m lucky,” you replied dryly, not looking up from the detonator.

Din leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His beskar armor reflected the dim light, making him look even more imposing. “You’ve been at that for an hour.”

“I’ve had worse company than a stubborn explosive,” you quipped. “What’s up?”

He hesitated. That was never a good sign. Din could stare down blaster fire and an entire squad of stormtroopers without breaking a sweat, but this? This pause made you suspicious.

“Get your coat,” he finally said.

You blinked, turning to face him. “Why? Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” His tone was even, unreadable, but there was a hint of something—anticipation, maybe? “We’re dropping out of hyperspace soon. Grab Grogu. You’ll want to see this.”

You raised an eyebrow but decided not to argue. If Din was being cryptic, it usually meant he was planning something. And while his surprises often included unexpected blaster fights or hostile negotiations, this didn’t have the same edge of danger.

“Fine.” You pushed back from the table, scooping up Grogu, who squealed in delight. “But if this ends with me patching up your injuries again, I’m taking your meiloorun.”

Din chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Not this time.”

---

The planet he brought you to was small, almost unremarkable at first glance. Its atmosphere shimmered faintly as the Razor Crest descended, the golden hues of its surface shifting like liquid. Din handled the landing with practiced ease, and soon, the three of you stepped out into a soft, sprawling expanse.

“Okay,” you said, surveying the area. “What’s the deal? Where’s the bounty?”

“No bounty.” Din’s helmet tilted skyward. “Just… look.”

You followed his gaze, and your breath hitched. The sky above was a tapestry of stars, brighter and closer than you’d ever seen. Nebulas swirled in vivid colors—violets, blues, and golds—while constellations stretched in intricate patterns. It was as if the galaxy had folded in on itself, presenting its wonders in one breathtaking view.

“Din,” you whispered, unable to tear your eyes away. “What… how did you find this place?”

He shifted beside you, his voice quieter now. “Picked up some star charts during a job. Thought you’d like it.”

“‘Like it’?” You laughed softly, overwhelmed. “Din, this is… incredible.”

Grogu reached up, his tiny hand grasping at the stars as if he could pluck them from the sky. You held him close, feeling a wave of emotion you didn’t expect.

Din stood beside you, quiet but solid, the kind of steady presence you’d come to rely on. His helmet tilted ever so slightly as he watched the scene unfold, and you couldn’t resist teasing him.

“So,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence, “is this your way of trying to impress me?”

He turned his helmet toward you. “Is it working?”

You snorted. “I don’t know. You’re pretty hard to impress yourself, Mr. Star Charts.”

Din made a soft, amused sound. “Thought you might appreciate the view. Astrophysicist and all.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow, did you crack open a textbook to prep for this? Next thing I know, you’ll be spouting quantum theory.”

“I’d rather stick to tracking fobs and blasters,” he shot back, but there was warmth in his voice.

Grogu squirmed in your arms, letting out a series of excited babbles. You adjusted your hold on him, and he immediately grabbed a piece of your jacket, pulling it toward his mouth.

“Okay, little guy, relax,” you said, gently pulling it away. “This is a ‘look but don’t eat’ situation.”

Din chuckled again, a low rumble that made your chest feel lighter. You turned toward him, watching the way the stars reflected off the curve of his helmet. Even without seeing his face, you could tell he was watching you—really watching you.

“Thanks for this,” you said quietly, letting the sincerity bleed into your words. “I needed it.”

He shifted a little, the faintest hint of hesitation in his stance. “I just… wanted to see you smile.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty. For a guy who spent most of his time grunting or giving one-word answers, Din could hit you with the kind of sentiment that knocked the wind out of you.

“Well,” you said, swallowing past the lump in your throat, “mission accomplished, Mando.”

You took a step closer, lifting up on your toes to press a kiss to the cheek of his helmet. The cool metal was a stark contrast to the warmth of the moment, and you lingered for just a second longer than you probably should have.

When you pulled back, Din didn’t say anything right away. But his posture shifted, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.

“Come on,” he said, voice softer now. “Let’s stay out here for a while.”

“Only if you promise to stop being so cryptic next time,” you teased, but you followed him anyway, Grogu snuggled securely in your arms.

For now, the galaxy could wait.

[mrs-hatake]

I saw 👀 ur jjk post, and I was wondering if I could do a reaction request. Their reaction to reader praising someone else for like whatever reason.

a/n: sorry i only chose two characters ;u; i feel like the other men get jealous easily but with nanami and toji it’s either when you least expect it or they do it without realizing it so i wanted to explore that area ^u^

Toji:

Toji doesn’t like it when you nag. His job is very demanding and robs him of his free time. So when Toji is allowed to rest and unwind after seven consecutive assignments in a month, Toji craves some peace and quiet.

But you’ve been asking him to help you get your underwear that somehow ended up under the dry for two weeks now. Despite having asked three times, Toji is still glued to the couching. He promises you that he’ll get the task done with a grunt though you just know it in your bones that he wouldn’t.

That’s when you call in Yuuji, the college boy who lives with his grandfather two houses down. The boy next door who dog sits as a part time job to save him what little money he can.

The pink haired boy effortlessly lifts the dryer with one hand and snatches your underwear with another. Either blessed with maturity or is too shy, Yuuji doesn’t make a comment about your lace lavender underwear.

“Knew I could really on you, Yuu-kun.” You beam at the boy while ruffling his fluffy pink hair.

There’s a mega watt smile on Yuuji’s lips that’s instantly wiped out when he spots a hulking figure by the doorway of the laundry room.

Sensing his discomfort, you glance over your shoulder.

“Don’t mind him, Yuu-kun,” you mutter as you cast one last glance at your boyfriend, who is glaring at the sweet child,“he’s just a lazy old bum.” you turn to smile at him.

Yet Yuuji doesn’t return it and hurriedly takes his leave with a lame excuse.

The next time you ask Toji of something, he does it right away even if he’s tired.

Nanami:

You and Kento are at some hole in the wall cafe you’ve discovered a couple of months back.

Every day, right after work, the two of you are at the cafe for some much needed coffee and mouth watering pastry.

“Mmm…This is what’s keeping me alive.” A satisfied moan rushes past your lips once the rich flavor of coffee smoothly flows down your throat.

“Glad you like it.” A voice from above says, forcing you to look up.

“Hiro-kun!” There’s surprise and happiness decorating your voice. After all, it’s rare for the barista to converse with his costumers.

“I mean it. You’re the only one in this whole world who knows how to make proper coffee.”

A pretty shade of pink colors the college student’s ears at the compliment. Yet the moment is short lived when Kento, your husband, clears his throat.

Kento isn’t jealous. Not really. But just last week you told your husband his coffee is your favorite.

As if reading his mind, you chirp, “Yours is still my favorite, Ken-kun.” you wink at him.

“Just not the best?” Kento leans back in his chair while crossing his arms and lifting a single eyebrow.

Soft gazed and smiling, you said, “Yours is the best because you’re my husband and i can taste your love in your coffee.”

Kento doesn’t say anything else but you can sense the delight clearly radiating from him. It’s cute.

Hiro-kun rolls his eyes, upset that the two of you are still going strong. Maybe one day, he’ll get over his crush and find a woman as amazing as you are.

[roonotrue]

Twisted Wonderland - He Hears You Singing (About Him)

Twisted Wonderland Writings Masterpost

Heartslabyul Edition, Savanaclaw Edition

Prompt: While relaxing, and doing chores around the Ramshackle dorm for your weekend restoration of the barely standing building, your thoughts drift to love songs from your old world. You think of songs that remind you of your closest fellow NRC student and significant other, and end up singing one while you work.

Reader: GN reader - They/Them pronouns and they are referred to as 'MC/Prefect' in this one. And let's all just agree that MC is a great singer- cuz some of these songs have mad vocals that I would never dream of trying to sing myself with my incredibly average voice, and I imagine a lot of you are the same.

Included Characters: Octavinelle Edition!

Warnings: None.

Request Rules & Information Here

~~~

Azul Ashengrotto - "Adore You" by Harry Styles

- Why did he stop by Ramshackle? He can't remember. It was something about taste testing the new spring menu, maybe? He's not sure it matters anymore, given how enamored he is with the sound of your voice right now.

- Is frozen in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights, he hadn't even realized it was you singing (he thought it was from your phone or something on a radio) until he turned the corner and saw you.

- When you see him, he turns all kind of shades of scarlet, embarrassed at being caught staring, but he quickly composes himself.

- Immediate compliments followed quickly by an offer to sing at the Mostro Lounge sometime- you'd be paid generously of course-

- On the outside he's acting cool, but the song in question really did fluster him quite a bit, and thoughts of you singing it again just for him keep intruding in his mind, and if you look closely you can see his ears remain a pretty shade of pink the whole conversation after.

- Does truly think you would look stunning dressed up in lavish clothes, preforming on the stage of the Mostro Lounge, are you sure you don't want to? He'll throw in a free meal plus pay!

"My, my, MC, that was a lovely performance. You should put those wonderful vocals to use, I'm sure everyone would be in awe of you at the Lounge. Some may even show up just to see you- I certainly would."

~~~

Jade Leech - "Dive" by Olivia Dean

- He's honestly quiet pleasantly surprised when he enters Ramshackle (without knocking of course) and hears your wonderful singing voice.

- A soft (dare I say genuine?) smile makes it's way to his face as he approaches the living area where you're cleaning, and stands patiently in the doorway for you to finish the song- one he's never heard before but it flows rather smoothly, much like the jazz played at the lounge.

- He finds the lyrics rather intriguing too, now what would inspire you to sing such a romantic song? A crush perhaps? The idea of you having enough of a crush on someone to sing such a song about them makes him... Well, he'll just focus on what he has right in front of him for now, and save those pesky feelings for later self-analysis.

- When you catch him he is completely shameless in his staring, as a matter of fact, his smile grows, before he gives a curious tilt of his head and motions with his hand for you to continue.

- What? Your voice was beautiful, of course he wants to hear it more. What's he doing here? Oh, well, he's come to ask if you'd like to be the first to taste test the Mostro Lounges new spring menu.

- Sure he didn't knock, but it's honestly your fault for not locking the front door- oh, the locks are broken? That can't possibly be safe. Perhaps you should stay at Octavinelle until they are fixed, that way he can hear your voice much more often.

- As a matter of fact, instead of 100 thaumarks a night for a room, he's sure he can arrange for you to sing at the Lounge every night for payment instead.

"Oh, please don't mind me, continue. Your voice is quite delightful, you should consider singing at the Lounge- though, I'm not sure I want anyone else to hear you but me..."

~~~

Floyd Leech - "Risk" by Gracie Abrams

- oHohOHo, you're never gonna live this down PT. 3

- The moment he barges into Ramshackle in a poor mood, looking for his favorite Shrimpy to cheer him up, he freezes at the sound of you're voice.

- But not for long.

- One second, you're alone, singing as you do some chores, and the next second you're being spun around in Floyd Leech's arms as he laughs cheerfully.

- He loves your voice. Keep singing! He wants to dance with you while you do! Forget those boring chores! He's here now, so you can both have fun! You're so adorable he could squeeze you till you pop!

- You should come by the lounge sometimes and sing to him to make his shifts less boring. He's sure Azul wouldn't mind- and if he does, then you two can just leave and have your own party elsewhere!

- He will, without a doubt, demand that you sing to and for him at the most random of times, hell, he might even barge into the middle of your class in a foul mood and demand a serenade from his Shrimpy.

- If you truly won't sing to him, his mood may worsen and you won't see him for awhile while he sorts himself out, whereas if you do sing for him, he will immediately start to feel better.

- The best moment he could ask for to fix his mood, is laying beside you his head in your lap, while you sing. It helps him decompress, and feel so much better from whatever was overwhelming him or souring his mood.

"Shrimpy~! Nice set of pipes! Well, don't stop singing, let's dance together! I knew you'd be doin' something fun, you always cheer me right up!"

~~~

Can you guys tell that Octavinelle is one of my favorite dorms? Particularly the twins? Especially Floyd, his unpredictability with his mood swings are very relatable as someone with severe untreated ADHD and bipolar tendencies. I just think he's neat guys. And fun to write. Anyway! Merry Christmas everyone, and I'll see you next post! ~ Roo

[minisugakoobies]

It's You - Choi San | All Yours

Pairing: San x Reader Genre: smut, crack, fluff, angst, roommates to lovers, BFF’s Lil Bro!AU Series Rating: M (18+) Drabble Warnings: sneaking around continues, this is just a very soft little holiday gift from me to you, San remains the sweetest and OC remains fully whipped for him Word Count: about 900 words Disclaimers: SFW, obviously I don’t own ATZ - they just inspire me

Summary: He was only supposed to be a temporary roommate. Your best friend’s little brother, crashing on your couch for a few weeks. That’s it. How did this happen?

A/N: All San wants for Christmas is Noona 🥰 I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season if you celebrate and if you don't then I hope you have a lovely day ❄️

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment, or send me an ask to be added! You can also send me any ideas/thoughts you might have for a future scenario - who knows, it might end up in a drabble! 💕

It’s You Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ ATZ Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ Main Masterlist

It's late on Christmas Eve when the last of your family finally leaves, and you can excuse yourself from your parents and lock yourself in your bedroom. It's late, so late that you consider for a moment not calling, but you're pretty sure San's still up. He'd made you promise him several times that you would call him today. But you've been too busy dealing with nosy aunts and loud cousins at the family party to do it any earlier.

It's late, but it doesn't matter. He's as happy to see you as you are him, his dark eyes crinkling in delight, and then his smile turns shy, like he's embarrassed at how much just the sight of you lights him up inside.

There's no reason for him to be embarrassed. Your glow mirrors his.

You don't want to hang up long enough to wash your face, so he joins you at the sink. You glance at the screen while drying your face to see him delicately scrubbing his skin with sudsy fingertips, and he sees you and pulls a face, making you giggle. It almost feels like a normal night, hanging out together. Almost. You sigh.

"I miss you."

San surprises you by looking surprised at your admission.

"What? Is that news to you?" It shouldn't be. The two of you haven't stopped texting since you'd left the apartment three days ago to head home for Christmas. San and his sister had left as well to have a quiet holiday with their parents. Since then, you've had to invent a million excuses to slip away from your family and disappear into your phone. The device has barely left your hand, every alert making your heart jump, knowing San is thinking about you as much as you're thinking about him.

"No," San scoffs, face relaxing into a pleased expression, a soft half-smile that fully melts your heart. "Of course you miss me. I'm amazing."

"Nah, I changed my mind, I don't miss you," you say, pretending to frown, and San plays along, pouting dramatically, and you can't help but sigh again. "Okay, fine, I do."

"You always give in to me so easy, Noona," he informs you, that spark back in his eye, the one that makes your stomach flip. "I think I’m your weakness."

He's joking, except maybe he's not, and you both know it. You settle in your bed, burrowing under the layers of covers, shivering because your personal heater is several hundred miles away. San does the same, lying on his side as he gazes into the phone, humming lightly. If you close your eyes, it’s like he’s lying right beside you.

The two of you chat a little about your days. His was spent watching holiday movies with Hanuel while his parents prepared a big dinner together for the four of them. You talk a little about your extended family and the chaos they brought to your house today. 

This is the happiest you’ve felt all day. Even when having fun with your family earlier, you’d felt a little off, like something was missing. Making San laugh now, watching those delicate lines around his eyes crinkle with joy, fills you with such a strong contentment that you can’t stop smiling. 

San’s laughter turns to amused hums the longer you talk, and he nestles lower and lower into his pillow until his eyes are struggling to stay open. You don’t even bother to finish your story, too busy adoring the sight of him. 

"Go to sleep, San. Or Santa won't bring you what you wanted."

“Mmm,” he yawns, pressing one hand over his mouth, “but Noona, all I want is you.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” you roll your eyes, giggling.

“It’s true,” he protests, quickly growing serious, “it’s true, though. I wish you were here right now.” 

You sigh. “Stop making me miss you so much.”

Both of you fall silent, watching each other through the phone. There’s a tension now, and it makes you nervous for some reason, and there’s only one thing you can think to say to clear the air. You’re not sure if it’s the right thing to say, but it’s the truth and you really want to share it all of a sudden.

“You already have me, you know.” 

You’ve known for weeks now. Weeks full of longing glances, lingering touches, and hurried kisses -  and sometimes more, in the rare moments the two of you had the apartment to yourselves. It’s time to admit it.

San takes your confession with a long silence of his own. Just when you think you’re about to have a cardiac event waiting for his response, he speaks. “I do?”

You nod. “If you want me. I’m all yours.” Can he hear your heart pounding through the phone?

San exhales quickly. “Mine.”

It’s an agreement. A declaration. 

He traces his finger down his screen, pretending he’s stroking your cheek, and your skin buzzes from the mere suggestion. A warmth like you've never felt before spreads over you, soft and tender, so like the man gazing at you through the phone. 

Tiredness begins to tug at you. Only one more sleep ‘til Christmas, then one more ‘til you’re back home.

And back in San’s arms. 

"Merry Christmas, San," you whisper.

"Merry Christmas," he echoes softly. "Sweet dreams, Noona."

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

Taglist: @sweetnspicy-noona @krystal-a @jennylychee @hiefisch

© 2023-24 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[uniquethingtastemaker]

Vil x Reader -- Body Swap Pt 1

Summary: You and Vil swap bodies near the beginning of VDC.

Word Count: 4k+

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Character Arcs

Author's Note: Merry Christmas. There's more to come. This is what I have so far. It's great. Buckle up and good luck. I'm not going to give you any other context. You're welcome

Tags: @solxamber @marsinrain

You open your eyes to a dark room. You feel strangely alert. There’s no grogginess or desire to stay in bed. It’s unnatural. What time is it? You fumble around the nightstand, searching for your phone.

You click it on. It blinds you for a moment and you squint. 4:01 am, it reads. It’s not your lock screen though. The background is a dark purple with a familiar dripping red apple in the center. It’s framed in swirling gold. It’s a variation of the Pomefiore crest. This has to be Vil’s. Who else would have this lock screen? But why is it in your room? Did he leave it when he checked everyone’s rooms? It seems unlikely given his personality. Either way, you need to give it back. He’ll wake up in a frenzy if you don’t do it now. You’d rather deal with a half asleep and grumbly Vil than an awake and frantic one. 

You sit up and place your feet on the floor. There’s a pair of plush and cozy slippers underneath your feet… You don’t have luxurious slippers. You furrow your brow. Something’s off. 

Nonetheless, you slip on the comfy shoes and shuffle to the light switch. You flick it on. 

The first thing you notice is the mirror. Vil’s reflection stares back at you. You raise your eyebrows. It copies you. You glance at your body. You’re wearing the dorm leader’s expensive silk pajamas. You pinch yourself and wince in pain. This is real. You’ve somehow swapped bodies with the Queen of Pomefiore. You have to solve this.

You spin around on your heels and stride out the door. Your slippers pad down the hall. You knock on a specific door and wait. It doesn’t take long for the occupant to answer.

“Roi de Poison?” Rook questions, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Let me in,” you command.

The vice leader steps aside as you to brush past. He turns on the light, closing the door. 

“You know I’m not Vil,” you state, turning around. 

“Oui,” he confirms, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

“It’s [Y/N],” you answer.

Rook raises an eyebrow. 

“Your gait is the same, Trickster,” the hunter tells you with a nod. 

“I’m not surprised you know,” you comment, “Do you know what’s going on?” 

“Non, I’m just as baffled as you are. I’ve never heard of a magicless person and mage swapping bodies,” Rook replies, before looking curious. “Did you come to me because you want to get this sorted before Beautiful Vil wakes up?”

“You’re sharp as ever, Rook,” you confirm, “Yes, he’ll flip his lid once he finds out. I would like to prevent that.”

“I agree, Trickster. It’s for the best. I assume you have a plan,” the hunter replies. 

“Of course, we break down Crowley’s door and demand answers,” you tell him. 

Rook laughs, “Such an aggressive tactic from our lovely Trickster! I’m most honored to see such a beautiful and unique side to you. I will do all I can to help.” 

“Including my hair,” you add. 

Rook lights up. “I’m glad you’ve already thought of that, Trickster. I was going to offer my assistance.” 

“As long as I have a reference photo, I can recreate Vil’s makeup. I’m well-versed in skincare, so that shouldn’t be a problem. That being said, do you have any recommendations on what toner and serum to use for Vil’s skin today?” 

You lean in to let the hunter get a better look. Rook’s eyes widen before he breaks into a delighted grin. 

“Trickster has amazing foresight!” he praises, before examining Vil’s skin. “I would suggest the Shrinking Toner to reduce pore size and the Luminous Serum to brighten the skin.” 

“Perfect. Thank you. Get ready and come to Vil’s room to help me,” you instruct before leaving. 

“Oui!” Rook agrees with enthusiasm. 

You shake your head with a smile, striding down the hall in Vil’s comfy slippers.

——————

“Bang on his door,” you instruct. 

“Oui! Trickster’s suggestions are straight to the point and no-nonsense. It’s so different from how you usually behave. It’s magnifique,” he compliments. 

“Yes, yes, hurry up. We don’t have all day,” you urge.

You wait before the thudding of footsteps is heard. The bird man opens the door with ruffled feathers. He’s wearing dark indigo flannel pajama bottoms and a ratty white t-shirt with black crows and feathers.

“What is all this racket? It’s 4:45 in the morning. Couldn’t this have waited?” Crowley scolds, before pausing to register who’s in front of him. “Mr. Schoenheit and Mr. Hunt, what are you doing here?”

“It’s [Y/N]. Vil and I have somehow switched bodies. I want answers before he wakes up in hysterics. It would be in your best interest to let us in,” you demand.

Crowley is stunned but steps back. You sweep past him with regal elegance. Crowley raises an eyebrow at your demeanor. Rook slips in, standing beside you. The headmaster closes the door and puts a hand to his chin. 

“A mage fueling a magical phenomenon for themselves and a magicless person isn’t unheard of. The caster has to be extremely powerful, but Mr. Schoenheit fits the bill,” he muses.

You stay quiet as Crowley thinks.

“The only thing I can think of is wish magic. Do you have a strong wish?” He asks.

“Yes, I wanted to perform on stage in front of an audience,” you reply.

The headmaster nods before consulting Rook, “Mr. Hunt, you know Mr. Schoenheit well. Is there anything he desires more than anything else?” 

“Oui, Roi de Poison wishes to break out of his role as a villain,” he answers. 

“Everything fits the requirements for this phenomenon to occur,” Crowley murmurs before speaking up with a clap. “I know what happened!

“Sometimes when two people close by have an intense wish that can be solved with one solution, the ambient magic grants them an opportunity to obtain both wishes. Once both wishes are fulfilled, the magic will revert to normal,” he explains.

You’re silent, before turning to Rook. 

“My wish won’t be fulfilled until VDC ends. I want to perform on stage, so I’ll be filling in for Vil,” you inform.

There’s a flash of deep concern before he covers it with a familiar encouraging smile.

“I have no doubt you’ll be able to fill in for Beautiful Vil! I will support you in every way I can. As the resident Vil expert, I can help coach you,” Rook offers with an elegant bow.

You cut his movements off. 

“I’m Roi de Poison for now. I expect to be addressed as such. I won’t tolerate a slip of the tongue. I suggest you start practicing in private. I’m sure you know what will happen if you don’t,” you punctuate with an icy voice. 

Rook jolts with wide eyes. His hands fly up into a surrendering pose. 

“Oui, Roi de Poison, I will heed your command,” he complies. 

“Good, I expect nothing less from my vice leader,” you state, before addressing Crowley. “That’s the most helpful you’ve been since I’ve arrived here. I suggest you get your act together before your negligence is exposed. If people learn of my living conditions, my fans will riot.” 

Crowley looks at you, gobsmacked. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. 

“Are–are you threatening me?” He stutters.

You narrow your eyes. 

“The only thing I’m threatening you to do is your job. If you don’t want your reputation to go down the drain, I suggest renovating Ramshackle Dorm. I’ll even be gracious,” you say, emphasizing his signature word. “I’ll give my portion of the VDC reward to fund the operation.”

The headmaster stares at you in shock. Your eyes sweep the older man’s form, evaluating him.

“You also have… questionable tastes. As a sponsor, I will be consulted before the designs are finalized. It’s nonnegotiable. Thank you for your assistance, headmaster. Rook, we’re leaving,” you command, before sweeping out of the room.

——————

You lower yourself to the ground, dismounting the broom. You prop it against the wall.

“Trickster, you’re a natural! You fly and handle your magic like Beautiful Vil. It’s elegant and powerful. It’s a beautiful flurry of flowers in a windstorm,” Rook compares. 

You raise an eyebrow before stating, “Thank you, but I’m more concerned about passing as Vil.”

“Oui! You’ll fool everyone!” Rook reassures.

You drop your Vil act and answer with a smile.

“I’ll fool everyone except for you. You’re too observant,” you correct, sitting next to him. “Thanks for helping out. I wouldn’t be nearly as good if you didn’t correct my walk and give me pointers to handle this body’s magic.” 

“Of course, Trickster. You’re a wonderful and talented person to work with,” he answers. 

“You are too,” you return with a smile.

The two of you fall into comfortable silence. Your eyes slip close and allow yourself to breathe. It’s been hectic these last three hours. You finally have time to process. Your breath slows, as you slip into a meditative state. It’s something you picked up a few years ago. When you meditate, you’re less reactive and more grounded. When you finish, you hear an ear-piercing shriek. 

“That’s our cue,” you comment, standing up. 

“Oui!” Rook agrees, following your lead.

A herd of elephants thunders down the upstairs hallway. There’s a muffled shout. 

“Don’t yell in my ear, henchman!” Grim yells.

A door slams open.

“What’s wrong?! Are you hurt?!” Deuce cries.

You and the vice leader arrive at the foot of the stairs.

“I expect you to back me up,” you tell Rook, slipping into your Vil persona.

“Of course, Roi de Poison, let’s give them a show,” he grins with a bow.

You nod and ascend the stairs. More footsteps join. 

“Is everything ok?” Kalim’s voice resounds, “Jamil’s good at first aid if [Y/N] is hurt.”

“Yo, why do you keep staring at yourself?” Ace questions with mild irritation, “Has Vil infected you? Are you freaking out over a breakout or something?”

Epel pipes up, “You’re kiddin’. Ya woke us up for nothin’? I could’ve slept for another 30 minutes if ya didn’t start hollerin’ like a rooster.”

You breach the stairs with a disapproving expression.

“Epel,” you snap, “Watch your language and accent. If you want to reach your full potential, you must speak with eloquence. No cutting corners. You have to practice in private.” 

The group whips around to face you. You stride up to them. They part, allowing you to peer into your room. Vil gapes at you like a fish out of water.

“Close your mouth. It’s unbecoming,” you tell him, before addressing the others. “We’re having an emergency meeting downstairs. I expect all of you to complete the skincare routine I detailed last night. Once you're done, meet Rook and me in the living room.” 

The group shares a few concerned looks, before dispersing. You turn to the person occupying your body.

“That includes you,” you add before walking away. 

Once you’re out of earshot, Rook reveres you.

“That was the most worthy performance! You live up to your namesake, Trickster. You’ve tricked the others,” he gushes. 

You chuckle at the clever wording and sit down on the sofa. Picking up the papers Rook organized, you flip through them.

“Thank you for giving me written documents about Vil,” you voice, “I suspect you know more about him than he does.” 

“Oui, Roi de Poison has told me that multiple times,” he confirms with a chuckle.

You shake your head with a small smile. Rook’s far better than any of your perverted stalkers and hate fans in your original world. At least the hunter has good intentions and is helpful. You don’t mind his strange antics. You skim through the documents while you wait. 

The first one to arrive is the youngest Pomefiore student. You zero in on him, looking for a fault. 

“Your slip up was improper and your attire is too,” you criticize, “Your vest is wrinkled and your bow is crooked. Rook, take Epel to steam his clothes.”

“Oui!” He complies, ushering the boy out of the room. 

You sigh. You disagree with Vil’s methods. They’re inefficient and callous. Thankfully, you only have to play along for a little while. You can tweak his character after you’ve proven yourself. 

The Clown Crew announces their arrival by sounds rather than sight.

“How dare they kick me out?! It’s my room too,” Grim complains. 

He comes around the corner with Ace and Deuce in tow. You skim over the two Heartslabyul students, before doubling back. You stand up and stalk over. The three freshmen freeze as you bear down on them. You grab Ace’s face and click your tongue.

“You should’ve thought better than to forgo my skincare routine. You underestimate my expertise,” you sneer, releasing his face. “You missed toner, serum, and sunscreen. You're going to do it again. What are the steps?”

“Cleanser, toner, serum, moisturizer, sunscreen,” Ace lists with dead eyes. 

“So you’re capable of absorbing information. Learn to apply it in the future,” you scathe, “Get out of my sight. When you come back, I expect you to have done it right. I don’t need someone on my team who can’t follow basic instructions.”

Ace backs up, startled. The Scarabia students step in. Your attention shifts to the newcomers, allowing your friend to flee.

“Did Ace get in trouble?” Kalim asks, glancing back at the dashing freshman. 

“Indeed, he decided to skip some steps in his skincare routine,” you confirm with distaste. 

Kalim comments, “I would’ve forgotten too if it wasn’t for Jamil.”

“I’m sure you would have,” you retort with an eye roll. 

Rook’s voice comes around the corner. 

“Oui! Monsieur Multi is one of the most helpful people I know. He truly is a master of multitasking and many skills. He’s deserving of his title,” the hunter compliments.

The vice leader reveals himself along with the shortest Pomefiore student. You assess Epel and deem his appearance acceptable. The sunshine student turns to Rook with a blinding smile. 

“Yeah! Jamil’s the best. He’s way smarter than me and super helpful. He also cooks the most delicious food,” Scarbia’s leader praises.

You tune out their ramblings, returning to the couch to refocus on the documents. 

Vil runs with Jack Howl, his childhood friend, every morning at 6 am. They’ve cancelled until VDC has concluded. 

Vil knew Jack as a kid? That’s unexpected. You didn’t even think they knew each other. They’re in different grades and different dorms. However, you’re unsurprised that Vil chooses to work out and run with him in the mornings. The actor seems like the type.

Your body walks in. You glance up to scrutinize Vil’s appearance. Before you can look very hard, Ace sweeps in front of him. He passes the disguised dorm leader and your focus turns to the redhead. Observing his skin for a moment, you find it adequate and retract your gaze. 

“Sit and let’s get started,” you instruct.

Rook takes his place beside you. The others find a seat. Once everyone is settled, you address them.

“Vil and I have switched bodies,” you state. 

The group pauses.

“What?” Deuce blurts out.

“I said Vil and I switched bodies,” you punctuate. 

“You switched bodies?” Kalim clarifies.

You let out an irritated sigh. “Is that not what I just said?”

Ace speaks up. “Wait, who did you switch bodies with?”

You give an unimpressed look. 

“Who else but the person who screamed bloody murder, waking everyone up?” you suggest, looking at the culprit. 

All eyes turn to your body. 

“V—Vil?” Kalim questions hesitantly. 

The dorm leader nods but doesn’t say anything. He continues to glare holes into everything around him. Rook jumps in to ease the tension. 

“Trickster and I found out what happened!” He exclaims, reclaiming the crowd’s attention. “We broke down Crowley’s door and demanded answers.”

“You broke down the headmaster’s door?” Deuce repeats, stunned.

Ace smacks him upside the head.

“I can’t believe you’ve survived this long considering how dumb you are,” Ace quips.

“Hey!” Deuce shouts in defense.

Your voice cuts across, silencing them. 

“It’s an exaggeration.” you clarify, before launching into a summary of the situation. 

“Vil and I won’t switch bodies until after VDC. With that in mind, I will take up the mantle as leader,” you conclude.

Vil bolts up from his chair.

“You can’t do that! You have no right!” he opposes. 

“If you want me to perform in an important movie instead, then we’ll be here longer,” you state. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Vil growls, “You can’t act as me!”

You raise an eyebrow. 

“Why not?” you question. 

“You’re going to mess up,” he snaps, “You have no credentials! I have a reputation to think about. You can’t just parade around in my body. I have so many schedules and habits. You won’t be able to remember them. I refuse to have my body deteriorate because of your incompetence! Unlike you, I have responsibilities. I’m the head of Pomefiore, the leader of this team, and a third-year student! There’s no way you can act as me. You’re unqualified!”

Vil’s voice grows and grows until he’s shouting by the end. His chest heaves up and down. He glares daggers into you. You stare at him with no reaction.

It starts as a quiet scoff in the back of your throat. Then, a small shake makes its way into your shoulders. A chuckle slips out. From there it turns into a wicked laugh, before crescendoing into a demonic cackle. You double over from the force of your howls. You can’t get enough. He’s playing right into your hand. 

It takes a minute to calm down. When you recover, you glance at the others. They stare with disturbed concern and unease. You chuckle to yourself again. You sit up with a sinister smirk. You stare into Vil’s eyes.

“You should think twice before criticizing someone,” you advise. 

‘Someone who’s in your body,’ you silently finish. 

You wait for the implication to sink in. It takes a moment, but Vil’s eyes widen in horror. You put a hand up to stop his line of thinking. You just want to scare him.

“Don’t worry. I won’t do something so barbaric as threatening your body or reputation. As a former top-charting idol, I understand the importance of a well-maintained public image,” you inform, “As for the third-year curriculum, I’ll allow Ace to confirm my credentials.”

Ace gives a wary look before his mouth quarks in a mischievous smile. He doesn’t mind putting Vil in his place. 

“Yeah, if you haven’t noticed, but by some miracle Leona’s test ranking has gone up. That’s because of [Y/N]. They've been teaching and tutoring Leona, since his overblot. They’re up to date with the homework,” Ace brags.

Without waiting for a response, you gesture to Rook.

“And your evaluation of my magic?” You request.

“It’s strong and similar to Roi de Poison’s. I was surprised at how quickly they picked it up. They’ll have no problems posing as you in terms of magical ability,” Rook details.

Vil is still, staring at Rook. You can practically hear the thought swirling in his head: He’s being replaced. You decide to push him over the edge. 

“I don’t think I have to give my resume for my acting, but I’ll ease your mind. I’ve done a few jobs here and there. I was most well-known for my favorite roles: villains. In light of that, you’re quite easy to play,” you reveal. 

There’s a moment of silence before Vil screams and lunges. On instinct, you grab his throat. Vil halts with wide eyes. You take the opportunity to push him back against the wall. He regains his bearings and slashes at your face. You give Vil’s neck a short squeeze. He gasps and his hands fly to your’s. 

His fingernails claw into porcelain wrists. It stings, but you ignore it. You snatch his hands and raise them above his head. You slot yourself against his body and restrain him. Now, you wait. 

Vil struggles. He attempts to bite, kick, and scream his way out of your hold. He’s not thinking. Vil doesn’t remember there are other people here. He’s just focused on you. You don’t flinch and you don’t react. You wait for him to lose steam. 

He becomes desperate with your unresponsiveness. Vil throws everything he has into fighting back. Tears of frustration and anger stream down his face. He’s loud and messy. It’s so different from the put-together, dignified Vil. All he cares about is lashing out and hurting you. 

By the end of the one-sided battle, Vil is heaving, unable to breathe enough air. His body slackens, falling limp. His head is tucked into his chest, hiding his face. He stills and falls silent. His body is still coiled with tension. You finally speak. 

“How does it feel?” 

Vil tenses beneath you, but doesn’t say anything. 

“How does it feel being on the receiving end of your behavior?” you try. 

Vil’s head snaps up. 

“I don’t act like that!” he growls, gritting his teeth. 

You keep your eyes on Vil but address Epel. Your tone is softer. 

“Epel, is this how you feel when Vil insults and criticizes you, then he forces you into compliance just because he’s stronger than you? Is this how you feel?” you question. 

There’s a brief period of silence. The only thing you hear is Vil’s labored breath. 

“Yes,” Epel replies.

You stare at Vil. 

“This is how you act. You poke and prod people’s weaknesses. You’re annoyed when they become upset and resistant to your advice. So, you strongarm them into submission, citing you’re doing it to help them. The reality is you’re hurting people and accumulating their ire. You wonder why people keep treating you like a villain. Wake up and face your reality, Vil,” you state. 

You let him go, stepping back. You turn to face the others. Shaking off the lingering tension as much as you can, you perk up to address them. 

“We’ll have rehearsal as usual. I will lead the team. I expect the same dedication you’ve demonstrated so far. My teaching style will be different, but still effective. I look forward to working together,” you tell them, before looking at Epel. “Epel, I have a special project for you. I’m going to solve Vil’s problem for him. You’ll have a few adventures in the upcoming days. You’ll miss some regular practice, so I’ll privately tutor you.” 

Checking that they understood, you dismiss them. You pick up Vil’s backpack and place Rook’s notes in it. You call out to the two Pomefiore students. They wait for you. You finalize details regarding Epel’s “adventures.” The two other students seem wary of your body against the wall. You make a point ignore him. 

You escort them out of the Ramshackle Dorm. When you get to the door, Rook hesitates. You place a hand against his back and guide him forward. Vil needs to reflect. 

Afterward, you ask for some bandages from Rook. 

—----------

“Wake up and face your reality, Vil.” 

The words echo and swirl in Vil’s head. He sinks to the ground. Vil sits under the spot where [Y/N] restrained him. His head thumps against the wall and he thinks. Did he become a villain? Did he become the very thing he despised? 

He glances at his hands. They bleed. Your hands—he corrects—bleed down your wrists. He sank his nails into your hands when you restrained him. 

This isn’t his body. You promised not to hurt his. He’s already failing to maintain yours. 

Vil feels empty. A void has opened up in his chest. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s not special. He’s a villain and he doesn’t know what to do.

Without his permission, tears slide down his face. He doesn’t have the right to cry. He forced others to feel this way. He didn’t know. However, it doesn’t change the fact Vil hurt others. He caused more pain to them than he feels now. Vil has no right to cry, but can’t stop the spring shower falling from his cheeks. 

Vil looks at his wounded hands and hates himself.

-----------------

Author's Note: Very proud of this one. Let me know your thoughts! If there's any mistakes let me know too. Just make sure to point them out gently lol. I'm working on pt2. Look forward to see some of Epel's adventures in there as well. What are you guys looking forward too?

[honey-on-your-tongue]

Hey, I wanna a a request from you.. about the worst wolverine!Logan (or the one in th x-men series) × mutant!fem!reader.

Reader may have powers like Wanda Maximoff or Jean Grey, but she's stronger. Anyway, there's my main plot; enemies to lovers, a HUGE breeding kink, possibly pregnancy(the a result of the kink hehe) Wade is the person who introduced them, and Reader's Wade' bestfriend. They saved the eart 10005 and they celebrated this at Wade's (and Blind Al's) house. Logan may be a complete jerk to the reader at first, and he may have attacked the reader in the scene in the Honda Odyssey, but then things change and so on. Can you write somethin' like that? If you do, thanks already!!! See ya, bub, take care of yourself.

I’VE HAD THIS IN NY DRAFTS FOREVER WHAT

HAPPY HOLIDAYS

I hope you enjoy this, babes ❤️

Ever since Wade came looking for him and took him to earth 10005, Logan’s life has been easier. There’s less hate towards him (which is an understatement, really; he’s now adored and it never ceases to surprise him) and it feels like, maybe, he’s redeemed himself from what he did. Maybe, his luck has finally started looking up.

But then there’s you. You infuriate him. Every time he sees you, he just wants to put his claws through your ribs. Although he did that already, in the Void, in that stupid fucking Odyssey. But it wasn’t nearly enough. God, he can’t stand you. The way you talk, the way you walk, the way you handle yourself. Sharing an apartment with Wade and Blind Al doesn’t bother him, he even stands Mary Puppins and her hairlessness. But you? You who likes to walk around at night in an oversized shirt and sweatshirts, who leaves the apartment smelling of your perfumes and shampoo after you shower, who he can hear as you fuck yourself with your fingers night after night.

His room is next to yours, he’s heard the way you work yourself up, how you eventually manage to get your pussy soaked enough to stuff your fingers into yourself. It pisses him off. And what he hates most is that his body reacts to it. Having been so hated in his world means that the last time he had sex was…Well. It’s been a while.

So he uses that as an excuse. Of course he doesn’t want you, his body just needs the sex, that’s all. He wants the sex, the release. Nothing more.

Maybe that’s why he does what he does.

On one of those nights where Blind Al is probably too out of it with her cocaine and Wade is probably at Vanessa’s, he hears you. The sweet sounds of your little whimpers and your heavy breathing, the obscene, slick noises that leave your cunt as you fuck her with your fingers. And Logan can’t take it. He just cannot take it anymore.

He barges into your room and delights in the way you react. Your wide eyes, the way you scramble to pull your fingers out of yourself and cover your body with the bed sheets.

“Logan!” you yell, cheeks blushing furiously. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“What are you doing, bub? Touching yourself like you think I can’t hear, or like you hope I will.”

“You didn’t even fucking knock,” you continue, mortified.

He closes the door after himself, locks it just in case. “You’ve been at it for hours, bub. Hours. Is something wrong?”

Still flushed, you refuse to reply. You just clutch the bed sheets tighter.

“Can the poor little girl not come on her own?” Logan insists, smiling. When you fail to answer again, he insists, “Hm? Do you need help, girl?”

The look in your eyes tells him everything he needs to know. The scent of your arousal thickens and he’s lost.

He’s quick to crawl onto the bed, prowling over you. He leans down, lips nudging at your neck as he gently pushes the bed sheets aside. “Let me see you, baby,” he says lowly, his eyes hungrily taking you in.

You’re so beautiful, prettier than he ever thought you’d be.

His already hard cock twitches in his pants, demanding attention, but he ignores it. For now.

“So pretty,” he says, mouthing at your jaw as his hand slips between your thighs. He touches the slickness spread over your skin, how warm your pussy is. Your folds are swollen, your clit throbbing. You’re probably raw from how long you’ve been touching yourself, so he’ll make sure to not overdo it. He’d hate to hurt you.

He slips a finger into you, groaning as he finds little resistance. “God, you’ve got yourself all stretched out already. All open for me.”

He leans back onto his knees, pushing your legs up to your chest and spreading them apart. He eyes your cunt, all needy and spread wide.

Growling quietly, he reaches for his pants. He pushes them down to his thighs, his eyes on you. “Let me put my cock in you, bub,” he says, almost begging.

You’re so out of it, dazed with the need to come and the lust that’s overcome you, that you just nod in agreement. “Yeah, yes.”

He wastes no time. Slowly, he nudges into you and fills you to the brim, the breath leaving his lungs. “Fuck, Logan.”

“Yeah, I know.” He grins, pleased with himself. He starts out slow, thrusting into you with care as he tests the waters. When your pussy releases its grip on him some, he thrusts harder, deeper.

You squeal, hands gripping onto his forearms as they hold your legs to your chest, keeping you nice and spread for him. Your nails dig into his skin, your eyes squeeze shut. He’s fucking you too hard for you to even say much. You just whimper, gasp, mewl.

It helps that you’ve been touching yourself for so long. You come around him with so much force that your body falls limp against the bed, your pussy spasming around his cock.

And it’s not fair to him. He hasn’t had sex in so long, how is he even supposed to hold back.

“Oh, baby. Oh, baby. I’m gonna fill you up, bub. Gonna put my child in you.”

You gasp at the words, whining lowly.

“Yeah? You want me to make you a momma? You can make me a daddy, hm, bub? Yeah?”

Your body writhes underneath his, your eyes wide as they meet his. “P-please, yes. Please.”

That’s all he needs. Not only did you just give him permission, but you’re begging him for it.

“Baby. I’m gonna fill you up, ‘m gonna fill this pretty pussy with all my come and you’re gonna keep it in you. You’re gonna give me a child, maybe two if you behave, hon.”

And he does. When he comes, rope after rope of thick, sticky come spurt into you. He fills you up until it’s dripping out of you, until he’s spent and he can’t come anymore.

You two stay there a while, trying to regain your breaths and let the high wash away. He kisses your forehead softly and lays own next to you, knowing he’s gonna be ready to go soon.

For the next few weeks, it’s more of the same. He fucks you again and again, filling you with his cum to the brim every time.

That’s why it’s no surprise to you when you miss your period. No surprise at all. In fact, you have no doubt that Logan is going to be thrilled. Now there’s only the matter of telling him…

---

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