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writingouthere · 11 months ago

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singledad!Sukuna x neighbor!reader-Sukuna and Yuuji really want you to join their family! role reversal from my other series, think this will just be a one-shot though. Yuuji is Sukuna's brother but he's raised him since he was a baby and Yuuji calls him dad.

cw: Sukuna is manipulative and also a murderer but everyone's happy and you're both aware so it's okay. this is really just fluff.

"I....want you to be my mommy?"

Sukuna scowled as Yuuji looked more confused than ever.

"No, no that is not what you're saying kid. You're just going to tell her about how the other kids' mommies on the playground make you feel left out."

"But they don't, Megumi's mommy always gives me a snack when I'm hungry!"

"That's not his mommy, that's Megumi's daddy," Sukuna corrected, wondering if this was just a hopeless endeavor. He could have easily followed a plan this simple when he was four, but Yuuji was too soft. This was what happened when you raised a kid in a stable, loving environment. They lost the ability to go for the jugular when needed.

"But Megumi's daddy calls him mommy?" Sukuna didn't hold back his groan. You were going to be coming back from your morning walk any minute. He didn't have time for Yuuji to not get basic directions or to explain the dynamics of that Gojo family.

"Look when we go out there, just look sad and I'll handle the rest."

"But I'm not sad, I'm happy. We're going to the park and Megumi's mommy is bringing mochi today!"

"Shit kid, do you want a mom or not?" Sukuna asked, trying not to roll his eyes as be bent down to snap on the velcro straps on Yuuji's light up sneakers.

"I don't need a mom, I have you," Yuuji said. He looked uncharacteristically defiant and Sukuna couldn't help feeling proud of his little brother.

It had been touch and go when Yuuji was a baby. Sukuna had still been a kid himself and they didn't have any money and Yuuji's mom was even crazier than Sukuna's. Their father nowhere to be seen. Since Sukuna and Uraume had spread the pieces of his corpse around the city.

Sukuna pushed these memories aside and ruffled Yuuji's hair. "I know you don't need one, we only need each other." Yuuji nodded, his little head moving with all his conviction. "But it might be nice, right?"

Yuuji seemed thoughtful before finally biting his lip and looking down at his sneakers. He tapped them, making the red and black lights flash.

"She's really nice, I like her."

"I like her too," Sukuna said and he heard the sound of your sneakers slapping against the tiled hallway. "So let's go and look sad, okay?" Yuuji nodded, determined now and Sukuna grabbed his backpack before the two brothers went out into the hall.

You were just taking your keys out of your bag and you turned to the brothers, a smile on your face. "Good morning gentlemen, it's nice to see you. Heading out?"

That was when you noticed Yuuji's downturned expression. Sukuna saw your face shift into one of concern and he resisted a smirk.

Sukuna cleared his throat and squeezed Yuuji's hand. Good boy. "We're heading out to the park, you know the one by the high school."

"Oooh, that's nice. You like that park, right Yuuji? You said it was the biggest one in the whole city," you crouched down so you could look Yuuji in the eye and Yuuji seemed to forget he was supposed to be sad for a minute because he jumped up and down, the lights of his shoes flashing in the dim hallway.

"Yeah, it has the best swings too!" You ooohed and aawed appropriately while Sukuna tried not to smack his head against the wall. Maybe he and this kid weren't related after all, fuck.

Yuuji seemed to notice his expression because he stopped jumping to look down at feet. He put out his lower lip and used the tip of one of shoes to mess with a scuff mark on the linoleum. It would have made a more pathetic visage if his shoes weren't still lit up.

"Yuuji," you said, coming closer so you could kneel on the ground in front of the boy. The sight of you on your knees did something to Sukuna, but he pushed it aside to see what the brat had in mind. So far, he wasn't impressed with the performance. "Is something wrong?"

"It's just," Yuuji let out a sad sigh that wouldn't get him a gig in a car commercial. "Megumi and his mommy will be there and it makes me feel sad because all the other kids have mommies and I don't." God, there was no way you could be buying this, Sukuna looked at you and saw that your eyes looked a little watery.

Huh, look at that. Maybe he wouldn't have to kick the kid out, after all.

"I'm sorry Yuuji, that must be hard," you said and you reached out and swiped out where Yuuji had even managed to shed a tear. Sukuna felt so proud. "But I know that your dad is really excited to take you and the two of you are going to have so much fun!"

"Could you come too?" Yuuji asked and you bit your lip. Yuuji looked up and batted his little doe eyes at you. "It would make me really happy if you came with us. We could all have fun together."

"I wouldn't want to intrude-"

"It wouldn't be intruding," Sukuna cut in. "If you're busy though no worries, I know we'll have fun just the two of us. Right, Yuuji?"

Yuuji bit his lip and Sukuna could tell he was torn between showing how excited he was to spend time with his dad and being 'sad' so you would join them.

You looked between the two before seeming to come to some kind of decision. "If you don't mind waiting while I change, I'd be happy to join you two. Should I bring anything?"

"I think we're all set. We'll wait outside for you," Sukuna said and Yuuji went up and gave you a big hug that you returned.

Sukuna took Yuuji outside to wait for you, the kid occupying himself with a mostly washed away hopscotch chalk sketch. Sukuna alternated between watching him and texting Uraume who was claiming to be over him and his nonsense. Sukuna would take it more seriously if Uraume hadn't been saying that for going on twenty years. He knew they loved him, fucking sap.

Soon, but not soon enough, you came bounding down the stairs. A scarf tied around your neck, your turtleneck exposed by the open top button of your coat. He couldn't keep letting you be single, looking all pretty like that. He was too greedy for that.

Besides, looking the way you did and knowing your big heart, it was just a matter of time before some nice loser tricked you into settling with them and he just couldn't have that. The idea of you taking someone else home to your warm apartment with it's million throw blankets and a cookie jar, an actual cookie jar, he was convinced you kept stocked up just for Yuuji, made him want to commit another murder.

"Ready?" you asked and Sukuna nodded while Yuuji took your hand in his right and Sukuna's in his left.

"Let's go!"

Yuuji's enthusiasm was contagious and the two of you chatted all the way to the park. Sukuna saw some people shoot you all looks as you walked. Sukuna was used to people viewing him with suspicion, even fear. His tattoos, dyed hair and general demeanor making people cross the street to avoid him. Something about you and Yuuji seemed to balance him out though and people reacted as if they were just looking at a cute family going out on a Saturday.

You didn't seem to notice either way and just continued talking to Yuuji about some new anime for kids Sukuna had probably had to suffer through but hadn't retained any memory of.

As soon as you all got to the park, Yuuji took off with barely a good-bye. You seemed concerned and Sukuna bumped your shoulder with his. "Don't stress, he just sees the Fushiguro kid over there. See, they're already fucking around."

He pointed to where Yuuji was chasing around a scowling dark haired boy the same age as him. Sukuna didn't buy the scowl for a second.

He had once run into the kid and his weird dads at the grocery store and the kid had scolded him when he figured out Yuuji wasn't with him. Sukuna would have knocked the kid down a peg if he wasn't actually four years old and if his 'mommy' didn't low key give him the creeps. Sukuna was pretty sure he wasn't the only person guilty of homicide currently at this playground.

"That's so cute," you cooed and Sukuna nodded along while he took you over to some picnic tables. Unfortunately one of them was already occupied.

"Aww if it isn't Sukuna. How nice it is to see your lovely face on a Saturday morning!"

"Gojo."

Sukuna was ready to leave it there but then the bastard got up and walked over. His partner continued sipping on a large cup of boba, watching from his seat although he gave you a little wave.

"Who is this, new girlfriend?" Gojo asked tilting down his sunglasses to look you up and down.

You laughed and introduced yourself while Megumi's parents did the same. Gojo grabbed your hand when you held it out and kissed the back of it, his lips curved into a smile even as he lingered, his fingers clearly holding onto where your pulse would be. Sukuna moved closer to you and put a hand around your waist, the gesture a clear sign for the other man to back off which Sukuna knew Gojo understood because the bitch fucking smiled at him.

Sukuna didn't necessarily take any of Gojo's flirtations seriously. He flirted with every mom and dad on the playground, including him when they first met. He'd even seen him flirt with the guy who worked the ice cream truck so egregiously the kid had looked on the verge of passing out. His partner never seemed bothered and Sukuna wondered if he was just that secure in the relationship or if he hoped someone would finally come along and get the annoying man away from him.

As usual though, Gojo lost interest quickly and went back to his husband who didn't say anything as Gojo lay across his lap like some kind of housecat.

"There are children here," Sukuna said. Mostly out of spite and not jealousy that the two of you weren't curled up like that.

"Don't be homophobic," Gojo said and you snorted before looking innocent when Sukuna shot you a look.

"Alright, let's go see what Yuuji's up to." Sukuna went along with your excuse, mostly just because he liked the feeling of your hand in his. The two of you wandered closer to the playground where Megumi and Yuuji were currently engaged in a game with some other kids that Sukuna couldn't have possibly guessed the subject of.

The kids alternated running around the large structure, disappearing into tunnels, jumping down to hide underneath slides and behind climbing walls. Every time Yuuji popped back up to view he would wave and call out to you both. Sukuna still felt a little warm whenever the kid called him dad and the look you gave him after made him feel caught.

"So, I can see why Yuuji was so sad those morning. Megumi's parents are just vicious monsters," you said and Sukuna was so taken aback he knew his expression didn't hide it well. You smiled and swung your hand that was still in his, turning so you could look at him.

"I don't think that's what the issue was," Sukuna managed and you nodded.

"Right, it must have been because he's so lonely," you said before the two of you were interrupted by the sound of children's ecstatic laughter. You both looked to where Yuuji was now being chased by an entire horde of children.

"I'm the curse, you have to catch me," he yelled out and the other children screamed and laughed as they tried to grab him. Yuuji had never had a hard time making friends and that was very evident in the way he got kids of all ages, even the quiet ones to join in on his game.

"You can have friends and still be lonely," Sukuna argued and you gave him just the softest look. It wasn't fair for you to see through his schemes and still look at him like that.

"Are you lonely, Sukuna?" You got closer to him, your hand still got in his and you were so warm. "Maybe I should come home with you, then?"

Sukuna couldn't have stopped himself from kissing you even if he wanted to, which he didn't. He let go of your hand so he could cup your face in both of his palms. You moaned your approval into his mouth and he responded by nipping your upper lip, pulling you up to meet him as he leaned down to kiss you. Sukuna was about to risk another arrest by taking you right here in the park before a familiar voice called out to the both of you.

"Hey now, there's children here."

Sukuna turned to give the infuriating dumbfuck a piece of his mind when you distracted him by pulling him back to you and giving him a quick peck on the lips. He could leave the fight with Gojo for another day, he supposed. He knew he'd win anyway.

You're smiling and you look so happy and Sukuna doesn't feel the least amount of guilt in getting you here. Even if you knew it was a trick.

Although.

Did this mean you knew that all those times he was "stuck at work" and needed someone to watch Yuuji were a lie too? Or that he actually could cook and the one time he set the building fire alarm off had been because he started an actual fire and not just him burning dinner and two of them didn't actually need you to invite them to dinner so much? Did you also know that your radiator hadn't just stopped working randomly but he had broke it, knowing you would call him because your super never answered, and when he said a part was still missing and you would just have to stay the night at his and Yuuji's place-

Sukuna looked at you more closely and you just kept smiling.

As Yuuji called for the two of you to come help him and Megumi on the swings, Sukuna wondered if he had ever trapped you, even once. Or if you had just let him catch you.

Watching you push Yuuji as the boy screamed for you to go "higher, higher!" he decided he didn't care. Fuck, it might just be better. Knowing you were maybe as crazy as he was.

shout out to the dad at the park today who had the audacity to play with his toddler and have a cute dog at the same time.

also I liked the end of this so much I may just write a prequel of Sukuna and reader taking turns gaslighting the other into a relationship, we'll see.

Edit: wrote the prequel, here!

#jjk sukuna #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you

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nevernonline · 3 months ago

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✧.* heartbreak girl; csc one shot.

synopsis: Seungcheol struggles with his feelings for his best friend, y/n, who is caught in a complicated relationship. As he watches her suffer from heartbreak, he finds it increasingly difficult to conceal his love for her.

paring: seungcheol x fem! reader.

genre:friends2lovers

warning/s:mentions of substances (alcohol) some minor sexy stuff, but not much really.

word count: 8.6k

content: . non-idol idolings, big brother Joshua. asshole boyfriends yk. Cheol is painfully in love.

note: non edited prob weird typos, xo.

Seungcheol stood outside the bustling café, the familiar sound of laughter and chatter spilling through the door like an intoxicating aroma. He had been meaning to meet his friends here for a while, but his heart wasn’t in it tonight. Instead, it felt heavy, aching at the thought of her—Y/n, his best friend and the girl who had unknowingly stolen his heart.

They had grown up together, their lives intertwined like the branches of the old oak tree that sat as the bridge between their childhood bedrooms. Seungcheol had always been protective of y/n, watching from the sidelines as she navigated the ups and downs of her life. But just recently, something had shifted between them, a current of unspoken words and emotions that neither dared to acknowledge.

He pushed open the door and made his way through the crowd, scanning the room until his eyes landed on her. Y/n sat at a corner table, her hair cascading over her shoulders, lost in conversation with another friend. But Seungcheol could see it in her eyes—the flicker of worry, the slight downturn of her lips. He knew her better than anyone, and lately, she had seemed off.

His heart raced as he approached the table, steeling himself for the inevitable conversation. “Hey, Soojin, Y/n.” he greeted, forcing a smile despite the turmoil brewing inside him.

“Seungcheol! You made it!” Y/n exclaimed, the warmth of her voice wrapping around him like a comfort blanket. But as her expression shifted to one of concern, he could see the cracks behind her cheerful facade.

“You okay?” he asked, unable to hide the worry in his own voice.

“Yeah, just... a lot going on,” she said, brushing it off. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Seungcheol glanced at her friend, who seemed to sense the underlying tension and quickly excused herself. The moment of solitude felt charged, and Seungcheol knew they needed to talk.

“Listen, if something’s bothering you, you can tell me,” he urged, leaning forward. “I’m your friend, Bunny. I want to help.”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s just... Alex, dating has been, and it’s... complicated. I think he might be seeing someone else.”

Seungcheol remembered when Y/n first started dating her current partner, he was alright, nothing special compared to the girl who was standing in front of him.

past

When he first met y/n boyfriend she had just gotten back from college for the weekend as Seungcheol stepped onto her front lawn waiting inside patiently next to y/n’s brother Joshua, he was considering running down the sidewalk to her when a guy appeared out of the front seat to hug her mother. It was in a flash of a moment he knew this guy was her boyfriend.

Seungcheol's heart sank, but he tried impossible hard to maintain a composed exterior. He forced a smile and greeted y/n with a wave as she approached, her boyfriend trailing beside her. Joshua nudged Seungcheol gently, giving him an encouraging nod.

"Hey, Seungcheol!" y/n called out, her voice filled with genuine warmth. "It's so good to see you!"

"Good to see you too, Bunny," Seungcheol replied, his voice steady. "How is school, my little scholar?"

"It’s been great, but I’ve missed home, especially your mom’s cooking," she said, glancing at her boyfriend. "Oh, Shit. I should introduce you! This is Alex."

Alex extended a hand towards Seungcheol. "Nice to meet you, man."

"Nice to meet you too," Seungcheol said, shaking his hand firmly. He noticed how Alex's grip was strong but not overbearing, a sign of confidence and respect.

The four of them stood there for a moment, the air filled with unspoken words. Joshua, sensing the tension, quickly suggested, "Why don't we all head inside? Mom made us some lemonade. Feel free to spike it yourself."

Of course they all agreed, and as they walked towards the house, Seungcheol couldn't help but steal a glance at y/n. She seemed happy, and that was what mattered most to him, even if it meant watching from the sidelines.

Inside, the house was filled with the comforting aroma of freshly squeezed lemon, probably just a room spray her mom thought would make her lemonade pop more, which helped make Cheol smile even more. y/n's mother greeted them with a warm smile, her eyes twinkling with joy at having her two kids home. The group settled into the cozy living room, the atmosphere gradually easing into one of laughter and shared stories.

Seungcheol listened intently, contributing when he could, but mostly observing the dynamics between y/n and Alex. He noticed the small gestures of affection, the way they seemed to understand each other with just a glance. It was clear they shared a deep connection.

As the evening wore on, Seungcheol felt a mix of emotions. There was an undeniable pang of that little green monster creeping in, but also a sense of acceptance. He realized that y/n's happiness was the most important thing, and if Alex was the one who brought that to her, then he would do his best to support her wholeheartedly.

Later, after many sneaks to Joshua’s hidden liquor, too many slices of pizza, and card games, they all stood on the porch saying their goodbyes, y/n gave Seungcheol a tight hug. "It really is good to see you, Seungcheol. Don't be a stranger, okay?"

"I won't," he promised, his voice sincere. "Take care of yourself, y/n."

“You know I always do,” she gripped onto his sweatshirt sleeve, and flashed her award winning smile his way, “And if I find myself in need of a body guard I’ll be sure to call you.”

With one last wave, Seungcheol watched as she and Alex walked down the driveway, hand in hand. He sighed softly, turning to Joshua who gave him a sympathetic look.

"Come on," Joshua said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go get a beer, bro. My treat."

Seungcheol nodded, grateful for Joshua's friendship. As they walked away, he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Life had a way of surprising you, and he knew that his story was far from over.

A few months had passed now and finally the sun was shining brightly as their friend group gathered around the picnic table, laughter and chatter filling the air. Plates of food were being passed around, and the aroma of grilled meat wafted through the garden. Which sure, sounded a little gross, but it was just another sign of the changing of seasons, but not the changing of where his heart was gravitating. Y/N was in her element, flitting from one group to another, her energy infectious.

Seungcheol watched her from a distance, like he usually would, holding a fond smile on his lips. He couldn't help but marvel at how effortlessly she brought people together, how her presence seemed to light up even the most simple of places.

"Hey, earth to Idiot!" Y/N's voice broke through his daydream. She was standing in front of him, hands on her hips and a playful glint in her eyes. "Are you ready for our trip tomorrow?"

He grinned, nodding enthusiastically. "Of course. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"I knew you’d never disappoint me!" she exclaimed, her smile widening. "It's going to be the best one yet, I can feel it. Something about the smell of the rain this year tells my heart the flowers will be perfect.”

Seungcheol chuckled, captivated by her excitement. "You and your weird as fuck sixth sense about flowers," he teased gently.

She punched him playfully. "Hey, don't underestimate my flower intuition. It's never wrong. It’s like how you always can for some reason tell how many people got a draft beer before you based on some fucked up freshness level you created. I mean we could always take a bet and see who everyone thinks is more insane.”

As the evening wore on, they continued to chat and laugh, the anticipation for their trip growing with each passing moment. The backyard was now filled with the soft glow of fairy lights, casting a magical ambiance over the gathering. And Seuncheol was still sitting with Y/n listening to her talk on and on about her new weird interests.

"Remember the first time we went on this trip?" Y/N asked, her gaze distant as she reminisced. "We got lost for hours, and you were so convinced that we were going to get mauled by a bear or a cougar or something?”

“We didn’t have gas or cell service. I feel like it was a fair assumption to make.” Seungcheol smiled, feeling slightly embarrassed remembering how he embarrassed himself around her even though he’s sure there were worse incidents.

“But, we were at a reststop.”

“But it was pouring rain, y/n. Come on.”

“Fine, I’ll let you have it,” she ruffled her pretty hands through his hair “I still think you’re silly.”

“You’re always so mean to me, when I do everything for you.”

“It’s just so easy.”

“By the way,” Seungcheol rubbed his slightly sweaty palms on his jeans, “Where’s Alex this weekend?”

“Uh,” Y/n gave him a soft smile that he wasn’t so convinced was real, “With his parents in Antigua I think? Not sure, some weird beach vacation. Sounds boring.”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, sensing the underlying tension in Y/n's tone. “Antigua, huh? Must be nice,” he replied, his voice deliberately casual, though he couldn't help the hint of envy creeping in.

Y/n shrugged, her smile flickering momentarily. “Yeah, I guess. But honestly, I’d much rather be here, hanging out with you guys. This is way more fun. And don’t tell Josh, but I miss seeing him every day.”

“Seriously?” Seungcheol asked. “I mean, it’s a tropical paradise, and you’d choose me and your brother over that?”

“Absolutely,” she said, her gaze meeting him with sincerity. “Why would I want to be stuck on a beach when I could be here, laughing and just… being ourselves? This is way more my style.”

Her words warmed him, but a knot of unease tightened in his stomach. “So, no Alex for the weekend, then,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Y/n bit her lip, a flicker of thought crossing her face. “Honestly, I don’t know. I guess it’s a bit of both? It’s nice to have some time to myself. But… you know how it is.” She trailed off, her eyes drifting away as if contemplating something deeper.

“Yeah, I do. Relationships can be complicated,” Seungcheol replied, his heart racing at the opportunity. “If you ever need to talk about anything, I’m here for you. You know that, right?”

She turned back to him, and her expression softened. “Thanks, Seungcheol. That means a lot.”

As the evening wore on, Seungcheol found himself lost in conversations with old friends and making new ones. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, a perfect reflection of Y/N's spirit.

Later, as the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, Seungcheol and Y/N found themselves talking through their open childhood bedroom windows.

"Thanks for always being there, Seungcheol," Y/N said softly, her gaze fixed on picking at her nails..

He watched her, his heart swelling with affection. "Always, Y/N. That's what friends are for."

She leaned her head on her hand, and they stared at each other, both hoping that no matter where life took them, they would always have each other.

At that moment, Seungcheol realized that sometimes, the most beautiful places were the ones you were at with the people you cared about the most.

As Seungcheol sat in his dimly lit room, the flickering glow of the y/n’s Scooby-Doo night light shone in his window, transporting him back to the warmth of Y/n’s presence. He could picture her room perfectly: the walls adorned with posters of their favorite shows, remnants of their laughter still hanging in the air. It had always been a haven for her—a place where her dreams intertwined and her deepest secrets were shared.

Years passed quickly, and that cherished tradition of celebrating their friendship had drifted away like fall leaves caught in a breeze. Life took them in separate directions, and despite the countless apologies Y/n sent his way, Seungcheol could never quite shake the feeling of loss. He always believed that she knew how much those moments meant to him; her absence felt like a missing piece of his heart that was waiting to be filled.

While he tried to move on, dating a variety of girls who were kind and entertaining, none of them were Y/n. He often found himself comparing their laughter to hers, their quirks to the little things he cherished about her. It felt like an act of treason against the relationships he pursued, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop the old feelings from creeping back into his heart.

As he reflected on it all, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Why couldn't he just let go? It was foolish to cling to a childhood crush on your best friend's little sister that seemed to grow more distant by the day. But deep down, he sensed that what he felt for Y/n was something more profound than a simple infatuation. She was his first crush, someone he confided in, and the keeper of so many memories that covered his soul with nostalgia and warmth.

It was during one of those restless nights, when the weight of her absence pressed heavily on his chest, that he made a decision. Seungcheol had to reach out to Y/n. No more waiting for the right moment or hoping for a chance meeting. He needed to tell her how he felt, how much he still cared, and how he longed for the connection they once shared.

Building up his courage the moment turned into an eternity as he waited, and just as doubt began to creep in, his phone buzzed, it was her calling him as if he had manifested catching up with her.

Seungcheol's heart raced as he saw Y/n's name flash across the screen. Just the sight of it sent a jolt of anxiety through him, he pushed it down and tried to take it as a reminder of all the times they had spent together, laughing until their sides hurt or sharing secrets late into the night, almost like excitement. He hesitated for a moment, his thumb hovering over the accept button, uncertainty warring with excitement.

But before he could overthink it any longer, he pressed "accept" and set his phone to the speaker. “Y/n?”

“Cheol!” Her voice was bright, and it ignited something deep within him—an undeniable longing. “I can’t believe I finally caught you. I’ve missed you so much, sorry for the phone tag, I have been so fucking busy.

“I’ve missed you too,” he replied, his voice steadier than he felt. “It’s been way too long. I was just thinking about texting you when you called.”

“I feel bad for not making it home to see you lately,” she admitted, a hint of regret in her tone. “But.. uh, I’d love to fix that. How about we get together this weekend, like we used to? Maybe invite Soojin? Joshua?”

“Let’s do it.” A smile spread across his face. “We can go to that bar we used to sneak into and catch a show legally now?”

“Sounds perfect. Do me a favor?” she said, genuine enthusiasm shining through her words.

“Yes?” he waiting on the other end of the line hearing her giggling slightly to herself.

“Wear that old Sonic Youth t-shirt you have?”

“Why would I wear that?”

“Not sure. I just like that t-shirt. Please?”

Seungcheol’s heart swelled at the thought of being with her again, but he also felt the weight of unresolved feelings pressing on him. They’d both changed, but would the bond they shared still resonate the same way? Would she see him as just her brother’s friend or as something more?

As they continued to chat, Seungcheol tried to gauge her tone, the way she spoke about her life, the little nuances that indicated where she stood. Y/n spoke about college, her friends, and of course Alex.Her enthusiasm was infectious. But every laugh pulled him further back into the past, to the innocent moments when everything had felt so uncomplicated.

“Hey, Y/n,” he ventured, his heart beating a little faster as he gathered his thoughts. “I’ve been meaning to ask… How are you handling everything? I know things have changed for both of us.”

Y/n paused, and he could almost hear her brain processing the question. “Honestly? It’s been a bit of a whirlwind. I’m still figuring things out, but having people around who care makes it easier.”

“Yeah, I feel that,” he said, wishing he could just lay bare his feelings, let his heart spill out the way they used to share their secrets. “You know, I’ve always been here if you need someone to talk to.”

Her voice softened, and he could sense the shift in the conversation. “I know, and I appreciate that, Cheol. You’ve always been there for me, just like… well, I cant think of something always there for something else, but you get it..”

They fell into a comfortable rhythm again, but as the call slowly wound down, Seungcheol felt a flicker of resolve.

As they said their goodbyes, he heard Y/n’s voice resonate with warmth, and for a moment, the distance between them felt almost non-existent. “See you this weekend, okay?”

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it,” Seungcheol replied, his heart racing at the endless possibilities that lay ahead.

Closing his phone, he let out a deep breath, a smile breaking across his face. The connection he had yearned for was just around the corner, and as he lay back on his bed, he knew that this time, he wouldn’t hold back.

present:

His heart sank at the words, a wave of frustration washing over him. “You deserve so much better than that,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Don’t let anyone treat you like you’re not worth it. How do you know he’s cheating on you?

Y/n took a shaky breath, the anguish evident in her expression. “I’ve seen the signs—the late nights, the changing passwords, the way he ducks away when I try to talk about us.” She paused, her voice cracking slightly. “I just feel it deep inside, like this gnawing instinct that something isn’t right.”

Seungcheol felt his protectiveness swell within him. The thought of anyone treating her poorly made his blood boil. “Those signs aren’t just coincidence, Y/n. People shouldn’t make you second-guess yourself like that.”

She looked down, her fingers tracing the patterns on her jeans. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but the more I try to brush it aside, the more it eats away at me. I just wish I had the strength to confront him.”

“You do have that strength,” he urged, leaning closer, wanting to make eye contact to convey just how serious he was. “You’re stronger than you think. No one should keep you in the dark or make you feel like you have to doubt yourself. But if you need my help or anyone elses you know you can ask us right? You don’t have to fight it alone. Is that why you’ve been avoiding us lately?”

“Yeah and I’m sorry I’m embarrassed. But what if I’m wrong? What if I confront him and it turns out I’m just being paranoid?” A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away in frustration, the vulnerability on display pulling sharply at Seungcheol’s heart.

“Y/n, you’re not paranoid; you’re being cautious. People should earn your trust, not break it. If he really cared about you, he’d be open and honest, not leave you guessing.” Seungcheol felt a surge of emotion, desperately wanting to help her see the truth. “You have every right to bring up your concerns. If he reacts poorly, that’s a huge huge fucking red flag.”

She nodded slowly, another tear escaping despite her efforts to contain them. “I just don’t want to lose more than what I already feel like I’ve lost.. I just don’t know what to do, I guess. I’m sorry I’m ruining our fun.”

At that moment, Seungcheol couldn’t help but reach out, gently cupping her chin with his fingers so she would look up at him. “You are never ruining our fun, by telling us how you feel. Remember, you’re the one who deserves to be valued, not just by him, but by everyone in your life, especially those who say they love you.”

Their eyes locked, and he felt a change in the air around them—a connection that transcended the conversation that was sinking like a stone. “You deserve love that lifts you up, that makes you feel secure. Not a relationship that makes you doubt your worth and changes your life poorly.”

“Cheol…” she started, but he could see the struggle in her eyes, the facade of strength crumbling as the truth sunk in. She was scared, scared of the possibilities, but perhaps also scared of how much this all mattered to her.

“I’ll be right here with you, no matter what happens,” he promised, his voice steady despite the tumultuous emotions swirling inside him. “We’ll figure this out together. You don’t have to face any of it alone.”

Y/n's expression softened, and the tension in her shoulders eased just a little. “Thank you. It just helps to know someone cares I guess.”

Seungcheol nodded, yearning to break through the last barriers between them. “I’ve always cared for you, Y/n. Always. And I’ll keep caring, no matter what.” Even as those words left his mouth, he felt a weight in his chest—he wanted her to see just how much more she meant to him than mere friendship, but the time for that would come later. Right now, she needed a friend in her corner, and he would be that friend, no matter what. “Should we have a drink now?”

She smiled at him again, giving him a side hug. “Yes, maybe some shots too?”

Seungcheol immediately got to his feet and winked as he bee-lined for the bar standing next to Joshua and Soojin, filling them in on his conversation with y/n. The three of them didn’t mention it the rest of the night, but just made sure to give her the best time dancing and forgetting about her shitty relationship issues before the alcohol settled in her system too much and Cheol had to carry her home.

Joshua unlocked their front door and slid into the house quietly rushing in the three other party goers in hopes not to wake his mom up considering it was a work night.

Y/n brother pulled her shoes off and rested them at the front door, basically begging Seungcheol to carry her up to her bedroom so he could go get Soojin some pajamas and change his sheets for her in his room which Cheol obliged being the most sober.

As he was carrying his friend to bed she looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I know I’m drunk, but I don’t want to get my hopes up only to be disappointed again. I just... feel so lost.”

Seungcheol felt a pang of concern as he adjusted his grip on her, his heart aching at the vulnerability etched across Y/n's face. He knew the night had been a whirlwind—filled with laughter, dancing, and fleeting moments of joy—but now, as he carried her up the stairs, her honesty pierced through the haze of alcohol.

“Hey,” he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady and reassuring. “It’s okay to feel lost. You’ve been through a lot. But just remember, you have lots of people riding for you.

Y/n blinked slowly, her features wavering as she processed his words. “I don’t want to burden you,” she admitted, almost whispering. “I don’t want you to be sad because of me.

Seungcheol paused just outside her bedroom door, carefully shifting her weight so she wasn't too uncomfortable. “You’re not a burden, Y/n. Friends support each other. That’s what we do.”

Her lips trembled slightly, and she looked down, tears pooling in her eyes. “I just... I wish I could see things clearly. I want to believe it’ll get better, but I’m scared it won’t.”

He took a deep breath, choosing his buzzed words carefully. “It’s natural to feel scared. Change is intimidating, especially when it comes to relationships that have been so significant in your life. But that doesn’t mean you can’t start taking the steps to find what you really deserve. Like we talked about earlier. You’re worth that big true love, Y/n, even if you can’t see it just yet.”

Looking into her eyes, he noticed the flicker of hope battling against the weight of her sorrow. “You deserve to feel loved, celebrated and so fucking cherished, not just tolerated. And trust me,” he added, trying to inject a touch of warmth into his words, “the right person will come along, maybe they already have. You’re incredible.”

Y/n’s gaze held onto his, searching for truth in his words. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes, loser,” he affirmed, nodding. “I’ve been singing your praises for years, remember I did write a letter to Harry Styles trying to get him to go out with you when he was still on X-Factor so until that person comes along, I’m right here.” He started moving again, gently pushing the door open with his knee.

As he stepped inside, he carefully laid her onto the bed, her comfort a priority in the quiet space. “Just rest for now. Tomorrow is a new day. You don’t have to worry about anything tonight. Just let it go.”

She looked up at him, her expression softening as the corners of her mouth edged toward a small smile. “Thanks, CheolieI don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” he assured her, tucking the blanket around her. “You’re stuck with me now.” He grinned, feeling the lightness of the moment wash over them, dispelling some of the heavy emotions lingering in the air.

She laughed softly, a sound that melted some of the tension from his chest. “Okay, but just for tonight! Tomorrow, I’ll have to start figuring things out. And can you do me one more incredibly annoying awkward favor that we never have to speak of again?”

“Deal,” he replied playfully. “Depending on how embarrassing it is?”

“Can you help me put on my pajamas? Or at least unbutton my shirt for me, I’m so warm and too drunk to care right now.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly masked his shock with a teasing grin. “Wow, is y/n too drunk to get undressed herself, it’s bringing me back to when you had your senior party.”

Y/n shrugged, her cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol and the sudden vulnerability of the moment. “I’m serious! I can’t get the buttons right now,” she grumbled, a laugh escaping her lips as she realized just how ridiculous the request was.

“Shut up, it’s fine.” he said, trying to maintain the playful spirit of the moment while also respecting her boundaries. “But you have to promise me you won’t regret this in the morning.”

“How could anyone regret that the night star football player and homecoming king four years running Choi Seungcheol took their clothes off?” she replied with a slight smirk. “Can we actually stop fucking around though and focus on getting me comfy so I can pass out without feeling like I’m wearing a fucking straightjacket.”

“Didn’t know you thought so highly of me,” he smirked back, trying to suppress his nervousness. Carefully, he shifted to sit beside her on the edge of the bed, ensuring he kept the atmosphere light and respectful. “I’ll work my special magic.”

He helped her sit up and, taking a deep breath, gently began unbuttoning her shirt. With each button he opened, he focused on keeping his movements steady and casual,trying not to touch inappropriately whatsoever, stealing glances at her face rather than her torso. “See, I’m not so bad at this, right? Even being out of practice.” he joked, trying to ease any tension in the air.

Y/n chuckled softly, her laughter lightening the mood. “Yeah, you’re doing great. Just stop making it weird.”

“Me? Make it weird? Psh.” he teased back, his heart racing slightly as he continued, relieved that her demeanor was playful. As the last button came undone, he carefully helped her shrug the shirt off, revealing a soft bra top underneath.

“You literally just confessed to not getting laid in a long time, weirdo. Too much information.”

“God, shut up, I did not” he said, letting out a sigh of relief as he set the shirt aside. “Mission accomplished.. But it’s a good look, just so you know.”

“You’re just buttering me up to make me forget this moment, Cheol,” she replied, a mischievous glint in her eyes despite her slightly vulnerable state.

“Wouldn’t dream of it! This moment is going straight into the archives as ‘That Time I Helped Y/n Get Ready for Bed,” he said, crossing his arms defiantly.

Y/n giggled, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.

Seungcheol felt warmth radiate in his chest at her words. “And you’re worse,” he said genuinely, his smile softening. “Now get some rest, cutie. I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything else.”

“You can stay here if you want? Joshua is sleeping on the couch because Soojin’s in his room.”

“Oh, uh. I’ll be alright on the floor downstairs. You get some sleep okay?”

“Goodnight, Cheolie,” she whispered, nearly missing him calling her an affectionate name, her eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of sleep began to envelop her.

“Goodnight, Bunny.” He watched her peaceful expression for a moment, then stood up from the edge of her bed and made his way to the door, feeling a strange mix of emotions. On one hand, he felt pride in being there for her, but a flicker of longing stirred inside him, reminding him of how much he truly fell in love with her.

As he stepped out into the hallway, he leaned against the wall, contemplating going back in there and comforting her for the night but also how it could affect their friendship and the feelings that lingered just below the surface. Tonight wasn't just another night; it felt like a turning point. Seungcheol had no idea where it would ultimately lead, but for now, he was grateful to be her anchor, even in the midst of uncertainty.

The next morning rolled in like a thunder cloud for y/n, she remembered walking home, but not much after that. She sat up under her pink fuzzy blanket in nothing other than her bra and skirt she had on the night before, her hair smooshed up on the back of her head like a pancake.

She couldn’t remember how she had gotten there but whoever took her upstairs left a glass of water on the nightstand and two tylenol. She smiled, grateful people have always looked out for her like this. Downing the two white pills and the entire glass of water she shot up and headed for the bathroom, walking in non- chalantly thinking nobody was behind the white door. As she turned the knob a voice came ringing in her ears.

“Josh I told you- Oh,” Seungcheol was shirtless with nothing but his wet hair cascading down his face and his towel wrapped around his body parts.” Y/n sorry.. I was just uh.. Finished.”

She slapped her hands over her eyes whispering a sorry and running back into her room, feeling a blush hit her cheeks.

Y/n's heart raced as she slammed the bathroom door shut and ran down the hall slamming her bedroom door shut her back against it, her mind swirling with embarrassment. She could practically feel the heat radiating from her cheeks as she replayed the scene in her head. How had she not realized Seungcheol was right there?

After taking a moment to collect herself, she peeked out through her fingers, her heart still pounding. “No, no, no. Why did I have to walk in like that?” she muttered under her breath, doing her best to calm the embarrassment bubbling up inside her. She could still picture Seungcheol’s surprised expression,

With a deep breath, she reminded herself to take it easy. “You’re both adults.And your friends like it, it's fine. Mistakes happen,” she whispered, trying to rationalize the embarrassment.

Y/n slowly shuffled back to her bed and flopped down face-first into her pillow, groaning. “Why is this my life?” she lamented silently, wanting to sink into the depths of her blankets and hide from the world altogether.

After a couple of minutes spent wallowing in her own pity, she finally sat up and took stock of the situation. She had to laugh at herself; if anyone could handle a little awkwardness, it was definitely Seungcheol.

With newfound resolve, she decided to brush off the incident. After all, she couldn’t stay cooped up in her room forever, and eventually, she would have to interact with him.

Rubbing her eyes, she stood up, her body still feeling a bit wobbly from the residual effects of last night. She padded over to her wardrobe and found a comfy oversized sweatshirt and a pair of pajama shorts to throw on. Just as she was finishing zipping up the sweatshirt, her door creaked open, and she heard Seungcheol’s voice.

“Uh... hey, Y/n?”

She froze, heart racing at the thought of confronting him after their embarrassing encounter. “Y-yeah?” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

“I just wanted to check if you were okay. I heard you might have had a bit too much fun last night,” he said, his tone laced with gentle teasing but lacking the usual bravado.

Y/n felt her cheeks warm again, but she twisted the moment into playful sarcasm. “Yeah, I clearly have my life together. Who wouldn’t want to walk into a bathroom with a half-naked guy?”

His laughter echoed, and she couldn’t help but smile despite herself. “Well, I wasn’t exactly expecting a guest, either.”

“So, uh, thanks for... you know, taking care of me last night.”

“Of course,” he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. “I’ll help you with whatever.”

She nodded, feeling a warmth spread through her chest at his words. “Yeah, but still! I really appreciate it.”

Seungcheol’s smile faded slightly, replaced with an earnest expression as he leaned against the doorframe. “Y/n,It’s not a big deal. I’ve been doing it for years, I don’t mind.”

She bit her lip, feeling that familiar flutter in her stomach at the intensity of his gaze and the sincerity behind it. “For real, Cheol. Thanks. I mean it. Just accept the sincerity.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, breaking the moment by giving her a grin, “Want to get some breakfast or something? I’ll whip us up something..”

“That sounds great,” she agreed, “But, I actually have something I need to go do today. How about I see you later? A movie or something maybe?”

“Yeah, you know where to find me.”

“Of course.”

If today was going to be the most awkward day of her life, fine. She could handle it. Now arming herself with coffee, she had the feeling it was going to turn out just fine.What started with a flustered memory could lead to deeper conversations, and maybe even something more. First she had to confront Alex about his infidelity and then she can go back to these thoughts. Still, she giggled to herself as she thought about it—this was definitely going to be a morning they’d both remember.

Y/n parked her car in front of Alex’s apartment complex, her whole drive here she made up fake conversations to have with him in her head some of her intrusive thoughts started to get to her as she imagined much more crazy ways of how to confront him, but she knew she’d cry. She knew how hard it would be for her no matter what his answer was, yes or no, but she had to do it.

Somehow she knew either way that she may be grateful it gave her the courage to break up with him in general.

Getting out of the car, Y/n felt a mix of determination and fear. The weight of unresolved emotions pressed down on her chest as her shoes tapped against the pavement. She took a moment to inhale deeply, trying to steal a bit of calm before walking through the threshold that would dictate the direction of her life. She climbed the few steps to Alex’s building and pressed the intercom buzzer.

After a few moments, a crackling voice came through. “Who is it?”

“It’s Y/n,” she replied, her voice steadier than she felt.

“Y/n? Oh, hey babe.! Come on up!” The excitement in his tone gave her a strange mix of hope and dread. Would he be as cheerful when they talked about the mess that had unfolded?

When she reached his door, she hesitated, heart racing. Did she really want to do this? But even as the question surfaced, she felt the guilt gnawing at her. She owed it to herself.

Gathering her courage, she knocked. After a moment, the door swung open, and Alex stood there, looking casually handsome in a simple tee and jeans, a wide smile on his face. “Hey baby, It’s so good to see you. I thought you were hanging with your brother this weekend?”

“Hey,” she replied, forcing a smile, even as her stomach churned. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah of course. Come in,” he said, stepping aside to let her through. As she entered, a rush of familiarity enveloped her—his scent, the slight clutter that was reminiscent of their time together. It should have felt comforting, but instead, it ignited a sense of dread.

She followed him into the living room, where the remnants of his gaming session littered the floor. The sight pulled at her heartstrings—how many times had they shared moments in this space? But those memories felt crushed by the deceit that loomed over them now.

“Wanna drink something? I just made coffee.” he offered, heading toward the kitchen.

“No, I’m okay, thanks.” Y/n tucked her hair into the back of her sweatshirt, feeling uncharacteristically fidgety. “Alex, I really just need to talk.”

“What’s on your mind?” He settled onto the couch, beaming with an eagerness that pitted her stomach against her better instincts.

She took a breath, the words sticking in her throat. “I... um, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

“Yeah? About what?” His expression shifted to curiosity, and she suspected he had no inkling of the storm about to descend.

“About us, about everything that’s happened,” she started, trying to gauge his reaction. His smile faltered just a bit, and her heart sank. “I found out about the other girl.”

His demeanor changed instantly. The confident glimmer in his eyes vanished, replaced by confusion. “Y/n, I—”

“Let me finish,” she interrupted, her tone firmer than she anticipated. She crossed her arms, drawing strength from her resolve. “I don’t want to hear excuses. I just need to know if you even care at all about what this does to our relationship.”

“I do care! I didn’t mean for it to happen.” He looked defensive, yet Y/n couldn't muster sympathy at this moment.

“Didn’t mean for what to happen? To hurt me? To also keep her a secret?” Her voice was steady, but her chest tightened as emotions swelled within. “How many times did you lie to me? How can I trust anything you say now?”

“Y/n, please. It was a mistake. I never wanted to hurt you,” he pleaded, his expression shifting from confusion to desperation.

“And yet, here we are!” she raised her voice,, feeling the anger rise, mixed with a sorrow that threatened to spill over. “I don’t know if you understand how this makes me feel. I didn’t deserve to be anything less than faithful.”

“Oh and your brothers friend is jus-”

“Shut up for one goddamn second.”

Alex opened his mouth in surprise, as if he was about to argue, but Y/n pressed on, the truth spilling out. “I’ve been trying to convince myself that we could make it work, that you’d change. But the more I think about it, the more I realize—it’s not just a mistake. It’s a choice you made. You don’t actually love me enough to just be with me.”

“Y/n...” he started, but she cut him off again, her gaze unwavering.

“It made me realize I deserve better than what you’ve given me. I need to take care of myself.”

An overwhelming silence consumed the room. Alex’s face hardened as he processed her words, the reality of what was happening sinking in.

“I just... I thought we had something special,” he muttered, hurt flickering in his eyes.

“We did,” she whispered, a pang of regret cutting through her. “But that’s the thing, Alex. You fucking ruined it.”

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but she squared her shoulders. “We have to break up.”

“Y/n, wait. I can change. I swear! Just give me another chance! I’ll do better!” His plea hung in the air, desperately.

But she knew better now. “I don’t think I can forgive you for this. And I don’t think I want to try. I need to move on and find myself again.”

She turned to leave, heart racing in her chest. As she reached for the doorknob, Alex’s voice caught her once more. “I wish you’d let me explain...”

She paused but didn’t turn around. “There’s nothing left to say, Alex.”

With a shaky breath, she stepped outside, the cool air hitting her like a wave of clarity. Y/n stood for a moment on the threshold, allowing herself to breathe freely for the first time in weeks.

As she walked down the stairs and toward her car, the weight of the conversation pressed upon her, but in a different way. It was a weight lifted.

She took out her phone and texted Seungcheol. “IT'S OVER, lol. Can we still do that movie later? I could really use a friend.”

Seconds later, her phone buzzed with his response. “What’s over? Did you break up with that fucker? Thank god. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

A smile broke through her earlier sorrow, and she felt the corners of her heart begin to heal just a little. She hadn’t expected this day to lead her in a new direction, but she was ready for whatever came next. One awkward day down, and the next chapter was waiting.

On her drive back y/n knew she shouldn’t be thinking about jumping into her relationship with Seuncheol now, but she also knew she wasted so much time with other jerks never giving him a chance, but it’s what she wanted she just had to figure out how to make it happen.

She pulled into Seuncheol’s driveway, bag of snacks in hand. Shutting her car door with her backside, nearly skipping up to his front door where he stood waiting for her with open arms dressed in his pajamas.

The sight of him, all cozy and relaxed, made her heart flutter. Seuncheol's smile was infectious, and she couldn’t help but return it as she stepped into his warm embrace. The delicious scent of something cooking wafted through the door behind him, complementing the warmth and comfort he radiated.

“Well, well, well, Miss. Bad Bitch,” he exclaimed, pulling away and taking her bag of snacks. “I hope you brought my favorites.”

“Shut up,” she laughed, her heart dancing at how effortlessly they fell into this easy banter. “How could I come empty-handed to thank my therapist?”

Seuncheol chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Good point. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Together they sorted through the assortment of chips, candies, and cookies, playfully debating over which treats deserved a spot on their makeshift movie night platter. As they settled onto the couch, their bodies nearly touching, she found herself relaxing in a way she hadn’t in a long time. The earlier unease faded, replaced by a sense of belonging as she sank deeper next to him resting her head on his shoulder swinging around a piece of licorice.

“Alright, so what are we watching?” he asked, remote in hand.

She bit her lip thoughtfully, her heart racing at the idea of sharing this moment with him. “How about something fun? A rom-com?”

“Only if you promise to laugh at all the cheesy parts,” he teased, nudging her playfully.

“How about a bet that whoever cries has to jump in your pool… naked,” she shot back with a smile, feeling a thrill in their playful exchange. The movie began, their laughter filling the space as they munched on snacks, but she felt the real chemistry sparking between them, the edges of her heart warming with every shared glance and gentle touch.

As the story unfolded on the screen, she caught herself stealing glances at him, his focus entirely on the film yet his presence enveloped her like a warm blanket. Somewhere between the jokes and the popcorn fights, the realization struck—this was the moment she had been waiting for, the feeling she had longed to explore.

“Seuncheol,” she said softly, causing him to look over, pausing the movie.

“Yeah?”

“Are you crying?”

“Maybe.”

“Wow. I win!”

Seungcheol punched the air, getting up faster than he ever has, stripping off his hoodie and running out the patio door, y/n chasing behind him, knocking over the entire bowl of popcorn on her way out.

As she turned the corner to go towards his pool he snatched her up, jumping in with her in his arms.

The splash echoed through the night as the cool water enveloped them both. Seungcheol erupted in laughter, the sound bright and full of joy, while Y/N squealed in surprise, her heart racing from the sudden plunge.

As they surfaced, water cascading off their faces, Y/N couldn't help but scold him playfully, “What the Fuck. You could have warned me!” Her hair clung to her face, and she was momentarily blinded, but the thrill of the moment overshadowed any annoyance.

Seungcheol flashed her a cheeky grin, droplets sparkling on his skin. “Where’s the fun in that?” he teased, his eyes mischievous, reflecting the moonlight.

Y/N glared, though her heart was still light. “You’re such an asshole!” she laughed, splashing water back at him, her instincts taking over as they devolved into a playful water fight. He countered with playful throws of water, their laughter mingling in the cool night air—full of energy, warmth, and the promise of summer.

He was talking her through the water, pinning her against his bare chest, they both paused, breathless and giggling their legs brushing against each other as she caught her breath. “You’re going to get us both in trouble,” she said softly, her voice playful yet carrying an underlying affection.

Seungcheol tilted his head, his smile softening. “Maybe. But this is way more fun than sitting inside watching movies.” He reached for her hair, swiping it out of her face, and for a moment, the world faded around them, he took a deep breath and kissed her, rummaging his hands under her sweatshirt which she reciprocated back, tugging at his waist band, dipping her cold fingers underneath to graze him slightly in an area they’ve never explored.

“I’ve been thinking about us,” she confessed, the words tumbling out between their passionate kisses she couldn’t second-guess them. “I know this is sudden.. But, I.. uh.” she left a small whispering moan out of her lips,

Kissing her deeply again smiling into it he just whispered, “But?” and then moved his lips to her neck as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

She took a deep breath, her heart racing. “But I want to give us a chance. I want to see where this could go. I’ve never trusted anyone more than you.”

A huge smile broke over his face, as he pulled away for just a moment, as if her words were a key that unlocked something deep within him. “Really? You mean it?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, her nerves calming under the intensity of his stare. “I do. I know it’s sudden, but I’ve been in love with you my whole life.”

His eyes widened with surprise “You… you’ve loved me?” The words slipped from his lips, almost hesitant, as if he were afraid to break the spell of the moment.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice steady yet soft, the weight of her confession hanging between them like a fragile thread. “I never thought we’d get to this point, but here we are.”

He leaned in closer again, his forehead resting against hers, feeling the warmth radiating from her skin. “I never wanted to rush you,” he admitted. “I just didn’t know how to tell you how I felt. It’s like… you’ve always been the only person I’ve ever wanted.”

Her heart swelled at his words, a sense of relief enveloping her like a warm blanket. “So what now?” she asked, her tone playful but laced with sincerity.

“Now? We figure it out together.” His voice was low and confident, reassurance flooding her senses. He kissed her forehead gently before pulling back slightly, his hands still locking around her waist. “I want to take our time, get to know each other in this way. There’s no rush.”

“Okay,” she murmured, the smile returning to her lips. She hadn’t realized how much she needed his patient approach, how refreshing it felt to not be hurried into something that had the potential to change everything.

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb caressing her cheek. “Just know that I’m all in.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away, caught in the sincerity of his gaze. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words.”

“And now that you have, what do you want to do first?” he asked, a twinkle of mischief sparking in his eyes.

She grinned, feeling a rush of excitement flood through her. “How about we start with dinner? A proper date, just the two of us, to celebrate this… us. Build up even more sexual tension between us just to make it fun”

“Dinner it is,” he said, already beaming. “And knowing you a bet to who would break first.”

“My bets on you, Cheol. You’re a man.”

“Sure, Bunny. But you did already have your hands down my pants, I’m thinking you’re already a failure. But, I’ll let it slide this time.”

“Well I’ll try to control myself,” she replied, feeling a thrill of possibility unfolding before them. With newfound hope in her heart, she knew this was only the beginning.

999 notes · View notes

illyrianbitch · 8 months ago

Text

What We Make of What We’re Made

Pairing: Acheron!Reader x Azriel

Summary: When Azriel overhears Feyre's concern about your transition to fae life, he agrees to check on you.

Warnings: mentions of previous trauma and hardship, fluff :)

Word Count: 3k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

“I’m worried about her, Rhys. Really worried.”

Although Feyre’s voice was quiet, Azriel could sense the worry that coated it from where he stood down the hallway, the sound of her voice leaking through the cracked door of Rhysand’s office. It was a quiet morning, lazy almost, as Azriel walked around the townhouse. His shadows danced along the walls next to him, matching the pace of his walking as he approached the open door.

“Worried about who?”

Feyre let out a small sound of surprise, turning her head towards where Azriel now stood, a delicate hand flying to place itself above her heart. Even with the time that passed, she never quite got used to how stealthy the shadowsinger could be, how easily he was able to quiet the sounds of his own footsteps with the lively shadows he called his own.

“Oh, Azriel,” Feyre said, giving him a small, soft smile. “Good morning.”

Az gave her a quick smile back, dipping his head ever-so-slightly in a gentle greeting. His gaze bounced between her and Rhys, who gave him a simple raise of his eyebrows in acknowledgement.

“Who are you worried about?” Azriel asked again.

Rhys and Feyre exchanged a meaningful glance, and then Feyre let out a small sigh, turning to look at Azriel once more. There was a small furrow in her brow as she fiddled with her fingers.

"Y/n," she confessed.

Azriel’s face softened, his mouth turning into a small downturned frown. He felt a subtle shift in his shadows, as if they had responded to the sound of your name. Faintly, he felt their airy, cool, touch on his body as their large mass rose up his arms. He felt them settle at his shoulders, perched— alert, almost– as if they, too, were attuned to the conversation.

"I see.”

"Feyre is concerned that she may be having a harder time becoming fae than she has let on," Rhysand explained.

The crease between Azriel’s brows grew deeper as his gaze flickered between the two before him.

"Why?”

Feyre sighed again, giving a small shrug. There was a certain look in her eyes, a look that Azriel traced back to the day the King of Hybern turned you and your sisters into fae— forced you into fae. It was a look he was familiar with, one he often wore himself: guilt.

It was no secret that Feyre felt responsible for what had happened to you and your sisters. Although she spent those first few months away, Feyre felt it in her heart, the struggle you had all experienced. And she felt the guilt even deeper knowing that she wasn’t there to help. She didn’t hide it as well as she thought she did, that certain fear that she clung to of her sisters never truly forgiving her for what she felt was a personal betrayal. Or, perhaps, Azriel was just too good at his job.

"I've barely seen her,” she said, “I know that Nesta and Elain are having a difficult time, but at least I can see them. Be near them—as much as Nesta may hate it."

Azriel blinked. And then an unfamiliar feeling began to gnaw at his heart. Feyre was right. You hadn’t been around recently. Az had noticed, of course, as he tended to keep track of those in his circle, of the people he was expected to protect— at least to a degree. And you had, indeed, been gone more often than you were home.

In fact, he struggled to remember the last time you sat with them for longer than a few minutes before rushing off. With a small exhale, Azriel sent a few of his shadows down his body and out the door, pushing them to check your bedroom and report back to him regarding anything that might be of use.

“Well, maybe we could send Azriel to check on her?”

The sound of Rhysand’s voice called Azriel’s attention back to the conversation, and he cleared his throat in hopes that the motion would clear his mind as well.

Feyre's eyes widened slightly as she brushed a gentle hand across Rhysand’s forearm, turning to look at Azriel with a faint smile. "That's a great idea. You've been so sweet to Elain, Az. Maybe you could help Y/n, too. Would you mind?"

Her voice held a note of hope and Az found himself nodding gently.

"Of course not," He replied, "But if she's struggling, am I really who she would want to see?"

Rhysand frowned slightly before looking down at his mate. But Feyre simply shook her head, offering a reassuring smile as she said, "I think you'd be a breath of fresh air.”

"And you could get a better read of where she's at,” Rhysand added, “Maybe how we can help.”

Azriel nodded once more. In the same moment, he felt a few of his shadows return, slowly snaking up his legs to join the mass near his shoulders. Your room was empty, as it turned out, and the bed was cold. Wherever you had gone, you’d left quite a while ago— and you left no notice of where it was that you were running off to.

"I'll find her," Azriel affirmed. With a final nod to Rhysand and Feyre, he turned and left the room, his shadows trailing behind him.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It was nearing the later months of the year now, and there was a cool breeze that filled the air, not quite chilly enough to make him shiver, but enough of a nip to make the warmth of his leathers comforting. Azriel loved this time of year, loved the way the breeze kissed his cheeks and how refreshing it felt against his wings. It was a good time of year, a time to take a breath and prepare to start new— he quite loved the second part, the promise of a new start, of a chance to be better than who he was before.

Az slowly walked along the Sidra, his wings carefully and neatly tucked into his back. His posture was lazy, a small hunch in his shoulders as scanned his surroundings. He made himself as small as possible, not wanting to take up too much space, or worse, scare those around him. Specifically, he didn’t want to scare you if he happened to come across you.

But that was proving difficult at the moment. In truth, Az didn’t know where to look. His shadows were on alert, told to seek out any sign of you, any indication of where you might have disappeared to. He thought of all the quiet places nearby, of the corners in Velaris that may provide some darkness to shrewd in. But nothing quite came to mind. He let his thoughts wander as he continued his path.

Azriel felt guilty.

Sure, you weren’t his responsibility, but you were part of his family now— a sister of Feyre, of his High Lady. You were his to protect. And while Cassian had been working with Nesta, or attempting to and being shot down, Az had been tiptoeing around Elain when he wasn’t assessing the court for any more help needed for post-war rebuilding. Things had been quiet recently. And he had assumed, apparently wrongfully so, that you and your sisters would be able to properly acclimate now, to learn how to live as fae. He couldn’t speak much for Nesta, as she had distanced herself as soon as she could, but Elain— Elain had made slight progress. She was moving around the house, tending to her garden.

But you. You, he had not truly analyzed. There had been Nesta’s anger, Elain’s helplessness and utter fear, and you…. you had been silent. And ever since, you’d found something to busy yourself with— perhaps some distraction from the pain you’d forced yourself to deal with alone, he thought.

He should have kept a better eye. He had failed you, had failed his family.

He felt the faint, cool tug on his body, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Azriel clenched his teeth in frustration, stopping in his tracks as he looked down at his shadows once more, watching as few slithered towards the edge of the shops that lined the Sidra, the other shadows dancing around his wrists as if enticing him to follow.

He attempted to call them back, reel them in like energetic children, but they refused, continuing to veer off course and drawing his attention to a particular figure seated outside a quaint cafe. He threw the female a quick glance, taking in her sapphire coat and her hair tucked within it. He looked down at his shadows.

Stop it, Az scolded. Stay on track. Find Y/n.

But yet again, his shadows danced in between the cobblestoned roads towards the female.

She sat with her back to Az, her laughter ringing out like a melody amidst the chatter of the busy street. She was engaged in conversation with, who Az assumed was, the cafe owner, her gestures animated as the two talked.

Azriel paused. And then the female was moving her hands to her neck, lifting her hair and freeing it from where it lay underneath her coat. Instantly, a small breeze kissed Azriel’s nose, and he was hit with a scent of sweetness that had his wings falling slightly limp behind him.

It smelled like…you?

He slowly moved forward, brows furrowed together as he approached the female from behind.

The shop owner's conversation faltered as she took in Azriel's approaching figure, the words she had been speaking instantly dying off her tongue. Her eyes went wide for a moment before her face softened, and she offered a polite nod of acknowledgment.

From in front of him, you turned around, your head tilting up to meet Azriel’s eyes instantly.

And then you smiled.

His confusion deepened as he watched you, his previous expectations shattered by the sight of what Azriel could only describe as…joy.

“Azriel!” You said, “What are you doing here?”

Azriel’s eyes flickered between you and the shop owner as he swallowed.

“I-” He hesitated for a moment. His shadows danced around him. Happy, Joy, Content. “Feyre sent me.”

Your face fell into a small frown and you turned your head to face the shopkeeper once more.

“It was so nice talking with you, Liena,” you said softly, “And thank you so much for the treats.”

You motioned to a small empty plate before you, and the female smiled at you, leaning forward to grab it with her small hands. “Please come by anytime. We’re glad to have you here.”

You smiled at her, watching as she retreated back into her quaint little shop. Then, you turned to look up at Azriel once more.

“Feyre sent you?” You asked, “For me?”

Az nodded, eyes quickly flickering down to where his shadows seeped to trail near your ankles, he clenched his jaw slightly as he urged them to return, a sense of heated embarrassment filling his body— a sensation he wasn’t used to. Had never felt before, really.

“She's worried about you,” he finally managed to reply.

Az took a step back as you pushed your chair out, gently standing up and turning to face him. There was a gentle smile on your face, but your brows were furrowed as you stared at him through dark lashes. You brought your hand to your chest, hovering it over your heart. Just as Feyre does, Azriel noted. One and the same.

“She is?”

There was a trace of concern in your voice, but it wasn’t in the way he had expected. You seemed concerned that Feyre was worried— concerned as if she had no reason to be worrying at all. Azriel took a moment to scan your features, taking in your face, the way you stood, the clothes that adorned your figure.

You were beautiful, Azriel knew this. He had noticed it when he first met you and your sisters, standing with his brothers and Feyre. But comparing that female he first met to the one that now stood before him… the similarities were almost hard to find. You were glowing. There was a pink tint that coated your cheeks, the faint blush that painted your skin from the cool breeze. Your skin was full of color that had been missing those first few weeks after you’d been Made, and you wore a gentle smile that held a heavy warmth to it.

Happy, Joy, Content.

“She is,” he responded, “You’ve been gone a lot recently. She was concerned that you were struggling with being fae.”

You blinked, your mouth falling open slightly as you took in his words, and then your brows furrowed deeper.

“Oh my gods,” you said quietly, “I didn’t realize what Feyre might think.”

You let out a small sigh, gently tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. Azriel simply looked at you, his mind drawing blanks of what he could say. He couldn’t form the right words, at least not while his energy was being spent on pulling his shadows away from your body and back into his.

‘I know my sisters are struggling. And I was too,” you quickly added, “but I woke up one day and suddenly the sunshine seemed brighter and its rays were warmer, and all the sounds around me were more melodic than I’d ever heard.”

You stopped for a moment, grabbing a strand of your hair in your hands to twirl between your fingers before you continued. “I don’t know how else to describe it. And I didn’t want to be so happy around them. It felt wrong— like if I was betraying them somehow, for enjoying what we had been forced to become. So I stayed out of the house. At least, at the beginning. But now?”

You stopped again, but this time you made a soft gesture with your hand to your surroundings, too lost in your words to notice how a single shadow managed to hover around your extended hand. Azriel kept his gaze on you, unwavering and focused as you smiled once more, a small laugh leaving your lips. Without noticing, the corners of his lips turned up at the sound.

“Azriel, this city is beautiful. I would have never been able to experience something like this as human. We were unhappy, simply existing rather than living. But here? The food, the music, the energy.”

You fiddled with your hands as you shook your head gently, the smile never leaving your face.

“What happened to my family, to Nesta, to Elain, to Feyre,” you said, moving closer to look up at him. “It was cruel. And it wasn’t beautiful. But what I make of myself after it? That can be beautiful.”

There was something about the words that you spoke, how genuine your face was as you stared at him, that made Azriel’s heart clench. He felt silly, truly, for the sudden rush of emotion that washed over him like a tidal wave. You were happy, thriving even, and you’d been too worried about your sisters to share the joy. It was a different kind of selflessness than what he’d grown accustomed to seeing, a kind that he’d only seen in one other recently— your sister. His High Lady.

Happy, Joy, Content. His shadows sang once again. Happy, Joy, Content.

“I’m sorry Feyre sent you all this way for nothing. “

“No,” Azriel quickly said, much faster than he intended to. His gaze casted down towards the outstretched hand that he had instinctively placed on your shoulder. He quickly retracted it, not failing to notice the small frown that passed through your features. “It wasn’t a waste.”

You gave him a small laugh. “Well, anyways. I’m sorry for spewing that all onto you like some sick toddler. Thank you for coming to find me. It was very sweet.”

You cleared your throat, taking a step back.

“Please let Feyre know I’m alright and that I’ll be back tonight. But I’d like to explore a bit more. The weather is perfect today. Something about how…” You trailed off for a moment, looking up at the skies above you, closing your eyes for a second as a trail of wind swept past your face.

“The way the breeze kisses your cheeks?” Azriel said, his voice quiet and unsure. Where those words came, and what overcame him to say them, he wasn’t sure. But he didn’t feel like questioning them— not now, anyways.

You opened your eyes and looked at him once more. “Yes. Exactly.”

A small cool touch drew your attention down to your feet, your eyes watching as small, opaque tendrils of black shadows danced between you and Azriel. You admired them for a moment, and Az took in how excited your eyes were as you traced their motions.

“Well,” you said, straightening yourself up. “Thank you again for coming to find me. I’ll let you get back to your day.”

You gave a small nod before you were turning yourself around and walking towards the lively streets. As Azriel watched his shadows trail after you, he found himself calling out to your retreating form, “Y/n.”

You stopped. And then you turned to face him, arms now crossed against your chest. You tilted your head as he gave you a small, almost unsure, smile.

“Would you like me to show you around?”

You paused for a moment, as if you were considering the offer. He felt a flicker of fear in his gut, a new sense of embarrassment at the idea of you rejecting him. Perhaps he had intruded on your newfound freedom, placed himself where he shouldn’t be. But it was only an offer, was it not? And-

His thoughts died down as you smiled at him, your cheeks raising at the movement.

“Well then, what are you doing standing all the way over there for? I expect a full tour.”

Azriel let out a small chuckle, a fluttering sensation filling his chest as he followed the trail his shadows led to you.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria

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zorobff · 2 months ago

Text

dress up. (toji fushiguro x f!reader)

synopsis: in an attempt to make some memories, you come up with the idea of a family costume for this year’s halloween. toji and megumi might need a little convincing, though…

a/n: first fic in like a year and first time writing for my babygirl toji :3

word count: 1.1k

toji carelessly lets himself fall next to you, his sheer body weight causing the couch to jolt slightly. he nods at your phone. “whatcha looking at?”

“just some costumes. halloween’s coming up and—”

a smile creeps up on toji’s face before you can get another word out. “you shoulda asked me first, baby. i got a few good ideas. patient and nurse could work, i love a woman in uniform—my woman in uniform. cop and prisoner, too. would give us a good excuse to finally buy some handcuffs.” he winks.

“sounds like you’ve been thinking about this for a while,” you tease. “but unfortunately, none of those are gonna work.”

toji’s face falls ever so slightly and you have to hold back a laugh at seeing a grown man pout.

“had you let me finish, you’d know i want to do a family costume.”

“baby, c’mon,” he groans, rubbing his face. “i never go all out f’ halloween, you know that.”

you arch a brow. “you seemed eager a few seconds ago.”

he huffs. “that was different.”

“mhm, sure,” you reply, sarcastically. “i don’t mind suggestions, just a little more family friendly and less… porn-y.”

“where’s the fun in that?” he deadpans.

you smack his bicep. “save the roleplaying for later. i mean, just look at how cute these are.”

you hand him your phone and he reluctantly takes it. he’s seen this app before; pinterest, he believes it’s called. his eyes roam over the page for a moment, seeing various families of three dressed in an array of costumes. rock, paper and scissors. ketchup, mustard and a hot dog. fork, knife, and spoon.

he hands you back your phone when he decides he’s seen enough. “baby, those are humiliating.”

“no they’re not! they’re fun.” you snatch the device back, furiously scrolling. “besides, we’re making memories for megumi to look back on when he’s older.”

“have you met the little twerp? he’s practically a 70 year old man in the body of a second grader.” toji shakes his head with a smile. “you sure he’d even wanna do this?”

“we should at least ask him. then he can’t say we never tried.”

toji’s eyes soften; you really were giving this your all. your dedication to making megumi’s childhood a happy and healthy one was something that tugged at his heart strings; especially since toji had never received that kind of affection in his youth. and yet, here was a beautiful woman he was privileged to call his wife trying her best to break that generational curse. he truly was a lucky man.

“megumi!” shouts toji, suddenly determined to make this family costume work. “get in here!”

megumi’s little voice comes back muffled from his upstairs bedroom. “wait, i’m almost done with this level!”

“tch, he’s glued to that damn thing. what’s it called? a switch?” toji shakes his head and mumbles, “should’ve never let you buy it f’ him.”

“don’t be jealous,” you tease. “if you’re good, i’ll get you one for christmas too.”

toji smirks. “actually, i wanted to ask for a special gift this year.”

“oh yeah? what’s that?”

“y’know how megumi’s been askin’ for a sibling—”

you shove his shoulder and he laughs.

toji takes that as his cue to leave and talk to megumi, standing from the couch with an exaggerated groan. (you always made fun of him for it, claiming that it was such an old man thing to do. he always refuted that you knew what you were getting into when you married someone his age.)

he heads upstairs, delivering a firm knock when he reaches megumi’s door. “get out here, kiddo. need to talk to ya real quick.”

he hears a groan then the shuffling of feet. the door swings open and there stands his son, eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned. clearly, he wasn’t thrilled about having to pause his game.

“sheesh, kid,” toji huffs. “don’t make that face, starting to look like your old man.”

“what is it, dad?” he sighs in exasperation.

“we’re dressing up for halloween this year. as a family.”

that catches the eight year old off guard. “what? why?”

“for the memories or somethin’.”

“i don’t really wanna…” megumi trails off.

toji scratches the back of his head. “i hear ya. but it’ll make your mom real happy so we’re doin’ it.”

megumi purses his lips. “what’s the costume?”

“i dunno. we can’t seem t’ decide. got any ideas?”

“hmmm… i kinda wanted to be michael meyers this year.”

“it’s a group costume, megumi, ya can’t just— hang on, michael meyers? how the hell do you know about him?”

megumi shrugs as if he doesn’t see the issue. “i saw the movie at uncle shiu’s house once.”

toji makes a mental note to never shiu babysit megumi again. or at the very least, go over what movies a second grader is allowed to watch.

toji clears his throat. “well, forget you ever saw it. and don’t tell your mother, got it?”

megumi nods.

“good. erm… any other ideas?”

there’s a silence between the two.

“c’mon, kid, think of something. if not, your mom’s gonna make us dress up as condiments or silverware or somethin’ stupid.”

megumi groans, clearly fed up with the conversation. “can i just go back to playing super mario bros?”

it’s as if a lightbulb goes off in toji’s mind. “you like those guys?”

megumi nods slowly. “yeah… why?”

“you wanna be one of ‘em for halloween?”

megumi’s face lights up. “really? can i be luigi?”

toji grins, satisfied with his reaction. “don’t see why not.”

“cool! does that mean you’ll be mario?”

his dad chuckles. “guess so.”

“ooh and mom could be princess peach!”

“that’s the, uh… pink one, right?”

megumi giggles at his father’s obliviousness, nodding.

“works out then. i’ll go tell your mama.” he ruffles his son’s tar black hair. “thanks, megs. gonna make her day.”

megumi flashes a toothy grin then retreats back into his room.

when toji returns to the living room with a smug smile and pep in his step, you take notice.

“what’s with you?” you inquire.

“oh, nothin’. just got megumi to agree on a family costume, that’s all.”

you eye your husband with interest. “oh really?”

“you’re welcome, princess. speaking of which, you’re gonna need a pink dress and crown.”

“well, now i’m really curious.”

“you know that little game he likes? the one with the plumber brothers—” before he can even finish, you shoot up from your comfortable position.

“how didn’t i think of that sooner? it’s perfect!”

“megs seemed pretty excited about it too. knew exactly which character he wanted to be and everythin’.”

you nearly melt. “that’s all what i wanted. i’ll order the costumes right away.” you lean over to pepper his face in kisses. “thank you so much, toji.”

he grunts, though he’s smiling so hard his scar tilts upwards. “yeah, yeah. how about you thank me with that christmas present i was talkin’ about earlier?”

you pull away from him and grin. “nice try.”

#toji x reader #toji fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x y/n #jjk x y/n

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sehaedazokla · 2 months ago

Text

he that dares

part one

premise: Cregan Stark's arrival in King's Landing has brought a new type of chaos to the capital. Lady Tyrell is determined to use the Northern lord to her advantage, but the task might not be as straightforward as it seems.

warnings: grief mention

word count: 4k

a/n: here is the idea that has been plaguing my brain since i started this blog. more installments to follow. any comments, feedback, thoughts are always appreciated, especially since this is my first longer piece on here. thank you to whomever requested this. it is not exactly what you asked for, but rest assured the story shall eventually give you what you desire.

next part | series masterlist

The Tyrell girl finds herself with the distinct thought that there is absolutely nothing special about Cregan Stark after all.

She decides upon this in her quarters at King’s Landing, which are modest in size, almost befitting a young lady from a family as opulent as House Tyrell. The sheer silks of the curtains blow inwards gently in the face of the afternoon wind that drifts in from the open window, the slight smell of seawater and the remnants of a cooler day.

The girl in the vanity mirror gazes back at her with a delicately downturned chin and round doe eyes that look up underneath delicate wisps of long lashes. She gives the look another attempt, pressing her lips together slightly to give her a darling pout as she opens a small pot of rouge. The color comes from an ornate box that is covered in gilded roses and twisting thorns. Her fingernails tap gently on the edge of the metal as she opens the rouge with a soft click. With one of her fingers, she presses into the coloring only the slightest bit to pull some onto her skin.

Her plump lips are parted carefully as she raises her hand to dab the color to her mouth, leaning forward slightly. Some of her loose curls sway softly with the motion, and she rests her elbow against the edge of the vanity’s table. Once she has finished, she reaches down to open a drawer and produces a white lace handkerchief that is embroidered with the sigil of House Tyrell – a beautiful rose in shimmering golden silk. When she wipes her finger against the fabric, a light stain of pink is left behind.

She returns to her earlier judgement, regarding the young lord she is set to meet with shortly. Cregan Stark is heavy on her mind that day.

It was not too long ago that the Northern men had arrived in King’s Landing. Soon after followed their liege lord, the Lord of Winterfell, the man who holds the court at present. With him had come an even larger force and with that army he had seized control of the entire city in a very short manner of time. It would seem the young lord had every intention of continuing the war that had consumed the noble houses, much to the concern of House Tyrell.

The House is ran by a woman at present. The Tyrell girl thought of her mother briefly, and of her little brother Lyonel who was only two years of age. She knew her mother did not wish for the war to continue. That very mother had then told the girl that while this Northern lord maintained a firm hold on King’s Landing it was her responsibility to do what she did best: win him over.

There was little to complain about when the request was delivered to her. On the contrary, she had already predicted the wishes of her mother and had ensured she was in the throne room the moment Cregan Stark had first pushed those large doors open, blue eyes sharp and sword still in his hand as he led his bannermen in. It is with perfect clarity that she can recall the moment his head lifted to the balcony of the grand room, meeting her gaze for the first time.

She could additionally recall each and every following occurrence of the prolonged gaze they exchanged whenever they happened to cross paths. After a few instances of this, heavy looks where the Northern lord would hold her stare as if he had no intention of ever looking elsewhere again, she found his eyes began to wander. To the lady’s lace she occasionally wove into her elaborate hairstyles, to the small freshwater pearls that spilled over of her collarbones, and then down further to the way the embroidery at the top of her gowns would sweep across her breasts that were pushed upward by the tightness of her whalebone corsets.

And once an adequate trap had been laid, the Rose of the Court had swept in with angelic grace and poise to introduce herself to him. It had gone as smoothly as she could have expected – save for the way she had found Cregan Stark was smarter than she expected. The shine in his eyes when she’d spoken let her know that this Northern lord would not fall prey to her so easily.

Nevertheless, he has called upon her that afternoon. Which is why she is spending a rather grey day dabbing the subtlest of color onto her lips before smoothing her delicately arranged hair into place and informing her maid she is ready to depart.

They are to meet in the castle’s gardens, as per her own request. She had spent quite some time in the gardens during her time in King’s Landing, and found men were much more likely to deem a conservation there pleasant as it would reflect her scents of rose water and lavender oil and honey.

She catches sight of him as she makes her way down one of the pathways made of little rocks, her elegant heels tapping on the small, pearl-colored pebbles as she approaches. Lord Stark is facing away from her, his hands clasped behind his back. He is still dressed in dark colors but has opted against the heavy furs that had adorned his broad shoulders the first time she had seen him. His hair is a striking shade of red that when caught by sunlight shines almost golden about the edges. But this day, the sky is overcast and gloomy with a few gusts of wind and the faint smell of rain that perhaps foretold an incoming summer storm.

Cregan Stark turns as he hears her drawing nearer, his chin raising slightly as his stern gaze falls upon the Tyrell girl.

She has settled for a hurried step, the heavy skirts of her elaborate dress clutched in her petite hands as she rushes up to him rather quickly, bringing a natural red flush to her cheeks. As if she had been quite fretful over the idea of making him wait for even a moment. Her maid trails behind, grasping at the fluttering of her headdress that the wind plucks at in gusts. The maid is providing the girl with a small amount of distance as she stops to catch her breath in front of Cregan.

“I do hope I have not kept you waiting, Lord Stark,” The Tyrell girl begins, her shoulders rolling back elegantly as she speaks. The action draws further attention to the prominence of her collarbone, over which a thin necklace of gold lays. Her eyebrows raise and draw closer as she gives Cregan a honeyed and apologetic smile. The color of her lips is that of a blooming rose.

Cregan finds there are no shortages of places to look when it comes to her. And yet there is no safe place to rest his eyes upon, no part of her that has not been subtly enhanced or maneuvered to make her look as comely as might be possible. It is no wonder that she has enchanted half of his bannermen as if by some sort of spell, leaving longing eyes and craning necks in her wake as she glides about the court.

And Cregan cannot truthfully declare he is immune to her beauty. The only reason he has noticed so much regarding her is that he had been staring, all dry swallows and heavy-lidded eyes, at her since arriving. The way she made his blood rush hot in his veins, her face and figure more than pleasing. Cregan will not imagine – he is a gentleman, and she a highborn lady -but he could imagine, if he allows himself to, and he could imagine much whenever she enters his line of sight. She needn’t say a word to draw his eye.

He settles for looking into her eyes, although they are perhaps the most disarming feature on her dollish face.

“No, you have not Lady Tyrell.” There is a depth to his tone that she is not used to, even after a week of hearing Northern accents echoing down the halls of King’s Landing. He pronounces both her name and title by enunciating both syllables with a low timbre. She notices the way he intentionally kept his gaze to her eyes, his brows neutral and his features even. A proper Northern lord, perhaps. The girl will figure him out for herself soon enough.

“Oh, thank goodness,” She breathes the first word as a sigh of sweet relief, pausing for a moment to catch her breath since she had hurried so worriedly over to him. A hand comes to her chest, sliding over the top of her full breasts as she presses down to soothe her aching lungs.

Cregan’s eyes flick down.

“I would hate to be late. I know how busy you must be, what with all of your responsibilities here at King’s Landing,” There is that sweet smile again, breaking across her face like the sun through the sky in the early hours of the morning. When she folds her hands gracefully across her front, her cleavage comes together impossibly tighter as her arms press to her sides.

Cregan looks back up to her face, hand clenching lightly.

“Aye, I have been quite busy. Handling the remnants of Aegon’s supporters has proved a heavy task.” His eyes are light, reflective of the overcast sky above their heads. They narrow a bit as he speaks, his expression stern and his voice gruff. She wonders for a moment over how seriously he must take himself.

“A difficult yet vital task, verily.” The Tyrell girl’s eyelashes flutter lightly. She dips her head as if to acknowledge the severity and importance of his work at the capital.

He beholds her for a heartbeat, the slightest twitch of his heavy brows when she speaks with a tone that implies the most agreeable and sweet countenance. It is the perfect thing to reply with, a simple sentence that does not ally herself with either side of the war. An easy compliment given to him like candy. Here is a girl who has learned to play the game of court.

And before Cregan can push the subject further to see if he might glimpse a hint of her true opinion on the matter, the girl is already turning towards the path. He waits a moment while she begins to walk, observing the way she steps with effortless grace. Letting out a small sigh, his wide shoulders drop and he takes a few heavy steps to catch up with her.

The maid trails behind them, and Cregan wonders for a moment if she needs anything from the girl. As he glances over his shoulder, the girl catches notice and smiles, sugary and pleasant.

“How has the capital treated you, my lord? Aside from your important work, that is,” Her chin raises as she looks at him sideways. It is a fair way she has to look up, with the obvious height he has on her. She has never been considered tall, but even so, Cregan’s stature is quite imposing.

Cregan considers her words for a moment. The gardens are quiet, most of the lords and ladies inside to avoid the low clouds that hang precariously above them.

“The South is not much like the North,” He meets her eyes with a heavy gaze as he speaks. There is a heaviness about him in general – stern and disciplined. “I came for the war and find there’s one in every corner of your court.”

She keeps her eyes to the ground for a moment, her expression cool and pleasing. So it would seem Cregan Stark was not altogether empty-headed and boorish.

“Life at court can be quite turbulent at times, it is true,” A honey-tongued and cool concession, smooth as river water over rocks. “But your steadfast devotion to bringing justice is a refreshing presence. Others of your idealism have long since left these walls.”

At first glance, it is a compliment of the softest praise. But Cregan is not foolish enough to take her words for their immediate meaning. No, what Cregan hears instead is an unimpressed warning of what happens to those who come to King’s Landing with good intentions.

“I swore an oath and intend to keep it,” His brow creases in a serious frown. “Even should those I made that oath to no longer draw breath.”

“How very honorable,” Swift and candied, the words fall from her rosy lips as she walks gracefully at his side, finding herself with a flash of annoyance as she has to increase her pace to keep up with his wide steps. This is supposed to be a leisurely stroll, why is it that every step he takes has the length and intent of someone walking towards a particular destination? “It is good to know that the stories of Northern loyalty ring true.”

Cregan feels his jaw tighten slightly, his eyes on her face as she upturns her chin to meet his gaze once more. The look on her face implies she is impressed, but the Lord of Winterfell has an eye for falsehoods and this girl is covered in them, no matter how coquettishly smoothed they are.

A frown of contemplation folds onto his stern face. “It is our nature, my lady.”

“So it is.” A saccharine smile and the glitter of wide eyes. The garden’s flowers are in full bloom, upturned to the sky to catch the possible rain that would occur in the later evening. The petals facing the clouds, waiting, watching. Leaning towards the water they wish for. A small flutter of wings can be heard as a butterfly brushes past. “To be true to one’s nature, you will find, is not a common occurrence here at court. If it is Northern custom to be honest and straightforward, it is Southern custom to be prudent and waiting.”

There is an eloquent way of describing the venomous snake pit that was the capital. Most of the men there came for their own personal interest or gain, clawing to the top of the food chain through underhanded tactics and broken oaths and lies. Most men worked their entire lives for a fragment of what Cregan Stark had come to King’s Landing and taken in one day.

“Therefore, you must imagine why you are so fascinating to many of us here at court.” She explains in a tone of light and airy amiableness, meeting his gaze as if admitting why she had been staring after him so often since his arrival at King’s Landing. This is not exclusively a lie – she was sizing him up, same as every other noble who cared enough to keep an eye on the larger game at play. But some of her staring had been purely self-indulgent, much to her own irritation.

“And you have lived here at court long?” Cregan’s question is reserved and polite.

“A couple of years now,” The Tyrell girl looks out in front of her again while they walk, surveying the gardens around them thoughtfully as if she had not seen them a thousand times. “I served as a lady in waiting to Queen Helaena. The Hightowers are bannermen of House Tyrell and I had been betrothed to her younger brother Daeron from his birth. We had been set to marry this year, however…”

She could not care less about her betrothal to Daeron. It had served her well, allowing her more time to live unmarried as Daeron was much younger than her and the two had never met. And then he had died, and she found herself lacking the safety and security of a royal and wealthy betrothed who was miles away. She wishes she could say she had mourned him, but she had not known him at all.

“I am sorry for your loss, Lady Tyrell.” There is an almost warm quality in his voice as Cregan offers his sincere condolences. She looks down, as she knows she should. Many had given her similar sentiments in regard to the loss of her betrothed, but she did not find herself shedding a single tear for the fallen prince. It is not that there had been no love between them: it is that there had been nothing between them at all. Daeron had never so much as written her a single letter in an attempt to know her. But his sister plagues her thoughts.

Helaena had been a dear friend, a companion, a confidant. It was Helaena who had offered the girl company in that first frightening year at court, who had been unfaltering honest and direct with her. There were no court games or schemes at play with Helaena, no power struggles or competition or backstabbing. The Tyrell girl had been devastated to lose the Queen. Much more so than a stranger she had never even laid eyes upon. Daeron was a figment of imagination from the mind of her childhood self; Helaena had been flesh and blood and dreams and understanding.

She is glad her eyes are downcast; she can feel the glassy haze falling over them and the way her smile lacks any warmth. After a moment, she forces a happier smile back upon her lips and dips her head slightly.

“I thank you, Lord Stark. It has been difficult in the face of such a loss, but I do hope to persevere.” The brightness of her voice lowers to a softer tone. She is well used to pretending to mourn her late betrothed. It is not hard when she simply examines her feelings over Helaena, but such raw and angry grief is not befitting of a lady. No one wishes to see her scream and tear at her hair over the pain that rakes carved, hollow cavities into her chest. They wish for a light dab at a stray tear, a quiet, palatable sadness they can soothe with promises of future love and happiness.

Cregan does not know what to make of her reaction, unable to see her face as it is turned away. Her words are even, practiced.

“I have only spent my time between the capital and Highgarden. There is much of the world I have yet to see,” The Tyrell girl guides the conversation back to Cregan’s original question with ease and experience. She catches his stormy eyes gazing intensely at her once more, sucking in a gentle breath that she wishes she could say is done on purpose to feign interest.

“I imagine I might fair poorly in the North,” She continues hurriedly, eyelashes fluttering as she regains control over her composure, eyes cast to the sky as she presents a sheepish breath of laughter. “With the cold and what not.”

Cregan’s lips twitch faintly at her admission, his head tilting a little as he gazes down at her. It is an amusing thought, this delicate rose in her pastel fabrics and shining jewelry among the ice and snow. He rather wishes to see it, he finds.

“Aye, I fear even our summers would prove challenging for those raised in such fair climate.” The amusement reaches his eyes and she finds herself watching as Cregan looks down, doing his best to remain a gentleman and fighting off the smile that seems to be threatening to break out at the corners of his lips. She hears what his words truthfully mean: he views the Southerners as weaker, used to sunshine and easy days.

Does he fancy himself better because he spent all his time in nightmarish weather, buried under pelts and furs and smelling of sweat and snow? She is eager to see how he’d fare in court without the large army he had brought with him.

“Oh, I simply could not bear it,” She sighs deeply, as if even the thought of such bitter cold was too worrying a predicament to bear in her delicate mind. “I am afraid you shall not be seeing me in the North anytime soon, Lord Stark.”

“A pity, my lady,” There is still a measure of serious composure in his face, but Cregan’s eyes shimmer with something else as he watches her bring her hand to her chest again, smoothing down the expensive fabrics and then up over the soft flesh of her breasts. An action that feigns worry and concern and draws his attention. She has a way of leading the eye about in a subtle manner. Her figure gives him pause. “The North offers a great beauty for those who choose to brave it.”

Her eyes flick to his and there is a moment where Cregan can almost see her sharp mind discerning whether his comment is a challenge or a jab or merely an observation. It fascinates him, yet his face betrays nothing of the thought.

“Perhaps I should amend my previous statement,” The soft laugh that escapes her lips and the sweetness of her expression makes Cregan wonder if he has imagined something. “If my lord was so kind as to offer me an invitation to Winterfell, I would, of course, be honored beyond words.”

Cregan wonders for a moment if he can discern her true intentions. She intrigues him, much more than she should. It was her alone of all the Southern ladies who had approached him directly, introducing herself and offering welcome. Cregan knows it is not from the goodness of her heart. She could fool his bannerman with her wide eyes and friendly smiles, but Cregan was attuned to lies, no matter how beautifully they were spun. Attuned, yet perhaps not immune to their crafter.

It is likely she seeks marriage, now that her betrothed has fallen in battle. Cregan is a perfect candidate. But he cannot be sure, not when she’s blinking up at him with such sweet and thoughtful eyes. Her weapons are great and her skill with them is more so. Before Cregan can open his mouth to mention that he would in fact, wish to see her with rosy cheeks bitten from the cold and snowflakes in her soft hair, she casts her eyes to the sky, frowning thoughtfully.

“It would seem that the evening storm is rolling in sooner that anticipated,” She muses, sighing a little, as if she is truly saddened their stroll is coming to an end. They have almost walked to the end of the gardens anyhow. “I shall excuse myself, if you do not mind, Lord Stark.”

Cregan lowers his head in understanding, his eyes meeting hers as he lifts his chin. He holds the stare for longer than needed. “Go ahead, my lady. I would hate to see you caught in the rain. You might melt.”

She blinks, that sweet smile on her lips but not quite reaching her eyes as she feels her jaw tighten slightly. How utterly charming. As if to subtly let her know he has not fallen for a single thing she has said or done in the last hour. She imagines he finds that amusing.

“How kind of you, my lord.” She offers him through a mildly forced grace, her right eye twitching a little as she gives a deep curtsy that once again showcases just how fortunately she is blessed in the bosom. Cregan finds his mouth dry, his shoulders rolling back slightly. “Do not hesitate to call upon me should you need anything at court. I hear it can be quite challenging for those raised in such fair company.”

When she draws herself up, she gives him one last smile before she turns to collect her maid and disappears.

Cregan hears his own words shot back at him with the most amiable and honeyed cadence but realizes a moment too late. He runs a hand through his red hair and then over his face as he sighs. But as he does so, he feels the ghost of a smile on his lips. Cregan finds himself shaking his head, gazing in the direction she has vanished into for a long moment in silence.

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zhongrin · 2 years ago

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“honey, can you… leave me alone?”

— (sometimes, we all just need some downtime for ourselves)

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, al haitham, diluc, kaeya, kaveh, thoma, albedo, wanderer, xiao

◇ tags ◇ angst with comfort, established relationship, petnames

◇ a/n ◇ oh wow! guys!! i wrote angst with comfort!!! guys!!!!!!! are you proud of me????? this is kinda self-indulgent bc i wrote this when i was just. tired. you know, those moments where you genuinely just want to shut down and be in your own company? yeah.

𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

zhongli smiles patiently. and if he judged that you would allow him to, he would place a kiss on top of your head before stepping away. his movements are graceful and calculated, amber eyes ever so observant as he watches the droop of your lashes and the downturn of your lips.

ah. you’re in that kind of mood.

with a firm nod, he promises to give you all the space you needed, as long as at the end of the day you return to his arms. a few hours or days of waiting would certainly make him miss you terribly, but zhongli is a patient man, and your well-being matters most.

“of course. you’ll come to me when you’re ready, yes?”

al haitham understands your needs very well. contrary to most people’s beliefs, he would put them just as equally high - if not more - than his own needs most of the time.

he simply nods upon your words and, after much consideration, would place his soundproof headphones on your side before he leaves the room, carefully minding his footsteps as he walks towards kaveh’s room to inform the architect of the situation and remind him to tone his antics down.

“alright. call me if you need anything.”

diluc would automatically ask you if something is wrong or is bothering you - it’s his protective instincts, don’t blame him too much - but he knows not to probe further when you give him that look.

he offers for a maid to deliver your favorite warm drink later, and with one last comforting squeeze of his hand on top of yours, he leaves, his head full of questions and his heart set to spoil you rotten the moment you return to his side.

“adelinde? tell the maids to skip cleaning [name]’s study today. and tell the workers to be especially quiet when they walk about the second floor.”

kaeya might only have half the eyesight normal people have, yet he’s anything but inattentive, especially when it comes to you. he settles with a light, fleeting caress upon your cheek with his gloved hand, and he presses a tender kiss to your forehead before retreating, offering you a sympathetic grin.

“i got you, babe. i’ll be at the office doing paperwork for once, but you can visit me anytime, okay?”

thoma holds back the urge to fuss over you like the mother hen that he is.

he knows about this habit of yours - sometimes lady ayaka exhibits the same behavior - so he knows he shouldn’t be too worried. you always get over this eventually; what you need now is time, and just like any other point in time in your relationship, he is more than willing to accommodate all of your desires.

“do you need me to sleep at the couch tonight? it’s really no trouble at all, love. anything that makes you most comfortable, okay?”

kaveh visibly pouts and looks like he’s about to cry when you ask him for such a request.

he can’t help it, okay? he wants to hold and kiss and cherish you constantly! so having to deliberately spend some time apart from you is torture to him… plus, those tired eyes of yours hurt his poor empathetic heart more than anything.....

with a saddened nod, he fiddles his fingers and gives you a pair of wet puppy eyes.

“are you sure, baby? …... you know you can tell me anything, right? …… whenever you’re ready, okay, precious? i’ll be in the living room, then…. come find me soon, okay, my love?”

albedo doesn’t even bat an eye. he’s already long since memorized your behavioral patterns, and from your recent ventures, he did conclude that this was going to happen. all within expectations, he muses, yet he can’t help but feel saddened at the exhaustion prominently displayed on your features.

with a soft smile, he places his specially curated ‘care package’ on your lap along with a gentle kiss on your cheek before exiting the room and hanging a “do not disturb - contact albedo instead” sign right in front of the door.

“there are a few snacks and calming scented candles inside, along with a few interesting puzzles and crafts. i thought you might like them and find them relaxing. i’ll be at the lab - just send a message through sucrose or timaeus if you need me.”

wanderer’s automatic response is a half-fearful, half-angry “are you fucking serious? hell no!”, but the second emotion is amplified when he sees the murkiness in your expression.

he swears to inflict pain upon whoever dared to put this expression on your face, but he falters when you explain your thoughts the best you can in your current headspace. eventually, with a scowl on his face and a gruff "fine.", the door closes behind him and he slides onto the floor. sure, you can shoo him away, but he has no intention to move from that spot until you reopen the said door.

“….. hmph. guess being a puppet is a good thing at times like these.”

xiao relates to your struggles far too well. he simply nods and teleports out from the room as fast as he could, not wanting his karmic debt to affect your mood further negatively.

throughout it all, your silent protector watches from afar and listens to the wind around you ever so cautiously. just because he agreed to give you space, it doesn’t mean he can’t continue to make sure you’re safe and sound, after all.

“understood. you need only call my name when you are ready to see me.”

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subskz · 1 year ago

Text

strawberry lemonade - l.mh

content: sub minho, dom reader, oral (m receiving), temperature play, foodplay (use of a popsicle), teasing, cum eating, reader calls minho kitty/kitten bc i am physically incapable of writing anything else, reader’s sex is unspecified, kinda unsanitary

word count: 5.3k

It was hot.

The air conditioner in your apartment, however determined it was, served no match for the unforgiving amounts of heat seeping in from outside, hanging heavy all around you and coating your skin with a thin layer of sweat. You’d tried cracking open your balcony door with the hopes of letting a refreshing breeze billow through, but all you were met with was more of the sticky, humid summer air instead.

In the end, you and Minho had taken refuge in the kitchen, where the effects of your barely-functioning AC were strongest. As a last resort to escape the sweltering temperatures, you decided to open up your freezer and dig out a popsicle, more relieved than you’d ever been in your life when you found that there was one more remaining. Even after you’d fished it out, you were reluctant to let go of the chilly waves rolling out from the freezer, basking in them for a few more precious moments before begrudgingly shutting the door.

The sound of crumpling plastic as you unwrapped your popsicle caught Minho’s attention, and he peered over at you curiously from where he was perched on the counter. He’d taken it upon himself to sit there in an attempt to cool himself off, a trusty wet napkin stuck to his forehead. His eyes gleamed when you approached him, zeroing in on the frozen treat in your hand with a catlike accuracy.

“This is the last one."

Minho frowned at that. Without missing a beat, he stuck his hand out to snatch it from your grasp. “Then gimme.”

“No way.” You barely veered out of reach in time. “This is a matter of life and death, Lee Minho.”

“You mean you wouldn’t die for me?” he clicked his tongue. “So cold.”

“It is cold,” you agreed, opening your mouth to rest the popsicle against your tongue. Strawberry flavored; his favorite. It was icy and refreshing and nothing short of heavenly in the way it chilled your mouth, tinged with a hint of lemonade to balance out the sweetness.

Minho sniffed irritably, resting his palms on the counter to lean back and spread his legs, like even his own body heat had become too disgusting for him to bear. “I might actually die, y’know.”

You didn’t bother to make your hum of sympathy sound convincing, closing your lips fully around the popsicle without a care in the world. If your roles had been reversed, you were certain you’d be met with the exact same smug indifference from him—topped off with plenty of teasing and laughing directly in your face for good measure. With the way he was eyeing you so keenly, a valuable opportunity to give him a taste of his own medicine presented itself. So, you sucked for a few moments longer before pulling it out of your mouth with a dramatic pop.

“Mmm,” you licked your lips. “I get why you like this flavor so much.”

He made a face, nose scrunching up. “Don’t do all that in front of me.”

“Jealous?”

“Listen closely and you'll hear it calling out my name,” he said it so seriously, you might’ve actually believed him if he were anyone else. "Begging me to save it."

“Uh-huh.” You dragged your tongue along the dessert from bottom to top, ending it with a playful flick to its tip. “I think the heat’s got you hallucinating.”

Minho huffed; sulky, lips downturned and eyes flickering between you and the popsicle. Its citrusy flavor flooded your tastebuds as you took it back into your mouth, letting out another satisfied noise that was even more exaggerated than before.

He went silent for a bit, long enough for you to figure that he’d lost interest in convincing you to hand it over. You continued licking contently away, growing less concerned with taunting him and more concerned with gathering up the juices that had begun to melt from the heat of your mouth. You dragged your lips down to the popsicle’s base, slurping at it loudly in a way that was, in your defense, unintentional that time.

“It’s dripping,” he commented.

It came casual, breezy as ever, but when you glanced up, you found his eyes locked on you, so intensely that it had you taken aback for a moment.

Then, you noticed it—a stray, red droplet splashing to the floor, with another traveling down your hand, preparing to do the same.

“Seriously,” he complained. “You’re not even appreciating it right! This hurts to watch.”

Without breaking eye contact, you brought your tongue to your wrist, swiping up the trail of juice before it could fall after the other.

“Better?”

To your surprise, Minho was the first to look away. He turned his head with another huff, seemingly annoyed, but a subtle shift in his expression piqued your curiosity beyond that. The corner of his lips twitched, trying to stifle an awkward puff of laughter, eyes blinking so profusely you’d think a drop of sweat might have trickled into them.

His legs weren’t spread anymore, you noticed. In fact, they were unnaturally close; thighs pressed firmly together despite the sticky discomfort he must have felt with his skin rubbing against itself.

It dawned on you, for the first time, that it may not have been you who Minho was jealous of.

Feigning obliviousness, you slipped into the barstool right across from where he was seated on the counter. He stiffened, turning his attention back to you just as you licked another long stripe up the popsicle.

“Don’t get so close,” his voice cracked. “I don't need your extra body heat right now.”

“Want some?” you asked innocently.

You tilted the popsicle towards him. Dripping, red, shining with an inviting glaze where you’d worked your mouth. A melted droplet accumulated at its tip, weighing itself down and splattering against his thigh.

He almost flinched, eyes darting down to the spot where it’d landed, then back up to your swelling lips. Even as he willed himself to ignore it, he was all too aware of the cool liquid spreading along his skin, quickening his heartbeat the further down it traveled.

“No,” he swallowed. “You already ruined it.”

“C’mon, let’s play that game you like so much. From your mouth to mine, right?”

Minho would always suggest it with the most self-satisfied look on his face, eyes twinkling with mischief and lips curving into an alluring smirk around whichever food he was trying to convince you to take from his mouth that day. Now, he didn’t look nearly as proud of himself. Squirming awkwardly under your stare, fingers fidgeting against the countertop, scrambling for something to bounce back with before he was completely cornered.

“That’s more of a favor, really,” he managed a trace of that crooked grin you knew. “So it’ll taste better for you.”

You rested your elbow on his thigh, pushing back a smile of your own when you felt his muscles tense up beneath you.

“Then make it taste better for me.”

You brought the popsicle up to nudge Minho’s lips. Slowly, deliberately, you dragged it along them, tracing their pouty shape and coating them red with its juices. Even with the mesmerizing sight demanding all of your attention, you still didn’t miss the way his breathing began to pick up, chest rising and falling a bit more rapidly under his loose-fitted shirt.

Then, he opened his mouth, just wide enough for you to push past his glistening lips and glide the frozen treat along his tongue. His stare realigned with yours, pupils blown wide; so dark that you could see yourself reflected in them. A glimpse into his own view, one that had his composure fizzling out alarmingly fast.

You inched forward bit by bit, taking your sweet time to admire how naturally his lips wrapped around it, how effortlessly he took it into his mouth, like he was meant to be filled. This time, Minho didn’t shy away, regardless of how your hungry eyes were pooling a heat in his stomach that was far different from the suffocating summer air. His eyelids drooped, thick lashes fanning over his gaze as it bore right back into yours. Defiant and desperate all at once—challenging you to take back the popsicle, pleading for you to take him with it.

A soft noise rose in his throat when you pushed as far down as you could go, so deep that your fingers brushed the entrance of his mouth. You stayed like that for just a moment longer, then pulled the popsicle out in one fell swoop, grazing it along his front teeth and leaving a cute pair of bite marks engraved in its side.

He had no chance to suck the melted coating off its surface before you popped it back into your mouth, still dripping with his saliva. You felt his thighs squeeze together under your arm, the red tint of his ears creeping up on his cheeks when you swallowed up the sweet blend without hesitation.

“You were right,” you murmured. “That’s much better.”

His lips were still parted, and you rubbed your thumb over the corner of his mouth to break the trail of drool that had dribbled out. Then, without warning, your hand fell from his face, brushing over the spot between his thighs that he’d been working so hard to distract you from.

“But I think I wanna taste something else, now.”

Minho’s stomach flipped, breath hitching so loud he was certain you could hear it. He shifted under your hand in a pointless attempt to conceal how hard he’d become, but all it did was press his bulge further against your palm. You leaned down to run your tongue along the dried patch of strawberry on his thigh, cooling the skin where his shorts had ridden up and making goosebumps rise to the surface.

“Poor baby.” You gave him a squeeze, watching in delight as his cheeks puffed out, flushing a shade deeper in an effort to hold in his gasp. “You’re really overheated, huh?”

“You…” he tried to get a handle on his voice, but much to his horror, it trembled anyway. “You did this on p-purpose.”

“Did not,” you pouted. “It’s not my fault you’re such a spoiled little kitten. Can’t even watch me eat a popsicle without wishing it was your dick instead.”

Any retort Minho had planned died in his throat when you slid the popsicle back into your mouth. Watching it push past your lips when you were hovering so close to his bulge was enough to make him throb in the confines of his shorts—a detail that, embarrassingly enough, he was certain you felt clear as day under your hand.

Holding the dessert steady between your teeth, you dipped your fingers below the waistband of his shorts, tugging at the elastic to pull them down along with his boxers. It was almost cute; how he deliberately slowed his movements to avoid coming off as too eager. How he was still trying to convince you he was unaffected, even when your fingers had just been wrapped around the proof of how aroused he’d become without a single touch from you. Still, you let him have his way. Like watching a cat struggle to unhook its claws from a piece of fabric, you waited patiently as he unstuck his thighs from the counter little by little, hoisting himself up so you could slip the garments off at last.

His length sprang up against his stomach, drops of precum seeping into his white shirt to form a small, translucent stain. It made your adrenaline spike—imagining what must’ve been going through Minho’s head for him to get so worked up purely off his own thoughts.

You dragged your lips up the popsicle as you pulled it out of your mouth again, agonizingly slow, savoring every bit of flavor just to make his patience slip a bit more.

“Is this what you meant when you said it was dripping?”

If the question itself hadn’t been enough to fluster him, what came next surely was. You nudged the popsicle playfully against his dick, flicking its leaking head with just enough force to make him jolt. He bit back his cry through gritted teeth, mustering up all his self-control to ignore the sharp chill that rocked his body so he could string together a response.

“If I say y-yes,” he breathed. “Will you lick it, too?”

He cursed himself for barely being able to get the words out properly. His eyes squeezed shut to form an adorable grimace, refusing to meet the smirk that he knew was spreading across your face.

“Every last drop.”

You gave him no time to brace himself before you pressed the popsicle to his inner thigh and dragged it inwards all at once. Minho reacted instantly; muscles going taut, legs threatening to close in on each other, hips shrinking away from the ice cold stimulation. A thin, pink layer of juice was left behind everywhere you roamed, complimenting the fading marks you’d left on his skin days ago.

The sensation was cool and glossy and deliciously unfamiliar against his flesh, parts of his body that were rarely touched by anything but you. It made him more sensitive than ever to the sloppy drag of your tongue that followed. He couldn’t even think to suppress his hiccup as you licked up the entire trail of sweet liquid, mixed with the salty tinge of his sweat.

“Is that better, baby?” you sucked up the leftover juice with an open-mouthed kiss, dangerously close to the base of his length. “Cooling you off?”

He could only form a soft grunt, not trusting himself to speak steadily when the popsicle suddenly found his other thigh, sending a visible shiver all throughout his body.

“Needy little kitten. All the attention just has to be on you, hm?” You twirled your wrist, drawing careful circles into his skin with the popsicle’s tip. “Is this how hard you get for me every time I’ve got something else in my mouth?”

The gentle rhythm of your movements almost lulled Minho into a trance, easing the uncomfortable heat that had been consuming his senses and replacing it with a pleasurable ache that made it difficult for him to focus on anything else.

“Y-you’re mean,” he stuttered out. “It's ‘cause you were teasing me.”

“Anything looks like teasing when you think with your dick, baby.”

You slid the popsicle further up his thigh, listening closely to the sound of his quickening breath as you approached the spot that was doing all the begging his mouth couldn’t verbalize just yet, twitching and leaking more uncontrollably by the second. A shaky sigh escaped him, dragging out into a moan when you flattened your tongue against his skin and followed the messy trail of juice, countering its cool sensation with the warmth of your mouth.

The feeling of his flesh—soft and pulsing and completely vulnerable under your teeth—was too tempting to resist biting down on. It sent his hips snapping forward with embarrassing speed, only making you sink your teeth deeper into his thigh. A low, frustrated whine met your ears, rife with desire for the wet heat that was taunting him just inches away from his cock, chipping away at his already minimal patience.

“Hah, more,” he demanded weakly. “Gimme more.”

“Still hot?” You nibbled until you were certain a brand new patch of red would be left behind on his plush skin, relishing in the remaining traces of strawberry as you gave it a final, languid lick. “I got you baby.”

In all its haziness, Minho’s mind processed your intentions a split second too late. His eyes fluttered open in alarm just in time to catch the mischievous glint that crossed yours. A fresh surge of frost rippled through his senses as you slid the popsicle along the underside of his cock, pressing its full length against him all at once.

Even as his hand flew up to clamp over his mouth, a broken cry rang out through the kitchen regardless, so loud that it sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core. The satisfaction it brought you was only amplified as he immediately began writhing under your hand, hips twisting and muscles clenching, like he himself didn’t know whether he wanted to escape the numbing cold, or lean into it—to let the strange thrill it created in his stomach take over in full.

“A-ah! Wait, wait, wait,” his honey voice spiked into something sharper; an uncharacteristically raspy squeak. “Too much, ‘s too much!”

“Too much?” you echoed. “It’s for your own good, kitty. You wanted more, right?”

You glanced up to find his hand now curled into a fist, bunny teeth sinking into it to restrain another pathetic sound. He met your eyes with a scowl that might’ve been intimidating if he didn’t look completely and utterly helpless.

“That’s n-not what I meant,” he mumbled miserably through his fingers. “You know it’s not.”

You tilted your head, determined to keep your hand firmly in place, even with all his wriggling around. “Then what did you mean?”

The popsicle was melting faster now thanks to all the contact with his burning skin, staining red all over your fingers and dripping torturously down his length. You rolled the treat lower to emphasize your question, wedging it against his balls and making his cock spasm wildly, as if crying out the answer for you.

“I thought kitties were supposed to be smart,” you frowned. “But this is all it takes for your head to go blank, huh?”

Another whine spilled out of him, too incoherent for you to make out what he was saying. But the way he blinked down at you, pupils blown out and putting his desperation on full display, told you all that you needed to know. He was clinging to the last few shreds of his pride, not quite ready to beg for you yet. Even so, you decided to indulge him—there would be plenty of opportunities for you to drag out the pleas you knew he was capable of later on. That, and, maybe the look that he was giving you, even more irresistible than any words might sound coming from his mouth, affected you more than you’d like to admit.

“Guess I should stop playing with my food,” your breath fanned over his skin in a murmur, like a gentle breeze quelling the throb in his body that had become near unbearable.

Minho searched aimlessly for something clever to say, something to pretend like his brain wasn’t about to fizzle out watching you draw closer and closer, but any quip was cut short by his sharp inhale when you leaned in and wrapped your lips around the head of his cock in one, fluid motion. He doubled over the moment you did, hands falling to grip the edge of the counter like he might fully collapse if he didn’t. Relieved by the warmth of your mouth finding him at last, overwhelmed by how it contrasted the popsicle’s relentless chill. The combination of temperatures was nearly enough to bring the tension building in his abdomen to a tipping point, right then and there.

You began sucking at his tip without giving him any chance to adjust, squeezing your mouth rhythmically around him to add addictive bursts of pleasure that made him pulse under your lips. He hissed softly as your tongue pressed against his head, teasing under its groove and tracing its shape. His taste mixed with the lingering flavor of the popsicle, earning a satisfied hum from you that vibrated around him and sent a jolt of arousal through his veins.

“Feels good,” he mewled. “More, more, more.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you took his cock deeper into your mouth, engulfing as much of him with the velvety warmth as you could. His whimper turned up in pitch when you slid the half-melted popsicle along the part of his length your lips didn’t cover, back arching and hips bucking forward before he could even think to stop himself.

Your eyes darted up in a warning, stern gaze meeting his half-lidded one and making his heart leap in his chest. Solely from the way he stiffened, you could tell he’d immediately realized his mistake, but he pushed back his apology, pouting down at you instead.

It was an expression you understood all too well—communicating the need for you to control him when he couldn’t control himself. You brought your free hand to his stomach, flattening your palm against it to push him back against the countertop. The added pressure to his abdomen made Minho’s cock jerk on your tongue; so, deviously, you dug your fingers into his shirt, squeezing the soft flesh of his tummy and holding him firmly in place as you began to bob your head once more.

Every wet slide of your lips was followed with a drag of the popsicle along his length, creating a fresh layer of juice where you’d been sucking just moments before. The groan he managed to stifle was quickly followed by another, more shameless one as you repeated the motion, sinking down to swallow up the strawberry coating, then pulling back so that just his tip was left throbbing in your mouth.

Gradually, you built up a steady pace, timing the strokes of the popsicle with your mouth so that every inch of his dick was being stimulated at once. Hot and frigid, sloppy and smooth, like you were freezing his body over and setting it back on fire. It wasn’t long before the dizzying blend of sensations became too much for him to handle. You could feel his stomach expanding faster against your palm, could hear his cute grunts grow less and less restrained with each glide of your tongue. Minho’s hips surged forward in another reflex when you paused your bobbing to tease his slit, leaving him longing to be swallowed whole by you once more. A broken moan of frustration escaped him as you pushed down on his stomach to force him back, harder this time.

You pulled off of his cock completely, grazing your front teeth along it as you did and making him shudder under your hands.

“Quit squirming, kitten,” you scolded. “You’re making a mess.”

You swiped your tongue over your lips to lick off the strawberry sheen, well aware of his glossy eyes piercing holes into you as you gathered up the drops of saliva and slush. He moved around indignantly in his spot, a low, restless protest rumbling in his throat. But even he knew better than to test his luck by jerking his hips forward a third time, regardless of how he was already aching to feel your mouth wrapped around him again. Your gentle tone was deceptive, a fact made clear in the way you started working the popsicle against his dick again, like an unspoken threat. There wasn’t much left of it, anymore—less than half, with the last chunk rapidly melting away around the wooden stick. He had trouble deciding whether the friction it created was intoxicating, or utterly excruciating.

Minho’s entire face was flushed, now—red with lust, embarrassment, and the strain of trying to mask his reactions to all the different ways you were toying with him. The napkin on his forehead had become thoroughly soaked, lopsided and slipping from its place. Sweat dripped from his bangs, trickling down his face and neck, glazing his skin to create a positively sinful sight.

“Looks like you’re only getting hotter, baby,” you mused, tapping the wooden stick against his length in mock contemplation. “Maybe I should just stop?”

“No, no, no,” he didn’t bother to hide the panic in his voice. “N-not enough. Gimme more, I want more.”

He held his breath when you opened your mouth and leaned in again, only to give the popsicle a lazy, taunting lick.

“More of what? This?” You took a small bite, savoring it with all the careful attention you’d been giving his cock mere moments ago. The thought alone was enough to make Minho’s head spin with want, with a need for you to put your focus back on him. To work his body in ways no one else could, make him feel things no one else could—not even himself.

“There’s not much left, kitty. Hurry up and tell me what you need so bad, or I won’t be able to cool you off anymore.”

He whimpered pitifully, delaying the inevitable. “M-mean. So mean.”

“So mean,” you hummed. “You love running your pretty little mouth, right? Just use it to say please, and you’ll get your treat.”

Minho was quiet for a moment, thighs rubbing helplessly together as he weighed the options in his foggy mind. With the way your smile grew watching him fidget, he was almost convinced you could hear his racing thoughts and pounding heartbeat. You took the popsicle between your lips, pulling the last bit carefully up the stick, ready to swallow it down.

“Please,” he whispered.

It was lilted and sweet, infinitely more delicious than any of the flavors that had been flooding your tongue. He probably knew exactly what he was doing—looking you straight in the eye as he said it, making absolutely sure it took full effect. But even as the feather-light word graced your ears and put an undeniable flutter in your chest, you weren’t ready to let him off that easily.

“Please, what?” You inched closer, enough for him to feel the warmth radiating from your lips.

His adam’s apple bobbed, eyes squeezing shut. “Please…your m-mouth,” he tried again. “Don’t make me beg for it.”

“But you sound so cute when you do.” You brushed your lips over the head of his length, earning a sharp hiss from him as you smeared around the fresh drops of precum that had dribbled out. “You could get anything you wanted with a voice like that. Since when are you this shy, baby?”

“Please,” he repeated. His eyebrows furrowed together in pure desperation, and combined with the view of his eyelashes resting delicately on his cheeks, you could’ve caved in a heartbeat. “Please, I need it. Can’t wait anymore. Don’t wanna wait anymore. Please, please, please.”

He was borderline babbling now, each word growing more and more frantic and sending another ripple down your spine.

“There we go. See how pretty you make it sound?” you cooed. “Let me show you how nice I am to good boys.”

You scooped up the final piece of the popsicle before it could melt completely, tossing its stick on the counter and curling your fingers around Minho’s dripping cock. His thighs shot up as you took him back into your mouth all in one go, sinking down as far as you could take him. The strawberry slush dissolved against your tongue, cooling the inside of your mouth to create an icy blend of saliva that was far too much for his hypersensitive body to handle.

Instantly, his voice rang out through the kitchen without an ounce of restraint. Your lips curved into a smile, swallowing around his length and making his head loll to the side in a fit of pleasure. His jaw went slack, spilling out a string of moans that were nothing short of angelic, a perfect contrast to just how filthy he’d become for you. Sticky with sweat, juice, and drool.

You slid up and down his cock with swollen lips, building up a merciless pace and creating sounds that made Minho’s brain go haywire. His fingers clawed helplessly at the smooth surface of the countertop, so frantic to find something to hold onto that the prominent veins in his forearms began to bulge out. As much as it gave you a power rush to have him so fragile on your tongue, your protective instincts kicked in.

You’d barely even pulled off of his length for a second before he was whining in protest, disoriented eyes fluttering open, hips stuttering in search of your mouth again.

“Don’t hurt yourself, kitty,” you murmured.

Delicately, you brought your hands to his thrashing ones, soothing their erratic movements and guiding them to rest on your head.

All it took was you licking a long stripe up his cock for him to immediately latch onto you. With a grateful whimper, he tangled his fingers in your hair, small palms pawing rhythmically and blunt nails digging into your scalp as you began working your mouth again. The slickness that coated his length with every bob of your head pushed him to the edge alarmingly fast, you could tell by the way he began squirming again. You slid your hands under his shirt to grab hold of his hips, pinning them down against the countertop to keep him steady as you drew out his climax.

“More, c-close, ‘most there,” he slurred. “Ah, ah, ah!”

“Is it really that good, baby?” you swirled your tongue around his tip, sinking your fingers deeper into his flesh to stop him from bucking. “Even the popsicle lasted longer than you.”

Minho couldn’t find it in him to bite back, not when you followed up your taunt by closing your lips fully around him and sucking at the head of his cock. He bent forward with a hiccup, leaning so far down that you could feel droplets of his sweat splatter onto your skin.

“Please,” he gasped without any hesitation left. “Going crazy, a-ah!”

Instead of outright granting him permission, you tongued at his slit, encouraging him to let go. It sent a jolt of electricity straight to his core, serving as the final catalyst to release the pressure that had been piling up in his stomach. Despite how sharp his cry was, tinged with a cute rasp from how much he’d exerted his voice, he came gently on your tongue. Soft and delicate, just like him. You continued sucking intently at his tip as his high washed over him, feeling every tremor of bliss pass through his thighs trembling around your head and his hands gripping your hair like his life depended on it.

His airy moans faded into weak little mewls with each soothing circle your thumbs drew into his hipbones. When the final spurt of his cum had spilled onto your tongue, you let his twitching cock fall from your mouth, leaving him dazed and panting on the countertop.

You were careful not to lose a single drop of his seed resting heavy on your tongue as you rose from the barstool to full standing, coming face to face with Minho. He looked utterly spent—eyes half-lidded, face flushed and glistening with sweat, puffed lips still parted with every pant that slipped past them. He blinked slowly back at you as your hand gripped his jaw, squeezing at his cheeks to urge his mouth further open.

A soft vocalization built in his throat, quickly muffled as you locked his lips with your own, spilling his own release into his mouth. Your tongue slid against his, catching the bittersweet taste of his cum combined with the popsicle’s residual flavor. You savored the kiss for a moment longer before pulling away, watching his throat bob as he drank down the mess of fluids. All his attempts from before to appear uninterested seemed so laughable now, with how eagerly he took it all. For good measure, he stuck his tongue out lazily once he finished, showing you that he hadn’t let any of it go to waste.

You gave his cheek an approving pat.

“You like the taste of your milk, kitty?”

Minho sputtered, ears burning an even deeper red than when you'd had him in your mouth. You swiped your thumb gently over the corner of his lips, pushing a stray drop of his seed back into his mouth. Despite the embarrassment setting his skin on fire, his tongue still flickered over the pad over your finger in a kittenish lick, swallowing it hungrily down with the rest.

“You’re insane,” he finally mumbled.

“Yeah?” You leaned in again to brush your lips playfully over his, allowing the traces of strawberry lemonade to waft over his senses. “Guess you've rubbed off on me.”

#skz smut #sub!skz #dom!reader #sub!minho #sub!lee know #lee know smut #lee know x reader #minho smut

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alice-everafter · 3 months ago

Text

"This is so exciting! I've never had a sleepover before!"

Kalim is practically glowing, even among the darkened shadows of his bedroom. The moon itself seems to be drawn to him, lighting up the red of his eyes and white of his teeth. His hair shines like the finest of silks while his skin looks like it might feel as such.

He's the picture of affluence and care lying underneath his all too expensive sheets. And you're just sort of there, with him, in his bed.

What started out as a nonconsensual sleepover has since morphed into a consensual, nonconsensual sleepover. Being held captive in Scarabia certainly wasn’t originally part of your winter vacation plans, but neither was dimension hopping. And look at you now. A dimension hopper and a Scarabia captive.

Much like dimension hopping, Kalim is an unstoppable, otherworldly force to be reckoned with. He had been so welcoming when you first met. Pulling you this way and that, giving you food to try and games to play. Smiling so wide it put the sun to shame. Showing you the sky like no one else ever had before. Until something had changed and you found yourself in the shadow of an elephant as it marched you and the rest of the dorm through a desert. Trying your best to stave off heat exhaustion.

You have your theories, of course you did. You don't stop three overblots and not see the signs. But there's something more to this. Call you paranoid but you kind of had the right to be. There was something more to Kalim's situation than what Jamil said it was.

Now, you could help, like you always do. But Grim was insistent, and you could still remember your struggle under the blaze of heat. Besides, it was better to regroup and save face than rush headlong into things with just a feeling to guide you.

You planned to escape in the night when Kalim would be asleep. So call you surprised when he came to you with panic set deep into the usually cheerful lines of his face. And against all greater judgement, you knew you'd hear him out right then and there.

Which brings you to the now, laying side by side with him in his bed. Hoping that Jamil never finds out you’re here. Else you’ll probably never wake up to see tomorrow.

“Do siblings count?”

“Huh?” You blink back to yourself and meet Kalim’s questioning gaze.

“Does it count if you have sleepovers with your siblings? Cause I’ve definitely done that before!”

Kalim grins and it’s all teeth, like usual. Your chest tightens like you’ve just seen the cutest animal on planet earth— wonderland.

You knew right then and there that you’d probably never be able to say no to this boy. Well, in this moment, that is.

“It counts as long as you say it does.”

“Hmm,” he seems to think on that. Pursing his lips, eyes downturned. “Well, in that case, I don’t want it to.”

“What?” Your expression pinches and you choose to ignore the brief flare of anxiety in your chest. “You don’t want it to?”

“Yeah,” he gazes back up with a new twinkle in his eyes. “Cause I want my first sleepover to be with you, Prefect!”

…Oh god, you’re gonna have a heart attack from goodness overload. Tell Crowley to prepare you one of those emo coffins.

"Prefect?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Your voice is muffled where it's squashed into a pillow. You feel like you've just eaten a lemon with the way your face is currently squeezed up and contorted. "Thanks Kalim, means a lot."

"Nya hah hah! You're so funny." Kalim pats your shoulder as he laughs.

When you're certain you're no longer choking on his purity and looking like you're two steps past constipated, you chance a look up. Kalim is smiling, soft and relaxed, like he should be. You almost don't want to break the peace, but he asked you to come here for a reason.

"Um, you mentioned something in the hall. Something about your memory?"

His expression drops and your stomach soon follows. You're already mentally kicking yourself before he responds.

"Yeah, it's..." He seems to shrink in on himself, curling over on his side and drawing his knees up. "It might just be nothing, ya know? I might just be overreacting about the whole thing, so don't worry about it, Prefect. Really, I'm fine—"

You reach out before you can think better of it, taking his hand in yours. It's warm and soft, just like silk, like you thought it might. The action shocks him and you very nearly pull back when the realization of what you did dawns on you. Then his fingers close around yours in a grip that makes your heart lurch.

"It's obviously not nothing." You squeeze his hand, hoping to communicate all that you wouldn't be able to. "You... You don't seem very ok, Kalim. What's wrong?"

His lip quivers and that's all the warning you get before pearlescent tears are spilling down his cheeks.

He hiccups, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be crying. It's not worth it, but..."

It only takes one shuddering sob for you to pull him close. You clutch him to your front, letting his misery muffle itself into your shoulder. You keep hold of his hand while you cradle the back of his head in the other, mainly because his grip has turned something fierce. Like he's scared to let go of you.

You don't say anything, just let him cry into your shirt. Feeling his tears dampen the fabric, his body shake against you. Holding him as tightly as you can until he raises his head enough to be heard.

"T-There are spots," he begins, "in my memories, that are gone..."

"Gone?" The confession is beyond what you thought it'd be, but you're used to that after being at Nightraven for this long. "Gone how?"

"I don't know." He sounds miserable and it breaks your heart even more. "But I just can't remember what I do sometimes."

"Which is normal! Y-You normally don't remember what you have for breakfast the day before o-or, what you did three days ago." He sniffles and you realize his arm has wrapped around you. He's currently clenching the fabric of your shirt in a shaky fist at your lower back.

"But," he goes quiet. In an effort to encourage him, you soothe a hand down his back. Hesitantly at first but growing in confidence when he starts to untense just the slightest. "It's like I blink and... I'm no longer where I was. I wake up, go to breakfast, blink, and then it's dinner."

"I-I mean, a few days ago, we were having so much fun. But then, even you..!" His words break over a strangled whimper and he clutches you ever so tighter.

"Me what? What did I do, Kalim?" There is dread building in your gut. Whether it's for you or for him doesn't matter, you just want it to stop. "If I hurt you, I'm so sorry. I—"

"You were scared of me! I saw it!" The admittance flies from his lips and all but strikes you. "You looked at me like they all do! Like I'm a step away from exploding! Even now I can tell you're scared and I hate it! I don't want to hurt you, I don't want to hurt anyone! But what if I... am? W-What if I'm hurting everyone and I don't even remember it? I'd never forgive myself if I was h-hurting my friends. A-And I know I'd never want to b-but, the more you all look at me like... like t-that, the more I start to think that I am. That I'm a bad person—"

"It's ok."

He's gasping for breath, coughing around the build up in his throat. He holds you rigidly, gripping your hand so hard your bones are starting to protest but you'd never dream of telling him to let up.

"It's alright, it'll be ok."

You never did stop the motion of your hand. It continues to drag up and down the line of his spine. Feeling his shoulders jerk with every sharp intake. Wishing more than anything that you could wipe away the pain from his trembling form. Wanting to give him the same warmth he gave you on that carpet in the sky.

"We'll figure it out, Kalim, I promise."

You're not certain of a lot of things, not since you'd been dragged here. To this world, this school, this dorm. But in this moment, you are.

"It's not your fault. You're not a bad person."

#lol did i say i'd update last weekend? well i actually meant this one #i love kalim but sometimes i struggle to give him depth so lmk how i did #he deserves to be written like sunshine and rainbows amongst a backdrop of stormy weather #i just love scarabia angst what can i say #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #kalim al asim #kalim x reader #alice writes twst

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candyhartes · 11 months ago

Text

sweet nothing

s: you & sanji share an intimate moment after skypiea

cw: none; fluff

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

the tiny bathroom was designed to hold no more than more person yet sanji sat on the sink counter using it as his personal ash tray with you standing directly between his legs where he comfortably rests his thighs against your hips, one hand lazily gripping your waist. a slightly battered cigarette laying between his chapped and scabbed lips, using his free hand to occasionally hold his cigarette.

the sound of the strong waves crashing against the going merry, the creaking caused by the wood shifting against each other and the buzzing from the small lamp above sanji’s head is heard inside the quiet room. nami had stated that the strong winds and rain were nothing to be alarmed of, however even in the grand line nothing was for certain so she volunteered for first watch in case things got too unsettling.

sanji’s shirt thrown across the closed toilet seat with his chest exposed fully covered in bandages as you begin to carefully remove them. your fingers delicately sliding across his back and careful not to disturb the burns that litter his skin. anytime you accidentally graze them sanji tenses and uses it as an opportunity to take a hit from his cigarette, masking his pain through sharp inhales as a way to distract you from his pain he’d hate to see his lover worry over his own mistakes.

the balm chopper made is to be applied twice a day so the burns won’t scar and relieve him of any lingering pain. you scoop some in your hand, glancing up at sanji with an apologetic expression, “i’m sorry, this might sting a little.”

“it’s nothing i can’t handle,” he smiles softly giving your waist a squeeze of reassurance. the second your hand meets his chest he’s quick to bring the cigarette back to his lips inhaling sharply. you look back at him feeling incredibly useless but he’s looking away from you, his eyes flickering from the door to the wall before he exhales the smoke above your head so you aren’t breathing it in.

you return your gaze to his chest finding choppers balm amazing as it’s been slowly causing his burns to disappear. you smile to yourself before remembering just exactly how he got in this situation. eneru mercilessly striking both usopp and sanji more than once rendering them almost completely useless, and once again striking sanji with full force after saving nami from his ship.

your movements had unconsciously slowed which peaked sanji’s interest, your eyes matched the storms of outside; dark and brewing. your soft features that he absolutely adored turned sharp and frightening yet even your anger had a hinge of sadness as your lips downturned into a pout, quivering slightly at whatever thoughts your mind is forming.

before he could ask what’s wrong, you’re already turning to look up at him his heart dropping at what he recognized as anger turning out to be grief, the familiar shine in your eyes as you attempt to blink away the tears that you’re so frantically keeping back. he’s quick to throw out his cigarette and placing both of his hands on your cheeks with concern, his thumbs running soothing circles to calm you down. “hey, what’s wrong sweet girl?”

“i’m sorry!” through your choked sobs, quivering lip, and the horrible lump in your throat you’re finally able to speak up. you want nothing more than lean into his chest and apologize over and over again for being nowhere near him during his fight with eneru. if only you hadn’t run along with robin, you could’ve helped sanji and usopp. you were far from the strongest but you’re still able to hold your own. you push yourself back but sanji’s stubborn grip prevents you from slipping away from him, instead he’s wiping your tears away and stroking your hair. “i should’ve been there. i could’ve helped you.”

“hey-“ he pulls you back so you’re looking at him, his eyes are hard and disappointed not at you rather himself for letting someone as beautiful as yourself to worry over someone like him. he gives you a soft smile, “you did everything and more with robin. stop worrying your pretty little head over meat heads like us.”

“but-“

“and who knows, maybe i got hurt so i can keep you all to myself,” sanji hums, his hand slowly moving back down to you cheek. his cold fingers stroking your cheek lightly with a dazed expression; lovesick eyes as he flickers from your eyes to your lips. zoro would have laughed and insulted his dopey face with how ridiculous he looks but he didn’t care and neither did you. he leans in slightly, “who else would strip me naked to rub balm on me? i’m in heaven.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at his words, the atmosphere brightening almost instantly. his words of reassurance going straight to your heart. rather than playing into his tease, you lean into his hand planting a small kiss on his palm. “i’m sure chopper wouldn’t mind helping you but you really shouldn’t hurt yourself, who else would feed us?”

“blind and deaf with one or two arms, ill always make sure to give you everything you deserve,” sanji claims, his eyes turning into hearts at your actions, ignoring the mention of chopper rubbing the balm on him. the sound of your soft laughter and his attempts of stealing kisses from you ring throughout the hallway of the going merry, replacing what was once quiet.

note. truth be told, i’ve been avoiding my homework by writing which explains two post in less than a week. i should probably focus on school … also i really love skypiea and couldn’t help myself. p.p.s taylor’s sweet nothing really set the mood for this which is why it’s so short.

#juliewrites #one piece drabble #one piece imagine #one piece #one piece x reader #vinsmoke sanji #one piece sanji #sanji x reader #sanji imagine #sanji drabble #sanji fluff #sanji fanfic

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izvmimi · 4 months ago

Text

cw: reader is a non-japanese university student.

There’s nothing more embarrassing to you than having to do mental math to afford a cold drink at the store, but this is what you’re reduced to, now that your funds have slowly dwindled and the convenience store closest to your cheap, dingy apartment seems to be shockingly expensive.

You’re not down on your luck enough to call your parents and beg for extra cash, but as you count coins in your hand, and push a wrapped onigiri and a bottle of Ramune across the table to the disinterested shop clerk, you consider it heavily.

Despite the fact that you’d felt the man's eyes on you the entire time you were perusing the aisles, he might as well be pretending he’s just noticed you, as you stand and wait for him to ring up your order. You and the clerk have an odd tension, something you wish you could understand, but as long as you can buy your snack and leave, letting your money stretch for as long as possible until your university scholarship kicks in, you can tolerate anything.

You watch the register again as he rings up your food, then there’s a sudden small jump in price, just about 150 yen.

“Extra fee,” the clerk says as he watches your eyes flicker just for a moment, but you don’t argue. Your Japanese is limited enough that you’re not sure you can make a great argument, and it’s not like you know what the law is here.

An extra small fee cannot be too much to pay for some peace.

“Oi, what’s that extra fee for? You’re making shit up now, are ya?”

You freeze from the rashness of the voice coming up behind you, but when you turn, there’s a man coming up behind you who looks about your age, hair tousled and eyes downturned and sleepy giving him a just rolled out of bed look despite it being past sunset. Hands in his pockets he approaches, his geta loud with every footstrike as he walks. He’s also holding a bottle of Ramune, same flavor as yours.

Setting his purchase beside yours, he leans over the counter to face the clerk, a smirk on his face.

“You overcharging foreigners? Lame.”

Something about his joking voice has a lilt of a threat, and the shop clerk looks quickly from him to you, quickly deciding it’s not worth the argument, also choosing peace the same way you did before.

“My apologies, probably an accident, young lady,” he says to you, almost cloyingly politely.

You know damn well that’s not true because he’s charged you the same ‘fee’ every time you’ve come here since the start of the month. But you keep your lips tightly closed as you smile.

“Thank you very much,” you say politely to to the clerk. You glance at the young man who’s already cracked open his drink before paying.

“If it’s just that, I can pay for it,” you offer in some semblance of duty. After all you’re not something or someone to be saved, just a decent human being.

The young man scoffs and shakes his head out of you, then slaps an assortment of bills and coins on the counter, exact change, and walks out of the shop without a word. The shopkeeper shakes his head as he gives you back your own change, and you take a moment to gather up your things, compelled to run after him.

He hasn’t gone far, squatted at the corner of the street, what appears to be a cigarette in his hand. You wonder for a moment if he swiped the pack, but when you see a half empty pack beside him you quickly feel bad for your assumption.

Your sense of stranger danger fails you, and you move closer to him, bag in your right hand.

“Thank you for your help.”

He takes a drag of his cigarette then puffs it for a moment, looking up at you through glasses, shaded in the sun, although a peek of green shines through.

“Don’t let people rip you off like that. You look like a dumbass.”

You still for a moment, smarted by his brashness, then smile.

“Right.”

He peers up at you with your smile and scoffs.

You decide not to bother him further, but before you leave, decide to give him your name.

“In case we ever see each other again,” you add. He gives you another sideways glance then pulls out his phone. You’re tense about the idea of giving him your phone number, but quickly realizing he’s not asking.

He’s sending a text to someone else, uninterested in your conversation.

You’re a bit slighted, then embarrassed that you’re slighted, and make your way home.

“Togame Jo," he calls behind you.

You pretend not to hear his name, but when you meet him again, just a few days later, it’s the first thing out of your mouth.

#togame jo x reader #jo x reader #windbreaker x reader #daydreams: wind breaker #mimi's notes

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ryescapades · 2 years ago

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— 11:55 am | itoshi rin

a headcanon that bf!rin is like a grumpy cat when he wakes up to an empty bed 🥹

dunno if rin is ooc or not here lol gn!reader and fluff :)

the weather is nice outside; the sounds of birds chirping and leaves rustling as the trees are slowly swaying from the light wind.

rays of bright sunlight peek from between the curtains, making the striker turn his head away in his sleep to avoid the heat and radiance.

itoshi rin feels empty. his arms feel empty.

he tiredly opens his eyes and stares at the space in front of him with a frown on his face.

slowly sitting up, rin frowns harder when he sees that you’re not in the bedroom, nowhere in sight. he runs a hand down his face, grumbling under his breath as he shakes his head a little to get the sleep away but to no avail because his eyes threaten to close again, not even minding that his hair has become even more ruffled from the action.

where are you? aren’t you supposed to be in bed? with him ??? what time is it anyway?

the way he’s glaring down at the comforter has you deciding to make your presence known lest he burns a hole through the thick material. “it’s almost noon,” your voice blesses his ears, making him look up to see you leaning against the doorway.

you have indeed been standing there for the past few minutes, staring at your groggy boyfriend trying to shake himself awake (adorably you might add).

rin narrows his eyes at you. “and you didn’t bother waking me up earlier?” he mutters. you sigh, making your way closer to him. “it’s your day off and i want you to rest as much as you can.”

now standing in front of him, your eyes cast from the top of his head, down to his face then back up. your hand itches.

you try to resist the urge, but alas he’s too endearing for you to not do it.

and so you find yourself using the tip of your finger to brush his hair out of his eyes bit by bit until it becomes a full on running a hand through his soft, messy locks to push it back while the other holds his face dearly to keep his head from moving.

he’s so pretty.. and so yours.

feeling your lips pressing onto his now exposed forehead, rin inhales a sharp breath. “that’s not what i mean.” he rasps, his hand holding your wrist gently as his eyes look away from you, making you raise an eyebrow. “then what else, rin?”

“you know what it is,” rin huffs with a downturned face. once again, you can’t help yourself so you hum in question before meeting your lips with his, giving him a short yet deep kiss that has him closing his eyes as he slowly moves against you.

damn, if only he gets to fall back in bed with you kissing him like this.

the two of you are breathless after pulling away from each other, and it doesn’t go unnoticed when rin tries to subtly chase after your lips, teal irises still hidden behind his lids.

the moment he opens them, and yet his eyes are still avoiding from looking into yours is when you finally understand that rin meant for you to wake him up earlier so that he could be with you.

so that he could spend his morning together with you. even if you were to sleep in, then he could join as well because getting to snuggle close to your familiar body and warmth– no matter if it is in bed or it’s when you’re making breakfast in the kitchen while he embraces you from behind, trailing light, butterfly kisses on your nape– is what he calls a fulfilling rest.

the best rest he could ever ask for, really.

the sudden realization makes your heart soar in delight.

“you’re cute, you know that?” you coo, not even bothering to hide the wide, loving smile on your face.

you make a move to squish his cheeks but knowing you, rin avoids your mischievous hand and groans, “shut up.” grabbing your waist, he pulls you down onto the bed with him, sending you into a fit of laughter that has the man thinking he’d be willing to trade everything that he is; mind, body and soul if he gets to hear that sound everyday in all his life.

#rye.works #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock fluff #itoshi rin #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin fluff #rin itoshi x reader

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joelscruff · 2 years ago

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(not a request, just wanted to share💗💗💗💗💗) I saw this on a prompt list “I wasn’t ready to say goodbye” and why is this so bfs dad joel and reader😢 my heart ughhhh

also yes to the glasses

words (boyfriend's dad!joel x f!reader) 18+

ik you said this wasn't a request, anon but this inspired me so much ;-; get ready for sadness. combining this with a request from @rrrrosie: Okay, boyfriends dad has been on my mind like crazy! Like I swear I’d just slip and tell him ‘I love you’. And he’d totally try and not say it back even if he wants to because he knows the situation they are in is so messed up. But omg he’s such a SAFE character. Idk Maybe this is a request?? Idk 😭

this fic is a direct sequel to "prove it". you can find the other fics in this series on my masterlist. and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip!

summary: you and joel are left reeling from your boyfriend's discovery. rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: daddy!kink, oral (m receiving), praise kink word count: 2.2k

it's been a week since you last saw your boyfriend, since that moment in his car where you'd suspected he knew what was going on between you and his dad. it's been one long week of anxiety, worry, sadness, and now - acceptance.

joel hasn't texted you since that night and you have no idea if something happened, if your boyfriend went home and confronted him. you figured it might take a few days for them to sort out their issues, but a week? a week with complete radio silence? it's so uncharacteristic for them to be so distant, especially your boyfriend who you thought would've come back to give you a piece of his mind.

you've now accepted that things have changed. what exactly that change is, you don't know, but you're desperate to find out. the distance from your boyfriend has been welcome, even a relief, but the distance from joel...your heart aches just thinking about it. you want him to hold you again and tell you everything will be okay.

so when you show up on their front porch on a sunday afternoon you're not sure what to expect. you ring the doorbell and wait, biting your lip and fidgeting while you wait to see who'll greet you.

you feel warmth flood your chest when joel opens it, a soft smile spreading on his face when he sees it's you; he looks tired, like he hasn't slept properly in a few days, "hi."

you don't say anything, just rush forward and wrap your arms around him tightly, feeling tears already stinging in your eyes. it's been a whole week without seeing him and the emotions you feel are almost too much, all the worry you'd felt bubbling to the surface again as you bury your face in his neck.

"shhh, it's okay," he whispers, rubbing your back soothingly, "i'm sorry."

"joel," you whimper into his jacket, shutting your eyes tight and letting a sob wrack through you, "daddy."

he seems to stiffen under your touch at the name, and when you pull back to look at him you're beyond confused to see that he seems uncomfortable, grimacing a bit as he pulls out of your embrace. you feel your mouth downturn into a frown, tears spilling down your face.

"you don't want me to call you that anymore," it's a statement, not a question. you can sense the truth of it in his body language, in the way he looks at you now like he's about to break some awful news to you, "this is over, isn't it?"

he exhales deeply at the question, "come inside," he says softly, tugging on your arm and urging you to follow him, "let's talk."

nothing good can come from this.

you walk down the hall slowly, joel leading you with your hand in his as you reach the staircase and begin to climb. you assess the house a bit, looking around for any sign of your boyfriend.

"he's not here," joel says quietly, "he doesn't live here anymore."

you're not sure what to make of that, eyes still scanning the house once you reach the upstairs hallway. you and joel head for his office, a path you've crossed many times before but never in such a state of dread. something bad is going to happen, you can feel it.

you enter his office and settle on the couch, crossing your arms and watching him shut the door behind you. he doesn't bother to lock it; if what he said is true, your boyfriend won't be interrupting you this time.

"why can't i call you daddy?" you ask immediately, voice firm and serious, trying not to let the tears still flowing down your face completely betray you.

he sighs, squeezes the bridge of his nose under his glasses and walks over to you. he nudges you, quietly asking you to make room for him to sit beside you.

"a lot has happened," he says softly, reaching out to take your hand and squeezing it gently, "i just...i need to talk to you like an adult."

it's only then that you realize he hasn't used a single one of your pet names when he's spoken to you. no baby, babygirl, angel, nothing. it's almost like he's being too formal, like this is some kind of business transaction and not a real conversation.

"what happened?" you breathe, tears still streaming down your face, "what did he do? does he know?"

he almost laughs at your questions but without any humor, shaking his head slowly and reaching into his back pocket to show you his phone, "he looked at our messages."

your blood runs cold; you and joel haven't texted that much but your messages are more than enough proof for your boyfriend to have realized what was going on.

"oh god," you murmur, "so he...he knows knows."

"he knows you call me daddy, yeah," he says quietly, voice slightly rough with anger, "he said i was a sick man."

"you're not," you say immediately, shaking your head and inching forward a bit more on the couch, "joel, you're not. i want it just as much as you do, you know that."

"i know," he closes his eyes then, takes a deep breath, "anyway, he said he couldn't look at me the same anymore. said it made him sick to his stomach. not just because it was with you, it was everything as a whole," his mouth twists and you can hear raw emotion in his voice, "he moved out, i don't know where he went. i just hope he's alright."

"i don't give a fuck about him," you reply coldly, "i could care less."

"you're not his father," joel replies, shaking his head, "he's hurting, i hurt him."

"by doing what? so i call you daddy, so fucking what?" you feel anger begin to burn in your stomach, "yeah i cheated on him but that's on me, not you. you didn't do anything."

he pulls back from you, releasing your hand and standing up to walk over to his desk. you watch as he settles in the chair across from you and tilts his head back to look at the ceiling.

"it's wrong," he says, voice breaking at the words, "i know it feels good but it's wrong and it has to stop."

you look at him with an expression of pure disbelief, brow furrowing in sadness and confusion. he looks over at you once, just once, and you see he's fighting back tears just saying the words.

"you don't mean that and we both know it," you whisper, shaking your head, "this is more than some silly game we play together, you know that."

he takes a breath, leans forward and puts his head in his hands, "don't say that," he murmurs, voice muffled.

"we care about each other," you continue, standing up and walking over to the chair where he sits, "joel, why the fuck do you think i call you daddy? really?"

he slowly pulls his face up from his hands to look at you, tears swimming in his eyes, "don't," he breathes, "please."

"you're the only person in my life who's ever truly taken care of me," you kneel down so you're at his level, reaching forward to take both his hands in yours, "yeah you fuck me, you use me when i ask you to, but you protect me. you hold me. you listen to me and you kiss me and you mean it." you drop his hands and slowly ease your palms over his thighs, squeezing gently, "i feel so safe when i'm with you, joel."

you hear the low rumble of a groan in his throat as he looks down at you on your knees, thumbing his thighs. "what are you doin'?"

"just let me take care of you," you whisper, tears drying on your face as you reach forward to pop the button on his jeans, "please, joel. just this once and then i'll leave."

you can see the protests burning behind his lips but he doesn't say any of them. he watches as you pull down his zipper and take his cock out, already half hard. he'd said last time that he was always turned on by just seeing you, hugging you; it hadn't been a lie.

"just feel it, don't think," you whisper, then carefully wrap your lips around the tip of his cock.

he hums immediately, jaw going slack as he watches you swallow him down, already growing harder in the wet heat of your mouth. you feel his hands in your hair, pulling you closer as you slowly bob up and down. it's different this time; he's not the man who protects you and always gives you what you want. he's just joel, your ex boyfriend's father who deserves a quiet moment of pleasure for himself.

he whispers your name; not a pet name, your actual name. it's rare for either of you to just be completely yourselves in a moment like this. there's always been the added sexy addition of the power dynamic, the words that separate you both from being on the same level. but that's not what this is.

"just like that," he whispers, "fuck, that feels good."

he's fully hard now, the head of his cock bumping against the back of your throat. you do your best not to gag, holding him there and swallowing around him as his hips buck gently. you reach up and thumb the v of his hips, still half hidden by his underwear. your eyes are hooded and hazy but you can see his soft belly and his happy trail, all the parts of him you love most.

you pull off to take a few breaths, drool spilling down your chin as you slowly stoke him, looking up at him with a soft smile as he peers down at you. you lean forward and press a kiss to the fat head, lap up his precome and revel in the way he moans.

"tell me when you're close," you breathe, then take his full length in your mouth again and start to bob up and down a bit faster, nails digging lightly into his skin.

he holds your hair firmly, helps you move back and forth on his dick as you give him what he needs, "i love your mouth so much," you hear him groan softly, shakily, "you're so fucking perfect."

tears sting your eyes but you're not sure if it's from your actions or his words. either way you feel your throat tighten around him and he groans again, low and deep.

"gonna come," he warns you softly.

you nod but don't remove yourself from him, just take him as deep as you can and hum around his length, urging him on. it only takes a few more bobs of your head before his hand is tightening in your hair and he's coming in your mouth.

"fuck," he groans out, trembling beneath you.

you wait until he's stopped coming to slowly pull yourself from his cock. he looks down at you, looking more tired and sleepy than he had when he'd first opened the door for you. without him asking you to, you open your mouth and show him the thick globs of his come pooling on your tongue.

"swallow." he whispers.

you do as you're told.

there's a few moments of silence as you carefully slip him back inside his pants and do him back up. his hand stays glued to the back of your head, thumb stroking you gently back and forth as he watches you. he looks exhausted, it makes your heart ache.

"i still want you," you breathe, squeezing his thighs through his jeans again soothingly, "i'll always want you, daddy."

"i know, babygirl," he breathes, barely a whisper, "but you need to give me some time. please."

your grip on his thighs loosen as you peer up at him. he's looking at you with an expression you've never seen before, truly pained and full of sadness. it hurts to look at.

you feel yourself nod slowly, "okay," you whisper, voice shaky, "if that's what you want."

he doesn't say anything else, just watches as you ease up from the floor and walk over to his office door, turning back to give him one last glance before you leave.

"i love you," you whisper, soft and sincere, "but you already know that."

you shut the door behind you and shuffle quietly down the stairs. part of you still expects to hear sound effects from some game coming from your boyfriend's room, but there's nothing. you take a quick peek inside on your way to the front door, eyes widening when you see that the whole room has been cleared out. his gaming set-up is gone, his clothes, even his bed.

the emptiness makes you understand why joel is hurting.

just as you reach the front door you suddenly hear footsteps coming from behind you. you turn, surprised to see joel appear on the stairs.

"joel?" you ask softly, confused.

he walks toward you and fully embraces you in a tight hug, holding you close to him in the way you love most. you hug him back immediately without any hesitation, squeezing his body and making sure he feels just as safe and protected as you do.

"i wasn't ready to say goodbye," he whispers, still holding you tight.

you let him hold you for as long as he needs.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #*#fic: bd!joel #cat's asks

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moonstruckme · 11 months ago

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hey, i love your writing so much!! can you do something with remus where reader is really upset over doing bad on an assignment and he comforts her. i had an essay today and i KNOW i failed😭😭i fr need a remmy

Thank you gorgeous! I hope you did better than you thought <3

modern au

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 831 words

Remus can feel some sort of upset building inside you. You’ve been quiet ever since dinner, a glumness accumulating around you like a thick fog. He’d call it a sulk if your usual kindheartedness didn’t seem so intact. But every smile is thin-lipped and you’re making painfully slow progress on your section of the puzzle, your eyes too often going cloudy and distant, off to somewhere Remus can’t follow.

“Think I’ve got one of yours,” Remus murmurs, pushing a puzzle piece towards you.

You take it with a low hum of thanks.

He watches as you put it in your pile. His section of the puzzle isn’t coming along much better; he’s too worried about you to focus. You’re teetering on the edge of some sort of fracturing, he can feel it, and he doesn’t know what to do or how to make it better.

He tries a new tactic. “Do you feel like some dessert, love? I might nip to the corner store for a sweet.”

“Sure, that sounds good.” The smile you give him this time is more a grimace than anything else, and then you’re pushing yourself up from where you sit on the floor. “I’m going to go to the restroom.”

Remus watches you go with a hollow ache in his chest. During dinner, you’d gotten an alert on your phone, and the change had been instant. Your shoulders had drooped at whatever you’d seen, your lips parting and then pressing determinedly together before you’d set your phone on the table, face down. Remus didn’t ask, and you didn’t seem inclined to bring it up. But whatever it was has clearly stuck with you.

He gives it a few minutes before he follows. You could actually be in the bathroom, but he doubts it; he thinks he knows where you’ve gone. There’s a small gap between the bed and the wall in your bedroom, just barely big enough to walk in.

That’s where he finds you. Slouched in the corner as if you’ve misbehaved.

“Hey,” he says softly, cramming into the space in front of you. He places his feet on either side of yours, your drawn-up knees slotting between his calves. “Why’re you hiding from me?”

You’ve got your face covered with your hands, and your voice muffles into them when you speak. Still, the evidence of your crying is audible. “Because I know I’m being stupid.”

“You’ve never been stupid, not once in your life,” Remus replies lightly. He takes your wrists in his hands, letting his thumbs run over the sensitive skin. “If you tell me what’s wound you up so badly, I can tell you if it’s stupid, but I doubt it is.”

You lower your hands without his asking. It takes a good deal of self-control not to crumple at the sight of you. Your face is blotchy, a terribly sad downturn to your pretty lips, and when a tear globs and drops from your eye, Remus feels like someone’s thrust their hand into his chest and squeezed.

“You’re too nice to tell me if I’m being stupid,” you say, a teasing note to your voice despite your sorry state.

Remus goes with it. He nods, faux serious, and gives you a look of great solemnity. “If any stupidity comes to light, I promise to laugh at you for the rest of the night.”

You start to smile, but it crumples halfway through. “I really messed up.”

There’s no joking to his seriousness now; he feels his brows bunch as he rubs a path up your forearm, desperate to soothe you. “How, sweetheart?”

“I did really badly on my essay,” you whimper. “I know it’s dumb to cry about but I just—I really wanted to do well.”

His heart swells with sympathy, though there’s a bit of relief that comes with it. “That’s not stupid,” he promises you, working his hand up your arm to your shoulder. It’s halfway to a hug, and you lean towards him a little, craving the comfort. “To some people, it might be, but you put so much pressure on yourself about these things.” He kisses your knee. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed, lovely, but it’s going to be okay.”

You shake your head, sniffling. “The grade’s already in. There’s nothing I can do.”

“I know,” Remus says apologetically. He moves closer, looking into your eyes so you can see the sincerity in his. Your chin wobbles. “It’s done, but you’ll be alright. You’ll still graduate, get a job. In a year from now you won’t even remember this.”

You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. You’re still weeping, but it’s slowing. He sets both hands to your cheeks. “You did your best, sweetheart. Keep trying. You’ll be okay.”

“Promise you won’t leave me if I fail this class?” you joke.

Your efforts win a rare smile. Remus scrunches his nose against yours. “Promise. It’ll take a lot more than that, you’ve got me all settled in.”

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cuubism · 3 months ago

Text

Made in an Instant

Dream's eldritch pregnancy part 4/5

Hob has picked up some books about taking care of babies, because he’s pretty sure whatever knowledge he’s retained from the 1580s is going to be a bit out of date in today’s world. He’s partway through one when there’s a tap on the window, and a moment later, Matthew squeezes through where it’s already open a crack.

Hopping onto the coffee table he says, with no preamble, “Hey, you got any sleeping pills?”

“Why, you need some?” Hob asks, closing the book.

“You need some,” Matthew corrects. “Luce sent me to get you. Says the boss isn’t feeling well.”

Hob lurches upright. “What? What do you mean, not feeling well?”

“That’s all she said.” Matthew flutters his wings anxiously. “Should probably just come along.”

“Matthew!”

But Matthew doesn’t give any more context to settle Hob’s rapidly spiking anxiety. He hops back onto the windowsill. “Sleeping pills!” he insists, and flutters back up to the Dreaming.

Like hell is Hob going to be able to sleep with that kind of omen. ‘Not feeling well?’ Is he sick? Is something wrong?

Hob’s mind goes unbidden to Eleanor, and he nearly drops the bottle of sleeping pills all over the floor in his rush to get them out. Fuck. Fuck.

Please be alright, he thinks, as he downs three pills and crawls into bed to let them, hopefully, take effect. Please.

He wakes in a dark dream space—not the palace. Not Dream’s bedroom, where he feared he’d find him ill or feverish or unconscious in bed, or worse.

It’s… not really much of a place at all, really. Sort of liminal, and dusk-colored, an unfinished dream. Dream is sitting on the floor, his long cloak wrapped around him like a blanket, watching something sort of like a screen, sort of like a window—an opening in the dream space through which golden light is visible, though it doesn’t quite spill through.

Hob stumbles over and falls to his knees beside him, takes Dream by the arm, needing to lay hands on him. “Christ, Dream, I thought you were ill. I thought something terrible happened.”

“No.” Dream’s voice is quiet. He doesn’t look over at Hob, just keeps watching the light. “Matthew and Lucienne are dramatic. I am merely contemplating.”

He doesn’t look like he’s merely ‘contemplating’. He looks sad. It’s in the lines at the corners of his eyes, the downturn of his mouth. And even as Hob watches, he wraps his arms tighter around his knees and rests his chin on them.

“What are you contemplating?” Hob asks softly.

“A dream,” Dream says. He’s still studying the golden window, but as Hob directs his own attention to it he can suddenly see that it’s not just light, it’s… a scene. Or rather, as Dream said, a dream. Whose dream, Hob’s not sure, but he gets the sense it’s not one Dream created, or at least, Dream may once have created the seed of it, but this is a dream as experienced by a dreamer.

“I do not observe dreams often,” Dream says. “I came to this one because I felt something awry.”

“What was wrong with it?”

“Nothing. The dream is perfect. What was wrong was…” he dips his face further down into his knees, looking small, “in me.”

Hob wraps an arm around him and pulls him against his side. Dream stays crunched up in his ball, shrouded in his cloak.

“I meant to leave,” he says. “Instead I find myself watching.”

At last Hob turns properly to the dream itself.

The way Dream’s watching in this non-space really does make it feel like peering in through a window. Within the frame is what looks like a fairly normal home, if idealized in the way of a dream—a homey kitchen with warm light and charming clutter, an adjoining sitting room with comfy armchairs arranged in a half circle around a fireplace. Very storybook, Hob thinks, but a real scene too, one you might walk in on in any happy family’s home.

As he watches, a figure comes round the corner into the kitchen—the dreamer, Hob supposes. She’s carrying a baby wrapped in a sling against her chest, and cradles it close as she goes about making up a bottle. The movements are practiced, familiar, and though the dream doesn’t have much sound the way they’re watching it, Hob thinks she might be humming to herself, or singing quietly.

It’s a sweet, simple little scene, and definitely relevant to their current lives, but Hob doesn’t get why it’s caught Dream’s attention so thoroughly. He hopes it’s not actually some kind of nightmare Dream’s using to enmesh himself in fears and worries about their baby’s future. It doesn’t feel like a nightmare. It feels like a happy dream, only Dream’s evidently seeing something else in it, based on how he’s reacting.

Having made up a bottle, the dreamer takes her baby into the sitting room, settling herself in one of the armchairs and sitting the baby up in the crook of her arm to take the bottle. The baby latches on eagerly, hands grasping at the bottle as he suckles, and the mother keeps singing quietly to him.

Hob still doesn’t get what he’s supposed to be looking at. It’s a very sweet dream, makes him feel sort of wistful, looking forward to those same peaceful moments when their baby arrives, those ordinary moments of daily life when—

Oh.

It’s not Dream’s daily life. It will never be Dream’s daily life, because Dream isn’t a human mother, because Dream doesn’t get to choose to prioritize his baby or his own wants, because he’s responsible for an entire kingdom and the whole dreaming world besides. If Dream were human Hob could give him that, could use all the money he’s hoarded over the years to let Dream take eighteen whole years of maternity leave if he wanted to, to spend time with the baby and do nothing else. But all the money in the world can’t change how it is to be Endless.

“I should not watch for so long,” Dream whispers. “My presence might turn the course of the dream.”

Hob could hardly give a fuck about the dream, honestly. If Dream stops watching it should be because it’s hurting him.

“I’m so sorry, love,” Hob says, pulling Dream in closer to kiss his temple. “I didn’t realize how upset you were about this.”

“I am not upset,” Dream says. ��I am just thinking.”

“Sure.”

“It is the way things are. I have greater responsibilities. I should not covet what is not mine to have. It only makes things more difficult.”

“Dream—”

Dream moves away far enough to pull his robe aside. Underneath, he’s wearing only silk lounge pants, his chest bare. His belly bears a definitive roundness to it that was not there the last time Hob saw him, which was not long ago at all.

Hob touches the bump, mesmerized. “Dream…”

“I do not want this,” Dream says, voice ragged. “I do not want to be made to think about it. I made it go away but this dream has brought it back.”

When he touches the roundness of his belly, though, it’s not with revulsion, but with reverence. Hob’s heart breaks for him. Dream works so hard, and sacrifices so much, and now he’s here watching this idyllic dream moment between a mother and her baby, a moment he feels he can’t have.

“Come here, darling.” Hob pulls Dream into his arms, lets him twist his limbs around him and tuck his face into his shoulder. “Come here, sweetheart. It’s alright. You don’t have to make anything go away.”

“There is no point to it,” Dream says, voice muffled in Hob’s shirt. “It only serves as a reminder that— that I will no longer be able to have her with me. That I will have to let her go.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Hob says, though it’s somewhat of an empty promise. Dream’s life is shaped by things he has to do, he only manages to live in the little spaces left in between. “Tell me what you actually want.”

“Hob—”

“Do you remember what I said?” Hob asks. “When you thought I was upset about having her?”

“…Do not go unhappy without saying,” Dream echoes.

“Exactly. So tell me what you want. Not what you think you should have.”

“I want,” Dream says, low, “time. And. To be a better parent than I have been. To stay with her while she needs me. And.” He tucks his face in tighter against Hob’s shoulder, fingers twisting intricate patterns in Hob’s shirt. His voice goes softer. “You said that you wanted to take care of me.”

“I do,” Hob says instantly. “I would give you everything.” His heart aches to hear Dream’s voice so quiet and sad, and as Dream curls tighter against him, he decides, no, fuck this. Dream’s said what he wants, and Hob’s not going to let him go unhappy. The least Hob can do for him, when Dream does so much for everyone else, is make his dream real.

“Making a decision,” he says, with finality.

“What decision?”

“Maternity leave. We’re going home. You’re going with me. And I’m going to spoil and coddle you for the last however many months of this pregnancy. And after, too. I know you can’t stay forever, but you’re going to stay for a while, okay?”

“You will make me?” Dream murmurs, but with no ire. Rather, he sounds like he wants Hob to. “Hob, I cannot—”

“You can. It’s not for forever. The Dreaming will manage, I promise. You have to be okay for the Dreaming to be okay, remember?”

“Can I?” Dream says, more to himself than to Hob. Behind him, the dream starts to fade, the dreamer still rocking her baby as she slowly wakes.

“You can,” Hob insists. “Come on, darling. Let’s go home.”

He starts to try to wake himself up. It’s tough thanks to the sleeping pills, but eventually Hob feels himself start to slip from the Dreaming, Dream still wrapped in his arms—and Dream lets him, ceding into the Waking as Hob does, docile and sad. Christ. Hob’s got a lot of work to do.

Blinking awake in bed has him feeling like he’s been hit by a train, but he tries to shake it off. He’s got more important things to think about.

Dream’s appeared beside him, curled in Hob’s arms, head on Hob’s shoulder. Hob gives him a squeeze, kisses his cheek. Then urges him up. “Come on, love. Up. I’ll make you something to eat.”

Normally he’d let Dream rest, but Hob thinks it might be better to get him moving a bit, have some tea, pull him out of what he’s mired himself in. Limit the wallowing.

Dream allows him to draw him up, sit him on the edge of the bed, seems to gradually come awake as Hob wraps him in a cardigan. “Did you mean it? That I should stay for longer?”

“Of course I did.” He runs his palms over Dream’s shoulders, more to soothe himself than anything. Reassure himself that Dream is in fact, mostly, okay. “You should stay for as long as you want to, and I’ll take care of you. Actually, you should stay for longer than you want to, because I know you’re going to convince yourself you want to go back immediately.”

“I do not know how to just…” he gazes off over Hob’s shoulder, out into the living room. “Stay. And do this.”

“Then we’ll figure it out. For both of you.” Hob lays his hand over the roundness of Dream’s belly. He’s actually kept that. Manifested it in the Waking, too. Hob had thought he would just force it away again as soon as he was able. “Come on. Up you get.”

He brings Dream out to the living room, gets him sat on the couch with a blanket over his lap, makes him a cup of tea and some oatmeal—it seems a bit late for him to suddenly start getting morning sickness but Hob still sticks to bland foods for now—then sits beside him again, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Dream eats his food mechanically and then slowly sips his tea, holding the warm mug tight between his fingers. Gradually the tension in his shoulders seems to drop by increments. Hob rubs the back of his neck, and between his shoulder blades where he’s frozen up, and Dream lets out a long, shivering sigh, nearly dropping his mug as his muscles all spasm and then relax.

“You don’t have to go through it like this, love,” Hob says quietly, as Dream lets out a low, pained sound. “Pregnancy’s hard on anybody I’d bet, but we don’t have to make it harder.”

“Always you seek to make things easier for me, forgetting the reality of my nature,” Dream murmurs.

“Haven’t you realized by now that you’ve married a fool who thinks rules like that are bullshit?”

Dream cracks a small smile. “So I have.”

“Wasn’t expecting to get such easy agreement that I’m a fool, but—”

Dream turns and kisses him, leaning into Hob’s side and Hob’s hand on the back of his neck. Hob draws him close, sinking into his kiss. When they part, Dream rests their faces together.

“I want you to have what you want, you know,” Hob tells him gently. “Damn the rules. Damn your function. You’re worth more than that.” He lays his hand lightly over Dream’s belly, and Dream makes a soft sound, closing his eyes. “Both of you are.”

Dream sets his mug aside to grip Hob’s arms instead, leaning into his embrace. Hob kisses his forehead.

“I’ll take care of you both,” he promises.

“I believe you will,” says Dream.

“Good. Now. You’re not going to think about work. You’re going to sit there on the couch with my laptop and browse catalogues and let me know what baby clothes you want to spend all of my money on, what supplies you need to decorate the nursery like a gothic castle, and so on, and I’ll make you another cup of tea.”

He kisses the back of Dream’s hand, then does, in fact, get him situated on the couch with a pile of blankets, a laptop and a credit card—a dangerous proposition for Hob’s bank account, considering Dream’s general lack of awareness of the value of money, but Dream deserves to be spoiled for once and so Hob’s going to spoil him.

Later, after Dream’s happily purchased God knows what baby things—Hob didn’t look at the total, the credit card statement will be a fun surprise for later—Dream lies down with his head in Hob’s lap as Hob reads him a story. His eyes fall shut as Hob plays with his hair. He looks at peace.

This, of course, is when Matthew taps on the window.

Hob sighs as Dream sits up, shaking himself back to wakefulness. He wants to curse the interruption. Though, to be fair, he probably should have found a way to let Matthew and Lucienne know that Dream was alright. Whoops. Oversight.

He opens the window to let Matthew in.

“Boss!” says Matthew, landing on the couch beside Dream. “We were worried you were— whoa, you’re like, really pregnant!”

Dream raises an imperious eyebrow. “That was already the case.”

“Yeah, but now you’re— nope. Nope. Not gonna say anything. Don’t comment on people’s bodies. Shoulda learned my lesson as a human.”

“A wise choice,” says Dream. “It seems you’ve learned many things, Matthew.”

“Ha, ha. Well, I’m glad you’re okay either way. Are you, like,” he flutters his feathers, hesitant, “taking a break?”

Dream sighs. “It seems so.”

“Hey, good! That’s good. Bout time, right?”

“We think he’s going to take maternity leave,” Hob says.

“So the baby’s… due… soon?” Matthew asks.

“Undetermined,” says Dream. He really is the primary cause of Hob’s stress.

“…Right. Well, um.” He lands on Dream’s knee, pushes his head against Dream’s arm in an affectionate gesture. “Enjoy, okay? The break I mean. Not the, like. Birth.”

Dream strokes two fingers lightly along the top of his head. “Thank you, Matthew. I shall.”

Matthew hops away again, shaking out his feathers. “And let me know when I get to meet the baby! I’ve never been an uncle but I’m sure I can manage it!”

And with a winged salute, he’s out the window again.

“An uncle,” Dream echoes, and Hob grins.

“What, you thought our baby would have a normal family?”

“I suppose I would rather Matthew than Desire,” Dream says, derision over the latter name. “Though I am wary of letting him babysit.”

“We’ll work all that out later,” Hob says. “Plenty of time, right?”

“Yes.” Dream frowns, then, looking off into the distance. “I… do not know, actually. It’s difficult for me to gauge the baby’s development, or exactly when we might expect her arrival. She is… fickle.”

“Even better that you’re taking a rest, hm?” Hob says. When Dream doesn’t reply, frown only deepening, he takes Dream’s face between his hands. “Hey, love. It’s alright, what you’re feeling. If you’re overwhelmed or— or scared.” Fuck, Hob is scared on Dream’s behalf.

“I am not scared,” Dream says, and for once Hob doesn’t think he’s trying to downplay his feelings. Well, he would know what’s going on in his sort-of-body better than Hob would. “I am just…” he looks off over Hob’s shoulder, considering. “Sad. That I will have to let her go, soon. And that I cannot be here for her as long as I would like to. I am… still dwelling on that dream.”

“Oh, love.” He pulls Dream close again. “You know I’ll make it as real for you as I can.”

Dream hums. “Might we go to bed?”

“‘Course.” Hob picks Dream up from the couch, which makes Dream squeak and cling to him. But in a moment he relaxes in Hob’s arms, laying his head against Hob’s shoulder. Hob feels a swell of affection for him. Okay, he can do this. He can coddle Dream.

He may not know exactly what he’s going to do when the baby arrives. But taking care of his husband is something he can do.

It feels easier after that. Dream is still tired, still sad at times, and Hob knows he’s thinking about after the birth, when he’ll eventually have to return to his responsibilities, have to let go of the dream Hob’s trying to construct around him. It’s hard for him to just be in a moment, he always has so many things on his mind. Sometimes Hob catches him looking at the baby monitor with an expression that almost makes Hob regret giving it to him in the first place.

But he catches him at peace, too. Sitting by the window with a cup of tea and a book, hand resting lightly on his belly. Taking long naps in bed, catching up on the regular sleep he undoubtedly doesn’t get. It’s not common for Dream to be at peace, so Hob doesn’t take it for granted. But the time off seems to be doing him some good. Slowly the perennial tension in him seems to unwind.

Hob, meanwhile, just likes having him around. He’s not used to having Dream all to himself all the time, and gets a little happy surprise every time he comes home and Dream is there. It makes him think on the dream that Dream had been mulling over, the mother with her baby. That fantasy of a simpler life where they could just be together without all the complications.

Neither of them is really that person. But it’s nice to think of, and he catches moments of it, during those fragile days.

Usually, he wakes with Dream lying beside him in bed, its own rare privilege that he doesn’t take for granted. On this morning, too, he wakes to find Dream across from him, studying him, their legs just brushing.

Hob yawns, shaking off sleep. “Have you been awake for a while?”

“One could say that I never truly ‘sleep,’ and therefore I am never truly ‘awake,’” says Dream.

“Pedant.”

Dream’s lips twitch up. Smiles have come easier to him since stepping away from his work. “I have something to tell you.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

Dream’s smile deepens. “Her name.”

If Hob was still sleepy at all, that wakes him right up. “She’s got a name already?” He feels a little hurt that Dream’s just decided this on his own, before realizing—

“As I did, before I came into existence. It is of her function and powers. A recent development, however, for this to be clear to me.”

“What is she then, darling?” Hob asks, heart pounding unexpectedly.

Dream says it more as a breath than a word. “She is Wish.”

Wish. A smile breaks out over Hob’s face. “That’s not an Endless power, then?” he asks.

“It is not so fundamental a concept as ours. But it holds its own form of power.”

“And comes from dreams, too,” Hob says, nudging him, delighted at the thought of it, and Dream nods. Then a thought occurs. “Wait, is that why Desire kept going on about being ‘auntie’? They could tell?” Desires and wishes can be somewhat similar, Hob thinks.

Dream sighs tiredly. “Desire insists that she takes after them. They are unreasonably smug about it. However, I believe that it is because of you.”

“Me?”

Dream’s smile curves up again and Hob gets the distinct sense he’s about to be made fun of. “You were wishing rather too aggressively to get me pregnant, were you not? Be careful of your fantasies, Hob.”

“Dream.” It’s mortifying to think of it that way. Dream’s not wrong, though. Hob had been fantasizing about it when they had sex. He just hadn’t thought the fantasies would become real.

“Wished too hard and created a wish,” he says, and Dream snickers. “Never a dull moment with you.”

“It is not only because of your fantasies that she is Wish,” Dream continues, a few moments later, “but also, I believe, because of your curiosity. Your constant interest in what the future holds. This too, I believe, is related to wishing.”

“I guess it is,” Hob says, wondering at it. He’d kind of figured the baby would take more after Dream, being sort-of-Endless and all. But who knows. He likes the idea that she might take after both of them.

“Well, darling,” he says, kissing Dream on the cheek, “I’m looking forward to meeting Wish.”

“She looks forward to meeting you,” Dream says, as if he’s truly passing along the baby’s own feelings, and maybe he is. He takes Hob’s hand and lays it over his stomach, so Hob can feel the swirl of Wish’s power, grown stronger since the last time he felt it. It’s still such a wonder.

He cuddles Dream close. Dream sinks into his touch, pressing their skin together. He’s truly taken to Hob’s coddling, and Hob wonders if he’ll be able to keep it up after the baby’s born. He hopes so. Dream will need that caretaking just as much then as he does now, even if he may not admit it.

In a little while he’ll draw him a bath, maybe, and suggest something for them to do together later that day. But for now he just holds him, and for a moment, everything feels peaceful, and simple, and good.

And then, just a few weeks later, Dream disappears.

#dream: i'll just never talk about my feelings i'm sure itll be fine :)#sorry had to add a little drama little cliffhanger etc it adds spice to life #wish #my writing #dreamling #cw mpreg

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ak-vintage · 2 months ago

Text

Sins of the Flesh

Pairing: Incubus!Pero Tovar x f!Reader

Summary: After multiple chance encounters with a mysterious stranger, you begin having the most unsettling dreams.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI! PLEASE read the warnings! Spooky, potentially disturbing or triggering for some readers. Inspired by gothic horror. Pero is a literal demon – not a good guy and a certified creep. Stalking behaviors, intimidation, manipulation, the conflation of fear and arousal, implications of somnophilia, masturbation (f), choking in a sexual context, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected P in V sex.

Word Count: 8.3K

Written for Monster (S)Mash hosted by @quinnnfabrgay-writes and @hauntedhowlett-writes

Huge thank-you to @kilamonster for her expert beta reading and Spanish translation skills! Love you so much, babe!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Incubus – derived from the Latin incubus (“nightmare”) and incubare (“to lie upon, weigh upon, brood”); a demon in male form that seeks to have sexual intercourse with sleeping women

The first time you notice him, the sun is shining. The haze of late summer still lingers in the air, and the afternoon heat makes sweat bloom in the small of your back, making your blouse cling to your skin as you wait in line at your favorite coffee shop. You had given up on your hair hours ago, piling it up onto the top of your head, and as you stare down at your phone, killing time, you feel a prickle of awareness skate across the bare skin on the back of your neck.

It’s almost like a caress – a real, physical thing – but when you whip around to give whoever had touched you so intimately a piece of your mind, you find…no one. You’re the last person in line at this particular register. There is no one behind you.

Except for him.

Several feet away – much too far to reach you – stands a man, tall and broad-shouldered with long, powerful limbs and dressed head-to-toe in black in spite of the heat. He is leaning heavily back against the far wall, right next to the entrance to the café, and he has his arms crossed over his chest in a gesture that somehow reads as both nonchalant and intimidating. The thought strikes you that he looks almost like a bouncer outside a club, a persona that doesn’t quite fit with the glaring afternoon sun streaming through the windows in this lively, crowded coffee shop.

You feel your brow knit together as you take him in. He’s absurdly handsome, in a rakish, almost dangerous sort of way – all dark hair, dark eyes, dark moustache. He has a scar over his left eye, faintly pink and puckered in a way that splits his eyebrow in two and tugs a bit at the golden tanned skin of his cheekbone, and on his full, slightly downturned mouth plays a knowing little smirk.

He’s too far away to have touched you. You are certain of it. And yet…

Something in his dark eyes flashes as he meets your gaze – like the strike of flint, like the spark of a match. His smirk widens, and you barely notice yourself taking a step toward him.

“Miss. MISS.”

The sound of the harried barista’s voice snaps you out of whatever reverie the strange man had inspired in you, and you spin around to find her staring at you with poorly-disguised exasperation.

The line in front of you has dwindled. You’re next, and you’re so far away from the counter, you might as well not even be in line anymore.

Embarrassment darkening your cheeks, you quickly approach the register with an effusive apology on your tongue, and the mysterious man behind you is forgotten.

That night, a pair of midnight-dark eyes follows you in your dreams – always watching, unblinking, just on the edge of your vision. They disappear when you try to seek them out, and when you gasp yourself awake before the sun rises, you swear you can feel the lingering heat of a broad, thick-fingered hand cupped around the base of your throat.

The clock on your bedside table reads 3:00 AM.

The next time you see him, the sky is a pale gray, overcast and dreary as autumn solidifies its grip on the atmosphere. You’re laden with shopping bags, having spent most of the day galivanting around the city with a friend who is visiting you from out of town, and the two of you decide to make one final stop on the way back to your apartment – a cramped little hidden gem of a used bookshop. Your differing tastes lead you to split up almost immediately upon entering, your friend heading straight for the lit fic while you dive into the fantasy section, and before you know it, you’re several densely-packed aisles away from your companion, tucked into the back corner of the dusty shop and surrounded on all sides by ceiling-high shelves.

It's dim here and almost completely silent, the classical music pumped through a speaker at the front of the store not loud enough to penetrate this far back, but you hardly notice – you’re surrounded by books, and you can’t imagine any place more comfortable. Shuffling your bags from arm to arm, lower lip between your teeth, you thumb through the endless volumes contentedly, happy to browse until something catches your eye.

So absorbed are you in your task that in spite of the quiet, you don’t hear him approach until a low, accented voice brushes your ears from mere inches behind you.

“Might I recommend…this one?”

You startle at the sound and turn to find the same man from the coffee shop – the one with the dangerous smirk and the scar over his eye – hovering just behind you, a well-worn book bound in oxblood leather in his hand. He offers it to you with an arch of his brow, and you find yourself backing into the nearest bookshelf in a futile attempt to put a bit of space between you. The moment you recognize him, it must show on your face, as his smirk morphs into a sharp, white smile that doesn’t fully reach his eyes.

“Dulzura,” he murmurs, and you feel goosebumps bloom across your skin at the unexpected endearment. “I already have a copy, and I know you’ll enjoy it. Por favor.”

Glancing between his dark, shadowed eyes and the anonymous book in his hand, you reluctantly reach out and take it. The leather is oddly warm beneath your fingers, the thing weightier than it looks, and as you bring it closer to examine it, the faint overhead light glints off the golden, embossed title pressed into the front cover.

Sins of the Flesh.

A lurid flush rises in your cheeks as you glance back up at the strange man, his broad form still lingering a bit too close to you to be polite, and you notice for the first time that he is wearing the exact same outfit he was wearing the last time you saw him in the coffee shop.

“I, uh,” you stammer, your throat suddenly dry. “I haven’t heard of this one.”

He shrugs, tucking his large hands into the pockets of his black jeans. “This does not surprise me, dulzura – it is very old. But you would be astonished at how well it holds up to a more…modern palate.”

Your eyes narrow, and you pray he cannot hear the way your heart has begun to throb against your ribcage, the way your breath has picked up in your chest. Your body cannot decide how it feels about this man, whether it is uneasy or aroused. He’s so close you can smell his cologne, something smokey and metallic and almost aggressively masculine, and you aren’t sure whether you want to tuck your face into his neck and inhale or flee the shop and pray he doesn’t follow.

Instead, you do neither and ask, “W-What’s it about?”

Just like in the coffee shop all those weeks ago, his obsidian eyes flash, and you watch as the tip of his tongue flicks out to wet his plush bottom lip. “Ancient things,” he replies after a moment of tense silence. His accent, warm and gruff, wraps around the words like crushed velvet, and you suppress a shiver. “Magic. Strange creatures. The eternal battle between good – ” He drags his gaze from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and back again, settling on your flushed face with a look that is almost predatory. “ – and evil.”

You swallow thickly and clear your throat. Tearing your eyes away from his feels nearly impossible, but you do it, choosing instead to stare at your feet. “I’ll, uh. I’ll have to check it out,” you say noncommittally, praying that your voice doesn’t tremble, praying that he cannot hear the way he has affected you as plainly as you can.

You’re on edge. Deeply uncomfortable. Not quite afraid, but nearly.

And you’re wet.

“As I said, my dear. I know you will enjoy it.”

Your deepest muscles clench, and with a tight, polite smile, you nod. “Thanks for the suggestion. Have a good night.”

His teeth gleam in the dim lighting at that. “I certainly plan to, dulzura,” he murmurs silkily, and every instinct that has been telling you to run from the moment you laid eyes on him is suddenly screaming at you, too loud and intrusive to ignore. You retreat down the aisle as quickly as you can manage, arms still heavy with your many shopping bags that knock clumsily into the shelves as you escape, but you do not let it deter you. You swear you can feel his gaze burning the skin on the back of your neck as you go.

It isn’t until you arrive back at your apartment nearly an hour later that you realize – when you left the shop, you took the book with you.

That night, those coal-black eyes once again haunt your dreams, though this time, they are accompanied by a voice. Low, warm, and lilting with an accent you can’t place, the voice whispers to you. You can’t make out the exact words, but you know they make your heart race and your blood run hot. They sound…possessive. Intimate. Knowing, as though the owner of the voice had reached behind your sternum and cracked open your chest, peaking and prying and assessing every delicate, fragile piece of you.

You feel hands on your throat again, not squeezing, not choking, just holding.

You feel soft lips brushing the underside of your breasts, hot breath dampening your thighs.

You feel a slick, soft tongue tracing the vulnerable crease behind your knees and the throbbing pulse point of your wrists.

When your visiting friend practically yanks you from your sleep, shaking your shoulders and calling your name, you catapult into consciousness drenched in sweat and more aroused than you have ever been in your life. Your hard nipples drag painfully against the soft cotton of your oversized T-shirt, and your panties cling wetly to your pussy lips like a second skin, utterly ruined.

It takes several minutes for you to finally convince your friend that you’re fine, that it was just a nightmare, that it’s okay for her to go back to sleep. She retreats back into your living room with one last concerned glance over her shoulder, and you stifle a sigh of relief as the door shuts behind her.

Alone again, the clock on your nightstand reads 3:08 AM as you shove your hand beneath the waistband of your panties. By 3:10, you are muffling your whines in your pillow as you bring yourself over the edge.

The third time you notice him, you’re lingering under the awning outside your favorite wine bar, hugging the coarse brick of the exterior in an attempt to keep out of the late-night rain as you wait for your ride share. You had planned to meet a date here, a man you had discovered while swiping through your app of choice one night a week or so ago when the weight of your seemingly eternal singlehood had felt particularly poignant. He had been nice enough over text, if a bit bland, but when you had asked him if he had any interest in meeting in person, he had agreed readily.

You had sat at the bar alone for well over an hour, draining one too many glasses of malbec, before you received a single text.

not gonna make it tonite sry

You had promptly unmatched with him and blocked his number. You didn’t have time for that kind of shit.

Now, the ride share app on your phone tells you that your driver is 10 minutes away, and you wish you had thought to wait to give up your seat at the bar until he was a bit closer. As it is, the place is packed. There is nowhere for you to be if you go back inside, so braving the autumnal rain seems to be your only option.

Hair and skin damp, nose running with the chill of the late October night, you wrap your arms protectively around your body as a dark, mysterious figure comes into view down the street. Taking up most of the unoccupied sidewalk with his bulk, he carries a large black golf umbrella, the gunmetal handle gleaming in the watery light of the streetlamps, and he wears a black leather jacket zipped up tight against the cold. The moment he spots you, his handsome features break into a leonine grin, and you feel that familiar pull deep in your gut. The fear laced with desire, the unease stifled by want.

By the time he reaches you, the rain has picked up, and you are no longer protected by the shallow awning. An involuntary shiver wracks your frame, and you aren’t certain whether to blame your rapidly dampening jacket or the shrewd, dark eyes of the man before you.

“Come, dulzura. Join me,” he beckons with an arched brow. The scar over his eye tugs with the gesture, and you notice for the first time that he appears to be wearing eyeliner – a thin layer of kohl darkening his already enviable black lashes. On anyone else, you might find it a bit over-the-top, but on this dark stranger, it only adds to the air of danger surrounding him.

“You will surely melt in all this rain,” he adds when you do not respond. “Let me share my shelter with you.”

You almost obey, almost pull yourself away from the wall behind you and step into his open arms beneath the generous cover of his umbrella. But before you can succumb to the draw of him, a car drives by – too fast for the weather and the late hour – and flings a shower of rainwater up onto the sidewalk, soaking the backs of his calves and drenching your feet. The icy deluge pulls you out of his thrall, and you resist the urge to dig the tips of your fingers into the brick at your back to anchor you there.

“Who are you?” you ask, feeling a brief surge of victory at the steadiness of your voice, the way you manage not to stammer. “What do you want with me?”

This surprises a laugh out of him, the sound dry and low and deep in his chest. “What a question,” he rasps. “Cariño, have you considered that perhaps it is you who wants something from me?”

For the first time in weeks, you recall the dream you had after that day at the bookshop. The dark eyes, the strong hands, the tempting, maddening voice, the way they all had seeped into your pores and flushed through your bloodstream like a drug. You feel your cunt bottom out at the memory, thighs squeezing together in an unconscious search for friction, and you think you ought to be embarrassed by your body’s entirely disproportionate reaction to him. But you aren’t, and that fact alone is enough to have your heart speeding up.

The strange man’s eyes instantly drop from your face to watch your squirm, and his gaze darkens with something akin to hunger.

Swallowing thickly, you reply, “What could I want from you? I don’t even know your name.”

“This is true. But names…names are powerful things.” He shrugs, his full mouth twisting into a knowing smirk as he glances back up at you. “I’m not certain that knowing mine would do much to change the way that your heart is racing right now.”

“My heart isn’t racing.” Your defiant words ring hollow even to your own ears.

He smirks, lip curling his dark, trim mustache, and rumbles, “No? Then why can I hear it from all the way over here, dulzura?” He takes a step forward then, narrowing the distance between you enough that you do reach back and grip the wall, if only to keep your knees steady beneath you. Leaning in close, the wide barrier of his umbrella swallowing you both as it blocks out the night, he whispers, “Why is the scent of you so strong I can practically taste it?

You grit your jaw as a flush finally makes it way to your cheeks. Wetness has begun to gather at the apex of your thighs; you can feel it pooling in your panties, slicking the place that has begun to pulse and throb for him. This man has never touched you while you are conscious, and yet you feel as though your cursed dreams have Pavlov-ed you so thoroughly that all it has taken for you to begin to ache for him is the mere implication of contact.

“Get away from me,” you demand through clenched teeth. The scent of him fills your nostrils – smoke and metal and man. And beneath it all, something unpleasant, something…off.

Is that…sulfur?

“You don’t want me to do that.” His accent colors his words, making them lilt and catch in the damp air as he looms over you. His closeness casts deep shadows across your skin, his broad shoulders and that fucking umbrella smothering the light from the streetlamps, from the nearby intersection, from the entrance to the bar. “In fact, I think you would rather I be much, much closer.”

No, you realize. It’s not sulfur that you smell on his skin, in his hair, on his clothes.

It’s brimstone.

“Please,” you whimper, eyes falling shut as if not being able to see his dark, hypnotic eyes would allow you to hide from them. You don’t know what you’re pleading for anymore. For him to leave you alone? For him to touch you? For him to save you from the torment that was his proximity, his voice, his scent? You think that you might accept any of those things right now; all you know for certain is that you cannot bear this battle of fear and desire he inspires within you for another minute.

You need him to get it over with – to stop with the threats and just hurt you already. Or fuck you and end your suffering. Whichever he chooses, as long as it’s soon.

The man tuts quietly to himself, and for the first time, you feel the touch of a startlingly hot, dry hand brush across the apple of your cheek. You bite back a whimper at the sensation, goosebumps breaking out all across your body, and you fight the insane urge to lean your head into his touch.

“Shh,” he soothes, voice low and gentle. You feel the warmth of his breath on your forehead then across the shell of your ear and down your neck. “There’s no need to beg, sweet thing. I’ll give you what you want.”

You gulp audibly at the promise, and then his hand drops from your cheek to your throat. You can feel your pulse racing against his fingertips, under the pad of his thumb. Just like in your dream, there’s no pressure, no force behind the touch. Just heat, breadth, weight. You feel your jaw drop open, your mouth slacken, your head tilt back like an offering.

You aren’t afraid anymore. You are calm. Obedient. Pliant beneath his hand.

He's so close to you now; you can feel him, the length and the width of him pressing you back against the exterior of the bar. Your knees are weak, your pussy dripping, quivering, begging. Have you ever needed someone as badly as you need him in this moment? It’s like the sensation is too big for your body, too great for your nerve endings to process. You feel weak with it, helpless. If he would just –

A sudden buzzing sensation travels up your arm, and a moment of clarity snaps through your body like a whip. Your eyes fly open, and you gasp like a swimmer emerging from a great depth after a struggle. You have been white-knuckle gripping your phone in your hand this entire time, and your ride share app is now lighting up your screen, filling the dark, narrow space created by the man’s umbrella with piercing light.

Your driver is here. He is waiting for you at the curb.

The dark-haired man smiles at you wryly and takes a step back. “I will, though not now,” he says with a sigh. “Run along now, dulzura. We will see each other again.”

“When?” The question passes your lips before you can reel it back in, and you’re mortified to hear that it sounds whiny and almost petulant. If you had been a small child, such a tone might have been accompanied by a stamp of your foot and a pair of crossed arms.

The man simply leers at you and offers you a rakish wink. “I think you know.”

That night, your dreams lose that blurry, soft-focus lens that has plagued you since the first day you encountered him at the coffee shop. Everything is perfectly clear, almost a little too real, and every sensation is heightened. You’re in your bed, white sheets downy-soft against your skin, the breeze from your ceiling fan tightening your nipples, pulling goosebumps to the surface. The collar of your T-shirt scratches against your throat, and your limbs are restless, tense, eager to move.

And you can feel eyes on you.

You sit up amongst your disheveled bedding, blankets pooling around your waist, and there – standing at the bottom of your bed, big hands wrapped around the rungs of your footboard – is the scarred man. Watching you silently.

“You,” you gasp, hands gripping your sheets, and the man smiles sharply. He looks…different somehow through the eyes of your dreams. A bit wrong.

He’s taller, bigger, bulkier, the shadows around his eyes deeper, his heavy brow more prominent. His teeth look sharp behind his smile, and he wears different clothing than what you’ve grown accustomed to seeing him in, the palette still all black but distinctly older in style. His shirt is billowy and loose and frayed at the edges, the collar untied and gaping open to reveal a generous glimpse of his strong, tanned neck and muscular chest. His black jeans have been traded for soft-looking black breeches, and you try not to let your eyes linger as you take in the way they pull revealingly over his bulge, leaving nothing to the imagination. He’s not hard (you don’t think), but that fact offers little comfort. He’s huge even without the added swell of blood.

“Me,” he replies. His white canines flash in the low light, his eyes black and hazy. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“I…didn’t know what to expect.”

“Mmm.” He brings one of his hands up to his mouth, brushing his thumb over his lip, tracing his mustache. “How unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate?” you echo with a frown.

“I had thought you might have figured me out by now,” he says, disappointment coloring his words. “Your attempts to get me to tell you my name earlier had me thinking you had finally put it together.”

You shake your head. “I don’t understand.”

With a pensive hum, the man rounds the foot of your bed and comes to loom over you at your bedside. You can feel the heat radiating off of him in waves, the smoke and metal and brimstone scent of him nearly overwhelming in this heightened state of awareness. It’s a heady combination, and although you incline your chin to hold his gaze, you can feel your eyelids growing heavy.

“Tell me, dulzura,” he coaxes, his tone sweet, soft, encouraging. “Did you read the book I gave you?”

Cheeks burning with embarrassment, you break his gaze, staring down at your hands as they fist the sheets puddled around you.

He reads your reticence so easily; you aren’t sure why you even attempted to be coy. Chuckling low and sinister in his chest, he reaches down and cups your chin in his big, warm fingers and tilts your face back up to look at him. “Oh, you did, didn’t you?”

Your skin burns where he touches you, his hand like a brand on your face. “I…started it, but I couldn’t finish it,” you confess.

“No? Did you not enjoy it?” The mysterious man frowns, eyes roving over your features, reading every flutter of your lashes, every quirk of your lips. It’s deeply unsettling, nearly unnatural, the way he looks at you with such directness, and again, you are hit with the sensation of being examined so deeply and so intimately, it feels almost wrong.

“Oh, I see,” he continues after a long, tense silence. “You enjoyed it too much, didn’t you? Filthy girl. And you wonder why I am so drawn to you. And you to me.”

Mortification rips through you like a lightning strike, and you jerk your chin out of his hold as you gather your blankets up around your chest in a belated gesture of modesty. Of course, the paltry layers of cotton do nothing to shield you from the heat of his stare. Because he’s right, damn him. You had enjoyed the book – a sordid collection of short stories that had to have been written several hundred years ago, judging by the vocabulary and style of prose. Each tale had been more macabre than the last, interspersed with chapters so debauched and decadent that you had found yourself needing to slip your hand into your panties more than once just to be able to go about your day.

Much like the man who had gifted it to you, the book had plagued you. You had found yourself thinking about it constantly, distractedly wishing for your next opportunity to pick it up and lose yourself in whatever grotesque, salacious, bone-chilling story it had for you next. Such an obsession hadn’t been good for you. You hadn’t been able to bring yourself to finish it.

If this man is implying that this book was some sort of clue, that the way he affects you is somehow connected to it… Ice slips down your spine at the thought, and you suppress a shiver.

“What are you?” you ask in a trembling voice. “What are you going to do to me?”

The man’s smirk softens into a smile – still just as heated, though not as provoking. You swear you can feel the scorching path of his eyes across your face, down your neck, to your clenched fists and limp sheets. He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, anticipation building in your gut, and then he growls, “I’m going to give you what you want. And, in doing so, take what I need.”

And then the bubble of anticipation bursts, and he is on you – bearing you back into the pillows, rucking up your T-shirt to grip your bare waist with searing hot palms, and sealing his mouth over yours.

His touch is like a balm to your frayed nerves, his kiss a drug. Just like outside the bar, you feel yourself going soft under his hands, your muscles lax, your bones limp. The drag of his fingers up your sides has you arching your back and smushing your aching breasts against his hard, broad chest. Your hands sink into his dark brown curls, keeping his mouth on yours, and it isn’t long before his tongue is prying open your lips and sliding out to meet yours. He tastes like smoke, like musk, and you are overcome with the distinct desire to draw him into you – to inhale him, to drag him down into your lungs and trap his essence inside your chest. Unbidden, your legs begin to twitch and kick, pushing your blanket down around your feet. You need to have your legs around his waist, need to drag him closer. You need it like you need oxygen, and though you know somewhere in the back of your mind that the depth of your desire should frighten you, nothing has ever felt more right.

This moment was inevitable – you know this now. From the moment you locked eyes with him in the coffee shop, you have been on a collision course with this man, this creature that always seems to know how to find you, that stalks your dreams, that corrupts your mind and your body so perfectly you cannot help but welcome it. Resistance is pointless, unthinkable.

Wrenching your lips from his with a whine, you pant into his open mouth, “It’s yours. You can have whatever you want. Please.”

The man above you makes a low noise, something bestial like a snarl, and the sound vibrates through your body at all the points where he touches you. “That’s my girl,” he groans, grinding his hips down into yours. You buck up into the friction as the thick, hard line of his cock makes itself apparent. Firmly, assertively, he drags himself across the soaked gusset of your panties, and you feel your pussy clench around nothing. “Don’t worry – I’m going to make it feel so good for you, dulzura. By the time the sun rises, both of our needs will be sated.”

His mouth moves down to your neck, nuzzling into the soft, sensitive skin beneath your ear. He licks you there, slow and hot, before drawing a bundle of sinew and skin between his lips and sucking. The sensation shoots straight to your core, and you feel your clit throb in time with the pulses of his sucks in a way that has you bowing up into him. You need more – more of his hot hands, more of his slick tongue, more of his rock-hard dick. You need it all, and if he doesn’t give it to you, you are absolutely certain that you will go mad.

Everything goes a bit hazy after that. Soft around the edges, dim, tinged with red and soundtracked by the thunderous pounding of your own heart in your ears. You feel him peel your shirt off your body, the worn cotton threatening to cling to places where you have begun to sweat with your need for him. You feel his lips return to yours briefly before dropping to your breasts, suckling your tight, pebbled nipples into his mouth, dragging his teeth along the tender place where your tits meet your ribcage. You feel his tongue dip into the soft bowl of your navel, making you squirm. And then your panties, long ruined and positively drenched in your slick, pull tight against your hips, and the distant sound of ripping fabric reaches your ears.

He has torn the offending garment clean off your body.

You try to give as good as you are getting, try to meet him touch for touch, but if you are honest with yourself, you are mostly a passive recipient of his passion. No matter how hard you try, you cannot seem to keep your eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time, and every time you attempt to take control of the encounter, to pull off his shirt or to guide his mouth with your grip on his head, you find yourself falling back against the mattress, too weak and overcome with pleasure to do anything but allow it to wash over you. You feel as though you are under a spell, utterly in this thrall, your body a slave to the wet of his mouth, the heat of his hands.

You cannot compete with him. You can only surrender.

When his tongue delves into the wet, soft warmth of your sex, you simply moan and spread your thighs as wide as you can manage. When he slicks his tongue over your swollen, puffy clit, you dig your nails into his scalp and wrap your fingers around the short locks of his hair. When he groans your name into your flesh, you do not wonder how he knows it. You just hitch your hips against his face, dragging your cunt across his prominent nose in long, hard thrusts until you fall apart on his face.

It is then – the first time that you come for him – that a part of your mind begins to understand exactly what is happening. The moment your climax floods your body, the most curious feeling tugs at the edge of your awareness. It is as though your pleasure is not confined to your own body. As molten fire races down your spine, as your muscles spasm and your limbs lock and your head falls back on your neck, you get the distinct sensation of all of that energy flushing through your nerves and then slowly, steadily leaking from your pores. You can feel it curl around you, holding you, caressing you, then leaving you, flowing smoothly, easily…into him.

And fuck, does he like it. You watch through bleary, heavy-lidded eyes as his black eyes roll back in his head, as his grip on your thighs tightens almost unbearably, as his shoulders knot and strain with every pulse of your orgasm. He isn’t coming, but it is clear that he feels your ecstasy as if it is his own, and it seems to strengthen and fortify him in a way that you wouldn’t have believed unless you had seen it with your own eyes.

As you come down from your high, you look down between your legs to see him staring back at you. Watching him lick his swollen, pouty lips clean of your glistening slick, you notice that his tongue seems abnormally long – almost too big for his mouth – and shockingly agile. The whites of his eyes have disappeared entirely, leaving only smooth, glossy black behind.

“Have you figured it out yet, dulzura?” he rumbles, and with a chill, you realize that his voice has changed. Whereas before it was rough and rasping, now it is akin to the sound of steel grinding against rock – sharp, multi-tonal, and resonant in a way that has you feeling the vibration of it down to your bones. “Do you know what I am?”

A single word rises through the dense fog of lust clouding your mind, a word you had first learned in a mythology class ages ago but had encountered again recently in that god-forsaken book gifted to you by this very man. It had been your favorite of the short stories you had read, and even though you are still recovering from your climax, your cunt twitches and quivers at the memory of how hard you had come against your own fingers after finishing it.

Incubus.

You can see the moment you put the pieces together in the way his smile widens, and something prideful has him puffing out his chest, drawing himself up to his full height between your spread legs.

“Muy bien, cariño,” he purrs, and damn you if the sound of his praise in that cursed voice from the deep doesn’t have you reaching for him pathetically, trying to pull his body back down onto yours. Your weak, limp flailing has him laughing, and although you know that the sound ought to have frightened you, the chill that wracks your frame is one of arousal, not terror.

“I knew you would get there eventually, you clever thing,” he continues. Reaching one hand behind his neck, he grips the collar of his worn black poet’s shirt and pulls it over his head, leaving him bare-chested.

You can hardly bear to look at him, he is so beautiful – miles and miles of muscle, golden tan skin, and the finest dusting of dark hair trailing from his bellybutton down into the waistband of his breeches. There is nothing sharp or defined about him, not like the male models you are accustomed to seeing on billboards or the fashion brand fliers you get unsolicited in your mailbox. He is built like a warrior of old, like a figure out of a fairytale – thick, strong, powerful. You could easily see him in a shirt of chainmail, wielding a sword in battle, returning slicked in the blood of the enemy, crowing with victory.

You wonder, for the first time, whether this is his true form or if he has tailored his appearance to specifically appeal to your sensibilities. Does he know the way you have always swooned over the heroic figures of your story books? Has he fashioned himself to look like he just walked out of one? You should not find the idea touching, and yet…

And you were right in your earlier assessment – he is bigger here in this place that is not quite consciousness and not quite sleep. His size would be striking in the real world; heads would turn as he strolled down the sidewalk; you were sure of it. The thought has your throat going dry. You didn’t often have the opportunity to feel small or delicate in your daily life, but with his imposing form looming over you in the dark, you feel fragile in a way that has you blushing from the roots of your hair to the tips of your toes.

The burn of your flush only intensifies as his hands drop to his breeches, and with quick, dexterous fingers, he undoes the line of silver buttons that hold them shut.

“Are you ready for me, dulzura?” he asks. His cock springs forward as he tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and pushes them down off his hips. The sight has saliva pooling in your mouth, and you lick your lips unconsciously as you take him in – dense, dark curls, thick shaft, swollen, red tip glistening with his own arousal. He’s big – almost too big, bigger than you’ve ever taken – and you find yourself sending a quick prayer to whoever will listen that the…logistics of what is about to happen are more forgiving in this dream world than they would be in reality.

It's as though he can hear your thoughts. The moment the silent prayer passes through your mind, he looses a wicked snarl and wraps his fingers tightly around your knees. He drags you bodily across the bed, pulling you so close to him that your ass presses to the front of his thighs, and when you are close enough, he drops onto his palms above you to stare directly into your eyes.

“Silence!” he hisses, and for the first time since his lips collided with yours, you feel a bolt of fear zip down your spine. The scent of brimstone thickens in the air around you, and between your legs, the slick, blunt tip of his cock presses insistently against your throbbing entrance. He notches himself into you with a swift dip of his hips, and you cannot silence the moan that rips its way out of your chest at the stretch.

“You will find no gods here, nena. Here, there is only me. And I am not finished wringing every – ” He thrusts deeper into you, feeding his cock to you inch by agonizing inch. “ – last – ” Deeper still, you feel your walls parting, softening, spreading for him, making room for his length inside your aching cunt. “ – ounce of pleasure from your sweet little body. Ahora. Dámelo.”

And then the haze returns, and you are overcome.

He is relentless, unforgiving, almost animalistic in the way he fucks you. Distantly, you register the sound of your own rhythmic whines and whimpers – ah! ah! ah! – every time he bottoms out inside you, but you cannot bring yourself to feel self-conscious. With every thrust, he overwhelms your senses. You have never felt so full, so stretched. You have never experienced anything like the way his cock drags against your walls, the way he presses and kneads on every sensitive spot as though you had given him a map to them all. That combined with his low grunts, his filthy words, and his lips sucking dark, tender bruises all across your neck and chest have you capitulating embarrassingly fast. All you seem to be able to do is grip his wrists on either side of your head and hold on while he fucks the life from you.

“Eso es, dulzura,” he growls. “Know you want it. Know you need it. Needed it for so long – weeks and weeks, huh, nena? S’okay. Es tuyo. Sólo tómalo.”

Deep within your abdomen, you can feel it growing. It burns – like lava, like lightning, and shit, it’s so fucking tight. Like a spring, it coils, winding around and around as he pounds you into the mattress. It won’t be long now; you can already tell. He is going to make you come, and it’s going to happen pathetically quickly.

Again, as though he registers your thoughts, the incubus chuckles sinisterly to himself and gives you a cheeky wink. He leans down and wraps his lips around one of your nipples, sucking hard and then trapping it between his teeth, and the sharpness of the sensation bolts straight to your clit.

“Fuck!” you gasp, arching into him, grinding your clit against his pubic bone as he continues to thrust inside you. “God, please – ”

One of his hands flies to your throat, and before you can react, you feel firm pressure on either side of your neck, squeezing your pulse points, making your brain go soft and fuzzy almost instantly. “What did I say, dulzura?” the creature snaps, and you think you see the angles on his face get sharper, his mouth get wider, his brow get more deeper and heavier. “God isn’t here. He can’t save you now.”

“I’m sorry,” you gasp, your fingers wrapping instinctually around his wrist. You think you want him to let you go, but at the same time, it feels so good – floaty and hot and almost euphoric as he continues fucking you. “I won’t say it again, I swear!”

“Good,” he snarls. His hand lets up from around your neck, and the rush of blood to your head has you sucking in oxygen and moaning long and loud. “The only thing I want to hear coming out of your mouth while I fuck you is ‘yes’ and ‘more.’ Understand?”

You nod hard, eyes rolling back in your head as he switches up the angle of his thrusts, this one somehow even better than the last. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

“Good girl. Ahora, déjame sentirte.” Dropping one of his hands down to where you are joined, he swirls your dripping wetness in firm, steady circles around your clit with the pad of his thumb. “Come for me.”

As though your body is his to command, you do exactly as he says. Hands flying to his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin, knees hitching up around his hips to drag him closer, you careen over the edge with a shout.

Just like the first time, the energy of your pleasure leaving your body is a physical thing. It lingers long enough for you to feel it, for you to luxuriate in it, and then it passes through your skin into his, and this time, you feel him receive it. His body ripples under your grip, his muscles spasming, his skin trembling, his cock somehow swelling even more inside the warm, wet clutch of your cunt. That is all it takes for him to join you in your rapture. With a few final, frenzied thrusts, you feel him twitch and seize inside you, and a hot rush of cum fills you so thoroughly that you can feel it leaking out around him, dripping down your ass to pool beneath you on the sheets.

“Dulzura,” he murmurs into your collarbone, the tip of his hooked nose tracing delicately across your skin as he comes down from his high. “Eres tan perfecta. You did so well. You knew exactly what I needed, didn’t you? Tan buena.”

The two of you lay like that for some time, you smothered against the mattress with his body weighing heavily on top of yours, his slowly softening cock still wedged inside you, his face buried against your neck. Absently, you run your fingers through his hair, and you notice that in spite of the exertion, he has not sweat at all. Perhaps not the most bizarre thing you have learned about him tonight, but you make note of it, nonetheless.

“The ecstasy you have gifted me tonight will keep me nourished for a long while,” he says after a time. He drops a wet, sloppy kiss onto the underside of your jaw. “You have my gratitude.”

The sentiment has you snapping to awareness, the fog of sex suddenly clearing almost instantly. Pulling back to meet his gaze, you find a warped version of the face you have come to know staring back at you. Had you not already figured out that he was a demon, his appearance now would have given it away – flat, black eyes, prominent brow, sharp cheekbones, large, pointed ears, a wider mouth, sharp, vicious teeth. He is the same man you met in the coffee shop all those weeks ago, and yet he is also very much not. You think, perhaps, that that ought to frighten you, but you feel no fear. Instead, you are struck with the realization he seems to have gotten what he wants from you.

You may never see him again.

“So,” you whisper, throat dry, voice hoarse from overuse, “that’s it, then?”

The incubus frowns. “Does that displease you?”

…Does it?

“…I suppose it does.”

His frown dissolves then, and he draws himself back up onto his knees, hovering over you with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t tell me my dulzura is going to miss me,” he taunts, and your cheeks burn.

“I’m not going to miss you,” you reply quickly, careful to keep your tone indifferent. “I’m just saying, maybe the next time you need to…feed, you could…” You shrug, your flush deepening. “You could find me again. Now that I know what you need, you know.”

The wicked smirk on his face eases as he takes in the sincerity in your words and instead melts into something that looks suspiciously like fondness. “Bold little thing,” he purrs. “I like that. Perhaps I shall. But until then…” He reaches out and brushes the tips of his fingers across your eyelids, closing them with a delicate touch. “Rest. Sleep. You have earned it, sweet girl.”

Just as with your orgasm, it is as though his words have command over your body. The moment your eyes flutter closed, the world around you falls away, his touch dissolves on your skin, and you slip into a deep, peaceful sleep.

When you wake, the sun is streaming through the gaps in your curtains, casting soft, warm columns of light across your sheets. You glance over at the clock on your bedside table and find that you have slept in much later than usual, though where normally you might feel guilt for this, instead you simply feel sated. You cannot say when you have last had a more restful night of sleep. You feel entirely refreshed.

Stretching luxuriously against your pillows, you take stock of your body. You’re surprised to find that your T-shirt has made its way back onto your body, and with a frown, you notice that you are still wearing the cotton panties you had gone to sleep in the night before. They cling to your body wetly, the sensation cold and a bit unpleasant, but as you run your fingers over the fabric, you confirm that they appear to never have been ripped – they are just as whole as when you had pulled them on.

You find no soreness between your legs, no sign of the vigorous, almost violent activities of the night before. Peeling back your blankets, you lift up your shirt to scan your skin, and you find no trace of the dark purple marks the creature had left behind with his mouth. Your body is entirely unmarred. It is as though nothing had even happened, and you would be lying if you said you were not a little disappointed by this turn of events. A part of you had been looking forward to feeling the ache of him today, to seeing the evidence of his touch on your skin. You feel as though you have been denied any souvenirs of your encounter, and you aren’t sure what to make of the hollowness that echoes in your chest at the realization.

However, before you have the opportunity to feel too melancholy about it, a dark shape lurking at the edge of your vision catches your eye.

You immediately roll over to face it, thinking for a wild moment that it might have been him, that he might have already come back for you. But instead, all you find is that leather-bound book, Sins of the Flesh, resting conspicuously on the other pillow next to you.

You certainly did not leave it there when you went to bed. It had been tucked away in the bottom drawer of your bedside table for weeks.

Reaching out with tentative fingers, you run your hand over the soft, worn cover of the book, and once again, you are struck by the sensation of warmth emanating from the oxblood leather. You feel a tug deep in your abdomen, an urge you can’t quite name, but suddenly you know that you are meant to open it. With a frown, you pick up the book and flip open the cover before you can consider it further.

There, on the cover page, directly below the gothic typeset of the title, you notice a detail that you have never seen before. A name written in an archaic-looking script, inked in watery black as though from the tip of a quill.

Pero Tovar

A rush of satisfaction passes over you even as the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The demon had given you his name.

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