#oh to dance with Eclipse……..

[belovedfromnature]

Hi yes I would like to slow dance with the 11’ft tall crescent faced man with the four arms and the pretty eyes, no I do not care that he’s the god of darkness I love him he’s my pretty princess

[r0tting-rat]

"Too much?"

A little gift for @/ping-ski, who is driving me absolutely mad with their Sugar Daddy!Eclipse to the point I couldn't help but to write down a short drabble. Some details below for those who aren't familiar with their wonderful au (GO CHECK IT OUT RN PLEASE IT'S WORTH IT)

Pairing: SugarDaddy!Eclipse (by @ping-ski) x Gender Neutral Reader Warning: Suggestive, use of alcohol/reader is tipsy. Also, sorry Pingu, he might be a bit ooc! I wasn't sure how flirty I could make him Words: 1200+ Summary: It's the winder holidays, and you just came home after a long evening spent with your dear beloved. Additional tags: Established relationship, Eclipse is a wonderful father, the kid's name is Atlas.

The weather outside is frigid, wind is howling against the tall windows, but the inside of Eclipse's house is warm and inviting. You've just come home after a very long evening with your beloved, an evening that left you feeling elated and giddy like a highschooler—a time of your life that you have long left behind, even though your cheeks still have the habit of warming up whenever your robotic lover looks your way and your stomach flutters at each time you kiss. You have waved goodbye to Esther, Atlas' nanny, just a few minutes before, and she has assured you that the little boy has been fast asleep for a few hours already. You don't miss how Eclipse smiles when she tells him how the boy asked for his "papa" before falling asleep.

"I'll cook him his favourite breakfast tomorrow," he says, more to himself than to you or Esther, "As an apology for my tardiness."

The house is silent, Atlas is soundly sleeping, and you have drunk a little more than usual at the restaurant. For no real reason! It was just a very good wine: fruity, amazingly aged, heavy on the tongue and warm in the gullet. You can still feel it when you swallow down the bile forming in the back of your throat—which is a lot, considering you have stared at Eclipse for the entire ride home, lost in the thought of kissing him as soon as his face turned your way.

You sigh as you step into your shared house, not worried about waking Atlas with the sound of your shoes on the marbled floor thanks to the good soundproofing of the rooms, and you decide to go sit on the couch to rest your tired feet. You and Eclipse had decided to take a walk around the city centre after leaving the restaurant, simply to enjoy the Christmas decorations that have been put up in every corner of the city, and before you knew it you were about to collapse. Closing your eyes, you let yourself drop on the soft cushions of the couch, but a cold hand catches you by the waist before you can truly be enveloped by the rich fabrics. Unsurprised, you open your eyes just to find an amused Eclipse staring right back down at you, half-lidded eyes and soft silicone lips extremely close to your flushed face—blush still caused by the alcohol, mind you—he chuckles, and the flush deepens just enough to reach your neck and chest. Eclipse's eyes travel down a moment to follow it as it spreads like ink on your soft skin, and you pretend not to notice that he never really goes back to look you in the eyes, stopping instead on your lips.

"How about a dance?" he asks, out of the blue, and you giggle.

"Dancing with no music? How romantic, Eclipse," you say, before realizing he's completely serious.

The animatronic hums, and immediately his grip on your waist strengthens, and that's your only warning before he pulls you back on your feet to sweep you into a mind-twisting dance. You don't understand where he's taking you, you don't understand what's around you, all you know is that one of his hands is holding one of yours, while the other is placed on the small of your back. You dance in the middle of the large living room, feeling wine-red clouds crowding your mind and your sight slightly unfocusing, and you couldn't be happier.

You don't even have to actually do anything; Eclipse has a firm hold on you, and he's always careful not to spin you too fast, in case it could upset your stomach. All you have to do is let yourself go—one hand on one of his upper arms, one of his shoulder—and allow him to manhandle you into beautiful twirls and languid strides. You rest your head on his warm chest, hearing his inner gears and pistons at work, and the world around you is so hazy you might forget it exists. You sigh and think that maybe that's actually all you need in life: a cold evening, a warm embrace, some soothing wine, and Eclipse's love.

The dance stops after just 5 minutes—which feel like hours to you—and you and your partner simply stand one in the other's arms, like two lovers painted by Klimt, sharing the same passion, familiarity, and devotion. Except, differently from Klimt's picture, your beloved is holding you with four arms instead of two.

"How do you feel?" asks Eclipse after a long pause, and the only answer you can manage to utter is a murmur, "I didn't hear you, my dearest."

"Amazingly," you finally say, groggily looking up at him, "I wanna kiss you."

"Sounds like a perfect plan," he grins, "But how do you plan to enact it? Can you even reach my face?"

He laughs, and, a little offended, you do kiss him. You stand on your tippy toes, you crane your neck, and kiss his jaw; the only spot your lips can reach, but it's enough to make him stop and look down at you, surprised that you actually took the lead.

"Wanna try again, love?" he teases, having already recovered from your kiss, leaning down a little, "Or do I need to pick you up?"

His laugh is mocking, and once more you consider showing him what you're actually capable of—should you climb him like a tree? The idea is tempting—until you stop and actually think about his words.

"Yes," you say, parting from him just to look at his beautiful mismatched eyes. "I do, actually."

Eclipse stops laughing, then hums, growing more amused by the second.

"Okay."

In less than a second you're hoisted up between his bulky arms, legs on either side of his hips, face right in front of his, and your arms thrown over his shoulders.

"Much better," you smile sweetly at him, slowly letting your hands wander to the back of his head, then to his bottom rays, which you caress with a lot of care, and lastly to his neck. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, my doll," he sing-songs, not really noticing what you're doing with your fingers until his tie comes undone on his chest and his elegant button-up opens, letting the vents placed on the side of his chest breathe in fresh air. He looks down, seeing your fingers tracing his torso while unbuttoning his shirt, and his black and golden optics widen with interest. It's your turn to grin.

"Too much?" you ask, and Eclipse begins to make a rumbling sound with his voicebox, a sound that reminds you of a purr, deep and warm when it resonates with your chest and stomach.

"Not enough," he whispers, leaning in to brush his lips against yours, toying with your breath with the way you're holding it back, afraid he could sense through it exactly how much you craved him. His voice is low, dangerous, and you feel it vibrate in the depths of your mind when he speaks. "Not nearly enough, not in any way, my doll. Let me kiss you properly this time, will you?"

You all should thank @hexcii cuz I started writing this drabble during one of our simping sessions (we take turns rambling and yapping about the dca) and yea. we both got the i'm-gay-for-robots virus.

[crabsnpersimmons]

Miss, it's time to go to bed. Are you on your phone again? Sleeping late will ruin your lovely skin. This is the final warning. If you don't fall asleep now, We are going to dance. - "잘자요 아가씨" by ASMRZ

found this song and i was possessed to draw @starriegalaxy's butler Eclipse dancing to it

(also i apologize in advance for my horrendous hiragana, hangul, and cursive)

Textless, effectless version under the cut!

[sunflower-chai]

just finished day of the black sun! i can’t believe i’m at the halfway point of season 3.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

love the remark from joe about the christmas extravaganza wherein like thee main inspiration here is that it is essentially an actual christmas special that purports to be a christmas special which is about christmas specials, and his talking about like yeah the talk about commercialization(tm) of christmas and yet this is about such artifacts of [so there's Anything & there's capitalism:] but about the actual heart there & there's actually one here too, even while at no point do things pull back or become "serious" in the way that seriousness has to refer to a Tone of somberness sobriety drama & gravitas etc etc....illuminating when also only now do i know that much about the show as a whole and when also i'm not That familiar with christmas specials, though already certainly enough to like, generally Get It even without having seen the specific ones joe cites for example lol

thinking about like [there was never a Christmass held as an occasion of particular significance that didn't absorb preexisting nonchristian traditions, for instance, partying & treats] and [then a christmas carol revival and reinvention of more modern Cultural Significance, from the context of industrializing 19th century goings on & going like i don't know that the impoverishment & child labor seems great] and then like of course in a [see: that context] sense like you have Anything? in capitalism? of course like how to commodify things & fit anything that people can possibly do or desire or value into an act of consumerism, all the potential of life itself is contained in a way you can give this one company money. but at the same time here we are where just supposing there might be something "pure" of being associated with this system, you know, means what? that there, no i'm pushing through i'm making this post too lmao, that there isn't [insert Valued concept, like artistry, good intention, any genuine meaning to possibly be found] in a tv series, despite this not generally being considered the realm of High Art (which is, what, as a concept within what framework, with what examples and what reasoning) and yknow pick your true/valuable/high art, & how "pure" from any interactions w/commerce was that in its creation, or in it Now

smash cut to remembering a quote recently from someone's like first closest viewing of a Christmas(tm) happening, i think from a like roundtable article of people with varying opinions on the whole occasion from jewish currents magazine but don't quote me & i can't directly quote them but the person talking about how christmas despite all its hype seeming mostly a demanding time to perform this Event that would also invariably be a disappointment. and that had it occurring to me how like, also after the christmas carol cultural shift like the way traditions shifted / were shuffled around & absorbed & re/invented, like it wasn't really something so contained to The Home, it wasn't so centered around like whether it was amazing for small children (or there wasn't so much a concept that anything about being a small child was extra special or precious. for example the children yearn for the mines) but prior like, on The 25th what might happen is like outside homes, between Families, like the poor going out for alms, not exactly so familiar with mumming and wassailling and [it's the christmas chaos figure give it treats] as is somewhat present in halloween here modernly, hooray halloween lmao like yes Yes outside the house outside the family nighttime antics performing etc treats....anyways. also the christmas tree as like "ugh that germanic pagan ritual??" but then i think some royal xmas english or french had an xmas tree so it was like oh alright & adopted as "normal" now....but Anyways like even now reflecting like yeah lovely if Thee 25th is a genuinely nice time for people in the [nothing's open b/c why aren't you at home (or church)] nuclear family household time fr, as it's lovely if that's a generally nice context/situation/time for them in general, but it's like no the fun stuff is the more purportedly to de facto actually secular shit Outside the home & family & the 25th lmao, which is the shit that indeed seems more fun & hypey & then perhaps you encounter [actual 25th is demanding & stressful & perhaps overmuch, inevitably falling short of a pageant of perfection much less an ostensibly spontaneously genuine manifestation of perfection, etc]

certainly my own experience being like, church every week christian household so we did christmas & as a young kid it was indeed like ooh ahh i love the kind of mysterious special occasion that to me is like this chill Nighttime deal with the intriguing decorations & dim cozy Lights element like yeah love the depths of an xmas tree with the interspersed lights. then inevitably as per the nature of [you're stuck with your nuclear family in your family house, "ideally"] like the The 25th Day aspect which was never really the highlight vs the more general Xmas Zone was more an ordeal more dreaded thus eclipsing the other stuff. plus when it's like "ohh christmas can't be secular it also shouldn't even be Fun: go to church, stand around in somber wonder perhaps, the classic guilt if you want i dunno. trying to remember the annoying advent or christmas day homilies sermons Lectures like oh so you think this is a joyful time and you like the fun stuff? Wrong. not much of a conclusion beyond that now we sit around for 24 min slogging along eucharistically. ignore the more fun banger xmas singing though or we're bringing back monastic chants"

(sidebar lol a highlight of Later Christmasses Stuck With [it is a curse] was doing it monastic with nuns like yeah i'll be a tenor doing the harmony in your choir knocking out nighttime mass wahoooo....the fun of being theatrical gays like fuck yeah i'll take the reserved seating and enjoy harmonizing singing while i gotta do the church stuff anyways. and i enjoy well enough interacting w/the nuns who were nice & helping w/yknow practical shit yippee)

anyways and back to like knowing more about what's even in the full christmas extravaganza show and the illumination like oh right yeah having this Language of the heartwarming & perhaps chaotic on purpose or not Christmas Special, established / pervasive enough that even in like yeah not being very familiar w/these specific examples or even so many others, i have a grasp on the context & that language lol. as people for whom xmas is not a religious requirement thing or a casual religiousish thing or more like reverse engineering a yule out of the fun celebratory revelrous aspects & traditions lol like a secular party, or less / no direct specific interaction/relationship to the occasion: you sure still Know Of shit / have any familiarity all the same. where perhaps the stuff Surrounding xmas is like all this hype but then you participate more proximately in some [on The 25th deal] & be like isn't this just disappointing...? like so true the Secular shit is what's Fun, the [not the 25th! not dutiful church attendance!] shit is like, out of the home, interacting outside the family. it of course has the [formally businesses can only respond like uhh something something christmas is truly contained in our product] which is year round always with anything but ramped up with the [buying things] increase for xmas which is indeed a Tradition of like hey this can be expensive & stressful. and an opportunity to go "materialism....go to church" like making you think huh But. hardly necessarily Lacking anything genuine or meaningful or valuable outside [go to church] and people can be finding & creating that from what is happening in their lives anyways, & of course it doesn't have to be about Anything someone considers like ""objectively"" "significant" at all, religious or [this is anything besides a funny little occasion anyways. love to sing songs & have feasts] or like an installment of tv or like a whirlwind of like 20th century's second act secular (and decidedly heretical & technically blasphemous i'm sure combo re: the "and christianity etc etc yeah yeah" elements, if one would care about anything like that. no papal bull of approval, but ft. the tongue in cheek acknowledgment of the whole element like "it's fine to celebrate Other holidays of course. but you Gotta celebrate christmas with meeee.mp3") (separate note but shoutout to the "it's Not fine to celebrate other holidays ugh!" faction who don't Really want the idea of "we'll just be over here having a joyous occasion while you have to sit it out, unhappily unbaptized" to result in universal conversion, they just want Being Christian to confer authority, hey no you Can't be also having fun having food celebrating observing etc etc >:( and i certainly Can't be Forced at p.c. gunpoint to acknowledge Your goings on exist like You absolutely should have to Mine)

anyways it's like hell yeah fun to muse on like yeah the flipside of [strangling diminishing forces always trying to find new ways to encroach & be like how can this benefit me. like capitalism e.g.] being the creative expansive enriching forces like many people who care about the world they are in and about what actually makes life better and less strangled and diminished, which also will spontaneously find ways to grow and can't be truly extinguished or contained by the inherent stifling & limiting & extracting approach. like oh yeah of course like not just the secular out of the house outside the family shit that can be fun fr but now also the modern media, after [nothing to me b/c xmas soured & then was not much relevant & yeah i'm not exactly dying to "replace" the The 25th aspect anyways even if i supposed there was some opportunity right there but it's not much relevant] like ooh yeah fuck the joe iconis christmas extravaganza huh lmao i hear that i get that. krampusnacht's beautiful reinvention (even though afaik currently krampusnacht is also mostly about out of the house out of the family partying & antics like a lil scamp. to me it's about fucking the krampus now, alternatively, beautifully) i love it i am enthused it is a light in my heart & i'm not unserious about that, the way i could even go [!!!] just over what could be found in traces online for extravaganzas of yore back in dec 2022 when one was not currently going on. like oh yeah lol i could be on a sidewalk and go like "it's (ah) be (ah)" with corresponding choreography & the implied [—ginning to look a lot. like. chris. miss] i love strings of lights i recall the joy to the world harmony years later the nutcracker slaps always i have the media i Have encountered & do enjoy etc etc etc. and shoutout to the haters and the people who do go to church about it even possibly

[susanhannifordcrowley]

It's USA Independence Day! By Susan Hanniford Crowley

[lady-lauren]

❥ SATORU GOJO X FEM! READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 2.1k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: incest (big brother/little sister), hatefucking, degradation, Satoru's hand smothering your mouth, some dub-con tones but really you both want this fucked up situation, semi-public sex (the door isn't closed and it really should be), creampie

Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Read those warnings again.

→ Kinktober Masterlist ←

You’ve always eclipsed his light. A stain on his legacy, a re-shifting of the scales when you were born.

Always on his heels, nipping at his skin. 

Satoru wonders how many times the two of you have tangled like this—fury and jealousy, adults carrying the bitterness of spoiled children.

“Are you even trying?” 

You’re pinned beneath him, both of you wild and uncoordinated, driven more by emotion than immeasurable skills. 

“Fighting dirty isn’t fair, ‘Toru,” your tits are heaving as you try to catch your breath, hips squirming and bucking to keep mean fingers from playing with the one toy he was never allowed to have.

“Excuses, excuses,” he tuts, bicep flexing as he catches your wrist in an attempt to scratch his cheek, “you like when I play dirty, little whore.”

One step away from a tense family dinner had him cornering you in some tucked away office with your dress bunched around your hips on the floor.

Satoru thought fucking you would depredate you, make you take on the burden of his sins. Instead it’s only wrecked him further. Now he tastes you in the back of his cheeks whenever he looks in the mirror.

God he hates you. Because you make him sick, make him do sick, nasty things and you barely try to fight back. 

“It’s like you want to get fucked by your brother, hm?” he thinks aloud before pressing his mouth against yours. He cups your neck, pulls you closer, pays attention to how you grunt and tug at his shirt. Your nails catch buttons, scratch into skin. 

He shouldn’t kiss you here, where any roaming maid or distant cousin could catch a glimpse of what the Gojos do when no one is looking. 

But he’s at a point where he wants people to look, wants people to see just how fucked up you both are.

“Toru,” you hiss, “stop, get off—”

“Oh shut the fuck up. We don’t have time for the but ~Satoru~ we shouldn’t song and dance. You always let me have you, so be quiet and take it.” 

Still, you fight, like you always do. Your toned muscles push and shove, one leg nearly smashing air from his lungs. He catches your calf in time, insatiably mean fingers digging into your soft flesh and forcing your thighs apart. He can tell you bite back a whine of pain, too prideful to let him know when he hurts you.

“You cannot do this here in the fucking floor of—” 

“Really? Would you rather me take you to your old bedroom so you can cuddle your stuffies while big brother fucks you stupid? Hm? Is that what you want?” 

“What I want,” you try to pull his hair like a child, “is for you to find someone else to be obsessed with. What about Sugu? Oh, that’s right you—”

Just the sound of that name makes him want to rip you apart, smash you to such small pieces that he’ll never have to think of you again. Satoru clamps his hand over your babbling mouth, squeezing until his knuckles turn white and you actually whimper.

He’s going to fuck you into the floor, into oblivion, until all you can think about is him. It’s only fair. 

Satoru keeps the pressure on your mouth, forcing his free hand between your spread thighs so he can shove two long fingers into your cunt. Your panties are soaked around the edges of his knuckles, pussy drooling and squishy as he thrusts and scissors in the way he knows will make your eyes roll. 

“You sure are wet for someone who doesn’t want this.” 

He knows you do. You don’t have to tell him—you probably never will say the exact words aloud. He won’t either. 

You roll your hips back as he fingers you, the dress around your hips falling open like wilting petals against your skin. 

The palm of his hand eats your moans, still small and breathy, desperate to feel more than just the squelching spread of his fingers. 

He wants to punish you, wants to bruise your pussy with his knuckles and make you scream. But he doesn’t have that kind of patience. His cock is smothered in his pants, straining and thumping against the floor. Pre is already leaking into threads; he feels another drop bead against his cockhead as your cunt squeezes when he curls his fingers into a spongy spot that makes you buck.

It’s so wrong and fucked up that he knows that soft spot within you, knows that if he rubs it a few more times it might actually make you cum in his hand.

“God, is your slutty cunt this messy for other guys? Such a fucking pain in the ass—you’re gonna stain the rug.”

Only he loves how easy access your slick makes you. Just a few movements—glossy hand down his pants, shoving the waistband down over his ass, plugging his tip into your hole—and he can thrust his cock all the way to the back of your pussy. 

You manage to bite into the side of his palm, canines pressing into sinew as you weep for him.

Fuck you feel so good, too good, tight and full with the most familiar, decadent squeeze around his thick shaft.

“Pull your tits out,” white lashes flutter as he pushes in, out, “lemme see ‘em.” 

Like always, your fight is gone the moment he’s buried in your cunt. Your hands scramble to obey him, nearly ripping the delicate straps of your dress so you can pull it down, breasts falling on display. Satoru keeps his eyes on the bouncing fat, biting his tongue when your nipples harden into the most delicious looking buds.

You muffle a cry at a particular cruel thrust, legs starting to burn and shake from the weight of his hips between them. Your lips are swelling behind his hand, sloppy with drool. 

Satoru shifts back, getting on his knees so he can curl your leg against your bare chest and worm his way to the very depths of your pussy. The sound is lewd, all wet and gushing, each push of skin on skin making him prickle.

His keen senses perk—footsteps in the hallway, voices through the wall. Dinner guests shuffling about in the absence of the prodigal siblings. 

Your eyes flash toward the cracked door, yet the little ah, ah, ah~ behind his palm won’t quit.

“Yeah? You want someone to find us? Want them to see how your big brother pounds into your guts because he can? Because you’re a little fucking slut who lets me?”

The annoyance that flares to life as your gaze returns to him has his balls tightening. You hate that he gets the best of you. This is the one way he can, by making you weak and wet and willing for his cock.

Satoru presses his hand to your belly, presses in deep and hard until the heel of his hand meets the outline of his dick. 

“Feel that? Feel how fucking full you are with my cock?” 

He uses strength he couldn’t on anyone else, barreling his hips until you’re moving back on the floor, rug scrunching beneath your bodies as he pounds into you so recklessly. 

You whine, actively try to bite his hand, to suck his skin, to hurt him. 

“Oh please, you can take it. You’re a Gojo.”

That reminder makes you both groan, your cunt sucking as his cock swells. 

He wonders for a split moment what really draws you together. Lust? Failed parenting? Some mutual sense of rebellion? All of it, probably, and some other sick, twisted shit laced in between. 

Your little fingers start prying at his over your mouth, clawing and plucking his knuckles. 

He shows a little mercy and releases his hold on you, only to clamp both hands down on your hips so he can fix your pace and build a faster rhythm. 

You suck in a deep breath, “Kiss me.” 

A pale brow quirks at your request, smirk tugging at his cheek. 

“Really? And why should I? Thought you didn’t like me.” 

“Oh my, ah, god, Toru, I ask for one nice thing. Just,” you reach for him, gripping onto his flexing biceps and pulling him down, “just do it, for me.”

He was always going to oblige you. He hates admitting it, but he’d kiss you all the time, if you’d let him. 

Satoru’s lips meet yours with a bruising fervor. 

Your hand tugs in his snowy hair, drags him closer. Your mouth moves against his, eyes closed, suddenly greedy and hungry; for what, neither of you really know. All he does know is that you still taste the same, like home, and he wants your breath in his lungs.

He is a snake, wrapping around you, suffocating, crushing until you can’t breathe anything but the poison he spits.

Your mouth slants for him, a hum resounding from both your throats as your stomach starts to get tight, tell-tell pulls and sucks like you’re begging him to keep stroking the flames.

“You’re so spoiled, aren’t you,” he groans into your mouth, lips messy with spit, “you gonna cum just from my cock? Do I fuck you that good?”

“God, sh-shove that fat cock deep and cum inside me—”

Your demand makes his blood run hot. 

Satoru throws his head back and laughs, maniacal and oh so satisfied. “You’re spoiled fucking rotten. That’s what mommy and daddy did to you, spoiled you so fucking much you think you deserve everything. Even me.”

Because you started this, didn’t you? When you got old enough to be so fucking tempting in your twenties, started flirting with his friends and batting your pretty eyes at all the higher-ups. When you got strong enough to match him, to take up space in his light.

“Fuck you,” you purr like you’re trying to mean it, like you’re trying to deny him. “Hate you so fucking, ah, god–shit—” he’s got your clit pinched between his fingers now, pressing until he knows it hurts, “make me cum and let me go.”

White hair spreads into the sweat of your skin as he buries his face in your neck. He’s so close to losing it, to being done with this.

“I’ll do one of those things. Let you figure out which one.”

Satoru grinds his cock into your gummy walls, cock strangled in your suction. His pelvis is rolling against your clit, coarse curls making your legs twitch. 

The moment he gets his thumb over your clit, it’s like dropping a match into gasoline. You both burn so hot, melting into one another as he explodes and you convulse. No matter how many times he feels you cum, hears you whisper his name and choke on the three little words you never say, he will never get used to it. 

So familiar and foreign and fucked up, the kind of drug that scratches at his brain and begs from more. 

He empties his balls into you, creaming into a cunt he should never touch let alone fill to the brim. 

You’ve never told him he can’t, that he shouldn’t. You both know it’s abhorrent, disgusting, but maybe that’s why you keep letting him do it. 

He’ll still watch you take your morning pill, though, just to make sure.

Your bodies lie panting in a forgotten corner of the home you both hate, the scent of sex rolling in the air like smoke.

“Get off me and go.” 

Shame is wavering in your voice, it always does. He can understand why you feel it—he does too, he just morphs it into some kind of wicked hatred so he can still sleep at night. 

“One last ~kiss~?” He mocks your voice and revels in how you claw your way out from under him, trying to pull yourself back together and catch the cum dribbling down your thigh. 

“Fuck you. Fuck this. It won’t happen again.” 

And it shouldn’t. But it does. It always happens again. 

Because he wants to hurt you, shame you, make you feel weak in his arms when you shatter and cum. Because he hates how much he loves you. So he wants to crush you, wrap around you like a viper and pop you out of existence. 

His life would be so much easier if he didn’t have a spoiled brat of a sister. 

You make him want to eat his fist when you swipe his cum from between your legs and put your fingers in your mouth, smiling because you know he’ll return to dinner with a tent in his pants. 

You live to torture him, he’s sure of it. 

[mahalachives]

Part 1: The Lady of Autumn

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Genre: angst, romcom, humor, fish out of water reader, canon (ish)

Summary: Murdered after a late-night study session in the modern world, you awaken in Prythian—still yourself, but with Fae features and the infamous title of Beron’s cold-hearted and ruthless daughter.

Then, fate snaps the mating bond into place between you and the shadowsinger, Azriel—who rejects it so fiercely, even the magic recoils.

You died a healer. You woke up a villain. Now fate’s mated you to who wants nothing to do with either—you’ll prove them all wrong, one heartbeat at a time.

Between Two Fires - Masterlist

The worst part about nursing school isn't the exams, the clinical rotations, or even the soul-crushing student debt.

It's the persistent feeling that you're being slowly murdered by sleep deprivation.

Which, ironically, is exactly what they're training you to prevent in others.

"Just four more blocks," you mutter, clutching your textbooks as you trudge home at 2 AM. Streetlights flicker ominously above, casting elongated shadows that seem to reach for you with hungry fingers. You make a mental note to report this to the city's Department of Overly Dramatic Lighting.

Your phone buzzes.

Your roommate: Did you die from studying? Should I eat your leftover pizza?

You respond: Still alive. Touch my pizza and you won't be. I've memorized 206 bones in the human body, which means I know exactly which ones to break.

The wind intensifies, scattering crimson and gold leaves in a spiraling dance reminiscent of flames.

That's when it hits you—the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

Cold fingers trace your spine despite your thick jacket. You quicken your pace, mentally cataloging potential weapons in your bag.

Trauma care textbook? Too unwieldy, but could give someone a concussion—and then you'd be ethically obligated to treat them. Pen? Requires close combat skills you definitely lack. The pepper spray is buried somewhere in the depths of your backpack—unreachable in time, like that one french fry that falls between car seats.

A shadow shifts to your left. A figure emerges from between two parked cars.

A man. Unmistakably dangerous.

"Wallet and phone," he demands, voice gravelly with impatience.

"Seriously?" Exhaustion momentarily eclipses fear. "I'm a nursing student. I have seventeen dollars and a maxed-out credit card. You'd make better money outside Starbucks.”

His expression hardens, something feral flickering behind his eyes. "I said, wallet and phone." Moonlight catches the blade in his hand—not the cheap switchblade you'd expect, but something with an almost ceremonial quality to its curved edge.

"Fine, fine," you say, reaching slowly for your bag. "No need for violence. The seventeen dollars is all yours.”

As you move, he lunges forward—startled by a passing car or simply impatient.

The knife slides between your ribs with disturbing ease.

"Oh," you say stupidly. "That's not good."

Pain erupts, sharp and searing, as your textbooks crash to the pavement. The man flees without even taking your wallet, his footsteps fading too quickly, as if he's vanishing rather than running.

You press against the wound, your training asserting itself through the shock.

Pressure. You need pressure.

But blood seeps between your fingers with alarming speed, warm and sticky against your increasingly cold skin. Iron and copper fill your nostrils—the unmistakable scent of your own mortality.

"Help," you try to call, but it emerges as a whisper.

As you slide down against cold brick, vision blurring, something inexplicable happens. The shadows around you deepen, moving with apparent purpose. The autumn leaves aren't merely wind-blown—they're circling you in a deliberate vortex, faster and faster until they blur into a wall of fire-colored light.

In your fading consciousness, you witness something impossible.

A tear—as if reality itself has been sliced open by the same blade that pierced your side. Through this aperture pours light unlike anything you've seen before, golden, warm, and impossibly ancient. It smells of cinnamon and woodsmoke and something else—something that reminds you of lightning striking earth.

As darkness encroaches, one final, absurd thought crosses your mind. I'm definitely going to miss that anatomy exam tomorrow. Dr. Phillips will never believe I died as an excuse.

Then nothing.

Until you wake to a ceiling painted with flames and falling leaves, each one rendered with such excruciating detail that they appear to be actually falling, burning, dancing above you.

You sit up cautiously, your muscles responding with unfamiliar grace. Your body feels simultaneously lighter and more powerful, as if gravity holds less sway over you. Your hand instinctively finds your side where the stab wound should be.

Nothing. Not even scar tissue.

Just smooth skin beneath unfamiliar silk nightclothes embroidered with flame-colored threads in patterns of leaves and fire. You realize you've never felt silk this nice before.

When you swing your legs over the bed, the room tilts strangely. Your balance is off, your center of gravity shifted. You nearly stumble, catching yourself on an ornately carved bedpost shaped like twisted branches. Your reflexes seem sharper, but your limbs are longer than you remember, more elegant.

The door opens, and a petite woman with auburn hair enters, carrying a silver tray. When she notices you're conscious, she startles violently, nearly spilling a glass of dark liquid. The smell reaches you—wine, but infused with unfamiliar spices and something that makes your nose tingle.

"My lady!" she exclaims, voice pitched high with unmistakable terror. But beneath the fear, you detect something else—a morbid curiosity, as if she's witnessing a predator that might choose another target instead of her. "You're—you're awake!"

You stare at her, bewildered by her fear. "Yes... How long was I asleep?" And why are you looking at me like I'm going to use your spleen as a hat?

She sets down the tray with trembling hands, maintaining maximum distance between you. "Three days, my lady. The High Lord has been most concerned."

High Lord.

The words should be meaningless, yet they resonate with peculiar familiarity, like a half-remembered dream. Images flash unbidden—a throne room with walls of amber, a crown of golden antlers, hands that can conjure fire with a snap of fingers.

"Where am I?" you ask gently, afraid she might bolt at any sudden movement. Your voice sounds strange to your ears—more musical, with an undercurrent of authority you've never possessed.

Her eyes widen further, pupils dilating with renewed fear. "The Autumn Court, my lady. Your home." She retreats toward the door, never breaking eye contact, as if you might attack without warning. "Shall I... inform Lord Eris of your awakening?"

"Yes, please," you reply, mystified by her reaction. "Thank you."

She curtsies deeply—too deeply, almost mockingly so, though terror doesn't resemble mockery—and hurries out, closing the door with a soft click that somehow conveys relief.

You slide from the bed, noticing an ornate mirror across the room. Approaching cautiously, you examine your reflection.

You look... different.

Not dramatically, but there's something otherworldly about your appearance now. Your features are still recognizable, but sharper, more refined. Your skin glows with a subtle luminescence, like late afternoon sunlight through amber. Your eyes now hold flecks of gold that shift and dance like embers in a dying fire. And most obviously, your ears now taper to delicate points. Fae ears. You touch them gently, half-expecting elaborate prosthetics.

But they're warm, sensitive—undeniably yours. When you touch them, a strange shiver runs down your spine, and the candles in the room flicker in response.

I can feel the magic, you realize with a jolt of both terror and exhilaration. It hums beneath your skin like an electrical current, responding to your emotions. The knowledge of how to use it feels tantalizingly close, like a word on the tip of your tongue.

The door opens without warning—no knock, no announcement—and a tall, imposing figure enters. He has auburn hair threaded with gold and eyes like smoldering embers. His face is all sharp angles and aristocratic contempt, beautiful but cold. Yet something flickers in those burning eyes when they meet yours—recognition, followed by confusion, followed by calculation so swift you almost miss it.

"Sister," he says, voice deceptively smooth, like honey concealing broken glass. "How... unexpected to see you awake." His fingers tap against his thigh in a pattern that seems deliberate rather than nervous—one-two-three, pause, one-two—as if counting or sending a signal.

Sister?

He approaches slowly, burning eyes assessing you with predatory intensity. When he passes the window, you notice how the late afternoon light bends toward him, as if drawn to his presence.

"The healers doubted your recovery. Father remains quite... displeased about the incident."

"Incident?" you echo, your voice sounding foreign even to yourself.

A flicker of something—suspicion?—crosses his features before vanishing behind indifference. He stops, studies you with his head tilted slightly, like a raptor sighting prey. "Yes. Your ill-conceived experiment." His smile never reaches his eyes, but a muscle twitches in his jaw—tension or suppressed emotion. "Three days unconscious is theatrical, even for you."

"I was trying to understand them," you say, surprised at the words rising unbidden from some deeper knowledge. "Mortals. Their bodies may be weak, but there's something... innovative about it."

He circles you deliberately, like a predator stalking prey. His movements are too fluid to be human, too predatory to be comforting. "You seem... different."

"Different how?" you ask carefully, fighting the urge to back away.

"I can't quite identify it." He stops uncomfortably close. You can smell autumn on him—fallen leaves, woodsmoke, the sharp tang of apples fermenting into cider. His smile turns cruel, but there's a guardedness to it now. "Is this your new strategy? Feigning amnesia for sympathy? It won't work on Father, I assure you."

"The spell may have had... unexpected effects," you admit, the half-truth forming easily. Something tells you revealing your true nature would be dangerous—possibly fatal. "I'm still... adjusting."

"Hmm." Skepticism radiates from him, but also a hint of curiosity. He examines your face as if searching for cracks in a mask. "Memory loss? Or something more interesting?"

You meet his gaze steadily, despite the instinctive fear his presence evokes. "Let's just say I'm seeing things from a new perspective."

A bark of laughter escapes him—genuine, if brief. "How delightfully cryptic. Perhaps you've finally developed an interesting personality to match your talent for cruelty." He steps back, and you resist the urge to sigh with relief. "Disoriented or not, Father expects you at dinner tonight. The Night Court delegation arrives tomorrow, and he won't tolerate any... incidents."

Night Court. Again, words that should mean nothing yet trigger faint recognition. Dark stone halls beneath a mountain. Political rivals. Ancient grudges. Assassination attempts thinly disguised as diplomatic overtures.

So basically Thanksgiving with extra stabbing.

"I'll be there," you promise, uncertain what else to say. "When should I present myself?"

"Sunset. Wear the red. Father will expect a demonstration of your control after your... mishap." Something almost like concern flashes across his features. "Don't disappoint him. The last time..." He gestures vaguely to a thin scar on his wrist. "Let's just say his temper hasn't improved with age."

"Thank you for the warning," you say, the words feeling strange in your mouth—genuine gratitude toward this dangerous, beautiful creature who is supposedly your brother.

His eyebrows rise slightly, that calculation returning to his gaze. "Now I know something is wrong. Expressing gratitude? Perhaps we should summon the healers again."

"Perhaps I'm simply in a generous mood." Or perhaps I'm not actually your psychotic sister, but just a nursing student who got stabbed and body-swapped into Fantasy Mean Girls.

"See that you are." He turns to leave, pausing at the threshold. "Oh, and sister? Try not to terrorize the servants so thoroughly. The last one you 'played with' still hasn't regained use of her hands. Even Father found that distasteful."

With that, he vanishes, leaving you alone with horrifying implications. And a newfound appreciation for your old life of student loans and instant ramen.

Whoever you now are—whoever's body you inhabit—is someone who tortures servants for amusement. Someone whose mere presence evokes terror. Someone even her brother approaches with caution.

You sink onto the bed's edge, heart racing. Your legs feel weak with the enormity of your situation. Magic. High Lord. Autumn Court. Pointed ears.

All impossible, yet undeniably real. And in a few hours, you must somehow convince a father you've never met that you are his daughter, a daughter renowned for cruelty and volatility. And you thought your nursing practical exams were stressful.

"This can't be happening," you whisper to the empty chamber.

As if in response, the flames in the fireplace leap higher, responding to your distress. On your bedside table, the wine in the glass ripples without being touched.

You stare at your reflection one final time, adjusting the crimson gown that drapes over your unfamiliar body like liquid fire. The fabric responds to your touch, rippling with actual embers that dance along the hemline without burning.

Magic. Your magic, apparently.

"You can do this," you mutter. "Just channel your inner Regina George with a sprinkle of sociopathy."

A knock at the door makes you jump. The same terrified servant enters, keeping her eyes downcast.

"My lady, Lord Eris asked me to remind you that dinner begins in ten minutes."

"Thank you," you say automatically.

The servant freezes, eyes widening in shock.

Right. Apparently psycho-sister doesn't say 'thank you.'

You clear your throat. "I mean... how dare you interrupt my preparations!" The attempt at menace falls embarrassingly flat, your voice rising into a question at the end.

The servant's expression shifts from terror to confusion. "My apologies, my lady. Shall I... help you with your hair?"

"No. Yes. I mean—" You attempt a haughty sneer. "Make it quick, or I'll... turn your fingers into twigs." Was that threatening enough? Too specific? Not specific enough?

The servant approaches cautiously, as if expecting a trap. When you don't immediately immolate her, she begins arranging your hair with trembling fingers.

"You seem... different, my lady," she ventures, immediately flinching as if expecting punishment.

"Do I? How fascinating that a lowly servant thinks she can analyze me," you reply, wincing internally at your awkward delivery.

"Of course not, my lady. Forgive me."

You catch her eye in the mirror, and genuine remorse floods you. "What's your name?" you ask softly.

She freezes mid-motion. "Briar, my lady. Though you've asked seven times this month."

"And I keep forgetting because you're so..." you search for something suitably cruel, "...insignificant."

Rather than appearing hurt, Briar looks relieved. This is familiar territory.

"That's more like you, my lady," she says, almost smiling.

Great. Even my attempts at cruelty are recognizable as fake.

"Tell me, Briar," you say as she pins a golden leaf-shaped comb into your hair. "What exactly is expected of me at dinner?"

Briar's hands pause. "The usual, my lady. Lord Beron will want a demonstration of your powers. You typically create those little fire animals that dance across the table." Her voice drops. "Though perhaps not the ones that tried to set Lord Eris's sleeve on fire last time."

"And what about the Night Court delegation?"

"They arrive tomorrow, my lady. The High Lord and his Inner Circle retinue from the Night Court." She hesitates. "Your father expects you to behave... diplomatically. After the incident with the wine at the Winter Court."

"Ah, yes. That incident."

"When you made Lord Kallias's wine freeze in his throat because he suggested your fire powers were less impressive than his lady's ice abilities? He nearly died."

Holy crap. Who AM I?

"A measured response," you manage to say.

Briar finishes your hair and steps back. "There. You look beautiful, my lady."

"Thank—" You catch yourself. "Obviously I do. Now get out before I decide to use your eyeballs as earrings."

Briar curtsies hurriedly and backs toward the door.

"Wait," you call, softening despite yourself. "Your hands. Are they... I mean, will they heal?"

Her expression shifts to pure confusion. "My hands, my lady?"

"My brother mentioned something about... never mind."

"Oh! You mean Lily's hands. After you made her hold burning coals." Briar's voice is matter-of-fact, but she subconsciously rubs her own palms. "The healer says she might regain partial use eventually."

The horror must show on your face because Briar adds hastily, "She spoke out of turn, my lady. Everyone agreed the punishment was... appropriate."

"Of course," you murmur, stomach churning.

When Briar leaves, you take several deep breaths. I'm inhabiting the body of a literal psychopath in a family of magical sadists. Cool. Cool cool cool.

The dining hall is breathtaking and terrifying in equal measure. The ceiling soars impossibly high, its fresco depicting scenes of battle and conquest. Flames dance in mid-air instead of candles, casting everything in flickering amber light.

At the head of the table sits a male who can only be your "father," Lord Beron. His power radiates from him like heat from a furnace, ancient and oppressive. His eyes—identical to Eris's—track your entrance with predatory assessment.

Eris sits at his right hand. Three other males who share your familial features occupy seats along the table—more brothers, you assume. Their conversation dies as you enter.

"Ah, the prodigal daughter awakens," Beron says, voice like gravel over silk. "How good of you to join us."

You dip into what you hope is an appropriate curtsy. "Father."

"We were taking bets on whether you'd grace us with your presence," says one brother, his tone suggesting he lost money on your arrival.

"Sorry to disappoint," you reply, taking the empty seat across from Eris.

Beron studies you with narrowed eyes. "I'm told your little... experiment left you somewhat altered."

"Nothing that affects my abilities, Father." You hope.

"We shall see." He gestures to your untouched goblet. "Show us."

Crap. Fire animals. How do I—

You stare at the goblet, willing something—anything—to happen. The magic inside you stirs sluggishly, like a reluctant student being forced to solve an equation at the board.

Come on. Fire. Animals. Dancing. How hard can it be?

To your relief, a tiny spark ignites above the wine. It grows, taking shape—limbs forming, a tail, ears—

"A... bunny?" one brother snorts. "How terrifying."

Indeed, a fire-rabbit now hops across the table, leaving no burns despite its flickering form. It looks less "creature of nightmare" and more "adorable woodland friend."

Beron's expression darkens. "Is this a jest?"

"I thought I'd try something... different," you manage.

"Different," Beron repeats flatly.

The rabbit multiplies, becoming two, then four, then eight tiny fire-bunnies hopping around the table. One nuzzles Eris's hand.

"Stop this foolishness," Beron commands.

You frantically try to extinguish them, but they only multiply faster, now nibbling at ghostly fire-carrots that materialize from nowhere.

Eris chokes on his wine, and you can't tell if it's suppressed rage or laughter.

"Perhaps she hit her head harder than we thought," suggests another brother, watching as a fire-bunny does a little dance by his plate.

"ENOUGH!" Beron roars, slamming his fist on the table.

The bunnies explode into shower of sparks that reform into—

"Butterflies?" Eris's voice cracks.

Dozens of fire-butterflies now flutter around the chandelier, casting warm, gentle light across the room.

The brothers exchange baffled glances.

"Who are you," Beron asks slowly, "and what have you done with my daughter?"

Oh no.

"I don't know what you mean, Father," you stammer. "I'm simply exploring... gentler forms of expression."

"Gentler," he repeats, as if you've suggested something obscene. "My daughter, who set her nursemaid on fire for brushing her hair too roughly, is exploring gentler forms of expression."

"Maybe it's a side effect of her spell," offers one brother. "Temporary insanity."

"I'm not insane," you protest. "I'm just..." A human nursing student trapped in a homicidal fairy's body. "...evolving as an artist."

Eris snorts into his wine, earning a glare from Beron.

"Control your creatures," Beron demands.

You concentrate, and the butterflies reluctantly merge into a single flame that hovers over the table before extinguishing itself.

An uncomfortable silence falls.

"Perhaps we should postpone the delegation," suggests the brother beside you. "If she's going to behave... oddly."

"No," Beron's voice is final. "The alliance is too important." His gaze fixes on you. "But you, daughter, will remain in your chambers tomorrow unless you can demonstrate appropriate behavior."

"What if..." you begin carefully, "...what if I promised not to harm anyone?"

The silence that follows is deafening.

"Not harm anyone?" Beron repeats incredulously. "That's the entire point of the delegation. To show strength. To remind them of the consequences of betrayal."

"Through diplomacy," you suggest weakly.

All five males stare at you as if you've sprouted a second head.

"I think," Eris says slowly, "that my sister is merely disoriented from her spell. She'll be herself by tomorrow." His eyes meet yours with unmistakable warning.

"Indeed," you grasp the lifeline. "Just a temporary... adjustment period."

Beron doesn't look convinced, but he returns to his meal with a dismissive gesture. "See that your 'adjustment' concludes before they arrive. The Night Court already thinks us weak after your mother's... display of mercy last solstice."

The brothers return to their previous conversations, though you catch them casting curious glances your way. Only Eris continues to study you openly, his expression calculating.

Later, as servants clear the plates, Eris corners you in the corridor.

"Whatever is happening with you, sister, fix it," he murmurs. "Father is already suspicious."

"I'm trying," you reply truthfully.

"Fire bunnies? Promises not to harm anyone?" He scoffs. "If I didn't know better, I'd think someone replaced you with a Spring Court weakling."

Your heart skips. "Don't be ridiculous."

"The sister I know would have turned that servant's hair to ash just for looking at her directly." He narrows his eyes. "Tomorrow, when they arrive, you will act like yourself. Feared. No more of whatever... this is." He gestures vaguely at all of you.

"Or what?"

A cold smile spreads across his face. "Or I'll tell Father exactly how your experiment failed. And what it might mean for the power dynamics within our court."

The threat hangs in the air between you.

"Fine," you manage. "I'll be more... myself."

"Good." Eris steps back. "I'll have the servants draw up a training schedule for you in the morning. Your magic is clearly... unstable." His eyes linger on yours, as if trying to peer through to the truth. "Sleep well, sister. Tomorrow will be... illuminating."

After he leaves, you hurry back to your chambers, heart pounding. The situation is worse than you thought. Not only are you trapped in a body that isn't yours, in a world of magic and cruelty, but now you have to pretend to be someone you're not—someone terrible.

The moment your door closes behind you, the tears come. Hot and desperate, they stream down your face as you slide to the floor, your back against the door. The elegant gown pools around you like congealing blood.

"I want to go home," you whisper, your voice breaking. "Please, I just want to go home."

Around you, the flames in the fireplace respond to your distress, flickering wildly before dimming to barely-glowing embers. Even the magic of this place seems to mourn with you.

For the first time since waking in this nightmare, you allow yourself to truly feel the loss. Your life. Your future. Your identity. All gone, replaced by this twisted fairy tale where your "family" measures love in scars and power in screams.

There, on the cold stone floor of a monster's bedroom, you cry until exhaustion claims you.

Tomorrow, you'll have to become the villain of someone else's story. But tonight—just for tonight—you allow yourself to be exactly who you are: lost, afraid, and desperately hoping for a way home.

Author's Note: Thanks for diving into this canon(ish) ACOTAR adventure where a nursing student with a "do no harm" oath is suddenly piloting the body of Autumn Court's resident psychopath—think "Florence Nightingale trapped in Bellatrix Lestrange" but with more awkward attempts at being evil.

There's something deliciously ironic about a healer having to pretend to be a torturer. More chapters coming soon! 🫡😶‍🌫️

[luna-azzurra]

10 Secrets Your Character Is Desperately Hiding (and Probably Will Until They Die or Get Drunk Enough to Confess)

╰ They moonlight as an absolutely awful stand-up comedian.

They don’t just tell bad jokes, they commit to them. We’re talking full costume, dollar-store wigs, a fake name like “Chuckles McSuffer,” and punchlines that make people groan so hard their souls briefly exit their bodies. And....they love it. The stage is the only place they feel weirdly free… which is why no one in their real life can ever know. Ever.

╰ They can dance like their life depends on it, but they never do it in public.

We’re talking footwork that would make a music video jealous. Rhythm in their bones. But they’ve decided the world isn’t ready. Or maybe they’re not. So they only dance alone in the kitchen at 2 a.m. Or in the middle of a supermarket aisle when they think no one’s looking. And when they do get caught? “Nope. That wasn’t me. That was… a spasm. Mind your business.”

╰ They’re secretly freakishly good at imitating animals.

Birds. Dogs. Goats. Snakes. They’ve got the sounds, the gestures, the whole weird little zoo living inside them. It’s the kind of skill you don’t admit to having because it’s impossible to explain how it started or why you’re so good at it. They only let it out when alone… or, let’s be real, when they’re trying to impress someone and immediately regret it.

╰ They are the office prankster. And no one suspects a thing.

Every missing stapler, glitter bomb, whoopee cushion, and mysteriously replaced family photo? That’s them. The mild-mannered barista/accountant/space pilot you’d never suspect. They’ve got an entire prank calendar hidden in their sock drawer and a spreadsheet of targets and outcomes. But they also have boundaries. No emotional damage. Just chaos.

╰ They have a full-on karaoke alter ego.

Different name. Different voice. Whole new personality. They sneak off to karaoke bars in the next town over wearing sunglasses indoors and croon power ballads like their soul is trapped in a 2005 romcom montage. Their go-to number is “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” Their real friends have no idea. And if they ever found out? This character would simply evaporate.

╰ They collect the weirdest sh*t you’ve ever seen.

Not stamps. Not coins. Try: novelty rubber ducks. Ugly fridge magnets. Cursed porcelain dolls. Empty chip bags from every country they’ve visited. Their closet is one shelf away from being a museum of “What Even Is This.” No one knows. No one must know. It brings them joy. It’s their version of peace. And yeah, it’s a little creepy. But it’s theirs.

╰ They cannot cook to save their life. Like, not even toast.

They once set a salad on fire. The microwave fears them. Every “simple recipe” turns into a crime scene. But instead of admitting it, they just… lie. Constantly. “Oh yeah, I made that!” (They did not. Their neighbor did. And their neighbor swore never to speak of it again.) They’ve mastered the art of deflection, distraction, and showing up with “store-bought but plated nicely.”

╰ They live their life by a bunch of completely nonsensical superstitions.

Never wear green on Wednesdays. If a pigeon looks at you sideways, cancel your plans. Salt must be thrown over the right shoulder or the demons will know. They’ve got a ritual for everything, from writing emails to picking socks. But no one knows they believe this stuff, because they make it look casual. Strategic coincidence. That’s the game.

╰ They throw underground dance parties in their basement. Alone. In costume.

Disco ball? Check. Fog machine? Obviously. Elaborate themed playlists? You bet. Their Tuesday nights are sacred: just them, their playlist called “Sad but Funky,” and a new costume every week. No one suspects. Not the roommates. Not the neighbors. If anyone ever found out, they’d lie and say it was for a friend’s child’s birthday. Every week. Sure.

╰ Their hobbies are… specific. And objectively hilarious.

Like, not “I read books and do yoga” hobbies. More like: competitive pillow fighting. Binge-watching bug documentaries and taking notes. Collecting socks with political slogans. Writing erotica starring finger puppets (don’t ask). They act normal, mostly. But their browser history is a carnival. And their heart? Pure chaos.

[pinkberrytea]

Astarion is nervous, possibly even afraid that he is about to lose something—that you are about to lose something, something precious and dear to him.

I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes.

Enjoyment beyond the death drive—beyond the self-imposed regulation of pleasure. He wants her, so desperately, so ardently; yet she escapes through his fingers like fine sand, falling on the ground and dissolving in the dirt above his grave.

Astarion x Tav (F!Reader)

w/c: 3k words . ao3 . spotify playlist . 18+ only . nsfw . dividers

a/n: this is the sequel to la petite mort! while it was initially intended as a standalone oneshot, i wanted to expand on the themes introduced in the original. hopefully it lives up to its predecessor! thank you to the wonderful @xxnashiraxx for giving this one a read, i love you dearly friendo!

tags: blood drinking; hurt & comfort; possessive behavior; masturbation; hand jobs; body worship; dry humping

“Astarion…?”

His name slips from your lips before you even open your eyes, your consciousness slowly returning as you are suddenly woken from restless sleep. You feel his naked chest pressed flat against your back, his cold skin robbing you of the warmth of yours; his strong arms encircling your waist, hands roaming your sides; and his fangs, sank deep into the crook of your neck as his wet tongue laps up your crimson, which leaks from the corners of his mouth, dripping down his jaw and onto your shoulders. There is no pain—rather, the sensation is almost pleasurable, familiar, which comes as no surprise considering it’s been months now ever since his nightly feeding sessions became a daily occurrence. You don’t even bother setting up your tent anymore; upon leaving the Shadowlands, he’d begin routinely insisting that you sleep in his, heedless of your mutual agreement to abstain from more carnal proclivities for the time being. “Oh, darling, wouldn’t you say it’s much easier for me to dine with you this way? As hard as it will be for me to keep my hands to myself, I did give you my word,” he’d say, and true enough, you had yet to go beyond very heated kissing and groping—regardless, here he is now, avidly drinking from you while grinding the throbbing bulge inside his pants against your rear.

“Shh. It’s alright, love. Go back to sleep.” Astarion unlatches from your bruising vein to whisper the words in your ear, and you are almost tempted to do just that, but it’s far too late; ignoring him or the erection poking at your backside is no longer an option, and he probably realizes that too, having stopped gliding his hands up and down your torso to gently rest them on your arms instead. You are wearing his shirt, a habit you’ve taken to in recent days—at first you’d lie and say it was because you didn’t want your own to become soiled with blood, though in truth you simply enjoy the intimacy of sharing clothes and the comfort of being enveloped in his scent. Despite seeing right through your excuses, Astarion didn’t seem to mind at all; quite the opposite, he appeared to enjoy the fact that you’d start sleeping clad in nothing but his shirt and your underpants, since oversized as it is, the length would be enough to cover your crotch and thighs. He likely didn’t factor in your agreement, of course—while convenient in most other circumstances, the ease of access wouldn’t exactly be conducive to chastity, so to speak.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you groan and twist your body to face him. He moves one of his hands to your scalp, lovingly running his slender fingers through your tousled hair and planting a bloodstained kiss on your temple. When he finally pulls away to meet your stare, a shiver unexpectedly runs down your spine; his pupils are blown out, almost completely eclipsing his sanguine irises, yet you can undeniably see something primal and hungry lurking in their depths. The candle you had lit before turning in for the night burns bright still, and the light of its dancing flame bounces off his sharp teeth, which had been puncturing your own flesh but moments ago. How easy it is to forget what the heart wants to deny—whenever the true nature of his vampirism rears its ugly head, you find yourself questioning your blind trust in him. Yet like a passing breeze, just as soon as that sliver of doubt weasels its way into your mind, it’s then gone; foolish though it may be, you don’t fear the darkness in him, not now, not when he first put a knife to your throat. 

“You’re not a victim. Not a target. Not just one night it’s better to forget.”

Tentatively, you reach out to lightly stroke his cheek, the pads of your fingers ghosting over his ivory skin. His eyelids flutter close as if by instinct, and he quietly leans into your touch, looking almost vulnerable for a moment. Ever so delicately, you trace the lines on his face, his high cheekbones, his cupid’s bow, his plush lips, which are parted still. It amazes you how his features can be at once so edged yet so soft, much like the man himself, in a way. No, you don’t fear him, even if he has given you no reason not to other than a heartfelt confession.

“I—I could help you, you know,” you hear yourself mumble, almost bashfully, a faint glow spreading across the bridge of your nose and warming the tips of your ears. “With that, I mean.” Astarion furrows his brow and his eyes flit back open in confusion, only to slightly widen as you coyly motion with your head towards his obviously tented pants. He looks down at his groin and then up at you, unsure of what to think, much less of what to say. It’s not often that he is left wanting for words, but then again, you were ever one to drag him out of his comfort zone. 

“You are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you little rascal.” Despite the initial shock, he quickly regains composure, almost too quickly. His expression abruptly changes, gaze laced with seduction and lips quirked upwards into a practiced smirk. “Who would’ve thought you’d be the first one of us to acquiesce? I’ll admit your innocent facade had me fooled, but you’re quite the needy thing underneath those big round eyes and blushing cheeks, aren’t you, darling?” he teases, voice lowering an octave, its cadence measured to an almost unnerving degree. Your mouth becomes dry and your stomach coils into a tight knot as you immediately recognize his sudden shift in attitude, a side of him you’ve come to know all too well and that disturbs you still—yet even more worryingly, his otherwise perfectly poised countenance seems to enshroud an emotion that had never been there before: anxiety. Astarion is nervous, possibly even afraid that he is about to lose something—that you are about to lose something, something precious and dear to him. 

“I don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to.”

“No! That’s… I didn’t mean it like that,” you blurt out, heart fluttering in your chest, so loudly you are sure he can hear it. While you have never gone over the terms of your agreement or discussed them in-depth, you had always assumed that physical intimacy wouldn’t necessarily be off the table, especially the kind of intimacy that would require nothing of him. Although perhaps therein lies the problem—someone who perceives everything as transactional would naturally fail to accept that another would be willing to give without taking. Remorse washes over you as you realize your mistake, which you promptly try to mend, much as the guilt bars you from looking him in the eyes. “What I meant is… I can take care of it. For you.”

Astarion’s eyebrows slowly slide up his forehead and he studies you intently for what seems like an eternity, clearly taken aback. Before long, he finally breaks the silence, humming quizzically and untangling his fingers from your hair. “Hm? Is that right?” he hesitates, only to yet again flash you a sly smile, a much softer one this time, ruby irises twinkling with something akin to melancholy. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?” Despite provocatively purring each word, the tone with which he speaks is remarkably gentle, almost uncertain. Bringing a hand to your chin, he cups it delicately and tilts your head upwards, prompting you to meet his stare, its flirtatious edge now replaced with wistful warmth.  

“You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

You inhale sharply, your brief show of boldness having obviously run its course, and the pink flush coloring your ears deepens into a bright red. His smile widens once he notices your nervousness, and he brings his face even closer to yours, so close you can feel his lashes tickling the delicate skin under your eyes. His cool breath caresses your lips, the metallic scent of blood—your blood—wafting up your nose. Still cupping your chin, he at last closes the distance between you, covering your mouth with his and hooking a leg over your waist to pull your bodies flush together. With the swell between his thighs now nudging your belly, he starts leisurely rolling his hips, resuming what he had been doing before rousing you from your slumber.

“Hnng…” As you bury your fingers in his silvery curls, melting into the kiss and relishing the taste of him, Astarion lets out a muffled moan, low and throaty. Wetness starts pooling between your folds, though instead of indulging in the sensation, you try to ignore it to the best of your ability—tonight is not about you, and you want him to know this. Regardless, he can obviously smell your arousal, but far from causing any upset, it only serves to entice him further; sliding his free hand down your back, he firmly grabs one of your buttocks with a bruising grip upon reaching your ass, kneading it roughly. All this time, he’d been graciously accepting your generosity, and then some—he’s not about to stop now, not when for once he knows he hasn’t manipulated you into extending your kindness to him.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had to decide what I wanted.”

“Mngh—Astarion…” you mewl into his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside yours, fangs nipping at your bottom lip without breaking skin. You press one of your palms to his chest, feeling the firmness of his pectorals under the soft pads of your digits before gingerly sliding them downwards, raising a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Drawing small circular patterns, you slowly glide your blunt nails across the valleys of his ribs, his navel, and finally his lower abdomen, teasingly grazing the waistband of his pants.

“My, such a good little helper you are,” Astarion breaks the kiss to murmur against your reddened lips, and moving his hand on your chin down to grasp your own, he encourages you to venture under the waistband. Your fingers now intertwined with his, you let him guide you to the hardness pushing against his smallclothes, which are damp with precome, much like yours are damp with slick. You can feel the outline of his length through the thin fabric, and he unceremoniously has you both fist it, wiggling his hips so that his pants drop below the plump of his behind. 

“Such a good, selfless little helper…” he croons, sliding both of your hands up and down his still covered cock. With every pump, his groans grow huskier, small beads of sweat pooling in the creases of his forehead. His eyes are now closed, his mouth slightly parted, and his hold on your hand is strong, if not binding. Your dripping sex wantonly clenches around nothing at the sight of him, so hopelessly focused on his own pleasure; gods, how desperately you wish to be stretched open around his enlarged girth, stuffed full of him until you are both flailing for purchase, panting and screaming each other’s name. He may not be ready for that yet, but as your imagination wanders, you tell yourself that there’s no harm in picturing him taking you from behind, balls swinging and hitting your ass as he thrusts deep into your slit with reckless abandon; your lips wrapped around his flushed cockhead, one of his hands mercilessly tugging at your hair as he sings you praises; you bouncing on his lap, buttocks slapping against his legs with each bob of your body.  

“Astarion…” you moan, rubbing your thighs together to get some relief from that small amount of friction. His cock jerks under your combined hands, so hard now that his smallclothes are pulled back enough to reveal the swollen tip. How sweet is the sound of his name on your tongue, how sweet is the scent of your desire when he is the one you yearn for. Just as you fantasize about him, Astarion too keeps replaying all sorts of scenarios in his head—he hates that he can’t have you yet, that he can’t pin you to a wall or throw you on a table and fuck you until you beg him for mercy; he hates that he can’t watch your cute little tits jiggle as your tight cunt swallows him whole, that he can’t coax pretty noises out of your rosy lips and make your eyes water as you come for him. He hates that his lust for you is tainted, that his lust for you is what inspired him to choose you as his target in the first place. Most of all, he hates himself for having disregarded you as a beautiful fool; for having underestimated his own susceptibility to falling in love, for having even fallen in love at all. 

“You’re a vision. And you’re so much more than that.”

“Gods, I want to be inside you…” Astarion grunts, letting go of you to pull down his smallclothes, finally freeing his weeping erection. It glistens in the candlelight, red and hungry, and you waste no time wrapping your fingers around its base. A muted whimper falls from his lips once your warm skin collides with his, and he rolls his hips into your hand, to which you respond by lightly squeezing him, drawing pearly, sticky liquid from the twitching crown. “Gentle, darling…” he whispers, though his half-lidded eyes, hazy with want, show no sign of aggravation—despite the commanding tone of his voice, it’s safe to assume that the instruction is not so much a complaint as a suggestion. Regardless, you obey, stroking him softly and setting a sensual pace to your movements.

“That’s it. That’s it, love. Good girl…” With his newly freed hand, Astarion tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, tenderly brushing his long fingers against your cheek before inconspicuously running them down the elegant column of your neck. His gaze is immediately drawn to the fresh set of bite marks maculating your otherwise perfectly smooth skin, and he absentmindedly licks his lips upon noticing the ruby droplets blooming from the small wounds. His cock throbs against your palm as he lowers his head to plant a loving kiss on the spot earlier claimed by his fangs—which he then sinks again into the still seeping artery. This time, you feel a sharp sting, but as soon as he starts sucking, the pain fades away; he wraps an arm around your upper body to hold you in place as he drinks, cradling you against his chest, and his other hand quickly finds one of your breasts under your—his—shirt. Trapping its puckered peak between two deft digits, he pinches it playfully, and you are unable to stifle the whine that subsequently forms in the back of your throat.

“Asta—aah…” You try to remain focused on the task you’ve been entrusted with, tightening your grip on him to remind yourself that he is the priority, not you. This in turn causes him to moan against your neck and shove his hips forward; taking his reaction as a cue, you speed up the tempo of your strokes, which are now almost synchronized with the vigorous bobbing of his Adam’s apple. His hand on your breast gropes it passionately, all five of his fingers now splayed across its soft swell and digging deep into the squishy flesh. He wonders if it’s a deliberate act of provocation, or if you really are so naïve that you wouldn’t notice his ravenous stare whenever your nipples pebble and become visible through the white sheerness of his shirt. Knowing you, it’s probably the latter; he’s yet to meet anyone as oblivious as you are, and while he has learned to accept that this side of you is not necessarily a weakness, it also awakens in him a protective instinct—a possessive instinct. You may be prey, but you are his prey; his to feed on, his to fuck, his, and nobody else’s.

“Honestly, I have no idea what we’re doing. Or what comes next.”

Astarion bends the leg hooked around your waist to pull you even closer to him, and from the way his groans increase both in frequency and in volume, you can tell he is about to fall over the precipice of ecstasy. The glossy sheen of sweat covering his pale skin makes him look like a marble sculpture, an otherworldly creature, yet the ferocity with which he feasts on your crimson reveals him not touched by the divine, but consumed by sin. It’s almost ironic then, that sinful as his longing for you may be, it feels so pure, so sacred. Tension coils low in his stomach, and for once there is no guilt, no disgust, no contempt; only rapture, as if he were an apostate and your love a haven, a promise of sanctuary.

“But I know that this?”

You pump him one last time, and with a guttural growl, Astarion comes in your hand, spurting out ribbons of his seed all over his own abdomen and thighs. Unlatching from your neck, he doesn’t bother pulling away, bloodied lips still pressed against your heated flesh, and his hand that had been under your shirt joins the other as both of his arms fold around your midriff. You let go of his softening length to run your fingers through his curls, closing your eyes and trying to catch your breath, tiredness suddenly weighing down all of your limbs and anchoring them to your bedroll. Lulled by the gentle pounding of your heart, he too empties his mind and lets himself be engulfed by the warmth of your body, so soft, so inviting, so very alive. Your taste still lingers on his tongue, your lifeblood now mixed with his within his veins—as his happiness trickles down in rivulets of scarlet, yours soars into the starry night sky. 

“This is nice.”

[hedwig221b]

Do you have anymore accidental knotting fics like The Moon Gave Me Permission? Like, stiles doesn't even know werewolves exist until oops, I knotted?

I admit, this is a bit too specific, but maybe you'll like these fics

only one thing left by Marishna

"Anyway, you’ve been requested.” Stiles blinked. “Requested? What does that mean? For what?” “A dance,” Erica told him. “Is it baby’s first time?”

Theia Mania by aprettysmalldose

'that one classy-ass fic where stiles gives it up to derek in a grocery store'

Eclipsim by xxjinchuurikixx

A howl far in the distance splits the air, and Stiles’ eyes fly open as he shoots back up into a sitting position. The howl is followed by another, and another, and Stiles is left to wonder how many of the howls are wolves and how many are mythic beasts that he knows by name. The forest is in an uproar in a manner of minutes, and Stiles looks up at the bloody red moon gleaming, almost completely taken over by the fire of the eclipse. Red moons are apparently not a good time for alphas. Derek shows Stiles what a feral, aroused werewolf looks like up close.

That Frothing Knob

Stiles was wiping down the spout of a machine with a cloth, and Derek almost popped a stiffy right there in the café. It was completely embarrassing that after so many years of control over both his human and wolf side Derek would find himself so… enamoured by this random. Regardless, the wolf wants what the wolf wants, and Derek found himself trying his darnedest to get some sort of a rise out of Stiles, “You sure know how to handle that frothing knob.” Needless to say, Derek got to see that beautiful blush colouring the barista’s face once again. -- AKA Derek is a rich CEO and Stiles is a poor barista. They laugh, they love, and they live.

Watching Your Back(side) by echo_inside

Derek shows up everywhere Stiles goes when he's working on something for the pack. He's positive it's because Derek doesn't trust a human to get the job done. Derek is just watching Stiles back to make sure he's not putting himself into too much danger. Getting to watch Stiles is just a perk. Stiles finally confronts Derek about it and feelings get mentioned and there's a slight case of accidental knotting.

Things Accidental and (K)not by LadyDrace

Derek could have maybe warned him or something, but, all in all, Stiles is pretty damn happy.

the real meaning of derek's evolution by allhalethekings

"Derek, why can’t I move?” They both look between them to where Derek’s dick is still snug inside Stiles’s ass, with no intentions of wanting to slide out. Stiles tries to wriggle but stops at the pain that shoots up his spine. Derek’s still blinking at him, trying to figure out what’s happening to his dick and finally, finally, it clicks in Stiles’s head. He may or may not have spent hours reading werewolf erotica – which, who even knew that was an actual thing that happened – after he and Derek became a thing and he knew what this was. Stiles sighs, closing his eyes. “Derek, I’m really happy you managed to evolve but seriously, did your dick have to evolve too?” “Um.”

(K)not A Joke by milkysterek

If there’s one thing you don’t want to hear during sex, it’s ‘Oh no’.

[masterlist link]

[dumb-ster-fire]

Azriel x fem!Reader - Between Shadow and Sunlight - Part 1

Azriel x fem!reader , Helion x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N has always danced around the tension with Azriel—but how much longer can he deny it? When Helion pulls her into his arms at a Day Court ball, Azriel tells himself it doesn’t matter. But as he watches her laugh, watches Helion’s hands linger, jealousy coils tight. Shadows stir, and for the first time, Y/N wonders if Azriel will finally stop running from what’s always been there between them.

Part 2

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Helion watches Y/N with open fascination, a slow smirk curving his lips as they move together across the dance floor. He had expected her to be intriguing—after all, anyone who kept company with the Night Court’s infamous inner circle had to be remarkable in some way—but this… This was beyond what he had imagined.

She moves like she was born for this, like she’s always known the rhythm of power and seduction, her steps fluid, deliberate, exuding an effortless confidence that most could only dream of. There is fire beneath her cool exterior, a carefully restrained power, and Helion—lover of knowledge, of untold secrets—wants to unravel her, to see what lies beneath that wicked smirk and knowing gaze.

His thumb brushes the back of her hand as he twirls her, and he notices the way her eyes glint—sharp, amused, like she knows exactly what game he’s playing and has already decided whether or not to indulge him. Smart girl.

“The Inner Circle has been keeping secrets, I see,” he murmurs, his deep voice rich with amusement. “No one told me the Night Court had such a hidden gem.”

Y/N tilts her head, an almost lazy smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe they didn’t think you were worthy of knowing.”

Helion chuckles, utterly delighted. Oh, she is sharp. His eyes gleam with intrigue. “Then I should count myself lucky to be standing here now. And luckier still that you haven’t yet decided to put me in my place.”

Y/N hums as they turn across the floor, her silvery gown catching the light like liquid moonlight. “Oh, I’m still deciding.”

Helion throws his head back and laughs, the sound deep and unabashed. She is a storm wrapped in silk, a force as deadly as it is mesmerizing, and Helion—who has danced with queens and whispered to goddesses—feels something rare stir in his chest. Not possession, not conquest, but pure, unfiltered appreciation.

He had met many powerful women, had adored and worshiped them as they deserved, but there was something different about this one. Not just power—no, power was easy to find. It was the way she carried it. The way she wielded it with no need to prove herself, no need to demand attention, because she simply was.

Helion’s golden eyes flicker toward the Night Court’s table, where shadows curl and shift around a familiar figure watching them intently.

Ah.

A knowing smile ghosts across Helion’s lips. So, the shadowsinger watches. He had wondered what kind of claim, if any, Azriel had on this female. The unreadable spymaster, who gave away nothing, is not unreadable now.

Fascinating.

Helion leans in slightly, his breath warm against YN’s ear as he murmurs, “Tell me, starlight—do the shadows know how close you dance with the sun?”

Y/N laughs softly, not missing the way he angles his body, deliberate in his teasing. But she is no blushing courtier, no wilting flower wilting under golden heat. She meets his gaze with that same knowing smirk. “The shadows are always watching,” she muses, voice silken. “But the sun should be careful… Linger too close, and it might find itself eclipsed.”

Helion grins, utterly enthralled. Oh, this one is dangerous. And gods, if he doesn’t love it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the dance nears its end, Helion twirls Y/N one last time before pulling her back to him with a practiced ease, their movements seamless, almost as if they had done this a hundred times before. The music slows, and for a brief moment, the world seems to quiet around them, leaving only the golden warmth of the Day Court High Lord and the cool, sharp brilliance of the High Fae before him.

Helion studies her with open admiration, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of her hand before he finally releases her. “A rare delight, indeed,” he murmurs, offering her a dazzling smile. “Perhaps, next time, you’ll allow me more than just one dance.”

Y/N arches a brow, tilting her head as if considering his words. Then, with an infuriatingly slow smirk, she leans in just enough that he catches the intoxicating scent of dark cherries and lilac. “Perhaps,” she echoes, voice like velvet and shadow. “If you can keep up.”

Helion laughs, the sound deep and rich, utterly delighted. “Oh, starlight, I do love a challenge.”

With a final glance—one that is equal parts intrigue and mischief—Y/N steps back, turning on her heel with effortless grace, leaving Helion watching after her with something almost akin to reverence.

He is still smirking as he makes his way back to his table, golden eyes flickering toward the Night Court’s usual corner of the ballroom. Cassian and Mor are murmuring amongst themselves, Feyre and Rhys are watching Y/N with quiet amusement, and Azriel—ah, Azriel—is still seated, his fingers lightly gripping the stem of his untouched wine glass.

Helion catches the spymaster’s stare, unreadable and dark, shadows curling protectively at his shoulders. A lesser male might have been intimidated by such an expression. But Helion is anything but lesser.

So he smirks. Raises his glass ever so slightly in a silent toast.

And Azriel… does nothing. He doesn’t react, doesn’t shift, doesn’t move a single muscle. But the shadows? They do. They curl tighter, darker, whispering things Helion cannot hear.

Oh, Helion muses as he takes a slow sip of wine. This is going to be very interesting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moment Y/N steps away from Helion, the Inner Circle erupts into hushed murmurs.

Cassian is the first to break the silence, his arms crossed over his chest as he grins. “Well, well, well. Y/N really knows how to make an entrance and an impression.”

Mor snorts, taking a sip of her wine. “Did you see his face? I don’t think Helion has been that enchanted in centuries.”

Feyre hums in agreement, her lips twitching. “It’s not often someone manages to leave him wanting more.”

Rhysand, ever the picture of cool amusement, merely watches Y/N from across the ballroom, swirling his wine lazily in his glass. “Helion’s intrigued,” he muses, his violet eyes gleaming with something knowing. “Not that I blame him. Our Y/N is… something else.”

Nesta, seated beside Cassian, raises an elegant brow. “You say that like it’s a surprise.”

Amren chuckles, sharp and knowing. “It isn’t. But it is entertaining.”

Elain, ever observant, glances at Azriel, who has been uncharacteristically quiet. His posture remains relaxed, but she doesn’t miss the way his grip tightens ever so slightly around the stem of his glass, his shadows coiling restlessly at his shoulders.

Mor notices too, her golden-brown eyes flicking to him. “Az, you alright there?”

Azriel doesn’t look away from Y/N. Doesn’t even blink. “Fine.”

Cassian smirks, nudging his friend’s arm. “You sure? You look like you want to shadow-walk over there and drag her away.”

Azriel finally tears his gaze away from Y/N and pins Cassian with a flat look. “If I wanted to do that, I would have already.”

Nesta rolls her eyes. “So dramatic.”

Mor, never one to let an opportunity for mischief slip by, leans in toward Azriel with a wicked grin. “You could just ask her for the next dance, you know.”

Azriel doesn’t respond, merely tilts his glass to his lips.

Rhys chuckles, clearly enjoying the entire situation far too much. “Ah, but then where’s the fun in that? I think our dear spymaster enjoys the slow burn.”

Y/N, unaware of the attention still on her, finally makes her way toward them, a victorious little smirk still playing on her lips. “Did you all have fun watching?”

Cassian lets out a bark of laughter. “You were practically putting on a show.”

Y/N shrugs, completely unbothered. “Helion’s entertaining.” Then, casually, “And a good dancer.”

Azriel, who had just taken another sip of wine, sets his glass down with a little more force than necessary.

Mor barely holds back a laugh. “Oh, this is fun.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N settles into an empty chair, crossing one leg over the other as she picks up a glass of wine from the table. She takes a slow sip, her smirk deepening as she feels the weight of everyone’s eyes on her—especially one pair in particular.

Cassian, ever the instigator, leans forward on his elbows. “So, how was it?”

Y/N swirls the wine in her glass, pretending to consider. “Mmm… smooth. Confident.” She grins. “He knows how to lead.”

Azriel doesn’t react outwardly, but Mor—who has been watching him like a hawk—catches the slightest twitch in his jaw.

Rhys lifts a brow, his amusement only growing. “And yet, here you are, sitting with us instead of twirling around the ballroom with Helion.”

Y/N shrugs one shoulder, her gaze flicking briefly—deliberately—to Azriel. “I prefer a more… challenging dance partner.”

Azriel, to his credit, meets her stare with an unreadable expression. His shadows, however, betray him—coiling subtly at his back, shifting like restless smoke.

Mor presses a hand to her mouth to hide her grin.

Nesta smirks into her drink. “I’d say you have your pick of dance partners, Y/N.”

Cassian nudges Azriel—not hard, just enough to be obnoxious. “Yeah, maybe someone here should take the hint.”

Azriel finally speaks, his voice smooth, unwavering. “Are you asking, Y/N?”

A challenge.

Y/N tilts her head, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Are you offering?”

The tension between them tightens like a drawn bowstring. A flicker of something dark and unreadable flashes through Azriel’s hazel eyes.

Rhys chuckles, shaking his head. “Careful, shadowsinger. She plays dangerous games.”

Azriel doesn’t look away from Y/N. “So do I.”

A slow, wicked smile spreads across Y/N’s lips. “Good.”

Cassian whistles low, leaning back in his chair. “Well, this just got interesting.”

Mor just grins. “Oh, it’s been interesting for a while.”

[sapphiccup]

Burning Blue...

Pairing: Abby x reader

Cw: Slow burn <3 series…. //light panic attacks descriptions, heavy panic attacks, awkward conversations, slightly suggestive, heavy suggestive,malnourished abby for the first few chapter, trust issues, anxiety, s3lf harming(abby putting herself in risky situations tbh), survivors guilt, fluff, angst, cheating, blood, gore, zombies, enemies, kidnapping, badass Abby, buff Abby, over protective Abby, relationship goals in a zombie series fic, motorcycles, did I say fluff?, heavy make out sessions, living together trope, yep, gay stuff.WARNING there will be nsfw in later chapters which includes: voyeurism, auralist, bdsm, almost getting caught while doing the deed, getting caught while doing the deed, outside fucking, penetration, oral, consent is so sexy omg, fingering both receiving, cunt slapping, strap, anal, sexual banter while fucking, somehow found sex toys 🤷🏽‍♀️, vodka on tits 👀 WHO SAID THAT?! shooting while fucking, having to be silenced during high risk mission fuck, face riding, consensual sleep fucking, consensual morning head, and strap warming.MDNI

Summary: There was a woman who suddenly showed up at your boring quiet village. Everything was so normal until she came around. Your world turning upside down and side to side, on a particular rocky ride. Abby the last survivor of wherever she came from, or you being the last survivor of Abby…?

Dc!:@/mmadeinheavenn

Song: Burning blue by Mariah the Scientist🧪💎

Masterlist…ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

Prologue: …

⭒

Abby is in quite the pickle, she is trying to get back in the real world again after dealing with so many cross roads with life. Scared to make the the wrong move again, however a certain someone pushes her to get back out there with life again. And once she does take that step.. well. Let’s find that out together, shall we?

Chapter 1: Nursing you back to life..

⭒

This rose has thorns yet she still grew from the cracks of the earth, only you take the step to water her roots, and pluck her weeds. Pricked again and again, and.. again. Until she finally lets you in on one condition: keep an eye on him.

Chapter 2: Oh yeah? She’s the problem!

⭒

Abby’s is too independent for her own good, she just won’t let reader take care of her. It’s as if that vulnerability with that single panic attack has her trying to prove something. She wants it to be known she’s not weak. However reader can only see a child throwing a tantrum, a tantrum for pride. Will you help her or watch her struggle again?

Chapter 3: Beyond the boundary

⭒

To make up for such silly antics, Abby figures.. why not a dance? Maybe even a drink or two, and when drinks are making the sober mind fight for its life, all she can do is give in to her thoughts, she spills everything to you, and I mean everything. But will it last?

Chapter 4: Behind Enemy lines

⭒

Miranda- the chief of the village decides: it’s time for you and Abby to put petty squabbles aside and work with each other for once. A tower needs to be searched not only for infected but to make sure unwanted ones are not trespassing.

Chapter 5: Glaciers

⭒

Abby misunderstands your relationship with her and assumes you were never serious about her, she puts up a wall, refusing to speak to you, but when she does its curt and rushed.

Chapter 6: Shooting for my own hand

⭒

If Abby’s so high strung on the idea that you do what you want to do.. then so be it. Treacherous waters of the unknown, could drown you, but at this point you could give two shits about what drowns you. And so does Abby… If this is how it’s meant to be, then fuck it. Hello twins..

Chapter 7: Mend the bond

⭒

Maybe this little dove reached to high for the sun? And maybe your raven will Eclipse your wishes. A traitor is afoot in the village, and you find out the worst way possible of whom it is. Does Abby love you enough to save you? Or will she throw you away again?

Epilogue: Conflagration

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[nanamimizz-archived]

tags: 18+ minors dni / fem reader reader/set little aways after act 2/ thigh riding / budding relationship with established feelings / the wizard doesn’t cum in this its not about him rn

synopsis: you have a matter you only trust gale to attend to.

Gale thought he was used to being special.

Or rather, feeling like he was. A wizard prodigy, the apple of his mother’s eye - a Chosen of Mystra. Yes, Gale was quite used to being special.

Oh, by all the good gods was Gale wrong. Something he usually doesn’t admit so readily. You - the shimmering sun of his bloody, dirty and miserable patch of existence chose him out of the myriad of faces they have come across, you sought him out. There is a connection between the two of you, everyone who sets eyes on you always sees how your’s are on him. And Gale has always been the pinning fool; always has been and always will be with how many time his hand brushes against yours as your party travels the horrors of whatever awaits them.

Usually he’s the one making some sort of move on you, using his penchant for verbosity to regale you with all sorts of magical mishaps and you always sit there listening to sweetly. You smile at him, showing your teeth and crinkling eyes and Gale knows he belongs to you entirely. It’s only until now does Gale realize just how deeply you belong to him in return.

You sought him out, clearing your throat at the flaps of his blue tent asking if you can come in. He sets away his tome, and looks at you with something smitten dancing in his gaze. He can hear faintly the chatter of your shared companions as dishes are washed and stored, the rumbling of Lae’zel sharpening her blade and Wyll recounting a tale of hunting down some beast or another to Astarion, Shadowheart and Karlach.

A moment of privacy, no one will wonder where it is that you are - he realizes.

“Anything I can do for you - consider it most enthusiastically done.” Gale says, voice kind and soft with no bells or whistles like you first met. It makes you laugh fondly, and your eyes flicker from the ground to meet his with a smile so warm it feels like waking up to the sun cresting over the sky on his face after a long night. A little devious dance of mischief appears on your face and your voice deepens, dipped in humor.

“Oh really? Anything at all?” You ask, drawing close enough to him to wrap both your hands around his bicep. You tilt your head, hair following the motion and making it spill over your shoulders in the most beautiful way it makes his chest ache. Gale’s adoration must painted on his face in a way even you can pick it up with the way you grow shy and avert your gaze. His thumb places itself on your chin snd his nudges you to look up at him and his digit rubs at the soft skin lovingly. His eyes are dark between the two of you, the warm brown lost to the eclipse of his pupils as he looks down at you.

“Oh yes, anything at all.” Your eyes are wide and he can feel the warmth his words brings to your face. He smiles and you look up at him with bitten lips and your fingers gripping his sleeve.

“Anything?” You ask again, leaning into him and he can catch a whiff of the vanilla perfume you have been rationing this entire trip. He usually would think of as impressive but right now he finds the scent so heavy he can taste it when all Gale wants to taste is you. He dips his head down to meet yours with how it’s been tipping up and he only speaks when you feel his bottom lip brush against yours.

“Anything.” Your eyes go lidded, usual sparkling and bright there is a timid dim to them. Like there’s something you want and are still thinking on how to ask. Your lip is felt against his and Gale breaks into shivers when you speak.

“Even a kiss?”

Gale doesn’t have a response, instead leans into your space - the scent of vanilla and the warmth of the sun radiances imbrued into your skin. He has been kissed by the mouth of divinity so many times before but nothing compares to this.

Not even rose-water.

You are so gentle with him, moving your lips with deep presses and just barely letting your tongue touch his lips. Until he takes your chin in one hand, tilts you head up to kiss more directly - to feel your tongue slip into his mouth and for them glide past each other. You shiver, he feels it and he groans at how you tremble from just a kiss alone. Your hands are mighty with how they gripe at his robes, rising on the tips of your toes to kiss him more and more.

More passionately, deeper with your head turned to the side and he delights in how weak you turn when he sucks on your tongue. You part not because you want to but because you must - the air is sweet to your lungs but you find that you don’t care for it. Not when what it is that you want is here, right in front of you with lips flushed pink.

“Is that all you needed help with?” He chuckles, letting his thumb rub against the skin of your shoulder that is exposed from your night clothes. You shake your head, and come closer to him to rest your forehead on his chest.

Right where the orb sits. Right where his heart beats.

You can feel its weight, a faint thrum of magic in tandem with his heartbeat that pulses against your skin.

“I’ve been having a problem of a - intimate persuasion. And I,” you pause to lift your gaze up to him with your face still pressed to his chest. “I only trust you to help me with it. If you want to.” With eyes flickering away in a bout of timidness you fail to note how pink Gale gets at the confession - teeth digging into the skin of his lip as he whispers to you his enthusiast consent. It’s a blur, how he sits on you on his lap with his thigh pressing against your cunt.

You’ve bunched up the skirts of your nightgown, and Gale stiffens at the sight of the sweet cotton panties that you wear. A pretty pale blue, with lace at the trim against the flush of your thighs - he wonders if you’ve soaked them before, playing with your cunt on your lonesome in your tent. He wonders if you’ve thought of him while doing so. His leg shifts to get more comfortable and he feels it ; how it brushes against the forth-most part of your pussy, and how you tense.

Something in Gale grows wicked, and his hands are at your hips moving you at just the right angle and at just the right pace for you to flush. Your eyes grow misty and you are tucking your face against his neck so he doesn’t see how your jaw drops at how good it feels. Gale hums most amused at your timidness, chuckling into your ear as he pets your hair.

“This is what you needed, isn’t it?” His voice is deep, much deeper than when he’s recounting his mystical mishaps from his academy days. “Reckon you got tired doing the work?”

You nod, with a whiny mewl of a yes as you moan at the heat in your stomach. You’re wet and you are sure Gale can feel it against his pants. Your slick makes a wet stain on his velvet sleepwear - when you murmur your embarrassed apologies the wizard is quick to sweep away your hair and press a kiss to your heated cheek.

“Don’t apologize, it’s not a problem.” He tells you with a soft tone. You tremble with how he looks at you, with dark and heated eyes. Gale grips at your hips enough to make it ache and he moves you at his pace. Faster and harder than before and it makes pleasure sing in your blood.

“Next time you need this sort of attention, come find me alright? I’ll help you.”

It’s half a love confession and half isn’t. Gale doesn’t think he can stomach the idea of you asking anyone else for help with this sort of problem. You can’t imagine having anyone else touch you like this. You don’t think you will ever want someone else after this.

You come with all heat and fire. Your cunt is pulsing and sticky with your clit aching. Body still shaking, you don’t realize you’re being soothed by Gale’s soft praise and petting of your head. It’s kind, the way he touches you like you are a fragile little thing.

“There, there - sweet thing. You did very well.” he murmurs into your ears, huffing amusedly when the kiss he plants to your ear makes you shiver. You pull away to look at him with wide eyes, whispering about him - your gaze landing on the stiffen that is apparent against the material of his pants. All he does is shush, kissing you with such tenderness it makes your eyes go lidded. “There will be another time for that, for us. Sleep now.” He murmurs to you and you find your eyes growing shut.

[jnginlov]

you’re hongjoong’s bias

when you and your group go on idol radio to promote your latest comeback, you don’t anticipate one of the hosts to be completely enraptured by you

⇀ pairing idol!hongjoong x idol!reader

⇀ genre fluff, idol au

⇀ style one shot

⇀ word count 8.6k

⇀ warnings brief mentions of idol life difficulties, food, hugging, kissing, this is basically all fluff

⇀ reactions from the gc “IM GONNA JUMP OFF A MOVING TRAIN” “Ooohhhhhhh Oh Shit” “You love to torment us with this don’t you”

note this is written completely gender neutral, all of your group members use they/them pronouns and have unisex names so you can imagine any type of group, there’s a mention of makeup but all genders wear makeup in the entertainment industry, also here is a little playlist inspired by the group in this fic if you’re real delulu like me

your group, eclipse, had been enjoying your recent promotional period, your fans, lovingly termed starlight, had been working hard to promote your latest comeback and for once your company had been able to do the same. eclipse wasn’t particularly unknown before, you’d already had your first music show win and been recognized at several korean music award shows, but this was certainly your most successful song and mini album yet. you, as the main dancer and oldest, had particularly enjoyed all of the interest from idols that had asked to do the dance challenge with you for tiktok and instagram. it allowed you to meet a lot of people in the industry who you had admired and wanted to get to know before but didn’t know how to approach. of all the idols you had done the challenge with there was certainly one that stuck out in your mind, kim hongjoong, captain of ateez and dj on idol radio.

your group had gone onto the radio show as part of your promotions, something not unusual for you all as you’d been on an episode when youngjae and young k were the hosts, as well as one with joohoney and hyungwon as djs just over a year ago. this time, however, felt very different. maybe it was the nerves from how much more attention your group was receiving that was making you feel a little fidgety in your seat or maybe it was the fact that one of the djs couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of you.

for the first ten minutes of your time at idol radio you’re scared that there’s something on your face, trying to subtly glance at any reflective surface to parse what could be causing someone to pay so much attention to you.

when yunho and hongjoong both seemed to be completely focused on another one of your members, asking something about the recording process for the album, you try to subtly place a hand on the arm of your group’s leader, nuri, sat right next to you.

as you lean away from the microphone in front of you, your leader turns to you, and you breathe out the word “makeup” in hopes that nuri will find whatever smudge caught hongjoong’s sharp eye.

unfortunately, they only shake their head, eyes darting around your face but returning to your own once they don’t find anything. they squeeze your hand gently with their own before turning back to the interview, a subtle gesture to both comfort you and let you know that they will definitely ask why you were concerned later.

as you retract your hand from nuri’s arm, you turn back to face the center of the table, which was conveniently set up so that your and nuri’s seats were directly opposite hongjoong and yunho’s, respectively. meaning that when you turn back to refocus on the matter at hand you instantly notice how hongjoong nervously looks away from you, suddenly finding the side of his co-hosts face extremely interesting.

“so, your latest mini album is called,” yunho begins, looking at the card in front of him to guarantee he doesn’t mispronounce it, “close orbit. this is the end of the orbit series in your concept right?”

nuri nods eagerly next to you before beginning their usual spiel about the members' roles in the creative direction of your group.

often times you’re deemed as the second in command, filling in the gaps your leader may miss, and therefore you’d like to think that you’re pretty good about turning on professional mode no matter the situation. however, from the corner of your eye you see hongjoong’s gaze flitting between you and nuri every few seconds and his behavior has begun to have you a bit nervous, fidgeting with one of the rings your stylist had given you that morning. you desperately try to pay attention to what nuri is talking about but, with the combination of the fact that you already know everything about what they’re saying and the heat that’s creeping up your neck as you try to push the thoughts of hongjoong’s behavior from your mind, you find your own thoughts wandering to hongjoong and his weird behavior.

yunho calls your name suddenly, once nuri is finished, shifting your attention back to the interview at hand and beginning to talk about your involvement in eclipse, aside from simply being a member of the group.

you try not to flick your gaze over to hongjoong too often, who now seems to find the cards he’s surely read over several times before intensely interesting, as yunho acknowledges your skills as main dancer and notes for the audience how involved you are in your group’s choreographic process, which already has a warmth blooming in your chest as you’re aware he’s the main dancer of his own group and you always find recognition from other group’s dancers to feel extra special, but the warmth is quickly transferred to your cheeks only a moment later.

“it’s kind of funny,” yunho starts and you tilt your head in interest as he peaks over to his co-host, “you’re hongjoong’s bias.”

from the look that takes over hongjoong’s face, a mix of shock and embarrassment, and the way he turns quickly to look at yunho with slight anger, you assume that this fact was supposed to stay secret, although you’re partly thankful that you have a seemingly good explanation for why hongjoong hadn’t been able to look away from you since you stepped into the studio.

you’re sure your own shocked expression comes over your face before you’re schooling it quickly, although you hear your maknae, star, sat right next to you, snickering softly under their hand, and you shoot star a quick side eye that seems to remove the humor from the situation for them.

“uh, thank you,” you say with a bow as low as the table in front of you allows, “it means a lot to hear that from a senior like you. thank you for your support.”

“of course,” hongjoong speaks suddenly, mirroring your bow as much as he can before stuttering out a statement about how you’re “so inspiring” and “light up the stage”. his face is getting redder by the second as he digs himself further into a hole but you can feel that your face is heating to match his own.

yunho seems to sense the way he’s pushed the interview off the rails and interrupts to bring attention back to your group entirely and your comeback.

through the next few minutes of the show, you’re noticeably and uncharacteristically distant as you now find yourself to have almost traded positions with hongjoong, subtly staring at him as much as you can manage without drawing immediate attention from your fans or members.

in opposition, hongjoong had now taken to looking at pretty much anything that wasn’t you after yunho had shared his little secret. unfortunately, maybe fortunately, you found that you can barely tear your gaze from the blue haired man across the table.

you were obviously a fan of ateez, being able to appreciate a lot of aspects about their talents and skills, but you’d never really gotten too much into the members themselves, aside from knowing who was who and what they each did. you found that as an idol yourself it could feel weird to try acting like a normal fan of a group, making you almost hyper aware of your own fans and their habits as you would try to focus on just one video that wasn’t related directly to the group’s music or performance.

this had meant that you had no ateez bias, although you knew a decent amount about the members, but now you’re rethinking your whole ideas of being a fan as an idol.

as you think to yourself, you attempt to rationalize the past few minutes, assuming that yunho was just joking around, trying to make fun of his hyung or maybe meaning something different from what your group’s fans meant when they said they biased you. however, every time you’ve managed to start convincing yourself, you’re just reminded of hongjoong’s reaction in the moment his member had said something.

your spiraling thoughts are only serving to distract you and suddenly, feeling a hand on your shoulder to bring you back to reality, you realize that they had started playing one of the songs from your album, letting you and your members grab snacks and wave to the fans through the window. the member with their hand on your shoulder, one of your best friends in the group, eunjae, looks at you with a mix of worry and bemusement, although you hear the slight smirk they wear in their voice as they ask if you’re okay.

you wave eunjae off before you head over to the window, not feeling particularly hungry, and hope that maybe seeing your fans will help to ground you, just as they always do.

as you’re waving through the window at several people with headbands of your and your member’s names you feel a presence beside you, much larger than any of your members. you turn to find yunho near you, not crowding you but obviously intentionally in your space, most likely to draw your attention without suspicion.

“sorry about that,” he says as you turn to him and he gestures toward the snack cart closer to the corner.

you know what he’s doing, trying to make it seem like you two are just talking about the food so as to not make fans question your interaction and so you follow him to the snack cart as you ask, trying not to show any of the question on your face, “about what?”

“making you uncomfortable,” he supplies. “hongjoong had asked me not to say anything but i didn’t think about the fact that he may have been asking that for your comfort rather than his own” yunho says in barely a whisper and you can see a light blush dusting his cheeks.

you’re thankful that your members had basically switched with you, greeting fans after clearing away from the snacks.

“don’t worry,” you reassure. “i'm not uncomfortable, it was more shocking than anything” you tell him, and as you say it you realize it’s the truth.

as an idol you often have to sacrifice your comfort for others but in this moment you aren’t saying it out of necessity but as the truth, and when you glance behind you at hongjoong, who’s intently avoiding all of your members as he also waves to the atiny that are mixed in with your fans, you feel something sparkle in the pit of your stomach. it’s a pleasant feeling, something reminiscent of admiration but more complex, deeper.

you’re not afraid to admit to yourself that hongjoong is attractive, undeniably handsome and, from everything you’d heard, genuinely nice to those around him. you could admire him as a leader and creative, knowing how much responsibility he had and that he still managed to enjoy what he did, but, with both of you working in the industry, dating could be next to impossible.

in all honesty, you’re not sure the last time you’d even had time to explore any sort of romantic interest in anyone, and maybe you were simply deprived of that experience so your brain was running wild with even the slightest exploration of thought. however your company had no dating ban and maybe it wouldn’t hurt to venture into that side of a normal life.

bringing you back to the present moment, yunho lets out a heavy breath and hands you a random piece of candy off the cart that you accept with a slight bow, convincing everyone that might be watching that you were talking about the snacks the whole time.

soon after your interaction concludes, everyone is quick to gather back around the table, taking your seats as your song fades out in the background. the next segment goes smoothly, yunho and hongjoong leading your group in a little game about how much your members know each other.

throughout the game you can’t help but sneak glances at hongjoong, your mind still working through the thoughts you’d had during the break. he appears to be trying hard to not notice you looking at him, but he manages to slip up occasionally and you try to send him a warm, if not slightly teasing, grin each time your eyes connect.

though your original intention with the gesture wasn’t to fluster the man, you find the way he reacts each time to be endearing, the blush returning to his cheeks and even starting to spread up to his ears. every time your gazes meet you feel that same tingle in your stomach begin to spread up to your chest, his expression each time feeding it, and you start to find a bit of comfort in that sensation as you feel like you’re getting to admire hongjoong who you’d been avoiding at the beginning of the show.

you’re starting to have a bit too much fun with this little game you made for yourself when yunho introduces another one of the songs from your group’s album and it starts to fade in, bringing an end to your antics.

this time, as the break starts, you intentionally take a moment before standing, pretending to stretch in your seat and standing slowly as you see hongjoong moving toward the fans out of the corner of your eye. you, as subtly as you can, move toward the fans and in the general direction of hongjoong, trying to get the opportunity to talk to him since he had been shying away from speaking to you ever since yunho’s little slip up. he seems too distracted by an atiny that’s mouthing something to him through the window to notice how close you manage to get.

once you’re sufficiently within speaking range, but not too close, always careful of fan suspicion when you’re in the presence of other idols, you try to casually greet him with a simple “hi” but you’re unprepared for the way he quickly flips around to face you, looking almost like a deer in headlights.

you’re both a bit stuck, just staring at each other before you hear a very obvious fake cough coming from both yunho and nuri that seems to snap you out of it and you each try to play it off with giggles and laughs, mostly for the camera and fans that had been intently tuned in to the strange interaction between the two of you.

“sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” you say as you move toward the window, pretending like it had been your intention the whole time to simply say hi to fans once again.

“oh no, uhm, i’m sorry, i don’t know why i reacted like that,” he answers shakily with a nervous chuckle and turns back to the fans as well.

for a moment you both just wave out at the fans, genuinely finding interest in those that had come to support you. after what you deem to be enough time of interaction you finally speak up.

“i’m not uncomfortable, by the way,” you mention casually, hoping hongjoong understands what you mean.

“oh, really?” he sound’s surprised, and you peak out of the corner of your eye to see that he’s trying to hold back the surprise from showing on his face.

“yeah,” you admit. “i’m actually flattered,” you add, turning to hongjoong with a soft smile before you move to the snack cart.

you miss the way his shoulders seem to visibly relax and the grin that spreads onto his face as you leave. fan’s will chalk it up to the fact that he was relieved to be a further distance from you, hongjoong being know to keep his space from the idols that come on as guests, but yunho is quick to spot that it looks more like the expression his captain wears after a satisfying performance or successful interview.

your break is quick to wrap up after that, this song being shorter than the one they’d played earlier, and you’re all back to your seats. you start to readjust in your seat, getting comfortable for the next portion of the show, until you’re passed a head mic and remember that you’re going to teach, along with another one of your members, insoo, yunho and hongjoong the point choreography from your title track.

you’re excited to be back in your element, almost forgetting everything that had happened with hongjoong as you and your member run through the choreography to demonstrate before you’ll teach the boys.

the choreography is nothing too difficult, as your company is always sure to remind you that easier point choreo is more marketable, but it involves a great deal of interaction between you and your member, them starting the section standing directly in front of you, and you manipulate them until they have to squat in front of you.

yunho is quick to decide that he will do your part, claiming that because you’re both main dancers it makes sense as well as sighting the height difference, although the height difference between you and insoo is almost negligible compared to yunho and hongjoong’s height difference, but hongjoong doesn’t put up a fight, the gaze he’d had on you at the beginning of the schedule returning with a different undertone, one you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

the choreography wasn’t particularly sexy, your group not one to lean too heavily into those kinds of concepts, but it was certainly powerful and this particular song made you feel confident, considering you got to be center for the point.

you blame hongjoong’s shift on your own perception, but his gaze certainly reignites the buzz in your stomach, now fully formed into butterflies whose wings brush against the inside of your ribs, longing to be released.

you try to shake it off and step into teaching mode, familiar comfort seeping into you as you take on the most usual role for yourself. you quickly teach yunho your part, and as expected he catches on quickly, and insoo tries to demonstrate what hongjoong should do as best they can, although their part is hard to describe as insoo often goes off of your energy and cues.

when he stumbles out of the ending squat to fall on his butt all three of you that are standing are quick to rush over to him but he just chuckles in slight embarrassment before picking himself up and you all laugh together.

“hm what about you try it with him and i can do it with yunho,” insoo suggests quickly, looking like they just thought of the best solution to hongjoong’s learning difficulties.

you’re a little surprised but agree nonetheless as yunho adds that he’s sure his hyung would be fine with that, but once hongjoong is standing right in front of you it’s not so much hongjoong you’re worried about.

you try to back up a bit, trying to give yourself a bit of distance between you two, but are quick to realize that the choreography won’t work if you’re any further apart and so just as you take a step toward the man in front of you he also takes one into you, realizing that you had both started to get too close to the table now behind him.

your hands are quick to come up to his chest before you can fully fall into him and you jump back as quickly as you can, pulling your hands away as though he burned you.

the same look of shock as when you’d come up behind him during the break is present on hongjoong’s face, and he’s glad there are no cameras that face him right now to see it, but all you can pay attention to is the warmth that you had felt on your palms at the contact between you two.

the whole interaction had felt to you like it was minutes long but in reality it was barely a couple seconds, and you’re once again trying to slip back into the dance teacher role as well as you can when you’re so acutely aware of how close hongjoong is to you in this moment. you can just smell the fading cologne he’d applied earlier in the day, a mix of linen and leather that feels like it turns your brain to mush as you try to remember what you were supposed to be doing with him standing in front of you like this in the first place.

his surprise melts to a look of concern as he sees you shake your head, hoping to clear your thoughts as though they were being physically blocked by all your senses screaming hongjoong.

“so you start like this,” you supply quickly, trying to ignore the way hongjoong won’t drop the worried expression from his face.

you need to move quickly, the man in front of you is starting to make you feel dizzy and you aren’t sure your company, or your members, would enjoy you passing out for seemingly no reason while on a live program.

normally when you dance this part, you make full contact with your member but you can’t bring yourself to touch hongjoong completely, partially fearing you won’t want to let go once you do. instead you ghost your hands along the places you might normally drag them and float over the places you might normally grab.

as you move him slowly into the final positioning you’re realizing that it may have been more torturous to avoid touching him then to just give in to your desire to connect with him, every time your skin makes the lightest contact sending a jolt up through your arms and your breath catching in your throat, if for a moment.

“so that’s it,” you nod, trying not to sound as breathless as you feel and hongjoong looks up at you almost expectantly. you’re waiting for him to move, looking back down at him, and you feel his gaze almost peering through you, like he can see every deep breath you’re taking to try to calm your heart, like he knows exactly how you’ve felt for the past few minutes as you tried to teach him the movement, like he knows exactly what he does to you.

it’s kind of funny how you could feel so small compared to a man that you’re currently looking down on but it’s kim hongjoong who’s looking back up at you, in your clouded brain it seems to make sense.

you’re not sure who speaks up but you hear yunho and insoo moving next to you, although the dull ringing in your ears hasn’t fully subsided. you feel yourself, as though in a daze, move away from hongjoong, something you’re not actually sure you even want to do but your body has decided for you.

as insoo reclaims their place in front of you, you’re suddenly aware of the fact that you’d had that entire encounter with hongjoong in front of, not just your friends, but your fans, your managers, and several live cameras. you feel redness creeping up to consume almost your entire face and you’re glad insoo is blocking you. they give you a slight look of concern and you just clear your throat, pushing the thoughts of hongjoong down until they meet the butterflies in the pit of your stomach, taking a breath to urge them to calm down as well.

the rest of idol radio seems to pass in a blur. you’re even more distant than when you were lost in your thoughts earlier, although this time it seems as though your mind is absolutely blank. if you had wanted it to shut up before, now you’re wishing for it to just go, the image of hongjoong squatting in front of you the only thing you can seem to focus on.

you don’t fully come back to your senses until you’re sat in the car that’s set to take you, and your members, back to your dorm, your schedules for the day complete, and although you thought that distance may have aided your situation you were certainly wrong. your mind has taken to replaying the moment you’d shared with him over and over, not sparing a single detail and you feel as though you’re reliving the interaction again as you practically sense the heat radiating from his skin under your fingertips.

“are you, like, good?” star asks, placed once again right next to you. you look at them with what you hope is a convincing smile as you nod gently, before turning back to watch seoul pass in a blur through the window.

that night, you and your members, seven in total, gather to eat the takeout your manager had ordered as congratulations on a good day of promotions and suddenly you feel several pairs of eyes on you.

“what?” you ask, looking between all the members that weren’t currently too focused on their food.

“what was that between you and hongjoong?” insoo asks with a smirk, noddles almost forgotten on their plate.

“what was what?” you ask, trying to will the blush that creeps up your neck away.

insoo rolls their eyes in response, seeing right through your act and very clearly remembering what they had seen when they were stood right in front of you.

“y/n’s crushing on hongjoong,” star sings cheerily before someone’s foot, likely eunjae’s, makes contact with their shin under the table and they hiss.

you scoff at the statement, trying to play dumb to the way all your members were clearly seeing through you. “i do not,” you state indignantly, taking a big bite of your food as you glare at star.

“whatever you say,” star shrugs, a teasing smirk on their face.

luckily the conversation is quick to shift away from you and you’re able to enjoy your meal without any more interrogation.

later that night, as you prepare for bed, you hear a gentle knock on your bedroom door and open it to find nuri.

“hey, what’s up?” you ask, noticing they’re already dressed for bed.

“here,” they say, holding a piece of paper out which you take from their hand with some hesitancy.

“thanks?” you state, although it’s more of a question as you wonder what’s on the slip of paper now in your possession.

“hongjoong’s kakao id,” they say with a nod toward the paper and you blush, clearing your throat quickly. “it’s fine to have a crush by the way,” they continue and your face only grows warmer. “i’d just appreciate it if you'd tell me if you end up dating. easier for me to help.”

you don’t say anything as you just nod your head in understanding, closing your door quickly and pressing your face into your hands in embarrassment.

you place the slip onto your desk, glad in moments like these that you got the only solo room, and debate about adding him. i mean, you hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences to each other, but what could really be the worst that could happen?

you try not to think about how nuri got his id, wondering if maybe they already knew each other and praying they hadn’t asked him for it just for you today, as you add him on your kakaotalk, tossing around ideas of opening messages. eventually you settle on a simple “hi, this is y/n” and send it quickly before you can overthink.

you don’t expect a reply immediately, noting how late it is, but almost as soon as you lock your phone the screen is lighting up with a message back.

hongjoong: hi

hongjoong: i wasn’t sure you were actually going to text me

hongjoong: i mean i know you told me you weren’t uncomfortable but still

a smile stretches across your lips as you realize hongjoong gave his id to nuri to give to you specifically and you scold yourself for being so out of it that he couldn’t give it to you directly.

you: i meant it when i said i was flattered

you: it’s a huge compliment to be admired by someone like you

you try to err on the side of caution. maybe he just wanted to talk to you about work, music and dance, so you tried not to be too informal, ateez and hongjoong being your senior. although you did try to hint that you were interested past a professional, and even platonic, relationship, but it had certainly been a while since you’d flirted with anyone, outside of fan service.

hongjoong: i wanted to ask you something

you: ask away

hongjoong: we have a new song coming out soon and i wondered if you’d be interested in doing the dance challenge for it

hongjoong: with me

you could feel the butterflies awaken inside of you once more, excited at the prospect of being able to see him again and the fact that he asked you specifically about doing the challenge.

you: i’d love to

you: just text me

with your agreement you both wrap up the conversation, bidding each other good night, and you go to bed with your thoughts full of hongjoong and stomach full of butterflies.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the rest of your own promotional period flies by, successful and rewarding as the support from your fans results in several music show wins and lots of recognition from all over the world. the whole time you try to focus more on work than your recently budding friendship with the leader of ateez, but it’s hard when you find yourself just as excited to end your day and finally be able to message him as you do when you can see your fans or perform. your members have certainly noticed a change in your demeanor, eager to shut yourself in your room to be alone, and some fans have commented about how happy you’ve seemed lately. luckily, your interaction from idol radio is barely recognized, only a few of the usual shippers making theories about your or hongjoong’s behavior that other fans are quick to brush off as a reach.

hongjoong: happy last day of promotions! i hope your schedules go well today

he doesn’t normally text you in the morning but you’d been telling him the night before about it being your last day to promote your comeback and so you check the timestamp on the message to find it was sent around 3am, probably when he managed to actually get to bed considering he’d told you he was working in the studio on ateez’s next comeback.

you shoot him a thank you text back, doubting he’ll see it until he wakes up a little later in the day, and get ready to head out for your schedule.

you were performing on the show again today, a music show that one of hongjoong’s members, yeosang, was an mc on. you didn’t even think much of the fact as you arrived and got ready with your styling team, having interacted with yeosang as an mc during this promotional period already. although as you sat in the hair and makeup chair, ready for the usual routine, a light knock sounded against the door of your dressing room.

after a quick check that everyone was decent, nuri approached the door. you couldn’t see who was on the other side, nuri discussing something with them and bowing as you assume the other person handed them a plastic bag.

you were slightly confused, none of your members or staff having ordered delivery, as nuri closed the door, taking a peek into the plastic bag before heading in your direction.

“here,” they said as they placed the bag onto your lap and you gave them a questioning glance.

“what’s this?”

“from yeosang who said it’s from a friend,” they explain with a wink and you try not to blush at the implication.

nuri walks away without saying anything else and you glance into the bag, seeing a few of the snacks you’d mentioned craving to hongjoong just last night. you push around the items and find a little note, similar to that which had held his id on it, and open it in the bag to avoid suspicion from those around you.

i know how hard it can be to eat during schedules so i hope this can help. good luck today, text me when you win

you try to ignore the way your heart picks up at the thought of him caring this much for you but it’s hard when you know that you’re already so infatuated with him. his confidence in you and your group was also just so heartwarming, something that was certainly making you fall deeper for the man you’d so recently grown attached to.

you munch on the gift as your hair gets styled, a smile unable to leave your face as you debate texting him to thank him. unfortunately you don’t get a chance as you’re thrown into the whirlwind of performing and preparing for a potential encore stage, your group loving to do silly little things for starlight whenever you win.

of course, like most times, hongjoong is right and your group wins for the final time this comeback, celebrating on stage with your fans and members. throughout your encore, your mind drifts to hongjoong, how you can text him and celebrate together.

as soon as all of your members arrive to your dorm, shoes discarded in the entranceway and takeout being served on the table, there’s a sudden ring of the doorbell and half of you freeze. the other half continue on with their tasks as nuri offers to get the door, handing off the serving task to insoo who is more than happy to take responsibility.

“y/n!” nuri calls from the door only a moment later and a few of your members give you a confused look as you shrug and make your way to your leader.

“yeah?” you ask as you approach, turning the corner to see two bouquets, not too large but very beautiful, in nuri’s grasp, the front door closing as you assume the delivery driver leaves.

“this is for you,” nuri says with a grin and you don’t keep the surprise from your features as they hand you the smaller of the two pieces, noting that they are your favorite flowers and spotting the little card in the center.

y/n,

congratulations on your win today. you always look so beautiful when you dance.

hj <3

you don’t try to hide the blush that blooms over your cheeks, your mind hyper focused on the little heart at the end of the message, and turn to nuri.

“what does that one say?” you ask, gesturing to the other bouquet that contains a mix of flowers with your group’s official colors.

nuri turns the bunch to you so that you can read the card.

eclipse,

congratulations on a successful comeback,

ateez

you nod as you turn back to the flowers in your hands, nuri pushing past you to join the other members in the kitchen. you can hear them explain who the flowers are from and mentally thank nuri when they don’t mention your personal bunch.

you manage to sneak the flowers to your room before you head back out to the table for dinner, shooting hongjoong a picture and a quick thank you.

hongjoong: i’m glad you like them

hongjoong: and i meant it, you looked breathtaking today

you suppress your smile as you read his response, trying not to catch the attention of any of your members, but you glance up to see nuri looking at you with a knowing, if not approving, smile.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you’ve been following ateez a little more closely now, their newest comeback, bouncy, releasing just last week and doing amazingly on the charts. you’d been sending hongjoong little things like snacks, coffee, and meals to keep him motivated and show your support and he’d been showing his appreciation by sending you pictures of him eating or just selfies of him during schedules.

you were certain that your relationship was headed in a more romantic direction as you both became more bold in your texts. you’d also begun video calling when you were able, sometimes just doing your own things while you were on a call together.

you were eager to possibly try taking the next step and actually go out on a date but with ateez still in the midst of promotion you understood that hongjoong’s free time was limited. so you left it up to him, not pressuring hongjoong by asking him out or even alluding to wanting to date.

“do you know the challenge or do you want me to teach you?” hongjoong had asked one night when you were on video call.

he’d brought up your promise from months ago to do the challenge and you assured him that you were still interested.

“i mean i sort of know it just from watching it a bunch, but if you want to teach me i’m not opposed,” you said with a cheeky shrug and hongjoong grinned.

“i don’t have to teach you babe,” he says with a light chuckle that sends a shiver down your spine.

that was another thing that had started recently, the pet names. hongjoong had accidentally referred to you as “babe” over text one time, rushing to apologize when you had taken just a second too long to respond, but you assured him that you weren’t upset just trying to be able to actually think again when the name had short circuited your brain.

“fine,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “i want you to teach me,” you admit with a slight wine. “there, happy?”

he chuckles again with a nod and an “okay” before you’re setting up the best day for you to meet at the kq company building, having to end the call soon after so that he can actually get some sleep.

the next few days have you on edge as you anticipate being able to see hongjoong in person for the first time since your appearance on idol radio. you even plan your outfit a day in advance, feeling almost like you’re going on a first date as you ensure your hair and makeup are perfect.

“have fun,” nuri says with a knowing wink as you leave your dorm and you don’t give them your normal embarrassed look, too focused on the excitement of seeing hongjoong.

you arrive at the kq building right on time, a staff member greeting you in the lobby and taking you to the practice room where you’ll be doing the challenge. you’d seen this same room plenty before on video, ateez dance practices being one of the few contents you’d watched before getting to know hongjoong.

“he should be here in a second,” the staff says, glancing at her phone, and you nod with a grin.

“its fine,” you assure. “thank you.”

just as you start to observe the room a little more, looking around and comparing it to your own practice room, the door opens and hongjoong enters.

even though you’d seen him on your screen almost everyday for the past week, nothing can compare to the way he looks in person, especially since he’d changed his look. atiny had been going crazy over his newly silver hair and you were no different, texting him how much you loved it as soon as you found out.

“hi,” he says with a smile as soon as he spots you.

you reach out your hand and repeat his greeting, bowing as you shake hands to imitate a sense of formality in front of the staff member.

you don’t want to let go of his hand but you pull away anyway, taking a step back to put some distance between you two and hoping to calm the urge that bubbles in your chest to take him into your arms.

“so, would you like for me to teach you the challenge?” he asks and you bite the inside of your cheek to stop the laugh that builds in your throat at the question, knowing you’d already asked him to teach it to you a few days ago.

“yes please,” you nod and hongjoong gestures so that you can move toward the mirror.

honestly, the choreography is pretty easy to pick up, especially since you’ve watched it so many times already, but you relish in the way hongjoong watches you and decide to just mess around with him a little. it couldn’t hurt to ask a few questions you already knew the answer to right?

“so, is it here or out here?” you ask with an innocent quirk of your brow, placing your left hand out, palm flat and moving it back and forth between two positions.

you see hongjoong’s eyes narrow just slightly, as he had clearly seen you get it right the first time, and you know he’s picking up on your little game. his eyes flick to the staff member in the room, noting that she’s on her phone in the corner, looking away, before he takes a step toward you.

instead of just answering your question he reaches around you, keeping his body on your right and wrapping his left arm around your back to grasp your elbow. he moves your arm into the proper place and you feel his other hand place itself on your waist. as you try to focus on anything but the way his fingers press into your skin he leans his head down slightly, enough so that you can feel his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear and across your cheek.

his proximity has your heart pounding and you almost hope he can hear it, wanting him to know that what he’s doing is working. you want him to know that this is exactly what you wanted, that you wish this is how close you could have him all the time.

“right here,” he says, barely a whisper, and just as you start to lean into him, longing to be completely consumed by his warmth, he steps away and his presence is replaced by the cool air that blows through the vent above you.

you clear your throat as you try to shake away the lingering warmth his touch left against your skin and slow your heartbeat as you go back to rehearsing the movements, for real this time.

you try to ignore the smirk that paints his face as he watches you practicing, a blush painting your own cheeks that starts to match his the longer he stares.

“okay, i think i got it,” you say after a few more rounds of practice. “what do you want to do for the outro?” you ask. “or do you just want to end it after the ‘fly’?”

you turn to hongjoong who looks around the room in thought.

“we could do the ending pose from moonbeam,” he suggests, referring to the title track you’d been promoting on idol radio, and you’re taken aback for a moment.

you’re not so much shocked that he would suggest something to do with your group but that he would choose that pose specifically. it would normally involve you and eclipse’s main vocalist, gam, standing while everyone else sat around you, leaning on each other. you and gam would be staring just past each other as your right arms were tangled in front of you in a sort of love shot position.

“oh, sure,” you say taking a moment to picture you and hongjoong in that position and your blush darkens. “i guess.”

“we don’t have to,” he says, sensing your hesitation. “we can do something else.”

you shake your head as you reassure him, “no, no, it’s fine.”

hongjoong just nods and you run through the challenge once more, practicing the final pose as well and trying to not let the proximity that the pose forces you into affect your face, of course you have no control over how it affects your heart and mind.

“great,” he says, mostly to himself, before calling over the staff member who directs you where to stand and prepares the shot.

the shooting of the challenge itself goes well, you both switching easily into professional mode even if you can see his eyes watching you through the mirror the whole time. you do a few takes, allowing the company to pick whichever they deem best, before you’re done and thanking hongjoong and the staff member for their time.

“oh,” hongjoong perks up before you can begin to head out. “i got you a thank you gift for doing the challenge but i left it in my studio.” he turns to the staff member and asks, “would you mind going to grab it?”

she nods before making her way out of the room, leaving you and hongjoong alone.

your eyes follow her as she leaves but before you can even turn back to hongjoong he’s pulled you into a hug, arms wrapped securely around your waist as he looks into your eyes.

“hi,” he greets with a chuckle, absolutely beaming as you snake your hands around his shoulders.

you giggle in response, your expression mirroring his own, as you finally get to see him how you wish you had for the entire time you’d been in his presence.

“i’ve been waiting to do this for the last half hour,” he says, practically reading your mind.

“so do you actually have a thank you gift or was that just an excuse?” you ask with a tick of your head to the door where the staff member had disappeared.

he looks almost offended as you ask, a humorous disbelief shining in his eyes. “of course i have a gift,” he says and you can hear a slight whine lacing his tone.

“of course,” you say with a chuckle and a shake of your head.

“i would’ve invited you to lunch but the staff would’ve been suspicious,” he adds, “so this is the next best option.”

“i can feed myself you know,” you joke, truly more than happy to have hongjoong buy you meals.

“not if i can help it,” he insists, wrapping his arms tighter and pulling you closer.

you don’t fight against him, your chests now pressed together as you simply wade in the comfort that surrounds you both.

you debate about leaning in and pressing a kiss to his cheek, wanting to feel the soft skin against your lips, but you don’t. instead you let your cheek fall to his shoulder, resting your head against him and letting the scent of his cologne wash over you.

“what are you doing tomorrow?” hongjoong asks, one of his hands starting to trace along your spine, his fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“mm,” you hum in thought as you try to remember your schedule. “we have shooting until five and then eunjae wants to watch a new movie,” you say before lifting your head from his shoulder. “why?”

he lets out a breath and his hand comes to a stop on your back, both of his hands gently holding either side of your waist. the smile he gives you seems nervous now, not quite reaching his eyes.

“i wanted to ask if you’d like to get dinner with me tomorrow night,” he explains with a gentle squeeze of your hips. “but if you’re busy we can do it a different night.”

you shake your head quickly, face red and smile as wide as your lips can manage. “eunjae can wait one more day for that movie,” you giggle and watch as his own smile grows.

his hands move from your waist and you start to pull your own arms away when his palms are suddenly on your cheeks, holding your face, and your own hands fly up to cup his. neither of you speak as you glide your hands down to wrap your fingers around his wrist gently, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as his eyes flick between your own.

“can i kiss you?” he asks, trying to see any form of discomfort that might appear on your expression.

“yes,” you respond and before you even finish he’s bringing you into him, lips pressing against your own as softly as he can.

it barely lasts a second before he’s pulling away, his eyes once again searching your own for any hint as to how you’re feeling.

“again?” he asks with a smirk when he notices your lips still puckered and chasing his.

he doesn’t wait for your response this time, diving back into you with an eagerness that challenges your own.

his lips move in sync with yours, one of his hands shifting to the side of your neck and the pads of his fingers pressing into the skin there, sending a shiver down your spine that you're sure he notices by the way you feel him smile against your lips. hongjoong hums gently, the sound vibrating from his own chest to yours and causing you to melt into him further.

you try to pour all of your appreciation for him into the kiss, desperately grasping onto his biceps like he might just vanish at any moment. you hope that he can understand just what you’re trying to tell him, that in this moment, and every moment you’ve shared, he’s made you feel normal. when you were with him, talking to him, you weren’t an idol and neither was he, you were both just you, human and flawed, and in love.

he pulls away after a moment more, placing a few light pecks against your lips before separating completely, and you try to chase his lips again but his hold on your cheek keeps you in place. instead, he presses his forehead against your own, eyes closed as he focuses on steadying his breathing while you flit your gaze around his face, trying to commit each feature to memory.

after what feels like an hour of just existing in the comfortable silence that has engulfed you both, hongjoong pulls away from you, his eyes opening slowly as his hands return to your waist, your own grip on his arms loosening.

“so tomorrow?” he asks, biting his lip before you bring your thumb up to pull the flesh from between his teeth and he places a gentle peck against your finger.

“it’s a date,” you confirm, leaning in to place a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth.

he smiles and says, “i’ll text you,” before he takes a few steps back, forcing you both to separate and you immediately miss him even though he’s still stood right in front of you.

only a moment later the staff member from earlier is stepping back into the room, carrying a bag of your favorite delivery food and making a beeline to you.

you bow in thanks when she hands it to you before doing the same to hongjoong, showing your formal appreciation for the gesture, and the staff member is offering to guide you out of the building.

you’re quick to bid hongjoong goodbye, worrying that you might never leave him unless you go now, and the staff leads you back out the way you came in.

as soon as you make it back to your dorm you feel your phone buzz in your pocket, a text from hongjoong lighting up the screen.

hj<3: can i officially say i’m dating my bias?

↼ ateez masterlist

note this started as delusional texts in the group chat based on the specific instagram photos in the header and turned into this

tell me your thoughts

[fanged-fanfics]

💕 LMK Fic Masterlist 💕

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆˚｡⋆୨🌈୧⋆˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

Key:

♡ - Fluff

♧ - Hurt/Comfort

♤ - Angst

◇ - Platonic

☆ - Comedy

Traffic Light Trio:

Crushing Headcanons (MK x GN Reader) ♡

Defending the Successor (MK x Fem Reader) ♡

Dating Headcanons (Red Son x GN Reader) ♡

Fire On the Tongue (Red Son x Fem Reader) ♡

The Flame Prince's Heir (Red Son x Fiance!GN Reader) ♡/♤

Date Night (Mei x Fem Reader) ♡

Take a Break, Eh? (Mei x Calm!GN Reader) ♡

Life at Home (Red Son x GN Reader) ♡/♤

Monkey Boyfriends (MK x Monkey!Masc Reader) ♡

A Fanbase of Three (Traffic Light Trio x Band Member!Reader) ♡

Healing a Trio (Traffic Light Trio x Healer!GN Reader) ♡

To Calm a Monkey Kid (MK x GN Reader) ♡/♤

Gold Threaded Webs (MK x Spider Demon!GN Reader) ♡

Flickers Left Unsaid (Red Son x Childhood Friend!GN Reader) ♡

Eclipse/Sundial Duo:

Guard Dog Headcanons (Macaque x Fem Reader) ♡

Oh, to Dance With You (Macaque x Dancer!Fem Reader) ♡

Child of The Shadow (Macaque x Parent!GN Reader) ♡

To Raise a Cub (Macaque & Cub!Reader) ☆

To Raise a Cub Pt2 (Macaque & Teen!Cub! Reader) ☆

To Raise a Warrior (Macaque x Parent!GN Reader) ♡

Brainrot Slang (GN Reader) ☆

Smitten Sparring (Fighter!Fem Reader) ♡

First Relationship (Wukong x GN Reader) ♡

Clingy Clones (Wukong x Masc Reader) ♡

Brainrot Slang 2 (Wukong x GN Reader) ☆

Sleep Aid (Wukong x Overworked!GN Reader) ♡

Flustered in Love (Wukong x GN Reader) ♡

Proposal Headcanons (Wukong x Fem Reader) ♡

Stakes and Mis-skates (Wukong x Fem Reader) ♡

Little Peach Speaks (Wukong x Parent!GN Reader) ♡/◇

A King's Form (Wukong x Mystic Monkey!GN Reader) ♡

Heavy Is The Crown That Crushes The Head (Wukong x GN Reader) ♧

A King's Petty Sqaubbling (Wukong x GN Reader) ♡

Other Demons:

A New Chance (Xiangliu x Celestial!GN Reader) ♡

Post-S3 Headcanons (Mayor x Masc Reader) ♡/♤

At the Edge Of the World (Xiangliu x GN Reader) ♡

Celestials:

Dating Headcanons (Fem Reader) ♡

Spider Clan:

Spoiling Headcanons ( Spider Queen x Fem Reader) ♡

Two of a Kind (Syntax x GN Reader) ♡

The Brotherhood:

Of Fur and Feathers (Azure x GN Reader) ♡/♤

Nesting Headcanons ( Peng x GN Reader) ♡

Others:

Dating Headcanons (Camel Ridge Trio x GN Reader) ♡/♤

Morning Routine Headcanons (Spicynoodles x GN Reader) ♡

Two Troubling Bozos (GoldFlame Duo x Masc Reader) ♡

Dress to Impress (StoneFruit Trio x GN Reader) ☆

Doors (StoneFruit Trio x GN Reader) ☆

Bedtime (Sundial Duo x Overworked!GN Reader) ♡

Lost to The Ice (Spicynoodles x GN Reader) ♤

Cuddle Headcanons (Sundial Duo x Fem Reader) ♡

Dating Headcanons (PartyFavors Duo x GN Reader) ♡

A Solution Takes Three (Sundial Duo x GN Reader) ♡

Health Issues (Sundial Duo x GN Reader) ♡

Rage Quit (Sundial Duo x Masc Reader) ♡

Nerds At War (FireWall Duo x GN Reader) ♡

LMK Characters as Queerplatonic Partners (LMK x GN Reader) ♡/◇

LMK Characters as Queerplatonic Partners 2 (LMK x GN Reader) ♡/◇

A Crown Fit for A King (And A Warrior) (Eclipse Duo x GN Reader) ♡

Songbird (Eclipse Duo x Male Reader) ♡

Peace of Mind (Firewall Duo x GN Reader) ♡

Wild Night (Jackfruit Duo x GN Reader) ♡

Pretty Bird (Macaque/Monkey King/Xiangliu x Phoenix!GN Reader) ♡

Resting and Rejuvenating (GoldFlame Duo x GN Reader) ♡