#open on dash at your own risk

[popatochisssp]

IM IN LOVE WITH ALL THE NEW BOYSS!!!! I was wondering what hobbies they would have? Would any of them skate? What about make art? Play piano, perhaps?

Quick sidebar, it would probably be easier to ask who can’t skate than who can—at least regarding ice skating—because the majority of the skeletons lived/grew up in Snowdin and had plenty of time to practice their ‘don’t pratfall on the ice’ skills, so they’d (almost) all be at least passingly competent at ice skating, and then whatever learning curve is involved with slightly transferable skills to not-ice skating.

That said!

…You know, I realized I never did an accounting of all this, even with the first two waves of boys, so…

This is by no means a complete list of everything the boys might enjoy doing—despite the fact that this is huge and completely got away from me, oh my god seriously do not open the readmore on your dash—but!

Sans (Undertale):

He’s a goofy guy, so it’s probably no surprise that he’s into comedy. He’s a lover of puns and pranks and jokes in general, just…maybe not as casually as he makes it look. He does a little stand-up now and then, open mic nights mostly nowadays, but he’s played to larger audiences before at the MTT resort. He’s also got a pretty sizeable collection of comedic paraphernalia—rubber chickens, whoopie cushion, snapping gum, you name it—just on the off chance he might get to use it in a prime moment. He spends a lot of his free time reading joke books, watching other pros perform, and even, on occasion, don’t tell anyone, but… studying the science of humor, what people seem to find funny, how, and why. He doesn’t like to let on, because he thinks it makes him seems a little less cool and funny if you know he goes out of his way to research this stuff sometimes instead of just vibing on improv, but he genuinely finds the subject fascinating and likes to read about it. Alas, he’s a nerd…

And as such, he’s also very into physics. Quantum physics as food for thought in his downtime when he just wants to chew on some conceptually heavy stuff, but classical and practical physics make for some great experiments and demos, especially as party tricks or ‘hey, you wanna see something cool?’s for interested onlookers and he’s so all about that. Want to try an egg drop from the roof with popsicle sticks and straws? He’s got tape and a fresh carton right here. Maybe make a magnet out of a battery? Sure, there’s wire and nails around here somewhere… Or maybe you want to bet him he can’t hold up a water bottle with nothing but a string and three matches? C’mon, 10G—no, 20G. But really, he’ll take any excuse to do a cool demo of stuff he knows.

As for stuff that doesn’t demo quite as well… It was a little less apparent Underground, but there was a reason he had that telescope of his and it wasn’t just because he liked pranking people with paint on the eye-piece. He did love doing that, of course, but he also genuinely loves stars and space, learning about it and looking at it now that he actually has the opportunity to—he’s got his telescope to use on clear nights, a yearly pass for the local planetarium, and you better believe he’s subscribed to NASA’s newsletters for regular updates on the goings on out there. He tries to play it cool, but stars and black holes and nebulae are cooler, it’s hard not to get invested in everything to do with them…

Papyrus (Undertale):

Of course, he’s the master of puzzles, and not just your basic jigsaw! …Well, maybe sometimes a jigsaw, he’s not morally opposed to them but really, he needs a challenge for his intellect! He doesn’t mind a word puzzle here and there—as long as it’s not a crossword—but physical puzzles are his favorites, anything to employ his spatial reasoning and impressively fine motor skills. Rubik’s cubes are fun, linked wires, interlocking blocks, really anything in three dimensions that he can fiddle with and manipulate until it surrenders to his incredible greatness. He’s very proud of his solving ability and definitely brags about it, but he’s not just blowing hot air. He really does have a great knack for observing disparate pieces and fitting them together conceptually to see what they can be before ever starting to physically assemble them and the joy of bragging aside, he loves getting to exercise that particular mind-muscle and show his smarts.

In a similar vein, he’s also a big fan of model-making. Planes, trains, automobiles and the like, and no small amount of action figures, he likes to build them up piece by piece with his own two hands. It’s fine to populate his theoretical battle scenarios with gifts from brothers and Santas, or stuff he found at the Dump, but it’s definitely his preference to start with a kit and put it all together himself, watching it gradually take shape with his diligent effort. Maybe he’ll go off-book from time to time, a little bit, but customizing things to his own unique specifications just seems the thing to do when he’s already doing the rest of the making. All the gluing and cutting and painting and lacquering by hand… it’s the art of creation—and what nobler pursuit is there than that?

Well, there may be one other thing. As a truly renaissance man, he’s naturally well-rounded in his interests, intelligent and creative and yes, physically fit too! For him, there’s no better way to stay in shape than by playing sports, most any kind! Basketball, soccer, hockey, tennis, he’ll play any sport, just explain the rules and give him the ball—or don’t, depending on the objective and rules of the specific game in question as you’ve described it. The desirability of the sportsball does seem to vary quite a bit, so he’ll need to determine whether he wants to obtain or get rid of the ball, puck, shuttlecock, whatev—no, that’s the accurate term, it is not! Whatever you’re thinking! Stars, be mature… But! He likes games and being active and having friends, all of which are part and parcel of engaging in sports, so he’s really always up for a game.

Sky (Underswap Sans):

He likes to bake! He’s not a professional and in fact, he finds it to be quite challenging at times—there’s way more restrictions than cooking on how much to add of this, making sure to do that before the other thing but after this step, the oven has to be at exactly the right temperature… There’s a lot of steps and rules, but that’s kind of what he likes about it. He likes trying to see if he can make a thing, and then if he can, what tweaks he can make to flavors and textures without compromising the end result. He’s not always successful—he’s definitely ended up with sopping wet cakes, burnt pie crusts, overly salty muffins—but frankly, the experimenting to get it right is all part of the fun! He tends to make more tasty treats than he does failures and he’s happy to share those around with friends and family anytime. Baking may be an exacting mistress, but he loves to tango with her all the same!

Speaking of which…well, he may not know the tango specifically but he does love to dance! He’s got a lot of energy and a solid sense of rhythm, and that combo tends to result in at least a little shimmy of a two-step when there’s a good beat going on—and all bets are off entirely if there happens to be a dance floor and a favorite song playing. He likes dancing with a partner, or in a group, but he’ll dance all by himself if he’s feeling the mood, like nobody’s watching…or rather, like everyone’s watching and he wants to impress and lure out a little company to join him. He even has a tendency to put on music and dance in place a bit when he’s doing otherwise boring chores around the house, like dishes or vacuuming, and while he doesn’t mind doing his dancing solo then too, he’s always delighted to find someone who’s willing to dance along.

He wouldn’t turn down some company for a bit of outdoor exploration, either. A hiking trail maybe? Or some rock climbing? A nature trail or just a walk in the park wouldn’t go awry either if something a little less strenuous is required! He does like the exercise but it’s mostly the nature and all things green that he wants to see and be out in—trees and flowers and even grass. His house would probably be packed with greenery if he…hadn’t…killed every single plant he ever tried to keep…but! Since he does indeed have a deadly black thumb, he likes to visit the plants, in their natural habitat where he has no control over whether they live or die (so they’ll probably continue to live).

Paps (Underswap Papyrus):

It’s no secret that he’s a bookworm. He loves literature and always has—his brother will tell you he was reading before he was even talking, and as embarrassing as it is every time he brings it up, it’s not untrue. He reads voraciously, with a preference for fantasy, romance, and poetry, but he’ll read pretty much any book he can get his hands on. It’s probably no surprise that he’s been inspired to do a little writing of his own, over the years. He’s pretty private about his own work (especially the poetry, oh god, he’d dust on the spot if someone saw his poetry) but he still loves to talk about the written word and techniques used in its conveyance and form, and the struggles writers face in trying to communicate the ideas they have stuck in their heads. He’s great for reading recommendations if he knows the kind of things someone likes, but his go-to recs will always be his personal favorites.

Pride and Prejudice is one such favorite. He’s seen all the film adaptations and miniseries, and branched out from there, first into stuff inspired by similar works, then originals, and then…okay, he’s maybe a little bit addicted to period pieces in general now. Whenever a new one comes out, anything about regency or royals or the nobility in a dramatic setting, he pretty much has to watch it, more only a question of ‘when’ and not ‘if’ he’ll be checking it out. Naturally, he’s happiest when it’s coming out on a scheduled basis, because if an entire season drops all at once he’s going to sit there and binge it and it’s much harder to deny he has an addiction when he just pulled an all-nighter about it. He can’t help himself, he has to see if the socially mismatched couple can make it work and be wed in the end, love winning out over silly class divides…

When he’s not actively obsessed with either of those things, though, he dabbles a bit in calligraphy. He’d probably hesitate to call it a hobby, he does have a couple of those fancy pens and some nice paper and ink to use them with, and he’s decent at it, but definitely needs to practice more to be able to do the really fancy flourishes without blotting the ink or scratching the page. He can certainly do some simple, clean lettering if needed! Like…if you want a poster or a sign to look neat and professional, or…maybe you want the ‘To Do’ list on the fridge to have a fancy header or something? (His end-goal is to be able to do his own drop-caps and an elaborate cursive title for the cover of his book, someday, maybe, who knows…)

Jasper (Underfell Sans):

He likes working with his hands, making things and having something to show for his time and effort. (Knitting? No, that’s, that’s not a hobby, that was a necessity, just for special occasions now, he’s not…naw, c’mon…) He’s something of a car guy. He likes engines and wheels and pistons and how they all work together to make something that goes fast, and he likes understanding how all the pieces fit together and how to fix them if something breaks. It’s something he practiced Underground with busted old engines and bikes that fell down, and a career he pursued on the Surface, but even in his free time he likes tuning up his car, his bro’s car, restoring glory to a classic bike he got at a steal of a price and she’s gonna purr like a kitten when he’s done—he’s just…happy, with his hands buried in an engine and grease all over his face.

And speaking of grease on his face, he’s pretty passionate about food, too. Not so much the cooking of it, though he’s not too shabby in the kitchen when he puts the effort in, but more the eating of it and appreciating the flavors and textures. He’s got a lot of strong opinions on how done a steak oughta be (medium-rare), what belongs on pizza (anything but candy), and how to eat chips with your sandwich (in it, for that extra crunch of texture). ‘Gourmet’ sounds a little too snobby for his tastes, food doesn’t have to be expensive to be good and in fact, it usually isn’t—some of his best meals have been from holes in the wall—but he does like going out to such places to eat and socialize, maybe have a chat and give his compliments to the chef (and definitely not try to wheedle any recipes), that sorta thing.

But after all that, when he really wants to wind down, there’s nothing he likes better than a bit of gaming. He’s not much for multiplayer, he prefers doing his own thing at his own pace, but he likes having some kind of objective and making it happen. It gives a nice sense of accomplishment that he can get while sitting down—which is great. He tends mostly towards puzzle/adventure type games more than pure battle scenarios and beat-‘em-ups, he feels like there should be some strategy and skill involved, or the satisfaction of the win just doesn’t come through as strong. (Protip: do not watch this man defeat a Dark Souls boss if you are easily stressed out. He taunts between strikes and dodges at the very last second because he’s got the timing down to a science. Maybe try Pokemon or Zelda instead…)

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus):

His first great love is and likely always shall be the theater. He didn’t have too many opportunities Underground to go see live stage plays, but he’s long since broken the spine of the collected works of Shakespeare that got him started and memorized its contents, water-stained cover to water-stained cover. He can recite any of the Bard’s work by act and scene number, of which he is incredibly proud, but he’s at least passing familiar with a handful of other manuscripts or popular stage-to-film adaptations mass produced enough to have a chance of ending up in the Dump in decent condition. On the Surface, he definitely wants to see some things live and gets only a reasonable amount of excited about specific productions’ quirks and narrative choices. Joining in on local theater himself? Well…he’s very busy these days… (Maybe after retirement?)

Another passion of his pulled from the depths of the Dump is his guitar—a bass so sturdy and lucky that it made it all the way down without breaking a string. He thought it was cool as soon as he saw it and really wanted to have it and learn how to play. It’s been an uphill struggle since he’s entirely self-taught with regards to his equipment settings, guitar maintenance, and even reading music notes, but the few sparse instruction manuals he’s managed to find were helpful. His own stubborn determination to figure it out and be the kind of cool guy who knows how to play bass has taken him a long way, and he’s starting to make some deep, pleasant sounds that he’s very happy about… But he’s still nowhere near ready to play for anyone, he couldn’t possibly, not until he’s good at it!

And when he’s having a bad time at that, or anything else is ticking him off and there’s no better outlet to blow off steam, he knows he can always fall back on a good work-out. Even in a Kill or Be Killed sort of place, it’s not always a good idea to go picking fights and yelling and cussing and beating the stuffing out of other people—so whenever he feels like doing that, he’s in the habit of beating the stuffing out of a punching bag instead, or lifting weights, or doing one-handed push-ups, something strenuous. He may not be a machine made of meat that releases good-feeling chemicals after a successful exertion, like humans are, but he still feels great after getting to work out and clear his mind of everything but what his body’s doing so he likes to keep up a regular routine. You don’t want to see him after he’s missed a few work-outs, he gets very testy.

Mal (Swapfell Sans):

Pretty much from the moment he came into existence, he’s loved math. Call him a nerd all you like, but numbers are his happy place, where everything is straightforward and exactly what it’s supposed to be and if he doesn’t understand something, he’s probably only missing a variable and when he finds it, everything will make sense again. He has apps and workbooks around with equations for him to solve in his downtime like some kind of freak, but lacking those he’ll sometimes just make up his own math problems and try to solve them in his head—how long will it take for the water cooler to be empty if the tap is dripping at a regular interval of one drop every forty-seven seconds, should no one notice and intervene to repair it? The drum holds up to five gallons, but has already been emptied by approximately—

Okay, that’s enough math. He’s also into whittling, though he’s miles less confident about his ability. He’s not terrible, really, just very self-critical so he tends not to show off the things he makes, but he likes having something to occupy his hands while most of his attention is elsewhere, with the added bonus of having a knife in one of said hands should someone surprise him—self-defense is important, you know! In any case, he’s not as good of an artist as his brother, or even as good as he’d like to be, but it’s something to do and he can only improve with practice. Someday, with the proper equipment, he might even get into full-on woodworking, with chairs and tables and cabinetry and such that are far more straightforward to make than fiddly little figurines, but for now he just has a whittling knife and wood and too much stubbornness to quit at anything once he’s started.

As for something a little (debatably) higher-brow, he also has an interest in wine. He’s no sommelier, of course, but he’s run in fancy (royal) circles for long enough to have tried his fair share of fermented fruit juices. There are some he likes (dry reds), some he doesn’t (sweet whites), and plenty in between—but the topic makes for excellent conversation at lots of dinner parties and formal occasions, so he felt it helpful to learn a few things here and there so he knows (or can pass as knowing) what he’s talking about. On the Surface, he actually gets to take a wine tasting class and put a formal polish on his book-learning and first-hand experience, and makes a point of trying new brands that catch his attention. (He’ll never admit it aloud, but he’s far more swayed by a cool label or an interesting bottle shape than a high price tag—even cheap wine tastes just fine if you aerate it!)

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus):

He’s an artist, first and foremost. His most frequent medium is pen and paper—it’s what he started with and what he’s practiced the most—but it’s never really occurred to him to limit himself to only one thing so he’s tried out a lot of different techniques and utensils and can use most of them effectively. He’s not formally taught, seen some pictures and read some textbook entries of famous pieces and art movements, but everything he’s learned he learned by screwing around with it until he figured out how to make it look like he wanted and in the process, he’s built up a pretty strong base of skills. Mostly, he likes to draw (or sketch or paint) things he’s seen, recreating memories like a photo without a camera, but sometimes he goes on more abstract style experiments, trying to express a vibe or a feeling more than a moment. He finds it meditative, grounding more than anything else he’s tried to relax and it makes him happy to have a creative outlet.

As far as other ways to relax and have fun, something that’s really blossomed on the Surface for him is his interest in fidget toys. Not too many made it Underground for him to enjoy then, just a lonely broken palm-tangle and about a hundred Rubik’s cubes in various states of disrepair—sadly he got so good at solving the cubes that he doesn’t even consider them puzzles, just color-block-pattern simulators—but the Surface! There’s so many stim and fidget toys for him to get his hands on, and so many Ultimate Super Satisfying Compilation vids online to show him new ones. Poppers, spinners, chewelry, clickers…some hit better than others but he likes trying things out, playing with toys that are brightly colored, or feel cool, or make a nice sound. He keeps his favorites and sells or donates the rest, gotta make sure to leave room somewhere if he wants to get a new one.

He also makes a point of walking to the stores and donation centers and post offices at which he exchanges these items because—at the risk of making him sound like a dog—he loves going on walks! He was a shut-in for awhile, afraid of strangers outside, and to an extent he still is (social anxiety), but the Surface has different rules and for a lot of reasons, it feels safer for him to be out and about now, and he likes taking advantage of that. Fresh air and sun and slow, easy movement without having to look over his shoulder, free attention to spare to his surroundings and the chance to stop somewhere and check out a new place… He really likes it and tries to make time to go on a walk at least once every couple of days, destination entirely optional.

Slate (Horrortale Sans):

He’s a rock guy, and he’s not talking about the music genre—just rocks, or crystals, the kind you find in and on the ground. He likes the pun potential (ask any geologist, there’s a million) but also it’s just something fun and low-stakes to do, to collect and find and examine stones and crystals whenever he happens to come across them. A lot of his facts and knowledge base predate the head injury, too, so it’s something he tends to know a good amount about and can have a high-level conversation about at length, of which he’s very proud. Plus, having a bunch of rocks around doubles as both home décor and paperweights, so you gotta admire the versatility of it. He's always on the lookout for new stones to add to his collection, or to talk about and pebble—I mean, gift to his friends and family.

He’s an animal lover as well, which is…not much of a transition from the previous paragraph. He had a pet rock once, does that bridge the gap? Not really. Ah well. The point is, he likes critters, usually ones smaller than him but that’s not hard since he’s a pretty big guy. His past and the things he’s done don’t matter to animals, all they care about is whether he’s an immediate threat (he isn’t) and if he has food to give them (likely), and not having to worry about that is a heavy weight off his mind. He can be totally relaxed around animals so he likes spending time around them whenever he gets the chance—fur and fluff is a plus but he’s got nothing against scales and feathers, creatures come as you are and he’ll get you some water and a treat and maybe a scritch.

But if he must be around humans, or other sentient beings (he must, he’s not built for social isolation), then magic is the ace he keeps up his sleeve. Not the real stuff, of course… Though he’ll naturally be happy to show an interested onlooker a bullet or two, real magic is something any monster can do, even if they were literally born yesterday. He likes fake magic, sleight of hand tricks and misdirection—disappearing and reappearing coins, spoon bending, levitating cards—y’know, the cheap gimmicky shit. It’s fun to learn and easy to practice, works very well with a lot of skills he already had. It also has the additional plus of being disarming for anyone who might be a little…intimidated by him, his size and spooky appearance, especially if he can’t get a joke out quick enough to show he’s harmless, so he likes picking up new tricks when he can and showing them off when he’s got ‘em right.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus):

He loves to cook! He’s gotten a lot better at it since the old days, trying to learn from Undyne’s lessons and it’s become a genuine passion for him to hone his skills in the kitchen and then (hopefully) show off to guests and friends and family who come over to share a meal. He considers it something of a puzzle in its own right—how to use these ingredients to get the most nutritional value with as little wasted as possible. He’s figured out a lot of ways to repurpose bits that usually get thrown out and in some cases, even make more tasty meals with the castoff pieces (his veggie-peel soup stock is to die for…not literally, but it’s very good)! His favorite part is naturally when people eat what he makes and shower him in compliments, but a close second is knowing that he’s fed his loved ones and they won’t ever leave his home hungry.

Since he does so much in the kitchen and, for the first time in a long time, he has an unfrozen yard for two or three quarters of a year and easy access to seeds, he’s also taken up gardening. Mostly, he grows his own vegetables and herbs but he has the space and the inclination so there’s plenty of colorful flowers in the mix too. He’s very attentive to his crops and flowerbeds and does everything his plants need to flourish and bloom. He delights in praise for his good work and the gratitude when he has a big enough harvest to share with friends and neighbors, or maybe to donate to the local food bank if they’re willing to take it. His garden is his pride and joy and no dirt or weather or pests will stop him from maintaining it!

Now he does have one hobby that’s just for his own enjoyment, not even peripherally related to others, and it’s pure unadulterated guilty pleasure: he adores watching soap operas. The more theatrical and contrived, the better, he can’t help but get sucked into the cheesy drama of it all. He started with just one hospital show and kept watching to tut and shake his head over inaccuracies, and then there was another show on after it that had a wild opening hook, and then…and then… Alas, he found the telenovelas. His enjoyment of them is only somewhat hampered by his inability to understand Spanish, but you’d be surprised how much you can glean from context clues and some things transcend language—it’s too late for him now, he’s recording every episode that airs during the day to watch later, he must know if Gloria’s twin sister will run away with her amnesiac fiancé!

Ash (Undergloom Sans):

Music’s the big one for him. He’s very low-energy and when you’re both depressed and physically fragile, it’s not always possible to go out to where other people are, even when you want to—but music can come to you, no matter how bad you’re feeling, and for that it’s become a huge pillar in his life. His favorite genre is classical (can’t get more classic than The Classics), but he’ll listen to most things, though he’ll always want a physical copy of it to keep if he likes it. CDs, tapes, even vinyl records, digital file only just doesn’t cut it for him. He plays his own music too, rarely with sheet music and mostly just riffing whatever feels right at the time. His trusty trombone is more than just a vehicle for incidental music, it’s like a pal that’s always been there for him even if he didn’t have the energy for it sometimes, and he makes sure to keep it in prime condition.

On his better days—of which he’s been having a lot more since reaching the Surface—he very much loves to be around people and one of his favorite things to get to do with those people is play games, board games to be specific. Monopoly might get a little too violent for his tastes, but stuff like Scrabble, Sorry!, Jenga, all up his alley. It takes a mix of skill and luck to win, which keeps things interesting, and barring a snack break or a celebratory dance of some kind, can be enjoyed entirely sedentarily, which is excellent. He probably shouldn’t be allowed to play cards (he counts them), and his brother swears he weighs dice (he doesn’t), but everything else is fair game and he likes having something he can shine at while also getting to hang out with friends.

But when he’s at home, or he can’t find a group to hang with, he spends a good amount of time cloud-gazing. Not star-gazing, though the sky and the stars are beautiful of course, but his interest is in the atmosphere, on the weather. There weren’t too many weather conditions to be found Underground—snow and rain and hot, basically—and the descriptions he’d heard and read of the kind of stuff that happened on the Surface had always captured his imagination. Clouds, storm cells, fog? It was interesting, and he read about a lot of atmospheric conditions without ever really expecting to see any for himself… but he’s actually up here now. And here, he’s the type of guy who owns a barometer, watches live Doppler radar feeds with rapt interest, and can tell you if it’s going to rain without even checking the weather app, just by taking a look up. His interest in meteorology actually has some practical applications now, go figure.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus):

He’s a cook, and though that may not be his job title, he takes it almost as seriously as if it was. For him, it’s both a passion and a language, a way to reach out to people and connect when there aren’t words—or when there are, but they’re not enough. He thinks of every meal he makes as a gift for the person he’s making it for and as such, it’s not enough for it to just be good food—it should be personalized to suit the recipient’s tastes, bespoke to what they like! That said, he primarily cooks comfort foods, stuff loaded with butter and cheese and salt because that’s what his depressed and struggling loved ones seem to like the most. It’s not always to his tastes, but it’s a point of great pride for him to have dinners at his home feeling like the end of Thanksgiving, everyone full and content and at risk of dozing off on the sofa.

He takes such pride in his cooking that he makes most everything from scratch, and that’s how he got into canning. To get to be such a good cook and to have such a discerning palate, you start to get a bit dissatisfied with store-bought spreads, and you start thinking of how you could tweak it, just a bit, and come up with something a little better. And well, of course he has a sweet tooth and doesn’t he deserve to gift himself a treat from time to time? Which is not to say he doesn’t share his jams and jellies and preserves when he gets to making them—which is anytime there’s a good sale on fruit—but at the risk of making him sound arrogant, he’s absolutely spoiled himself for even the big brands at the store. Sure, he could buy it, as-is, or he could make it and enhance the flavor with a bit of mint or cinnamon or whatever it’s begging for, exactly to his liking. …He does go through quite a lot of jars, though.

So it’s a good thing that he knows all the best home goods stores in the area to buy mason jars, and loyalty perks at every one that offers them because he’s such a frequent customer. He’s very particular about the way his home is decorated and spends a lot of time and effort into cultivating just the right homey, comfortable, clean vibe for the space, so of course he’s always thinking of ways to use his décor to do just that. He doesn’t like a static environment so he frequently moves things around, takes away old things, and adds new ones—scented candles, decorative bowls, accent pieces, really anything that catches his eye-socket. He’s a natural-born homemaker, really, it's a shame he doesn’t have a spouse to appreciate all his talents (yet~).

Brick (Horrorfell Sans):

Okay well now knitting is a hobby of his, now that he’s too big and scary to give a shit what anyone thinks about his yarn-crafting. It’s a skill from before the head injury (and the Everything Else) so it’s not like having to pick up a new skill and something you can be competent at is always nice. He finds it pretty relaxing too, if he’s honest with himself, and grounding—between the repetitive motions and the tangible product of his effort and time having passed, it’s a good go-to for him when he’s stressed and needs to calm down, or when he’s disoriented and has to reorient onto something real. It’s a pretty nice side-hustle too, selling what he makes online, but even if it wasn’t for someone, he’d still knit for himself.

…But it’s maybe not so much of a side-hustle because he doesn’t really have a main-hustle to be doing his knitting on the side of. He mostly hangs around the house as an unemployed self-employed bum. And if you’re bored, in the house, it’s probably only a matter of time before you notice something that needs attention, something broken or askew or in need of a fresh coat of something, and that’s what happened to him, and how he started getting into a lot of DIY home repair. He’s got a background in a lot of technical and mechanical stuff, the confidence to poke around in unfamiliar things, and he certainly has the time, so he’s become something of an all-purpose handyman, regularly sweeping the place to see if there’s something he can fix or tune up. Leaky faucet in the kitchen? Engine maintenance on his bro’s car? Heating ducts making a weird noise? No problem, he’ll check it out, probably an easy enough fix.

He doesn’t stay cooped up in the house all the time though. …Most of it, maybe, but he likes to sit out on the porch or hang in the yard sometimes and get a front row seat to all the wildlife lurking around. He keeps a bird-feeder topped up so the birds always come by, and he’s maybe not so diligent about making sure the bird-feeder doesn’t also become a squirrel-feeder, so there’s a few of them around, too. He has a bad habit of leaving food out for neighborhood strays—cats—and every now and again he’ll catch one and get it fixed, but the food’s also lured in a few other critters it wasn’t meant for. He shoos away the raccoons and possums and (on a couple occasions) foxes that end up on his doorstep, but he likes seeing them so he probably won’t ever really stop. There’s a local murder of crows who bring him offerings of bottle caps and buttons and other junk, and he’s half-convinced they worship him as a god but that’s definitely not going to his head or anything, don’t worry.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus):

He likes to meditate. That’s perhaps an understatement, he needs to meditate—even after abdicating his throne and resuming a civilian life, on the Surface with food and safety and funds aplenty, he has a lot of stress and on any given day, he’s wound tight as a spring. Old habits die hard, and old guilt and pain and fear die harder, and he has a tough time relaxing naturally. Having a set time and routine to sit and breathe and clear his mind, deliberately, is crucial for him. He’s got a room set aside just for it with only related paraphernalia—meditation music, incense holder, a zen garden—inside, a space empty of distractions where he can just relax and let everything else go. It’s either that or be more open and vulnerable in therapy and the latter’s not happening any time soon, so his meditation room is the only thing standing between him and a mental breakdown.

That’s a humorous exaggeration, of course. He also has his bonsai trees, which serve a similar function. He got his first around the same time he took up meditation, thinking it might just be a nice plant to set the ambiance, but as he started caring for it and cultivating it, it grew (pun not intended, how dare you?) into its own thing. He’s got lots of bonsais now and takes great deliberate care in their soil, their water, and meticulous pruning to keep them all growing healthy and strong and in exactly the way they should. There might be something to be said there about power and control and healthy, positive outlets to explore those needs, but for him they’re just his trees—his responsibility, his to keep alive, his to keep in line… And it’s nice to have plants in the house, they really add something to a space, don’t you think?

Something else he’s into that’s slightly more social is chess. He learned a lot about tactics and strategy during and in the lead-up to his reign, both from books and hard experience, and chess is a strategist’s game—all about studying the field of play and your opponent and thinking ahead to achieve your desired outcome. He started by playing against his brother, learning the game and gaining confidence, and then later against Toriel while he conspired to overthrow Undyne, which taught him more about thinking like a warrior monarch and how to strategize against one. Ever since, chess has been his preferred way to get to know someone and he finds the insight into a person’s thoughts (through their choices and idle conversation during the game) to be an invaluable asset. …It’s also somewhat fun, enriching he supposes, or else he probably wouldn’t keep so many chess sets in the house, or regularly go to the park to seek opponents at the public boards. But what business is that of yours?

Merc (Horrorswap Sans):

His physical…situation…is complicated. Until he gets his DT under control, he starts literally melting down whenever his emotions are too high which means that most of the things he would’ve done before for fun and exercise are out. His solution to that is yoga, a low-stress, low-impact way to stretch and move and keep his body functional, without the risk of upsetting himself and others by turning into a puddle! Going through the forms helps him focus his mind and ground him in his body at the same time, which he loves, and it’s something he can do solo or in a group, which is also great depending on his mood and need. He attends a studio at least semi-regularly, whenever there’s a class going on, and he loves it as a way to meet new people and socialize in a low-key way. Even after his melting problem gets sorted, he keeps the yoga as a part of his life and routine—it works for him, even when a lot of other things didn’t!

Escapism has also always been there for him: the sci-fi flavored genre specifically. He’s been in pretty dire need for distractions to take his mind off his condition and his frustratingly slow-going research, and fiction was a great fit, depictions of far-future times when technology is advanced but people are still people and the problems of today are all solved and done with—just the problems of tomorrow left to solve and there’s always hope somewhere out there in the universe. Yeah…he can use a little bit of that. Back Underground, he’d seen a few popular sci-fi series that managed to fall down—Star Trek, Star Wars, and a few others—but he falls back into it hard on the Surface when he discovers that the full collections are available, usually remastered and listed out in chronological order, and so many other fans to talk to about it, wow! And oh, the merch, so much merch… He’s only a mortal man, how is he meant to resist a phone case designed to look like a communicator from The Original Series? Or a replica of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s lightsaber? Or… Okay maybe he’s just enough of a nerd for it verge on a financial problem but he’s having fun, let him have this.

It's not like he’s not bringing in a paycheck, with his little home bakery business. He’s gotten serious about his baking and really ramped up his technical skill, and good flavor and texture is surely a way to keep a customer base, but he wanted to draw in the new customers and for that, he had to get good at decorating. As an amateur, he didn’t care so much if his frosting was a little messy, or really try to do anything at all beyond maybe some food coloring and sprinkles here and there, but in the interest of trying to elevate his business to the next level, he started experimenting more with design techniques—and he discovered he loves it! It takes a lot of skill and precision to execute on top-notch cake décor and he likes the challenge of learning something new and perfecting it until he’s ready to offer it as a technique to his customers. He’s the king of drip cakes, master of mirror glazes, and has the cleanest foil and luster work you will ever see. He’ll tackle geode cakes next, just you wait!

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus):

He used to hate spooky shit. Horror movies, ghost stories, creepy stuff meant to send a shiver up your spine and make your heart (if you have one) skip a couple beats—he couldn’t handle it and any hubris otherwise would leave him looking at pictures of kittens trying to forget about it so he could sleep. But then… Wouldn’t you know it, then he lived through a horror: a terrible creature from another world came to his sleepy little town and killed seemingly everybody they could find, and he survived but the world changed, and everyone went hungry, his best friend disappeared, his brother started melting and he almost died and then came back wrong… And now the fake spooky stuff doesn’t seem so bad. Actually it’s…kinda fun? Scary stories and creepypastas still freak him out, a little, but his tolerance for it has gone up considerably and now he seeks out the genre on purpose, to create and consume, because it feels a little good to get scared by something fake instead of all too real.

His new interest in horror turned him on to movies in general. Not that he didn’t like watching movies before, but being especially invested in a specific genre got him reading about analyses of themes and filming techniques, lighting and staging and all the behind-the-scenes choices made in casting and shooting, and he loves being able to point those things out. Watching a movie with him, any movie, will probably trigger a film-buff monologue about something—‘oh see that’s a long shot, they do that when they’re trying to…’, ‘that’s not cg by the way, it’s actually a matte painting and…’, ‘y’know that scene when he kicked the helmet, it turns out he…’ et cetera, et cetera. He’s not trying to be a bore or a know-it-all, he’s actually just really interested in the way all these things, choices or accidents, come together to make a movie and he can talk about it for ages…or complain about it, if it happens to be a crappy movie. He does so love to complain…

Throughout all of this, if his attention isn’t split by his laptop, he’s usually keeping his hands busy another way—with origami. He’s almost always got a lot of scrap paper lying around in reach and for lack of anything better to do, he’ll grab a piece and start folding it. He started screwing around with those notebook edges left over after you tear out a page, but those are messy and ran out of folds real quick, so eventually he looked up some deliberate things to make out of paper and even bought some origami paper specifically for practice and nicer looking results. He’s pretty good at hopping frogs and flapping cranes, and who can’t make a boat, but his go-to is definitely the little stars you make out of the long strips. He’s got a big jar of the stars and keeps making more to add to it, not for any reason, really, but…it’s fun to make ‘em and they look pretty so why not?

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans):

He’s a thrill-seeker. Not necessarily the death-defying stunt kind—though he cheated death once already and might be a bit cockier about his odds the next time around than he ought to be—but any thrill, even the cheap ones. He spent a lot of time Before hedging his bets and prioritizing just about everything but himself, and now he’s decided to spend the rest of his time doing the opposite, chasing excitements and novelties and things he was too cautious or restrained or just too spartan to go after. He seeks out new restaurants, trendy bars, relationships, activities, anything that catches his fancy at the moment. A lot of the things he tries out don’t stick, falling by the wayside after the luster of ‘exciting and new’ wears off—you really only need to try a PB&J burger the once, and if you’ve ridden one mechanical bull, you’ve ridden them all—but some things make an impression.

Boxing is one of the things that stuck for him. He always worked out to stay in good condition and it was a habit he kept up on the Surface, joining a local gym as soon as possible for access to the weights and the punching bag. Fisticuffs was a last resort for him when dealing with actual problems, but hitting things was a great way to blow off steam—and as repressed as he was, he had a lot of steam to blow off, so his form and footwork was always top-notch. He got noticed for it, invited to spar in the ring, and to keep a short story short, he loved it. It’s a challenge being blind in a fistfight, but in a very positive way for him, giving him a chance to use his reflexes and his soul-sense to take on his opponents and most of the time, win. It’s a visceral, almost primal pleasure for him to get to fight in a reasonably safe arena, with people who are also fighting for love of the sport and no aim to seriously injure or kill, like a dance but with someone who wants to knock you out and vice versa.

And speaking of dancing, he’s very fond of that as well for similar, yet less violent reasons. He doesn’t really dance solo, simply for joy of the music—his enjoyment is almost exclusively in the partnered activity, when he has someone to match steps and mirror movement with and combine his awareness of his body and theirs into a cohesive picture. He likes the give and take of it, the way that he can have a physical experience with someone, a conversation without a single word being spoken, all from movement and synchronicity with whoever’s signed his dance card. He knows a few formal dances already and hasn’t forgotten the steps so he’s well-prepared for a polite ballroom experience… but he’s also learned how to let his metaphorical hair down lately, and a bit of dirty dancing is hardly off the table, should his partner for the evening (or afternoon, morning, midnight) be so inclined.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus):

What happened Underground sent him into probably the worst art-block of his life. Even picking up a pen got hard to do with anything more than the intent to jot down a note for himself and he spent entirely too long with utterly dry wells of inspiration, not creating anything at all. In a desperate attempt to rekindle something creative, he ended up searching ‘art ideas’ online and discovered the vast world of craft projects. It was easier for him to actually make something when he had step-by-step guides and didn’t have to draw on his own (lacking) inspiration, and he quickly gained a liking for what he could make out of things he already had lying around the house and art supplies that were collecting dust—coffee-filter peonies, paper-straw wreaths, tin-can organizers, et cetera. He likes upcycling and getting to find use in things that might otherwise be discarded, and he really enjoys getting to put his own personal touch into crafts inspired from the internet.

He's proud enough of his works, in fact, that he wanted to show them off and—lacking real-life friends—he started posting photos of his crafts online. The response was positive but eventually, he started getting dissatisfied with the quality of the pictures he was taking, fuzzing details or altering colors, and he began looking into ways to improve the shots he was taking, lighting techniques, camera settings, angles and framing… By the time he invested in his own high-quality camera (and read the manual, front to back), he was seeing art everywhere, not just in the things he made but in the light through trees on a misty morning, in the waft of a curtain by an open window, in the people walking along the sidewalk out in front of the house. He has an eye-socket for it now and he’s always considering The Perfect Shot, how to capture the beautiful moments happening all the time with his photography. He’s good and getting better all the time, the more he practices his staging and editing.

He definitely wants to diversify his portfolio, though. Of course, he’s great at capturing domestic scenes, being a shut-in and all, but there’s more out there in the world, to see and photograph and be part of. It takes him awhile to get there but once he does, he’s very passionate about traveling. He spent such a long time stuck—first Underground, and then in his home on the Surface—and his scenery and his experiences were limited, but once he’s free there’s so much new and beautiful and exciting that he can access and he loves being able to pack up and go to it, right where it is. He wants to fill a passport and see unique vistas all over the globe, learn about cultures there, and make meaningful memories attached to every picture he takes.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans):

He likes stories, not the kind that come from a book, necessarily, but the stories people tell. The subject doesn’t matter to him much—folklore, local legends, big fish tales, ‘you’ll never believe what happened to me last week’s and more—it’s really the telling of it that he likes, how people describe what happened for an audience of their friends, family, or even strangers. He especially likes hearing the same story from different people to see how they tell it differently with their own perspectives or details that were unique to the version they heard. He’s always got a metaphorical ear open for a good yarn and a great memory for the stories people tell him, to the point that he can dispense them on cue whenever conversation’s slow, but he’s got plenty of his own experiences to make tales out of too, and the charisma and flair to make the telling entertaining.

This is a skill that comes majorly in handy for one of his other favorite hobbies, tabletop gaming. Whether he’s setting the scene for a D&D party he’s DMing for or keeping conversation going while he shuffles a deck for rummy, he loves having a table of people together to talk and play a game (or two, or three) with. It’s hard to get schedules to line up so he almost always has a few different game nights going on at any given time, in rotation depending on who can make what—and luckily, he’s a social butterfly so if someone cancels, getting substitutes to hang and make friends with over a game of something or other is never too difficult for him. He’ll go anywhere but his preference is hosting himself, he just loves having people over and showing them a good old fashioned time!

And speaking of old fashioned, his fashion is a little bit that as well. He’s a tad all over the place with it but nonetheless very interested in vintage and retro styles—the bold neon windbreakers of the 80s, the dated digital graphic tees of the 90s, the vinyl of the 00s, and even the holographics of the 10s. He tends to get a little confused about what was popular when and maybe that’s why he meshes it all together, but regardless, he loves his very eclectic wardrobe and adding to it. He makes a lot of trips to thrift stores and checks often on resale sites and gets very excited whenever he stumbles across a good find. Jackets are his favorite and he definitely has too many, but they spark joy and he’s probably not going to get rid of any or quit shopping around for more of the old school stuff anytime soon.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus):

He likes scrapbooking! Maybe not too surprising, but as someone who mysteriously came into existence one day with no memory of his past, he doesn’t like the idea of losing memories—at least, not any more memories than he’s already apparently lost. He likes keeping records of things he does and that happen in his life as a tangible proof of his existence in and impact on the world. He stores things digitally as well but having the physical album feels weightier and more permanent, so he takes great care assembling and arranging everything in it. He keeps photos of outings with friends and coworkers, fliers from lectures he attends, even receipts from restaurants and movie ticket stubs. It’s all extremely well organized and annotated to the point that it almost reads like a scientific article, but he has fun with the cutting and pasting and aesthetic arrangement of it all—a neat and tidy accounting of (as much of) his life (as he can remember).

It's probably no coincidence that his scrapbook resembles a science journal, though, because he reads a lot of them. He also attends lectures and conferences when available and open to the public because, though he doesn’t have a career in any field of science, he’s still quite passionate about it! He loves learning about new advancements and discoveries, and when he comes across something he doesn’t know or only knows a bit about, he tends to do his own research into relevant readings on the topic until he’s better informed. He loathes misinformation and willful ignorance though, and as a result he’s ended up in a few small scale social media wars where he arrives on a post with thorough corrections, arguments, and sources cited and continues to present the accurate information until he’s respectfully acknowledged or blocked. It’s…usually the latter, but he doesn’t mind a good argument and ad hominem attacks slide right off him, so…as long as he’s having fun, what does it matter?

However…for all his love of truth and fact, he is also—regrettably—truly, madly, deeply compelled by the paranormal. If asked directly, he would say that of course he doesn’t believe in (non-monster) ghosts or aliens or the supernatural, there’s no evidence of such things! At least…nothing credible. He’s read the first and second-hand accounts, reviewed the blurry inconclusive photos, entertained hypotheticals of what could have really caused the sighting or scenario in question, accounting for variables and probing with his own questions to determine more information. He may occasionally be inclined to physically visit some ‘hot spots’ or sites of infamy, just to get a better understanding of the location and potential factors in what’s been claimed… But! Obviously, he’s a devil’s advocate in this only, as intriguing as some of these concepts are, that’s all they are—concepts. The fact that he spends so much time and thought on such things does not at all validate them and it simply means that he is a man of both integrity and science, the real kind!

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans):

He likes swimming! Er…well…maybe that’s not the right word for it. It’s not diving either, really, it’s… He likes going to bodies of water, walking in, and staying under for awhile, there, that’s a more accurate description of it. He’s waterproof and he doesn’t need to breathe, so ducking under the surface for a good few hours is not only possible, but a great way to get near-total peace and quiet for however long he wants it. He wasn’t much of a swimmer when he had an organic body, so it’s a bit of a novelty as well—seeing the way things look underwater, the way sounds change, the way animals swim around him in their natural habitat. He finds being in the water to be very relaxing and pleasant, almost meditative in nature, and whenever he’s feeling especially tense or in need of some space to think (or not think), he’ll head to the nearest body of water and go right in. It would be better if he actually took his clothes off before he did this, but he usually doesn’t and has weirded many clothes with lake or sea water.

He’s also into urban exploration. Not that he specifically calls it that, but he’s a wanderer and he likes to keep a low profile so sometimes, when he happens to be in the heart of a big city and there’s nowhere anonymous enough for him to blend in, he disappears into closed, abandoned, or condemned buildings. He likes the quiet of places like these and the reduced likelihood of running into anyone trying to interact with him because nobody else is supposed to be there. Obviously sometimes people are there anyway, but usually it’s people who mind their own business or actively avoid him, which he’s completely fine with. He does also enjoy having a look around when there’s time and he can, getting to see the remnants of the people who used the building before, what they left behind and imagining what it would be like if it were actively in use. A lot of the places he gets into have nice views of the city outside, too, and it’s pleasant to find a ledge or some rebar to sit on and enjoy it.

Jewelry making came out of his preferred hangout spots, as well. There’s a lot of junk lying around in abandoned or in-construction buildings—chain-link fences, washers, nuts and bolts—and when one is sitting around in an empty spot in the early morning, waiting for the city to wake up so he can slip through the masses undetected again, one gets to fiddling with nearby things in reach. He’s no master jeweler, his creations tend to be very simple, metal bent and twisted by hand in loops and curls, maybe a shape if he’s feeling ambitious, but he likes making them regardless. Sometimes he’ll keep an eye out for interesting stones and hold onto them to incorporate them into one of his pieces, or pick up a bit of nicer wire to work with if he’s going to be passing through a more rural area where it won’t be so easily available. He never keeps the rings and necklaces and bracelets he makes, though, just leaving them on tables and benches and railings for someone else to find later. It’s the making that’s the important part to him, he doesn’t need the thing.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus):

He’s a proud and passionate DJ for partiers everywhere! He kind of fell into it, or at least into the idea of it when figuring out how to approach humanity and be a part of it, and he learned that it’s quite common for musical artists to have gimmicks that hide their real faces and identities. It seemed like it’d be easy to blend in, in a crowd like that, and when he found out about vocaloids and holographic performers he was all but sold on giving it a go. It didn’t take him long to learn how to mix songs and with a theoretically infinite track list to draw on, he’s a natural talent at playing the crowd and keeping the energy in a room high. He loves DJing for nightclubs and raves the most, but he’s starting to gain a bit of fame and notoriety for both his talent and his very advanced ‘avatar’ and might end up dropping some of his own music and playing to larger venues sooner than later.

In his spare time, of which he has a lot, he likes the challenge of hunting down lost media. He has full access to the internet as well as several archives he probably should not have access to, but it’s very hard to keep him out of anywhere he wants to be—luckily, he chooses to use his nigh unfathomable power for good, digging around here, there, and everywhere for things deleted, destroyed, or locked off from the public. It’s like a treasure hunt, following leads and connecting clues until he finds the impossible thing he’s looking for…or doesn’t. Sometimes things that are gone really are gone, but other times it’s just that no one else had the spare time and resources to try and excavate a mention of a grandmother’s VHS copy of an obscure, out of circulation film on a deleted forum post from ten years ago, track down the user, ask after the tape and offer to purchase it to convert to a digital format…and if that doesn’t pan out, the search begins anew! How exciting!

His do-gooding doesn’t end at tracking and restoring old tapes, though, and he likes to spare some time for bigger acts of justice now and again. He’s a part-time hacktivist—he takes note of ongoing crime and corruption in human society and when he can, he shines a light on it. Leaking emails, posting blacklisted videos, releasing incriminating financial records, he has little respect for the privacy of crooked CEOs and corrupt politicians and feels it’s only right that their customers and constituents know these things about the people they’re supporting. His intervention tends to lead to a lot of resignations and restructuring and legal action being pursued, so he tries not to overstep too much with the business of humans, especially not for any old small-fry in the pond…but the big fish, the guys in the news with allegations that don’t stick because of money lack of evidence… Well, he doesn’t mind digging up that evidence, if the proper authorities really lack the time for it—you’re welcome!

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans):

He’s very into spiritualism and all things mystical. His brush with the cosmically unknowable really expanded his perception and sense of things around him and he’s freshly fascinated by the things in this world beyond mortal comprehension, things he’s only glimpsed and felt more than he clearly understood. He loves reading or hearing about other peoples’ spiritual experiences—near-deaths, out-of-body’s, energies sensed and presences felt and many more—being let into the perspective of others who have been through things not easily explained and maybe getting a chance to share his own oddities in the process. He collects a lot of paraphernalia from the people and places he goes for these things, chakra bracelets, dreamcatchers, crystal pyramids and the like. He freely admits some of his items have stronger energies than others and theorizes that belief and intention in the creation of the object has an effect, you see the aura of this one feels—you get the idea, he could talk about it for hours.

He's also a very big fan of riddles! He knew a few before but has really gotten into them since, diving down the rabbit hole of riddles and tricky word puzzles. He finds the construction of them incredibly interesting, how specific words are chosen and phrases are structured to talk around the answer, carefully ringing around it to imply only and make the listener deduce the truth around its absence—just like how black holes are discovered by observing the warping of space around it! He has lots of riddle books and knows the answers to most of the basic ones out there, and he’s always open to hearing new ones, as well as coming up with some of his own from time to time. He takes his riddling quite seriously and will never look up the answer or allow anyone to tell him before he guesses—he wants to reason it out for himself, even if it takes him days to do it. If you manage to stump him, expect a call later on with the solution and exuberant praise for the gift you gave him!

A far more pedestrian and down-to-earth hobby of his, however, is pottery. Riddling and talking about the cosmos is all well and good, but it’s difficult actually meeting people to do those with—they don’t really have meet-ups for those sorts of things. But! They do have pottery classes, all over the place, welcoming beginners who are generally also open to making friends there, and he decided to go where the people were. It’s probably not something he would’ve been as happy doing before…Everything, reining in the urge to be great at it first try and do clean, neat work to impress people… but he doesn’t really think that way anymore, so he likes it! It's messy and mistakes are easy to make, both on the wheel and in the kiln, but that’s life and he’s learning same as everyone else. He gets to socialize, he gets to make stuff out of clay, and he gets so very many pots and mugs and bowls to give his friends and loved ones—a win-win-win!

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus):

He never used to put much effort into his wardrobe. He was anxious and introverted and never wanted to stand out too much, so he always aimed for under, rather than over-dressed. …But things changed. He’s more confident, he wants to stand out, he wants to look his best and dress himself in all the nice clothes he always thought he wasn’t cool enough to wear—so now, he does. He keeps his eye-socket on modern fashion trends, subscribing to magazines and tuning in to designer runways so he always knows what’s in and can coordinate his wardrobe accordingly. He's not necessarily a brand snob, he doesn’t subscribe to the idea that clothes (and accessories) need a label to look good, but at the same time, he won’t compromise on quality and sometimes that means paying for it. Still, he has a lot of fun keeping in style and taking more care in how he presents himself, and it turns into something of a confidence feedback loop—feeling good because he looks good because he feels good because…

With his newfound confidence, he’s also gotten into the habit of singing out loud. He hums tunes every now and again, surely everyone does, but now he sings, sometimes softly and sometimes belting out lyrics at full volume to whatever song floats through his head. What can he say? He’s started to like the sound of his own voice and it makes him feel good to hear how he sounds, and to feel how freely and beautifully the notes come out. Maybe it’s a little prideful but he doesn’t see the harm in making music and feeling good about it, so he sings when he’s occupied, when he’s idle, when he’s asked to—no special occasion necessary save for the joy of sound.

Of course, this also gives him something in common with some of his favorite creatures on the planet: birds. He likes animals and tends to be great with them—especially if he happens to use his ‘trick’—but he’s particularly fond of the feathered ones and the pretty sounds they make. He started learning how to mimic bird-calls (now that he’s not too self-conscious to feel stupid about it) and found he has a talent for it, getting all kinds of flighted friends to stop by and sing back when he chirps. He knows a lot of calls and can identify most local bird species by sound and sight, and it’s a favored party trick of his to push a little intent into his whistles and get wild birds to land on his finger like they were trained. He’s actually looking to break into falconry too, so he can keep and train a raptor someday, but there’s a lot of training and regulation involved in that sport and he’s not in any special kind of hurry. Plenty of birds to watch and sing to and play with in the meantime!

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans):

He’s been on his own for quite awhile. Granted, most of that time was unconscious in a semi-lucid dream-state, but that still left him pretty bereft of any meaningful company for a long damn time. He’s a social guy, he’s gotta make some connections with people at some point or it’s just gonna feed into his main character syndrome, so he starts getting involved in competitive team activities pretty much as soon as possible. At first it’s gaming—multiplayers, with mic enabled of course—when he’s still building his physical health back up, but once he’s clear for it he’s joining up with just about every team sport he can find. The Surface has plenty of options for him to choose from. Paintball? Definitely, get ready to meet your maker. Go-karting? Can’t believe it took so long to ask, let’s go. Axe-throwing? Oh hell yes, you know it! He’s competitive but a mostly good loser and hardly sore winner, so whatever the game he’s all in, just happy to be able to play.

When he’s solo and not actively burning energy, he…probably should be. He overproduces magic like a sonuvabitch, and if he’s not using it, that’s a problem—for him and everyone and everything around him. If he’s lacking something to do with his energy, and no other ways to expend it, the easiest thing to do is make a bunch of bullets. This, naturally, solves one problem while creating another and out of the abundance of bones lying around the place came the elegant solution of building with them. He uses his bone bullets like some (frat house) people use beer cans, stacking them together to make thrones chairs, tables, and towers. Sometimes he’ll jenga these structures, knock ‘em down to reuse the bullets for something else, but sometimes, if he's managed to stack up something particularly impressive, he’ll put in the extra effort to make them structurally sound and keep them as-is.

For all that he’s good at building things up, he takes just as much pleasure in taking them apart. He likes working with his hands, always has, opening something up and poking around inside to figure out what goes on in there. Unfortunately, and he’ll never admit as much out loud, he is…not very strong, physically—the big stuff, heavy duty machinery that takes a decent amount of elbow grease to get into is…a little bit beyond his ability, at least comfortably. By default, that leaves him with the little stuff to tinker with, clocks and watches, TVs and blenders, anything he can get his hands on and pop open without too much work. Clockwork mechanisms are his favorites to work with, the very tangible cause and effect of motion inside, but he’s no slouch with a soldering iron and more fiddly electronics are hardly any trouble. He likes fixing stuff that’s broken but it doesn’t have to be for him to want to disassemble something in working order, just for a quick look. Don’t worry, he knows what he’s doing, he’ll put it right back—possibly in better condition than when he found it!

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus):

He has difficulty finding hobbies for himself, at first. Doing things he enjoys—much less expressing that he enjoyed them—was both forbidden and dangerous, so he’s in unexplored territory without explicit orders to do or not do something. Undyne gets him started with puzzles after noticing that he seemed to like solving them for her on patrols. A jigsaw seems as good as anything to start with, right? Well… yes, very much so, because he loves the medium instantly. One obvious solution (to assemble the pieces into a picture), no time constraint, and no way to do it incorrectly? It’s perfect! He graduates quickly from small, simple jigsaws to large, complex ones and loves being able to sit down with a few thousand pieces and slowly, steadily arrange them the way they’re supposed to be. He was given a massive, single-color monolith of a jigsaw once, as a joke…which completely didn’t land because it only took him a bit longer than usual and he loved it just as much. Go figure.

His brother gave him another hobby, upon remembering that he used to (as a toddler) like scribbling on paper, and gifted him a color-by-number book. It was a little juvenile, involved considerably less problem-solving than puzzles, but that’s really not a bad thing for him, giving him a task to do by rote that appeals to his creative side rather than the militaristic orders he got until that point. Eventually, as he gains independence and starts to feel more comfortable making choices of his own, he ditches the ‘by-number’ part but sticks with coloring, using watercolors and colored pencils to fill in pages of designs with whatever he wants. He finds it very relaxing and satisfying to do, and with encouragement even frames some of the pieces he’s proudest of. Friends and family may expect to receive them as gifts, especially if they’ve complimented one in particular—it’ll be theirs in short order without a second thought.

His most consuming hobby, however, is one he came to on his own: the care and keeping of fish. His first was a betta, a bright red fighting fish, drooping and still in a tiny little cup on a shelf—an impulse purchase he’d be hard-pressed to explain, especially with no animal experience whatsoever, much less specifically fish. But, he did it, and after that it was his responsibility to care for it, so he put in the research to determine its needs, the size of the tank, the pH balance of the water, the food and feeding schedule, environmental enrichment… It was a lot of work getting everything together but the reward in seeing the sad lifeless betta turn bright and active, thriving in the home he’d built for it, that was an addictive feeling. It wasn’t long until he was setting up more tanks, and buying lots more aquatic critters—tetras, cichlids, snails, guppies—to fill them with. He’s an extremely diligent and dedicated fish-dad and likes to sit and watch them swim the way some people watch TV.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans):

He knows his way around a needle and thread. He learned to sew out of pride necessity, learning to mend ripped and worn garments rather than having to beg for new on his or his brother’s behalf. It started as the lesser of two evils for him, but eventually he grew to enjoy it—work, of course, to have to close holes and hem and take in this and that, but work that he was generally left alone to do and not bothered for other things. It’s still that, but now that he doesn’t have a panopticon of a mocking prick judging his every action, he’s branching out into a bit more personal flair. He tried felting, with…poor results…but embroidery and needlepoint is working out considerably better. He’s still not especially creative so he prefers to work off patterns rather than freehand anything, and most of the things he stitches aren’t exactly to his own personal style, so a lot of his work gets donated but some things end up on the wall, others as patches for bags and jackets… It’s something to do.

…Making booze is also something to do. He didn’t exactly see it coming, something he kind of fell into. Per his brother’s preference, they’ve made their home in a wooded, mountainous area, and per his own preference, it’s secluded, a ways away from the town proper. Grocery runs every time there’s no more alcohol in the house (because somebody had company over and left a thimble in the bottle without telling anyone) is irritating, especially if he’s just getting home late and nowhere nearby is even open. A lot of locals get around the problem by simply brewing, fermenting, or distilling their own, and after looking into the process, he decided it was more than doable. He’s not much of a beer-drinker and never bothered with that, but he makes some damn good fruit wines if he says so himself, and a moonshine that’ll knock you on your ass if you’re not careful. His little operation is technically illegal—his favorite kind of illegal—but it's all for private use and he keeps to himself when he’s in town so he’s flying pretty low beneath the radar.

He is out of town a lot, mostly for work purposes, and passing through unfamiliar towns on the regular exposed him to quite a lot of postcard kiosks. He would look at them, think about his semi-estranged brother back home and how weird it would be, with their relationship being what it is, to call or text just to say ‘hey’ and… Well, eventually he bought one, scribbled a curt (coded) message on it, and sent it home before he could think better of it. Neither of them ever said anything about it, but he found it later on his desk when he got home with a scrawled reply back to what he’d written, and it kind of just spiraled into a thing from there. Anytime he goes somewhere, he finds a place to pick up a postcard to mail back, and when he gets home he tucks it (and the inevitable addition onto it) away in a binder for safekeeping. He takes a lot of care in the choosing and preservation of these cards and has a sizeable, growing collection.

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus):

He’s a runner. There’s almost nothing he likes more than getting outside and taking off, jogging full speed to nowhere in particular until he’s out of breath and covered in sweat. He was cooped up for a long time in between specific missions and keeping pace on a treadmill just can’t compare to the free feeling he gets when he’s completely off-leash and can just go, as fast and as far as he wants to. Sometimes he’ll spice up his runs with a bit of parkour, clearing obstacles or scaling trees to take the branches for awhile, but he’s happy as long as he gets to let loose—sky above him, earth below, and nothing to call him back but his own limitations when he’s totally exhausted or he decides to be done.

For similar reasons, he’s interested in foraging. He likes nature and the outdoors, prefers it to anything indoors bar none, and the longer he can spend out in it without having to make his way back to civilization, the better. So, he started learning about the plants he sees—what’s edible, what’s not, what’s poisonous versus medicinal and so on. A lot of the info about it is geared towards humans rather than bioengineered skeletons so there’s still a learning curve, and a lot of things he's taken it upon himself to test out. He was built with a high metabolism and some natural poison resistance so he’s too cocky to be stopped from doing it, really, no matter how many times he’s called a reckless idiot for touching and ingesting possibly harmful substances. He's made a lot of interesting discoveries with regards to the local flora and only hardly gotten sick about it, so he counts it as a win.

He keeps track of said discoveries in his journal, which he takes out with him whenever he leaves the house for a nature walk (or run). He likes having it handy to note down things he does throughout the day, places he goes, things he sees… He never really got into art, not the way he could’ve, if things had been different, but he can scratch out some decent sketches to fill in the margins of his journal—the path down to the stream he found, the deer that only shed one antler, that berry that definitely did not agree with his metaphorical stomach, do not try again… His memory isn’t bad, exactly, but his mind and feet are both prone to wandering so it’s nice to have a log of his activities to look over later and put together things he missed at the time, or be reminded of stuff he wants to revisit. Most of his journaling is done halfway up a tree, sprawled along a branch with half an eye-socket on the view from up high.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans):

He wasn’t especially interested in plants or flowers, at least not until one started altering him—and the rest of monsterkind—in mind and body. That’s when he got interested and started studying. First the echo flower, its strange properties nearest and dearest to him, but gradually branching out to golden flowers, forevergreens, water sausages, any magical plant he can get his hands on to examine. Non-magical plants are equally fascinating, especially in their potential effects on humans—he knows probably an unsettling amount of flowers and greenery that are toxic to humans, the symptoms caused by contact or ingestion and how long it takes them to appear. Thankfully, he’s not much for the care and keeping of plants as keeping things alive seems like an awful lot of work. Still, he finds them interesting and has lots of botany and anthology books lying around, with leaves and petals dried and pressed between their pages. Did you know that the echo flower’s bioluminescence remains for up to three years after the bloom’s been clipped? Fascinating stuff.

Less of a passion but still at least an idle hobby, he can play a bit of piano. He’s self-taught—plunking out keys on the piano in Waterfall while passing through to entertain himself (and a little bit to annoy Undyne)—but though he can’t read sheet music or play any full length songs, he can tickle out a short tune by sound once he’s heard it at least once. He’s got a good ear for notes, despite not having any actual ears. It may actually be some kind of perfect pitch thing going on in his head but he should not be informed of this ever because he will hang on the word ‘perfect’ and be utterly insufferable about it. Mostly, he just uses this to play a few random notes whenever he comes across a keyed instrument, or to abruptly switch to an impromptu recreation of iconic horror scores to catch people by surprise. The theme from Halloween or the tubular bells from The Exorcist are favorites, but he’s unpredictable enough to learn more if you turn your back on him too long.

What he probably spends the most time on, however, is quilting. Perhaps a bit surprising, with his…everything else about him, but he’s a skeleton who values his creature comforts quite a bit, many of which have been made considerably more difficult for him to enjoy due to the ways his body has changed. In this particular case, it’s his reduced physical sensation making it nearly impossible to feel warm. He’s never cold anymore, not really, but he’s never warm either and he takes that quite personally, almost offended by the uselessness of thin clothing and scraps that dare to call themselves blankets. If there are no blankets thick enough and heavy enough get him warm, he’ll just have to make them himself…and so that’s what he does. Any passingly usable cloth in his possession tends to end up part of a quilt, with little care for patterning or overall design—his only priority is thick and heavy and warm, and if he doesn’t feel like he’s in a panini press by the time he’s finished, then it’s back to the drawing board.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus):

He maybe went a little bit nuts for awhile there after the human first left. Some might argue that he’s still a little bit nuts but he would agree he was pretty embarrassingly desperate in the first few years after. They were gone and they weren’t answering their phone and for everything they’d done, they had been his friend so…he was worried! But of course, monsters were trapped, with hope of leaving anytime soon soundly dashed, so he couldn’t just go look for them. He wanted to reach them, or just someone on the Surface who could relay a message. That’s how he started experimenting with radio, out of a misguided and impossible attempt to communicate out of the Underground with someone up there. He never reached anyone from down there, of course, but he found some comfort in trying—and eventually, enjoyment too! He likes fiddling with the equipment to tune into different frequencies, and the sound of empty static is soothing to him. It’s a lot more fun now that he’s aboveground and can actually hear other people, and he hopes to get his license to transmit himself soon!

Before the Surface, though, things were a little lonelier for him. Colder, darker. Too dark entirely—of course a dark environment was necessary to promote the growth of their staple crop and the artificial day-cycles were only making monsters waste more time sleeping than they already were, he understood the need for the dark…but surely, it didn’t have to be so complete? How was anyone to know that he was at home and available to host company if there were no warm, inviting lights in the window? Candles seemed the perfect solution, natural light from flickering fires that wasn’t too harsh, still a bit dim but plenty to see by! He started just collecting them so he would always have them on hand if needed, but eventually started making them himself with wax on the stove. Scent or color don’t matter much to him, but he really likes being able to customize the size and shape to his needs. And his needs…aren’t so much anymore, now that there’s regular sunlight, but candles are still great for when there isn’t, and when electric lights are little too intense. It never hurts to have more candles around, for emergencies!

He's also exploring a new hobby up on the surface, inspired by his and his brother’s new careers—bone collecting! Now, it’s not what you’re thinking, he’s not after human bones. Those are still very much in use by the deceased, and he's sure surviving loved ones would be very cross if tried to just take them! But his job was how he learned that humans and other organic, non-magical creatures all contain skeletons of their own and when they die everything but the bone rots away. He thinks it’s very cool and obviously humans are off the table to inspect more closely, but animals don’t mind. He takes note of any dead creatures he happens to find—mostly birds and squirrels—and after allowing the other local wildlife to have first pick at it, he collects the remains to take home. He isn’t overly fond of the smells and textures of rot and asked for his brother to help with the de-fleshing and degreasing with the first few things he brought back, but he's got a handle on it now and loves to artfully display his cleaned finds all around the house. Skulls are his favorite, but he has some lovely wishbones and plenty of vertebrae that he’s equally proud of showing off!

[worldofedd]

[🔥] "I wish that whoever came up with the "Hot Chocolate Mac and Cheese" dies and goes to hell no matter what..."

[fastfists]

"Mhm...?"

[libbybee]

THE BENEFITS OF CARING — SA

◜pairing: astarion ⨯ fem!healer!reader ◜rating: MDNI 18+ ┊ wc: 13K ◜cw: fluff, sweet-dirty talk, wounds caring, previous sexual tension, feelings, rain, porn with some plot, first time sex, body worship, bodily fluids, piv, masturbation [F, M], blowjob, cock warming-riding, creampie, overstimulation, aftercare, morning talk.

▹ summary. one brow arched. “oh, really?” he asked sarcastically. “then perhaps you can explain why you’re straddling me like you are, love.”

A/N. english isn't my native language, sorry if there are grammar mistakes.

AO3 ┊ MASTERLIST ┊ PLAYLIST ┊ IMG

‎

‘He was foolish. Reckless. Utterly stupid.’

Those words spun like a storm in your mind as you watched Astarion dash into danger. All because Gale, with one of his grandiose schemes, asked him to be a distraction—a distraction, of all things. The sheer absurdity grated on you, especially after that cocky, charming smile Astarion showed.

For all his talk of survival and his centuries-old staying alive, he seemed oblivious to the risks he took, as if he actually believed he was invincible. That careless swagger, that excitement in his eyes—it frustrated you to no end. Why does he have to be like this?

You were the only one in the camp capable of tending to wounds after Shadowheart decided to go off on her own because of a disagreement. And he knew it all too well.

He’d charged straight ahead of a group of Flaming Fists, who’d been hell-bent on killing you all after a disastrous misunderstanding. How you’d managed to escape with just minor injuries was still beyond your reach, but one thing was clear: if his recklessness didn’t kill him, you might do it yourself.

When he came to you later, sheepishly asking for a hand with his wounds, you were ready to refuse—but then he looked at you, with that pleading puppy look in his eyes that seemed to make all your frustration melt in an instant… and you just gave in.

You stepped out of your tent, dressed in your camp clothes and carrying a small bag with bandages and supplies. The moment the cold night breeze swept over your face and bare arms, you regretted your clothing.

But you headed towards Astarion’s tent. And as you crossed the camp, the faint patter of raindrops began to break the silence, with cool droplets striking the ground. You quickened your pace; the last thing you needed right now was to catch a cold.

The flap of the tent swayed gently in the breeze as you lifted your hand to brush the canvas aside and stepped in.

Inside, there was a warm setting given by some candles, and the rich scent of Astarion quickly enveloped you—hints of brandy and rosemary. And there he lay, reclining on his bedroll against some plushy pillows, with an opened book resting idly in his hands, though he wasn’t reading. His crimson eyes lifted rapidly to meet yours by the moment you entered, his brow raising slightly in surprise before a smile spread on his lips.

Astarion set his book aside with an elegant flourish, sitting a bit as his hand reached to help you enter in. “Ah, my darling... at last. I was beginning to think you’d leave me alone all nigh—” His words cut off abruptly as your palm connected sharply with his cheek.

“That’s for risking your life like a fool.” You snapped as you sat beside him on his bedroll.

He lifted a hand to his cheek and soothed the stinging sensation, shocked but faintly amused by your unexpected reaction. Before he could even part his lips to say something, you raised a finger to cut him off while dropping your bag on the bedroll with a firm thud.

“Honestly, Astarion, what in the hells were you thinking?” You demanded, already taking a cloth from your bag. You didn't even wait for him to reply and just reached for his arm, where a nasty wound marred his porcelain skin. “Running in like that without a second thought...” You murmured to yourself, furrowing your brows in worry.

Letting out a sigh, you carefully wiped the wound. “What if I hadn’t been there? Or if you’d got ki—” You shut yourself, swallowing down the knot of anxiety that had lodged in your throat since the fight ended. Memories of that night at the Tiefling’s party appeared in your mind—when, just for a moment, he’d looked at you beyond his enchanting demeanour. And how that left you feeling fragile in a way you weren’t ready to confront.

After a moment, you spoke more calmly, “You can’t keep doing this, Astarion. You can’t keep risking yourself as if you don’t matter.”

As you dabbed carefully at another cut, his face tensed in a grimace, and you couldn't hold back any longer. “I don’t care how bold you think you are, Astarion—there’s no excuse for being so imprudent. You’re not some disposable distraction, no matter what Gale or anyone else thinks.” You noticed how one of his eyebrows raised with that glint in his eyes. “And don’t even think about giving me that look.”

For once, he simply fell silent, watching how your hands moved in his arm with the cool cloth with... perhaps an affectionate expression. Then his voice dropped, gentler than you'd ever heard it. “I didn't realise you cared about me... quite this much.”

Your hands froze briefly, feeling a heat rising to your cheeks. You controlled your feelings. “Well, someone has to keep you in line, and I’m fairly certain neither of our lovely friends would be up to the task.” You clarified, somewhat exasperated, but with some gentility in your tone.

You heard a soft chuckling from him, as he was aware of the truth in your words. Gently, his hand reached out to caress yours. “It means... more than you think. To have someone caring.” As your eyes dropped to his hand and then his face, you saw past his charm for a fleeting moment, past his sly smile to the man who hadn't known kindness in far too long. “Thank you.”

Your eyes widened while your cheeks rose even more, quickly looking again to his arm as you wiped another open wound. You cleared your throat. “Just... try not to make me need to patch you up every time we get into trouble, alright? For my sanity, if nothing else.”

He gently caressed the back of your hand one last time before letting his hand fall to his lap. “Oh, and miss all the attention you give me?” He looked into your eyes, pouting a little but taking in the seriousness in your face. “Fine. I’ll be more careful, love.” His voice was laced with a teasing warmth, easing the sting of worry in your chest, making it almost worth it.

The rain began to fall harder, the deafening through of it slapping against the canvas. When you looked at his shirt, there was something about how it had dark patches of blood through that caught your attention. You could almost see the bruises starting to form and the scratches beneath the fabric.

You glanced up at him again. “Astarion, take that shirt off; I need to see what’s under it.”

He raised one of his eyebrows. “Eager, aren't we?” He smirked. “I suppose I can indulge you, darling...”

You gave him a soft smile for his tease, speaking exasperated but amused. “I’m sure you’ve got wounds under there, Astarion. Just take it off.”

His smirk widened, clearly enjoying. “Such impatience... Very well, love. You’ve earned the right to see what lies beneath.” Then he reached for the hem of his classic white shirt, the delicate fabric gathering in his hands before he tugged it over his head in one fluid move, slightly disheveling his curls.

The shirt slipped away, revealing his chest and the sharp definition of his collarbones. The flickering candlelight danced across his skin, casting shadows over the subtle contours of his physique. His movements were unhurried as he was offering you a glimpse.

As he tossed the garment aside carelessly, it landed in a heap near the edge of the bedroll. The air between you seemed to shift. His crimson eyes showed a slight hint of vulnerability that he quickly masked with a smirk.

“Better?” He drawled, his usual charm creeping back. “Is the view satisfactory, or are you planning to strip me further?”

You rolled your eyes, though the warmth blooming in your cheeks betrayed your mock tiresomeness. “Oh, stop. I’m only trying to see how severe the damage is. Not everything has to be an invitation for your theatrics.” With the cloth in hand, you pressed it gently to a scrape on his shoulder.

Trying to focus solely on the task at hand, you tried not to stare too long at the sight before you, but the way you moved closer left a sense of intimacy that you couldn't quite ignore. The quiet hum of your fingers tracing his chest and the lines of his abdomen made you feel the way his skin seemed to breathe beneath your fingertips. And you could swear that you heard almost inaudible sighs from him when your hands brushed over particularly tender sites.

The storm raged harder, hammering relentlessly against the tent as if the heavens insisted on being heard.

The wounds were worse than you thought—a mixture of gashes and dark bruises, a few of them with a touch of infection already setting in. Your eyes faltered briefly when your heart tightened at this sight as you moved from one injury to the next, cleaning them.

Astarion's gaze remained fixed on you, changing between your hands and your preoccupied expression. For once, the usual, confident, and charismatic vampire who normally danced with danger and seductiveness had taken his mask off. Showing the face of someone who, for once, truly trusted in someone else and allowed you to take care of him.

His breath caught when you reached a particularly deep gash along his abdomen, and you had to steady yourself to not flinch with him. The sound of his discomfort sent a tremor through your hands. Still, he kept his endurance and didn't flinch away from you; this only made your chest ache more.

He broke the silence with a low mutter with an odd weariness. “You should stop doing that.”

Your fingers froze, halting mid-motion. “Stop what?” You asked, but not looking up, trying to maintain your focus.

“Caring so much,” he replied quietly. “It doesn’t suit you.”

You stilled, taken aback by his words, before you finally looked up to meet his gaze. “You’re a fool.” You shot back.

He let out a soft laugh, but it wasn’t the usual mocking sound; no, it sounded with a subtle trace of gratitude, or perhaps something far more complicated for him.

“You know,” he added after a long moment, his voice lower now, “I’m not used to this. To someone looking after me.”

You let your hands rest on his waist, looking up once more. “I’m not doing this because you’re special,” you replied with a snark tone. “I’m doing it because you’re an idiot, Astarion. And if you keep getting yourself hurt like this, I might just tie you up next time to keep you out of trouble.”

His lips showed that smile of his again, though more tenderly. “Ah, my very own personal keeper. What would I do without you, darling?”

After you grabbed and secured a bandage around his waist for his deep wound, you allowed your hands to stay on his body moments longer than necessary. You could feel the enveloping air between you; the silence was tense, though neither of you moved or said anything. Astarion's pupils were dilated looking at you, and they held a certain depth that seemed to pull at you.

Your mind was still so wrapped up in the care you'd given him that you barely noticed the shift in your own position until you relaxed to adjust the posture of your body. That's when the realisation hit you like a punch to the gut—you were straddling him.

Your knees rested on either side of his hips, and you could feel the constant pressure of his pelvis against yours in a way that felt far too out of place.

A sharp breath caught in your throat, and you instinctively stiffened while a rush of hotness flooded your chest. Your mind started to race: ‘How long have we been like this? How had I not noticed this before?’ The tightness of your hips against his, the way your bodies seemed to fit together so... naturally—it was impossible to ignore.

But Astarion? He didn’t falter even for a second. His body remained relaxed beneath yours, with some sort of steady confidence, like he had no intention of acknowledging the shift in the dynamic. There was the faintest shift in his posture, a barely perceptible tightening of his grip on your thigh, but it went away in an instant.

“Getting comfortable, darling?” He spoke smoothly, with a dangerous and devilishly enticing tone. His lips curled into that signature grin of his, but this time it was different; there was no teasing edge, no light-hearted mockery. Instead, there was a subtle weight to it, as it appeared to hold more meaning than it usually did.

“I must admit, I didn’t think you’d be so forward, love.” He purred. There was no mistaking the satisfaction in his voice, the quiet thrill touring his body of the intimacy at that moment.

The hand on your thigh slowly slid to your hip, allowing his fingers to linger there briefly before trailing up to your waist. You straightened up immediately, your face flushing while your pulse hammered in your chest because you had never been this close to him before—really close. Too close.

“I wasn't... trying to be forward...” Your voice tumbled, feeling a nervous tension twisting in your gut. Your words stumbled over each other, sharper than you meant them to be. “I was just trying to—”

“Trying to cure me, I know,” he interrupted, his soft chuckle rolling over you like a sensual caress. “Though, love, such a delicate position for a healer. Wouldn’t you agree?” His voice dipped, low and molten, sharpening his smile into something far more dangerous. His eyes were locked on yours, unfaltering, almost daring you to react.

Everything else blurred into insignificance. All you could hear was the erratic pounding of your own heartbeat and his breathing, far too steady for the situation.

“I...” you started, but the tightness in your throat made it difficult to say a word. You didn’t know what to say; you didn’t even know if you wanted to break the silence hanging between you. “We should probably...” The sentence fizzled out, as useless as your resolve to push away the growing tension.

Before you could even think of anything else, the heat of his touch burnt through the fabric of your pyjamas, making your skin tingle in its wake. His hand slid up your side, grazing your ribs and the curvature of your breast with his thumb before setting at your waist to grip it firmly. The way his thumb slowly began to stroke the curve of your waist only made your nervousness get worse. His touching wasn't just casual—it was as if he wanted to test your reaction.

A rush of sensations made it impossible to think clearly, your body betraying you. His posture—his other elbow propped for support—the constant pressing of his crotch against yours, his hand on your waist—it all pulled you into a current you weren’t sure you could fight.

“Go on,” he purred with the faintest hint of mockery. His gaze moved to your lips, as though he could draw out the answer with nothing but his stare. His fingers flexed slightly against your waist, the pressure sending a ripple of heat skittering through you. “What was it you were saying? Something about what we should do?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes, instead focusing on your hands as they rested awkwardly near his chest, fingers twitching. The heat building between your thighs crept upward, spreading through your belly like a forest fire. You felt flushed and shivering, not just from the closeness but from the way he was glancing at you—like you were the only thing in the world worth his attention.

You weren't prepared for this; you hadn't anticipated that the barriers you thought were between you would collapse into nothing so abruptly.

Astarion’s voice cut through your thoughts like a blade. “Are you going to keep me here all night, love?” His tone kept low, almost a growl.

You struggled to string together coherent thoughts before saying something. “I didn't know you wanted... I didn't think...” The words stumbled out again, barely audible as your voice betrayed you.

His smirk deepened, and his crimson eyes held a predatory gleam that made your stomach twist and flutter all at once. “Don’t play coy with me, darling.” His voice was velvety enough to bury each word into your ears. “I know you’ve thought about this—about me. I can see it, feel it. You want this as much as I do.” You tried to look away to escape his gaze, but it was impossible. His eyes held you captive, burning with something raw and unapologetically ravenous.

Your eyes widened as he tugged you closer with a calculated ease that made you perfectly aligned with him—causing your pussy to rub directly on his cock. The feeling made every inch of you stand on edge, your body betraying you with a tremor you couldn’t suppress. Then he reclined back against his pillows more comfortably before his other hand glided up your thigh. “Relax, darling...” He purred lowly, his tone a sensuous command that curled around you like smoke.

You became instantly conscious of the burning sensation beneath you—the growing hardness pressing insistently against your cunt. Your thoughts whirled, panic and desire colliding in a tumult. ‘How did I end up like this?’ But the answer was painfully clear—he had led you, and you’d followed without resistance for being distracted caring for him.

“I... I wasn't planning... this.” You forced yourself to meet his gaze, but his eyes—bold and piercing—made it impossible to hold.

One brow arched. “Oh, really?” He asked sarcastically. “Then perhaps you can explain why you’re straddling me like you are, love.”

His hardening length was impossible to ignore, even through the barrier of clothes, the sensation making heat surge through you in torrents. You swallowed hard. “I… It’s only because you moved me—” You tried to protest, but Astarion pressed a finger to your lips to silence you before leaning in to kiss your neck. “Moved you, did I?” He teasingly whispered against your skin. “Then don’t even think of moving, love... you're not going anywhere.”

Those words echoed in your ears. You knew you’d been fighting with your feelings since that night with the tieflings—when you’d seen him in his tent with his wine focused entirely on you, ignoring everyone else. You’d told yourself it was just the wine, the moment, but now you could hardly keep up the pretence.

For a hesitant moment, you thought about pulling away—but then his expression softened, almost looking if his black pupils were begging for you to stay with him, to kiss him when he noticed your intentions as you stared at his lips and slowly you hovered them with yours; the distance seemed endless.

With a small effort, you leaned in and kissed his lips, and you could feel how he smiled, clearly delighted by your boldness and the way your hand curled at his nape to draw him to you. The motions of your lips were slow, unsure. But as soon as you felt his opening slightly against yours, the shyness began to fade.

His hands clamped on your hips to pull you closer until there wasn't any space for doubt or even space untouched between you, and you could feel him—all of him. The pressure of his cock perfectly aligned with your entrance provoked you to gasp against his mouth; even in the hesitation, he gave you no choice but to lean into him, to crave more and push past the uncertainty that had held you back.

He just seemed to want more, that he couldn’t get enough of you. His mouth felt as if it were burning yours. The kiss started slow and tentative, but that didn't last. His lips grew more insistent as he deepened the kiss, tilting his head and parting yours with ease to slip his tongue between your lips in a hurry. This made you pant by the initial shock of it, racing your heart. Your thoughts began to dissolve, leaving only the moment, and you simply surrendered to the sensation.

The swipes of his tongue weren’t gentle at all. He was implacable, exploring your mouth, moving deeper. His kiss wasn’t just a kiss—it was an invitation, a way to encourage you. And as you accepted, you met his tongue with your own, unconfident at first, but he gave you the courage to match his boldness. Astarion groaned softly, a deep sound that reverberated in your lips, sending an intense pulse of arousal to your pussy.

There was no going back now, and you knew it. This was it—the pull to him, the demand of his touch, and now you could feel the indescribable connection that had been building between you from the very first time your eyes had met.

His lips pulled away just enough to speak. “You’re mine tonight.” He groaned roughly as his hands drifted to the sensitive space between your inner thighs, cupping your pussy and slowly kneading it with his fingers. “And when I’m through with you, you won't even remember what it felt like to be without me.”

Your chest tightened as his words hit hard, but you found yourself barely able to even think, unable to do more than just nod as you looked down at him. Your lips parted while you took your breath, while his hand moved with a voracious elegance, dragging his fingertips along the seam where your trousers joined. The air was charged and burning before he did what he did.

With a sharp tug, Astarion tore the fabric between your thighs. The sound was violent as the seams of your trousers gave way under the force of his hands, almost merciless. The rip clearly was strategic—exposing just enough to reveal what was hidden.

But the regret rushed over you the moment the cool night air hit your exposed area. You hadn’t been wearing any panties, and now, with nothing to shield your nakedness, you felt scandalously vulnerable. You cursed yourself for all the nights you decided against wearing anything, thinking no one would notice. Now, the decision turned painfully foolish.

His eyes dropped, and his pupils dilated further at the sight of his no longer hidden treasure, curling his lips with delight. A low laugh escaped his throat. “Well, well,” he purred, distinctly pleased. “It seems you’ve been planning this all along, haven’t you? No panties? How deliciously bold.”

You mentally damned your stupidity, your cheeks heating in embarrassment. The simple choice of not wearing underwear before going to sleep now felt like an invitation, one he seemed all too eager to accept.

The shock of it left you momentarily motionless and without words, feeling the cool air kissing the exposed skin of your thighs and your core. His hand brushed over the tear he had just created, grazing his fingers very close to where your pussy was.

“I can still see that shy little spark in you, even now.” He talked again, locking onto you. The playful smirk on his lips softened as he watched the blush across your cheeks. “It's almost... adorable.”

You tilted your head slightly, trying to escape his penetrating stare, a nervous pout forming on your lower lip as your hands clutched at his shoulders for some sort of stability. But a sudden gasp escaped your lips when his middle and ring fingers slid between your folds with smooth precision, parting them easily. His fingers let your clitoris be positioned right between both; your sensitive bud responded instantly after so many winters without another’s touch, and your grip on his shoulders only grew firmer.

When they finally clamped on either side of your clit, his fingers massaged it with a slow back-and-forth motion, sending an uncontrollable shiver through your nub. Your hips instinctively moved due to his stimulation, causing a soft tremor in your pelvis as the tingling sensation built. The exact pressure he exerted made you melt further, caught in the heat of it and masking your timid instincts.

All swipes of his fingers coaxed your body to react in ways you could barely control. Astarion's smile widened as he enjoyed watching the last traces of your shyness slowly dissolve beneath his touch. Eventually joining his thumb to the dance, finally rubbing directly over the skin covering your bud before pressing down in slow circles that made your thighs tremble against his hips.

“Just like that…” He murmured approvingly. “Feels good, doesn't it?”

His fingers slid forward slightly, pressing his palm against your clit while his middle finger traced the outline of your entrance. The anticipation held you captive, instinctively arching your hips, silently urging him to end the wait. And then, with tantalising slowness, he slid one finger inside you, the feeling both stimulating and exhilarating all at once. The filling was perfect—gradual but firm—and soon, a second finger joined to push in and out without pulling them out entirely.

With each slow thrust of his fingers, his palm rubbed on the skin of your clit, adding a delicious, pleasurable dual stimulation that sent spasms through your pussy, making it impossible to stay still. The strokes were maddeningly controlled, his fingers reaching and curling deeper with every smooth push, as though he knew exactly what you needed and how to give it to you. Astarion’s gaze never left your face, his piercing crimson eyes bright with pleasure, absorbing every sigh and shiver you produced.

“How sensitive, darling...” He breathed softly as he drew closer to meet your lips with his, causing a sweet pulse to your core, intensifying your throbs.

He angled his hand just slightly to reach deeper, and you gripped him tightly. You found yourself helplessly following the increasing tempo he set, encircling his neck with your arms to pull him closer and losing one of your hands in his silky curls.

Astarion's smile turned avaricious against your mouth, sensing your walls vibrate and deliciously clench around him, drenching his hand in just a few minutes. He curled his skilled fingers inside to stimulate a sensitive spot you didn't know was there, just perfectly, his touch implacable against your clit while he fucked your cunt.

Your mouth was being claimed with an eagerness that made your blood boil—he was devouring you in the kiss. His smooth lips moved against yours, insistent and hungry, coaxing you to open for him as he gently bit your lower lip. As you complied, his tongue rapidly swept in, tasting your saliva mingling with his. It was dizzying; your senses flooded with the taste of him and the coolness of his pale skin, creating a high contrast against your hot, wetting pussy and just adding to the sensations.

A low groan gurgled in his chest as his lips pressed harder, the tips of his fangs grazing your bottom lip before pulling back slightly. Just to slam his mouth to yours again with even more fierceness after taking his breath. His fingers curled more rapidly against that delicate spot within you, utterly submerging you in the magnetic pull of his caresses and the incredible hunger in his kiss.

He pulled away, his lips brushing against yours as he did, a soft, breathless hum escaping him. “I wonder,” he began, “how long it will take for you to break, darling.” His eyes glinted as he continued. “But I’m in no rush. We’ll savour this. I will…”

Your grip on him tightened, slightly pulling his hair as your hips rocked back and forth with the pace he set, lost to the growing pleasure he built for you. His touch was relentless, almost coaxing you to the brink, but every stroke was carefully calculated, carefully slow to keep you teetering, hovering in a blissful tension that left you frustrated.

Astarion watched you with predatory attention, centred on the slightest whimper that escaped your lips, as well as that exquisite pussy between your thighs. The very sight of you brought him as much pleasure as his hand brought to you.

Your breathing grew ragged as your body instinctively sought more of the pleasure he promised. The fullness of his fingers, though they were quite close to what you needed, only left you aching for more. You could feel your desire intensifying with every subtle movement, letting your hands drift lower in his chest with the need to touch, to claim him as yours. ‘At least for tonight’.

“Astarion... more, please... I want your cock inside me.” You pleaded, looking into his eyes with desperate want. “Take off these trousers...” You added, letting your fingers trail down his abdomen to where his waistband circled just below his waist, urging him to remove the last barrier between you.

He held your gaze, his eyes smouldering as a slow, indulgent smile appeared on his face. “Oh, you’re even more delicious when you beg...” He honeyed with approval, pulling his fingers out of your pussy and watching with keen interest as you trembled at the loss, the delicate quiver of your hips only adding to the pleasure he found in your vulnerability.

Before doing so, he slowly brought his dripping fingers from your cunt to his mouth, taking great pleasure in licking them clean and savouring the sweet, intoxicating juices made by your body. A soft, pleased hum escaped him as his eyes gleamed with wicked glee as he drank in the sight of your flushed face.

Only then did his hands drop to the waistband of his trousers. He didn’t rush, of course; instead, his movements were maddeningly slow as he began to slide the fabric down. The gleam in his eyes told you everything—he was savouring every second, drawing out the moment just to test your patience, fully aware of how much it would irritate you.

But just before sliding them for once and for all down, he stopped within a second. His eyes trailed their way down to your breasts, marked against the cloth, still covered while his torso was bare since you made him take off his shirt; the contrast stirred something within him. His fingers gently trailed along the fabric of your shirt, brushing down and against the edge, before his hand slid inside to grip your waist.

He looked back up, meeting your gaze with desire and playful intent. “Darling,” he purred, “don’t you think it’s only fair that you join me in shedding the rest of my clothing?” His eyes gleamed as he showed his damned puppy-like eyes for the second time that day. “I want to feel all of you against me,” he added, his tone rich with faked sorrow as his lower lip made a soft pout. “Take it off, my love...”

Oh, this definitely made you smile, feeling a spark of mischief as you looked down at him. You could tell he hadn’t quite anticipated the thought that crossed your mind.

You let your fingers drift along his bare chest again, savouring the coolness and smoothness of his porcelain skin before cradling his cheek, taking in every detail of his expectant look.

“Well,” you leaned close, letting your lips just a few inches away from his. “After tearing my favourite trousers,” you whispered, trailing your thumb teasingly across his lower lip, “don’t you think it’s only fair that you ask me—politely—to take the shirt off?”

Astarion raised one of his brows; his smile wavered for only a moment as he considered your request. Then, his expression softened, his smirk playing again on his lips as his hands slid up your sides under your shirt. “Oh, I see,” he replied smoothly, “you want me to beg, do you?”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Yes.” You savoured every single letter that slipped from your lips. “I am dying to hear you beg, Astarion.”

A moment passed before he gave a soft chuckle, and his gaze, brimming with delight and want, locked with yours. “Please, my love.” He said lowly, needy. “Let me see those surely precious breasts you must have. I’ll be good, I promise.” He pleaded sweetly. “Take it off... just for me...”

His words only made you want to tease him more.

The diabolical glow in your eyes grew as you leaned forward, letting your thumb trace the line of his chin. You could feel the light tension in his posture, the way the red in his eyes darkened, his lips parting just a bit as he waited for... maybe a kiss? He wasn't quite sure with you. His hands on your waist tightened to pull you a bit closer, but you resisted, holding him at bay.

“Good, you say? I’d like to see that.” You tilted your head as if considering his plea. “Are you sure you’re capable of it?” Your fingers slid down his chest again, skimming over his nipples with your fingers just enough to provoke him a small shiver.

“More than capable.” He replied roughly for the restraint you demanded of him, but not being entirely sincere.

You breathed slowly as you caught his lie, but somehow, your desire for him only grew, knowing he didn’t intend to ‘be good’ with you at all.

Your hands went down to lift the hem of your shirt, but you didn’t pull it up yet. Instead, you let your fingers there. “If you want it so badly, Astarion,” you said softly, “you’ll have to ask again. Nicely.”

His expression shifted to one of purely wanting as he tightened his hands on you. “Please, my love,” he replied in a low tone. “Take it off.”

Finally, you slowly lifted your shirt to reveal your torso and the defined curves of your breasts, drawing the fabric over your head to set it aside on his bedroll and finally being completely naked to his eager stare. Astarion’s eyes glistened with a glow that spoke volumes as he devoured every detail of your flushed skin like a long-awaited treat. You couldn’t help but arrange your hair and adjust your bracelets; you felt a mix of nerves and exhilaration at his intense attention.

Astarion’s hands reached for your breasts with a speed that almost startled you, sinking his fingers into your supple flesh as he kneaded it and leaned forward. His lips found one of your nipples, capturing it along with a portion of your breast, sucking passionately before planting a warm kiss above your nipple. He repeated on its twin, savouring your body before finally looking up; the surprise etched on your face, the blush on your cheeks, and the widening of your eyes seemed to light pride in his gaze.

Astarion revelled in the comfy warmth of your flesh under his cool hands as he continued to knead and massage your breasts as thoroughly as it was slow. Trailing his lips down to run messy kisses along your sternum before returning to one of your breasts once more. He opened his mouth, homely, to get your flushed breast inside, sucking it and swirling his tongue around it, rumbling an eager hum. His hands went to your waist and your other breast to take care of it too, holding you as you leaned against him with a soft moan escaping your lips. He seemed almost like a starved child desperately seeking milk from his mother's breast.

After a long, leisurely moment, he pulled away with a final and slow brush of his tongue over your nipple; his lips glistened with saliva from his attention. A desire that seemed to consume him was burning in his eyes, and when they met yours, a slow smile spread across his face. “You know,” he murmured, “I could lose myself in you like this, so easily.” His fingers slowly contoured your waist. “But I’ll need more than just this beautiful view.” He leaned in to graze his lips on your ear and whispered, “Imagine, darling, how it’ll feel when I’m deep inside you—how I’ll make you forget everything else, until all you can think of... is me.”

Your body received a delicious tremble, an almost inaudible moan escaping your lips because of the intensity of his voice saying those words to you. Your fingers tangled in his hair to pull him closer, feeling yourself getting wetter. The simple thought of him inside you, fucking you until your legs couldn't respond any more, grew your pulse faster.

As his hands wandered lower, the ache between your thighs grew unbearable—the need to have his cock growling in your throat; you could barely stand it. Impatiently, you moved to straddle his thighs, finding with your hands his waistband.

“I need you, Astarion.” Your plea spilt out unprocessed, begging for him to end the teasing and give you what you craved. “Please take them off. I can’t wait any longer. Finish what you started.” The final word fell from your lips almost like a cry, leaving no doubt that you were beyond ready, beyond wanting. You needed him—now.

Astarion chuckled as he looked at your hands, tracing his abdomen. He laid back slightly against his soft pillows, clearly enjoying how you were so eager for him, but he didn’t move anyway. Instead, his eyes flickered to your fingers as they were about to start tugging his waistband, and his lips curled up.

“Please, Astarion.” You pleaded again. “I can't take it any more. Stop teasing me. Take them off. Please.”

He hummed, amused, with a wicked glint in his crimson eyes. “Ah, so desperate, are we?” His eyes slid downward, pausing to take in the way your pussy soaked through his fabric, already dripping as you set yourself on his thighs. “Look at that sweet little cunt of yours, dripping for me already.” As soon as he finished speaking, he let out a soft chuckle. “Can’t wait to feel me inside, I see.”

You furrowed your brows in some annoyance at his incessant chatter that only made your patience thinner. But then, his demeanour shifted nonchalantly, capturing your attention when he propped his hands up on the bedroll and lifted his pelvis fluidly, giving you room to slide his trousers out of his legs.

“Help yourself, darling.” He purred softly with that grin on his lips.

You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing down, captivated by his posture. When your eyes fell to his crotch, where your hands had settled either side, you saw the clear shape of his rigid cock outlined beneath the fabric, straining against the material and angled a little to one side. The thickness and length were evident, making your entrance painfully clench around nothing and heat your cheeks.

‘How didn't I look at it before?’ Your breath hitched at the graphic, raw sight of it—exquisite and so irresistibly tempting. The aching sensation in your pussy grew, not just from the visual but from the rush of desire that quickly followed. Despite yourself, your eyes went back to his face, finding that same teasing, excited expression as though he were daring you to take the next step.

As you began to slide your fingers inside the waistband of his trousers, you brushed lightly his skin, sending a shiver to your fingertips.

And then, pulling his trousers down, you slowly revealed more inches of his pelvis and his white curls, and you could feel his intense gaze smouldering into you. His cock twitched against the fabric, building your excitement until it sprang free, making you inhale sharply at the sight. Your eyes traced his exposed skin as you slid the fabric the rest of the way down his legs. A soft rustle marked their removal from his ankles, and he lay naked before you.

His erect length was blushed and visibly soft, with subtle veins running up from its base, contrasting sharply against his swollen, rosy head. The pale expanse of his skin was almost luminescent; only the tip of his cock seemed all the more vivid. And there was precum already seeping from its slit, a trail that slid down to his sac.

For a brief, delicious moment, you simply stared. The long shape with a slightly tapered head was just stunning, and it made you realise just how perfectly he would enter and fill you. You couldn’t help but let your fingers drift to your clit, stimulating lightly to ease the relentless ache building. The wet heat spread between your thighs, growing stronger as you took in every detail.

A subtle sigh left your lips, caused by the strong beating of your puffy bud against your fingers. You traced the ridges of his hips with the other hand before brushing over from the base to the tip of his cock. It was warm, soft but firm with the ridges of its veins, and the precum that gathered there only added to its silkiness.

Your mind raced with thoughts you hadn’t fully allowed yourself to process—how new this was, how thrilling and unfamiliar it felt yet so drawn by it. Astarion was nothing like the lovers you had before. You didn’t have a long list of conquests, and that made your inexperience clear. But the way he looked at you and how his moves commanded every piece of your attention drew you deeper into something you were both eager and frightened to experience.

Without thinking any longer, your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, feeling its thickness as you slowly began to stroke him in sync with your own stimulation, smoothing with your thumb the head with each pass. His lips allowed a low, appreciative sigh to escape him, sending a wave of emotion through you and racing your pulse. And with one final glance up at his face, you slowly positioned yourself between his thighs to lay down and let your stomach rest on his bedroll.

As you let your lips hover near the tip of his cock, you could feel the heat radiating from him and smell the intoxicating scent of his arousal as he smelt yours. You could almost drool at the sight before you—how you see the shift in his expression—from humour to impatience. The anticipation was exhausting for both of you, but you didn’t rush. Instead, you kissed the tip tenderly, feeling the weight of him against your lips before letting your tongue slip out where his glans started to the high point. Tasting the warmth and saltiness of his cock because of his precum.

You felt the coolness of the storm kissing you and of the bedroll beneath your stomach, grounding you as your hands remained on him, steady and assured. Astarion’s thighs tensed under your touch, caught between the impulse to take control and the pleasure of simply letting you explore at your own pace.

Each time your thumb swept over his tip, his cock twitched, responding to the rhythm of your touch and your lips. You swirled your tongue around his head, licking clean the precum that had gathered there and along his length. The taste was different than you expected—rich and heady, like a Vermentino wine, lingering on your tongue in a way that was deeply intriguing.

The low sounds slipping from his lips spurred you on as you pressed messy kisses to his length and tip, tracing with your tongue the subtle lines and ridges of his shaft. His sharp intake of breath told you just how deeply he felt every small touch, and the sheer pleasure in that knowledge emboldened you further.

“Mm, look at you,” he purred, honestly surprised and pleased. “Not so shy now, are we, darling?” His words were meant to tease as always, but the note of admiration was unmistakable, making clear just how captivated he truly was.

Your eyes met his quietly before slowly lowering your mouth to take him inch by inch. The stretch of him filled your cavity as you went deeper, feeling his rigidity slide against your tongue. You let inside more of him until you felt his tip reach the back of your throat and the hair on his pelvis brushing your nose. His reaction, the involuntary twitch, and the low hum from him sent a thrill through you as you adjusted him inside your mouth, savouring the moment.

As you set a slow up-down with your head, Astarion’s lips started to make soft, broken sounds that were like a lyrical to your ears, urging you to continue. His hand reached out to rest on the back of your head, his fingers threading into your hair as he let out a silent growl. The anxiety in his grip was obvious, yet he kept his touch gentle, guiding without forcing and letting you take the lead, trembling under your care.

You slid your hands down his thighs, feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingers and feeling how his body responded to you. Each time you drew him deeply, your tongue caressed his lower vein, lavishing attention on every inch of him that his cock met with an appreciative palpitation.

Astarion moaned, his head falling back against the pillows. “Slow down, my love... Let me enjoy this.” He breathed as he allowed you to fully take him, his hips flexing slightly. His fingers tightened slowly in your hair, a silent encouragement for you to continue as he gave himself completely over to you.

With one hand still supported on his thigh, you drifted the other to his sac to massage it gently inside your palm. The action caused a louder moan from him, his hips jiggling involuntarily as you kept your mouth moving steady and more slowly, never breaking your rhythm. His low groans came quicker and even rougher, sounds of pleasure spilling freely now like an invitation to go on, filling the tent and dispersing the strong rain outside.

He moved his hand from your hair to your cheek and stopped you momentarily, cradling it in a surprisingly tender gesture as he glanced down at you. “Look at me while you do it, my darling...” He sighed, gently caressing you. “Feel how hard you make me...” His head fell back once more, unable to hold back a guttural growl as you continued with an intensified sucking, feeling his cock pulse and grow impossibly hard against your tongue.

With a measured squeeze, you tightened your grip on his sac, rolling it delicately with your fingers while your other hand remained anchored on his thigh. They trembled involuntarily, just like his cock, each movement drawing a delicious reaction until he could no longer keep still, his hips instinctively arching towards your mouth.

His hand returned to the back of your head, gripping tightly as your tongue traced the underside of his cock. All of him seemed to shiver under your touch, and he still allowed you to take control, guiding him into this sweet, little death.

But, after a few moments, you let his cock slip free from your lips with a slow drag, watching it emerge slick in your saliva and instantly cling to his lower belly because of its hardness. The dampness left a glistening trail between your mouth and him, breaking only as you leaned back, lifting a hand to wipe the last of the moisture from your mouth. He let out a disappointed sigh at the loss of you, then looked down to watch how you had left him all reddish-coloured with a sheen because of his precum mixed with your saliva.

Without a word, you rose on your knees and moved to straddle his hips, feeling the firm press of his thighs beneath your ass cheeks as you settled your weight onto him. His hands instinctively moved to your waist, gripping your sides in a way that felt almost impossible to avoid.

You could feel the hardness of his cock pressing between your folds—a solid, delicious presence. Each pulsate of its head against the own palpitations of your puffy bud felt incredible.

Bracing your hands against his chest, you pressed down gently and took a moment to enjoy the feel of him, tracing the lines that defined his chest with your fingers. His eyes were locked on you, watching the way your pussy just wrapped around his cock.

Gradually, you began to move your hips, grinding down your clitoris onto his glans with a slowed tempo that turned faster. The friction was amazing as you brushed against his slick skin, adding a sensuous layer of lubrication as you moved back and forth against his perfectly nestled cock. You could feel yourself drenching him wetter, mixing your juices with the slickness left from your previous oral.

His hungry gaze roamed over your pelvis, tightening his grip on your waist as he let out a rough sigh, savouring the way your pussy slid so enticingly along his shaft until you leaned forward. Repositioning your weight on one hand, you reached down to trace your fingers along his length, wrapping around it to guide it upwards. You pressed the tip on your entrance, dragging it slowly along your slit, feeling it start to pulse against your inner lips. His lower lip formed a slight pout as you continued to tease, drawing the moment out with almost cruel patience.

But with a final pass, you positioned him straight to your entrance, vacillating just on the edge, and looked at his face to watch his reaction—the way his eyes were focused on your pussy, waiting for you to cut the last bit of separation. Then, with a slow downward, you began to sink him inside, feeling the exquisite stretch his tip made as he filled you, inch by inch, making your walls instantly clench around him for the sudden fullness.

He let out a pleased moan, now holding harder your hips as you settled onto him completely, feeling so deep and stretching you deliciously wide after so many years of solitude. The warm pulse of him between your walls, every subtle movement of his length—an insistent throb—made you simply sit there for a moment. Letting yourself adjust to the sensation of him fully within you and the friction of your clit as it rubbed against his silvery pubic hair. He flicked up his eyes to meet yours with an intensity that made his eagerness clear as he waited for you to move.

You gently cupped his face and caressed his pointy ear, the other hand resting over his shoulder. You softly brought his face closer to yours, locking your eyes on his.

“Astarion...” You whispered. “Can you feel it? How incredible this is?” You gave him a dulcet smile before closing the distance, pressing your lips against his as you traced the line of his cheekbone and chest, feeling his pulse beneath your fingers.

Gently, you lifted yourself just slightly to sink back down, the exquisite friction sending a burst of pleasure through both of you. Astarion’s grip on you tensed again, tightening as his hips surged up to meet yours, letting out a low, throaty noise. Your lips remained together, deepening the kiss as your mouths moved in time with your bodies, setting a slow, constant pace where you rose and fell smoothly over him.

The sounds of your bodies intertwined moving together began to fill the surrounding little space—the slapping of skin on skin, the lewd, sensual noises of your pussy swallowing his cock over and over again blending with the muffled moans, and the relentless raindrops against the canvas.

He forcefully gripped your hips to dictate you, abruptly being the one controlling the pace as he broke the kiss to catch his breath. His lips hovered close, both hot exhales mingling as you rested your forehead against his, matching your rhythm. The tantalising climax drew closer and closer with every thrust, making everything else seem distant, the storm outside being insignificant compared to the tempest building between you.

His hands roamed over your body, tracing your spine before one circled your waist and the other gripped the back of your shoulder to pull you closer, urging you to press down against him more fully.

The deeper you sank, the more you felt him smack against your vaginal walls so passionately. You leaned forward, your hands wrapping either side of his waist and slightly digging your nails into his skin as you picked up the pace. The position shifted just enough to drive him pleasantly deeper in each downward stroke, with a perfect angle that made his tip hammer against your cervix.

Suddenly, the hand against your shoulder gripped your cheeks, pulling you down to capture your lips in another hungry kiss. His tongue tangled with yours, both tasting the other's mouth, becoming something truly addicting, as if he just seemed to want to devour you whole, and you couldn't satisfy your own craving. His hand slid to your nape as the kiss deepened, just like the rhythm of both pelvises grew faster.

Every thrust proved how he was losing himself, both of you spiralling higher and higher. He whimpered against your lips, a sound that vibrated deep in your mouth, feeling the tension coiling tighter within your lower belly, your body feeling worn out as it yearned for release.

His hands were everywhere—guiding, pulling, encouraging. You couldn’t help but moan against his lips, the pleasure overwhelming as your movements grew more frantic. He was holding you just right, pressing his open thighs up against your ass cheeks, lifting you just enough to make you feel perfectly aligned with his cock.

His lips parted from yours with a shaky groan as he looked up at you, consumed by the burning need you were becoming. At that moment, with the weight of your hips moving over his, your voice came out shaky, broken by the effort of holding yourself glued to him. “Am I... am I doing it right?”

The question left you trembling because of its vulnerability, making your pulse race as though the very act of asking had laid bare everything you hid beneath that little girl you were for him. You felt so desperate for his confirmation, for him to tell you that this was all he wanted.

For a moment, he looked as if he was caught off guard, eyes widening just a fraction before he composed himself.

Then his hands tightened his grasp on both your ass cheeks with determination. He pressed your hips down more strongly, making his cock burry inside you to the hilt and making your lips crush against his pelvis. “Do you feel that?” He kept pressing you down harder, grinding his hips up to meet yours. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me, and it’s perfect. Move just like that—don’t stop.” The words slipped out raw and unfiltered, as if he couldn’t hold them back.

The way he said that broke whatever fragile restraint you’d managed to hold onto, unleashing a fierce, unstoppable heat within you. The only thing that existed now was him—all of him—buried balls deep inside you, turning every nerve in almost an animalistic way.

An uncontrollable need surged through you, overtaking all thoughts, as your hips immediately started to move impulsively, slamming down against his. Your body was just demanding to take everything from him, driven by a thirst he had created that couldn’t be denied. The ache of his cock stretching your entrance open and filling you that much was the divine sensation of him, the incredible pleasure of his flawless body moving exactly in time with and inside yours.

You were in pursuit of more—more of him, more of this satisfying connection. You let out a series of desperate moans, each one of them spurring you both deeper into your carnal urges, neither of you able to stop. The immediateness of it overtook you both. Your breathing was ragged as the intense pressure built, feeling him fully as he lifted his hips to force his cock impossibly inside you, aligning you just right, so deep that you could feel it in your very bones. The edge of your release was so close.

His hands dug into your ass, pulling you more forcefully against him to guide your frantic pace and stoke the fire on your clitoris as his pelvis writhed beneath it. “Just a little more...” He growled, strained, like a man on the edge of breaking. “I’m so close, love…” His words were almost a pleading cry, a raw reflection of the need that overtook him because of you.

You could feel it, see it—his control slipping away, his body trembling beneath yours as his hands gripped your hips now to urge you on, both bodies acting just like animals in heat do with an almost agonising intensity that could leave your womb aching for days. You both moved harder and faster, slapping together with an unbreakable pace. The pressure in your core was unbearable now, so close to snapping that it made your legs shake in both of the sides of his hips with the effort of holding on.

Suddenly, one of his hands slid between your bodies, finding your clitoris to circle his thumb over the painfully swollen nub with expert knowledge. Just like if he was already aware of how to trigger your sensitive spots to push you to the heavens. The friction was impossible to bear in the best, perfect possible way, making you cry in pleasure, unable to control the whimpers that tore from your throat.

You couldn’t hold back any more. His touch, the pressure, the movements of his body—it all became too much. The tension inside you snapped, and with a loud and uncontrolled moan, your walls tightly clenched and pulsated around him, your climax crashing over you in pure, consuming pleasure. Hitting you so hard that you felt like you were floating, holding on to him with the tremors of your hips.

But Astarion didn’t stop. He never ceased the maddening stimulation on your clit or fucking your cunt, coaxing another renovated sensation from you, pushing you past the point of stimulation. You tried to pull away to catch your breath, but his hands clamped down, forcing you to stay in the moment, allowing him to draw even more from you. He was relentless as the need to overstimulate you took control.

“Don’t stop, not now.” He gasped, his voice breaking as he thrust up into you harder, his thumb continuing to rub and circle your bud, trying to force your body into another climax. “I need you, my love. Please…”

The words were the spark that made you give in with a desperate cry as ecstasy crashed over you, smashing everything. You felt him pulsating and releasing with a ragged, almost feral growl, leaving his sweet lips, his body quivering beneath yours as he exploded into you, the rush of his climax pushing you to the edge. The sensation of his warm semen spurting against your cervix and filling you sent you into your second release of the night, the new pressure in your body finally exploding in waves of sheer. The powerful sensations of both of you reaching that peak at the same time made your vision blur.

Every spurt of his release throbbed deep within your womb, drawing low, tired moans from your lips as his cock continued its task to fill you, spreading his seed inside you with each pulse of the head. You pressed your hips down, grinding to take him impossibly deeper as your labia were already crushed against his damp pelvis, letting you feel every twitch and tremor between your aching walls. He groaned softly as he tightened his grip on your hips, and you fucked his cock instinctively in answer to coax out every last shudder from him.

His hands guided your hips to keep you pressed down hard as his cock stroked every sensitive inch of your walls, filling you in a way that made some of his cum slowly spill out from your pussy. Your bodies met again and again, making him feel unable to resist the pull of you as you moved perfectly up and down, simply feeling lost in you as you milked him.

Then, you both collapsed together, sweaty bodies shaking with the intensity of your simultaneous culmination and the aftershocks of your climaxes, leaving you both drained. Your breaths came intermittently, laboured, and it felt as though the camp outside had momentarily ceased to exist. The air between you was impregnated with the smell of sex and your scents, but there was also something tender about the way your bodies were embracing each other that made you feel... nice.

Astarion’s hands moved with a strange gentleness now, gliding up your back with soothing strokes in the cosiness of the moment. His lips pressed a tender kiss to your cheek, his breath still unsteady with a warmness that contrasted the freshness of your lovemaking and the way his cock kept pulsating while softening within you.

He dragged you against him. “Are you alright, darling?” His voice abruptly soft, touched with... care, concern; an unknown tenderness that caught you by surprise.

You nodded against his shoulder. “Yes…” you murmured, fluttering closed as exhaustion settled in and the comfort of his presence lulled you, feeling his quick heartbeat beneath your ear. “Just... give me a second.”

A sweet smile tugged at the corner of his lips, looking at you with adoration as he brushed a damp lock of hair away from your face, fingers running gently over your neck. “I’ll admit, I didn't think I’d be the one left wanting more… but here I am.” He said quietly. “That, my love, was truly something else for someone so lovely.” He pressed another sweet kiss to your cheek, remaining just a little before pulling away.

You let out a shaky laugh, the closeness between you both grounding your still-tingling nerves. Lifting your head slightly and reopening your eyes, you met his gaze with a warmth that made your heart swell. “You know,” you started, “I might just have to keep you around a little longer. You’ve made it hard for me to want anyone else, Astarion.” You reached to cradle his cheek as your hidden confession floated in the air between you.

He leaned into your touch, his hand hovering over yours in a loving gesture. “You’re really going to make me do this, aren’t you?” Astarion said, feigning frustration, though his eyes softened with a rare sincerity in his voice. “I had plans, you know. But it seems I’m not allowed to have anything for myself any more.” He let out a mock sigh. “Guess I’m yours, darling. For now. Don’t get too comfortable with it.”

You smiled softly, tilting your head. “Oh, how tragic,” you teased with mock frustration as well. “I didn’t realise you had such grand plans, Astarion. How terribly cruel of me to steal you away from them.” Your fingers gently traced the edge of his ear, a smirk playing on your lips. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll learn to live with it. Just try not to get too comfortable, either, darling.”

Astarion let out a soft chuckle, his fingers leaving your hand to cup your cheek tenderly. “Well, well, what a vile little thing you are,” he said with a playful smirk, grazing your cheekbone with his thumb. “Using that sweet face of yours to get your way... You really do enjoy this, don’t you?” His laugh was light, almost like a caress, before he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow kiss that left you aware of all the emotions he couldn’t express using words.

He held the kiss for a moment to savour your lips before pulling back to rest his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he basked in the shared closeness.

After that, he slowly adjusted your position so that you lay more comfortably against him. Once settled, he pulled a soft blanket over you both, wrapping his arms around you snugly.

“Rest now, my love.” He murmured softly. You felt his words settle over you like a soft lullaby, and you snuggled closer to place yourself against him, wrapping your arm gently around his waist.

There, in his embrace, you let yourself fully relax in the quiet comfort of the moment with the rain outside. The feeling of his skin against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the gentle sweep of his fingers through your hair and your arm—it was everything you needed, a perfect, tender end to the passion from minutes ago.

With a contented sigh, you pressed a soft kiss against his chest before your eyelids started to grow heavy as you drifted into a peaceful calm in his arms.

As the hours passed, the heat of the night slowly faded, leaving you both tangled in each other’s embrace. You both drifted into sleep, your bodies still flushed and sweaty from the intensity of your passion that night. Astarion’s arm was wrapped around you, pulling you closer. The odd warmth of his body against yours was comforting.

As the soft light of dawn filtered through the tent, the storm was now nothing more than a distant memory, and a sudden weight pressed down on you.

Your mind, still slow to fully wake, started to be flooded with vivid recollections—the sex, the words shared, the undeniable connection you felt...

A sharp pang of awareness hit you as you became acutely aware of every quiet sound. 'Had I really just done that?' The question lingered in your mind, though it wasn’t that you regretted it—not with him, not when everything felt so unexpectedly right. But still, a knot tightened in your throat. You’d never been this irresponsible before, never allowed this kind of situation with someone you’d only known for a couple of months.

You slowly pulled yourself from Astarion's embrace. The warmth of his body left a mark on your skin nonetheless. As you sat up, the blanket tangled around your hips, and a sudden rush of cool air hit your naked chest, causing an uninvited shiver to you that woke you a little more.

Your eyes drifted to him, still peacefully asleep beside you. His bare chest rose and fell in slowly, and his expression was soft and relaxed in the morning, a sharp contrast to the intensity of your previous night.

While you stood there, tracing with your eyes his form, the weight of what had just happened was still pressing heavily above your shoulders. Embarrassment crept in, not just for the passion you’d shared but for the place you were in—his tent, in camp, with your friends only a few meters away. The unsettling thought wormed its way into your mind: what if they’d heard you?

Your eyes flicked towards the opening of the tent, a bead of cold sweat rolling down the back of your neck. You pressed your palm to your forehead, the reality sinking in. What if they had? The embarrassment felt like it was growing, and you had to swallow back the rising anxiety carving in your chest.

The thoughts swirled and twisted in your mind. Reaching for your shirt, you slowly sat up a bit more; you felt a sting pain in your muscles from the night’s activities. Your fingers fumbled clumsily to the fabric as the weight of your thoughts made everything feel more difficult. You tried to dress as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb the fragile calm of his slumber.

The texture felt harsh against your sensitive skin, while the cool morning air grazed over the parts of you exposed and between your thighs as you raised the shirt over your head to dress it.

Just as you finally managed to pull it into place, you caught a soft shift beside you. Astarion’s eyes fluttered open, his vision still cloudy with sleep, but his attention immediately locked onto you. He didn’t speak right away; his focus was on the way you moved.

He curved his lips into a small, lazy smile. There was a softness in his expression now that you didn't see before. “Good morning... sneaking off already?” He sighed with the remnants of sleep in his tone. He looked down to where your fingers grabbed the fabric of your shirt, then back to your face, his smile growing wider. His hand reached out to grab your arm, pulling you back towards him gently. “Didn't peg you as the type to leave me after our first time, darling...”

The way he still wanted you close stirred something within you—a warmth despite the storm of emotions inside you. You couldn’t help but smile softly at the thought. “I wasn’t going anywhere...” You replied quietly.

Astarion’s hand moved to your waist, his touch fierce yet tender as he pulled you closer, guiding you to lay back completely against his body. His chest pressed against your back as he nestled his chin in the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses there. You could feel the weight of him, enveloping you in a way that was both comforting and deeply intimate.

His arm wrapped securely around your waist, drawing you even nearer as he gently adjusted his position, making sure you were comfortable. You could feel the tension in your body melt as his movements spoke of quiet care, though the nervousness inside you didn’t entirely dissipate.

He must have sensed the shift in your mood. “Is everything alright?” Astarion murmured softly, concerned. His lips brushed over your ear as he spoke, a gentle kiss to your cheek that seemed to reassure you, though you couldn’t quite shake the lingering anxiety that clung to you.

“I... I just—” You broke off. “What if they heard us, Astarion?”

“We’re safe, darling,” he murmured, his voice a soothing caress that chased away the remnants of your worry. “No one knows a thing. The storm was our shield last night.”

Astarion’s hand lingered at your waist as he shifted his weight, guiding you gently. And with a slight motion, he turned you to lie on your back and face him fully. His gaze locked onto yours, his crimson eyes glimmering with something unspoken. He propped himself on an elbow beside you, sliding his other hand from your waist to cradle your cheek.

Seeing the faint worry lingering in your eyes, he offered a small, tender smile. “You know, love,” he began, “this is different. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t. I never imagined I’d feel like this—like I’d actually want this... someone.” His thumb brushed softly over your cheekbone, as if the gesture alone could convey what words struggled to express. “Last night wasn’t just indulgence, not with you. It was... real.”

The way he looked at you then was as though he’d laid down his armour, revealing a part of himself you’d only glimpsed. “I’ve spent centuries taking what I was told to, living by someone else’s twisted desires. Wanting something—someone—for myself? I’d almost forgotten what that even felt like.” He hesitated. “But here we are... and being with you, feeling this... it’s more than I ever dared to hope for.”

Your breath caught, and the sincerity in his voice made your chest feel both heavy and light at once. You swallowed, a warmth blossoming where your anxiety had been. “I want you to know that I meant every word,” he whispered against your ear.

As he drew back, his fingers entwined with yours, and he gave you a small smile, one filled with that rare sincerity he reserved just for you. “So, let’s not let the world outside intrude on this, hmm?” His eyes gleamed with a quiet plea. “Not yet.”

The words hung in the warm morning light, soothing the unease within you. Astarion shifted slightly again to recline back onto the soft bedroll, pulling you with him. You instinctively wrapped an arm around his waist to hold him close.

But as your fingers traced along his side, you brushed against something you forgot. A faint crease formed between your brows as you looked down. There was the bandage you had tied the night before, stained with a faint bloom of red where his wound lay concealed. A quiet ache of worry unfurled in your chest as your hand rested against the edge of the bandage.

Without thinking, your fingers traced lightly over his abdomen, avoiding the more sensitive area near the bandage. “Astarion,” you called softly with a new urgency. “Are you... alright? I might’ve moved too much last night.”

Astarion’s eyes opened a bit more as he recognised the genuine concern in your voice. “Oh, my love,” he purred with a smirk on his lips as he glanced down to where your hand rested on his stomach. “If anyone could survive your... enthusiasm, it would be me.” His tone softened as he covered your hand with his.

You bit your lip, the persistent worry stirring as you recalled the intensity of the night before. “Still, I should've been more careful with you,” you replied with a faint blush warming your cheeks. “I didn’t even think about it last night... I just... wanted you.”

He shifted slightly, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched, his lips barely brushing yours as he spoke again. “Believe me, last night... was everything I never knew I needed,” he said, with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You've given me a moment of calmness I never thought I’d experience again.”

Your hand pressed lightly against his chest; he let out a quiet, contented sigh. His own hand drifted down to rest against your waist, drawing you even closer.

He brushed his lips softly against the tip of your nose, placing a sweet kiss there before he spoke. “The truth is, I’m not used to someone worrying over me. I’ve learnt to dismiss my wounds and to push through the pain alone. You make me feel seen, darling…”

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back just enough to catch your gaze, reaching with his hand your cheek to rub his thumb along your cheekbone in a gentle, absent-minded swipe. Your heart softened as you wrapped your arms around him, letting yourself melt. You nestled closer to him, the soft heat of his body a constant pull as your fingers traced lightly over his skin, careful not to touch the bandage.

Astarion’s fingers moved in slow strokes along your back, his touch lingering at the small of your waist. The quiet way his body urged you nearer made your pulse race in a way that was both comforting and thrilling. You could feel the passion of the night still lingering in the air between you, a magnetic pull that only seemed to deepen the longer you were in his presence.

“You know,” he murmured lowly, his velvety voice wrapping around your thoughts. He leaned in, his lips brushing over yours as he closed his eyes briefly. “I find myself wanting more.”

A small shiver of anticipation ran through you. He moved slightly, shifting his body to bring you closer, his hand sliding down your side until he could grab one of your buttocks. It stirred something inside of you—something that made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

You pressed your lips to his to give him a soft kiss before pulling back to meet his eyes. The intensity in his look made you ache with longing. “Astarion, are you sure you’re alright?” You asked softly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He froze for a moment, his eyes narrowing with something dark and intense, and then he leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and sensual, tasting of the night and everything you’d shared. His mouth moved against yours with a quiet eagerness, and you let yourself melt into him, your hand sliding to his waist, feeling the bandage beneath your palm.

But you pulled back slightly, concern flitting through your mind again. Astarion’s eyes glimmered, his expression a blend of amusement and something achingly vulnerable. “Darling,” he replied, his voice a rough, affectionate murmur. “I can handle anything you give me.”

You leaned into him, grazing your lips with his as you spoke, “I just want to make sure you're alright... I don’t want to push—” Without letting you finish, he leaned forward to kiss your lips again to silence you. His mouth moved against yours with a quiet desperation, a demand for attention.

Astarion’s hands slowly roamed your sides as he shifted, positioning himself above you on the bedroll. You could feel the warmth of his body radiating into yours, his thighs pressed tightly against yours.

Your hands moved instinctively, sliding around his waist, bracing yourself against his lower back, feeling the curve of his muscles tense under your touch. The kiss deepened, slow and calm, as if he tasted every inch of you, pushing any lingering uncertainty away.

One of his hands moved to catch your hand and entwine his fingers with yours before pressing your hand down against the pillow. His other hand found your other wrist, lifting it gently above your head and pinning it there, his grip firm yet laced with a sensual care that only deepened your wanting of him. His thighs pressing tighter against yours.

Astarion’s breath was shallow against your lips as he finally broke the kiss to meet your gaze, his pupils wide with a need that mirrored your own, his mouth curving into a wicked smile as he held you in place. The subtle weight of him, combined with the feeling of his fingers interlocked with yours, created an undeniable sense of belonging, a wordless claim that ignited every nerve.

“Don’t worry about me,” he murmured roughly because of his desire, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “Just stay here. With me. That’s all I need.”

‎

[bcksbarnes]

traces of a lonely world

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky's job takes him away from you more that he cares to admit. most of the times you can understand, but there are some nights it tears you apart.

word count: 3.2K

read the: next chapter cw: 🔞 some suggestive content (mdni), general angst and verbal argument

a/n: needed to get out some angst in my life and focused it right here!! hope you all enjoy

There’s no training manual on dating an ex-assassin turned hero. 

No one told you all the things you would sacrifice with being with someone so important to the world. No one warned you that as hard as it was for him to be away from you, it was harder for you to make sure he didn’t become a headline on the news. Another hero gone.

Even with that in mind there was something that was even harder for you to swallow. 

The missed moments.

You understood that his job took him away from you. It meant he would miss a birthday or an anniversary, but it never made it any easier. Opening gifts alone, or blowing out the candles on the cake to a crowd of one because someone tried to wreck chaos on the world again.

Unfortunately, Bucky’s job was never ending.

Dinner reservations were often spent asking the waitress for 5 more minutes, then 15, then eating by yourself until you received an I’m so sorry kiss on the forehead later that night when he finally snuck into the bedroom.

You always wanted to be mad at Bucky in those moments, to tell him how unfair it was that you had to share him with the world. But, you would hear him groan as he took his shirt off, or you’d see the blood against his cheek and it made you feel so selfish. He was risking it all for a safer world. How could you complain?

You always tried to force yourself to sleep before he came home, not wanting him to think that you waited around for him, that you were counting down the seconds. Even when your eyes were closed, you were awake. You were always awake.

You would be until you heard his boots against the floorboards. The signal he was home. 

And he was safe.

Those were the toughest few moments in your relationship, pulled by the want to forgive him and the need to be angry.

How could you be mad at someone who is just trying his best?

Bucky wasn’t oblivious to your feelings either, and his own guilt gnawed away at him more nights than not. He had a knack for swallowing it though, if it festered too long in his chest then he felt worse. Maybe if he ignored it then it’d get better. 

He’d try harder.

He couldn’t face it.

Bucky would always attempt to make it up to you. Getting up early to make your favorite breakfast – chocolate chip pancakes with a dash of cinnamon in the batter – or cuddling a bit closer at night to remind you he was right there.

Even when he couldn’t be.

Sometimes, if you were both awake enough when he got home, he’d climb into bed on top of you. The mattress would sink under his weight and neither of you needed to speak to communicate what was needed. 

His strong hands would run down the front of your shirt, lifting it up as he dipped under the covers, peppering his soft lips against your stomach. 

You shivered every time.

His body would be on the colder side, sometimes even in the heat of July, a stark contrast of your own under the warm blankets.

“You smell nice,” he’d whisper, nuzzling his nose into your abdomen. His senses were flooded with the smell of you - a mix of vanilla and honey. “I must be a crazy man for leaving you.”

It was his way of acknowledging what he couldn’t admit.

He’d kiss his way down until he’s hovering right over the waistband of your shorts, your hand immediately tangling in his messy dark locks. The way he’d whisper your name like a man praying for forgiveness while his calloused hands ran down your sides made your heart flutter. 

He’d slide your shorts down, his eyes never leaving you as he …

Well, those were apologies for a different time.

Neither of you brought up these feelings, and while you had no doubt he was sorry it was impossible to know if those words were just a placeholder. 

You tried not to reflect back on the events he missed, because each time you did, you could see the outline of where he should be. 

The weight of the emptiness sat on your chest, ready to suffocate you.

He’ll be there, you thought to yourself as you walked quickly, arms crossed over your chest and head down towards the restaurant you were going to meet Bucky at.

He had picked it out weeks ago when he heard about your job promotion. It had taken you three years of work under a boss who had become increasingly harder to please each and every year. There were many late nights spent on budget sheets and early mornings fueled by multiple cups of coffee that got you to this moment. 

Now it was time to celebrate.

Bucky was so proud when he heard the news. You called him the second you left your bosses office, the smile on your face spread so wide it made your cheeks hurt. You sat at your desk while you clutched your phone tightly. The weight of what you had accomplished lifting off your shoulders.

“I’m so proud of you,” his voice was soft through the speaker. A man in the middle of his own work trying his best to still cheer you on. “I knew you’d get it.”

Of course he did, because as hard of a worker as he was - you did twice as much. All while carrying both of your personal lives on your back.

Bucky would say you were the true hero.

“Thank you,” you said to the host once you were seated at the table.

The lights in the restaurant were low, a tea candle sitting in the middle of the small table. An intimate setting for the two of you to finally relax and celebrate. A night where laughs could turn into soft whispers, and whispers into breathless gasps.

It was a night for you, but selflessly it was for the both of you. 

Your leg shook under the table as you browsed the menu, the seat across the table noticeable empty. You hated this feeling of uneasiness that came with waiting for him because at the end of the day it wasn’t about trust - you trusted Bucky more than anyone in this world.

No, this was about the line in the sand. Loving him and knowing he needed to be there to save the world. 

Guilt and awareness. Two things that needed to exist at the same time, but were so hard to balance. It was a double-edged sword and you were losing either way.

It was fine the first time the waitress came over to ask if you were waiting on someone. 

Maybe a little more hurtful when twenty minutes had passed and you checked your phone for any text or call, but found nothing. 

Definitely upsetting when you finally had to order your meal alone.

And downright heartbreaking when you finished eating and the wait staff brought out a pity free dessert.

Bucky didn’t come. 

And worst of all? He didn’t even care to let you know.

Anger and sadness draped over you like a thin veil as you made your way back to the apartment. It festered deep in your gut, clamoring its way out.

How could he not come? How could he not tell you? 

The tears didn’t start when you got home.

Or when you got changed out of your clothes into something more comfortable.

Not even when you realized how late it was.

There were no tears to cry, no matter how much your throat constricted and the feeling in your chest rose. They weren’t here. Not yet.

You were torn between going to bed for the night and staying up to wait for him. Knowing that you wouldn’t be able to rest anyway is what persuaded you to stay awake, though it was not done favorably.

You kept checking your phone as you sat on the couch, waiting to hear from somebody - anybody . Despite it all, there was still a deep rooted worry that flowed through you that he was hurt, or … you didn’t want to think about that. 

Not right now. 

Not yet.

You heard the jangling of keys outside the door. A sound that sent a shock right through your system and into your stomach. First relief, then anger. The sudden wave of it hitting you like you were tossed into the ocean and forced to swim ashore.

Bucky entered the apartment in one swift motion, his boots were heavy with exhaustion as he dragged them across the floor taking a step inside. His head was bowed, the long dark locks covering his face as he leaned down to unlace his shoes.

You could see from where you’re sitting the sweat beads that ran down his arm. The scuff marks against his metal one. Some minor bruising and cuts - but overall, he’s still in one piece. 

When he finally kicks off his shoes and stands, he jolts suddenly at seeing you on the couch. He wasn’t expecting you to still be awake; let alone waiting for him.

“Hey,” Bucky says, his eyebrow raised as he runs a hand through his hair. “What are you still doing up?”

The question hits you like an arrow straight to the chest. His casual tone causes you to blink a few times as you stand from the couch, your arms crossing over your chest. The sign of someone ready to rumble.

“I’ve been waiting for you”.

Your tone is a bit sharper than you wanted it to be, but it’s hard to stop yourself.

Bucky’s taken aback by your inflection as he steps further into the apartment until he’s standing on the other side of the living room. He was only a few feet in front of you but he might as well have been another world away.

“You never wait for me to get home when it’s this late,” he says, carefully tiptoeing his way into the conversation. His eyes briefly shifting over to the clock that hung on the wall to confirm what time it was. “Is everything okay?”

“Does your phone not work all of a sudden?” you ask, another quick jab. “You were supposed to be at dinner 4 hours ago, Bucky.”

There’s a look of confusion on his face. One that clearly showed that he was unsure of what you were referring to.

“Dinner? What dinner?”

“The dinner we were supposed to have tonight,” you explain, trying to throw him a life line.

Bucky purses his lips as he tries to remember, his body was aching and his head was pounding from the fight he just endured. Whatever plans the two of you might have had were long gone from his memory at that moment. So, he waits for you to continue.

“For my promotion, Bucky. The one you made reservations for weeks ago,” you try to keep yourself level headed, but the break in your voice slips its way out.

Bucky’s face drops when the words hit his ears, his hand coming up to rub his forehead in a way that screams oh fuck .

You blink back the tears that start to form because there is still no way you are crying right now. No, he didn’t deserve those tears yet. He breathes out your name as he takes a step closer but you hold out your hand and take a step back from him. 

It was instinctive, your body was protecting you.

“I forgot that was tonight,” he says, his words rushed as he tries to explain. “Sam called this morning about a threat we needed to investigate. I didn’t even - … fuck.”

“Bucky, you missed my birthday. You missed our anniversary. Now this .”

“Shit,” he mumbles to himself as his metal fist knocks softly on the wall of the entryway out of frustration. “I fucked up. I’m sorry, I didn’t even - .” 

“You say that every time! You say it like it’s going to erase that you weren’t there,” you snap. Anger was filling up in your veins, close to overflowing.

“I don’t think it’s going to erase anything. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

His own guilt is gnawing at him, the weight of what he had done was simmering under the surface. He hated himself enough as it was, hurting you was just another reason to add to the never ending list.

“I’m not putting words in your mouth. I’m saying that there’s only so many times I can hear that same apology without losing my damn mind!”

“I’m trying my best, okay?” he says, voice dripping with agitation. Neither of you were shouting, no good would come out of raised voices. “I can’t be everywhere at once.”

“Except you’re never here!”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Bucky snaps. “Sam needed me.”

“ I needed you, Bucky!”

Bucky thinks getting shot in the chest would have hurt less than hearing you say that.

It felt like an explosion had gone off, the air sucked right of the room. You and Bucky rarely fought, this was uncharted territory, and it seemed the landscape was filled with bombs ready to explode.

Bucky stares at you for a moment, his hands resting on his hips as he blinks slowly. What was he supposed to say? You weren’t wrong. He was in the middle of a rope being pulled in all directions.

“You think I don’t know that?” he says. Despite his voice raising, he still wasn’t shouting. “You think every morning when I roll out of bed I don’t think about how much it hurts to leave? How it kills me to come home at night knowing that my whole world is in bed and that I can’t be there?”

“No, I don’t think that,” you retort. “But, every time Sam or Steve or someone calls it’s like your world is narrowed down and that’s all you see. Tunnel vision.”

“Because it’s my job! I can’t think about it. I have to just go. People get hurt if I don’t.”

The room suddenly felt smaller, like the off white walls were going to close in on themselves. There had been so many happy moments right where you both were standing, memories that you would spend your lonely nights remembering - but right now they were just a crushing reminder of all that you were losing each time he left.

“What about us, huh?” You ask, voice quivering once more. “What about me? No call, no text, not even a damn note on the kitchen table before you leave. Nothing! I have to sit around and wait for you over and over again.”

Bucky’s knees felt like they were buckling under the weight of the pressure. Of course he wanted to be there for you, but he had duties - obligations. 

“I never said this was going to be easy,” he fought back. “You knew what you were getting into.”

“So, this is my fault? I should just move on because it’s what I ‘signed up for’?”

“ Yes … I mean - …” Bucky throws his head back and lets out a groan of frustration. “No! God dammit. I don’t want to fight about this.”

“You never want to talk about it! I can’t keep brushing this under the rug! I’m sick and tired of sleeping alone at night, of my friends asking me where you are and I don’t have a good enough answer. Or wondering if you’ll care enough to try to be there.”

“That’s not fair,” he responds right as you finish speaking, taking a step closer again. This time you don’t move back. “I care about you. I love you.”

The tears finally fall as you stand your ground, your hands that are now by your side and shaking. Love was such a funny word to use at this moment. Not because there was humor behind it, but because love to you and Bucky seemed to mean much different things. 

He wanted to reach out to you, he wanted to sweep you in his arms and kiss the top of your head and tell you all the ways he loved you. That he’d hang the moon and the stars if it meant seeing you happy. But he couldn’t, he was frozen in place. 

“Bucky …” you shake your head as your voice cuts off. 

You take a moment to collect yourself, wiping your tears and staring up at the ceiling as your chest tightens. This seemed to be falling apart. Your life, the relationship, all of it.

Bucky’s eyes never leave your face as he watches you try and calm yourself down. He sees the way your body trembles as you’re still trying to hold back, the way your chest rapidly is rising and falling as you try to catch your breath.

He’s had enough.

There’s not a thought in his mind as he crosses the room until he reaches you, pulling you firmly against his chest, his strong arms wrapping around you.

You can’t bring yourself to pull away from him, your face buried as the hot tears stream down your cheeks, the sobs you’ve tried to control breaking free. More importantly, you can’t bring yourself to wrap your own arms around him, even as his hand glides soothingly side to side against your back. 

It felt like your world was crashing around you. There was no way to stop it.

His nose presses into the top of your head. Your scent filling his nostrils as the only way he could ground himself. It hits him all at once that he had been turning into the man he never wished to be. The one with hollow apologies and excuses. The one who let the person he loved most in this world down with no better reason other than I had to .

Picking your head up from his chest, you pull back enough so that the two of you are face to face again. Bucky moves to cup your cheek but your hand grabs his wrist before he can, his heart stuck in his throat as you stop him

“I can’t keep doing this, I can’t keep … waiting around,” you finally manage to say, your eyes meeting his gaze.

Bucky knows there’s no use in trying to persuade you differently - not because he doesn’t want to fight for you, but because his words mean nothing right now. He made promises he couldn’t keep. Told you he’d show up and he wouldn’t. How was saying this time will be different, it’ll be better going to mean anything to you now?

He wasn’t an idiot. A jerk, maybe, but not an idiot.

His arms drop from your back down to his side, standing a bit straighter and lifting his head a little higher. Bucky was doing all that he could to not completely collapse in this moment. He ignored the ringing in his ears. The way the room shifted. How absolutely ethereal you looked even with puffy and red eyes.

You open your mouth to speak again and Bucky holds his hand up, shaking his head softly.

You didn’t need to say the words for him to know this was the end.

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods V

series masterlist - part IV

Pairing: Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary: The Emperors are not subtle with their interest in you and others have begun to notice

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, eventual dub-con, power imbalances, mentions of previous domestic abuse, controlling behaviour, forced proximity, obsessive behaviour, unhealthy realtionships, unedited

Word Count: 3.5k

Sleep would not come. You tossed and turned for several hours before giving in and re-lighting the candle. Holding your fingers in the warmth of the flame, you began to contemplate your life.

The candlelight flickered and made you feel like the walls were closing in. In some aspects they already had. The walls had closed in without you even knowing it, so distracted by your own wariness. Now you were here, alone, and in reach of the emperors who had put you here.

How had you been so blind? Your own lack of self worth had made you stupid, disbelieving that the Emperors could have such interest in you. You had floated through those first two days, thinking that at any moment they would drop you, bored, like a forgotten toy. To your knowledge that was what usually happened! You had even see it; limping concubines and abandoned slaves. Instead, whatever was between the three of you had grown and mutated into something you had no hope in understanding.

The Emperors had power, yes, there was no denying it. Yet part of you felt as though you were giving them more. Specifically over you. They had not said you could not leave your rooms. So why stay when sleep insisted on evading you?

Your father had had that kind of hold on you and your mother. The situations were not perfectly similar but you were loathe to think you had allowed another man to control you like that. The thoughts made you feel irrational, made you feel like doing something dangerous.

The flame licked at your finger tips and you hissed, pulling them back to your chest. You knew this palace well. Better than the Emperors, even. You knew all the secret spots, all the ways to sneak around without being spotted. Perhaps it was time to put that knowledge to good use. A tiny rebellion of sorts.

Your mind was made up. If you thought on it too long you would lose all courage. Slipping into your sandals, you tried not to think too hard about what you were doing.

"I am going for a walk in the gardens," you said to yourself, "as I am entitled to do. I have not been told I cannot do otherwise."

The look Geta had given you flashed across your eyes and you squeezed them shut, dismissing him.

Reaching under your mattress, you gave your carved wolf a squeeze and then let go. You mumbled a quick prayed to Fortuna and then slowly opened your door, scanning the corridors before poking out your head.

There was no-one you could see. That did not mean that no-one was actually there; you were too close to the Emperor's chambers for their to be no Praetorians.

Part of you knew you were taking a risk. If you were so confident that you were allowed to leave your room then why did you feel the need to evade the Praetorians?

You scrubbed your sweaty palms down your sleepwear. The plain white wrap would make you a glaring target but your other options were no better. It did not matter; you needed fresh air. Needed to take it without the weight of eyes upon you. The illusion of freedom was better than nothing.

You slipped from your room like a breath in the wind. As expected, the first hallway you came to was lined with Praetorians. You wasted no time in slipping by them, dipping into a stairwell and tip-toeing down.

All you could hear was the pounding of your own heart. The sound made you dizzy and you allowed yourself to stop for a moment, steadying yourself. Trembling, you stumbled down the rest of the stairs under you reached a landing. There were yet more guards but they were looking for people sneaking in, rather than out. Waiting until their backs were turned, you made a mad dash for freedom.

The rest of the way was mercifully quiet. Slowing down, you appreciated the silence. Yours were the one footsteps you could hear. It was funny; that night, when you had first met Caracalla, you had been terrified of these empty halls. Now they curved around you, protective, and you brushed a hand against them in familiarity.

Cool air blasted you when you finally stepped foot outside. You laughed and it was immediately lost to the wind. You were not as weak as you thought. You would do whatever you could to hold onto this feeling of dependence.

The air was biting and made your eyes water. Staying out here for long was not an option. Goosebumps emerged along your arms and thighs as the wind pushed itself under your clothes.

When the gusts softened, you wandered further out. You allowed yourself slow appraisals of all the flowers, most of which you did not recognise. You had had no interest in gardening before but they suddenly felt like the most beautiful thing in the world.

Your past and present slipped from you like water. In this moment, it was only you. You could pretend that you had all the choices in the world.

And you did have choices. It was the consequences that scared you. You wished you could peer into the future and see all the possible answers, all the solutions, and make your mind based on those. But you were no seer; the future was barred from your questioning eyes. You would simply have to wait and go the long way around to see what the future held.

An abrupt sound startled you and you whipped around, eyes searching. At first you thought the garden was empty and you relaxed, releasing your death-grip on your elbows.

A flash of red made your head swim and you stood still, mouth parting. No, you almost moaned, no, no, no.

Gravel crunched underfoot as Geta appeared, rounding a flower bed and jerking to a stop. His cheeks were red despite being dressed warmer than you. His mouth parted at the sight of you and you swallowed hard.

Fortuna, you languished, you have forsaken me.

It took you a moment to realise it was not bad luck or coincidence that Geta had stumbled across you. It was difficult to see them through the myriad of plants but several Praetorians had accompanied Geta to the gardens. It seemed that you had not been quite as subtle as you had thought.

Geta started towards you and you squeaked, not daring to back away. It took only several paces before he reached you, grasping your elbows and yanking you to his chest.

"You," he gaped," what were you thinking?"

He gave you a hard shake to force the answer out of you. He was out of breath, almost gasping, and you were stunned into silence.

"Come," he barked, yanking you back the way he came.

You lurched after him, gravel grazing the tips of your toes. Thought escape you and all you could do was lock your eyes on the back of Geta's robe. The pattern was exquisite and you wondered what it would feel like beneath your fingers.

You expected him to let you go once you were back inside but he did not. He continued to pull you along, barking orders at Praetorians, all the way back to your rooms. Your face crumpled at the sight of it but you did not protest as he wrenched you inside and shut the door, sealing both him and you in.

He swiped a hand over his face, shaking. "Do you have any idea how fortunate you are that it was not Caracalla who stumbled upon your ridiculous little escape plan?"

"I -"

"You are well aware that he has some sort of dependency on you," Geta continued, pacing back and forth, "yet you would abandon him at the first chance you had?"

"No, no," you shook your head, "I wanted only to see the gardens!"

Geta stopped, eying you with disbelief. He looked on edge. He almost reminded you of Caracalla in one of his episodes. The more you learned, the more you realised how similar they were.

"The gardens?" he spat. "In the middle of the night? In the cold?"

You brushed your fingers down your arms, embarrassed. "Yes."

Geta shook his head, eyes flickering all over you. His eyes narrowed as he finally seemed to register what you were wearing. "And in those clothes?"

Nothing you said was going to make him calm down. You let your eyes settle on the floor and thinned your lips.

"You could have asked," he finally said, shoulders sagging inward.

"Asked?"

"To see the gardens," he threw his hands into the air. "I would have had someone accompany you. You could not comprehend the trouble you have caused tonight."

"What right do I have to ask for anything?" you said, shocked. "I am a servant, barely more than a slave."

Geta studied you in that way you had become almost used to. His mouth worked, opening and closing several times before settling into a fine line.

"Yes," he agreed, "and you will obey your emperors. You are not to leave your room till morning and we will have someone fetch you when we are ready. Goodnight."

He turned to your bed and yanked up the sheet, throwing it upon you before exiting from the room. He slammed the door shut and you stood in stunned silence, frozen until you heard the deathly sound of a lock sliding shut.

"No," you murmured at first, then quickly got louder. "No, don't!"

Your emotions spilled out of you all at once. Throwing yourself against the door you began to pound upon it. Geta was still outside; you could see his shadow lingering beneath the door.

"Please," you begged, "I am sorry, Emperor, please."

The shadow disappeared as though it had never been there. Choking on your own tears, you rested your forehead against the wood, fists aching. You let out one long, primal scream and then fell back, yanking the covers over your head and angrily wiping your tears away with the back of your hand.

You fell asleep like that, hands clenching the covers and cursing whatever Gods had pushed this fate upon you.

True to his word, Geta did send someone the next morning. A Praetorian soldier opened the door and peered in, cringing at your rumpled form on the bed.

"I am Consus," he said reluctantly. "The Emperors have sent me to retrieve you."

You scowled at the innocent man, dragging your body from the sheets. Your head was pounding and there were multiple spots on your hands where the skin had cracked and bled from your pounding on the door.

You were still in your bed clothes. Dirt stained the bottom and there were smears of blood dotted all over it.

"I need to get ready," you grumbled.

"That. . .will not be necessary," the guard said. "You will be relieved of your usual duties today but you must accompany me to the emperors."

Usual duties, you thought, whatever those were. But you were in no mood to argue so you stomped into your sandals and trailed after Consus. Whatever fight you had left had been squeezed out of you late last night. Now there was only the stinging of your hands and aching of your head.

It took less than two minutes to reach Geta's quarters. You had been foolish to think he would not learn of your brief dash for freedom.

Consus held open the door and announced your presence to the room. No-one had ever done that before. You had not been important enough.

You held your head up as much as you could and entered the room. Caracalla was the first to see you. It was almost comical the way his grin dropped from his face.

He stood up so fast that Dondus squeaked and leapt from his shoulder. He stormed over to you and cupped your hands in his, turning them over again and again as though he could not believe what he was seeing.

"What is this?" he was horrified. As though he had not caused worse injuries and found amusement in them.

"Brother," he snapped, "look. Someone has - someone has -"

Geta finally looked up. Despite being the last to see you, he was also stunned by your appearance. He swallowed harshly and stood straighter.

"She had a rough night, brother," he attempted to soothe Caracalla. "The healer is on the way."

His eyes told you not to say anything. You would not. There was no telling how Caracalla would react if he learned the truth of your escapade last night. Even though you had not truly tried to escape, it only mattered that Geta thought you had.

Caracalla yanked a hand through his hair. "Brother -"

"Enough," Geta raised his voice. "She is hurting. Let her sit."

The words seemed to do something to Caracalla and he steered you to a plush sofa, pulling you down so that you were half on his lap. You had no will to try to move and only sagged, letting Caracalla's hands wander over you.

It was strange how his jerky movements almost soothed you. Perhaps you were only glad for the company, having spent majority of last night confined to your quarters.

"Where does it hurt?" he whispered, eyes fixated on the darkened blood on your clothing.

"My head," you admitted, "and my hands."

Caracalla dusted careful fingers over your temples before turning his attention to your hands. He brought them to his face and kissed your palms. Your eyes welled from the soft touches. He murmured sweet nothings, brows furrowed as he took in your injuries. The smaller they were, the more they hurt. You sucked in a breath when his tongue darted out and swiped over a cut.

Consus appeared in the door once more, this time announcing the healer. The gentleman walked in, holding a leather bag that clinked with ointments and creams.

"Leave them and get out," Caracalla demanded, becoming louder when the man stalled. "Out!"

You would have felt pity for the man on any other day. He shrugged the bag from his shoulder and left it on a table, backing out of the room with his hands held up.

To your surprise it was Geta who retrieved the bag, handing it carefully to his brother. He eyed you in the way he often did and you held his gaze. Something like guilt flickered over his face but it was gone before you could analyse it.

Caracalla busied himself with the contents of the bag. He held up an expensive looking jar of cream and set it aside before picking up something much more recognisable - a small bottle of alcohol.

He popped the cork off. "This will sting."

You gasped and tried to yank your hands away but Caracalla held them steady as he dribbled small amounts of the liquid onto your palms. He used his own clothing to wipe away the traces of blood as if was nothing.

The cream was better. He dabbed it onto your cuts, glancing up at your face to gauge your reaction. You tried not to dwell to much on the fact that an Emperor of Rome was treating your superficial wounds.

"Better?" he asked.

"Better," you nodded. "Thank you, Emperor."

He looked over his shoulder and then back at you before leaning in to whisper, "You can address me as Caracalla."

A lump lodged itself in your throat. How many times had Caracalla been treated for his own injuries that he knew how to treat you for yours?

"What truly happened last night?" he asked you, careful to make sure Geta could not hear.

"Emperor Geta locked me in my room," you answered honestly.

Caracalla thought about it for a moment. "It is better that way," he decided. "It keeps you safe. Don't you want to be safe for us?"

Of course. Caracalla was no different to his brother though you could not pretend to understand their emotions or motivations.

Geta was watching the pair of you. He looked down when you noticed, pretending to be ensconced in his paperwork. Ignoring you just as he did last night when he left you screaming in your room.

You spent the whole day laying about in Geta's chambers. Caracalla doted on you, feeding you bits of food and checking on your wounds.

The more he touched you the harder it was to pull away. His touches got firmer, bolder; the back of your neck, your arms, even your thighs when you shifted. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier until it was impossible to ignore the blatant way he was panting over you.

And it was not as though you were immune to his caresses.

After a few hours of torture, Geta turned his attention back to you.

"There is a gathering tonight," he said, "you will get ready."

"And what am I to do at this gathering?" you boldly asked.

Geta pulled you from the plush cushions by your wrist. He leaned in close. "You are going because I cannot trust you enough to leave you alone. Do not complain; it is unbecoming of a young lady such as yourself."

His mocking tone sent a spike of anger through you. You deigned not to respond. Such blatant disrespect was stupid but you were still unfathomably angry that he had locked you away. You wanted to say that he had no right but, as Emperor, he did. Geta and Caracalla could do anything they wished and you were constantly reminded of it.

Geta pointed you to some clothes hanging up on a privacy screen. He dragged Caracalla away so you could change in peace - an apology of sorts? You yanked on the clothing and tried to let your temper cool. It would do you no good to have an attitude in the presence of others.

Once more you were back in the entertainment hall. Geta had you stationed by a wall, offering cups to anyone who wanted one. It was obvious you had been placed there only because it kept you firmly in his sight.

After an hour you found yourself feeling calmer, taking purpose in your small task. The familiarity made you at ease and you were able to put the Emperors to the back of your mind.

They were surrounded by concubines and tittering senators. A woman was perched on the cushions behind Geta, rubbing a hand on his shoulder and occasionally allowing it to dip beneath his clothing. Geta met your eyes across the room and leaned back, allowing her further contact.

The concubines were having a difficult time with Caracalla. He would relax into their forward touches and then suddenly jerk forward, shoving them away and screaming obscenities. You had never seen him quite so wild at a gathering; it was known that Caracalla enjoyed parties and was most approachable during them.

The concubines did not know what to do with themselves. Breaking point was reached when one dared to slip his hand beneath Caracalla's tunic. Immediately Caracalla was upon the man, hands flying in every which direction and beating him to a near pulp.

How was this the same man who had so softly attended to you earlier? Your anger seeped away and was replaced by familiar fear. What would it take for him to turn on you like that?

Praetorians approached and dragged the concubine away. The party continued as though nothing at happened. These people cared not for the lives of those below them.

Caracalla's eyes darted about the room. Searching for you, no doubt. You recoiled into the wall and shrank in on yourself, desperate to go unnoticed.

Someone did spot you, but it was not Caracalla. The master of gladiators gave you a predators smile and sauntered over, plucking a cup from the tray you were holding.

Something about Macrinus unnerved you. His smile was open enough but you did not trust the man. That had never mattered before when you were a simple servant in the kitchen but now. . .

"It is you," he smiled teasingly, bumping you with his elbow.

You recoiled at the unwanted touch. "I'm sorry?"

"You," he repeated, " who has enamoured the emperors and now takes up so much of their time."

Something cold slithered into your stomach. You did not like Macrinus - did not like that this man knew so much about you.

"I. . .do not know what you are speaking of," the lie caught in your throat but you pushed it out anyway.

Macrinus laughed, loud and cold. "I think you do."

At that moment Caracalla appeared, wrapping his hand around your elbow and exposing the lie you had told.

"I want to leave," he grumbled, "come now."

He uttered a tense greeting to Macrinus and dragged you from the room. You went willingly, thankful for any distance between yourself and the master of gladiators and his sharp smile.

Caracalla was rougher than usual as he tugged you along. This time to his chambers. He kept looking over your shoulder and muttering to himself, yanking you closer and closer until you were almost tripping over each other. You were not overly alarmed; you had faith that you would be able to pacify him.

Your mind was preoccupied with your brief meeting with Macrinus. The emperors made you uneasy but it was nothing to do with the sickening feel Macrinus evoked in you.

Authors Note - This might be my favourite chapter yet idkkkk - please let me know what you think! Please like, comment, reblog if you enjoyed and don’t be afraid to send asks because they are my favourite thing

taglist - @only4thefics @doodle-with-rhy @lover-rep-fanfic @claraisme23 @sashaphantomhive @multifandombtch @t6gse370

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[vaaaaaiolet]

Here, we happen upon a specimen of Homo sapiens in a most vulnerable state. He appears to be utterly besotted with his wife at the risk of his livelihood. Distracted, exhausted, and borderline hallucinating, he's left open to attack from every angle. Including that of the object of his affections, it seems.

In which Leon nearly naps through a debrief and you give him a run for his money.

mdni [insert tiktok GET OUT audio]. married f / m smut feat. the same agent au from mbotcd. a dash of plot w your porn if you please. whipped leon pov where his bamf wife pounces on him LMAO. bjs, jerking him off, and no refractory period yay!!! slight cumplay + dacryphilia?? cavity-inducing p in v à la missionary. banter and praise bordering on body worship. 1 sec of overstim. corny plot twist. honestly just marriage kink. i hate myself too. also you wear a necklace + bracelet cause u cute like that :3

a/n: “vivi wtf you keep writing the sam-” let’s get this straight. i #needthat. i’ve been #needingthat. this is a month’s worth of thirst condensed into a GROSS FUCKING FIC that i’m actually so embarrassed about please don’t look at me. i want this man's dick so bad it makes me ill. and dicks are scary ok. nevertheless, i persevere in my journey to suck leon off with mixed results. enjoy the ride <3 + many many kisses to the most kickass writer i know @comatosebunny09 for inspiring bamf reader :,) leon nation has MISSED YOU LMFAOOO

word count: 3.2k (WE BEAT THE 2.9K TRENCHES Y'ALL!!) // read on ao3

It’s only after you finally shoo your guests out the front door that Leon can plunge into the living room loveseat and let out a sigh akin to that of a sinking ship’s. Or at least shooing is the way he’d have done it – his darling’s too perfect a hostess to dream of doing that.

Goddamn. Leon pulls a hand down his face hard enough to resemble Munch’s Scream painting. He thought they’d never leave: the eye-twitchingly pedantic DSO busybodies who had no business interrupting the sanctity of his home on a Friday afternoon, and an unbearably sleepy one at that. 

Sunshine had dripped down the living room windows slower than molasses while two analysts blabbered on and on about some stupid recon intel from his last mission. One cookie after the other had disappeared from a tray laid out with Leon’s secret stash. And to make things worse, an hour in, you’d started glaring daggers his way when his head started bobbing. It made for a scene dangerously reminiscent of Sunday service as a kid.

So what if this Sensitive Compartmented Blah Blah Blah needed to be discussed at the DSO’s earliest convenience? What about Leon’s convenience? He’d handled confidential business before. He checks his email on time. Most of the time. 

But the hard part’s over now, thank the Lord. Leon can peel off the imaginary Scotch tape from his eyelids and instead appreciate the magnificent view his wife makes walking back from the foyer in her company best. 

Now that’s something he wouldn’t mind discussing at length over tea. 

Crimson silk whispers down the length of your legs when you throw yourself over the arm of the couch opposite him. Leon snickers; kicks up his feet on his own loveseat in solidarity. Falling onto the cushions, you let out a gutted yawn that couldn’t possibly befit the gracious lady of the house who was just insisting your guests stay for dinner. 

He can’t not tease you about it. 

You remind him that he’s lucky his ass didn’t snooze himself out of a job. The threat cuts less considering how funny you sound, muffled from the sherpa throw you’ve planted your face into. You were at it for hours, holding down the fort while your husband zoned out. One more word out of him and you’ll conveniently lose the files he needs for his upcoming assignment.  

Oof. Leon knows not to negotiate unarmed.

Anyway, he’s not too keen on arguing with Sleeping Beauty. Can’t help but chuckle when you tuck your hands flat under your cheek like a Precious Moments figurine. He crosses his arms, watches you curl up your legs and declare to nobody in particular that you’re only resting your eyes before figuring out dinner, and knowing all too well what’s to follow, Leon waits. 

Three…two…one. 

Out like a light. He could’ve snapped on it. 

They tuckered his baby right out. Picture of an angel, fast asleep as sunlight streams onto the carpet and the houseplants don’t notice a thing. Lashes flashing gold in the rays, fluttering with each soft breath you take. You look as if you could sleep for a thousand years.   

With his own head heavy with the five o’clock sun, Leon’s inclined to share the sentiment. He’s close to dozing off too. It’s just…he’s having a little trouble shutting his eyes now that those pests from work are gone and he’s free to stare unabashedly at what actually held his attention all afternoon.

You shift in your sleep – innocent as a lamb, were it not for the bare leg you kick out right then. 

Leon stifles a punched-out groan by the skin of his teeth. 

Your dress rides up just high enough for him to peek at the pretty thighs hiding underneath. Leon might have to call over company more often if it meant you’d wear that again, damn his cookie stash. A lean forward and shit, he’s seeing lace. Lace he wants between his teeth.

The rational part of his brain chides, she’s exhausted. Don’t even think about it.

Leon rebels. He can’t help his hungry eyes from devouring upwards from there. Right over the enticing plush of your hips, the curve of your stomach. Up to your darling face with a few pit stops along the way. 

Do you have any idea how cute you pout when you’re trying to squeeze the sunlight out of your eyes? Or that you finger your favorite necklace, lulling yourself to sleep? It rests over the slope of your breasts, a privilege he’s always nursed a smattering of jealousy about, and Leon isn’t saying he meant to stare for as long as he does at the pendant playing peek-a-boo between the valley of your- 

Fuck it. Yeah, he’s looking. Perving over the prettiest angel he ever did see. He won’t be calling God and returning you to heaven anytime soon. No hard feelings, big guy. 

Said necklace glitters in the fading radiance of the afternoon sun as Leon huffs this particular thought to himself, readjusting his jeans. And then he frowns. Maybe it’s his sleep-addled brain, but he could swear the necklace winks at him.

It’s then that a pair of beautiful eyes – who should very much be closed – flutter open. 

Fantastic. You woke her up. 

It takes you a second. Slumber still weighs heavy on your poor neck. You stretch out your arms, yawning into the back of your hand. Leon’s already workshopping an apology by the time you wipe your mouth to taste the fleeting remnants of your five-minute nap. 

It must’ve been all that moaning and groaning of his, goddamn it. Subtlety’s never been his strong suit. Leon should say sorry. Apologize to the fawn in the woodland clearing for tearing into her dreams like the great, lumbering bear he is. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” He drops his voice to a rueful whisper, ducking slightly to meet your line of sight. “Did I wake you up?”

Your gaze doesn’t lift. “...wasn’t sleeping.”

He has the tact to hold back his snort this time. Right, you were resting your eyes. How about he gets you to bed? He hears they’re practically made for eye resting. Or something along those lines.

“Don’t wanna.”

He literally watched you pass out on the couch. You want a crick in your neck that bad?

“I’ll tell you what I want,” comes your defiant grumble, and with a toss of your gorgeous head, Leon’s heart skips. 

You kick out your other leg. Your feet touch the ground with a determined click of your heels. That hip-hugging dress doesn’t do a damn thing to slow you down. A few strides later, you’ve suddenly got the upper hand, towering over his slumped form on the loveseat. Sporting a wicked, wide-awake gleam in your eyes if he wasn’t seeing things. Was he?

You drop to a crouch next to his befuddled head, pivot one-eighty; gather your hair over one bare shoulder. Press the sash of your dress into his palm, deceptively coy. 

“Want you to help with this,” you purr. 

Honeypot voice.

He blinks. 

If Leon knows what’s good for him, he ought to run for the hills. He hasn’t heard you talk like that since Santorini 2016. Something’s off here. Either he’s done something very, very wrong, or something very right. That mission ended with the barrel of your Sentinel Nine jabbed into a handsy thug’s ribs. Years of failed attempts at breakfast in bed flash through Leon’s memories to remind him that you don’t take being woken up lightly. The sash cinching your waist is stoplight red. Likely for a reason. 

So Leon pulls it. 

You try holding still when a smokeshow orders you to strip her, for God’s sake.

The dress falls apart like a dream. Leon’s mouth goes dry watching you slip off a matching set of skimpy underthings. Wearing nothing but that delicate chain that dangles over your décolletage and a tennis bracelet on your wrist – an anniversary present bought to mirror your strength – that sparkles in the sun, you cock a hand on your bare hip. 

Leon sits bolt upright. He’s loaded with a million and one questions, but you’re moving like you’re trying to outrun those Greek thugs again. You don’t give him a chance. When you clamber onto the couch and settle yourself right between the stunned spread of his legs, all he can do is sputter like a rusty engine. His belt falls apart in merry, metallic clinks at your clever fingers. Your dress drops into a forgotten puddle on the floor next to his melted brain. 

“Woah, woah, woah.” Leon grips onto your forearms when you dig your nails into the waistband of his jeans. Wide blue eyes peer into yours, a dumbfounded grin tugging at your husband’s mouth. “Not that I’m complaining, but what’re you- what’re you doing?”

You huff, tugging harder at his waistband. “Want these off, duh.”

“But what’s with the sudden-”

“I don’t entertain for free. This,” your hand darts to cup the bulge he’s been wrangling with for a while now, “is what I want in return for sitting through that boring-ass debrief with you nodding off the whole time instead of listening to anything they were saying. And I know you're going to forget and ask me about the intel later.”

Point taken. He did need to work on his subtlety. 

“Actually, if I’d done this earlier, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten bored.” You hum as if this were a mildly interesting work conversation. “Nothing crazy like sucking you off under the coffee table. I could’ve needed your help getting a file out of the garage, and then...or is that too cliché?”

What kind of porno plot is this? 

“Bold claim to make, doll.” Leon fumbles to take off his jeans in poorly concealed excitement at what that could mean. His denim gets thrown off the couch, courtesy of your ever-so-helpful hands. 

“What, you think I’d put you to sleep instead?” you giggle. 

By sucking out his soul? Maybe. 

You perch yourself on his bare thigh. 

Straddling is great. Comfortable even. Your thighs press all plushy on either side of his leg and that’s fine and dandy, but right now, Leon’s scared shitless that you might slide clean off him – you’re that fucking wet. When did you let it get this bad? You’d squelch moving an inch, for fuck’s sake. Look at you, talking big when your head was just as elsewhere as his.

Leon wraps a steadying arm around your hips with his heart beating out of his chest. It’s only when you lean over his chest to steady yourself that he can let out a shudder of relief. A brief one, of course. Apparently you’ve made it your mission so that he never knows peace a day in his life.

Your bracelet-adorned hand slips into his boxers, curling around the base of his cock with a playful squeeze of his balls. Testing, testing, is this thing on? 

Leon’s throaty groan is your go-ahead to fish out his length. 

The soft O of your cupped hand starts to pump him, slow at first. A gentle up-and-down that has him tipping his neck backwards over the armrest. Leon doesn’t need to look to feel himself standing prouder with each slickening pass of your palm, but he does anyway to see the flash of your wedding ring while you work. Pretends the sight doesn’t make his dick jump. And hell, if you don’t flash him that pretty smile of yours when you notice, squeezing harder. Didn’t know he married himself a succubus.

“God…” he breathes. Cards a hand through your hair with a tenderness that makes your clamped knees buckle. 

Leon hasn’t got much time left. You’ve figured that out too, dropping a kiss to his rosy tip when the blurts of precome start running down the back of your hand. You quickly swipe a thumb over the mess; leave a trail down his leg, scooching down and gasping at the friction on your clit. You pop your lips over the head of his cock like it’s a fruit punch sucker. 

Fuck. Has he ever told you how much he loves your mouth? All spit-slick when you’re blinking more please? 

You inch his length down your throat, soft little gags bubbling past your lips. Doe eyes glossy from the stretch. You’ve got to stop giving him that angel stare before he starts straight-up fucking your face to watch your tears roll. Leon settles for sweeping your hair into a ponytail instead, barely resisting the urge to roll his hips into the wet heat engulfing him. Maybe it’s for the best. He’d get off too quick otherwise and he needs the time to pick between painting your pretty face or your pretty tits white. Decisions, decisions. 

“So good for me, baby.” Leon pants over the soft suckling sounds of you speeding up at the gesture. “Oh, fuck. Wait, sweetheart, I-” 

His breathing turns shallow in seconds. His lower stomach twitches, shitshitshit – he’s coming. Face flushed and mouth moaning wide open when he spills down your throat. 

You pull off his twitching cock, smiling like the cat that got the cream with some dribbling down the corner of your mouth to boot. Then you go ahead and fucking blow on him like you want bubbles from a Blow Pop. His lingering sensitivity makes him shake like a leaf. You’d planned this, hadn’t you?

“Fuckin’ hell, woman.” Leon chuckles softly, using the pad of his thumb to wipe your lips clean. “Happy?”

You answer with a satisfied flutter of your cum-pearled lashes. Cute.

“Good. Cause now it’s my turn.”

Didn’t think you could get away with him making a mess of himself alone, did you? You’d been squirming on his leg the whole time. Poor baby let her mission get in the way of her needs again. So to return the favor, Leon flips you over. Climbs on top.

You turn starry-eyed with your back to the cushions, beaming when he pushes your thighs apart. You’re fussy just the way he likes you when you plead pleasepleaseplease. All riled up just from sucking him off, huh? This won’t take long.

The scent of your arousal is heady. Earthy like sugary petrichor. Makes his head spin. He’s picking up on it more than ever after that orgasm cleared his head like a gunshot. He runs two fingers down your dewy folds to rediscover just how much you taste like linen sheet trysts with a Do Not Disturb sign permanently stuck to your hotel room door.

“I gotcha, honey,” Leon soothes your breathy whimpers. Kisses you slow, easing into your weeping entrance. “I’m right here. Oh, I know.”

First is the initial head-under-water feeling of sinking into you. So good it hurts. Then comes the caramel stretch of you wrapping around him. He’s gotta make sure of the fit, you know? Leon lines a teasing finger around the stretched lips of your cunt struggling to take him whole. 

You anchor your hands into his hair in response. Good enough.

Your gasps ghost over the hollow of his throat, your breath slowing to match the languid pace of his starting thrusts. The ache Leon rocks into your hips takes out the one in his back, he swears. He wants to die just like this. Buried inside you if he can help it.

“Close, close-” You’re keening before you know it. That telltale squeeze of silken muscle Leon knows so well follows your squeak of, “Oh!” 

“Go on, sweet girl,” he coos, “come for me.”

You milk him, petal soft. And aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. You’re a mewling mess underneath him, trying and failing to not dig your nails into his scar-strewn shoulders. Don’t you know it never hurts when it’s you? 

Leon rolls his hips into yours to lengthen the euphoria of your velvet walls clenching him so tight. By some miracle, he’s still keyed up from earlier. He’s got this nasty vision in his head of thumbing his spend back into you, of liquid pearls sliding down your gaping slit and slowly puddling onto the couch. You won’t waste a drop. You never do. Fuck, he’s throwing off his rhythm just thinking about it. 

A quiet sob of his name interrupts his train of thought. Shit, Leon had forgotten you just came. He must be toeing overstim territory by now. 

“Just a little more, you take it so well, just-”

Leon’s vision fizzes and pops at the edges. He drops his head down to see your eyes all scrunched up, clutching his forearm with one hand and your necklace with the other, anything to tide you over the assault on your oversensitive cunt. Breaking his heart, but Leon’s almost there, he’s so sorry, angel, it’ll be over soon, and- there it is, that eye-rolling whip of pleasure in his gut-

“Leon?” 

His eyes fly open.

“Are you okay?!” 

When had he closed them?

Leon blinks back stars. The living room’s plunged in dying daylight. He’s laid out on the couch with his back feeling stiffer than a sarcophagus. You’re kneeling next to him with a palm pressed to his forehead and worry souring your expression. But the scariest part of the entire scene might be the fact that you’re still fully dressed, the pendant nestled between your breasts glinting as if mocking him. What. 

“You started scrunching up your face and kicking around,” you frown, smoothing back his sweaty bangs. “I thought you were kidding about falling asleep after they left. ”

Leon claps a palm over his face.

“Were you having a nightmare?” 

More like he woke up to one. 

“Gosh, it sounded like you were having a real nice dream before that. You were all smiley in your sleep, babe.”

He coughs weakly. “Something like that.” 

“Hm. Well,” you clap your hands cheerily, “I think something to eat might make you feel better.”

“Yeah?”

“Turns out that nap really helped me figure out dinner. I ordered pizza a little bit ago, actually. I was just taking the boxes into the kitchen when I heard you in here.”

Heard. Damn. He wasn’t even going to ask about that. Leon nods, stuck in a dismal, nebulous haze of disappointment. He’ll be right there.

A slow smile tugs at your lips. “And maybe changing out of these,” you glance at his legs, “might help too.” 

Your hand lifts from Leon’s forehead to drag down his chest. Innocent and light at first, just smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt, and then down, down, down over his stomach to rest over the rather conspicuous patch of soaked denim at the crotch of his jeans. And if that wasn’t enough for Leon’s eyes to bulge out of his head, you give the spot a very déjà vu squeeze before walking off.

You can barely hide your giggle on the way out. “Meet me in the kitchen?”

Leon swings his legs over the edge of the couch. Claps his hands to his knees before he catches your contagious smile. 

Sure, he can. He’s been meaning to buy a centerpiece for the kitchen island for the longest time. Y’know, pretty the place up for when guests come over. 

He might just have to start with you.

psst, find more of my work here!

likes kill fics :( comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and ily!

[kookieskookiejar]

A Nightwing x Starfire (reader) AU

Synopsis:

Jungkook said goodbye to you years ago when the two of you were just on the cusp of adulthood, he swore he'd never love again if it wasn't you, but fate gives him another chance when you return to earth, he just didn't imagine that it'd feel like there's galaxies between the both of you despite being right next to you.

Warnings under the cut!

Warnings: extreme levels of down badism, brief pining, fluff, smut, unprotected sxx, manhandling. Jungkook calls reader the nickname, Star multiple times.

Jungkook feels alive as he speeds down the streets of Gotham at nearly midnight on his bike, the wind blowing past his face is an exhilaration to him, still within the speed limit, for now, while there's yet to have any crime that he needs to tackle.

Gotham is quiet at this time, crime rate has been driving people away from staying out in the streets after 10pm, sometimes people would choose to linger at busier streets where police are deployed to keep crime at bay, unfortunately for Jungkook, that means he needs to pick up the slack, there never seem to be enough troops, the number of officers decreasing by the year as crimes rates increase, no one wants to risk their life, Jungkook understands, that's what the bat family and the titans are for, as long as his families stand, then Gotham would never end up in the clutches of injustice.

Suddenly, Jungkook picks up a scream at his 9 o'clock, immediately revving his bike to go faster, his head scanning left right and up down to look for the source of the distress.

When he finally locates suspicious sounds coming from an alleyway after several turns, he sees a faint neon green glow ascending into the sky.

Jungkook gets off his bike to inspect the opening of the alleyway, a woman leaves the dark alley with a huff, swinging her handbag back onto her shoulder. Jungkook waits till she leaves before he goes into the alleyway.

A man in a full black attire comes into view, tied up with his own jacket, cursing something about some glow stick bitch.

“Who tied you up?” Jungkook asks while texting Commissioner Gordon with his burner phone to send someone over.

“Some bitch with green powers,” the man says with a huff, having given up escaping at this point, putting up a fight with Nightwing would be suicidal.

“You're sure? Red hair?”

“Didn't see, too dark,” he mutters, squirming in his spot.

“Sit tight, someone's coming to get you,” Jungkook says before pocketing his phone.

Jungkook takes his leave, climbing back onto his bike to wait for the police car.

While he waits, his personal phone rings, he has received a notification, he notes, retrieving his phone, he swipes it open to reveal a text from Barbara.

‘Wanna come over after your patrol?’

‘Can't, got a project I need to finish up tonight after the patrol, next time.’

Jungkook then pockets his phone and focuses back on what the guy said, green powers, and from what he had seen, a figure that flies with a green glow that's all too familiar, if his assumptions are correct, that means you're back on earth.

Does Jungkook actually have a project to finish up? No he doesn't, but did he lie to Barbara in order to get to the bottom of your likely appearance? Yes.

But to Jungkook’s defense, he and Barbara are a strictly no strings attached kind of situation, even though Barbara has always dropped hints about being keen on the idea of taking what they currently have going on to the next level, Jungkook just can't.

It's an open secret at this point, why he's not open to a relationship, and it's also the same reason why he's now taking off to the titans’ tower after the arrival of a police car.

Jungkook immediately dashed into the tech room where he keeps track of all the latest news and happenings within Gotham and other neighbouring cities, including the atmosphere, but before he could check if there was any unusual activity other than Superman's daily fly out for the sun's direct rays, the monitors that show the tower’s live security footage picks up something out of the ordinary, Jungkook clicks onto the panel to enlarge the footage, and immediately he recognises the lock of unnaturally bright red hair flowing in tune with the breeze, the helipad area has always been the windiest.

Jungkook runs out of the tech room and takes the fire escape to the helipad, foregoing the lift. When he finally reached the top, he takes a deep breath to calm himself before he pushes the heavy metal door open.

Jungkook’s eyes lock onto your figure, calmly sitting by the edge of the building with your legs dangling over the air before you caught the sound of the door opening, your head whipping back, your eyes wide as you recognise the person standing behind you, so different yet you still recognise the energy that radiates off of Jungkook.

“Didn't know you still lived here,” you say before patting the spot next to you, “join me.”

Jungkook silently walks to you, taking a seat next to you, as close to you as possible before he scans your face, you've grown into your features so beautifully from when he had last seen you when you were both teenagers, a little bit more mature, more woman, for a lack of better wording, not that Jungkook could think up of anything right now other than that he's glad that you're back.

“You came back,” Jungkook says, still in disbelief, he thinks he's dreaming and fears that he might wake up at any moment.

“Yeah, the whole ruling over the planet thing isn't really my thing,” you say with a shrug.

“How did you convince your aunt and uncle to let you go?” Jungkook asks before he realised that he still has his mask on, yanking it off his head and pocketing it quickly, he even catches a ghost of a smile on your lips before you school your face back to a neutral expression.

‘Why are you being so distant towards him?’ Jungkook wonders to himself.

“My other cousin offered to take over the throne through a battle that I lost intentionally,” you explain, the throne would've been yours ages ago if your sister hadn't framed you for killing your own parents, but he knows you never wanted to rule the planet.

“How long have you been back?” Jungkook asks, you don't look like you just got back, you have regular clothes on, why didn't you look for him first thing you got back?

“Almost a week, crashed at Raven’s place,” you say offhandedly, as if you didn't send Jungkook’s mind spiralling, the most forefront question in his mind on repeat right now questioning if what the two of you had was merely a fever dream.

“I'm glad you're back, I really am, the team isn't the same without you,” Jungkook says, but he feels like he's got a mouthful of sand weighing his words down.

“I thought you're more of a solo act now, Raven’s told me all about your promotion, Nightwing,” you tease, your first smile of the night, Jungkook notes, at least you're genuinely happy for him.

“Yeah, Bruce had me promoted because he wants to spend more time with Selina,” Jungkook jokes, laughing at his own joke, but when he realises what position he's in right now, he sombers up, suddenly things aren't so funny anymore, if Bruce could get his happy ending, then could he get his?

“They seem like a happy couple, can't wait for the wedding,” you say while nodding your head, as if you're very certain that the two would end up being wedded.

“I sure hope they do end up together forever, the last thing I'd want is for Bruce to be in a pissy mood all the time,” Jungkook says with a sigh, knowing Bruce's temper, “speaking of forever, will you ever return back to Tamaran, or are you staying on earth permanently?” Jungkook asks, he couldn't help it, he has to know if he has a chance with you.

“It depends, I'll stay on earth if I'm given a reason to,” you say with a quick glance to Jungkook before you quickly change the topic, “how about we get back to your patrol? I'm sure you stopped halfway because you saw a glimpse of me during it, I'll join you, it's been so long since we last did this,” you say before getting up and walking back to the fire escape.

Jungkook follows you wordlessly like a lovesick puppy, he can't help it, he finally feels like he has something to look forward to other than catching crooks and passing tests.

When he follows you down the stairs, he sees your fit more closely under the help of the fluorescent lights, and Jungkook curses internally when he catches sight of your bubble butt in no other than the iconic juicy couture tight sweats that have a bejewelled juicy stamped across your cheeks, the pink velvet material sticking close to your skin.

A little too soon for his liking, the both of you have reached the living area, and to Jungkook’s shock, you strip right in front of him, revealing a new suit underneath the matching set, a bodysuit with tiny gems of many shades of purple and green, the familiar red gem from your old suit remains its position beneath your clavicle.

“Wow,” Jungkook says, starstruck, your suit, your body, he'd get down on his knees right now to beg if you asked, and your new boots, they go as far as your uppertighs, how did he not catch the tip of your boots just now?

“Yeah, the old suit doesn't fit all that well anymore and it was customary for me to get a new one once I became ruler, is it too much?” you question with a twirl and Jungkook feels the breath being knocked out of himself at the sight of your body being wrapped up so prettily in your new suit.

“No, not at all, you look beautiful,” Jungkook sputters before pressing the button that calls the lift up to this floor, and fortunately for him, it arrives sooner than expected so he doesn't have to look like a loser in front of you anymore.

“Thank you, your new suit looks great on you as well,” you say, complimenting him, and Jungkook has never been more glad about his mop of hair covering the tips of his ears, you've never said the same for his Robin costume, in fact, sometimes you'd say it was cute because of all the bright colours, just to annoy him, “a bit different from the Robin suit, but not in a bad way, just makes me realise how much we've grown,” you say say with a bittersweet sigh, in a blink of an eye the two of you are now in your 20s, and Jungkook has grown into a man so suddenly.

“I'm still the same Jungkook you've always known, nothing’s changed, Star,” Jungkook insists, stepping closer to you, but to his misfortune, the lift doors slid open and you moved away from him, excited to see the changes of the garage after so many years.

“We've all changed, Jungkook, change is inevitable, see, you even have a new bike, I love the blue highlights,” you gushed, taking a closer look when Jungkook turned it on through the comms on his suit.

“I could take you for a spin instead of flying,” Jungkook offers as he leans on his bike, gazing at you intently to scan for your reaction, but he's quickly sidetracked, god, you're so pretty.

“It's better to scan from below and above, Kook,” you explain, brushing off his offer without a second of hesitation, but Jungkook isn't the type to give up, he's Nightwing, for fuck’s sake.

“I'll drop you off after the bridge, how's that sound? You've never ridden this bike before, I swear it's even better than the old one,” Jungkook says, even throwing in his puppy eyes that he knows you can't resist to convince you.

“Fine,” you lament with a roll of your eyes, “and you said you never changed, you used to hate it when I asked to go for a spin behind you when we were kids,” you say with a huff as you watch him swing a leg over the huge thing, why is his suit so damn skintight, it's too distracting.

“That's because we were kids and I was being a dick, I let you ride behind me when we started-,” Jungkook cuts himself off, he doesn't want to acknowledge the fact that the two of you are no longer together, that he might never be yours ever again.

“This does feel sturdier than the last one,” you say offhandedly as you climb up behind Jungkook, trying your best to leave a gap between your bodies.

“It goes faster too, Bruce had the old one made to be ‘teen safe’, so you gotta hold on tight,” Jungkook says, albeit still distracted by the messy thoughts in his head.

‘Get your head out of the gutter, damn it,’ Jungkook cursed at himself as he puts on his helmet, then with a kick of his leg, he started the engine and took off.

Immediately he hears you curse by his ear and feels your body fall against his due to the force of the sudden speed, the feeling so familiar but so different, and intrusively, Jungkook thinks it'd feel even better if both of you didn't have any clothes on right now, but he quickly buries that thought into the back of his head before he sports a half mass in front of you, and he before he knows it, the connection bridge between the tower and town comes to an end, so he hits the brakes and lets you fly off on your own, tailing your route via his bike, your beautiful silhouette painting the night sky a pretty shade of neon green wherever you go.

To Jungkook’s surprise, Gotham is quiet tonight, as if all the criminals, other than the one from earlier, decided to take this random Tuesday night off, and so the patrol was coming to an end, that is, until he sees you flying down to check something out a few meters away, and so Jungkook speeds down to meet you, expecting to beat up someone, he quickly unseaths his pair of escrima sticks, quickly advancing to where he'd last caught your green glow, but instead of seeing you in action, he sees you crouched next to a thin and frail old woman next to a dumpster.

“Hey, how about I give you some money for the night to find somewhere to stay for a few days and have some actual meals-

“I can't accept that, child, I'm a nuisance enough as it is, homeless at such an old age,” she says with a shake of her head at her own misfortune.

“What's up?” Jungkook asks you, trying to assess the situation at hand now that he's not in offense mode, putting his escrima sticks away.

“This grandma here, her husband recently passed away and the old man didn't leave her anything in the will and instead signed everything away to the mistress’s family, including their own home, she's been trying to look for a job, but no one's willing to hire an old woman for all the jobs she went interviews for,” you explain.

“Hey, it's not the end of the world, ma'am, do you know the stew kitchen in Chinatown? They have rooms above the store for people who need a place to stay, as long as you're willing to help with the volunteer work in any way in your capacity, maybe you can help with the kitchen work?” Jungkook suggests, and the old lady thanks him profusely for the suggestion, “here, take the money and look for a nearby hotel to stay for the night, order some food for tonight and tomorrow's breakfast, then take a cab to Chinatown tomorrow, alright?” Jungkook says as he fishes out his wallet from the side, pulling out enough money to last her a few days, just in case she needs to rest up longer at wherever she's staying at.

“Thank you so much, you two youngsters are too kind, thank you,” she says with a bow before the two of you guide her to the nearest hotel, which is only a few blocks away.

“So much for ‘I’ when you clearly don't have any money on you,” Jungkook teases, and for a moment, you don't know what he meant, until you recall the moment when he joined the conversation and what you had said.

“Oh come on, I'm not the heir to Wayne Enterprise here,” you say as a defense, shoving Jungkook playfully before you take flight again, but before you could get too far, Jungkook calls out to you.

“How about a race on the rooftops? First one to reach the bridge wins,” Jungkook suggests, and he knows it's an offer you won't turn down, the two of you used to love being a menace on all the rooftops, sometimes you'd run to the Wayne Tower just to piss him off.

“Oh you're going down, Jeon,” you say before you fly down to grasp his arms with your hands, Jungkook’s gotten much heavier than when you last did this, but you still manage to toss him up the nearest roof and begin the race.

Running side by side until a building is too tall to be reached by foot, you would fly and Jungkook would employ his trusty grappling hook gun, and you haven't felt this free in ages.

Jungkook could tell that whatever worries you had are now momentarily faded to the back of your head as you laugh at a particularly odd office garden rooftop landscape.

Soon the race comes to an end, and it seems like you were about to win, but Jungkook had purposefully fell back to do this, instead of reaching for his grappling hook gun for the final leap, he reaches for his lasso gun, aiming it at you, letting the ropes encase you.

“Jungkook! What the fuck are you up to, oh my god,” you demand in disbelief, you can't for the life of you put up with this man and the antics he springs on you, and to think he did some growing up while you were gone.

“If I didn't lasso you up, you'd fly all the way back to the tower,” Jungkook says with a tut as he reigns you in, until he successfully pulls you into his embrace, a gasp leaving your lips at the lack of distance between the two of you.

“Okay, cowboy, I think it's time to let me go, you caught me, breaking the rules to do it by the way, I don't think I agreed to a chase but a race,” you say as you wiggle in his hold, seeing if you can break free without breaking his new toy.

“It was too tempting, thought I'd try out this new tool, you know,” Jungkook says with a shrug and that smug expression on his face that unfortunately for you, still gives you butterflies.

“Aw, did daddy get you new toys?” you tease, but you regret it in an instant when you see the way his eyes darken.

“Don't you call him that,” Jungkook warns as his grip on you tightens, almost bruising, and you really shouldn't say what's on your mind right now, but you can't help but give into the temptation, blaming the fact that being so close to Jungkook derails all common sense from your head.

“Why not? Who should I be calling that then?” you retort, chest heaving in anticipation of Jungkook’s next move.

But when his eyes snap to your lips, you feel like a bucket of cold water washed over you, waking you up from whatever charm Jungkook had you on, pushing him away with both palms on his sturdy chest.

“We shouldn't,” you say as you try your best to loosen yourself from his hold with no avail, you forgot how annoying you used to find his little toys to be.

“Why not? Why are you acting so distant? Why can't we go back to how things were between us? You said you're not leaving, are you planning to leave earth again?” Jungkook asks as he feels his heart sink, like his whole world is crumbling around him, which is ironic because his whole world now resides in his arms.

“Kook, I don't want to get between you and Barbara, I don't want to wreck whatever you have going on with her, it's wrong and unfair to her,” you explain, after giving up on escaping his hold.

“Sweetheart, whatever I have going on with Barbara, it's casual, just an easy stress relief for me, she's nothing to me, whatever I have going on with her, it comes to an end, I feel nothing for her, it's always been you, all this time, since we were kids, I love you, Star,” Jungkook confesses, he sounds like such a jerk to Barbara, but he doesn't give a fuck as long as you get the message that he's all in for you, that he'd give up the world for you.

“Really? You don't have any feelings for Barbara?” you ask again, just to be certain, you could always tell when he lied as a kid, you just have to look into his eyes closer, just to see if he has even a sliver of doubt.

“No, but I do know that I love you, with all my heart,” Jungkook says once more before he steals a quick peck of your lips, god, he can taste the grape flavoured lip balm on you, and he thinks he's found a new addiction.

“I love you too, Jungkook, now if you could be a gentleman and let me go, that would be great,” you say before you feel the ropes around you loosen, but just as quickly, Jungkook’s arms are around you again, that bright smile that you missed all these years is back on his beautiful face.

“How did you find out about Barbara anyways?” Jungkook asks, head tilted to a side like that would instantly help him think clearer about the situation, cute that he still has this habit, you thought to yourself.

“Raven,” that one word and Jungkook makes a fuss about how she's always so privy to her own privacy and never about his.

“Oh come on, I would've found out one way or another, could've just tailed you myself,” you say with a shrug, and both of you know you're right, it's how you found out all the surprises Jungkook was planning for you back then when you were dating after all.

“Ride back with me,” Jungkook suggests, and you give in, letting him hold your hand, leading you to where his bike is parked, camouflaged with its invisibility feature.

“Did this thing drive itself like the last one?” you ask as you spot the bike right in front of you knowing that it sure wasn't half an hour ago, to which Jungkook tells you that it does in fact have a self driving mode, and so you formulate something in your mind that probably breaks like ten traffic laws at once.

When you told Jungkook to lie down facing you instead of the road on his bike, he thought you were joking, until you straddled him and told him to put the bike on self driving mode, that's when he pieced two and two together, and Jungkook’s never been more grateful for technology, oh and also his strong thigh muscles, because he's damn sure if he's any weaker, he would've been faced down on the road right now instead of groaning into your lips as he indulges in the feeling of having you grind down on his boner as the two of you zoom past empty traffic, he needs to tell Alfred to wipe the traffic cameras later, he thinks to himself before he feels your hand gripping his cock through his suit, breaking his chain of thoughts.

“Baby, when did you get this adventurous?” Jungkook asks with a shake of his head in disbelief as he feels your hand wander from his length to his chest, groping around, trying your best to find his nipples as you take his earlobe between your lips, biting playfully.

“Just making up for lost time,” you reply quickly before you finally found one of his nipples, lightly pinching the sensitive bud, which garners quite the enthusiasm from his junior down there, twitching beneath your clothed core.

“We have all the time in the world, and also, we're back to headquarters,” Jungkook notifies you before he tells you to shift so he can park his bike.

In the meantime, you let your eyes wander around the garage, taking in the changes, there's way more vehicles here now, in the past there was only Jungkook’s bike and the Cyborg truck that Mingyu used to ferry all of you around town, now there's a fleet of supercars lined up next to each other.

“They're all yours?”, you ask as you let Jungkook carry you down his bike, even though both of you know damn well you're more than capable of getting off yourself.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says with a shrug like they're mere toy cars, well to him they might be, especially in terms of financial value.

“Nice, it's been so long since I drove, can't wait to take them for a spin,” you say offhandedly, but you see Jungkook tense up immediately.

“Babe, come on, the last time you drove-

“Oh come on, I just suck at parking, that's what boyfriends are for anyways, and yeah it's been years but I'm sure it'll be fine, I have a license, remember?” you deadpan, ignoring the million dollar jackpot look Jungkook is currently sporting.

“What did you just say?” Jungkook asks, that stupid goofy smile still on his face as he reaches for you, resting his hands on your hips.

“That I'm driving one of these bad boys, so you can either panic in the passenger seat or not be in the car at all,” you say with finality, you'll steal his car keys if you have to, you're sure you can find his car keys somewhere in this damn building.

“Nuh uh, you're not getting out of this, missy, repeat the first part,” Jungkook says, but before he could corner you to the nearest wall, you escape from his embrace.

“Only if you catch me!” you holler as you run to the lift at top speed, shutting the doors in Jungkook’s face.

“God damn it, I forgot how she drives me mad,” Jungkook mutters to himself as he watches the lift stop at the 4th floor before he dashes to the fire escape to track you down, but knowing you, you would take the stairs to other floors to throw him off your trail.

‘I got my work cut out for me, don't I?’ Jungkook thought to himself with a sigh.

There isn't much at 4th floor, just a storage room for weapons, numerous floors before the top floors are for storage, not enough space for anything else, even though he catches a whiff of the scent of your perfume, he knows you're long gone, as confirmed by the lift’s panel now showing that you're at the 35th floor, where the main floor resides, Jungkook decides to take the lift this time round, just in case you decide to play a prank on him and head back down the lower floors.

When he reached his destination, he catches a glimpse of green glow in the dark at the corridor which leads to the rooms, he knows you're leaving him crumbs to follow, so he plays along, chasing the green glow until it disappears down a hallway, when he sees the observation deck at the end, he wonders if you're waiting for him there, that's where the two of you had your first time after all, but when he gets there, it's empty, so Jungkook goes to his next best guess, your room, scanning his face at the security pad before the automated doors slide open to reveal you, standing in the dark other than the light emitting from your hand as a makeshift torch light, looking at all your old photos that you had hung on the wall.

“Caught you,” Jungkook says as he wraps an arm around you, noticing that you've changed into an old sweater of yours, and suddenly he feels like nothing really ever changed, you're still you and he's still the Jungkook that has always felt love and affection towards you.

“Took you long enough,” you say with an exasperated sigh.

“Well, someone decided to change routes last minute, speaking of change, I didn't move any of your stuff, just came in here to clean from time to time,” Jungkook didn't let the cleaners go in your room, he didn't want anything out of order if you ever came back.

“Thank you, thought Mingyu would've converted my room into a gaming room by the time I got back,” you joke, but deep down you always had a gut feeling that Jungkook would leave your room as it is.

“He's moved in with Sarah and they only come back to visit from time to time during semester break or long weekends, so a gaming room would be Sarah’s issue now,” Jungkook explains with a chuckle knowing damn well Sarah isn't going to let him have a gaming room.

“I'm glad they finally got together,” you still remember the days of Mingyu downloading random foreign languages to impress Sarah when they volunteered at the pet shelter together.

“Mhm, I think you owe me a label too,” Jungkook says, laying kisses on your neck where the sweater is swooped down, trying to get as much exposed skin as possible.

“How about you show me you're worthy of the label first?” you retort, turning to face him because you know he'd be caught off guard, and true to your assumptions, he looks damn cute with his mouth popped open in shock and eyebrows shot up his forehead before he quickly composes himself, now his gaze is dangerous, like a predator that stumbled upon his prey.

“Oh baby, you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into,” Jungkook says before he pushes you onto your bed, caging you with his arms, but before he could take things up a notch, you push his lips away with a palm.

“Not in front of my kids, babe,” you say before Jungkook looks at you all confused, that is until you reach a hand out to ‘pet’ your snoopy plushie, one of the many plushies on your bed.

“Seriously?” Jungkook questions ludicrously, eyeing all of your plushies with a frown, he's getting cockblocked by plushies, of all things.

“Seriously, it's either we're doing this in your room or you're not getting no pussy,” you say, definitely not up for debate with that stern tone of yours.

“Fuck it, fine,” Jungkook says before he scoops you up in his arms without any strain, as if you weigh as much as a feather.

“Fuck, you could've just let me walk, it's just two steps,” you say as you hold onto Jungkook’s shoulders for dear life, shaken up by how quickly he had you up in his arms.

“Can't risk you running away again,” Jungkook says as he scans his palm to unlock his room, crossing the last few steps to toss you on his comfy bed unceremoniously before getting back into the previous position he was in back in your room.

“Have you ever brought her here?” there you go running your mouth with something stupid, but you couldn't help it, scanning his face.

“I'd never bring her up here, the Titans Tower is our place, even if by some miracle, I managed to move on enough to marry someone, it'd still feel wrong to bring them up here, that's such a jerk thing to say, but I'll never have to worry about that anymore,” Jungkook says before he resumes kissing you, all the anger and longing pouring into the kiss, he isn't mad at you, he'll never be, but the thought of him needing to settle for someone who isn't you struck a nerve, his hands are grabbing every every slither of skin he could get even though his fingertips are sealed in his suit as he dominates the kiss, rolling his hips into yours, cursing at the way his cock is straining in the confines of his suit.

“Does it hurt?” you ask after your hand stills the movement of his hips, clenching your thighs as close as you can at the sight of the bulge he's sporting.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says with a shake of his head, huffing at the fact that he probably looks like a hot mess right now.

“Let me make it feel better, where's the zipper of this suit?” you ask as you use your question as an excuse to feel him up, Jungkook could tell what you're up to with the way your eyes seem to get lost tracing his body, but he lets you indulge in this moment, all those gruelling hours training are suddenly so fucking worth it.

“It's at the back,” Jungkook tells you before he reaches a hand back to locate the zipper, but you stopped him in his tracks.

“I'll do it, but first, could you do a bit of quick spin, couldn't admire this suit on you before you had me distracted,” you say with a twirl of your index finger as emphasis.

“Someone's being greedy tonight,” Jungkook comments, but obliges to your demands, doing a slow turn with his arms up like he's surrendering himself to you, and in a sense he is.

“Famished,” was the first word to come to mind when your eyes landed on the absolute globes that is his butt, unable to hold back, you land a smack on one of his cheeks, in complete awe when you hear the resounding smack along with the recoil of the meat.

“You did not just,” Jungkook says as he looks back to see you still staring at his butt like he's got a million dollars stacked on his butt, and he's still in complete shock at what you just did.

“It was too hard to resist,” you say before standing up from the bed to wrestle Jungkook onto the bed, his stomach connecting with the bed with a huff, internally groaning at what he's gotten himself into by falling head first with an alien being with inhuman strength.

“This is the comfiest cushion ever,” you say after you straddle Jungkook’s hips, taking a seat right on his butt.

“How much time are you gonna spend admiring my ass, Star?” Jungkook questions with a sigh, he's going to have a long night ahead of him, he's sure.

“Who said anything about your ass? It's just easier to take off your suit this way,” you lie through your teeth as you wiggle your hips, but nonetheless, you began unzipping his suit, revealing golden tan skin, and to Jungkook’s misfortune, he feels your hand tracing each ridge and curve of his back muscles, he wants to flip you over and get it on with, but he knows he has no match for you in terms of physical strength, at least not when you're in such a position.

Jungkook is anticipating your next move, but at the same time, he can't help but bask in the attention and care you're showing him, the way you'd caress every bit of skin you can get your hands on then he feels a flutter of a quick peck of your lips, as if you can just tell he's been pushing himself to the max just to do his best in protecting the city, but as you trail lower, Jungkook’s arousal once again stirs as he feels the zipper reach the end of the line, to which he just realised, he recently had Alfred tailor it to end below the curve of his butt because he was tired of yanking the suit up his butt when he's in a rush, he groans internally at the thought of you poking fun at him for having the zipper this low.

“I've never even seen dresses having zippers this low, holy shit,” you comment before landing another swat at his butt, giggling to yourself at Jungkook’s groan of annoyance, but he's willing to put up with this if it means he hears you being all joyful, even if it means he has to endure your new obsession with his butt.

What he didn't expect, however, was the feeling of canines sinking into his cheek.

“Babe, what the fuck?” Jungkook questions as he whips his head back to look at you, your head now resting on where you had just taken a bite, it wasn't by any means painful, just a mild chomp, but it took him by surprise regardless.

“Sorry, the intrusive thoughts, you know, couldn't help it, I love the texture,” you say offhandedly before taking another bite on his other cheek, lighter this time, all while Jungkook looks at you with disbelief and slight arousal swimming in his eyes, the mild ache of your teeth sending a jolt to his cock, biting back the moan that threatens to leave his lips.

“I'd like to see how you'd react if I had you spread out like this while I take a bite of your butt,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes.

“Jokes on you cuz I'd love it, now roll over, you promised me a ride,” you remind him with a gentle pat on his butt to get him moving.

“We're not even naked yet,” Jungkook says with a chuckle before he quickly shucks off his suit, sitting back down on the bed with a gesture for you to turn, but you shake your head, not needing his help, quickly unzipping your suit from the side.

“I should've had the zip on the side too,” Jungkook mutters, but all thoughts immediately cease from his head when your bare body is revealed, he had no idea you were nude under your suit.

“Cat got your tongue?” you ask as you cup his cheeks in your hands, amused at the way his eyes seem to be in a daze.

“I'm the luckiest man in the world,” Jungkook says before he stands up to maneuver his mirror to the front of his bed, a giant smile on his face like a child in a candy shop.

“Why are you suddenly redecorating your room in your boxers while I'm standing here naked?” you ask, confused at his sudden enthusiasm that is no longer directed at you.

“Wanna see the pretty faces you'll make and every little movement from this gorgeous body while I make you feel good,” Jungkook explains before he manhandles you to take a seat between his thighs on the bed, facing the mirror, and you understand Jungkook’s enthusiasm now, you've always been confident about your own body, but seeing Jungkook’s broad built behind your smaller body sends a shock southwards, the last time you've seen the two of you in front of a reflection was ages ago, and needless to say, Jungkook bulked up a lot while you were gone, you used to enjoy how the two of you were around the same height and built, but Jungkook’s new image sends a new thrill down your spine.

While you're distracted by the view in the mirror, you fail to see Jungkook’s fingers trailing to your lower lips, surprised when you felt cold air tickling your clit before Jungkook gives it a few twirls with his fingers, testing the waters, your legs shaking with the sudden pleasure running through your body.

“Still so fucking sensitive,” Jungkook mutters with a groan by your ear, his cock chubbing up beneath you, just seeing you react to his touch like this has him growing.

He rubs circles on your bundle of nerves while his other hand is occupied with fondling one of your breasts, thumbing your nipple with his fiery touch, but it's his gaze that has you dripping into his palm, the way his eyes zero in on your body, locking into every little movement, and soon he dips two fingers inside you.

“Ride my fingers, beautiful,” Jungkook commands, to which you oblige, a hand laying on Jungkook’s muscular thigh to support yourself before you begin riding his fingers at a mild pace, lifting up until just before his fingertips show before you sink down to his knuckles, moaning his name wantonly, back arching, you haven't had fingers fill you up so full in so long, your fingers petite in comparison to Jungkook’s.

You don't know what's hotter, the fact that you have Jungkook’s fingers inside you when you didn't think you even had the chance anymore, or the way he looks like he wants to devour you in the best way possible.

“Should I feed your greedy pussy one more finger? Can't ever get enough until you have my cock, am I right?” Jungkook taunts his hands still occupied with your sensitive parts, but his left hand is now on your other boob, showing the girls equal amount of love and attention, but when you're too enraptured by the pleasure clouding your mind to answer Jungkook, his hand on your breast goes to your throat, choking you lightly, getting your attention, your walls clenching on his fingers tighter, his brow quirked up in surprise, he's definitely saving this information for later.

“Answer me, baby,” Jungkook demands.

“Yes, want everything you have to give me, your fingers, your cock, anything,” you say in a rush, eager to please, especially with the promise of more pleasure.

Jungkook smiles proudly before he slips one more finger next to his other two, cursing at the way you just swallow him up, mind drifting to imagining how good he'd feel later if you feel this wet and warm around his fingers.

When you increase the pace of your hips to chase the impending high you can feel on the horizon, Jungkook pulls his fingers out with an obscene wet pop sounding between your legs, whining at the sudden loss of your pleasure.

“Patient, wanna fuck you now,” Jungkook says with a light spank, to which he's awarded with a strangled moan and a delightful jiggle of your cheek, manhandling you off his thighs to shuck off his boxers, sighing in relief, his hard cock finally free from its tight confines.

“Come sit on my cock, baby,” Jungkook demands after taking a seat back on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, watching you as you take your position above him, hovering over his length, but since you're feeling bratty, instead of immediately sinking down, you summon your powers to keep yourself aloft, his cock nudging at your core, just a little bit more and he'd be greeted by your tight walls.

“Are you being fucking for real, now, babe?” Jungkook questions, feigning annoyance, but you can right through his act.

“If I'm being real, I can do this all night,” you joke, drumming your nails on Jungkook’s muscular chest just to rile him up further, what you didn't expect, however, was that Jungkook would hook his right leg over your back to flip you over, your back hitting the bed with a soft thud, and before you can even protest about the sudden switch of positions, Jungkook restrains your wrists above your head.

“It's been years, sweetheart, I've been building muscle, we're not that far apart in terms of physical strength,” Jungkook says with a smug smirk on his face.

“You have to own up to what you just said, love,” you say, poking at the bear that is his ego.

“Oh baby, you're gonna regret teasing me,” Jungkook says with a shake of his head before he's sinking into your core with a groan, a hand bracing against the headboard as his inches bottom out, you try your hardest not to whine at the way he's filling you up so nicely, he's definitely grown from the last tryst the two of you shared before you left if that's possible.

Jungkook gives you some time to get adjusted to his size before he begins thrusting at a brutal pace, he has a point to prove and an impression to make tonight, he's going to use every ounce of strength to satisfy you if that's what it takes.

He thinks he's doing a good job at it at this moment, with the way his name is leaving your lips in broken crescendos of your beautiful moans as your walls pulse and clench around his length, and not to mention, the sweet pain of your nails digging into the back of his hand as he continues his hold onto your wrists.

“Don't want you to hold back, baby,” Jungkook says before he frees your wrists to hitch your legs higher over his back, this angle allowing him to go even deeper, and instead of the mild taps of the tip of his cock on your sweet spot, he is now hitting the spongy sensitive spot inside you with hard consistent thrusts.

You let out an almost scream of a whine as you claw the side of Jungkook’s back with your nails, to try your best to grasp onto reality as you're getting your shit absolutely wrecked.

“Am I living up to my words, darling? Or should I add more action into the mix?” Jungkook taunts before he trails a hand down between your lower lips to locate your clit once again, drawing quick and rough circles around the sensitive nub.

“Fuck,” you curse with a moan as you clench your walls around Jungkook, your release drenching his length as Jungkook increases the pace of his hips to chase his own high, his jaw clenching as he takes in the beauty of your nudity and the way you're basking in the pleasure he's giving you, your eyes fluttering as you let yourself enjoy the slight pain and immense pleasure that comes from being overstimulated, the way you just lay there and take anything Jungkook gives you, Jungkook cums inside you with a groan, giving himself a few more shallow thrusts before he sinks his cock deep inside you once more, giving into his carnal desire of wanting to have you warm his cock post fucking, the warmth of your combined releases sending a shudder down his spine, he could never deny the possessive streak he has over you, especially now that he has you again.

He thinks you're just as bad when it comes to this possessiveness when you claim his lips with your own, chewing his bottom lip before dipping your tongue into his mouth, a fight of dominance ensues before the two of you give up to pull away for oxygen with the sillies erupting from your bellies, it's so awfully familiar and refreshing at the same time, feeling this in love again after so long, all those lonely moments and yearning to be with Jungkook all don't matter now that you're back in Jungkook’s arms.

Your train of thought is interrupted by the twitching of Jungkook’s length inside you.

“Seriously?” you ask in disbelief, looking at the man beside you ludicrously.

“You told me to prove my physical strength to you and I did it, how about I show you how much training I had on physical endurance?” Jeongguk asks with a quirk of his brows and a stupid smug smile on his face that you find all too annoying and endearing at the same time.

“Oh you're on, Jeon,” you retort before proceeding to switch positions to flip him on his back, this is going to be a long night, you think to yourself giddily.

*Meanwhile at the Wayne Manor*

“Master Bruce, my apologies for interrupting your slumber, but I had just received a message from Young Master Jungkook to erase some traffic footage from tonight, you told me to keep tabs on young master, so I just thought I'd let you know about this update,” Alfred informs a sleep riddled Bruce Wayne.

“What the fuck was this kid up to?” Bruce asks before Alfred hands over a tablet, knowing that his master was going to ask.

Bruce squints at the bright screen, zooming in on the two familiar figures and their wild antics.

“Fuck’s sake, wipe this shit clean, Alfred, thank you,” Bruce says before sighing disapprovingly, Alfred holds in his laugh as he leaves his master be, bidding him goodnight.

“Don't be so uptight, Bruce, we did the same thing in your mobile just a few months ago,” Selina brushes off with a chuckle, putting the tablet aside to pull her lover back to bed.

“We did that in a car with a covered roof, love, it's not the same,” he says with a sigh, but he relents, going back to bed with a groan.

Jungkook wakes up to the warmth of your body pressed against his, breathing a sigh of relief that it wasn't a dream last night, that you are indeed back on earth and back to being together, things are finally back to normal now.

Jungkook recalls that very painful night where he had to say goodbye to you, how he felt like his world was falling apart as he was waving at your ship, it was just last week when he felt like his life had no meaning and that death would make no difference. There's days where Jungkook would just stare at the night sky at the helipad, hoping that your ship would suddenly appear to come back and pick him up, he would've chosen to live in a foreign planet if it means he could've gotten back the cosmic love he had shared with you.

Sometimes he'd stare at the Gotham skyline with a sense of hollowness, haunted by the memories of the two of you and your rendezvous around the city.

Jungkook shakes himself out of those painful memories before he allows himself a moment to bask in the joy of having you in his arms a little longer before he gets up to wash up and get an early morning workout in before you wake up.

When you finally come around, you're all freshen up, looking beautiful with a glow like no other when you come bounding in the gym with some short shorts and his tee that you slept in, wordlessly, you get on with your own routine at the side before you decide that you had enough for the day and shower off.

“Should I make brunch or you wanna head out?” you ask when you spot Jungkook coming into the kitchen with nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips, choosing to direct your attention to the boring pantry instead, but what greets you is empty cupboards with nothing but cereal and instant noodles and some eggs in the fridge.

“Brunch it is,” you mutter to yourself.

“We can stock up on groceries after brunch,” Jungkook promises with a peck on your lips as he leads you back to your rooms to get dressed, trying your very best to not jump Jungkook’s bones again.

“I could've driven us, you know,” you say with a huff before you eye Jungkook’s English breakfast with slight interest, for some reason your pancakes need more time than his huge plate of breakfast food.

“Let's practice with my cheapest car on an emptier street before you start driving us around, love,” Jungkook says before he picks up some of the champion mushrooms you've been eyeing on his plate with his fork, feeding you.

“Fine,” you say with a roll of your eyes.

“I would've never thought you'd actually go through with piercing your ears and getting that whole sleeve, you were still very much on the fence when I left,” you say as you reach out to gently run a finger through his piercings.

“Kinda used them as a coping mechanism if I'm being honest, but I don't regret any of it,” Jungkook says with a shrug, he doesn't need to tell you his gruelling hours at the gym to stay sane, you've known about that bad habit of his for years.

You were about to ask Jungkook to explain each and every one of his tattoos’ meanings, but you were interrupted by the arrival of your pancakes accompanied by your friends.

“I can't believe the team is back, baby!” Mingyu bellows as he slides in next to you, followed by the others, and suddenly, you feel right at home now more than ever, surrounded by the titans that you spent your youth with, looking forward to the future that's brighter than any star you've ever laid eyes upon.

[ceruark]

I love your entwined au! Nothing like political intrigue with a dash of yandere, simply scrumptious. Your phainonposting has me curious on how you would incorporate the amphoreus cast into the au.

anon when i tell you this ask literally got me out of bed this morning… like i was laying down scrolling through tumblr and then i saw this and got a rush of adrenaline…

thank you so much for your kind compliments! i have certainly been thinking about it. i haven’t written anything formal because i haven’t yet played through most of amphoreus, but things have been happening upstairs. oh the wheels have been turning.

allow me to indulge you a bit ;)

cw: yandere themes - obsessive, possessive behavior. "ensnared" - original entwined au post | entwined au masterlist

disclaimer: obviously, tribbie is meant to be totally platonic here. aglaea, anaxa, castorice, mydei, and phainon are meant to be the usual par-for-the-course yanderes.

The palace descends into chaos the moment you get the letter.

Nothing is known about Amphoreus beyond the singular fact that it is a kingdom whose size and power rivals that of the IPC’s vast empire. They’d been under isolationist policy until the recent ascension of one King Mydeimos to the throne, who outlined his wishes in his letter to your kingdom of wanting to connect with other kingdoms and discuss trade agreements and alliances.

You and the rest of your court spend weeks discussing his letter and how best to proceed. There’s a healthy amount of distrust in all of you given that, to your knowledge, you’re the only kingdom to have been contacted by them, and there is absolutely no information on this empire. 

Veritas and Himeko are the most hesitant, cautioning against being the first to make contact with Amphoreus when there’s nothing to be said about their policies, motivations, or military prowess. Too many unknown factors creates far too great of a risk to justify any potential gains to be had from blindly rushing into an alliance.

Welt and Dan Heng, on the other hand, are more open to the idea. They both bring up the fact that your kingdom’s reputation is maintained by your amiable image, and turning away King Mydeimos now could tarnish that and have ruinous implications down the line, especially since your kingdom’s decisions usually set the tone for how others will respond. You’re a cornerstone of the world, and with exceptions such as Penacony and the IPC Empire, many others look to you for how to respond to global relations. Amphoreus may not take kindly to you shutting them out if everyone else follows suit, and you’re still not certain how much of a threat they might be.

March, brilliant young woman that she is, suggests acting as a middleman before making a definitive decision; who doesn’t like a party? You can host a ball in the palace where the rulers of Amphoreus can formally introduce themselves to the world, and any first impressions and negotiations can happen on everyone’s own terms, without all the pressure being on your shoulders.

After working out the details, you draft a response with your proposition of hosting a ball for Amphoreus in honor of King Mydeimos’s ascension and send it off to the distant, mysterious kingdom. The response is signed by “Heir Tribios,” who eagerly agrees to the event and sends their many thanks and behalf of all the “Chrysos Heirs.”

It’s information Veritas dutifully files away for later. He and Dan Heng have spent hours picking apart every last word of both letters you’ve received, gathering whatever meaning they could in an attempt to know what to expect come September, in three months, when the ball will occur.

You invite every ruler you believe is important enough to be present, and that you are on at least civil terms with: Emperor Diamond and all of his advisors; Queen Fu Xuan, Generals Jing Yuan and Feixiao, Lord Yanqing, and Lady Yunli; Lady Kafka and her equally notorious court; Prince Gepard and General Bronya; Queen Herta; Queen Ruan Mei; and—after swallowing your pride—Prince Sunday and Princess Robin.

You wouldn’t admit to it even if you were held at swordpoint, but somehow, Sunday’s presence would make you feel more comfortable that night; despite everything that’s happened between you two, you’ve always recognized how good of a leader he is, and just this once, you’ll appreciate his rather manipulative, cunning nature when it comes to assessing Amphoreus and their “Chrysos Heirs.”

To absolutely no one’s surprise, the IPC is the first to confirm their attendance, and for the first time, your palace will be seeing the rare honor of having all ten of Emperor Diamond’s advisors present at his side. The Xianzhou Alliance is next to confirm the attendance of the rulers of the Luofu and Yaoqing, shortly followed by both Queen Herta and Queen Ruan Mei’s attendance. The rulers of Belobog accept your invitation soon after that. You don’t hear from Lady Kafka, but she never formally responds to any invite, anyway. She always chooses to just show up when she feels like it, and you have a gut feeling that she wouldn’t miss something like this.

Penacony’s acceptance is penned by Sunday himself—you’d be able to recognize his flawless script anywhere. At first glance, his letter seems cordial and polite, but you know Sunday, so you’re able to read between the lines; he holds the same reservations you do, subtly responding to the doubts that you, too, had expertly hidden into the verbiage of the invite you sent him, one that had differed slightly from everyone else’s. 

Something bitter twists deep inside you at the thought of how easy it is to slip back into working seamlessly with him as you did so frequently as children and early adolescents, how even after putting so much effort into distancing yourself from him, you still end up relying on him in some way, because he’s familiar, and you two know each other as well as you know yourselves.

The taste of iron sits heavy in your mouth as you file his confirmation away with the rest.

When the day of the ball finally comes, you are surprised—one, to find out there are so many Heirs (and these are just the ones that have agreed to be here, there are still more in Amphoreus), and two, because they’re actually… nice?

Well, most of them are. At the very least, none of them seem to be outright threatening, like Lady Kafka. The first one you meet is a spry child with bright red hair and a blinding smile who introduces themself as Heir Tribios, but insists on being called Tribbie. Their manner of referring to themself in plurality is a bit… odd, but you don’t dwell on it too much—you’re certain Veritas and Dan Heng are already doing that for you.

Tribbie then introduces you to a well-built man decorated in countless battle scars and a warrior’s regalia. You’re a bit pleased to find out that this is King Mydeimos; you have a high level of respect for leaders who have actually fought to protect their empire. Though he’s the sitting ruler of Amphoreus, you come to learn quickly that he doesn’t consider himself higher than the other Heirs, and governs the kingdom equally with them. 

You find yourself quite taken with all of the Chrysos Heirs. After getting past her initial wall of wariness (that you can’t really blame her for, given your own hesitance), Aglaea proves to be a warm, comforting presence whose honesty is refreshing and appreciated by someone in your position. Anaxagoras can hold a conversation with you of such high caliber that you haven’t experienced with almost anyone before, perhaps not even Veritas. Castorice’s sweet nature comes through to you even with the distance she insists upon keeping, and you find yourself smiling to yourself every time she eagerly approaches one of the many animals kept on the palace grounds. You also somehow always get dragged into Mydei and Phainon’s banter, finding yourself laughing yourself breathless at the two’s antics, which you end up wrapped up in when they argue around you, refusing to budge from their places at either side of you, for some reason.

They’re the center of your attention throughout the entire ball—so much so that you don’t even notice Aventurine’s arrival, or perhaps, even more egregious, you don’t notice Sunday’s arrival.

Perhaps, if there weren’t so many of them bombarding you, you would be able to take a step back and realize that the opposite is true: you’re the center of their attention. They seem to be switching between occupying your focus, leaving you oblivious to the way Aglaea and Anaxa speak in hushed whispers to each other behind your back, a dark cunning revealing itself in their eyes, or the way Phainon and Mydei stand just a bit too close to you, closer than any other ruler present in the room who’s been familiar with you for years would dare to stand. With her distance, you don’t notice the way Castorice wards off anyone else at the ball who tries to approach you, or the way Tribbie distracts onlookers by eagerly introducing themself and answering questions about the vast kingdom of Amphoreus.

But you do notice Veritas standing in a secluded corner of the ballroom, willingly conversing with Sunday and Aventurine.

Terror is a frigid, biting thing as it courses through your veins—but you hardly have time to process it when Phainon is already placing a hand on the small of your back, inquiring about the palace’s grand gardens that he’s heard so much about and guiding you away from Aglaea and Anaxa before the words “fated one” can reach your ears.

[seongwars]

strangers by nature | ix

Pairing: heir!Song Mingi x heir!Reader AU: non-idol | arranged marriage | enemies to lovers Genre: angst, humor, fluff in future chapters Rating: NC-17 Summary: After a life-altering car accident, Mingi is given one final shot at redemption—reborn as a fuzzy little puppy. To earn a second chance at life, he must complete three tasks or risk being doomed to the afterlife forever. Word Count: 7.9K Warnings: lazy SMUT (18+) unprotected p in v, oral snu snu, chapter is only half proofread because this was a beast to write, fluff

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Mingi watched you from the corner of his eye as you flitted around, getting ready for Kira’s wedding dress appointment. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, but there was a softness in his gaze, a lazy smile playing at his lips. 

He found himself mesmerized as you focused on doing your hair, your fingers deftly working through the strands and twisting them into a clip. It was a routine he had seen dozens of times before, yet there was something about watching you now that made him pause and take in every detail. The way you smoothed down a stray lock, tilting your head slightly to check your reflection. The way your lips pursed ever so slightly as you concentrated.

The past few months had been a slow dance, a series of tentative steps as the two of you fell into a routine with one another. As Mingi grew stronger in his recovery, he found new ways to make himself present through small gestures.

Each morning, you’d find two cups of coffee waiting on the counter, one just how you liked it—black, with only the faintest dash of cream that he had memorized from all the visits to the coffee shop when he was still your puppy. 

And then there were his little games. You knew by now that he had started placing things on higher shelves just to watch you struggle, giddy with excitement whenever you huffed in frustration. Eventually, you’d give in and like clockwork, he’d appear at your side.

But you weren’t entirely innocent, either. Old habits were hard to break, and more than once, you found yourself moving before thinking, like grabbing things for him as if he still needed help. Just the other day, when he bent down to pick up a spoon he had dropped, he found you already reaching for it.

“Where is my phone?” you mumbled, rifling through your bag before uselessly patting the nonexistent pockets on your dress.

“Looking for this?”

You turned just in time to see Mingi leaning against the doorframe, holding the device.

“You just let me struggle, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, tilting his head.  

You huffed, snatching the phone from his hand, but there was no real bite to it. Despite the way the two of you kept orbiting around each other, the rhythm you had found had started to feel natural. Like something you could get used to. 

Like something that was becoming yours.

You rolled your eyes, but your heart betrayed you with a small, traitorous flip at the way he was looking at you. Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to focus, tucking your phone safely into your bag this time so you wouldn’t misplace it again.

“I should be back in a couple of hours,” you said, adjusting your sweater. “Don’t work too hard, okay?”

Mingi’s smile softened as he grabbed his own jacket. “I won’t. But—” He hesitated for a split second before stuffing his hands into his pockets. 

“There’s a new place that just opened up. Thought we could check it out together.”

Your fingers stilled over the zipper of your bag. The question was casual enough, but there was an underlying hopefulness in his voice that sent a flutter through your stomach.

Was he…asking you out on a date?

The thought almost made you laugh—not because it was ridiculous, but because before the accident, Mingi never bothered with invitations, never went out of his way to make plans—at least, not with you. That was just how things were. Mingi had his own world, his own circle of friends, and while you were in it, you had never really been part of it. Not in the way that mattered.

And now here he was—standing in front of you, asking. Waiting.

Maybe it was the accident, maybe it was time, but something had shifted. You could see it—Mingi was trying. He knew your coffee order by heart, found little excuses to keep you close, and was now making plans meant just for the two of you.

“W-What kind of place?”

“It’s a diner. You know, milkshakes, burgers, all that good stuff.”

You hummed, pretending to consider it, though your heart was already set on saying yes. “Yeah… I’d like that. Text me the address, I'll see you for dinner?”

As you walked out, you swore you heard him let out the happiest little exhale, like you had just made his entire day. Mingi sighed as the door clicked shut behind you, running a hand through his hair before grinning to himself. 

You couldn’t help but bite back your own smile as you rode the lift down to the parking garage, your heart still light from Mingi’s invitation. The thought of him waiting for your answer, of the little breath of relief he’d let out when you said yes—it left a warmth lingering in your chest. Maybe things really were changing between you two. 

Maybe this was the start of something new.

“How adorable,” Mrs. Ha sighed.

Mingi nearly jumped out of his skin, spinning around so fast he nearly knocked into the console table. “What the—how long have you been standing there?”

Yohan took a leisurely sip of his tea. “Long enough.”

Mingi’s ears went bright red. “It’s not—she’s just—ugh!” He dragged a hand down his face. “Shouldn’t you both be, I don’t know, working?”

Mrs. Ha waved a hand. “There’s no need to cook tonight since you’re taking her out on a date. Honestly, this is much more entertaining.”

“Plants are watered,” Yohan added. “Also, I’m rooting for you.”

Mingi blinked, caught off guard. He never thought the staff his family hired would be on his side, not after the way he’d treated them in the past. But having people in his corner, people who actually wanted to see him happy, felt unexpectedly nice. 

“Well… I’m off. I’ll see you both later,” he cleared his throat, attempting a smooth exit.

Except the moment he turned, Mrs. Ha clicked her tongue. “Shoes, dear.”

Mingi froze mid-step, looking down at his very much bare feet.

“Right. Shoes.”

“And keys?” Yohan called out as he attempted to shuffle back toward the door.

Mingi let out a long-suffering sigh, snatching them from the hook along with his work bag. Mrs. Ha and Yohan simply watched as he finally made his exit—after nearly walking into the doorframe on his way out.

A beat of silence passed before Mrs. Ha let out a pleased hum, stirring her tea.

“I must say there’s definitely something there that wasn’t there before.”

⋆

“It’s the return of the king,” Yunho cheered as he sauntered into Mingi’s office, a wide grin on his face. Mingi looked up from his desk just in time to see Yunho plop into the chair across from him, stretching out his legs like he owned the place. 

“And here I was thinking you’d be a little more solemn, considering everything I’ve been through,” Mingi teased, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Yunho let out a scoff, feigning offense. “I was sad in my own way, you know. But I didn’t want to take the spotlight away from your adoring wife.” He wiggled his eyebrows, clearly enjoying himself.

Mingi rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading in his chest at the mere mention of you.

He had known—of course, he had. No one else realized he had been aware the whole time, locked in his own body while everyone around him worried and grieved. They didn’t know that while they saw a man unconscious in a hospital bed, he had been right there, curled up in his small, furry form in your arms.  

He wanted to tell you then that he heard you, that he was still there. But now, he could tell you in the only way that mattered—by being here, awake and alive.

“I know,” Mingi finally said, his voice softer. “And I’m grateful.”

Yunho studied him for a moment longer before nodding. He hated thinking about it, hated remembering the way Mingi used to look at you. Yunho would think that Maybe you should just leave. Not because you deserved to be abandoned, but because you deserved better than the mess you had been caught in.

Yunho felt guilty for never stepping in. Never stopping Mingi from making his mistakes or curbing Ahri’s cruelty. He had told himself it wasn’t his place, that Mingi would realize on his own what he was losing. 

But you?

You had stood firm, fighting in your own way. Never demanding more than what was fair, never retaliating even when you had every reason to. You had been kind when others wouldn’t have, and Yunho knew now that mistaking your kindness for weakness had been a grave mistake.

Because you weren’t weak. 

You weren’t someone to be manipulated or walked over, no matter how often people mistook your compassion for passivity.

When Mingi finally let Ahri go, desperate to undo the damage he had caused, Yunho had felt nothing but relief. Relief because he knew Mingi was better off without her.

Now, watching Mingi sit there, lost in thoughts of you and only you, Yunho exhaled, letting the last of his guilt finally settle.

“So?” he pressed, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. “How’s it feel to be back? You settling in okay?”

Mingi exhaled, nodding. “Yeah, just catching up on everything after working from home the last couple of months.”

“Are you going to come in early like you used to or show up three hours late? It’s practically noon.”

Mingi shrugged. “Decided to sleep in a little. Plus, Y/N misplaced her phone, so I had to help her look for it.” He leaned back in his chair. 

“She’s with Kira today, doing wedding dress fittings, being a part of the wedding party and all.”

The words sat heavy in his chest. He had never asked you how you felt about your own wedding. Never once considered what it must have been like to be forced into a marriage you hadn’t wanted, to sign away your future with no say in it.

There had been no dress. No ceremony. No reception filled with laughter and music. Just the scratch of a pen on paper, the cold finality of a contract binding you to him, not in love, but in obligation.

And now, you were sitting in a boutique, watching your friend—your soon-to-be cousin-in-law—try on gowns, helping her pick the dress she’d wear to marry the man who adored her, who wanted to give her the world.

Mingi glanced down at his wedding band, guilt creeping in. Maybe he had been too caught up in his own resentment, too blinded by his bitterness, to think about what you might have wanted.

But now? Now, it ate at him in ways he couldn’t ignore.

Because if he could go back—if he could fix it—he would.

“Well, that’s my cue to leave,” Yunho said suddenly, stretching as he stood. His gaze flickered between Mr. Song, who was standing just outside Mingi’s office, and Mingi himself before landing back on his best friend.

“I’ll catch you later, yeah?”

Mingi gave him a brief nod, watching as his friend paused just long enough to offer Mr. Song a respectful bow before slipping out the door.

The moment it clicked shut, the office felt heavier.

Mingi looked up from his desk, bowing. “Mr. President.”

His father stepped further inside, his sharp gaze sweeping over him with quiet assessment. “How are you settling back in?” he asked, his tone measured. “It’s been a few months since the accident—I assume you’re not overexerting yourself.”

Mingi straightened slightly, resisting the urge to glance at the clock. “I’m fine,” he said evenly. “Just catching up on everything I missed.”

His father gave a short hum, considering the response before moving on. 

“Good. I reviewed the third-quarter projections. The numbers from the overseas branches are steady, but with the merger, we should reevaluate our expansion strategy. Our companies together have more leverage, and I want to solidify our presence in—”

Mingi nodded absently, but he barely heard a word. Expansion strategies. Projections. Markets. None of it even registered.

Because all he could think about was you.

His mind wandered. First to the way you might look in a wedding dress, then to something simpler. Dinner. Just burgers and fries, maybe a milkshake if he played his cards right.

“Mingi?”

His father’s voice snapped him back to reality.

He blinked, realizing belatedly that he had been completely zoned out. “Right,” he cleared his throat, nodding as if he had been listening the whole time. “That makes sense.”

Mr. Song gave him a pointed look, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to press the issue. Instead, he exhaled, adjusting his cufflink. 

“Give some thought to the expansion project. And don’t forget the gala this weekend.”

His father lingered a second longer, as if debating whether to say more, but ultimately let it go. With a curt nod, he turned and exited, the door clicking shut behind him.

The second he was gone, Mingi exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face.

Meetings, expansions, galas—it all felt so distant. So irrelevant. Because no matter how hard he tried to focus, his mind kept drifting back to you.

He glanced at the clock. Still too early to leave.

But that didn’t stop him from counting down the minutes anyway.

“Sorry I’m late!” Jiwoo exclaimed, barreling through the boutique doors. She looked like she had just sprinted across town, her blazer slightly askew, hair tousled from what was probably a mad dash from the office. 

“This client was insistent on going over every single stipulation in their contract for selling their place in France. Absolute nightmare.” She waved a dismissive hand before scanning the room. “Also, what dress are we on?”

“Dress number six,” you supplied, watching as she flopped onto the plush couch beside you, still slightly breathless. “France?” you echoed, quirking a brow in curiosity.

Jiwoo huffed, running a hand through her messy hair. “Yeah. The guy’s a real piece of work—super picky, way too many demands.” She rolled her eyes, then suddenly shot you a sly grin. 

“But the place itself? Absolutely adorable.” She nudged you playfully. “You interested?”

You traced the rim of the champagne glass in front of you. It felt like déjà vu—Jiwoo excitedly finding some picturesque castle or countryside escape for you, convinced it was the perfect getaway, and you? You’d sit on the idea, never bringing it up again. Always dreaming, never doing.

“I’ll think about it,” you murmured, already knowing how this would go.

“Okay, but listen,” she said, shifting to face you, eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. 

“This is everything you could dream of and more! You could run away and start a hobby farm—oh! There’s enough room for some cows, and you can also raise sheep!”

“Why do you always want me to raise livestock?”

“Because it’s cute!” she insisted. 

“And you need some peace in your life after all the shit you’ve gone through the last couple of months. You know, animals are said to help lower your cortisol levels.”

You hummed thoughtfully, imagining a life like that. A quiet, simple existence away from the noise and expectations, surrounded by nothing but fields and the soothing sounds of nature. The idea of it was tempting. 

A life where you could just breathe. 

“How do I look?”

You turned to face Kira, momentarily caught off guard by the sight of her in her sixth wedding dress. It was stunning—ivory lace and delicate beadwork that shimmered as she moved. The mermaid gown clung to her figure in all the right ways, as if it was made for her.

For a moment, you forgot where you were, your mind wandering to what it could be like to stand in a dress of your own. The thought was fleeting but real—what if? What if you had your own ceremony, your own dress, your own celebration of love?

But just as quickly as the thought entered your mind, you pushed it back down. That wasn’t your reality. You couldn’t let yourself dwell on it. Instead, you smiled at Kira, trying to shake off the stray thoughts. 

“You look amazing! How do you feel?”

“It’s…I don’t know, I don’t think I'd be able to get down on the floor with it. I have to be able to dance.” She turned back to face the sales associate. 

“Let’s try something with more wiggle room.”

Your phone buzzed in your lap, pulling you out of your thoughts. You blinked, the remnants of your wistful daydream dissolving as you glanced down at the screen.

[Mingi]: Bluebird Diner, 1024 Wonderland Boulevard.

[Mingi]: Do you want to see the plant Yohan brought? I asked for something easy to care for.

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head at the randomness of his texts. The first was straightforward—just a time and place. But the second? That was different. It was almost…domestic. 

Before you could respond, Jiwoo zeroed in on your expression.

“Mingi?” she guessed with intrigue. 

You locked your phone, forcing a casual shrug. “Don’t husbands and wives text all the time?”

“Husband? You’re calling him your husband now?”

You shrugged, but the effort to seem indifferent was wasted on her. “He sent me the address for dinner. I’m meeting with him later.”

She squinted at you. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

“He also asked if I wanted to see the plant Yohan got for him. Apparently, he made sure it was something easy to care for.”

Jiwoo gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “So, let me get this straight, he’s making conversation? Voluntarily? Engaging with you like an actual person?”

“You’re reading too much into it.”

“Am I? Because you seem weirdly calm about this. Old you would’ve been bracing for a fight. New you is just…rolling with it?”

You hesitated, fingers brushing against the fabric of your dress. “I mean… yeah. It’s new. But it’s not bad.”

Jiwoo leaned in, eyes gleaming. “So… how do you feel about it?”

You bit your lip, considering the question. How did you feel?

Mingi being kind to you was still something you were adjusting to. It was strange, like stepping into a version of your life where the rules had changed overnight. No more sharp words. No more walls between you. Instead, he initiated conversations, asked about your opinions, your day… It was jarring, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

“I think…” You exhaled, searching for the right words. “It’s nice, actually.”

Jiwoo arched a brow, giving you a knowing look. “But?”

You swallowed. Of course, she’d catch that.

“But… a part of me keeps holding back. I want to believe this is real—that he’s changed. But there’s still this little voice in my head telling me not to get too comfortable.”

“Because you’re afraid it won’t last?”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to your hands.

Jiwoo was quiet for a moment, then she nudged you with her foot. 

“I get it. But you know what? You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Sure people change, but real change isn’t temporary. If Mingi’s being different, it’s probably because he wants to be different.”

You wanted to believe that. You hoped this was proof that things between you and Mingi were moving forward—that this wasn’t just another fleeting moment before everything went back to the way it used to be.

Your phone buzzed with another message from Mingi—a photo. A small jade plant sat neatly in a ceramic pot, its plump green leaves catching the light. But what stood out most was the pot itself—painted with uneven strokes, as if Mingi had started with a vision but lost patience halfway through. 

Messy, imperfect, yet strangely endearing.

[You]: It’s so cute! 

[Mingi]: Yohan said they need moderate watering. But what if I don’t give it enough water?

[You]: Then it’ll die

[Mingi]: Wow. Thanks for the encouragement

⋆

Mingi sat nervously in the booth, twiddling his thumbs and anxiously checking his watch for any sign of you. You had texted him just moments ago, saying you were on the way and looking for parking, but the minutes seemed to stretch on forever. 

He had taken plenty of women out on dates before, long before he had even married you. It was never this nerve-wracking. Back then, it was effortless, something he could walk into with confidence, knowing exactly what to say and how to charm his way through the night. 

But this? This felt different. It made his palms sweat and his heart race like a teenager about to take his crush out for the first time.

Every noise from the entrance had his head snapping up in anticipation, only for his shoulders to drop in disappointment when it wasn’t you. He hated that he was restless and fidgety. It reminded him of the first night he spent at Yeosang and Hetmon’s. 

“Mingi!”

When he finally spotted you weaving through the tables toward him, his breath caught in his throat. You weren’t doing anything special, just walking toward him, a little exasperated from circling the parking lot too many times. But to him, you might as well have been the only person in the room. His fingers curled against his knees, resisting the urge to smooth down his slacks again. 

As you slid into the booth across from him, Mingi realized something: no amount of preparation would have made this any easier. Because this wasn’t just another date—this was you. 

And that changed everything.

“Did you order yet?”

Mingi shook his head, offering a small, nervous smile as he shifted in his seat. “No, I was waiting for you.” 

His fingers toyed with the edge of the menu, though he hadn’t really looked at it. It felt odd—this nervousness settling in his chest, the way he was hyper aware of every little movement you made. The way your eyes briefly scanned the menu before landing on him again. He had never felt this way before, not with anyone else.

“So…” He cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice. “How was wedding dress shopping?”

“It only took her twelve dresses until she found the one,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Everything’s finally starting to feel real for her.”

“That’s great,” he murmured, but his voice had softened, thoughtful in a way that made you glance at him. Mingi hummed, gaze drifting to the table as he absently traced patterns along the menu’s edge.

“Was it like that for you?” His fingers stilled, pressing against the worn paper. 

“Did it ever feel real?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in the conversation. Mingi never talked about your marriage—at least, not like this. There was always bitterness or resentment when he did. But now, there was none of that. If anything, he sounded…wistful.

“Honestly? No,” you admitted, toying with the hem of your sweater. You hesitated, searching for the right words. 

“A part of me never wanted to be married, I think my parents had a big part in that. But if I did it would be small. Intimate. Maybe just the two of us.”

Your breath hitched as you realized how that sounded. “—just me and whoever I would’ve married,” you corrected quickly, eyes widening. “Back then. When I was single. I just mean, I would’ve been just fine with eloping.”

Mingi let out a startled laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I get it. No need to panic.” 

“I don’t think I ever really imagined a big wedding either. Not that it mattered back then.”

You studied him carefully, noting the way he traced absent shapes against the tabletop. His shoulders weren’t as tense as they usually were when you spoke about your marriage. It was the first time you felt like you were having a real conversation about it, not just dancing around the subject with anger or avoidance.

“Did it ever feel real to you?” you asked, voice quieter now.

His gaze flickered to yours, something softer in his expression now. “Not at first. But I think it still could.”

Your heart skipped a beat. There was a hopefulness in his eyes that made your breath catch as the possibility of hope settled in your chest. 

The hope that maybe, just maybe, there was something worth holding onto after all.

Your fingers curled around the edge of your sweater, trying to ground yourself, but the sincerity in his voice made it impossible to ignore the shift between you.

“I’m holding you to that,” you murmured. Heat rose to your cheeks, and you quickly turned away, suddenly hyper aware of how intense his gaze was.

“Ready to order?”

You startled, nearly knocking over your water in your haste to compose yourself. The glass wobbled precariously before you caught it, as Mingi chuckled under his breath.

A brief silence settled between you as your waiter left with your orders.

“My dad wanted to remind us about the company’s charity gala this weekend,” he said, drumming his fingers against the table.

“Are you excited?” you asked.

“No,” Mingi scoffed, slumping back in his seat. “It’s just a bunch of old guys in overpriced suits pretending to care about causes they can’t even pronounce.”

You snorted. “Wow. And here I thought you’d be thrilled.”

Despite the complaint, his mind seemed elsewhere. His fingers, which had been tapping aimlessly, stilled against the table. His expression softened, and his lips pressed into a thoughtful line.

“You got something to wear?”

You frowned at the question, a little suspicious. “Sort of, I’m not set on it though. Why?”

“No reason,” he said a little too quickly, but his mouth twitched like he was holding back a grin. 

“Just wondering.”

“Mrs. Ha, I think we’re trapped!”

You fumbled with your keys, Yohan’s strained cry muffled by the door. A sigh threatened to escape you as the weight of the day pressed down on you—hours spent in a boardroom, locked in tense debates with your parents over expansion strategies, followed by an exhaustive review of Q3 metrics with the board. Your mind was already fried, but as if that weren’t enough, the looming charity gala this weekend added another layer of stress. You still weren’t sure about the dress you’d picked, and the thought of second-guessing your choice felt like one more problem you didn’t have the energy to solve.

“Yohan? Mrs. Ha?” you called out, only to be greeted by a labyrinth of clothing racks crammed into your living room. 

Swaths of fabric billowed as you brushed past them, catching glimpses of shimmering gowns, delicate lace, and velvet. Beneath one of the racks, a neat row of shoeboxes lined the floor, and beside them, a small vanity had been set up, complete with trays of jewelry, swatches of makeup, and a carefully curated selection of accessories.

A rustling sound came from somewhere behind the gowns, followed by a muffled grunt.

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Ha scoffed. “We just need to—oh! Watch the hem of that one! It’s silk, for goodness’ sake.”

You peeked around a particularly extravagant gown—something floor-length with layers of tulle—to find Yohan and Mrs. Ha navigating the maze, you suspected, that your husband created.

“Oh, good. You’re home.”

You turned toward the sound of Mingi’s voice—only to see nothing.

“…Mingi?”

Silence.

You squinted, stepping further into the fabric jungle. “Where are you?”

“Uh.” He paused. “I thought I was near the door.”

You blinked. “What door?”

“I was leaning against the frame—” 

Mingi had positioned himself perfectly—at least, that’s what he thought. One arm braced against the doorframe, his head tilted just enough to look effortlessly cool, like one of those mysterious love interests in the books you were always reading. 

“Mingi, I literally just heard you,” you muttered, turning in a slow circle..

“Yeah, and I hear you,” Mingi countered. “But I can’t see you.”

Yohan sighed dramatically from somewhere beyond the abyss. “Jesus, you two are meant for each other.”

After another few tense seconds of shuffling and muttering curses, a very ruffled-looking Mingi finally emerged from the sea of formalwear, blinking at you just like he did when he first woke up in his puppy form. 

He looked at you expectantly. “Do…Do you like it?”

You stared at him, then at the extravagant display behind you, then back at him. This was all for you?

Swallowing, you blinked, taking in the thoughtfulness of it all. He had gone through the trouble of hiring a stylist, ensuring you had options, making sure you wouldn’t have to deal with it alone.

The corners of his lips twitched nervously. “You said you weren’t set on what you were planning to wear to the gala.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “You’re something else.”

“That’s not an insult, right?”

“No,” you said, taking a small step toward him, your voice lighter now. “It’s just…you went out of your way to make this all happen, and honestly…I’m really touched. Thank you.”

He blinked at you, his face flushing a little under the weight of your words. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I just wanted to make sure you’d feel comfortable in whatever you were wearing. You deserve more than just throwing something together at the last minute.”

“Mm,” you hummed, your heart swelling with affection. “Well, you definitely didn’t disappoint. I guess I should make my pick before Saturday.” 

The next few hours became a whirlwind in the penthouse as Mrs. Ha pulled dresses off the racks, while Yohan provided a steady stream of commentary. You disappeared into your room, only to emerge each time to a new reaction—Mrs. Ha’s approving nods, Yohan’s brutally honest critiques, and Mingi’s soft chuckles when you did an exaggerated spin, letting the fabric billow dramatically around you.

“Too much sparkle, you’ll blind all those old people. Next!” 

“Oh this one’s nice—oh wait, no. That color washes you out. Next!”

Mingi had started the night leaning back against the couch, arms crossed, trying to keep up his unbothered demeanor. But as the makeshift fashion show went on, he couldn’t hide his grin. He wasn’t just watching you try on dresses, he was watching you enjoy yourself, and something about that had him itching to join in on the fun. 

Trying to be sneaky, he reached for a couple of dresses on the rack, casually thumbing through the fabric as if he weren’t about to hold them up for you to try. 

"Whatcha doin?"

Mingi nearly jumped out of his skin.

Yohan’s face had appeared between the gowns, peeking through the rack with a devilish grin stretching across his face.

"You were about to pick dresses, weren’t you?"

Mingi, caught red-handed, clutched the sequined gown against his chest like a criminal caught in the act. "I—No—I was just—" He cleared his throat, trying to sound smooth. 

"Just…checking the quality."

Yohan’s grin widened. "Sure you were." He wiggled his fingers through the hanging fabric. 

"There’s nothing wrong with wanting to spoil your wife. She deserves it."

“Of course I know that!” Mingi huffed, tossing another dress over Yohan’s face.

Mrs. Ha hummed in amusement at their banter, pretending to adjust a gown on the rack, though the warmth in her eyes betrayed her. In all her years working for the Songs, she had never seen Mingi truly connect with people—not like this.  

He was laughing freely, teasing and being teased in return. He was involved, not just observing from the sidelines but part of the moment. He had found his place among people who didn’t just expect something from him but who genuinely wanted him, his presence, his thoughts, his company.

Perhaps it was because of you, the way you had held him accountable and stuck around when no one was willing to. Or perhaps it was his own resolve, the effort he had put into letting down his guard, into stepping out from behind the walls he had built.

Slipping out of the last dress, you reached for the next one in line, but a knock at the door made you pause. Curious, you opened the door—and found Mingi standing there, holding a sleek red gown in his hands, rocking back and forth on his feet. 

"Hey," he said, voice quieter than before. He lifted the gown slightly, as if presenting it to you. "I, uh… picked something."

You blinked, caught off guard. Mingi? Choosing a dress? Your gaze flickered between him and the gown—elegant, striking, bold. It was on brand for your husband. 

"Figured it was worth a try.”

Your lips curled into a small smile. "Guess I better try it on, then."

You disappeared behind the door, slipping into the gown. It was undeniably striking with its bold crimson hue and dramatic full skirt. A true showstopper, designed to command attention. But as your fingers trailed over your reflection, a strange feeling settled in your chest.

It was stunning.

But it wasn’t you.

You stepped out of the room, smoothing your hands over the fabric before giving a small twirl allowing the skirt to fan out in a perfect arc. "Well?"

Mrs. Ha hummed in approval, already taking in the fit and craftsmanship with a keen eye. Yohan let out a low whistle, grinning.  

But it was Mingi’s reaction that held your attention.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t even blink.

His lips parted slightly, his eyes tracing every detail—the way the fitted bodice melted into the dramatic skirt, the delicate dip of the neckline. He stood frozen, hands flexing at his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

Inside, his mind was reeling.

He had picked the dress because it was bold and undeniable—a dress that would make people stop and look. He thought it would suit you, thought it would match the quiet strength you carried with you every day. But seeing it on you?

He hadn’t been prepared for that.

Finally, he managed to speak. "You look…" He trailed off.

"Incredible."

You gave another spin, but the unease lingered. The dress was beautiful, and you could tell it had been chosen with care. And yet…

"It doesn’t feel like me," you admitted, your voice quieter now.

Mingi blinked, his head tilting slightly.

"What do you mean? It looks amazing on you."

"It does," you agreed. "But that’s just it. It looks right, but it doesn’t feel right."

Mingi frowned, his gaze sweeping over you again, slower this time. It was the kind of dress that demanded attention, that made a statement before you even said a word. And suddenly, he understood.

You didn’t need to demand attention. You never had.

Mingi inhaled deeply, then exhaled through his nose, nodding once. "Okay. Then we keep looking."

Your eyes softened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. We’ll find the one."

⋆

You sighed in defeat as you collapsed onto the couch beside the small mountain of designer dresses. Hours had passed, and the excitement of finding the perfect dress had faded into frustration. No matter how many you tried, from bold statement pieces to couture straight off the runway, none of them felt right. Normally, you wouldn’t care this much. These events were just another obligation, with the only exception ever being the Gold Gala, where you had to admit the spectacle was worth the effort. But this? 

This was different.

Something insidious stirred inside you, something persistent, whispering that you had something to prove. To Ahri, whose mere presence was an unwelcome shadow, a reminder of betrayal that lingered no matter how much time passed. 

To your in-laws, who remained distant, tolerating you, per terms and conditions outlined in your marital contract. 

And to high society, where every conversation was a test of whether you could endure their scrutiny. You were one of them by birth, but your choices—your friendships, your indifference to their world—made you an outsider in a way they would never fully forgive.

The penthouse was quiet. Mrs. Ha and Yohan had left. The only sounds were the distant hum of the city below and Mingi’s voice, rambling beside you.

He was slouched on the couch, just as exhausted, rubbing a hand over his face. “Who knew fittings would be such a pain?” he muttered, turning his head toward you with a dramatic sigh.

You hummed absentmindedly in response, only half-listening as your gaze swept over the remaining racks. You had combed through dozens of gowns but something kept nagging at you, a voice in the back of your mind that said you hadn’t quite found it yet.

Then, your eyes landed on a dress tucked toward the back of the rack. It hadn’t caught your attention before, overshadowed by the more extravagant pieces, but you were certain you could hear it calling to you. 

Mingi was still talking—something about decorator crabs attaching seaweed to their shells to hide from predators—but his voice faded into the background as you pushed yourself up from the couch. Without a word, you reached for the gown, fingers grazing the black velvet. And for the first time that night, you felt it—this was the one.

"Where are you going?"

"I found it!" you exclaimed, dashing excitedly to your bedroom without bothering to close the door.

You shrugged off your hoodie and shorts before stepping into the strapless gown, smoothing the fabric over your hips. The plunging neckline accentuated the curves of your chest, framing your collarbones perfectly. Though the column silhouette was understated, it hugged every contour before flowing elegantly into a floor length hem.

Twisting your arm back, you stretched awkwardly, but the zipper refused to budge. With a frustrated groan, you gripped the front of the dress to keep it from slipping while your other hand fumbled blindly, desperately trying to get the closure to move.

But it was useless. There was no way you were managing this alone. The only option left was asking for help, and that meant calling Mingi.

You exhaled sharply, hesitating for a beat before forcing the words out. “Hey, do you think you can help me with this dress? The zipper sucks.”

There was a pause, then a low chuckle. “Sure.”

As he stepped into your room, you turned your back to him, gathering your hair in an attempt to make it easier for him to zip the dress. The moment his fingers brushed against you, a jolt shot through your body, and you had to fight the urge to shiver. Your breath hitched, so quiet yet loud enough for him to hear.

“This one, huh?” His voice was rich and teasing against your ear. He leaned in, just a little too close, the warmth of his chest brushing against your back.

You swallowed hard, suddenly hyper aware of how little space remained between you. 

“Yeah. It’s the one.

You were trembling now, but it wasn’t just the unfastened dress threatening to slip—it was everything between you. Every stolen glance, every touch that lasted a second too long. Years of tension, unspoken and unresolved, hanging thick in the air.

“Mingi,” you sighed, expecting the tug of the zipper, but he made no move to secure the fabric together.

Instead, his gaze darkened as he looked at you, lingering between your lips and your eyes in the reflection of the mirror. His fingertips found the zipper, but rather than pulling it up, he toyed with the fabric, brushing his knuckles along your spine. 

“That’s…not up,” you murmured. 

Mingi hummed, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “I know.”

It was so different, being the focus of his attention, feeling the weight of his gaze through the reflection in the mirror. His eyes roamed over you, watching as your fingers clung to the front of the dress in a futile attempt at modesty. 

But Mingi had other plans.  

His fingers toyed with the fabric, tracing along the top edge where the delicate material barely clung to your body. He dragged his fingertips along your bare shoulders, down the curve of your back, and then back up again, never quite pulling the dress into place. He was teasing you, savoring the way you reacted to him, the way your body betrayed just how much you wanted this.

You wanted more.

You wanted all of him.

Your heart pounded in your throat, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach as the space between you shrank. He dipped his head, lips barely grazing the curve of your shoulder before trailing upward against your jaw. The warmth of his breath, the soft press of his mouth against your skin, left you dizzy.

His lips hovered just behind your ear. “Still want me to zip it up?”

You barely managed to shake your head before he tilted your chin up, guiding your lips to his.

And then, finally, he kissed you.

It was slow and soft at first, his lips barely grazing yours. But then his tongue slid into your mouth, and suddenly, it was all heat, want, and need. You melted into Mingi as he deepened the kiss, his hands gripping your hips as he turned you to face him.

You let your arms drop, the dress pooling on the floor around your feet until you were left in nothing but your lacy underwear. Your head spun as his mouth moved against yours, his hands roaming over your body, exploring every inch of you. The heat between you was undeniable, building with every passing second, with every brush of his skin against yours.

“Bed,” he ordered, tearing off his glasses and tossing them aside without a second thought.

His hands slid down to cup your ass, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist, your arms tightening around his neck as if letting go wasn’t an option. He carried you over to your bed, his lips never once leaving yours.

The moment your back hit the bed, his weight pressed you into the mattress, surrounding you, consuming you. You arched against him, desperate for more—more contact, more friction, more of him.

His hands found your breasts, cupping them and teasing the sensitive skin with his thumbs. You moaned into his mouth, his large hands working to slide off your panties and you obliged, bucking your hips against him to give him access to your sopping cunt.

“Shit, baby,” he breathed, sliding his thick fingers between your thighs. He teased your entrance, making you gasp as he kissed his way down to your pussy, eyes blown wide with desire. 

You were already wet and sensitive, from the way he teased you earlier, but it was no help when he slid his hands under your hips, bringing your legs up to rest on his shoulders. You arched at the intensity of the angle as his tongue drew languid circles around your clit before plunging inside of you.

“Fuck, Mingi,” you whimpered, “just like that.”

“So needy. When was the last time you were fucked?”

“Shut up.”

He groaned, his mouth working overtime as the coil in your stomach snapped. When he finally pulled away, his lips were slick with your arousal, and the look on his face was enough to make you cum again right then and there.

You were breathtaking—utterly wrecked in the best way. Your flushed cheeks, the way your hair was mussed from his touch, and your lips, swollen and parted as you caught your breath, had his head spinning.

Mingi crawled over your body, his cock straining against his pants. You tugged on his belt loops, pulling him closer as you fumbled with his belt, then hurriedly tugged at his shirt while he kicked off his pants and boxers.

He was beautiful—all hard lines and muscle—yet the way he touched you was anything but rough. As his hands roamed up your body, he found your fingers, intertwining them with his as his lips claimed yours again. You couldn’t help but whimper when his tip brushed against your slit. 

"Can I...?" he murmured, kissing the back of your hand. 

Your heart pounded, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion in his gaze. You reached up, cupping his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek.

"Please," you whispered, nodding.

And that was all the reassurance Mingi needed before pushing inside you. He let out a soft moan, overwhelmed by the way your pussy fluttered around him. You were warm and wet and tight, and he didn't want to move for fear of coming too soon because fuck, you felt so good. 

Mingi filled you up perfectly, stretching you in a way that had you gasping for air, your toes curling from the sheer fullness of him. He moved agonizingly slowly, giving you time to adjust to his length because holy shit you could see why all his exes went crazy for him. You couldn’t tell if he was being sweet or teasing, but it was driving you insane.

"Mingi," you whined, "Faster."

He smirked, leaning down so his lips ghosted over yours, "Hmm? What was that?"

"Faster!”

"Yeah?"

“Yes! Just fuck me!”

He chuckled, snapping his hips against you, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips as you arched into his chest. His movements grew desperate, his breath coming in ragged pants with each thrust. A low groan rumbled from his throat as he savored the way you clenched around him, the sensation unraveling whatever restraint he had left.

"You're so pretty," he groaned, "So pretty for me."

Your stomach tightened at his words, a clear sign that you wouldn’t last much longer. Your eyes drank in every detail of him—the way his brows furrowed in deep creases as he pulled out only to thrust back in at the brutal pace you had begged for. The flush on his cheeks spread down his neck, a telltale sign of his own unraveling, mirroring your own as pleasure threatened to consume you both.

“Mingi,” you gasped, his name the only thing you could manage as the heat pooled in your abdomen. 

He groaned against your skin, his grip tightening as he pulled you impossibly closer, as if the space between you didn’t exist, as if he never wanted to let go. His lips traced soft, lingering kisses along your neck, savoring every second. The warmth of his breath sent shivers through you, your thighs trembling beneath his touch, threatening to give out.

“I love you.”

The words unraveled you completely.

A shaky breath left your lips before you crashed into him, pouring every unspoken feeling into the kiss. He swallowed your moan, his hands roaming your body—touching, claiming, worshiping. The heat between you was unbearable, spiraling higher until pleasure consumed you.

His grip tightened, his breath ragged against your skin as he held you through it, your voice breaking on his name like a prayer. With a deep groan, Mingi tensed, then unraveled, riding out the last waves of pleasure in slow, lazy rolls, lost in the moment, in everything you meant to him.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, save for the sound of your breathing filling the space. Wordlessly, Mingi burrowed closer, tucking his face into the crook of your neck with a content sigh. You felt his lashes flutter against your collarbone, the soft huff of his breath as he began to doze off.

"Let me cuddle," he pouted, his voice muffled and sleepy.

You chuckled, threading your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He hummed in satisfaction, his grip tightening just a little, as if even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let you go.

“Love you too.”

<< viii | x >>

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[hongjoongspoetry]

A Second to Forever | Park Seonghwa

🍄 Summary: The countdown on your wrist was getting closer to its end and the jitters of finally meeting your soulmate were rendering you an anxious mess. It was a moment you had waited for your entire life — the chance to put a face and name to the person you were destined to meet — and it made you think of different ways to escape fate. After a series of comedic events where everything that could go wrong, did, you met your soulmate. In that instant, everything changed. The encounter was filled with sparks of attraction, warmth and genuine connection, leading to a tender first interaction that left you both feeling enchanted.

🍄 Pairing(s): Fairy!Seonghwa x Fairy!Reader, brief Fairy!Yeosang x Werewolf!Jongho

🍄 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, fantasy AU, fluff, humour

🍄 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), use of magic, water manipulation, flower manipulation, Wooyoung is a mood, petnames (bubbles, little one, jjong, love, darling), smooth talker!Hwa, flustered!MC, Seonghwa has some insecurities, brief mention of kidnapping and murder (literally just mentioned once in conversation), kissing and cuteness overload

🍄 Wordcount: 7.1K

🍄 Author's Note: Click the image for a better resolution (Tumblr I hate you). Happy Friday everyone!!! I don't have a lot to say, except for enjoy hehehe. It was quite fun to write this one. I've never really done a fantasy/fairy au before so it was certainly a fun challenge! The fairies are sometimes referred to as little one / little fairy, not because of their physical appearance but because fairies are described as 'tiny' in tales even though they are human sized here!

This is all fiction and not meant to represent the idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains mature scenes, not sexual content but moments of intimacy. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!!!

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard Event taglist

The beautiful pink petals of the cherry blossom trees littered the streets of Seoul. The flowers could be found in every corner and in every crevice, covering the ground in a pink blanket, much like the thick layer of snow in the winter season. Peering out of the window of Yeosang’s flower shop, you wonder about the story behind each passerby. A trio of young witches dressed in high school uniforms walked by with their arms looped and joyous laughs tumbling out of their mouths. A tall man triple checked his wristwatch, hair gelled back and one sharp tooth peeking out. The stress was evident on his pale face and your eyes flashed down to the fat blue ring resting atop his middle finger. The bright complexion and fang was a giveaway, yet the piece of jewelry confirmed your thoughts.

The vampire narrowly avoided colliding with another man nearly half of his height that appeared out of nowhere. You glanced down and noticed the lack of feet on the new person. Ghosts weren’t usually seen out in the open during daytime as the sun made them nearly impossible to see. The bright rays pierced through their translucent forms and turned them invisible to those who weren’t aware of their surroundings. It was good you could walk through them, a bit disrespectful, but at least they weren’t involved in a lot of traffic accidents.

As if on cue, a loud crash erupted behind you, and you were quick to turn around. The owner of the shop, the most beautiful garden fairy you had ever laid eyes on, stood with his legs in a wide stance and hands open, as if holding an invisible box. His eyes were trained on the mess of porcelain shards, a dozen red roses and a pool of water decorating the wooden flooring. The pair of see-through wings with a dash of green in them flickered fiercely, a sign of annoyance that he refused to express on his gorgeous face. Your own wings, thin and blue, fluttered as a smile overtook your features. 

“You alright, Sang?”

“Mhm,” he hummed and crouched down to pick up the aftermath of his ditziness. “It’s the fourth vase this month…”

You grabbed the broom and dustpan from the corner while Yeosang separated the roses from the remains that couldn’t be reused. Before you got to sweeping, you placed your hand right above the puddle and wiggled your fingers. The water slowly separated from the floor and hovered in the air, taking on an oblong shape that bent at your will. You guided the water to the drain with a flick of your wrist and the only proof of there ever being an accident were the broken shards. Yeosang shot you a grateful look and you handed him the floor scoop in return as you gently swept the bits into the dustpan.

“You can’t blame yourself for the first two times, remember? It isn’t your fault the customer’s service dog accidentally knocked stuff down with his tail and it definitely isn’t your fault that some parents bring their kids in and have no control of the devil spawns playing tag in a flower shop!”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am!” 

Yeosang ignored your cheery outburst and threw the collected pieces in the trash can behind the register. Overwhelmed by being in the center of attention, even if it was only him and you there, he reflected the light on you.

“How much time is there left?”

You slid your forearms across the counter with your palms facing the ceiling. The digital timer that was injected into your wrist seconds after you entered the world was currently showing 01:10:20 with the last numbers frequently changing. Seventy minutes. A little more than an hour left until you’d come face to face with your other half. The thought sent a pleasant spark down your spine and along the thin veins of your wings. Many nights were spent staying awake and wondering who they were and the times you managed to succumb to sleep, you were visited by the image of your soulmate, but the face was always hidden behind a blurry shield.

Just a little while longer and you’d be able to trace the outline of their features. Then there was the curiosity whether they were a fairy like you or another creature. It wasn’t unheard of or impossible to be paired with something other than your own kind. You knew fairies whose soulmates were everything from witches to werewolves, however your soulmate was yet to show themselves. 

“That’s soon,” he replied, a dash of excitement lingering in his voice and a joyous glint twinkling in his eyes. 

“Right… I don’t know whether it’s too soon or not soon enough.” You buried your face in the safety of your palms. “Oh, Yeosang, what am I going to do? It feels like my heart is going to burst out of my chest!”

A fresh and slightly musky aroma with a hint of fruity sweetness surrounded you, blossoming a comforting and warm feeling in your chest. The flower shop was filled with a variety of different scents, but this one stood out, as if the plant was right beneath your nose. A barely-there touch grazed the slightly exposed part of your cheek, right beside your ear, and you slowly raised your head only to be met with the lovely sight of a large jasmine bush protruding between the planks. Jasmines were known for their calming effect and you could practically feel the tension melting off your shoulders, back and jaw. 

“Thank you, Sangie.”

“Anytime, bubbles. Now, I can see the cogs turning in your head. Go ahead and ask away.”

“What… How was it when you met Jongho?”

The garden fairy paused for a second and thought over his answer. For someone who had already met his soulmate, it was hard to put the experience into words. How was Yeosang supposed to explain the unfathomable feeling of the air shifting the moment he locked eyes with his soulmate?

“I don’t know how to explain it, but believe me when I say that all of my worries disappeared when I met Jongho. Nothing in the world mattered anymore. I could literally be on the brink of death and I wouldn’t even care because, well, he was there.” A blush the same hue of his heart-shaped birthmark rose to his cheeks and spread to the tips of his ears. 

Yeosang and Jongho met in their first year of university, if you recalled correctly. That would be a mere five years ago. Yeosang was running late for his exam and was in such distress, he forgot about the countdown on his wrist. His thoughts were everywhere and nowhere. It would be a miracle if the fairy even remembered half of the material he revised in time for the evaluation. Yeosang quickly regretted his choice of taking the elevator instead of sprinting up the five flights of stairs. He didn’t even think of using his wings!

There were just a few more minutes until the doors would close, so when the elevator dinged and the doors just started parting, Yeosang slipped through the crack and collided with a sturdy chest. Everything he was holding — keys, pencil case, water bottle, notepad  — fell to the ground along with an apology slipping out of his lips. The words didn’t get very far as Yeosang looked up and found the warmest pair of eyes staring right back at him. Yes, he missed the exam.

You sighed at the dreamy look on his face. “You’re just saying that because you love Jongho’s eyes.”

“Do not!” His glow intensified and took on the shade of the red roses behind him, a stark contrast to his green and black highlights. Yeosang eventually yielded as you raised your brows and tilted your head sideways. “Okay, I do love him, but it’s not because of his eyes!”

Joy stretched your lips into a genuine smile. You were happy for him. It was about time someone other than you brought the fairy out of his shell and Jongho, from the brief encounters you had with the werewolf, was just the man for the job. Your friendship with Yeosang blossomed in elementary school. The class consisted mostly of vampires, witches and werewolves, and hadn’t it been for you and Yeosang, the homeroom would’ve been vacant of fairies. The one thing you had in common — being of the same species — was the magnetic pull that brought you together — the garden fairy who wore his heart on his sleeve and the water fairy who, despite having a smile warm enough to melt blocks of ice, didn’t think twice before standing up for others. In other words, by drenching the pupils for making fun of the sweetest boy in class.

Though one was a garden fairy and the other a water fairy, your differences went beyond your magical abilities. Yeosang was quiet and you were loud. He liked to observe while you wanted to participate. The apples of his cheeks set ablaze at the merest crumb of attention while you didn’t shy away from the spotlight. Your differences didn’t hinder you from being friends, on the contrary actually. The different traits were perhaps the reason why you stayed friends for so long. 

Having an unpredictable mind that changed course like the unruly waters of the sea, you couldn’t help but let your thoughts run down an unstoppable stream. If the universe paired Yeosang with someone that was an anchor — grounding and strong, giving him the opportunity to lean on his soulmate whenever — what would it give you? Would your soulmate be a vampire, cold and quiet, to balance your loud and bubbly personality? Or what if they were a controlling werewolf, an alpha ordering you around, trying to drown out your outgoing persona? But your soulmate wouldn’t hurt you, right?

The silence on your part alerted Yeosang and he was quick to notice your distant gaze. He slowly waved his hand in front of you, the motion eventually getting more frantic the longer your eyes stayed stuck on the same object, until you broke out of the bubble separating you from the rest of the world.

“Are you okay?”

“Just peachy,” you replied without missing a beat and glanced down at your wrist. 

00:50:35

Your eyes widened. The time was suddenly moving so fast. All those years of you wailing and complaining about there being an eternity until you’d meet your soulmate were taunting you now. 

“What if I lock myself in the guest bathroom of the flower shop?”

“It’s impossible to defy the universe.”

“What will they do? Break the bathroom door?”

Yeosang paused for a moment and gave you a skeptic glance. “Maybe you forget to lock the door.”

"Impossible,” you countered and kept your eyes on the countdown. “I always check twice.”

“Maybe the lock breaks because you pull on the handle when checking.”

It was your turn to take a breath. He had a point and you hated it when he was onto something. “Okay, what if I hide in a river in a bubble of water?”

“Congrats, your soulmate is a merman or mermaid.”

“What if I take a trip to Jongho’s pack?”

The sudden call of your name snapped your eyes up to Yeosang’s. “Do you not want to meet your soulmate? Because you’re really acting like it…”

“It’s not that I don’t wanna meet them. I’m just… scared…”

There was no point in feeling embarrassed of your admission. Everyone you asked who had already met their soulmate told you the same story. How they were nervous, scared and excited about finding out who their other half was. You thought they were stupid at first. Who would be scared of meeting their soulmate? Now you felt stupid for secretly invalidating others’ feelings. 

“There’s no reason to be afraid, bubbles. The person you’re destined to meet isn’t just created on a whim. A piece of your soul is taken to put in theirs and vice versa, whoever it is, you’re created to fit each other.”

“But–”

“No buts. You can’t cheat fate…” A quiet blanket settled over the almost empty flower shop. “Take a stroll and try to think of something else. Here.” 

A vine covered in different sized leaves emerged from the ceiling at a single twitch of his fingers. Yeosang held his hand out and a leaf the length of your forearm fell off the branch right in his palm. He grabbed each end of the blade and beckoned you to hold out your wrist. The leaf was neatly tied around your timer, successfully covering the changing numbers.

“Now you can’t look at the timer and won’t worry about where you are or who you’re around.”

One corner of your mouth curved up in a gracious smile. “Thank you, flower.”

“I gotchu, now fly away and don’t come back unless you wanna show me your love for all eternity.”

With a new found confidence and a leaf on your wrist, you big Yeosang goodbye and left the flower shop per order. You didn’t know where to go. Any location you thought of was either too fancy or not fancy enough to meet your soulmate in. The idea to wait outside your front porch wasn’t too bad. If they turned out to be a complete weirdo you could just run and hide. The downside would be that they would know where you lived. Not wanting to waste anymore time, you decided to just walk in a straight line and let the path guide you to the person destiny chose for you. 

It was a beautiful day. There wasn’t a single cloud in the blue sky, and the sun could freely share its warm rays with the planet. People made the most of the sunny weather and spent the day outdoors. Some took longer walks with their dogs, while others decided to enjoy the clear sky in the outdoor seating areas of coffee shops. As you passed a park, you caught sight of students in high school uniforms with blankets strewn beneath them and books lying open on their laps. The bright weather sent everyone in a good mood and you just hoped the atmosphere wouldn’t change when your timer ran out. Getting sidetracked was easier than you thought. A little further up ahead the road was a fairly new shop which had just opened a few months ago. You did visit it a handful of times to your mother’s requests of buying different ingredients for her and just like then, her gentle voice echoes in your head reminding you to stop by Jung’s Magic Shop on your way home for a bottle of moon petal essence. 

The bell above the door jingled at your entry. A surge of intensity hit your nose the moment you stepped over the threshold that you thought blood would ooze out of your nostrils. One word to describe the store would be chaos. The space was the size of a shoe box and crowded due to the many unopened boxes, random piles of books that couldn’t fit in the bookshelves and random trinkets laying around. At first glance, the shop appeared to be empty, but as you reached the register and tapped the small bell with the sign ‘tap me’ attached to it, a man of short stature emerged from a cloud of smoke.

“Hello little fairy,” he greeted and leaned his elbow on the counter while resting his chin on his palm. “What can I help you with this fine evening?”

Jung Wooyoung, the youngest wizard of his family line, was most known for being the new addition in town and almost setting the whole building on fire on his first night there. He was a handsome wizard. Black hair that fell neatly over his nape and tickled the beginning of his shoulders. His equally dark eyes were obscured by a heart-shaped fringe. It was nearly impossible not to squirm beneath his gaze, but the tension would disappear with a quick flash of his bright smile. The most alluring feature of his face would be the mole right beneath his right eye, and if the viewer was extra observant, they would notice a subtle beauty mark on the center of his bottom lip. 

“Hey Woo, do you perhaps have some of that moon petal essence?”

“Hmmmmm, I think they are all reserved for other customers.” The hopeful light faded from your eyes and he was quick to take back his words, lowering his tone and whispering behind his hand as if the place was bustling with customers. “But… I can just tell Mrs. Yang, I dropped her bottle.”

“Thank you.”

“No worries, little fairy. Take it as a gift for being my favorite customer.” His eyes jumped down to your wrist and a wrinkle appeared between the skin of his furrowed brows. “What’s wrong with your wrist?”

“Oh, this?” You raised your hand and gave him a better view of the leaf. “It’s nothing, I’m supposed to meet my soulmate soon and I couldn’t stop worrying, so Yeosang tied it to keep me from worrying.”

Wooyoung hummed as his hand reached out to play with the knot of the blade. “Yeosang is that little flower fairy, huh?” He dreamily sighed. “He is beautiful.”

“And happily taken by his soulmate,” you stated matter-of-factly.

“Oh, don’t remind me! Can’t a mind fantasize in peace?” Agile as a fox, he changed the course of the conversation, seemingly no longer interested in the ‘little flower fairy’ and his boyfriend. “Well how much time is there left until you meet the lucky one?”

“It showed less than an hour back at Yeosang’s shop.”

“And you walked all the way over here?” You nodded, a bit clueless at the sudden question. “That’s a thirty minute walk, little one and that’s if you walk at a brisk pace.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I think you need to get out of here unless you want to find the love of your life in this chaos.”

Your eyes widened and you quickly ushered him to get your moon petal essence. 

“Jeez, woman. I’m going!”

As soon as Wooyoung handed you the essence trapped in a bottle the size of your pinky, you slipped it over your head and let it dangle around your neck, and dashed back out into the busy street. The door nearly hit you on the way out and you could’ve sworn you heard a cackle come from the inside, definitely Wooyoung pulling some strings to mess with you. A harsh gust of wind  swooshed around the many bodies and you threw your hand up to shield your eyes from the flying dust and dirt. What you didn’t expect though was for your leaf to come undone and travel through the air.

“Oh no!” You gasped and quickly ran after it.

As if sensing your chasing figure, the wind picked up and pushed the leaf further away. Like a game of cat and mouse, the blade would land on the ground and then jump a few paces whenever you’d get too close. It was taunting you and that alone made you more determined to capture it again. The thought of Wooyoung casting a spell on it back in his shop didn’t sound too unbelievable. The more time you spent with the wizard, the more of his foxy personality broke through his innocent act. 

“Come back here,” you hissed and chased the lively leaf while successfully avoiding collision with the other pedestrians. A brilliant idea flashed before your eyes and everyone watched in awe as your blue wings fluttered to life, and lifted your figure off the ground.

The leaf brushed off your command and continued its path further and further away from you. There was actually no point in retrieving it, but you realized you felt much better not having to look at your timer than when it was visible for everyone to see. Even now, as you were losing your mind trying to get it back, you didn’t think to glance down at your wrist. Entirely occupied by the stupid part of a random plant Yeosang summoned, you didn’t realize your timer was rapidly coming to an end. Your wings flapped rapidly, propelling you forward. Victory filled your veins as you inched closer and closer to the blade. The harsh wind stilled and the leaf fell limp on the ground just as you touched down with the soles of your feet. You ran the last stretch with your arm extended and fingers spread, ready to capture the green piece. A noise of triumph escaped your mouth as you grabbed the end of the blade.

“I got you!” 

What you didn’t expect was for the leaf to be pinched between a thumb and forefinger, twice the size of yours, at the other end. You traced the path up the stranger’s arm and gazed into the most beautiful pair of brown eyes you could ever imagine — round and wide, akin to a surprised bunny. A bubble you weren’t aware of burst in your ears and all of your thousands thoughts stored in various chests scattered in the vast space of your mind were reduced to nothing. Your breath was trapped in your throat, yet you didn’t feel the need for air as long as you kept staring at the stranger. A soft breeze — nothing like before — brushed against your bodies and a rain of cherry blossoms followed. The petals landed in the stranger’s hair and blended with his baby pink strands. The man was breathtakingly beautiful and your heart squeezed in content of being the center of his attention. 

“Hey,” he said and your insides nearly collapsed from the combination of his slight rasp and soft-spoken tone. His raspberry-colored lips curled upward and dethroned the sun as the warmest source of light in the galaxy. The fairy who couldn’t go a day without speaking was for once at a loss for words. 

“Hi,” you squeaked out and hastily rose to your feet, letting go of the oh-so-important leaf.

The man chuckled and followed your lead. His long legs were trapped in a pair of khaki pants and the pine-colored vest was buttoned up, showcasing his sunkissed arms and collarbones, and even a sliver of his belly button adorned by a trail of bright pink hairs. A brown string was tied around his neck, with just enough space for a pinky to slip between his skin and the material, and the ends disappeared beneath his shirt. That wasn’t the only accessory on his beautiful body — a light watch, in the same hue as the necklace, sat snuggly around his left wrist. A pair of beige boots fit his outfit perfectly and perhaps even made him an inch or two taller.

The attire was very comforting as it reminded you of your relatives and the few fairy friends you had. It wasn’t something people wore around these parts as most residents weren’t of fairy descent and stuck to the more modern-day clothes. Before you could spiral into what-ifs, a motion behind him caught your attention and as you threw a glance over his shoulder, the prettiest pair of wings in fairy history came into view. They were much brighter than his hair and glowed with iridescence, shifting from shades of lavender to bubblegum pink beneath the sunlight. But that wasn’t all. A shimmering gold ran through the venations, starting thick and then thinning out as they neared the edge of his wings. The stranger belonged in a bedtime story based solely on his appearance, a tale deserving to be shared with the world.

“I’m Seonghwa.” 

He tucked the leaf behind his ear and held out his hand, patiently waiting for you to reciprocate. The moment your palm touched his, he ran his thumb over your knuckles and gave it a soft shake. Gentle ripples erupted along the surface of the skin he touched and it brought a sense of serenity you only felt while being in a pool of water. Seonghwa gently and slowly turned your hand sideways, as if waiting for any attempts of resisting, but continued when you didn’t fight him on it. Multiple zeros glared up at him and a smile, broader than the one before, spread across his cheeks. 

“And do tell, is my soulmate’s name as beautiful as her face?”

An embarrassing noise was born as the question struck you like a golden arrow launched from Cupid himself and lodged itself in the center of your heart. To make matters worse, Seonghwa pulled your hand up to his face and planted a chaste, but lingering kiss on your ring finger. If Yeosang knew that a mere kiss and some sugar coated words would leave your brain fried, he would’ve done it a long time ago. Through the haze of pink hearts and desire, you managed to give up your name, but not without stumbling over your tongue a few times first.

“I love being right,” he admitted and you were a second away from fainting in the arms of your soulmate.

“I–I, yo–you– I–I mean, what!?”

Seonghwa chuckled, clearly amused and endeared with your flustered behaviour. “You have a pretty name.”

“Your face is pretty!”

You didn’t mean for the compliment to slip out after not even five minutes of meeting your soulmate, but you were drunk on him and everyone knew a drunk mind spoke a sober truth. Nonetheless, you slapped your hand over your mouth as if it would take the confession back and erase his memory. Little did you know that Seonghwa had already stored it in a folder named ‘prettiest flower’ somewhere in the far back of his head with the intent to reminisce about the sacred first meeting every once in a while. 

“Thank you, darling.”

A few people had gathered around you to witness the life changing moment of two strangers, but neither paid them any thought. Seonghwa scratched the back of his neck with his left hand — the other one still holding yours — and cleared his throat, slightly feeling the pressure of multiple eyes on him. 

“Do you wanna get out of here?” 

“Please.”

There was no step by step manual telling you what to do after meeting your soulmate. You wished though. Something like Soulmate 101 or The Soulmate Startup, it would certainly help you in times like these — you and Seonghwa sitting on a random park bench, a vacant seat between you and the March wind doing all the talking. The scenery was pretty though. An oblong pond stretched from one end of the park to the other as a long trail went around it. Years ago, probably an elderly garden fairy, planted a bunch of various trees along the path that had now grown into beautiful timbers of various sizes. You weren’t that skilled in flora, it was Yeosang’s specialty, but you managed to snag up a thing or two from the decade long friendship. 

There was an array of oak, maple and pine trees that would look nothing short of magical during the harvest season, but it didn’t mean the different hues of green were any less pretty. The growing leaves just needed to emerge from their buds and the park would look lively again. The few cherry blossom trees were at least in full bloom and distracted the visitors from the otherwise naked park, and a couple of evergreen shrubs were blooming nicely. The few ducks and swans were a cute bonus too. You thought back to Yeosang and Jongho’s story. How the younger immediately introduced Yeosang to his family, to his pack, and they welcomed him with open arms or how the garden fairy wasted no time taking Jongho to his family owned — now, entirely written over on Yeosang’s name as both Mr. and Mrs. Kang retired — business.  

“So… what kind of fairy are you?” Seonghwa’s voice snapped you back to the present. 

Most people usually guessed what abilities you had based on the color of your wings. Blue could only represent so much and the element that was always tied to it was water. Either Seonghwa was really clueless or wanted to spark up a conversation… You had a feeling it was the latter.

“I’m a water fairy,” you replied and crossed your legs over each other, subconsciously leaning closer into Seonghwa who sat with his arm draped over the back of the bench. The heat emitting from his limb grazing your shoulders and neck. “But that’s obvious because of my wings… Your wings are beautiful though and like, I’ve never seen wings in that color before and I’m trying to understand what fairy you are, but it’s so hard!”

By that point, you were already rambling. The words trickled out of your mouth like a waterfall with no end in sight, but Seonghwa didn’t mind. On the contrary, he bashfully smiled, as if you had told him the stars belonged in his eyes — which wasn’t far from the truth. People, more often than not, praised him for his wings, calling them beautiful, breathtaking, magnificent — every flattering word you could think of. Seonghwa thought he had grown immune to the compliments. However, hearing it from you sent a heat to his cheeks challenging the pink peonies in Yeosang’s shop.

“Thank you…” He meekly replied and lowered his voice down to a whisper. “People try to guess, but no one’s gotten it right yet… I’m a garden fairy.”

You felt stupid for not thinking of that, but in your defence, most garden fairies you knew (just Yeosang’s family) had green wings and green or brown hair — the two main colors symbolizing earth and flora. Of course you wouldn’t assume Seonghwa was one too as he radiated the colors of strawberry ice cream and lavender skies. 

“Are you like… royalty?”

Seonghwa couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling out of him and threw a hand over his mouth to keep his volume down so as to not disturb the other visitors. In all his years of living, he had never been mistaken for royalty. His cute pink blush intensified and was identical to the vibrant camellias on his left. 

“N–No!” He said between the laughter and waved his other hand. “It’s not common, but fairies with parents who have different abilities can be born with… abnormal wings. My mom is a garden fairy and my dad a fire fairy.”

“Wow, that’s cool. I didn’t know that at all.”

“Not many do. I mean, I have yet to meet another fairy with a not-so-normal pair of wings.”

You chuckled. “If that’s why you came here, then you’ll be disappointed.”

“How come?”

“There’s only one other fairy family here and they are gardeners too, but not the flashy-kind like you.”

This time he didn’t cosplay a tomato or shy away from your kind advances. Seonghwa leaned in and the distance between you was reduced by half. You gulped at the sudden close proximity and your eyes darted down to his lips curving up in a smirk. 

“I’m not disappointed.”

Snapping out of your trance, you found his eyes again. The round rabbit-like shape taking on that of a siren. “Huh?”

“You said if that’s why I came here then I’m going to be disappointed and well, I’m not. Wanna know why?” 

You didn’t trust your usually loud and bubbly voice to be stable anymore, not when his scent of burned sugar and sunflower fields infiltrated all of your senses. Playing your cards safe, you nodded slowly.

“Because I found something better.”

The question of what lingered in your eyes and while Seonghwa could see the curiosity shimmering in them, he wanted to hear you ask. Perhaps the soulmate connection was stronger than both of you thought because a warm feeling spread through your abdomen, like an instinct telling you when danger was near or when you could feel someone staring at you from afar, and you decided to take a step from your unusually shy exterior. 

“What?”

Seonghwa’s grin broadened. It wasn’t a matter of what, but of who. His tongue ran over his bottom lip as he leaned even closer to you. The three letter word rested on the gap of his teeth, just gauging your wide eyed expression. In a whisper, far more quiet than the calm ripple of waves or comforting sound of bubbles bursting he answered your question.

“You.”

“M– Me?”

He hummed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. More obvious than the grass being green and the sky blue. “Yes, you. My pretty water fairy. The prettiest water fairy.”

A rush of heat attacked your face and the urge to look away was almost bigger than the urge to run your fingers through his wavy hair. The looming fear of taking a step too far made you hold back and keep your hands glued to your sides. Seonghwa wasn’t having it though. With trembling hands, he gently hooked his pointer finger beneath your chin and rested his thumb in the center of your chin, the tip grazing your bottom lip,  and directed you back to face him. Fierce bubbles reached the surface of the pond and the ducks quacked in panic at the sudden change in their peaceful environment. 

“Don’t shy away from me, pretty. I’ve been waiting for years to finally meet you and I want to stare at you until I’ve memorized the most discreet feature of your beautiful face.”

“Seonghwa,” you whispered. Your heart was loud in your ears and the hot blood wouldn’t stop rushing to your head. If you were to check your temperature, the thermometer would break from the heat and you’d be rushed to the nearest hospital. Little would they know you weren’t suffering a severe fever, but of love sickness instead.

“May I…” he hesitated as well. The two-hour-long interaction, mostly spent sitting in front of the pond, made you feel as though you had known each other for two decades. 

Sensing his caution, you wrapped your fingers around the wrist attached to your face. You gave him a soft squeeze of encouragement and whispered, “It’s okay.”

Seonghwa cleared his throat. “May I kiss you?”

“Please.”

A pair of soft and plush lips pressed against yours and a tidal wave whirled in your stomach, flipping all of your senses into overdrive. The hand that was originally cupping your chin maneuvered to cradle your cheek as his other hand fell on the cramped space between your and his thighs. Your own fingers reached the sides of his vest to not stray with the pink haze clouding your rational thoughts. It was nice to be taken care of and follow someone else’s lead every once in a while, and Seonghwa proved he could do just that. Eager and wanting more, you pushed against him and Seonghwa took it as a sign to gently swap his tongue against your bottom lip, practically begging to be let in and who were you to deny him entry?  A rich, romantic and soothing fragrance surrounded you as the kiss deepened and your fingers slid up his sides, and gently wrapped around his neck. The need to run them through his hair grew alongside the desire bubbling in your abdomen, but you refused to mess up his neat waves. 

As you parted to relieve your burning lungs, the sight surrounding the bench stole the breath right out of your throat. Multiple thorny stems protruded from the ground and created a curving wall around your bench, leaving a slim opening facing the pond. White, red, yellow and pink petals bloomed through the thousand green leaves shielding you from the outside world. It was magical, something you’d only see in movies or flower gardens where the caretakers would trim and bend the bushes until they fit their vision. You gingerly extended your hand and traced the outline of a pink rose. They were fully grown and unraveled, the kind people would kill to get their hands on for their partners on Valentine’s Day. 

“Why…?”

You were so immersed in the flowers to notice Seonghwa shrinking into himself. Shoulders hunched up to his chin, fingers fiddling in his lap and bottom lip caught between his teeth. The powers of a fairy were both a blessing and a curse for different reasons. Garden fairies could manipulate greenery to create art deserving of a place in the Louvre. Until they were fully in control of those powers, their emotions dictated their actions, often leading to chaos like a cocoon of roses mirroring Seonghwa’s warm heart.

“Did you do this?”

Seonghwa was snapped out of his embarrassed trance and sheepishly smiled. His hand came up to rub the back of his neck despite not feeling an itch and then wiped it obnoxiously off his thigh. There was no point in hiding the truth. A bush didn’t just sprout overnight let alone in a matter of seconds, at least not without the help of a fairy. Seonghwa was still reluctant to admit the truth. What person would want to hear about their soulmate becoming overwhelmed by emotions to the point where they lose the reins of their powers? There was nothing attractive or admirable about that. Not at Seonghwa’s grown age! 

As much as he wanted to play it off and play stupid. Answering with a simple shrug of his shoulders and feigning a look of surprise. Seonghwa was a worse liar than someone who couldn’t control their powers, the truth spilling out from him despite his best efforts. “...Maybe?”

The garden fairy had yet to gauge your reaction. He wished to spare the flustered image of you in his mind for just a little while longer before ruining it forever with the expected disappointment souring your features. 

“Red for love and passion…” Your voice rang out like a wind chime and Seonghwa  slowly looked up at you who had your eyes set on the beautiful flowers. “Yellow for warmth and friendship. Pink for joy and appreciation, and white for new beginnings.”

“You know the meaning behind them,” Seonghwa whispered in awe. 

A soft smile spread across your face. “It would be embarrassing if I didn’t considering my best friend is a garden fairy.”

There was a mutual understanding not to prance over the obvious mishap and Seonghwa released a blow of relief as you didn’t laugh at him and the slip of control over his abilities. The silence returned with a comforting undertone, soft and steady, allowing space for peace to settle in. Neither you nor Seonghwa tensed or fidgeted at the lack of conversation and simply basked in each other’s presence. The fear and sheer anxiety of meeting your soulmate was for nothing as Seonghwa proved to be more tender than a flower. The flame burning inside of you flickered brighter with each gentle word he spoke and you hoped, with every ounce of your being, that he felt the same, that he too was drawn to this connection as deeply as you were. 

“The flowers are for you.” Seonghwa was the first to interrupt the silence. Perhaps the soulmate connection ran deeper than a simple countdown leading up to the moment you met.

“Huh?”

“The roses. They are for you. It’s what I felt– What I feel when I’m with you.”

“Oh!”

He let out a sound something between a huff and chuckle at your sudden rigid position while you begged for your face to cool off.

“Would it be wrong of me to assume you feel the same?”

“Not at all.” You bit the inside of your lip and tapped your fingers along your thigh. “Would it be wrong of me to say I really like you?”

Seonghwa held your gaze. The warmth of his smile seeping into your bones and spreading throughout your already heated body. He gently dropped his hand on the wooden surface with the palm facing the clear sky. Cautious yet daring, your finger extended from your remaining fingers as if testing the waters. It grazed the soft skin of his palm and it was the brief contact you needed to slide your hand in his, fingers intertwining and giving each other comforting squeezes.

“Not at all,” he breathed out, his thumb running along the side of yours.

Bonus: 

“No, Jongho, you don’t understand. I told her I didn’t want to see her if she wasn't coming back with her soulmate. It’s been hours since then! What if she’s been kidnapped? Or murdered? Or sold overseas?!”

In the time you were enjoying the company of your newfound soulmate — showing Seonghwa the town where bits and pieces of your childhood were sprinkled in the streets, coffee shops, book shops, restaurants, playgrounds — Yeosang was slowly losing his mind in the safety of his flower shop, prancing back and forth as his mind theorized a hundred different ways harm could come your way. Jongho helplessly watched his soulmate get his daily steps in. The werewolf, despite being younger than the fairy, was quite calm about the whole ordeal. It was more likely that your phone had died than for your soulmate to kidnap and take you to another country in a span of three hours. 

“Yeosang, love, I need you to calm down–”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Jongho!”

The werewolf threw his hands up in surrender. It wasn’t everyday the calm and collected garden fairy who followed strangers home to see their puppies and kittens lashed out on others, especially not his own soulmate. 

“Whoa, can we go back to using our inner voices, please?”

That seemed to snap Yeosang out of his frustrated stupor. He sighed and ran a hand through his multicolored hair. “Sorry, Jjong. I’m just worried for her.”

“I get that, but working yourself up over nothing won’t help. I mean, you haven’t even tried calling her…”

“That’s because I don’t want to interrupt if everything’s going alright! That would just be embarrassing for us both!”

As Jongho parted his lips to reassure his boyfriend that there was nothing embarrassing about checking on his best friend to see if she was alive, the door of the flower shop opened. The person Yeosang had been prematurely growing gray hairs over waltzed in with a bright smile on her face and a handsome man in tow. Yeosang’s jaw went slack and Jongho leaned back in shock, certainly not expecting you to heed Yeosang’s threat and bring your soulmate to his very shop. 

You cleared your throat, “Yeosang, Jongho. This is Seonghwa, my soulmate. Seonghwa, this is my best friend Yeosang and his soulmate Jongho.”

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2025. All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed.

[etfrin]

⤷❝Don't Blame Me, Love Made Me Crazy | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: NSFW | Snow is his own warning, blood play , knife play, mentions of killing, somnophilia, pussy spanking, impact play (Coryo spanks your ass like twice), riding, mating press, overstimulation if you squint, squirting, dub-con if you squint, fucked up lovesick! reader, fucked up dark! Snow, predator/prey dynamics if you squint, degradation, pinv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), creampie | lmk if I forgot anything

⇢☾Pairing: Ghostface! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

⇢☾Summary: You're trying to outrun Ghostface, you fail and find out that he's your bestie and your love Coriolanus Snow, smut ensues despite the circumstances

⇢☾A/N: DARK CONTENT AHEAD, read this ast your own risk, do not romanticize!

Ps: i love this, depending on the response/feedback I get, I might write more Ghostface! Coryo

< masterlist > < bc: @cafekitsune > < tag list >

‘Run, run, run’, your mind kept thinking, as the burn of pushing past the wind and all the halls made your legs go weak. You wanted to tear your ears off so you could mute all the screams that were echoing.

You didn't want to die. Fuck it. You're not gonna die.

One of the two Ghostfaces was chasing you, fast but slower than you. Something in your mind told you that they were playing with you. You were just a prey and the predator was being merciful by letting you live for the last time.

Alarms set off in your mind as you dash into an empty classroom, hoping that he will walk past it. You hide behind the door, praying to whoever is above for safety. Nobody listened.

The door to the classroom was opened and you knew it in your bones that you were doomed. That you had to fight, even if you're terrible at it. The creaking sound of the door sent shivers down your spine, your mind going haywire as heavy steps echoed into the empty.

“You can come out, baby,” he said, as he walked in without closing the door, “otherwise you won't get any kindness from me, bird.” The nicknames felt familiar to you but you pay it no mind. As he walks further into the classroom, you decide to slowly get out of your hiding spot to walk out of the door and take a run from it.

You can do it, can't you?

The answer was a no because even when you managed to take a step outside of the classroom, you were yanked back in, and thrown to the floor. The infamous Ghostface is in front of you with a shiny knife that makes your heart go wild but not in the right way. Fear and adrenaline fill your veins as you look around for any sort of weapon but to no avail.

“Don't you fucking come closer,” you snarl at them. “And what are you gonna do if I do, princess? I don't see a prince charming to protect you here,” he mocks you as he kneels, his hand playing around the with the knife in a rather enticing manner. Your eyes pinned on how he played with the knife around, your breath hitching as you could imagine it carving into your skin not to kill you but. . .

You possibly couldn't blame yourself for your thoughts. You knew you had kinks, but you never had a chance to indulge. Your exes were vanilla and you respected that, you never trusted anyone enough to indulge in your fantasies. Except for one person though by accident, he should be safe in his apartment right now.

Coryo. Coryo was safe, he wasn't aware the friend group was going to break into the academy. Coryo had to be safe. Even if you die at the hands of this stranger tonight, Coryo should be fine. He was never part of the main crew after all. His name from the elitists fell due to his wealth being nonexistent, all that existed in Snow was him and his wit. So there's no possible reason for him to be targeted. Coriolanus was safe.

“Cat caught your tongue, doll?” The masked man taunts you, the voice modulator, his knife inching towards your cheek, the blunt side pressing onto your skin. “Fuck off,” you spit out, trying to crawl away from him but you had no strength left. No fight left in you. Your legs hurt, you can't think, and the rest of your friends are fighting or worse dead.

Tears begin to fill your eyes as you begin to think about them. Last you saw Sajanus, he was getting stabbed, Lucy had run, and Tigris… She was one of the killers, you couldn't wrap your head around that. You looked at Ghostface, a pathetic part of wanting to plead for your life but your ego won out. You spit onto their mask. “Fuck you!” you yelled at them.

A growl sounding feral even through the voice modulator could be heard. Ghostface grabs your jaw with his free hand, “You should know better than to do that, pet,” he smirks. He flipped the knife, the sharp end now digging into your skin, cutting up the layer of the cheek so beads of blood would drag themselves onto the knife.

A small whine left you, but it wasn't out of pain. Your body was readily confusing danger with your desires and there's nothing your mind could do about it. Ghostface lets out a chuckle, “Freaky bitch.” His hand was still grabbing your jaw, your legs pushed down by the weight of his body, there was no way for you to fight (you didn't want to) as he used his knife to pop the buttons of your shirt one by one. Your skin, every inch of your torso and chest was exposed to him.

This should have filled ice in your veins, but fire burned instead, you should have yelled at him to stop, plead, anything instead you tried to nip the urge of rubbing your thighs together. Fuck, this turned you on to no end. The thrill. The danger. You were so tired of being good. So what if you end up dead, at least you'll get a good fuck out of this.

His knife begins to cut fine lines onto your skin, near your bra, dragging along the underside of your clothed breast. Red begins to paint across your skin. “Fuck,” you whispered when the knife dug too deeply near your left hip, a long cut that felt like he was carving out a letter. You take multiple deep breaths, trying to keep the tears at the edge. “Stop!” you whispered, “Just kill me, stop.” The murderer didn't reply.

Something felt eerily familiar about him, the way something was carved onto your skin. You sit up a bit, and he doesn't stop you and your eyes fall to the cut he had finished on your hip. A ‘C’. No, no, no, no.

“Coryo,” you groan, in pain and shock. Tigris being one of the killers, you suppose it made sense. But what assured you was the fact Snow was always marking you up, a finger tracing the letters of his name onto your hand, or the tip of a pen inking you with his initials onto your skin. This time he did it with a knife, something so permanent. It was such a Coryo thing to do.

A soft distorted laugh comes out through the mask before his hand lifts it. Coriolanus Snow with his manic blue eyes and a feral grin, his blonde locks disheveled for once greeted you. “You're going to enjoy this, doll,”

“You- I-” You couldn't form a single thought, how could you? Your Coryo (both of you were nothing, both of you were something. So close to being with each other forever but too afraid to jump that hill) was a murderer, he was going to kill you. A boy whom you watched for years grow up to be a man despite the circumstances, whom you had shared your first kiss with and who was your first love and the one who got away because of your cowardice was going to kill you. You were going to die by his hands. Poets would make it seem romantic, dying at the hands of your love seems like a mercy.

It wasn't.

Anybody but him, you didn't want your love to be tainted with this. You didn't want your blood to be on his hands, not on your Snow. “Anyone but you,” you whispered, “Coryo, no!” You flinch away when he leans in and a glare forms in his eyes. “I won't hurt you, doll. You're one of the good ones. You're my pet,” he whispered, his knife pressing onto the bleeding wound of your skin. “I have trained you so well after all,” he smirks.

“What- what do you mean?” You gasp out, your mind on the edge of your sanity. “You aren't afraid, you aren't screaming, you aren't crying and whining like a bitch like those other motherfuckers, are you?” He grins, “It's because your body knows that I won't hurt you. I have trained you to feel safe around me. I am your savior, doll.” He leans in closer, his hot breath hitting your lips with his every word, “You enjoyed the run. You enjoyed the chase. You don't care about dying, you want to be fucked. You didn't know it was me but I bet your slutty cunt is soaking through those panties anyway."

“Am I lying?” He whispered, “Tell me it's a lie, tell me you aren't wet, that you weren't enjoying this and I'll leave.” You couldn't bring yourself to lie, not when you were lost in those eyes. Is this why people say love ends you? It was a weapon that Coryo knew he held, an invisible dragger against your throat. “I-” You wanted to lie, you wanted too, you swear.

Instead, you close the pathetic excuse of a gap between his lips and yours. Your hands grab at his robe, pulling him in as you kiss feverishly. Like he was the air itself, you couldn't breathe, not when both your lips and your tongues meet. The moan you let out of the contact made you realize you had nothing left to yourself. Your mind, your soul, and your marked body belonged to him. The price for falling for the devil. A price you gladly paid.

He breaks the kiss with a gasp, his face in a boyish grin you have seen from childhood. “I knew it. You're mine, dove. Mine.” With that he licks a strip of nearly dried blood from your cheek, dragging his tongue onto your cut and letting out a moan from the taste of iron onto his tongue. Your taste. You whimper as he continues to lav at the blood covering your face, cleaning you up like a dog would.

His cold hands find their way to your back, playing with your bra clasp before finally freeing your breasts from their confines. He pulls back, throwing the knife far away from you both (did it matter? He would win in a fight anyway). His palms knead your breasts, as his needy lips keep pressing against yours.

“Is this real?” He asked, breathless. His fingers roll your nipples until they harden under his touch. You moan in response as your nipples keep getting teased, a sharp gasp leaves as he pinches the nipples hard. “Real or not real?”

“Real,” you whimper, “Real. Real. Real. Real. Coryo, I love you!” He lets out a growl as he hears your confession, his attention towards your breasts getting rougher as he drags his tongue across the canvas of your skin, his teeth marking you up wherever they pleased.

“Of course, you do, baby. I made it so,” he whispered, when his mouth meets your taut nipple, his lips wrapping themselves around the bud to suck as one of his hands was on your back and his opposite hand giving your breast rougher attention. Meanwhile, your hands had found their way into his robes, sliding them off so his shirt and his pants were in view. Your fingers immediately begin to unbutton his shirt to the best of their abilities, your mind not sure whether to focus on the task or the delicious heat of his mouth around your sensitive nub.

Coryo deciding to have mercy (he was sick of your uncoordinated hands, how pathetic you were) took it upon himself to undress while being on task. His lips left to find a home in the cuts he made all over his chest, the small cuts stinging from his licks. But the pain was delicious, could it be considered pain at all with how much you loved it? You suppose not. This was a pleasure, all pleasure given to you by a monster.

His toned muscles came into your view, your hands flying to his shoulder, nails digging into his shoulders causing him to hiss, he was down to your hips now. Near your mark, his initial carved so beautifully against your skin. He had to admire it, he had no choice but to.

“Such a pretty doll. My canvas, I can't wait to have you all to myself, am gonna mark you so nice,” his eyes meet yours. “You have no choice but to let me.”

He pressed a kiss to the deep cut, the blood from it made a mess on the floor. You suspected the only reason you were conscious was because of adrenaline alone. His lips are red with your blood pressed onto your lips, making you taste yourself. You moan, letting yourself be familiarized with the taste for the future.

Your hands find solace in his blonde locks as his hands unbutton your pants. “Let's see how slutty my pet is,” he whispered. He slides off your pants and underwear in one go, his fingers pressing into your heat, gathering the arousal onto his fingertips. He shakes his head, looking displeased (he was more than pleased inside, don't worry), “What a whore.” He pulls his fingers back and strings of your arousal follow. Then smack, smack, smack. Three slaps were delivered to your pussy making you jolt and moan wantonly. Your eyes widen and your cunt begins to ache, reddening from his actions, your clit puffing up and twitching, needing more.

“Please,” you plead, your voice weak, your vision blurry, you need to feel him inside before you black out. “Please, please, Coryo, baby,” you begin to babble, your mind a mess. You feel a kiss on your forehead. “Let go, dove,” he whispered, “I'm gonna keep you safe.”

You wanted to laugh at his words. His actions were the opposite of safe. It was anything but. However, your body had relaxed in his hold, your mind blanking out.

Your mind comes back to reality after hours. You open your eyes to meet pitch black, your body not on the hard cold floor of the academy classroom but on something soft. A bed. “Coryo,” you called, your voice filled with fear.

“Coryo,” you whispered again, turning your body to meet with another warm body. Coryo.

You let out a sigh of relief, and the pain of the incident now settled into your bones, like a distant buzz. You nuzzle into Coriolanus' chest, one of your arms around him. You realize both of you were naked. Completely utterly bare, skin on skin. Your breath hitches, feeling the heat coursing through your body again as you feel his soft cock onto your thigh, so fucking close to your cunt.

You bite your lip in thought, you want to know what happened after you lost consciousness. Were all your friends dead? Did they escape? Did they find out? You also wanted his cock, impatient because you waited for years, and despite the circumstances you knew when to seize opportunities.

Coryo was a heavy sleeper, it was like he slept with the weight of everything on his shoulder. Weight of his world at least. Plus he would like a treat, right? A man as insane as he is, he wouldn't mind your actions even if it solidifies his opinion of you being an whore for him.

Your fingers trace his chest, your palm feeling his heartbeat, your heavy breaths and his quiet ones fill the room. You take your palm and lick it, lubricating it before you grip his length. Your strokes were hesitant, your mind afraid that he would break up and he would be mad. But you feel his cock harden and you love it. You fucking love it. Your pussy gets wet as time goes by and his cock completely hardens.

You take his cockhead and slowly begin to slide it against your pussy lips. A soft moan escapes you as the tip nudges your sensitive clit. Your slick was coated all over his length as you kept grinding against his cock. And soon enough after a particular nudge, his cockhead gets caught in your entrance. It could have easily been pushed away and you could have continued with your actions. But you are pathetically needy and this was not enough.

A whimper escapes your lips as you begin to guide your hips forward to let the cock inside your cunt, stretching out your walls perfectly. You let out a gasp when he was fully in. His cock twitching inside of you. Now was the hard part, fucking yourself onto his cock without him waking up. Impossible but you didn't care at the moment.

You slowly started to roll your hips, taking his length deep inside of you, your walls squeezing around him. You let out soft moans, trying your best to control the animalistic need to ride his cock. Time passes and this continues, the ache of your cunt not fading but getting worse and worse with the need to cum. The pace wasn't enough, no matter how many ways you rubbed your clit raw wasn't enough.

Deciding to play with the devil, you pushed Coryo's sleeping body onto his back, your pussy holding onto his cock as you straddle him. The angle made it so his cockhead kissed your g-spot making you gasp as stars flood your vision, but it didn't trigger your orgasm, your walls oversensitive but throbbing to cum, cum, cum.

You wanted to wake up Snow, wanted him to fuck you, use you, and love you. But you decided against it as you begin to grind your hips, your swollen clit pressing onto his groomed pubic hair, the sensation making you bite your lower lip to stop a loud moan that would surely wake him up.

You couldn't keep up with this long, you wanted to cum, wanted to be filled with his cum as well. You begin to go faster, letting all sense of control out of the window as you slam down his cock again and again, letting his tip nearly breach your cervix.

Smack.

The sound of his hand meeting the meat of your ass freezes you. The area victim of his hit was reddening. “Why did you stop?” He voices, his tone filled with lust “Ride me, bitch. How needy were you that you couldn't wait, huh? Disgusting, truly. I need to train you better, pet.”

An apology remains to be said as his hand slaps your ass again. “Fuck yourself on me, doll,” he grunts, his tone reeking of impatiently. “Co-coryo,” you whine, your hips finding their rhythm but this time with Coriolanus thrusting upwards into your cunt, disrupting your pace. But neither of you cared, both of your actions borderlining to those of mating animals under a full moon.

His hands hold you down, gripping your hips tightly with his fingers printing onto your skin. It puts pressure on your previous wound, making you cry out and tighten your pussy around him reflexively. You wonder if your wound began to bleed again because the smell of blood began to stink in the air along with the distinct smell of sex.

Your thoughts were proven correct as one of his hands left your hip in favor of licking his palm on which your wound had bled. His thrusts turn frantic as the taste of iron blooms onto his tongue. “Fuck, fuck, Coryo!” You begin to moan, louder and louder as heat begins to coil up on your lower tummy. Your gummy walls get slicker and slicker as your sensitive nerves go overdrive with his thrusts.

He lets out a groan, and in a flash, you are on your back onto the mattress, pressed into it as his mouth latches onto your jaw. His hips rutted into you without a care. “You taste so fucking delicious, I bet your cunt tastes wonderous too, princess,” he moans as his teeth begin to bite into the flesh of your neck, his erratic pace bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Your hands find themselves on his back, your nails scratching his skin and forming red lines which sting but he loves it so much. So fucking much. His hands pushed your legs up, pressing your knees onto your chest. He has you folded onto a mating press position. His cock reaching impossible depths inside of you.

A particular thrust of his made his cock fuck into your cervix, it makes you scream from the pleasure and pain of all, your body finally letting go. Your cunt spasming, milking his cock for what it's worth as clear liquid squirted out of you, covering Coryo who merely groans from it all.

He fucks you through your orgasm, his cock hitting all the right angles and as your pussy tightens around his cock just right. He cums, deep and nice into your womb. He continues to roll his hips into you, his pace slowing down as he fucks his hot, thick cum into you.

He lets out a shuddering breath as he pulls out and lays beside you. Both of catching your breaths. He breaks the silence first.

“I am going to tell you everything, doll but let me clean up the wound first.”

Current tag list: @stelleduarte @nowitsmissing @lifeonawhim @le-lena @motley-baby @champomiel @slytherinholland @randomstuff2040 @justacaliforniandreamer @emmalinemalfoy @hyuk4s @theamuz @watercolorskyy @littlebiwitchsworld @eir964 @skywalker1dream @darkangelkathiecookiesmith @ben-has-arrived @bucksdonkey @xyzstar @ellie-luvsfics @sunny-deary @daughter1of2anita3dearly @eir964 @nowsyhozey @ayaya-aa @serving-targaryen-realness @hansbasement @louweasleymalfoy @lettersandwhiteroses @arzua10 @wotcherpeak @ever8ea @dollfacedalls

[zolass]

Detectives Attraction Ch. 02 Top Male Reader x Male Yandere Harem

Decided to finish chapter 2 as well, because I'm not sure how much energy I'll have tomorrow. I hope that it doesn't feel rushed.

content warnings: a gun and breaking in. 1.2k words

Hours passed since M/n sat down and looked over the case files again, his once styled H/c hair was now disheveled by the many times he had run his hand through it in annoyance and frustration. He pinched the bridge of his nose as tiredness settled in, but he can’t possibly stop now.

E/c eyes glanced at the empty glass, but he couldn’t drink more of it and keep going– the risk of overlooking important details was not worth it. At least not for M/n if he wanted to catch these people.

He stood up and stalked into the kitchen, deciding on something that would keep his stomach satisfied for a while. Just as M/n got everything he needed, he was interrupted by a ringtone from his phone, which he grabbed from his back pocket. The screen was lit up with a call of an unknown number, which made M/N frown, but he still picked it up, the only sound coming through was the typing of a keyboard. 

The person was typing fast, M/n noticed. He leaned against the kitchen counter, waiting if the other person would speak first, and give him a hint of who they were. But nothing, the typing continued as if the call wasn’t started by the other person. “Hello?” M/n spoke up, and suddenly the typing slowed down, yet didn’t stop. “Mr. Howard– it’s nice to finally be talking to you myself– usually Adrian–” the person on the other end stopped themselves, a giggle followed– it was someone M/n didn’t know, “Oops– slip of a tongue~ anyways usually I get informed if someone snoops around–” there was a short pause, “I have to say it’s really admirable how– organized you are with the files but it’s not an option to share it– so I’ll take what’s rightfully not yours to share,” suddenly a gut wrenching feeling churned inside of M/n’s stomach.

With the phone at his ears, he took precise steps towards his study, grabbing the gun that hung snug in its holster by his pants. Standing out of view of the inside of his office, he tried to listen to any anomalies in his study. The typing that never ceased penetrated his ear, just as M/n heard a faint “Now,” did he push the half open door, further open with his arms raised and loaded gun in a tight grip, ready to shoot. 

Yet all he saw was that his desk was a sudden mess with some papers drenched in liquor, but his eyes fell on the shadow that made its way out of his, now open, window. “Fuck–” M/N cursed as he dashed to the window, but as he leaned out of it the figure was already at the ground running into the next best alley.

“Thanks for the cooperation– hope to talk to you again, so don’t make it easy or boring~” the voice from the other side chirped, before the call was cut off. Hot boiling anger surged through M/N’s veins, his grip tightened around the gun before he grabbed the phone from his pocket in which he shoved it before going in his study. The screen was black, making him grind his teeth trying not to let the anger take over. 

Shoving the phone back into his back pocket, M/n turned around and walked over to the mahogany desk, and as his eyes fell on it the anger seemed to take new heights. Papers were missing, not only from his newest case but also one of the drawers was open in which he kept the case files of one specific group, a mafia that had their fingers dipped into a lot of crimes. 

M/n doesn’t have the chance to link any of the crimes together and back to the mafia, but he– hell everyone knew that there were multiple corrupted groups out there fighting for power, to rule. But with the corruption even in his own area of work, it was basically impossible with everyone paid to shut up– or made to never speak.

But exactly those case files were gone.

Gritting his teeth, the anger boiled over. With a swift motion he grabbed the empty glass bottle, and in the same heartbeat the sound of shattering glass was heard as M/N threw the bottle against the wall. His hands were balled into fists as he stared at the wall furious, before his attention landed back on the table in hopes of finding anything that was still useful for him and the case. 

Finding absolutely nothing useful, as the other papers were drenched in alcohol where basic information. Closing his eyes, M/n took a few deep breaths, until he remembered that one specific name was said on call– Adrian. 

The next morning, M/n parked his car in front of the large high end tower, which belonged to none other than Adrian Sinclair. Getting out, closing the door rather harshly– which he might regret later– M/n stepped foot into the building, making his way quickly to the front desk, there sat a woman who typed away at the keyboard, “Is Mr. Sinclair in the building today?” he asked. 

With the focus of the woman now on him, “He is, but you need an appointment– hey!” M/n only listened so far, before he stalked over to the elevators, getting in one that was about to close, as he heard hasty footsteps behind him. “Stop!” the woman screeched, but before she reached the elevator it closed. 

Turning around, M/n only raised an eyebrow as he saw the two people occupying the elevator beside him, eyeing him.

Adrian looked up as the doors to his office were pushed open with force, he was about to say something about how he could simply fire whoever thought they could just burst into his office, but the words got stuck in his throat as the one person– man walked in with whom he didn't mind. 

“M/n what an honor to see you so soon–” Adrian spoke, but as he saw the look on the man’s face he shut up, but the excitement swirled in his stomach. M/n slammed his hands on the desk, that stood between them leaning forward, e/c eyes stared into the green ones of the lawyer. “Already so desperate to send someone to break into my home, to steal case files?” M/n asked, voice laced with barely contained rage.

Adrian frowned at those words, “What do you mean?” “I mean that you first let some random call me to distract me– while another clown breaks into my office– god don’t act fucking stupid, he literally brought up your name,” his voice was surprisingly held low, as his body trembled with tension. 

“I know you have a lot of shit under your shoes– I wouldn’t be surprised if you hired someone to do this–” Adrian suddenly stood up, “Are you okay?” he suddenly asked and for a moment threw the other off. M/N licked his lips, as he let out a scoff, “Oh now you’re worried?” “I didn’t hire anyone– I swear,” there was a tension between them, but not one Adrian would’ve liked.

“Forget it,” with those words turned M/n on his heel and walked back out, while Adrian stood there, quite dumbfounded by what occurred just now, before he gritted his teeth and sat back down, “Seems like I have more to do, today.”

[fastfists]

"...I will take ah finger."

[ponderingmoonlight]

oooo sanemi request - idea - you're training to be a new haishra and are very very very very nice to everyone, queue tragic af backstory and you believe in kindness IDK ok, cruelty made sure you kept your heart soft, but when you are FIGHTING there is nothing but darkness what happens when that trance doesn't leave you for a while & to snap out of it only sanemi is enough?

It's the tiniest bit different from what you requested, but I hope you like it anyway! Also, thank you so much for your cover suggestions 🤍

Sanemi Shinazugawa pulling you out of your trance with his own methods

Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: What a kind and tender soul you are, loved by everyone around you. Until you get into a fight. Until the only person who is able to pull you back to reality is the wind hashira coming to safe you.

Warnings: average sanemi language, fluff fluff fluff, some spelling errors since I wasn't able to finish proofreading

„Me telling him? Are you actually insane? You’re the one Kocho-san sent”

“But you came with me. You go tell him!”

“Ain’t no way!”

“Telling me what?”

Their blood freezes in their veins instantly. Over and over, the wind hashira made it all too clear that they aren’t allowed to let you alone. Never. Not on a mission, not when there’s a high risk of you losing yourself. Because once you’re gone, there’s only one person who’s able to pull you back into reality.

“Well…(y/n)-sama…She…”

They don’t even have to finish this sentence for Sanemi to know exactly what’s going on. Are you okay? Are you facing some strong demons at the moment? His heart overfills with rage and anxiety to the point where he can’t take it anymore.

“Didn’t I tell you fools every single fucking time to look out of her? Useless brats. Show me where she is”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

It takes all his inner strength to not slam them into a tree nearby. Those fucking jerks had one job. That’s why he always insists on coming with you, because what if you lose yourself again with no way out but him? What if he’s too far away to drag you into safety in time?

“Hurry the fuck up!”

“Please don’t worry about me all the time, Sanemi. I can’t stand the thought of you being distressed because of me.”

Yeah, to hell with your angelic voice and your kind eyes. Fuck your gorgeous appearance, your uniform that makes you look like an angel walking on earth. You, a true sweetheart who is loved by everyone without any exceptions. And him, who built a wall around his heart only you were able to overcome.

But when you fight against demons, that tender self of yours vanishes into thin air. The second death and fright surround you, you turn into a serial killer who doesn’t show any mercy. Especially towards demons, but when a human comes into your way…

Sanemi picks up his pace in an instant. He can’t allow something like that to happen, he can’t stand that look of deep sorrow written on your face the second you realized what you’ve done in your trance. He just has to make sure this fight ends on time, that he’s able to pull you back into reality like he always does.

He and only him. Not even Shinobu is able to reach your mind when you lose yourself. In fact, no one but Sanemi is. Why on earth him? Out of all people you could trust this much, you somehow chose him. Oh, he definitely doesn’t deserve any of the feelings you hold for him, he doesn’t deserve you even looking his way. After all, everyone sees nothing but a menace in him with even his little brother fearing him to the core.

“(y/n)…s-sama?”

His blood freezes in an instant. There you stand with your arm buried in the chest of the demon lying to your feet and your eyes gleaming bloody red. How long did you fight already? How long has this been going on without him knowing?

“Get away from here before she rips your heads off”, the bars behind him.

You don’t speak, furious orbs now fixated on Sanemi. In the split of a second you dash towards him, ready to slice his throat open with your bare fingernails. Just in time he manages to get a hold of your wrist and push you into the ground, his whole bodyweight now lying on top of you.

“(y/n)”, he mutters softly.

A violent scream escapes your lips, limbs desperately fighting to get away from him. Oh, how much Sanemi hates to see you in that state. Shinobu was never able to find out why you turned into this when facing danger. Despite your tender and warm personality, despite your remarkable sword skills and technique, you lose control over your own mind and body when the situation around you gets too heated.

None of that matters now. Sanemi grabs your body from behind and pulls you into his lap while placing gentle kisses on your neck.

“It’s fine, (y/n). Just come back to me. Those demon are gone, got it?”

The shell of your body still fights for freedom, still doesn’t accept to be held by him.

“Come back, (y/n). I’m here. Everything’s fine.”

Is that…Sanemi talking to you? Your vision is foggy, eyes roaming around what looks like a dark forest. Your whole body is covered in ice cold sweat, your heart hammers so roughly against your ribcage that you feel like fainting any given minute.

It happened again.

“Sanemi”, you breathe his name into the night while allowing yourself to collapse against his chest.

You lost yourself again. Did you hurt someone? Why were you here? How-

“Don’t worry, you’re alright.”

“And the-“

“No one got hurt”, he reassures you in an instant.

“I…lost again”, you mumble defeated.

You’re able to control every single fiber in your body, can wield a sword so delicately that Ubayishiki-sama even chose you to join the circle of pillars. But still, you lose yourself when facing a heated fight.

“Don’t worry too much, nothing happened and I was home”, Sanemi mutters into your hair.

“Thank you for coming. And…for everything else. I’m sorry for making such a mess over and over. You must-”

“Nah, I don’t wanna hear you putting yourself down again, (y/n). You’re good, okay? I don’t mind looking after you at all, to be honest.”

You don’t know what came over you. Is it the anger, the frustration over your own disability? You can’t help but swing around, arms wrapped around Sanemi’s larger frame while you allow your head to rest against his steady heartbeat.

“It’s just so frustrating. From one second to the other, I lose the power over my own body. If it wasn’t for you, who know what I’d do to innocent people around. I’m a weapon, Sanemi. To even be considered a hashira-“

“Stop talking nonsense”, he interrupts you gently, his hand pulling your chin up to force you to look at him.

“You’re wiping the floor with our asses in training. Most of us hashira can’t stand a chance against you. You are pure and kind, loved by everyone. We don’t give a single shit about that happening from time to time. And like I said, I’m always here to pull you back into reality.”

“You’re my greatest treasure, Sanemi”, you mutter.

Tears immediately shoot in your eyes, take away that gorgeous sight in front of you. Truth is, you love Sanemi Shinazugawa with all your heart. Since he first barked at you, since you sat underneath a tree the whole night and talked about all the things both of you been through, since he put you out of your episode for the first time. Oh, how much you adore that man.

“Don’t talk nonsense, (y/n). I’m worse than everyone else.”

His heart stings violently when nothing but the truth leaves his mouth. He doesn’t deserve your praise, let alone your glossy orbs staring up at him. Fuck, he shouldn’t even put his arms around you like that. Not when you’re an angel while he’s a no one. Not when you could have anybody else, a man who deserves your kind words, to see your lovely figure every morning after waking up.

“I don’t care about others. You’re the one that I love, Sanemi. Because you make me feel good about myself, because you bring me back to reality when I can’t return on my own. You’re rough, you’re suborn and you can be kind of mean-“

“Only because some of these jerks deserve it”, he grumbles.

“But apart from that, you are a kind and loving man. I can’t help but search for you in a crowd of people, I am forced to ask myself every time what you’d do in my place. You’re constantly on my mind. Your words, your skills, your voice. Just…you. I can’t get enough of you.”

“Stop making fun of me…”

Fuck, he can feel his face heating up in an instant. This can’t be true, right? Why would a girl like you fall for someone like him? Maybe you’re still a little dizzy and can’t understand the meaning of your words, maybe-

“I’d never make fun of you.”

And then your lips meet his. So unexpectedly that his widen eyes stare at your soft features in utter disbelief, so innocently that he can’t help but wonder if he’s dreaming. You, kissing him?

“You’re gonna regret this when you’re clear again, (y/n)”, Sanemi mumbles against your lips.

“Look into my eyes. I am clear, Sanemi. In fact, I’ve never been clearer in my entire life. I love you.”

You kiss him. Over and over, your soft lips brush against yours while he can’t help but wrap his arms around you in a desperate attempt to keep you this close. His heart pounds so loud that you’re definitely able to her it, his fingertips get lost in your hair.

“I love you too, (y/n). Fuck, I love you so much”, he finally replies.

“I’m so lucky for having you.”

“You, lucky to have me? Hell, I’m the luckiest guy on earth”, Sanemi grumbles with his hand gently caressing your cheek.

This is real. Not a cruel trick his spooky brain plays on him, not one of the dreams that keep him up all night wanting more. No, your head really rests against his chest, you really have your arms wrapped around his body still, you really kissed him.

“No wonder it took you so long to come back, Shinazugawa. I didn’t know you were busy with (y/n).”

Sanemi’s heart drops to the floor, both of your head darting towards the direction of that painfully familiar voice in an instant.

“What the hell are you doing here?”, he barks at Obanai in distress.

“Everyone was worried about (y/n) so I came to check”, Obanai replies dryly.

“Oh, thank you so much for looking out for me! But don’t worry, I am fine!”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“GET LOST OR I’LL KILL YOU!”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine

[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 1

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 3.3k words

Chapter Warnings: angst, language, masterbation, references to physical abuse & references to sexual assault/non-con, injuries to reader

A/N: Thank you all so much for the overwhelming support and interest when I posted the Masterlist for this series.

Please double check the warnings there and at the top of each chapter before you read - I can’t stress this enough!

I hope you enjoy the ride! - Beth ❤️

Next Chapter

The thing about mates was, Dean didn’t want one. His knot was satisfied with the occasional one-night stand to warm his bed and the movies he kept on his laptop that warmed his hand, and he, well…he simply didn’t deserve one.

All his life, people had come and gone, whether by choice or other means, and he understood why. He was far too dangerous, a grunt - he’d learnt both time and time again. From his mother, to his father, to Bobby, the list went on. No matter the person, they always got hurt or worse, and he didn’t need that risk. Hell, he didn’t need the responsibility.

So when he encountered you during a hunt, he was, to say the least, surprised.

You were everything he could ever want in a mate, if ever he’d allow himself the pleasure. But it was what you embodied, not who you were. He didn’t know a lick about you, and even if he could get close enough to learn, he wouldn’t, because you belonged to somebody else.

The mark was clear on your scent gland. Then again, so was the soul mark that connected him to you.

His eagle eyes couldn’t miss his initials sitting right there below your clavicle. They appeared the second he’d touched you, making him thankful for all the layers he wore on the job.

He could still see them, and you, in the rearview as he drove away from where he and Sam had dropped you off. Your scent still clung to the back seat, and him, mixing your spiced cinnamon with the leather, gunpowder and motor oil he surrounded himself with.

It was wonderful until it wasn’t. The constant reminder of what he was allowing to slip through his fingers soured his already pissy mood. Yet he didn’t want you. Nope. Nuh-uh.

“You good?” Sam asked from the passenger seat, still stealing his own glances like some unclaimed omega at a bar, pre-heat. It was getting weird, and Dean chose to focus on the road ahead.

“Yeah,” he said, though his hands gripped the leather-bound wheel tighter, turning his knuckles white as the bone beneath them. He was good, and the sooner they left this shithole of a town, the better.

He cranked up the stereo, stopping only when the dash shook to the bass of Metallica’s Enter Sandman. His car, his music, his rules. It was everything he needed right now at that moment. It was all he could do to drown out the tingles and pangs that continued to churn in his gut and make his knot twitch.

The second he’d put Baby in park, he was up, out, and crossing the lot, heading straight for the dive they were staying at.

Sam’s heavy footsteps chased after him, but his were much faster. He swung open the door, marched across the tattered carpet of their twin room, and slammed the bathroom one behind him before Sam had even stepped off the gravel.

The force of the frayed timber hitting the frame unfixed decades-old dust, sending the particles nowhere but down and straight into his nose as he tried deep breathing to calm himself. It wasn’t working. Nothing was.

“Dammit.” He thumped the wall with his fist, only to inhale more crap as Sam’s voice filtered through the cracks, calling out his name. He just wouldn’t drop it.

“I’m fine,” Dean spat. Of course he wasn’t. Sam was right there on the other side when all he wanted was a moment to himself to collect his thoughts, vent his frustrations. Deal with the strain in his pants, fast becoming painful, and…fuck it. His damn instincts were actually worse than Sammy.

He fumbled with his buckle and popped the button. Moisture already pooled at his tip and when he pushed the denim down and reached in to fist himself, his fingers ran straight through the warm sticky mess with a satisfying tug.

He moaned. Cursed inwardly because of it. Sam’s funk still lingered on the other side and he was bound to notice the pleasurable sound and give him shit for it. So Dean held his breath.

"You know I saw it too," Sam said.

“So?” ‘Course he knew. It was right fucking there. The vamps had torn your clothes, leaving little to his imagination. Your neck. Your claim. The edge of your rack.

"So. She's your soulmate. It's normal to…have these feelings."

Feelings? He didn’t have feelings. “She’s nothin’ to me.” His alpha just wanted its knot wet. Just because you were his soulmate didn’t change a thing. He couldn’t have you. Any piece of wanting he had for you was superficial. Pure lust at best.

"Okay. Go have fun with your hand, then. See if I care," Sam said, right on cue.

"Shut up, bitch," Dean whispered.

And, "Jerk," came the usual retort.

He rolled his eyes.

With his palm still holding the weight of himself, he stepped over to the shower and turned the handle as far as it would go. The taps gurgled and air spat from the spouts in the metal head before the hot stream of water burst through.

His brow quirked. He wasn’t the only thing pent up around here.

His boots were the first to go, kicking them off to thud against the tiles. Followed by his socks, pants, boxers and top layers. A heavy jacket, his current favourite flannel and black undershirt to match. All discarded to reveal the thing he’d been dreading to see.

A soul mark. Your initials there, as expected, above his anti-possession tattoo.

He stepped up to the basin and the small rectangular mirror covered in rot and took a closer look. His fingers traced the surrounding skin, still holding a reddish hue.

It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t unnoticeable either, which meant yours was, too.

Had you felt them yet? Seen them? Touched them? Had your mate?

His heart thumped deep in his chest. If he had a mate and she came home with another alpha’s initials on her body, how would he react, ‘cause he doubted he’d be happy. Angry? Maybe. Calm? Definitely not.

But he couldn’t think like that. He wouldn’t do that to himself. In his mind, you were loved and well taken care of by whoever he was, just as you deserved and he didn’t.

Whatever his name, he wasn’t angry. Whatever his name, it didn’t matter. He hadn’t bothered to find out thirty minutes ago, and he never would. Allowing himself to keep only your image and your scent that lingered on his clothes.

What was wrong with him?

Under the warm pressure, he washed the blood, sweat and dirt from the hunt off his broad frame. A generous amount of Sam’s body wash helped.

He closed his eyes and brought his soap covered fingers back to pump his hardened flesh as visions of your mouth wrapped around it urged him on.

He twisted his wrist and grunted. He’d seen your hands. That unscathed skin and pretty manicured nails would look better than what he was working with. Your tongue, licking his head and shaft just the way he liked it in tandem, more so.

He’d grip his hands through your hair and encourage you to take him deeper. His tip would hit the back of your throat and you’d gag, but damn, it’d be sexy. Sweet like velvet.

Fuck.

Dean braced himself against the tiles and pumped harder. This was pathetic. He was pathetic. His knot was thickening already, and grunts escaped his mouth in time to his long and precise strokes.

His hand would grip your hips over the wall he was using. The way you’d swayed them, mesmerised him, carrying you well. Those legs they were attached to would lift nicely over his shoulders, or squeeze perfectly ‘round his waist. He’d pump into your tight, slick-lined channel either way.

You’d moan for him. In that silky smooth way you’d spoken to him when you’d thanked him for saving you. Your body would exude a comforting warmth, just as it had in his arms when he’d rescued you.

The hunt had been rough on his body, but you’d be gentle - when you wanted to be.

Your hands would explore every inch of him. They’d pinch his nipples with soft fingers, rolling and twisting, pulling when you dared. Those same manicured nails would dig into his skin and leave perfect crescent moon shapes along his back.

His own fingernails dragged down his chest to mimic his mind. Over the tiny nubs they went, moving down to dance around his navel. They teased the taut flesh of his hips and scoured back over his shoulders where he imagined you’d cling to him.

If he could reach his back, he’d trail them down his spine. He’d grab his ass with both hands if it weren’t for one being occupied with drawing out the toe curling sensations on his dick.

Your scent would take over the floral notes in the soap. Dean had experienced nothing like it. He wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by it and you. If he could help it, his favourite flannel would remain as it was, unwashed, but cherished forever.

He’d save it for the next time he allowed his rut. When his balls grew heavy and his skin flamed molten hot.

If only he could sink his knot into you just once. His hand just wasn’t the same. He knew it, and the strokes he made were now shallow and sloppy as he neared his release.

“M’mega,” Dean panted. Ears hopeful to hear you calling him Alpha in return. Just once.

His fingers fumbled over the base he’d push inside you, forcing his knot as deep as it would go. He’d groan, and you’d moan as you clamped down around him, and only when you’d taken your own pleasure would he spill into you. Thick ropes of cum would paint your walls and mix with your slick. Lock you in place. Maybe give him a pup or two.

“Fuck,” he growled, spraying the tiles before him. Pups? No, he didn’t need that, and the remainder of his load thankfully dribbled over his fingers, dripping down to the shower floor below.

It wasn’t how he wanted it to be or how he thought it would be with you, but it was the relief he needed to get him through the thought that he’d be leaving this town, and you, the next day.

When Dean stepped out of the bathroom, he didn’t even look Sam in the eye to start with.

He dumped his clothes on the bed and headed straight for the fridge in the front corner of the room where the six-pack he’d bought that morning still waited for him to take another load off.

He twisted the cap, flinging it at the trash, and took his first swig before slumping into the closest chair opposite Sam. The stale air in the cushion squeaked under his weight and he smirked at the sound. “Sammy. What’d you eat?”

“Great,” Sam muttered over the top of his computer screen. Though his tone was anything but. “You ready to talk?”

“Nope.” Dean was indignant, and he popped the end of the word in finality. He took another swig and kept the lip close to his. If he was drinking, he couldn’t be talking, and that suited him fine.

Out of sight, out of mind? Out of mouth, out of… no wait. That wasn’t quite right either, and he flicked his head and the thought away.

Sam leaned back in his chair and scratched at his long locks. “You’re wearing the same shirt you gave her.”

“Okay, mom.”

Mary was still a sore spot for both of them, but when Sam insisted on talking about this fresh one, he had it coming. Who was he? The clothes police? “She only borrowed it. It’s still clean.” Dean shrugged.

“Smells like her, too.”

And he’d had enough. He clunked the glass bottle on the table and leapt to his feet. The beer would have to wait. He suddenly needed air, and the cheap brew was shit, anyway.

He walked back to the bed and snatched his jacket, flinging it around his shoulders.

A wave of your scent lifted to his nostrils as it settled on his back, and he closed his eyes.

Dammit. It was only cinnamon. Nothing special. A simple spice. So why the hell was it affecting him? Soulmate or no, he didn’t even know you, and he scowled and turned on his heels.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, but Dean was already on his way out the door.

It slammed in response as he stepped out into the night and looked around.

Now what?

Getting away from Sammy was one thing, but there was nothing to do in this town. He’d checked out the local nightlife the first night they’d arrived, and there was none… but you.

Haha. Nope. He saw what he did there.

This was fucked. He was fucked. No. Wait. He’d jerked you out of his system.

His hands tugged the collar of his jacket up around his neck, then found their way into its pockets. They fumbled over loose change in one and Baby’s keys in the other.

She was waiting for him on the other side of the lot. Her sleek black paint beckoned him to sit behind the wheel, but he turned the other way. He wasn’t one to wallow in self pity, but he would tonight.

He sunk further into his clothes and stomped across the gravel, moving towards the road.

The air was cool and crisp in his lungs. The light from the broken street lamps dim in his eyes and barely enough to show him a way, but it was perfect. Closed shop fronts meant fewer people and fewer people meant less crap to impede your scent on his clothes.

Your scent.

Yeah, okay. He was fucking stupid. Delusional even. Wallowing like this over someone he’d just met? He didn’t know you besides what he’d read on the police report, and that was a fat load of nothing.

A mate, a job, an apartment. Parents interstate.

He wouldn’t have even met you if he and Sam hadn’t taken this case. Wouldn’t have known his soul mate was mated. Wouldn’t have realised he had one. Him. Dean Winchester? With an omega as respectable and normal as you?

Yeah. This was working well. Why not think about what you were doing right now? Imagine you with him, curled up beside him on a nice comfy couch in your cozy apartment? A bed. Your nest? Warm blankets and all that other fluffy crap omegas insisted on buying themselves. The scowl he’d been wearing since Sam had tried talking to him deepened.

He wasn’t right for you, but he was a mate just the same. Your mate. And you deserved one when Dean didn’t want you. When he couldn’t afford to have you in his life. Yet, his mind kept drawing him back in. Teasing him, taunting him, dangling the golden carrot before him. Tempting him to seek you out.

Stupid brain. He should’ve bailed the second he’d dropped you off. Collected the gear and headed straight home for the bunker, but no, he just had to jack off. He’d caved. And now he was wandering around this god forsaken town because he refused to man up and just talk to Sam about it.

He couldn’t turn back, though. Not now. He couldn’t face his baby brother, just like he couldn’t face the truth that continued to dangle just beyond his conscience’s grasp.

So he continued wandering instead because that was helpful. He’d solve everything by scuffing his boots over the gravel, cement, and the odd patch of grass that covered the ground, dragging his bow legs and pride behind him.

His feet directed him left, then right. Everything he passed looked the same.

Buildings merged. Blurred in the darkness. White paint turned grey along with everything else that wasn’t lit by storefronts and their after hours emergency lights. He had no idea where he was besides having Baby’s scent behind him, and more crappy town in front.

But then an apartment block came into view that was familiar, even late at night.

Yes. The street. That car. The park on the other side of it. Fuck. How’d he even manage it? Of all the places he could’ve gone, he’d arrived back where he’d last seen you, only he wasn’t looking at a reflection in the rearview.

And he was no longer alone, either.

Forever the hunter, Dean sniffed the air, scenting the figure he’d spotted on the bench under the tree, and straight away, cinnamon collected in his nose. But so did the metallic tang of blood.

No, no. ‘No fucking way.’ You had a couple of scratches earlier, some bruising maybe, but this was different, and Dean’s fists clenched. Nails dug into the callouses lining his palms. This was fresh and teed with the stench of an alphas knot.

‘M’mega,” his inner alpha rumbled, and dammit, he’d worked so hard to keep the son of a bitch at bay. But just as it would if Sam were injured, or anyone else in their accidental pack, the scent of your blood infuriated him, and he found his feet tumbling underneath towards you.

He raced down the sidewalk. Rushed across the road. His boots pounded over the cement and bitumen with thuds that slapped his ears and jolted his legs.

What the hell were you doing out here? You shouldn’t be out here after what had just happened to you. Most civilians knew nothing of his world and the job he did in it, but you did, and you should know better. Know the dangers of being out here alone at night and…and…crying?

A lump formed in his throat. Why were you crying? Why hadn’t you showered, for that matter? Your clothes were the same ones you’d worn earlier. He noticed that the second he pulled up in front of you.

No jacket, no sweater. Shirt torn and dirt covered, but this wasn’t you. This wasn’t the omega on the police report. She was radiant and confident, even at the rundown factory. Yet now, besides the scent and the outline of your body, you were no longer there.

Why?

“Where’s your mate, omega?” Dean cursed under his breath the second the words left his mouth. His inner alpha could gnaw away at his resolve as much as it liked, but you’d never be his.

“What’re you doing here?” Your sniffle was quick and quiet. You wiped your eyes with your sleeve and looked up.

He didn’t like the tone in your voice, nor the fear that spiked in your scent when he’d mentioned him. “I asked you first,” he said and moved closer to examine your features.

Your eye was bruised and would turn black. Your mouth, barely lit in the shadows, still shimmered with blood from the cut on your bottom lip.

You didn’t have these injuries before, and though he was seething under the skin, he did his best to rein it in. With a shaky hand, he reached for your cheek. Brushed the tear you’d missed away with his thumb, and though he knew the answer, asked, “Who did this to you?”

He clenched his jaw when you shook your head.

“No one. I fell,” you said. Sucked at lying, too, but it wasn’t the time. He needed to get you outta here before your dickbag mate showed his face.

“Do you have pups?” Minus traces of an alphas ball sack, yours was the only scent surrounding you. He hoped its ‘cause you had none.

Your eyes were sullen when you shook your head,l again, and Dean’s heart raced.

For the second time since he’d known you, he lifted you in his arms and brought your tense form to his chest. You were chilled and weary. Not the way his beautiful omega should ever be around him.

His?

Fuck.

Dean was playing a dangerous game, yet his feet moved under him, towards his motel, and further away from the park where somewhere nearby, he knew you lived with the other alpha.

He didn’t want a mate, but he was fine with taking someone else’s.

Consequences be damned.

Next Chapter

We’ll be following Dean’s perspective for some time, but we will get into the readers head eventually, too. It takes two to tango after all 😉 I hope you enjoyed chapter one!

Comments, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated. They help turn my retail working frowns upside down.

Chapter 2: Harbouring - 28/02

“The, ah, W stands for Winchester.” His boyish chuckle tethered off as your lip curled.

He should’ve known yours would suit you. Everything else about you had him enamoured, so why wouldn’t it? It was perfect, swirling through the spaces in his mind and touching his lips with a pleasurable rumble when he repeated it back to you.

“Will you let me clean you up?” When you nodded, he gave you a single one back. “Then we’re gonna need a few things first.”

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