#so I keep feeling like I need to clear my throat

[seungfl0wer]

*𝐼𝓃𝓉𝓇𝓊𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒*

Pairing: Vampire!Changbin x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Idk what to put it as but changbin breaks in but there’s consent for the deed so. Choking, hand pinning, mentions of blood, unprotected sex, Creampie, oral(f), slight manhandling. This got some plot to it to wow- as always sorry for any mistakes or missing warnings!

This was requested from my second prompt list with the prompt 3: “Look at you”. Side note I wanted to have this out earlier but I ended up getting sick :( so sorry for the late posting it!

-🖤

It was late, you were in your bed fast asleep. The window open to let the nice summer breeze in. You could hear faint sounds of crickets chirping which only put you into a deeper sleep. Your slumber was cut short however, a big hand gripping at your throat as another pushed down your other arm.

Your eyes show open staring up at the silhouette of the man above you. He pushed your head to the side giving clear way to your neck. You tried pushing him off of you his strong legs held you in place as he grabbed your other hand. Holding them both above your head now. “Get the hell off of me!” You yelled still struggling underneath him.

“Struggling so much and for what? We both know you can’t break free.” He said with a chuckle. “Just let me have my taste of you sweetheart” he spoke again his voice coming out like honey. In the midst of everything you took notice of his long fangs he had. You knew vampires were real but you had never encountered one. At least that you knew of. “I saw you at the library, from all my years on this planet I’ve never smelled anyone like you” he said almost groaning.

“You’re- you’re a vampire?” You asked sheepishly.

“That I am sweetheart. Now just relax hm? It’ll only hurt for a second. I promise to be gentle.” He said his head now nuzzling at your neck. He took a long whiff of your skin before sinking his teeth into you. You body arched at the sharp pain only to be met with a warm feeling circulating your body. He was telling the truth, it only hurt for a split second.

He lapped at your neck making you let out an embarrassing loud moan. He chuckled against your skin before his hand ran down your body. “Look at that, no panties? You must have been expecting me hmm” he said with another chuckle. Your eyes fluttered open and close at the feeling of his touch, at his words. His fingers ghostly brushed against your folds making him groan loudly. He pulled away from your neck moving himself quickly down your body. “Fuck- look at you- you’re soaked” he said with a wild smirk.

“Shut up” you said moving yourself upwards to get away from him. He quickly grabbed your legs pulling you right back down to him “uh uh no running sweetheart, let me take care of you hm?” He said diving quickly to your core giving you no time to protest. He lapped at your folds like he did to your neck this time though it was messier. His pretty nose rubbed against your clit as he ate you out tongue darting into you. Your head fell back, fuck you’ve never had anyone eat you out like this. Like it was the only way they could live, like they needed it like they needed air. Or in his case I guess- blood.

He pushed his fingers into you pumping slowly at first finding the right speed to drive you crazy. “How does every part of you just taste so- sweet? It’s addicting.” He mumbled against your skin. Your cunt clenched around his fingers you were so close already. He curled his fingers at just the right spot as he started to suck at your clit. “Let go sweetheart, cum for me” he said eyes keeping contact with yours.

He let a small nibble to your clit making your body arch, shaking as you came hard around his fingers. Just like your neck he cleaner you up making sure to not leave any of your sweet nectar behind. “You think you can give me one more? Cum on my cock like that hm? Can you do that for me sweetheart?” He asked in that same sweet honey voice.

“And- and if I say no” you breathed out.

“Then I’ll leave, but we both know you want this just as much as I do. I’ll be gentle I promise.” He said again. You took a moment to think, were you really gonna let this guy have what he wanted? You could see from the moonlight how handsome he truly was. Soft red eyes, the sharp jaw line and oh god that body. He wasn’t the stereotypical scrawny vampire no he was buff. Those big arms would be perfect little pillows.

“Well sweetheart?” He said snapping you back to reality. “What’s your decision?”

“Fine, only on one condition” you said trying to look sternly at him.

“And what may that be?” He asked scooting closer to you.

“I think I deserve- deserve cuddles after this” you said the request making him smile. Fuck- was his smile so sweet looking.

“Of course, you’ve been so good for me I wouldn’t dream of leaving you just yet” he said moving closer to kiss you but you pulled back.

“One more thing” you said.

“That would be two conditions then” he teased. “But go on”

“What’s your name?” You asked.

“Oh, how could I forget my manners I’m sorry sweetheart. I’m changbin. Seo Changbin” he said.

Your eyes went wide, the little you did know about vampires you knew that last name. They were a huge coven with many high class vampires. “Wait- seo?” You asked.

“I’ll take all your questions after sweetheart, but for now I’m going to give this sweet little cunt what she’s craving” he said running his fingers up your folds.

He got his body positioned on top of you leaning down to finally kiss you. You could hear as he did his pants hitting the floor somewhere. He moved his cock up and down your folds collecting the slick enough to glide right in. When he pushed inside of you, you were shocked. His cock was fat, the thickness stretching you out so nicely. If it wasn’t for his work earlier it probably would have hurt. When he was nestled nicely inside you he peered down at you. His eyes searching your face for any signs of discomfort.

“You- you can move” you said softly. And with that he did. He started off slow and deep. His cock taking in your warm walls as it moved.

“Fuck- everything about you is just so perfect” he groaned. His movements picked up but not before he hooked your legs. Pushing them to your chest as he made himself go as deep as possible. You could feel his heavy balls smacking against your ass as he pounded into you.

“Feel- good?” He asked breathily.

“S’good- feels so good” you moaned out. Your hands reached up to him, grabbing his strong muscular arms. His eyes looked so soft like he didn’t wanna hurt you. Like you were this precious little thing to him. He took your hand into his interlocking your fingers as he let your legs fall back to the side. He moved his body down towards you kissing you passionately.

He kissed down your jaw line and almost instinctively you moved your head, revealing your neck to him. This made something in his brain short circuit. His pupils dilated becoming a bit redder a low almost growl escaped his lips. Before you knew it, he was pounding into you faster, harder and somehow deeper. His fangs found your neck once again biting at the sensitive skin.

Everything mixed together had you seeing stars, moans and cries spilled from your lips as you felt you high fast approaching. “Cum. Cum for me sweetheart- fucking cum for me” he said in that same almost growl tone. Your body arched with one final thrust you both were cumming hard. Your body shook almost violently, with such a strong orgasm.

He moved himself back to your face kissing you lovingly before pushing some hair away.

He stared at you with so much love in his eyes it made you blush. “I broke one of my number one rules” he said with a light chuckle.

“Which was?” You asked.

“I never kiss anyone during sex, almost makes it feel to loving. But. I couldn’t help it. For you I’d give all my love” he said that honey voice returning. “I’ve watched you for a while, there was just something about you that I kept getting drawn to.” He added.

He kissed your nose softly before cradling you in his arms as if it was something he’s always done. He ran a warm bath before placing you into it. “I’m sorry for being so rough at the end, it’s just you- you bared your neck to me. That’s something that we vampires see as a sign of love and trust” he admitted.

“You’re from the seo coven right?” You asked, the question that you had wanted to from earlier.

“That I am, I’m actually one of the highest heirs. A vampire born from vampires. A pure blood if you will.” He said.

“So what you’re telling me is, a royal wanted me?” You said with a smile.

“Oh sweetheart, anyone would want you. You’re perfect in so many ways” he said stroking your hair. “Now let’s get you cleaned up shall we? I think one of your conditions was cuddling hmm?” He said kissing your forehead.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @felixleftchickennugget @0omillo0 @jellymochii @stilltrynafuckingtumble @catlove83 @delulkpopstan143 @sheerfreesia007

[moon-ttokki-x]

safe - skz x 9th member!reader

pairing: ot8!skz x 9th member!reader

summary: skz helps you out when you're struggling with burnout and bad habits.

genre: fluff, idol! au, very angsty, descriptions of eating disorders, destructive habits, mentions of blood, fainting, throwing up (nothing graphic), reader is struggling with lots of thoughts, fluffy ending. read at your own risk.

a/n: i felt like it was time to write something that hits a little closer to home... hopefully it helps some of you out. my dms are always open to talk if you need it, and if you ever feel like reader does, please know that things do get better <3 divider by @iluvrei

The lights are too bright.

You blink harshly, trying to clear your vision of tears. Glancing across, you check to see if the boys have noticed anything. They haven't, too focused on the video of the choreography. They're all dripping with sweat, hair mussed, brows furrowed in concentration, and so are you, but you just can't focus right.

Not even if you tried. Because you can't do anything right.

Minho hums and notes down a couple things before signalling to start the choreography again. You move into your position and place a hand on Jisung's shoulder as you all fan out. The music blasts and leaves high-pitched ringing noises in your ears as you dance.

A hollow pang thuds dully in your stomach but you ignore it, instead focusing on copying Hyunjin's moves and moving into the next part of the song. By this point, you've forgotten the choreography and you want nothing more than to just sit down.

Focus, Y/n. Ignore it.

But you can't, too focused on just staying upright and keeping up with the rest of the boys. Even Felix, who tends to get tired the easiest, is dancing at full power, his eyes fixed on the mirror, adjusting and executing with perfect precision. The sight of it makes you feel even more run down and your temples throb when you stand back up into position for the main chorus.

Your energy finally runs out halfway through the choreo and you simply drop to your knees, hitting them hard on the polished floor. A chorus of groans sound out as Jeongin jogs to the speaker to stop the music.

"Y/n," Hyunjin groans, hands on his knees. Sweat drips from his hair. "We were almost finished, now we have to start again-"

He's cut off as a panting Chan waves his hand dismissively. "Take a break, guys. You okay, Y/nnie?"

You nod tiredly and look down at the floor, trying hard not to cry. That awful sour feeling takes a firm hold on your jaw and you gulp, like there's something stuck in your throat. The rest of the boys pay you no mind, chattering and bickering as they take swigs from water bottles and flick sweat from their hair.

Concert practice has been more than tiring, to say the least. Despite the tiredness and fatigue hanging in the air, the boys seem reasonably cheerful; pushing through with smiles on their faces. But being the youngest member of Stray Kids, there's only so much you can take on before it gets too much. You don't remember the last time you slept for more than four hours or ate a proper meal.

So while the others begin to move back into position, you stay on your hands and knees on the floor, gasping for air and feeling that terrible hollow pang gnaw at the lining of your stomach. A headache settles firmly between your eyes and your vision blurs, and it takes all your strength to even breathe.

Don't cry, you tell yourself harshly.

By now, Chan is kneeling beside you, a hand on your back. He knows how hard you've been working, especially since you just joined the production side of things, and he whispers a few reassuring phrases before standing up and offering you a hand.

Your eyes follow him as he rises from the floor, and a sudden burst of irritation shoots through you like lightning. Swatting his hand away and then immediately feeling terrible and selfish for it, you stand and brush yourself off, walking away without a word.

Chan stares after you just as Felix walks up.

"Is she okay?" The younger boy whispers.

Chan shrugs, brows furrowing in concern. "I don't know, Lix. I think she's just stressed with all the concert preparation."

"I mean," Felix begins as the music starts to play again, "She is the youngest of us. Maybe it's getting too much for her, hyung."

Maybe, Chan thinks as he moves into his position, watching as you do the same.

.

The rest of the day is uneventful; you spend most of it running between photoshoots, vocal lessons, rehearsals, and dress fittings for the upcoming concerts. It's all a blur, and by the time you open the door to the Minsung dorm, you're exhausted.

Minho and Jisung are already back from practice, since you'd opted to stay longer to perfect the choreo. Your body had been against it but you pushed through anyway, and you're beginning to slightly regret it as you almost stumble while shutting the door behind yourself.

Minho is in the kitchen, chopping something up; Jisung is lounging on the couch, watching something on his phone. The air smells rich and meaty, and normally you'd sneak into the kitchen for a taste of whatever Minho is preparing, but the singular thought of it makes you feel tense and nauseous.

You opt to grab only a new bottle of water before heading to your room. Minho looks up in surprise; he had been preparing to fight off a nosy, hungry Y/n, but you walk straight past him without even a hello. You do the same to Jisung and shut your bedroom door quietly, sinking down against it without a word.

You feel terrible about ignoring them; after all, they're your friends, but you just don't have it in you today to talk. Or dance or sing, or do anything at all. Everything feels dull and grey save for the hot tears that begin to soak the damp, musky fabric of your shirt.

Deciding to shower, you pick yourself up from the floor after a while and move sluggishly to the bathroom. You scrub until your skin is red and tingling and pull harshly at your hair while brushing it out before slipping on the first clothes you see in the drawer; a hoodie and sweats, all black.

Collapsing onto your bed, you open your phone and immediately regret it; the blue glare makes your head throb so harshly that you have to fight to urge to lean over the bed and throw up. You cover your mouth just in case, though there isn't even anything in your stomach to warrant the action anyway. You take a weak swing of water as a remedy and collapse back into the pillows, feeling exhausted but not tired enough to sleep.

Your stomach rumbles and you think briefly about sneaking into the kitchen after Minho and Jisung have gone to sleep, but you hold yourself back and roll over, gritting your teeth. Someone knocks on the door.

"Y/nnie!" Jisung calls from the other side of the door. "Come and eat something."

You ignore him, hoping that he'll think you've fallen asleep. You check the time; it's definitely late enough for that to be true. You wait with bated breath until you hear footsteps walking away.

You stomach growls more insistently and you press a disapproving hand over it, quieting the pangs as you turn over to try and sleep.

You can go one more day.

.

The next morning, you wake up early and decide to head to practice before Minho and Jisung can keep you back and make you eat something. You know for sure they've noticed the change in your eating habits, so you take a plate and break up a piece of toast, sprinkling crumbs so it looks like you've eaten. You throw the bread into the bin and leave your plate on the table before leaving.

Opening the door to the dance studio, you notice Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, Jeongin, and Seungmin all up early too, rehearsing the choreo, messing about, or talking. Or, in Hyunjin's case, all three. You duck to the side and head to the opposite side of the room, as far away from Chan as possible.

Him being here isn't good; you know for sure, after how exhausted you were yesterday, he'll try and check in with you. And it wouldn't be hard for him to decipher what's been happening; the pale pallor of your face, the bones of your wrists more prominent than before, and of course the constant sluggishness, fatigue, and dizziness that you've forced yourself to endure for the past few days.

You busy yourself with unnecessarily reorganizing the items in your bag, trying to ignore how bright the lights are. It feels like a spotlight.

"Hi, Y/n."

You look up to see Jeongin standing next to you, smiling in a white shirt and basketball shorts. His hair is ruffled, and somewhere in the cold, dead depths of your hardly-beating heart, you realise it's because the boys have been messing it up with their constant affection of the maknae. The thought makes you feel nothing. You are numb.

You don't reply, instead giving him a curt nod and picking up your waterbottle. You walk and place it on the cabinets against the back wall just as the others filter into the room. Jeongin shrugs and decides to leave you alone, apparently unbothered by your lack of response. Maybe he thought you were just tired.

Good, you think grimly. I don't want him to notice, nor do I care if he does. Just leave me alone.

Your eyes flicker to Jisung and Minho as they move to put their belongings down. Jisung immediately goes off to mess with Felix, who is still sleepily waddling across the floorboards to Changbin. You look away, but not before your eyes catch Minho's. He locks his gaze with you and raises a pointed eyebrow, silently questioning.

You look away quickly, gritting your teeth so hard you swear you can taste blood. Your heart jerks and starts, sending a racing thud reverberating through the hollow shell of your body.

He knows. He knows. He knows.

You see him begin to move towards you in your peripheral and you exhale when Chan claps his hands, moving to start the practice. Despite how much your head hurts, and the fact that you can hardly see let alone dance, you're grateful for the interruption, and dedicate your entire focus to the choreography.

Minho eyes you during a slower part of the routine but you don't look at him. Or anyone. The most you do is glance at Seungmin to check if he's placed where he needs to be before you move past him to the middle. Your vision deteriorates and drowns into dizzy black spots with every movement, but you push on.

Your head pulses dully with an aching pain and there's simply no energy left in your body. You grit your teeth and keep going, trying to will strength from within.

I can last til the end of the choreo. Just a little longer-

You exhale sharply and suddenly then, as if you've been punched hard in the gut. Your vision clouds over completely and you briefly panic as you can't see anything, but you find your limbs still moving. The last thing you know before you pass out is the feeling of the cold, polished floor against your cheek, a dull thud against your head, and a panicked yell from one of the members.

You close your eyes.

.

"Y/n. Y/nnie, wake up..."

"Is she okay?"

"Did anyone see what happened?"

"Y/n!"

Groggily, you open your eyes, and immediately hiss from the glare of the bright white lights above you. You're lying on the floor, where you dizzily remember yourself falling. You try and weakly lift a hand to cover your eyes, until Chan's head and broad shoulders moves into view above you, blocking it completely.

You exhale a small sigh of relief, even though the swimming black dots in your vision are making it hard for you to see anything at all. Your head throbs even worse than before; you must have hit it before you fell and passed out.

Even through all of that, you can see the look on Chan's face; half concern, the other half an equal mix of affection and sternness. You can't do anything but let out a weak groan as someone kneels down next to you, pressing something cold to the back of your neck.

"Take it easy," you hear Changbin saying from above you. You feel a pair of strong arms lift you to a sitting position and the movement makes a swelling pang of dizziness shoot through your skull like hot lightning. You feel sick and feverish.

"Y/n," you hear Chan saying through the haze. "What happened?"

You can't hold back the tears from spilling down your cheeks, however dehydrated you are. They just keep coming and someone else wipes them away with a gentle brush of fingers.

This is your fault. You can't even keep up with them and now you're wasting their time by making them take care of you. Way to go, Y/n. Absolutely pathetic.

That same rush of irritation shoots through you again and you push Changbin's hands away from your shoulders. "Leave me alone."

He looks surprised but backs off anyway. Your vision clears momentarily and it's then that you notice all of the boys are standing around you, most of them in various stages of concern and confusion. You notice Felix tightly clutching Hyunjin's hand in worry, Jisung biting at his lip. Jeongin looks upset too, and even Seungmin has the decency to look mildly put out.

"Why aren't any of you dancing?" You say, confused.

"Because," Hyunjin puffs out dramatically, "One of our members decided to die in the middle of the choreography."

Ignoring the younger's comment, Chan places a gentle hand on your thigh. "Y/nnie, please talk to us. We're all worried. What happened?"

You scoff weakly and push Chan's hand away too, even though his warm, solid touch is comforting. He pulls back, looking mildly hurt, and you instantly kick yourself for it. It's Chan. Why did you have to go and do that?

"Nothing," you say. "I'm fine."

He lets out an exasperated groan and there are a few protests from the rest of the group. "Y/n, you literally collapsed on us. And you don't look well at all. Have you been sleeping lately?"

"Yes." Lie.

"Have you been pushing yourself too hard?"

"No." Lie.

"When was the last time you ate something?"

"This morning." Also a lie.

"We're not dumb, Y/n," Minho interrupts from where he's crouching near you. "I mean, we are sometimes, but we're not clueless, especially when it comes to you. Please let us in."

I can't.

"Okay," you whisper weakly, because you don't have the energy to argue. You feel so incredibly embarrassed and humiliated.

Chan sighs and hands you a bottle of water. You take a swig before putting it down.

"Practice is off, everyone," he says. "Let's regroup tomorrow. Good work."

"What are you doing?" You say on an exhale.

"Taking you home," he says firmly. "There's no way you're going to keep practicing after this. You need to rest and eat well for a while before you can join back in."

Your heart thuds hollowly in your chest. "But-"

"No buts. Please, Y/n. It's okay if you're not doing well, and we don't have to talk about it if you aren't ready, but we're not going to stand by and let you suffer like this, yeah?"

"Plus," Felix adds softly as he sits down next to you, "It's no fun when you're not around, so hurry and get better so you can join in again."

You look to Chan, defeated tears welling up in your eyes. You spot the slightest waver in his expression, but it remains firm and he helps you stand shakily to your feet without a word.

Minho walks over just as Jisung folds you into his arms, kissing the crown of your head.

"I'm sorry," you whimper to no one in particular.

"Shh, it's okay," Minho says, "Let's just get you back home and then you can rest, okay?"

You nod and let them lead you out the door.

.

The tangy fruitiness of the juice sends little bursts of flavour down your throat, and you sip a little more before placing the glass on your bedside table. You're looking out the window, though the curtains are drawn, and your hair is a mess, having slept ruffled against the pillow for around three hours now. The sun is beginning to set.

Jisung comes into the room, followed by Chan. You look towards them and sit a little higher up on the pillows as Jisung smooths a hand over your forehead.

"How are you feeling, Y/n?" Chan asks carefully as he sits on the bed.

"Better," you say quietly, even though certain thoughts still linger in the back of your mind.

"It's good that you slept a while," he continues. "Looked like you needed it."

"Yeah."

The room is silent for a while, and Jisung lies down next to you, his face pressed into your thigh. He lets out a muffled happy sound just as Minho comes into your room, holding a tray of soup.

He sets it down on the bedside table along with a banana, a glass of water, and a small packet of your favourite sweets before shamelessly flopping down onto the bed, making himself comfortable. Chan sighs before his hand reaches out to cover yours, which is picking at the blanket.

"Y/n," he says softly. "It's okay if you're struggling."

You shake your head, though what you're disagreeing with, you're not sure.

"It's okay," Chan says again. "It can be a lot, I know. And it's completely alright if you just need to take a break, yeah? That's allowed. But please don't punish yourself for it. You do so well and work so hard, and I know it feels wrong when you don't shine as much as you want to."

You stay silent, the sorrow beginning to weigh down on you again.

"Y/nnie," Chan says gently. "You can talk to us, okay? If you're struggling to take care of yourself, or if it's all just getting too much, come to us. We're all in the same boat."

"More like stuck with us in the same boat," Minho snickers from his position on top of Jisung.

Chan slaps the boy's thigh without taking his gaze off you. Ignoring Minho's whine of pain, he leans forward and brushes a strand of hair out of your face. The simple gesture is so gentle and reassuring that tears well up in your eyes again, and you thank your stars that Jisung has plenty of electrolyte drinks in the kitchen because of how dehydrated you're becoming because of the crying.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"It's okay, Y/n," Jisung hums from your thigh. "We all have bad days."

"Just please, please come to us if you're not doing well, okay?" Chan says. "We all love you very much, and none of us want you to be struggling alone."

As if the universe has magically decided to prove his point, the door flies open and Hyunjin and Seungmin crash onto the floor, followed by a giggling Jeongin and Felix. Changbin stands disapprovingly behind them.

Chan presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose. "For goodness' sake."

But his words are drowned out by the mad scramble of the boys clambering onto your bed, heaping themselves on top of you in a mess of bickering, singing, and arguing.

Felix presses his cheek to yours. "I missed you."

You exhale a tiny laugh. "I wasn't even gone a day, Felix."

"I know," he replies earnestly. "But I missed you anyway. I wanted more than anything for you to be okay."

"Me too," Jeongin interrupts indignantly.

"Yeah, me too," Changbin adds matter-of-factly as he makes himself comfy on top of a squashed Hyunjin.

"Say you wanted her to be okay too, Seungmin!" Jisung pokes him hard in the ribs.

All you get in response is a begrudging nod and it makes the rest of the group burst out into laughter. Even Chan can't fight a fond smile.

And even if you're not doing well at the moment, you know in that moment that the rest of the members will always be there to fall back on, and the thought makes you relax, finally, your mind quieting and replacing the hollow feeling in your heart with a solid, steady warmth.

You are safe.

a/n: this was was longer than i anticipated

[bugisastranger]

hey babe 🩷 if you have the time or inspiration to write please consider fake dating to lovers with Clark Kent, like a to all the boys I’ve loved before typa situation

a/n: thank u for the request anon!!! sorry it took me a bit to get around to it - i can be a busy busy gal.

"you want me to what?"

clark's voice is unlike anything you'd ever heard from him, his shock nothing less than apparent. you shush him, looking around the hallway to see if anyone's noticed. it's lucky for you that nobody did.

"come on, clark. it's one night! not even! it's like, a few hours at most."

"can't you ask someone else? pete?"

"i don't want to ask pete. he won't be able to sell it."

"and you think i can?" he's exasperated, leaning closer to you as if he's suddenly aware how many people could overhear this conversation. "i'm a horrible liar."

"please? you know how my family can be," you whisper, looking up at clark. he sighs, hanging his head. he does know how your family can be—overbearing—which is exactly why he's hesitant. but you're you, so how can he actually say no?

"okay. okay, fine."

"really?" you ask, nearly jumping out of your skin. your arms slide around clark's neck as you excitedly let out a few small 'thank you's. clark's still frozen in place from his decision, but forces one of his arms to slide awkwardly around your hip. he's in for it, isn't he?

the ringing of the school bell pulls the two of you apart, and you quickly shut your locker, making your way towards your first class. clark keeps his place beside you. "so, what does this mean, exactly? what do you want from me?"

"jeez, clark, that sounds like i'm holding you hostage. it's just a favor."

"yeah, yeah. whatever. what do you need me to do?" he asks, taking his seat next to you at the lab table.

"i don't know. whatever feels natural," you say, bending to the side to pull your textbook out of your bag, a gesture which clark never would've took a second glance at. but today, with your hair falling in front of your face (and then you pushing it away), something's different. he doesn't even notice he forgot to say something in response to you until you glance back at him, confused at his silence.

"uh—" he clears his throat. "how am i supposed to know what's natural? we've never dated before." oops. overly sarcastic.

"have you never even considered it?"

"what?" clark's baffled by your question, but you ask it so casually, like it's not taking the ground out from beneath his feet. it's not that he hasn't considered it. it's that he has. he knows all too well how he wants to walk with his arm around your shoulders, how he wants to have you cuddle into his side as you watch a movie, how he wants to absolutely spoil you—as if he has the money for that anyway. "i—"

"you know what? forget i said that. i don't wanna know," you mutter. "just, like, pretend like you're obsessed with me, i don't know."

"hey, lovebirds! you done?" the teacher calls from the front of the classroom.

as clark starts, "oh, we're n—"

you say, "sorry! we're sorry." and then the both of you, red in your faces, stay silent. you barely even move, feeling reprimanded, even though your teacher was barely offended.

when the teacher lets the class work in pairs, clark decides to use the time to talk to you instead. he could do the work later. "can you just give me an idea of what the night's going to look like, at least?"

you take a quick glance at the teacher, making sure her eyes aren't on you and clark. "you'll come over and i'll introduce you as my boyfriend. my parents won't be suspicious, because i'll start bringing it up today. and they won't be too intimidating. my uncle might, but they'll love you. there's something about you that screams 'good guy' and they'll pick up on it." you twirl the pen in your hands. "it'll be fine. you have nothing to worry about, really." clark feels his heart skip a beat when you place your hand on his bicep—which is supposed to be a comforting gesture. what's happening to him? you've touched him before. plenty of times, actually. this shouldn't mean a thing.

a few days later, and clark is taking deep breaths as he walks down the path to your front door. before he can even meet the porch, you're outside, greeting him. he nearly stops in his tracks when he sees you, your hair half up, half down. the dress you're wearing is baby pink, and something about this sight—seeing you so... girly does something to him, even if he won't admit it.

"hi," you say, breaking the awkward silence. "ignore the dress, i'm trying something a little different."

"no, it's good. you look great," he forces. and then, he remembers he's supposed to be your boyfriend, he's allowed to flirt with you. "you look really pretty." he swears he sees your expression change, like you're nervous. it makes his hand tense, and he nearly crushes the stems of the flowers he forgot he's holding. "oh, these are for you."

"thank you. this is..."

"good enough, i hope?"

"better. i knew you wouldn't let me down."

"can't leave my girlfriend hanging, can i?" oh. oh. that gets you. and clark knows it, too.

"uh—" you start, looking at him with what can only be described as a mix of shock and infatuation. "we should go inside."

and as you're walking towards your front door—"i should call you something, shouldn't i?"

"what?" you turn back around, facing him.

"honey," he tries. "no, too mature. babe?" clark watches your reactions carefully, and even though you seem affected, 'babe' doesn't have the punch he was hoping for. "sweetheart?" bingo.

"sweetheart is fine," you mutter, trying to ignore the way your face heats up.

"okay, sweetheart. you ready for this?" you nod, walking towards the door with clark at your side. "what about princess?"

"too much. you can't call me that in front of my family."

"but i can call you that when we're alone?"

"clark!"

"it's just a question, sweetheart," clark teases, fighting back a chuckle. he could do this the rest of his life.

part two coming soon?!

[sunarots]

taste ━━━ suna rintarou & miya osamu

20. milking a dead cow ♡

cw. x1 snide comment about y/n’s appearance by rubi

For the third time tonight, Rubi makes a snide comment about dating Suna in an attempt to get you to bitch with her. She waits to see if you respond, quickly laughing and lightly hitting his arm. Through her laughs, she says, "I'm kidding!" and taking a sip of her drink. She excuses herself and rises from her seat with her phone gripped tightly in her hands.

You lean back in your seat and let out a heavy sigh, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm just going to say it, boys. This night sucks ass harder than Atsumu." You look between them, catching both agreeing.

"Not that I don't like being in the company of my 'crazy ex', but I'm so close to stabbing myself in the eye with my fork," Suna announces, picking up his fork for emphasis. He taps the bottom against the table and looks towards the toilets to make sure she's gone. "I don't know what her deal is tonight."

You don't mean for your amusement to show on your face, grabbing your glass to try and hide it before Suna sees you.

Osamu clears his throat. "She's uh... She's okay."

"She said we should do this again, 'Samu. If I do this again, I'll kill myself," Suna snaps, dropping his fork and leaning back in his chair.

"You're not exactly fun for me to be around, either." You roll your eyes at him, finishing off your drink. "But I do agree. I may have to do it, Osamu. Tell Kiyoko I miss her. And don't let Kuroo take over my position as manager."

Osamu laughs, resting a hand on your thigh. "Look, we're almost done. No dessert, just the bill. It's Thursday, so there's definitely a party we can crash. Otherwise, we drink at mine until we're paralytic."

"As nice as a party sounds, I just want my bed. I do want more booze, though. Can you flag down the waiter for another round? Maybe shots?"

Nodding his head, Osamu waves at one of the waiters and apologises. "Can we get another round and six shots of Sambuca?"

Simultaneously, you and Suna burst out, "Not Sambuca."

Osamu frowns, apologising once again and correcting himself to vodka. When the waiter leaves, he turns to face you. "Why not Sambuca?"

"Have you not seen y/n after Sambuca? She once almost killed Atsumu for standing on her foot." Suna has to stop himself from laughing at the memory.

"That was you!?" Osamu exclaims, laughing hysterically. "I hear about it but no one knew who it was! I thought it was Sakusa, honestly."

"You know, a lot of people said that." You nod slowly in thought before shrugging your shoulders. "Anyway, no Sambuca if there's a chance of someone getting on my nerves."

"So, never?" Osamu flashes you a smile before laughing, settling back in his seat. "So, Rin, how do you feel about nationals?"

"Pretty good. I'm excited to see how far we go. I need to start going to the gym again, though. Rubi likes to come with me but I hate going with her. How do you feel?"

Osamu shrugs his shoulders. "Yeah, I have high hopes. At least I know I'll be starting since I'm sleeping with the manager."

You return his smile and face him. "If you want to start, you don't need to sleep with me. You need to keep practicing." You shrug your shoulders, smiling as the waiter sets a tray of shots down on the table. "Oh, perfect." You waist no time in grabbing them and taking your first shot, setting it back on the tray. You take the second before either of them have their first, looking between them in disappointment. "Have you never taken shots before?"

"You inhaled those," Osamu scolds, taking his first one. "Give us a chance."

"If you take much longer I'll have them as well." You finish whats left in your glass as the waiter approaches again, taking the tray of empty glasses and shot glasses away.

Rubi appears from behind him, slipping back into her seat. "Ugh, those toilets are disgusting. Why did he have shot glasses?" She flattens her hair against her chest as she watches him walk away.

"They were from another table, he was just collecting our empties." Suna taps on the side of Rubi's fresh cocktail to bring it to her attention. "Should we get the bill and finish these drinks?"

Rubi pouts, looking over her shoulder. "I wanted a dessert menu. I want to try that cheesecake you liked."

"If I eat anything else, I may be sick," you announce, trying to stop her from getting the menus — you will not get stuck here for another hour. The food is good, but it takes too long for your liking when you're stuck on a date like this.

"You don't have to get anything. Besides, probably for the best. Your uniform isn't very flattering." Rubi spots a waiter, frantically waving her hand at him to bring him over,

Your jaw clenches at her statement, turning to Osamu with a fake smile plastered across your face. Without saying anything, you sigh and lean back in your seat.

Before Rubi can talk to the waiter, Suna rests a hand on her shoulder and blocked her from his view. "Can we get the bill? I'm feeling a bit queasy. Not because of the food. Just... Diarrhoea."

A heavy silence falls over the table, Rubi turning her nose up in disgust. She settles into her seat and picks up her phone with the same grimace in place.

You have to press your lips together tight to keep your laughter inside, your hand flying out to grip Osamu's thigh. He returns the action, his fingers digging into you like you're his lifeline. The waiter backs away slowly, watching Suna carefully as though he may shit himself on the spot.

Rubi turns to face Suna again, dropping her phone down on the table. "Can you not act normal for one fucking date? God, trying to do anything with you is like... It's like milking a dead cow!"

"This isn't exactly what I wanted for date night. This reservation was made for two: us. No offence, Osamu. Kind of offence, y/n." He holds up a hand towards you, not catching your dismissive shrug. "Hanging out with an ex never sounds fun. For anyone."

"Don't think of her as a ex, think of her as your best friend's girlfriend," Rubi justifies. "Look, Rin, if you don't start reciprocating my needs, we're over."

Osamu leans in towards you as they continue bickering and whispers, "It's so joever."

# fun fact !

after y/n fought him, atsumu was telling everyone it was some random drunk guy on the street and he did more damage to him

masterlist. previous | next

summary. when your ex starts dating your least favourite person on campus, your ex-best friend from high school, you can’t help but feel a little betrayed. you quickly realise a way to get back at him: his best friend.

taglist (open!). @v3nusplanetofluv @mdmraz @thoughtswithbbg @fireinyoureye @wakashudou @jisookdays @tespho @frootloopscos @gigiiiiislife @walllflowerrrsss @tangerinelovr @datonegaybestfriend @sturnprincess @jpegarchives @justanotherweeb666 @1yeah1 @rrosiitas @yuu-via @zazathezaer @softpia @animenaces-world @loveelylani @punkhazardlaw @to-dino @nanamis-right-tiddie @aboutkiyoomi @arusio @aloore @dailyakira @alexithemiyatic @chemiru @p1nktulip @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @taefanclub @h3xi2g0n3 @rikidaze @mncxbe @luvelyjjk

[adifferentsortofstrength]

The First Time 🌸🦇

Elriel smut. Just smut. As a treat.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

“I can’t do this anymore,” Azriel buried both hands in his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Elain gasped, her heart hammering in her chest, “I shouldn’t have-“

“No. You shouldn’t. Because I can’t. I cannot be held responsible for what happens if we keep this up, Elain. I don’t think I can stop myself anymore,” he panted out the words, wings twitching behind him.

“What if I don’t want you to?” she breathed out, her words barely audible even to his shadows.

He ground out, “Don’t want me to what?”

“Stop,” Elain’s hands twisted into the grass beneath her, “What if I don’t want you to stop?”

Azriels eyes finally met hers again, his gaze burning through her like wildfire. He froze, his hands still tangled in his hair, his wings slightly flared. The moon illuminated the clearing around them. A ghostly glow cast a silhouette over his shadows, as they too ceased their movement.

“There would be consequences-“ he began, his voice low and uncertain.

“I don’t care,” Elain stated, having never been more confident of anything in her life, “I want you. And I don’t want you to stop.”

Azriel stalked towards where she sat under the willow. He sank to his knees, his hands reaching out to gently cup her face.

“I need you to be absolutely certain, Elain,” he swept his thumbs over the high arches of her cheekbones.

In answer, she leaned into his touch, her eyes closing as he held her face.

“I have never been more certain of anything in my life,” she stated, “I want you, Azriel. All of you. In any way that you’ll have me.”

As soon as the words left her lips, his mouth was on hers. This was nothing like the times before, nothing like those restrained stolen kisses they shared in secret, that always ended in Azriel pulling away.

This was wilder, his lips moving against hers like he was drowning and she was the air he needed to live. Elain’s hands tangled into the curls at the back of his neck. She twisted them in, anchoring herself, ivy rooting itself to stone.

Azriel moaned into her mouth as their tongues brushed, hers sliding over the silken skin of his bottom lip. Fully entangled, exactly where she wanted to be, Elain pulled him with as she fell back against the earth.

His knees between her thighs, his elbows braced on either side of her head, she sighed happily as Azriel trailed kisses across her jaw, down her throat. One of his hands circled her neck, his thumb grazing the fluttering pulse point there.

Elain had been wanting this for so long, it had left her impatient. Needy. She arched beneath his touch, her head tipping further back to grant him better access, her legs linking around his thighs to drag him down to rest completely on top of her.

“More,” she gasped, “Please Azriel. I want this. I want everything.”

A growl rumbled through him as he nipped at the sensitive skin of her shoulder, her only warning before he moved his hand from her neck to the lacing of her bodice. His skilled fingers made quick work of the tie, and Elain couldn’t contain the whimpers that escaped at every movement.

Azriel let the corset fall open, now nothing but her thin summer dress between them. He palmed one breast and circled her nipple with his thumb. She rocked against him, her hips rolling, desperate for any friction.

Elain could feel her skirts pooling around her waist, bare thighs rubbing against the rough stitching of his leathers. She groaned when she rolled her hips again, finally feeling the hard length of him pressed against her core.

He replaced his thumb with his mouth, alternating between dragging his tongue across the peak of her breast and using his teeth to nip and pull at the soft pink skin. His free hand roved over her, feeling the soft swell of her stomach and dip of her waist. Azriel rucked her skirts up further and just when Elain thought she would finally, finally, feel his hands on her, he pulled back.

Her eyes opened to see him looking at her, hair mussed from her fingers dragging through it, skin flushed with desire.

“Elain,” he swallowed hard, “Can I touch you?”

She almost laughed out of frustration, “Oh gods, please Azriel,” Elain was not above begging at this point, “Please touch me. Anywhere. Everywhere. I want to feel your hands on me. In me.”

Before she could blink, he moved. Azriel twisted them until he sat behind her, propped against the willow, his wings out to either side, draping against the soft mossy ground. She could feel his cock pressing into her backside and the rapid beating of his heart in his chest.

He maneuvered her legs to rest over his, spreading them wide. One arm wrapped around her shoulder and he tilted her head back to look at him, wrapping his hand around her throat to hold her in place, while his other hand found her center. Azriel grazed one finger over her, his feather light touch causing her hips to buck as she gasped.

Azriel pressed against her entrance through her lace panties, the rough fabric doing nothing to hide the slick heat already gathered there. He groaned and lowered his mouth to hers, the hand at her neck tightening as he kissed her. With no warning, he gripped the fabric covering her and pulled, the sound of tearing fabric echoing off the trees around them.

Cool night air danced over her naked skin before he replaced his hand. One rough finger drug up through the wetness until he reached her clit. Elain moaned into his mouth and laced her fingers into his hair again, tugging his head down to deepen the kiss.

She whimpered into his mouth as he maintained his torturously slow pace. Azriel pushed one finger barely into her, curling it slightly before withdrawing again. Over and over, sliding in further each time.

Elain was trembling, something foreign and delicious coiling in her belly. The heel of his hand pressed against her clit as he fucked her with his finger. She writhed against him, and pulled her mouth away from his to gasp, “More.”

He squeezed her throat briefly in response, his eyes glazed and wild as he watched his own hand moving against her. Azriel added a second finger, regressing to where he started, barely entering her before withdrawing. Elain panted at the stretch, breasts heaving against her thin dress.

When he had fulled seated both fingers inside her, he held her there, stroking her soft inner walls as he ground his palm against her. His hand left her neck and pulled the top of her dress down, baring her completely. Elain felt her nipples pebble impossibly harder as he rolled one between his fingers, his shadows lavishing their attention on the other.

Azriel increased his pace, one hand stoking her higher with each thrust of his fingers while the other pinched and squeezed at her breast. He trailed kisses down from her temple to her neck, leaning forward to give himself better access. His knees opened more, forcing her legs wider, as he bit down on the tender skin of her throat. Elain felt her pulse fluttering rapidly under his mouth, unrestrained moans now escaping her.

That coil built, tighter and tighter within her until she thought she might burst. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before; not alone in her bed with nothing but thoughts of Azriel and her own hands, and certainly not in the few times she and Greyson had slept together. It was fire and pressure and it grew with each stroke of his hand, each pass of his fingers on her skin.

“Azriel-“ she tried to ask him what it was but could barely gasp out his name. He growled against her skin, teeth still attached to her neck. He angled his hand so his thumb could press directly against her swollen clit as he continued to move in her.

She could feel herself approaching some precipice, her mind going fuzzy and incoherent sounds falling from her lips. Elain dug her nails into his skin, pulling his hair and trying to find something to anchor herself to. Azriel released her neck and breathed into her ear, “That’s it Elain, let go. Come for me, Elain.”

The silken words had her eyes squeezing closed, her head thrown back against his shoulder.

“Please!” she cried out, not sure what she was asking for, “Please, Azriel! Oh, oh gods!”

The world went quiet, her ears ringing as liquid fire erupted within her. Elain felt herself bucking and clamping down against his hand, Azriel continuing to pump into her, his thumb pressing against her clit.

“Fuck, Elain,” he said breathlessly, his words breaking through the haze in her mind.

Her hands fell from his hair, her body going limp in his arms. Azriel drug his hand from her and she watched through hooded eyes as he sucked his fingers clean. The world still seemed to be spinning around them, the ringing in her ears fading with each panted breath.

Eventually, she gathered herself enough to ask, “What was that?”

Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt her heartbeat starting to regulate.

She felt Azriel still behind her, “What was what, Elain?”

“It-,” she tried to find the words, “it was like the world disappeared. Like liquid fire erupted within me.”

When he said nothing, she managed to open her eyes to look at him. Azriel’s eyes were wide and focused on her face, his hair tousled and cheeks flushed. He was still breathing hard, but seemed almost frozen in place.

“Elain…” he said slowly, “have you never… finished before?”

“Hmm?” she sighed dreamily, “Finished?”

“Came. Orgasmed. Elain,” he gently gripped her face and she reopened her eyes, “Are you telling me that you’ve never… that he never..?”

“That,” she waved one hand limply, “has never happened before.”

A slow smile spread over his features, his eyes shining with heat and something like pride.

“Well, that’s simply unacceptable,” he murmured, thumb stroking her cheek delicately, “You’ve never… pleasured yourself, Elain?”

She felt her face flush at the brash question, “Well,” Elain swallowed thickly, “I guess I thought I had. I didn’t really have anything to… compare it to.”

Azriel made a low sound in his chest and leaned in to brush his mouth softly against hers. He gathered her in his arms until her head rested on his shoulder, her legs draped to the side over one of his. She couldn’t remember a time she felt happier or more content than this moment.

One hand smoothed her hair down, the other wrapped around her back, his thumb grazing up and down her hip.

“Azriel?” she breathed against his neck.

“Hmm?”

“When can we do that again?”

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her hair, “Elain, it would be my pleasure to make you come whenever, wherever, and however many times you want.”

“Oh-“ she felt the heat coiling low in her belly again, “Azriel?”

“Yes?” she could hear the smile in his voice.

“Can I-“ Elain took a deep breath, “Will you show me… how I can make you come?”

His hands stilled as she spoke. Azriel tilted her chin up so he could look in her eyes, “If you want me to. Do not feel obligated-“

“I want to,” she cut him off, “Very much.”

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Devourable (Thomas Hutter x fem!vampire!reader)

-> Thomas offers himself to you, but he’s not the only one blinded by desire

Warnings: some manhandling (by reader), hair pulling, smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering, tease and denial, sub!Thomas (with a hint of cheeky though), dom!reader (but kind of soft for him) (even when she’s mean), shadow sex? sex with shadows? whatever you wanna call it, mentions of blood craving/drinking, lying in a coffin

*Written in the same vein (ha) as Moonlight. Consider it a sequel if you like.

Mature content below the cut - minors DNI!!!

He comes to you willingly. Eagerly. Even knowing what you are and all that you could take from him with barely a lift of your ancient, beautiful finger… he offers so much more. A predator you may be, but this sweet surrender of his nearly feels as though it is you being ensnared, so intoxicated by his desire that your own grows blinding.

“The gates are open,” you remind him, standing next to your coffin as he stops a mere few paces away from you. “The wolves have left.”

His throat bobs as he swallows—his fear, or pride, or both. “I know.”

In a moment of… weakness, you suppose, you had decided to spare him. You called the shadow of dread you had cast upon him back into yourself, cleared his path, offered him freedom. In truth, there was still a chance you might send the wolves who so dutifully served you to track him down and drag him straight back to your castle. Part of you so longed to keep him in your greedy clutches. Another fought against it. Now, you would never know which would have won, but of one thing, you are certain: this is not your doing. His choice to stay, despite the chance he was given to flee this horrid place and never look back, is exactly that—his own.

“You seek me out of your own free will, then?”

You know the answer, but you need to hear it out loud. You want to drink the words from his lips like you would his blood, savour the taste of them. And though his eyes are loud enough, he can’t seem to say it outright at first.

“I wanted to leave,” he confesses, voice wavering with raw emotion. “The moment I knew escape was possible, I ran faster than I can remember my feet ever carrying me. Yet with each step I took farther from these walls, it wasn’t relief that I felt. It wasn’t the forest or the snow I saw before my eyes. It was your face. Lit by the fire, bathed in moonlight. Each word we exchanged as we talked late into the night, each lingering gaze. The hunger in your eyes which so terrified me, even as I… as I longed to be the one to sate it,” his eyes fall shut as he speaks the words, struggling to let them out. “And though I knew, in my heart, that you were not of this world, though I saw your marks upon my skin and understood that you held my very life in your grasp, I couldn’t help but wish for more. To know you better, to see and understand every single part of you. Even if it brought my utter ruin. I knew that, if I left you behind, never to see you again… my every waking thought for as long as I live would be of you. Not a day would pass that I would not feel the urge to make the journey back and look upon your face, if only one last time. So, yes,” he admits, nearly breathless, “I come to you of my own will, seeking relief… from the torment of wanting you.”

It’s torment, indeed, which laces his every word and breath. A decent man such as him, wanting nothing more than to make himself respectable in society, to secure the good living a potential future bride would deserve, stripped of everything he had ever known about truth and fable, about his own fears and cravings. Baring his soul to the one who had made it unravel. You should find it pathetic, mock his foolishness.

You don’t quite find it in yourself to do so.

“I am not a person for you to want,” you remind him, a dangerous edge to your voice as you approach him slowly. “I am craving itself. Insatiable. Pitiless. I would devour you.”

“If that were true, you would have done so already,” he claims still. “Pitiless, you say, yet—here I stand. Had you not spared my life, I could not have returned to lay it at your feet.”

Oh, what a sweet romantic. When you stop, he takes the last few steps towards you, careful yet bold, coming to stand before you within perilous reach.

“How long has it been,” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, “since someone chose to stay? When were you last offered something more than blood?”

“Offered?” you scoff. “I am not offered blood. I take it.”

Thomas clenches his jaw, frustrated, and a decision is made. With quick, determined fingers, he undoes his buttons, pulling open the top half of his shirt.

“Take it, then,” he dares you.

It’s bait you shouldn’t take—but you can’t help your eyes falling to his flesh the moment it’s been bared. Your bite marks are still there, puncture wounds begging to be reopened. You fight back an animalistic hiss. If you do as he says… you would be doing as he says. Acting on his terms, even when fulfilling your own cravings. That thought alone might dissolve you more quickly and painfully than the first ray of dawn.

So fixated you are on his heart, you hardly notice Thomas reaching for your face. His fingers graze your cheek, hesitant at first, then more securely cradling it as you lift your gaze to his. His expression is as soft as his touch, hopeful and compassionate. He is taking your hesitance to feed off him as confirmation that he was right. That his willing presence is some kind of balm for what he believes to be a deep longing of yours.

There is only one thing you can do in the face of such a pure sentiment.

You bring your hand to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his soft curls. Still damp from running away, then straight back to you. He lets you pull him closer, even closer, until your lips are nearly brushing, your breaths mingling. It’s him who means to close the distance once and for all, but you plant your hand onto his chest to keep him at bay the moment his mouth begins to graze yours.

“Do you truly believe,” your voice begins soft, then grows into a growl, “that I am some wounded soul in need of deliverance?”

Your long nails drag against his scalp as you pull at the roots—hard, down, forcing him to his knees. Thomas gives a hoarse cry as they hit the cold ground.

“Do you wish to save me, Thomas?” you spit the word like it’s rotten in your mouth. “To ease my pain? My loneliness? Do you truly believe I can feel such things?”

Your words echo harshly against the stone walls, charged with blinding rage. How dare he look at you with such pity in his eyes? How dare he presume to know your heart, when it has been lost to you for centuries—

Thomas grabs your waist and, before you can even begin to push him away, buries his face in your stomach.

“My soul weeps for you,” he persists hoarsely, shaking his head against the fabric of your dress. “I cannot help it.”

You release his hair, quite frankly stunned by the feeling of him so desperately clinging to you. You are still angry, and you could untangle him from your body with ease, but…

“You are a fool with a death wish,” you say, more softly than you had intended.

“I wish for you,” Thomas counters heatedly. Something wild, downright feral burns in his eyes as he looks up at you. “Let me prove it.” His hands leave your waist only to plant themselves on the back of your thighs—creeping ever so daringly upwards. “Let me taste you. As you have tasted of me. Please.”

You know very well what he means, but still: “You lack the teeth,” you taunt.

“But not the tongue,” Thomas insists, somehow pleading and stubborn at the same time. “May I please you?”

Blood is what pleases you. The hunting. The haunting. The biting.

But right now… you want this.

“You may try.”

The moment your permission has been given, Thomas hastens to lift the skirts of your dress. You don’t move a muscle, standing above him like an unfeeling goddess as he frantically works to move past any layer of fabric standing between him and your bare flesh. But you do feel, and it’s odd, so odd, to let yourself be worshipped rather than feared for the first time in what feels like an immeasurable amount of years. He kisses your knees with reverence, his lips ascending your thighs as though heaven itself might be waiting where they meet. His mouth is so hot on your skin, so sweetly arousing. If you were still human, you’d be trembling with want.

Yet when Thomas lifts his eyes to yours, silently pleading to see so much as a spark of his desire reflected in them, you deny him. Your pride demands that your gaze remain cold and expectant, as though you are unimpressed by his efforts so far.

That only seems to spur him on. He must make do with the little access granted, but your closed legs do not deter him. Determined to elicit a response, he plunges his tongue into the folds of your sex with vigour, seeking—and finding—that bundle of nerves which remains as sensitive in death as it had been in life.

For so long, your lust had been reserved for blood, you had forgotten how it felt to have it pool low in your belly, producing slickness and a delicious ache between your thighs rather than a compulsion to sink your teeth into a fresh vein. You certainly remember now, as Thomas licks and sucks at your clit, stoking the ache into a blazing fire spreading throughout your body.

He eats you out like his life depends on it—which it very well might. Though you don’t feel much like the ruthless predator your kind is supposed to be at the moment. A sound, foreign and breathless, reaches your ears, and you are shocked to realize you had produced it. Thomas groans in turn, satisfied with his feat. You grip his hair, pull at the roots in retaliation, but that only fuels the lust consuming you as much as it does him. When you feel him attempting to work his fingers into the space between his mouth and your cunt, you finally part your legs slightly, to better allow it. The bunched up fabric of your skirts obscures his face, so you pull it back to look him in the eye as he slides his fingers into you, two at once. He holds your gaze, brazen and feverish, and the sight combined with the stretch and curl of his fingers inside you are a strange kind of torment, endlessly frustrating and frustratingly addictive. You should be above such human afflictions, but it seems you are not after all. Your body still seeks pleasure, still weakens with it, now that you have Thomas kneeling at your feet with his tongue between your legs.

Thomas. Your beautiful Thomas. You’d have allowed no other soul such intimate caresses. It’s even worse to know that he alone could stir these emotions within you, from the pity that had led you to free him to the vexingly human lust which strips you of control over your breath under his touch. Relentless, his tongue strokes you to madness, his fingers find impossibly sweet places within you, and when a small whine from his throat reaches your ears, the dam breaks and you are coming, lost to rapture without a drop of blood on your tongue. You gasp, crush his face against your core, and in turn his nails dig into the back of your thigh as if he could pull you any closer than you already are. For once, you are being devoured rather than devourer. It’s freeing. It’s infuriating.

Even when you are done clenching around his fingers and the pleasure begins to subside, he doesn’t stop. His tongue drags almost unbearably against your sensitive clit, over and over, threatening to pull cries from your throat which would be dangerously close to whimpers, and that is when you use your grip on his hair to throw him away, rasping out, “Enough!”

Thomas falls on his back with a short cry. He scrambles to sit up, but remains there, looking up at you as he touches his glistening lips—glistening with the proof of his success in pleasing you, just as he had claimed he would. Certainly, that is why the faintest trace of a smile tugs at his mouth.

“Pleased with yourself, are you?” Your tone is biting, despite your lingering breathlessness. Thomas lowers his hand from his face, but not his gaze from yours.

“Do I not have reason to be?”

Here he is, offering himself to a vampire like a lamb to the slaughter, and yet his pride has not entirely left him.

To your chagrin, you must admit he is not wrong. Your chest still heaves after your climax, you still ache for more. For too much, in truth. Thomas is straining against his trousers, quite visibly so, and though you would rather have his cock buried between your legs than shredded in your teeth, you are excruciatingly aware of the blood that has rushed to fill it into hardness, pumped there by the heart you can hear pounding in his chest.

You are far from sated.

“That is enough for tonight,” you deadpan. You are too close to losing the last sliver of control you still possess, and that is as corrosive to your pride as it is potentially deadly for him. It’s a miracle, frankly, that you muster the will to walk away.

Thomas doesn’t see that line of reasoning. Looking as though you have struck him across the face, he catches your hand as you pass by him. “Wait. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” Still on his knees, he shifts closer to you so he has to crane his neck even further up for his pleading gaze to meet yours. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

Your hand is still in his. Once again, you allow more than you ought to and leave it there as he brings it to his lips, pressing a most delicate kiss to your knuckles. “Bite me,” he murmurs. “Take me. Anything. Just… don’t go.”

“Take heed what you ask for, Thomas,” you warn, though your voice lacks the bite he ought to be warned against. Your chest is tight with longing, warm with… affection. When you pull your hand from his grasp, it’s only so you can cup his chin, let your fingers tenderly graze his pale, damp skin. “If I were to lay myself upon you now,” you all but whisper, leaning down so your breath ghosts his mouth, “when I’m done with you, it will be your corpse I dismount.”

His lips part, letting past a trembling breath. Before he can protest as his face shows he means to, you stand back to your full height. “Sunrise is but an hour away,” you say sternly. “Not nearly enough for me to feed elsewhere and enjoy you properly. I shall join you in bed tomorrow night.”

Your tone leaves no room for argument, and you don’t wait for an answer. In the last glimpse you catch of him as you leave, Thomas breathes out a curse, eyes lowering to the straining bulge at his crotch as if it were an open wound.

If you remain much longer, it might be.

“Eat well yourself,” you order without looking back. “You’ll need your strength.”

***

Only after Thomas has returned to his bed do you return to your coffin, mildly but far from fully satisfied. The animals you had drained in this last hour before dawn were poor substitutes for the blood that beckons you from your lover’s veins.

Lover.

The meaning of the word had been all but lost to you before him. And though ‘love’ is a part of it, you doubt you are capable of such a feeling. What you feel for Thomas is nothing but a new, strange kind of appetite. You want his heart in your teeth, but not for so long it stops beating. You want to make him last. Perhaps… forever. If he were to offer himself willingly. For the first time, you feel you would not mind sharing some of your power with what you know to be called a ‘familiar’.

But any such thoughts must wait. The sky was already infused with a rosy hue when you retreated to the comforting darkness of your resting place, and soon enough your consciousness will awaken to yet another night, the hours of daylight passed as if in a blink of your immortal eye.

Thomas, on the other hand, has a long day ahead of him. The sleep he seeks, unlike you, will not claim him. You can feel as much even without reaching out to his mind with your power.

Which you are unable to refrain from doing, if only for the last few moments of the night. Eyes closed, you let your darkness stretch out, slithering along the stone walls of the castle, corridor after corridor and room after room, as though you are yourself making your way to the chamber where Thomas lies in bed. Soon enough, the darkness before your eyes is replaced with the image of him, skin glistening with perspiration, brow pinched in discomfort. A sight you have admired for many nights before. Only, it’s not a sense of inexplicable dread which plagues him now, but rather the torment of unfulfilled desire.

He tries to fight it, truly. Forcing his eyes to remain shut, his body to lie still. But the desire remains, a constant, maddening companion. Ever so often, his hips give a gentle roll, as if the softest friction against his trousers would bring him any modicum of relief. You may not have explicitly forbidden it, but he knew better than to relieve himself after you left him.

At the very least, he has managed to resist the temptation until now. With a sigh which spells defeat, he opens his eyes, taking in the softly lit sky. He can’t see that the sun itself has yet to emerge over the horizon, thinks himself already out of your reach for the following day. He only hesitates for a few moments before he reaches down, and the guilt in his gaze dissipates into a moan as he finally grants himself the pressure for which his cock has been aching. He palms it firmly, hips bucking into his own hand, before reaching inside his trousers and grasping his length fully. Perhaps you will not mind, you feel him think. He will confess it to you, yes. Beg for forgiveness if he must. Part of him hopes he’ll have to, his cock throbbing even more intensely at the thought, his rhythm quickening—

His wrist is snatched away by an unseen hand—by a shadow—and pinned to the pillow beside his head, right along with his other hand as well. He gasps in fright, then the loss of the blissful friction pulls a whine from his throat. Your voice is a disembodied hiss, crawling through his mind like a serpent.

“You asked to be taken. So this,” his chest heaves as your shadowy grip engulfs his swollen length, the feeling nothing short of devastatingly real, “is no longer yours to do with as you please. I alone shall grant your pleasure, and only when I see fit. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” he breathes out. “Yes.”

The latter is a wanton moan rather than a promise. He is all but thrusting into the air now, into your unseen touch, his head thrown back, his neck beautifully exposed. You wonder if he has the faintest idea how utterly devourable he makes himself for you.

“If you touch yourself,” your voice purrs in his ear, “I will know.”

Perhaps he won’t need to, at least for a while. If you keep stroking him this way, even from afar, even just for a few moments more, he may yet find the relief he so direly needs. He is close, you can tell, and you almost—almost—want to feel him reach it.

“Oh, my dear Thomas,” you caress his name with your tongue. “I fear I shall never have enough of you.”

Even without him gasping out the words as he writhes against the sheets, you know he feels the same. It’s not enough. You are selfish by nature, ravenous, vindictive. You want his desire to eat away at his veins as cruelly as yours has stripped you of your power over yourself, denting your ancient pride.

When he is on the precipice, ready to reach his peak, it’s gone. Your voice, your touch—melted away the moment that the sun is no longer obscured by the earth. Thomas has never resented its warmth as he does now. His heart may as well have dropped into his cock, the way it throbs with each pump of his blood, desperately unsatisfied, and what’s worse is he knows you intended it this way. That you revel in his torment.

But even worse still is—he, too, revels in it.

[live-laugh-lenney]

LOCKED IN | ARTHUR FREDERICK

chapter three is here! i'm so sorry about the wait but i'm hoping to become a lot more regular with my schedule and posting this story. thanks for all the love so far! feedback is always welcomed and my inbox is always open so please, please, please don’t hesitate to let me know your thoughts on the story. enjoy! <33

MASTERLIST

- C H A P T E R T H R E E -

“YN, to the Store Room.”

“Are you really going to make me get out of bed to come for a brief chat, Sugarlips?” YN groaned, letting out a disgruntled sound as she rolled over and planted her face into her pillow. She felt Steph rub her shoulder from above the duvet, having perched on the edge of YN’s bed as they said their good morning’s to each other. “I’m so cold. Don’t make me go.”

“Maybe it’s another secret challenge…” Steph wondered, standing from her place and grabbing fistfuls of the duvet with both of her fists, “come on, lazy bones. Up you get.”

“I’m cold,” she reiterated, feeling the chill of the bedroom air hit at her exposed legs, “please. Do not make me get up.”

Her socks felt twisted and uncomfortable on her feet and she guessed it was a good enough reason to sit up on the mattress because she couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling below her ankles. The sleeves of her jumper had risen to her elbows, the cuffs feeling tight around her arm and left crease marks in her skin, which she would use as knowledge that she had slept brilliantly through the night. 

Because she was finding it much easier. 

Everyone was pretty relaxed around one another now and everyone had adjusted to routines and little habits that needed to be done before ending their day. Snoring became a sound that soothed her to sleep rather than woke her from her slumber. The background chat that came in the mornings became her alarm clock and she didn’t mind waking up to join in with whatever topic they were talking about. Everyone’s mess became everyone’s mess around the house and she found herself busying her mind by tidying the different rooms in the house every so often. Because once she picked a t-shirt up or put a pair of shoes away at the end of someone’s bed, she had to pick the rest up. Time was still a struggle and she was finding it hard to go about her day without reaching for her phone or her laptop, needing some kind of escape from the small bubble, for just a moment but it was a detox that she’d be thankful for once she left the house and went back to the normality of her day-to-day life in London.

She slipped her feet into her slippers, a big and yellow smiley face adorned on the front in a carpet-like material, and scuffed down the alley of the beds and into the hidden room round the corner, opening the door and closing it behind her.

“Good morning, YN.”

“Sugarlips,” she greeted with a soft smile, sitting down and crossing her legs like she was back in a school assembly, hands holding her ankles to keep them in place, “what information can I grace you with this morning? Since you woke me up and had me leave the warmth of my bed.”

“How did you sleep last night?”

YN smiled a genuine smile at the camera.

“I slept brilliantly, thank you,” she nodded, sticking her two thumbs up, “I really did, honestly. It’s becoming so much easier to just fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. No snoring keeps me awake now.”

“That’s good for a light sleeper.”

“I am not a light sleeper, let me tell you, Sugarlips. I just struggle to get to sleep, especially in a place where I’m surrounded by strangers who might look at me weirdly in my sleep,” she took a second to clear her throat into her fist before she continued, “once I’m snoozing and I’m all comfortable and warm, I’m out for the count.”

It sounded like heaven.

Most people could only dream of falling asleep as soon as they clambered under their bedsheets and and as soon as their heads hit the pillow behind them. As soon as their eyes closed and as soon as their brain switched off from the day, into a state where nothing was able to distract them from a much needed slumber after a busy day of working. 

YN saw it as a curse.

Where she loved being able to nap anywhere she wanted, loved being able to have a quick ten minute shuteye session on the train or in the back of a taxi cab, there had been many times where she would curse herself for being such a deep sleeper. Many a time where she’d slept through an alarm and had been late for work or for a meeting or for something as important as a video shoot for a channel she had been asked to be a guest on, many a time where she had overslept on a day off and wasted half of her day in bed because she was far too sleepy and far too comfortable to move elsewhere in her house (and why would she need to move if she had no plans?), and there had been many a time where she had overstayed her welcome in hotels because she would work hard for the event she had been invited to and really reap the benefits of being in a five-star bed in a five-star hotel building in a location that she could only dream of working in. 

In a house full of people who slept so differently, she felt it was more a blessing than a curse, at that very moment. 

“Who do you think is the loudest in the house?”

“Oh god, in what way?” YN sat herself up a little straighter in the chair and clasped her hands together in an excitable way, “because if we’re talking in general, I’d have to say Spuddz. He’s such a loud character who gets passionate and really excited about things that happened in here.”

YN had become used to his antics now.

Spuddz was the prankster of the house who liked to play jokes when there was a tiny lull of boredom; he’d hide and jump out at people when they walked passed him, he’d take away something they would use quite often and pretend he had no idea what they were talking about to only place it somewhere so inconspicuous that they wouldn’t even think to check there, he would jump on someone if they were snoozing under the covers in the bedroom, and he’d tell the wackiest jokes that you’d just have to laugh at because it was his delivery rather than the punchline that made it. 

He brought a bit of chaos to the place and he was entertaining, to say the least.

“But if we’re talking about snoring, god, then it has to be Jokeman. Without a doubt. I feel bad for Arthur having to sleep next to him,” YN admitted and shook her head in amusement; there were many times when a group of them would giggle amongst themselves at the sounds escaping his nose and throat, “I think I’ve just learnt to drown everything out now. It’s become such common knowledge in the house that you just learn to live with it, almost like it’s background noise.”

“And who do you think is the messiest in the house?”

“The messiest? Oh god,” she cackled softly and rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers, holding them there for a brief moment as she tried to recount everything from the last two days of being in the Locked In house. Her mind raced between everybody; their beds in the bedroom, their section of the bathroom, who left their shoes out and about and how they were when it came to cooking and cleaning after themselves. Including herself in the mix because she knew she wasn’t the cleanest person that entered the house. “I honestly, honestly couldn’t tell you. I feel like we’re all incredibly messy. My clothes are always all over the place. Spuddz always chucks his clothes out of the bathroom when he’s getting ready. All of us girls leave make-up everywhere when we’re getting ready in the mornings,” she tapped her chin in thought, “everyone contributes to the mess without really thinking about it.”

“Everyone?”

“Well, apart from Arthur, I guess. He might leave the odd bowl out from breakfast but he’s pretty neat with everything. His bed is always so pristine in the mornings,” she smiled softly, “he’s a neat freak, I think they call them.”

She remembered just what his bed looked like when she woke up that morning. Not a single trace of him left behind; no dip in the mattress where his body had situated through the night, no dip in his pillow from where he’d laid his head, no crease or lump to signify he was still there. He’d seemingly woken up before everyone that morning, she assumed, because his duvet was pulled up and his pillows were neatly placed at the head of the bed like he was done with it for the day, and YN wondered where he’d gone before Steph had made her way to her bed and flopped herself down. 

“I need him to start making mine, I think. Nothing is allowed to touch that bed from the moment it’s made, till the moment he gets in it at nighttime. He hates it.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The kitchen, just after lunchtime, was the perfect level of quiet. 

With the humming of the kitchen fridge and the whirring of the extractor fan above the oven and the trickling sounds coming from the tap once everything had been washed and left to dry on the drying board, it held a sense of silence that was the complete opposite to how it was just a mere half an hour ago; lunchtime being the time when everyone congregates in the kitchen to decide who wanted what for lunch with the limited items they had left from their big shop down just over two days ago. Shouting over each other as they let everyone know their orders on fried eggs opposed to scrambled, ketchup instead of baked beans and who wanted nuggets instead of sausages. All whilst other conversations were happening between he housemates. 

Chaos.

A lovely chaos but pure chaos, none-the-less.

“So, Youtube chat.”

“Yes,” YN grinned, taking her seat on the stool beside the brunette dressed in her peach tracksuit, “the one you wanted to have earlier?”

Anastasia nodded softly, watching as YN opened the pack of digestive biscuits and set them between the two of them.

“Now, I’d say we’re quite similar in what we do on Youtube, wouldn’t you think? I think we’d both fall into the subtopic of Lifestyle,” Anastasia stated, reaching for another chocolate biscuit from the pack that YN had placed on the kitchen island not too long before, pairing nicely with the two cups of tea she had made when Anastasia had asked her if she fancied going for a private chat somewhere - so they could get to know each other in a little bit more of a deeper level than just leaving it at a minor introduction, “I do a little bit of everything and I find I can’t stick to one topic in life. Where most of these guys have make-up or football, I feel like I dabble in a bit of every kind of thing you can show on Youtube.”

“Quite similar? I’d say very similar in terms of what we post,” YN laughed softly, “I just sit and chat. Almost like a vlog-style but not in the format of a vlog. I’m also yet to introduce my family onto my channel, like my parents and my grandparents and whatnot, and I want to make sure they’re comfortable before I bombard them with a camera in their face,” she took a sip from the mug of tea in her hands, “I have no siblings so it’s just me doing my own content. With the occasional pop up from a friend.”

“Do you have a boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

“I don’t,” she shook her head, placing the mug back down on the island top and pulling the sleeves of her jumper over her hands, “no boyfriends for me currently. I’ve been so thrown into this Youtube thing over the last twelve months that I just don’t find myself looking.”

“Not even just swiping Tinder or?”

YN shakes her head.

Sure, she had the dating apps downloaded on her phone; Tinder, Hinge and Bumble. 

But they were only there because her friends had encouraged her to put herself out there in the world of dating and had practically downloaded them to her phone themselves one night when they were together. Insisting that she had something good going for her and that people needed to see the true her and not the girl she portrays herself as online and in her Youtube videos. She found herself using them a couple of times, when curiosity got the better of her and she was in the mood to be nosey, when she was at home by herself and trying to find something to cure her boredom… yet nothing ever came out of swiping right or agreeing to a conversation that would become the driest chat she’d ever had.

“I feel like boyfriends, in this line of work, are something hard to find.”

Boyfriends would come and go in her life. 

Where she would love to have someone to settle down with, go on late-night drives with and take romantic walks through London with, her job came first. With her schedule being something that would almost look crazy busy to someone with a normal 9-5 office job and with her job being something out of the ordinary and not a sit-down job, it was something she thought would scare people off; who would want cameras in their face all day? Who would want their life to be broadcast for millions of followers to see? It would be somewhat of a dealbreaker between her and someone she liked to be around so she saved herself the heartache.

“Yeah, I find that everyone feels intimidated by it when I say I’ve got 1.3 million subs. The look of overwhelm on their faces just says it all really.” 

“Not that I’m holding back on relationships but,” YN sighed heavily and the feeling of dejection ran through her body, “I guess I’m just waiting for someone worth it. I don’t want to go through heartache after heartache, dealing with break-ups, when I could have saved myself from it from the very start.”

“Youtube is tough of the private life sometimes,” Anastasia agreed, nodding softly and she chewed upon a bite of a digestive biscuit held in her hand, chocolate coating her fingertips, “but once you find someone who loves you for you, who supports you and becomes your number one fan, who cheers you on and agrees to do things you want them to do for content, yeah… it’s the best feeling in the world.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“When was the first Nike Air Force 1 first released?” 

Johnny turned from the screen he read the question from and looked to face his team; Jemel, Jamie, Anastasia and YN, all of them looking at the four answers with puzzled looks on their faces as they thought long and hard about what the correct answer could be. Throwing around different ideas, conferring as a team, looking frantically at the brand-new white shoes on YN’s feet as they searched for any kind of clue that could give away what the answer could be.

“Does it say anything? At all?” Jemel questioned, looking over YN’s shoulder and shaking her head, “nothing at all.”

“Just split the items across the board. At least we win something, if not nothing,” YN suggested, “but put more on what we think may be the correct answer. If we win then there’s a lot of our items to have and, if we lose, then there’s a small minority of our items. A win-win either way.”

Johnny split the luxury items according to how YN stated, confirming with his team what number they were going for, dividing everything up and placing them on the dropboards before him.

“Lock in number 4. 1991,” Johnny confirmed, standing back from the table, “fuck.”

Number 2 dropped before them.

Number 3 dropped before them.

“Look me in the eye,” Johnny stated confidently as he made eye contact with the four players of his team, “this isn’t going anywhere. This,” he waved around the pile of items on number 4’s dropboard, “this isn’t going anywhere. Just look me in the eye and trust me.”

Trusting him is what they did…

… and trusting him is what they wish they didn’t do.

Number 4 dropped before them and they watched as the majority of their luxury items disappeared beneath the table. Sounds of complete shock filled the challenge room as they watched the events happen before them, leaving one tiny luxury left behind on number 1’s dropboard. YN frowned as she watched the collection of Cadbury’s Caramel chocolate bars disappear, her heart instantly dropping with them, and her face dropped to her hands. 

“You’re joking,” Jemel groaned behind his hands, hiding his face and dragging his palms down his cheeks, “we were certain.”

“Johnny, we’re not listening to you again,” YN frowned playfully at him as he paced the floor in front of the table, “you were so confident.”

“We’re a team, we all went for it. If you thought differently, you should’ve said,” he bit back in a tone that sent an ache through her chest. Making YN’s fake frown turn into a real frown. The creases on her forehead became more prominent, her eyebrows furrowed closer together, her eyes held a dark look behind them and she chewed her tongue in order not to fight back with him - it was a game after all. “Next question, next question.”

Cashews were on the line.

And the question was to do with the population of London, with answers varying between 2 million and 13 million, yet YN chose to keep herself from inputting an answer, staying put and staying silent. 

She watched as they dropped into the table and Johnny slammed his palm upon the tabletop, jumping in her place on the bench beside Anastasia, her cheeks going bright red and she could feel the two men behind her as they hunched over and groaned into their hands, crouching towards the floor. 

“They were cashews, the least they owed us was cashews,” Johnny hurled the words into the room, “cashews.”

The blue team thought they’d done the worst out of both teams partaking in the challenge… until the red team took their turn. 

As quick as the new piles of luxury items had been placed on the four dropboards, they had quickly disappeared after they gave the wrong answer to their first question. A question on Chunkz and his music. With a musically-inclined person in their team. 

The irony couldn’t have been any better.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Which one of you is doing the secret hiding challenge thing?”

Arthur broke the silence that had fallen amongst the group, all eyes focusing on him as he stood before the group, asking the question that had been brewing in his mind for the most of the afternoon once he realised a piece from his chess set had gone missing. Knowing that Jokeman wouldn’t have done it and that YN wouldn’t have taken it from him because she hadn’t had a reason to mess with him like that, and he hoped she didn’t take his accusation personally, but he had his suspicions on who it could be. 

“It’s not me,” he pointed to himself, “and it’s not you,” he pointed to Anastasia, “so who is it? Someone’s taken the rook from the chess set.”

YN gripped hold of the edge of the make-up table with her fingertips and leant back upon the yellow stool she was perched upon and tilted her head back to look at him, genuine concern on his face as he looked around the room and made eye contact to see if anyone was lying to him. His eyes holding more on those he thought could be the culprits. 

“It’s not me, I promise,” YN smiled softly, “I’ve barely been down there all day.”

Arthur looked down and nodded, “I know it’s not you.”

“How?” Johnny asked, “it could have been? Just because you fancy her, it doesn’t mean she couldn’t have stolen it as a joke or something.”

YN rolled her eyes.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d done to annoy Johnny and it hurt her brain to think about anything she could have said to him, in the three days they’d been there and in the very few conversations they’d had, that would have upset him or given him a reason to treat her poorly with his words. 

The words twanged at her insides and she frowned, eyebrows pinching together and her eyes went darker than usual, and she busied herself by cleaning up the make-up table in front of her and organising things into a more structured layout. 

And it wasn’t just YN who was upset by his words.

Arthur wanted to bite back. He wanted to defend her but it wasn’t worth the hassle because he would have fought in a game that would have had dangerous consequences on the outside world; he wasn’t a fighter, he wasn’t one for confrontation and he didn’t need to argue back in front of cameras that would have picked up the entire thing. He watched her, eyes flickering back to her every now and then, and he could see YN’s mind thinking the same thing with the way her eyes were dark yet still holding a touch of her usual spark when she made eye contact with him. 

“Bold on that one, Arthur,” Jokeman laughed from next to him, in an attempt to lift the mood and nudged him in the arm with his elbow, “although, YN’s far too sweet to even think about making someone so paranoid. This man is going through it right now. Look at him.”

Arthur’s cheeks flushed a bright pink.

“I just, I’ve been down playing chess for most of the day and I haven’t really seen YN all day so I didn’t think she’d do it,” he explained, “she might have done it behind my back or when I disappeared for a moment but I don’t think she would have done me over like that. She knows that chess is one massive love of mine.”

YN’s cheeks mirrored Arthur’s and she felt the heat creeping up her neck. 

He disappeared from behind her and into the bedroom where she could hear him asking Anisa, Jamie and Spuddz on whether they had taken the rook to his chess set and, once they swore to him that they didn’t, whether they knew who did take it from the board because he was determined to find the one who had done it.

“I think it’s you,” he stated, looking at Steph as she feigned shock, a hand placed over her heart and her eyes widening, “it has to be you. I’ve asked everyone else.”

“It’s not me,” Steph argued, shaking her head and placing her hands on her hips, “Arthur, it’s not me. I didn’t do it.”

“We’ve been upstairs,” Anastasia chimed in, “she wouldn’t have done it. She couldn’t have done it. She’s been with me.”

“I’ve managed to cross everyone else off the list. It’s you,” he frowned, “it has to be you. I’ve asked everyone else and they’ve all got pretty good alibi’s.”

He stood and waited for a reply. His eyes darted between the two girls before him. 

“Well, it’s not me,” Steph said, “it’s not, I promise you.”

Getting nowhere close to finding out who took the chess piece, Arthur gave up. 

A permanent frown etched on his face for the entire early evening and annoyance written across his body, his body language changing from his usual bouncy self to a more constricted self, because he was being kept away from doing something he enjoyed doing. Something that helped pass the time. Where others had the art of coming up with conversations to help them through the lingering hours, Arthur didn’t and he didn’t excel in conversations with people as well as everyone else so chess was his solace.

Minutes passed by, that turned into hours passing by, and by then, they’d all disappeared and dispersed into another room. YN found comfort on a beanbag with a blanket wrapped around her, to the back of the room where everyone had seemingly congregated so she could still listen to what was going on and she could still be a part of conversations that were happening, and it was the one thing she was thankful people understood about her; how she liked to be by herself, with her own thoughts, without forcing her to do things she didn’t want to do.

And her moment was torn from her when she watched Steph take Arthur aside.

She wasn’t staring, she wasn’t really interested in what they were saying and she didn’t really care for them being sat together and having a chat in the corner, but what seemingly bothered her was how she pulled him into a hug and kept him close, arms wrapping around his neck as his snaked around her waist. And she felt a pang of… dare she say it… she felt a pang of jealousy surge through her chest and she found it hard to take her eyes away from what was happening. She knew the cameras were on her and she knew they were watching her every move, as they were with Arthur and Steph, and deep down she knew she needed to stop feeling that way… yet she couldn’t stop herself.

“I did take your chess piece,” she announced proudly, “it was me. I’ve hidden it in one of the kitchen cupboards.”

And YN was torn from her distant gaze as he let out a blaring ‘I knew it’ into the quiet room and shot up from his seat, chasing Steph from room to room and ending out on the patio of the house where, just for a tiny second and through the gap between the doorframe and stairs, YN saw a second hug happen.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

‘Steph, your Shrimp 🍤 crew is absolutely here 💯 goooooo Steeeph 🤩’

“Shrimp crew?” YN laughed and looked across to Steph, “what’s that about?”

“It’s because my posture is always like this,” she hunched over in demonstration and brought her chest to her knees, letting her posture drop compared to the straight back she was sitting with prior and YN cackled softly, “it’s so bad so I just call my little following the Shrimp crew.”

“Do you know that girl?” Arthur questioned and looked at her and everyone snickered around them, even YN had a small smile tickle at the corner of her lips as she looked at his flushing cheeks and clueless look behind his eyes, “what?”

“It’s a comment, bro,” Johnny teased, pushing Arthur’s shoulder in amusement, “just a comment.”

‘Here we go!!!’

“Saffron,” Steph cooed, “that’s so cute.”

“That’s my best friend,” Anastasia grinned, pointing her fingers at the camera and smiling wide, “that’s my best friend. Love you Saff!”

‘I can’t wait, rooting for Jamie!! (LDN movements)’

“Jamie!” 

Everyone cried out his name once they read the comment on the screen and he stood to his feet, a bashful look on his face and he played shy for the group and for the cameras, clasping his hands before him and doing a tiny twirl before he sat back down on the sofa.

‘Arthur is too sweet. What a winner’

Everyone clapped for the comment and Arthur blushed a bright pink, Jokeman clapping him on the shoulders and giving him a gentle shake, cheering behind him. 

YN blushed when he looked at her after the noise and the commotion had died down, giving him the softest thumbs up and the cheesiest grin she could muster, and he shot her a wink before he turned back around and looked back at the screen. 

‘YN all the way! Love you girl! Smash it in there!’

“Yes, girly,” Anisa grinned and wrapped her arm around YN’s shoulder, pulling her into a hug as gave cheers of agreement with the comment before them, “guys, this is my winner right here. Along with me, of course. We can split the prize money.”

Arthur gave her the cheesiest grin he could muster and threw her a thumbs up, in the same fashion that she had done to him, and she giggled to herself and looked to her hands. 

The cutest, she thought to herself, absolutely adorable.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The house had finally settled.

And, for YN, it was the first real moment of solitude that she’d felt that day. Night time seemed to be the first time, that day, where she managed to find time to herself, and it was like a breath of fresh air after another day spent navigating through people, friendships, challenges and tasks to win points throughout the show. She didn’t have to convene with anyone, no conversation was needed and she could finally be at peace with her thoughts as she reminisced on what was happening around her.

As her housemates retreated upstairs, either already asleep or engaged in the familiar ritual of preparing themselves for bed, she found herself drawn to the sanctuary of the lounge. She’d said goodnight to everyone as they made their way into the bedroom as she collected her lounge clothes and slippers so she could chill out in the living room, dragging the duvet down the stairs behind her, and saying goodnight to the last few housemates who were trudging themselves up the stairs.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you all day,” Arthur hummed quietly, taking the seat beside her on the sofa and pulling some of the blanket from her legs so he could cover his own from the chill in the air, “I definitely haven’t spoken to you all day, I don’t think.”

She smiled softly and shrugged gently, cosying back into the sofa and pulling her legs up to her chest.

“Are you okay?” 

He gazed at her face as he waited for an answer, whether it be a change in emotion or verbal, yet nothing seemed to make it obvious to him. 

“I’m fine, I’m just…” she watched as Spuddz and Jamie walked through the lounge area and towards the kitchen, saying their goodnights as they were the last two to disappear upstairs and get ready for bed, “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” he pointed out, watching as the features of her face contorted into a look that seemingly made her look like she was about to cry, “did I say something?”

“No,” she frowned and she refused to let the tears that had been stinging at her eyelids come to bay, “I’m fine, honestly. I think I’m just overtired and now I’m struggling to feel tired enough to lay down and go to sleep so I just feel all-”

“Emotional?” 

She nodded and giggled softly, pulling the blanket up to her chin and focusing her attention on the soft fabric between her fingertips.

“You weren’t upset about what happened earlier, were you?”

He didn’t need to remind her; the situation had sat at the front of her brain for the majority of the evening. 

“Not really, it just annoys me that they insinuate things after everything we do together or whenever one of us defends the other,” she admitted, shrugging her shoulders and the stinging of tears seemed to subside a little as she spoke about what she had bottled up all day, “I think I just need to stop letting words affect me and grow up a little, I guess.”

“I think it was a valid reason to be upset,” Arthur said, “there’s a lot of loud voices in here that it��s hard not to feel upset when something is said with a little vigour and brashness. If it helps, I was going to bite back but I didn’t think it was worth it… he has a lot more fans than I do. I think, publicly, I’d have been torn to pieces.”

YN smiled softly at him and shook her head, “I think you’d have a lot of defence behind you. I’d be your number one defender, for sure.”

“Likewise,” he jabbed his elbow into her side, “we make a great team.”

[sophrosynesworld]

The Night Shift (Part 8)

“The person you are trying to reach has a voicemail that has not been set up yet. Please try again later. Goodbye.”

The automated message cuts off, leaving you staring at your phone screen. A heavy sigh escapes your lips. It’s been weeks since you woke up, but every attempt to reach Bakugo has been met with silence. Four missed calls, two unanswered texts—the message is clear. He doesn’t want to see you.

The crowd surges forward, and you move with it, carried along in a wave of shuffling feet and hurried glances. A rough cough tears through your chest, sharp enough to leave your throat burning. You try to clear it, but the effort only makes it worse.

If he did pick up, what would you even say? Hey, Bakugo. Sorry for dying? The thought twists something deep in your stomach.

You keep walking, head down, focused on the steady rhythm of your footsteps against the pavement—until you stop. Right there in the middle of the subway staircase.

Someone behind you mutters a curse, brushing past with an irritated shove. But you're not able to process it, memories claw at the edges of your mind, pushing past the dam you’ve worked so hard to build.

“How long do I have?”

Dr. Morri sits across from you, a tray of untouched cafeteria food between you both. The speed at which the hospital revoked your credentials was almost astonishing. Before the loose diagnosis, pulling 100-hour workweeks was just another Monday for you. Now, you’re “on sabbatical,” a sanitized label slapped on to keep questions at bay.

"You’re a medical mystery," he says. "You know how hard that question is to answer."

You lean in, arms crossing over the table, voice low. “What am I supposed to do? Wake up every day not knowing when I’m going to die?”

"Jesus, will you—" Morri had caught himself, exhaling sharply. "Talking like that won’t get you anywhere."

Your colleague drags a hand down his face, exhaustion settling in the lines around his eyes. You're not quite sure if he looks older than you remember or if you’re just seeing him clearly for the first time.

"You want the truth?" he sighs when you nod. "If we can’t find a cure… maybe a year."

"A year?"

"That’s on the generous side."

"Do you think they'll let me cash out on my social security early?"

"Dammit, don’t—" Morri cuts himself off, pausing for a moment. "We’re not giving up on you. We have every specialist looking into this." He leans back into his chair. "Quirk research is evolving everyday. But we need time, and you…" He exhales. "I think you need to tell someone".

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the table, nails digging into the plastic. That’s the problem, isn’t it? How do you tell people that you’re dying? That no matter how strong they think you are, no matter how much you’ve fought to survive, your own body has turned against you?

How do you tell someone like Airi?

You feel it again—the acid in your throat. Another person pushes your shoulder and it's finally enough to break your frozen state, your feet moving towards the platform and onto the correct train without having to think about it.

Your friends could never know. Your family would never find out. You made that choice—selfishly, maybe. Kento had called you out on it, tried to talk you down, but you didn’t listen.

"A year of happy memories is better than a year of them waiting."

Your eyes stay down, locked on the scuffed subway floor, refusing to let your thoughts spiral. The panicked thought slips away, shattered by the buzz of your phone in your back pocket. For a split second, your heart jumps—Katsuki.

But it’s Rina.

Hey! Wanna grab lunch this weekend?

You stare at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The simple question feels impossibly distant, like it belongs to another version of you. With a quiet sigh, you slip the phone back into your pocket, promising yourself you’ll reply later.

The subway doors slide open with a hiss, releasing a surge of passengers onto the platform. You move with them, climbing the steps until the center of the city swallows you whole—blaring horns, flashing advertisements, the ceaseless hum of bodies in motion.

Your eyes flick up on instinct, and there he is. The hero you've waited over a month to see. Or at least, his face—scowling down at you from a massive billboard, advertising Dynamight-branded protein powder. The absurdity of it pulls a scoff from your lips.

Shaking your head, you step forward, weaving through the crowd. Your gate quickens as you near The Booknook, a familiar restaurant just a few blocks away. Stepping off the sidewalk and into the alleyway, you suddenly feel something—a light tap on your shoulder.

Frowning, you glance back, half-expecting to see a old coworker. Instead, you find yourself looking up at the number one hero, clad in an evergreen and silver hero suit. He looks out so different. His boyish smile is disarmingly warm, tinged with nerves that somehow make him seem more approachable. Was he wearing a hero suit when he came into the hospital? You frown, trying to remember.

“You recover fast,” The words slip out reflexively, your professional instincts kicking in.

Izuku chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that’s almost endearing. “Only thanks to doctors like you.”

The casual acknowledgment stops you short. “You… know about that?”

He nods, his expression softening. “Yeah. They told me everything. If it weren’t for you… I wouldn’t be standing here.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. It’s rare for a hero to acknowledge you so directly—your work usually fades into the background of their larger-than-life narratives.

“Well,” you manage, brushing off the moment with a faint smile, “you got to us just in time.”

Izuku chuckles. “You shouldn’t do that.”

"Do what?" you ask, stepping deeper into the shaded alleyway, away from the relentless heat of the dusk sun. You tilt your head slightly, a silent invitation for the hero to follow.

“Brush things off like they’re nothing,” he replies following as you step forward, the muted clink of his armor echoing against the walls of the pothole-ridden alleyway. His polished boots crunch against loose gravel as his eyes lock onto yours. “Take credit for what you do. From what my friends tell me, you're a real hero. Own it.”

A flicker of warmth stirs in your chest, but you wave it off with practiced nonchalance. “Thank you, Midoriya. But, I'm on holiday now so don't inflate my ego."

"Wouldn’t dream of it," Izuku chuckles his eyes flicking left, then right, scanning the alley.

You follow his gaze, but all you see is cracked asphalt, a few scattered puddles from yesterday’s rain, and a pigeon that looks way too invested in your conversation. Late afternoon sunlight filters through the fire escapes above, cutting sharp lines of light and shadow across the walls. You’ve never thought much of it before—it’s just an alley. But the way Izuku’s locates every rustling scrap of paper and distant clatter makes you wonder what he's seeing that you don't.

His armor catches the sunlight in flashes, the green and silver plating looking oddly out of place against the dingy bricks and rust-streaked dumpsters. Yet somehow, it fits him perfectly. He looks… cool, you begrudgingly admit to yourself, though you’d rather bite your tongue than say it out loud.

“Shouldn’t you be off saving the world right now?” you ask, your tone casual, though the question feels more pointed than you intended. It feels almost ridiculous, standing here with him when it’s so clear he could be anywhere else—doing something that actually matters.

You expect a quick, snarky reply. Something cocky to match the confidence you constantly see online. But instead, he says:

"Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" You stop in your tracks, holding still so the crunch of gravel beneath your soles doesn’t mask whatever he’s listening for.

Izuku’s eyes stay fixed ahead with an unreadable expression. His footsteps still crunching. "Exactly," He exhales, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

Izuku slows, just enough for you to catch up, his sharp eyes flicking to a shadowed doorway before returning to the path ahead. You can’t tell if he’s on edge or if this is just how he is—always scanning and assessing. Either way, it’s unsettling. How does someone live like that? Constantly waiting for something to go wrong?

"Take a left up here," you say, hoping to lighten the mood. "It's not a bad neighborhood, you know."

He shrugs. "I never said it was."

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.

"So, where are we headed?" Izuku asks, stepping aside as the alleyway opens into a wider street.

"The Booknook." you say, shoving your hands into your pockets. "Ever heard of it?"

He tilts his head, glancing at the faded street signs. "Can’t say I have. Is it any good?"

"Guess you’ll find out,"

"Is that an invitation?" His tone is light, almost teasing, but there’s something in his expression—like he’s giving you a way out.

You hesitate for half a second before nodding. The moment you confirm, your stomach twists. Why did I just invite Deku with me? Panic flutters in your chest, but you keep your tone casual. "If you’re chasing me all over the city just to say thanks, the least I can do is buy you a cup of coffee."

He chuckles, falling into step beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. "I appreciate that."

“How’ve you been?” you ask, starting up the first set of stairs. The incline feels steeper than it should, a tightness creeping into your chest with each step.

“Honestly?” The seriousness in his tone forces you to glance over your shoulder. “I’ve been having a hard time breathing.”

Your right foot stops moving mid-step causing you to nearly trip, catching yourself just in time before spinning around to face him. Standing a few steps higher, you’re eye-level with him for the first time.

"For how long?" The words come fast, concern sharpening your tone. "Since the accident, or before? Have you seen a doctor?" The questions tumble out, one after the other, leaving no room for hesitation.

His expression shifts—seriousness breaking into something playful, his grin lighting up like a switch flipped.

"Are you... are you fucking with me?"

"Yes," Deku admits with a laugh, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Midoriya!" You swat his arm, cheeks warming, but the metal plating of his armor dulls the impact. Izuku still moves as if you actually hit him, feigning injury with an exaggerated wince.

Rolling your eyes, you take another step forward. "This healer is off the market," you say, the joke barely out before a wave of sadness crashes over you. "Go find someone else to save you next time."

"Don't be like that," he laughs.

A few people wave as you pass a stationary store, their attention fixed on him. You glance ahead at yet another incline, groaning internally. Why are there so many damn hills in Japan?

"Could we stop for a second?" Izuku leans casually against the railing, squinting at the sun. "I always think I’m in shape… until I have to walk up all these hills."

You let out a breathy laugh. "Sure," you say, shooting him a knowing look. "But shouldn’t you have more stamina? I feel like that's an important trait in heroes."

Izuku huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, turns out crime-fighting doesn’t require this much uphill cardio."

Whatever awkwardness was left between you dissolves as you both break into breathless laughter, the kind that makes your ribs ache but feels way too good to stop. For a moment, it’s like you’re both teenagers again—no weight of the world, no expectations—just two kids without expectations.

Somewhere between catching your breath and teasing him about his supposed stamina, you learn a few things. Like the fact that Izuku drinks an almost concerning amount of melon soda, keeps an entire journal dedicated to analyzing his students’ quirks, and sometimes gets so caught up in hero work that he forgets to eat. In return, you offer little pieces of yourself. How your heart has always been just a little too reckless, how sleep never comes easy no matter how exhausted you are.

It turns out, you have more in common than originally thought.

You both push yourselves too hard. You both let responsibility weigh heavier than it should. And neither of you know how to slow down.

And yet, there’s a difference.

Because while you blend into the background, Izuku never can.

People watch him.

Not just a passing glance or a quick double take. It’s more than that. Every step he takes seems to draw eyes, conversations pausing mid-sentence as he moves past. Somehow, it just seems effortless—the way he acknowledges each one with a smile or a wave.

You watch him, too. The way the sunlight weaves through the green of his hair, catching in the unruly strands. You’ve heard rumors, of course, the hospital is full of gossip and secondhand stories. But none of it compares to seeing him like this, laughing at one of your jokes with a crinkled-up nose.

It's in that moment you understand why Japan idolizes him.

"Are you ready?" Izuku asks, standing up from the curb and extending his hand to help you up.

You look back at the hero, your mind still a little distracted, but still replying with a nod, focusing on him as he waits, hand outstretched.

"Of course." You smile, your lips pulling upward more naturally than you expected as you reach out. Your hand fits in his much larger one, the warmth of his grip grounding you as he effortlessly pulls you to your feet.

"We’re getting close. I think it’s only another block or two," you say, stepping forward—but then you hesitate, suddenly aware of how close you’re standing next to him. Not uncomfortably so, but enough to make you notice.

For a split second, you wonder if Katsuki sent him. But the thought vanishes just as quickly—Katsuki won’t even call you back, so why would he go through the trouble of sending Izuku? The sting of that realization settles in your chest, but you push it aside, along with the dozen other questions piling up in your head.

Izuku, oblivious to your inner spiral, keeps pace beside you. The sound of your footsteps blends into the steady hum of the city—distant car horns, students filtering out of their evening study groups, laughter spilling from a nearby café.

"Never heard of this place before," Izuku says, breaking the silence. "What is it?"

"It’s part library, part restaurant," you explain. "Coffee and lunch during the day, liquor in the evening. People go there to read, work, or just exist for a while."

He perks up at that, intrigued. "What’s it called again?"

You huff a small laugh. "The Booknook. It’s probably my favorite place in the city."

Izuku chuckles, shaking his head like he should’ve guessed. "Sounds like something my friend Ida would visit. I’ll have to mention it to him next time I see him."

By the time you reach the correct street, the cozy, wood-paneled storefront glows warmly against the encroaching evening. A few patrons sit outside under string lights, noses buried in books, steam curling from their mugs. Through the large windows, you can see shelves lined with well-worn novels and quiet corners where people have tucked themselves away, lost in stories.

"Here we are," you say, your pace quickening slightly as you gesture toward the door. The store stands warm and inviting before you, the glow of its interior spilling onto the sidewalk.

Izuku tilts his head, taking in the café, but before either of you can step inside, the door bursts open with a sharp bang.

Someone barrels through, slamming into you with enough force to knock you off balance. Your breath catches as you stumble backward, only to collide with something solid. Izuku. His armored arms embrace you before you can hit the ground, steadying you with an ease that makes your stomach flip.

"Hey!" Izuku’s voice is sharp now, the calm politeness from before shifting into something more authoritative as he moves you behind him.

The man who crashed into you barely spares a glance your way. His focus snaps immediately to Izuku as a sneer curls on his lips. His entire presence oozes entitlement, like he owns the street beneath his feet.

"I don't have any spare change." he spits, his tone thick with disdain.

Your pulse kicks up, unease creeping beneath your skin. The man is tall and wiry, dressed in a suit so elaborate it probably costs more than your entire month’s rent. It's clear that he's the kind of rich that demands more from the world simply because he can.

"We don't need your money," you manage, squaring your shoulders. But he doesn’t even acknowledge you. His copper eyes locked on the man in the hero suit.

"I’m just here for drink," Izuku says smoothly, his voice measured. "No need to make a scene."

The man scoffs. "Right. Because that’s all you heroes ever do—just mind your business, huh?" Mockery drips from his lips, daring Izuku to react as air between them shifts. You’ve never seen anyone talk to Izuku like this—openly hostile, taunting. But what unsettles you more is how unfazed Deku seems. He doesn’t rise to it, doesn’t even blink. He just tilts his head slightly, his warm eyes now harsh.

"I don’t want any trouble," Izuku says, his voice steady, even—calm in a way that only makes the tension feel heavier. "But you need to apologize to my friend here."

The man sneers again, his lip curling like the mere suggestion is an insult. He doesn’t push further, though. Instead, his narrow copper eyes finally slide to you. There’s something sharp about them, something that gleams. He studies you, trailing over your face like he’s searching for something.

The sneer falters, just for a second. His brows pull together, the look flickering once again into something else. Uncertainty? Amusement? It’s hard to tell. But then his expression hardens again, his jaw clenching like he’s come to some conclusion you don’t understand.

A sleek black car pulls up to the curb, its presence too smooth and convenient. He exhales through his nose, his attention shifting away as if we’ve already become irrelevant. There’s no apology. No words at all. Just a slight, almost imperceptible nod in my direction.

As he moves, his fingers flick out in a lazy, dismissive wave, like Izuku is hardly worth his time. The car door swings open, swallowing him whole. The silence that follows as his car pulls off is heavy, charged with something neither of us can quite name.

Izuku exhales slowly. "That guy…" he mutters under his breath, eyes still on the retreating taillights. "I don’t like him."

Neither do you, but you won't admit that.

"Come on," you say instead, forcing your voice to sound steady. "I'm sure we won't see him again."

Author’s Note: Hey, darling! Long time no read… or, I suppose, long time no write on my part. Life has been a whirlwind lately—I’ve been buried in work on my personal novel, which has unfortunately made me slack a bit on my content here. But I haven’t forgotten about you all! I hope you're staying safe, warm, and surrounded by good things. (Also, sorry if this is clunky?? Writing in second person is so much harder since I haven't done it in so long.)

Tags: @simplyraeblue @moonfloweronmars @kalulakunundrum @froggy-crystal @msjaeger @crystalssncw @dragonscribble @gina239 @abcdefbeom @bakugonnathrowitback @your-mom3000 @elarakive @piluhns @deadhands69 @rienin @pikachuzhc @vanillabeama @cheshairacat

[wildyueblonder]

Febuwhump Day 1: Lost Voice

My first ever fic so please be kind! After watching all of slow horses I've been INFECTED and I can't get it out of my head, so 2000 words of River whump just fell out onto the page. No idea if I'll write any more although the Febuwhump prompts are gooood. May upload to AO3 if people like it (and once I have my account set up)

*****

River let out a long sigh as he eased himself down into his desk. Just that small rush of air made his throat burn, and he resisted the urge to drop his aching head into his hands.

He probably could have justified staying home today. It was a grey drizzly Monday morning in the streets of London, commuters going about their business with heads down and hoods up, trying to shelter from the ever-permeating English dampness. It was not the kind of weather that inspired action, and he couldn’t imagine even terrorists wanting to brave this when they could be sat at home with a cup of tea and some daytime telly. Nothing would be happening at Slough House today. Nothing ever happened at Slough House.

Despite it all, somehow River had dragged himself from his bed that morning, eyes sticky and head throbbing, with a throat like he had spent the night swallowing shards of glass. As a child, the O.B. had been strict on illness – the words ‘if you’re unwell enough to complain, then you’re unwell enough to stay in bed’ echoed through River’s mind. He had never been a patient child, and had usually been keen to avoid a day stuck in his bedroom. He had learnt to push through any signs of illness, and had noticed a glint of pride in the O.B.’s eyes whenever he did so. The old man had valued toughness. Even now, River couldn’t help but try and prove himself, although his grandfather was no longer in a fit state to recognise his efforts.

And so, here he was, at 9:07am, slumped in his desk chair at England’s most useless intelligence branch, staring with slightly glazed eyes at the loading screen of his computer, as Louisa noisily clattered her way into the office.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, out of breath, dropping her bag on the floor as she unwound a scarf from her neck. “Tube was rammed. Has Lamb noticed?”

River shook his head, doing his best to seem focused on his screen and hoping Louisa couldn’t see that all he was doing was entering his password. He really just needed to keep his head down and get through today, and Louisa had this annoying way of caring that threatened to throw off his composure.

(Briefly, his mind flashed back to memories of a cool hand on his forehead, an arm around his shoulders, a soft voice washing over him. His grandmother had not always agreed with the O.B.’s childrearing methods, and would go behind his back when he went to work, sneaking River ice cream and comfort. As he had gotten older, River had rebuffed these attempts at care, fearing that they would make him weak. But what he would give now for one more day with Grandma Rose, making him feel warm and cared for and loved.)

“Cup of tea?” Louisa asked. River grunted in affirmation, watching her make her way to the kitchen before turning his eyes back to his screen, where he had finally managed to pull up last week’s surveillance footage reports. Focusing on the numbers made his eyes feel hot and prickly, but he rubbed them with the heel of his hand before pressing on with his work.

He didn’t notice Louisa’s approach until a steaming mug thumped down onto his desk. He attempted to cover his flinch with a quick ‘thanks’ but all that came out was a croak.

Louisa turned on her way to her own desk, eyes narrowed and raking over his slightly slumped form. River made an effort to sit up straighter. “Everything okay?” Her voice was suspicious.

Attempting to clear his throat, River gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Fine,” he tried to say, although all that came out was a whisper. “Just a bit of a sore throat, nothing to worry about.”

Louisa still looked concerned, but made her way round to her chair and sat down. “You sound like you shouldn’t be here. Lamb wouldn’t mind, you know. Even slow horses are allowed sick days.”

River felt his shoulders tense, but forced himself to stay calm as he answered her. “Seriously, Louisa, it’s fine.” He instantly regretted the emphasis he put on the last word, as he felt it aggravate his already shredded throat. Grabbing the mug, he swallowed a large gulp, hoping it would soothe his voice.

It didn’t. Immediately his body rebelled at the scalding liquid and he began choking. Each cough bounced inside his head and made his eyes water. He blindly reached for his desk, needing some support to stay up, and he distantly heard something crash to the floor. Desperately he hacked and coughed, trying to bring air into his lungs, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t breathe, and his throat was on fire, and the world was fading to black at the edges…

A hand. A hand was gently rubbing at his back, and River focused on it, trying to slow down his heaving chest. He steadily became aware of a voice, murmuring “Easy, easy…” above his head. Louisa’s voice. When had Louisa made her way over to his desk?

Gradually, River’s breathing slowed, and he blinked away tears from his eyes. A droplet of cold sweat tracked a path between his shoulder blades, making him shiver, and Louisa hummed as she moved a hand from his back to his cheek.

“Jesus, River,” she muttered, crouching in front of him. “You don’t do things by halves, do you?”

River tried to answer, but this time when he opened his mouth, not even a whisper could make its way out. Worry danced in Louisa’s eyes. He looked around for the cup of tea, hoping to take a more measured gulp this time, but couldn’t see it. Casting his eyes around, he saw a flash of white on the ground, and peering under the desk revealed the mug upended, its contents soaking into the already stained carpet. River stared, eyes wet, feeling an inexplicable sense of loss for his traitorous beverage.

“Right, come on then,” Louisa said, interrupting his train of thought by slapping her thighs as she stood up. River tried to ask what she meant, but again when he opened his mouth no sound came out. He settled for a puzzled look up at her.

“I’m taking you home,” she said. “You need to be in bed, and it gets me out of work, even if only briefly. It’s a win-win.”

Now that she mentioned it, bed did sound nice. And truth be told, River really did feel rubbish today, didn’t he? The pain in his throat was steadily being outmatched by his headache, which had only worsened in intensity after his coughing fit. His face was burning, but there was a cold clamminess settling into the rest of his body, along with a heaviness in his limbs that made him want to curl up and never move again. But the thought of Lamb’s reaction to River’s weakness, along with the dark, empty flat waiting for him at home, was enough to steel him for one final fight.

He glared up at Louisa, then pulled out his phone, cold fingers stumbling over the keyboard. Louisa’s phone pinged, and she pulled it out, sighing at the message on screen.

Not going. Don’t need to.

And a second message, almost immediately after the first.

Please just leave me be

Louisa perched herself on the edge of his desk, exhaling heavily through her nose. “Fine,” she said. “I guess it’s your choice.”

River felt a flicker of hope, along with a treacherous sinking feeling of disappointment in his stomach that he instantly tried to smother. Maybe now he could-

“Of course,” Louisa continued, a hint of amusement in her eyes, “Catherine will be very upset to hear you’ve come in feeling so ill.”

River’s eyes flicked up to hers. She wouldn’t. She knew that was too far.

Catherine Standish was notorious at Slough House for her attitude towards injury and illness. She was keen to instill a sense of self-preservation in all the slow horses, a task which anyone could have told her was doomed to fail from the start. But River didn’t mind her intention. It was a perfectly noble, if ridiculous, thing to wish for.

No, what River couldn’t stand was the execution. Make no mistakes about it, Catherine liked to fuss. She would look at you with disappointed eyes, like each time you got in the path of a bullet, or got punched in the face, or picked up some bug from the cesspool that was the London public transport system, you had done it specifically to hurt her. And then she wouldn’t stop, offering you cups of tea and blankets and bandages, trying to do your shopping or drive you home. It was too much, and right now it sounded like more than River could deal with. If someone offered him that kind of care right now, the wateriness of his eyes might spill over into real tears, and he didn’t think he could get past the absolute mortification that would be crying at Slough House.

He scowled at Louisa. She allowed herself a small smile as River huffed and slowly, reluctantly nodded. He didn’t have much choice right now, and Louisa was preferable to Catherine. Pushing himself up from his desk, he wobbled slightly, waiting for the world to come back into the focus around him. When it did, Louisa was next to him holding his coat out.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go. Before Lamb decides to give me something pointless to do.”

They made their way together down the creaking metal steps outside Slough House, Louisa one step behind River, walking slowly as he held onto the railing with a tight grip. As they reached his car, Louisa held out a hand for his car keys. River opened his mouth as if to challenge her, then thought better of it, anticipating the pain and futility of trying to protest. He handed them over wordlessly then made his way round to the passenger seat.

Louisa got in and started the car, pulling a seatbelt on and turning on the radio to a low hum. As she drove off, the passing scenery set River’s stomach churning, and he closed his eyes, pulling his coat tighter around him as a shiver swept down his spine. He felt Louisa reach over to adjust something, and a blast of warm air began to fill the car. River sniffed, finally allowing himself to feel a bit miserable. He jumped a little as he felt a hand brush some sweaty hair of his forehead, and opening his eyes a crack showed Louisa breaking focus on the road for a second to glance warmly at him.

Smiling, River allowed his eyes to close again. Sure, it wasn’t Grandma Rose, but somehow, within Slough House’s motley crew of misfits, he’d managed to find some of that same love and care, just packaged up in a slightly less homely manner. The streets whizzed by outside the window as River, uncaring of his surroundings, drifted off, a warmth spreading through his chest.

[molinxsdeviento]

His eyes flickered to Claudia for a moment, sharing the thought--did Fernand know it was him and was attempting to trqp him? To make Cristobal slip? The Count of Morcerf was smart and cunning but he wouldn't risk a confrontation here he didn't think. No, Fernand was a fool in his older years. Cristobal's jaw clenched for a split second and had to repress the intense need to close his fist and plant it on Fernand's face, over and over and over again until there was barely any face left. Instead, he chuckled, the playful practiced smile on his lips. "What a fool. The trick is not getting caught is it? Keep your affairs in order and trust only a small, lucky few. I do hope this friend of yours didn't tarnish your reputation at the time."

Henry's look at him was intriguing and left little doubt in Cristobal that the older man knew exactly who he was. Our count decided he had to have a conversation with him as well--he'd be easier to approach, maybe as Abbe Busoni again, calling less attention upon himself. He thanked the butler with a nod--he did have manners and posh and prideful as the Count of Montecristo was, he was also respectful of the people in service.

Fernand's next question caught him off guard entirely, though he should've known it was meant to come up at one moment or the other. They had a story cooked up but seeing Claudia sat at the table he didn't feel like lying, not about her.

"I did, once," Cristobal's tone turned sad and melancholic. "Many years ago," he added after a moment, taking a sip of his wine. "She was... funny, and kind. She had a temper though," he added with a small chuckle looking at Fernand and stealing a glance at Claudia. "She was the most beautiful woman I've ever met, present company excluded of course," he said politely looking at the woman he was describing as his eyes moved back to Fernand. "I couldn't marry her fast enough. I dreamed of her in her wedding dress for years... but," he cleared his throat. "She died. At childbirth. Of our stillborn son." He looked at Dante then, "he'd be around your age. So, I've sworn off women since then, no one could compare."

Taking another sip of his wine he cleared his throat again, "a few years later I inherited the title and became my sister's guardian. She's been a blessing, so now my sole purpose in life is to see her happy. She's not out yet but I'd like to find her a good match, someone she can love."

"Quite right!" Fernand said with a hearty laugh. As Claudia and Dante settled in the dining room, the man of the house pulled out a box of fancy cigars. Fernand always wanted to impress, though Claudia was sure that box would leave no impression on Cristobal. "I ask because I want to get to know you, old man. The hunt was filled with more sports talk, and really we had no idea what we were talking about." Fernand was good with a pistol, though he tried to play the modest role any chance he could. "Not all people are like you, my friend. See, I had a friend many years ago...got caught in the wrong crowd and got sent away."

Claudia froze. Did Fernand just throw a jab at Cris, while standing in front of him? Did he know? Fernand continued to laugh, Claudia eyed him. By all means, it seemed he did not know a thing. Dante place his hand on his mother's shoulder, the woman was quick to dispel his concern. Dinner was served. Henry placed the plate in front of Cristobal, and threw him a rather pointed look. The old butler knew Cristobal caught on, and did not care for it. Henry wanted to get to the bottom of it all as much as anyone, but left his curiosity at the hands of his mistress.

Dante kept to himself. He was sat next to his mother and father, with the Count sitting across from him. The young man tried to ignore the embarrassing tiread Fernand was going on. "Tell me, Cristobal, do you have a wife?" Claudia nearly choked, blush spreading over her face. "Fernand! That is hardly appropriate!" Fernand shrugged. "I merely ask, for his own good! I could find him a nice girl if he wished it!"

[iwillstabyou]

Owwwww

My head hurts so bad. And my neck hurts too, even in the ‘comfortable’ positions. Why do you mock me, Cruel World?

[faaun]

oh my god ! haha . anyway a bit buzzed perhaps. anyway here's what happened on the date

[thelunarsystemshares]

MOLY COW THATS A RRALLY GOOD TAKE (in the taggsss)

Envy isn't a meal.

a short, simple comic.

[sukunasteeth]

Sukuna has never said no to you.

It didn’t matter what the request was, simple or complicated, easy to fix or a days-long job, Sukuna was always at your side, completing the task as fast as he needed to to keep you satisfied. He would love to deny it, you’re sure, but evidence proves time and time again that he puts your needs and wants at the top of his priority list. 

And you were curious how far you could go with it.

The two of you are sitting in your underwear at the breakfast nook, warming yourselves in the bay window while the morning sun starts on the leftover night time chill. It wasn't quite time for breakfast, still too early for the both of you. In the meantime, you sip on your morning brews, preserving the comfortable silence. Sukuna is flipping through the day's newspaper, his eyes are groggy with sleep and he hasn't said more than a handful of words to you yet. He wasn't a morning person.

You were starting to change that.

"Kuna," You call to him, nudging him with your foot from your corner of the window bench.

"Hmm?" He doesn't look up from the paper, but his hand reaches down and grabs your foot, pulling it into his lap. His thumbs start to subconsciously knead at your muscles.

"I want these." You hold up your phone, which you had previously been scrolling through in an attempt to find something ridiculous for this exact moment. You were sure you had found it, something even Sukuna would find unnecessary. 

And yet, he merely glances at your screen, takes in the sight for all of two seconds, and then returns his attention to whatever news article he was in the middle of.

"My wallet's on the counter." He clears the sleep from his throat not sparing a second look. 

You blink at him in surprise.

"D-Did you even see what it is?" You flip your phone around to make sure you were displaying the correct thing. 

Sukuna is frowning before he looks up again, curious at your persistence. He gently cups your hand, bringing it only a minuscule amount closer to examine your screen a second time. 

You were on one of the most luxurious brand’s websites, showing him an incredibly regular pair of panties, no straps, no details, all black- with one of the most outrageous price tags you had ever seen for something so ordinary. 

Sukuna cocks a brow at you over your phone, "Can't imagine you need more panties when you're constantly stealing my boxers. But whatever, hand it over. I know my card number-"

"Kuna," You interrupt him with a surprised laugh, holding fast to your phone when he tries to pluck it out of your hands, "they're a thousand dollars."

He glances back, his eyes focusing lower on the screen where you know the price tag to be. The newspaper in his hands drops down, momentarily forgotten by what he sees. For a moment, you think you've found his limit.

"Wait, are those red one's assless?" He points just below the price, where the recommended products are depicted. "Get those too."

You drop the phone down so that he meets your eyes, which are wide with shock.

Sukuna always took care of you. Always insisted on being the provider of any single thing that you may need; a warm meal, a soft bed, anything your eyes twinkled at that was available for purchase- even if you would never think of buying or owning it. Granted, you never wanted much in terms of material possessions, so you didn't realize the true extent of Sukuna's leniency until now.

It was slightly intimidating, and part of it felt wrong. Sukuna had money, plenty of it, but that didn’t mean he should feel the need to spend copious amounts of it on you just because you could ask him to. He was giving you too much power, it felt like.

You huff through your nose, frowning at him, which only has him tilting his head further to the side in question.

You ignore it, setting your phone onto the window seat and crawling your way closer to him, until you can gather up his face in your hands and lock his gaze into yours.

He glares at you past smushed cheeks, but doesn't make a move to break free of your hold, humoring you. "The hell are you doing-"

"You know you don't always have to say yes to me?"

Now that has him taken aback. His mouth automatically opens for a witty response, but your question seems to have effectively taken the words from his mouth. You can see the cogs in his head turning, and what you wouldn't give to peer inside his mind and hear his thoughts.

It takes him a moment, but eventually that familiar confident smile stretches across his sleepy face. His hands seem to instinctively slide their way up your bare legs until his fingers grip your hip bones, pressing into you. 

He hums, "When have you ever said no to me?"

You scoff, ready to give him a prime example, but end up coming up short. The two of you loved to tease each other with disobedience, but in the end you were eager to give Sukuna anything his heart desired. You loved to please him, it was one of your favorite things to do, in fact.

"You never ask anything ridiculous of me." You remind him, smiling as one of his warm hands slides back down your waist and dips into the pair of his boxers you were sporting that day. 

"You know what's ridiculous?” His voice wraps around your throat, and suddenly has you swallowing past the delicious grip. You're folding into him before you even realize it, at the mercy of his calloused hands. "The implication that I wouldn't do just about anything for you."

You can't help but sigh hopelessly, although it comes out as a desperate noise that pleads him for more. You really were all his, just like he loved to tell you.

"Now hand me your phone." It's a whisper, coaxing you. "I wanna see you in red."

You can’t say no. 

At least it was mutual.

[nightingale-prompts]

Danny adopts himself

It's a common joke in Gotham that Bruce Wayne will adopt any black-haired and blue-eyed traumatized boy he finds. So much so that even he leans into it. But he was completely shocked when Damian confronts him about having a new brother that he did not want.

Bruce could barely get a word in when the rest of the family arrived upset that they weren't told about getting another sibling after Damian texted the family group chat (for once).

Damian had encountered a boy around Drake's age moving stuff into what was an empty room. The room was now furnished top to bottom with glowing green lights, tapestries of stars, random artifacts, several telescopes, and model rockets.

He knew the moment he saw the black hair and blue eyes that his father had taken in another ward.

Apparently Bruce was the last the know about his new "son" who was currently rearranging furniture and asking to help Alfred with dinner.

Said dinner was an uncomfortable as Bruce was grilled by his kids on his addiction to adoption. Simultaneously they tried to get to know the new addition to the family.

It was easy to see that Damian didn't like Danny but it was equally easy to see that Danny could cow the boy like a border collie on a lamb. When Damian thew a dagger the teen caught it with one hand as it passed his face and then slid it across the table back to Damian.

"Try again. " Danny said "And this time don't aim to miss on purpose. If you want me dead you need to do better."

Damian put the knife away and huffed.

Tim and Danny hit it off almost instantly. The way they were able to bounce their thoughts back and forth made Tim believe that he found an equal.

Danny was able to understand Cassie immediately with just look in eachothers eyes like he was reading her mind but not in a creepy way.

Jason of course noticed the strange energy in the air around the kid. It was soothing. Like lavender wafting in the air. Well lavender for everyone else for him it was like opium. His eyes felt heavy like he had eaten a handful of poppy seeds. At the same time he felt full, like he had eating a full meal after starving for a week.

Whatever it is Damian was feeling it too. The demon looked even more his age as he rubbed his eyes and yawned. The crease in his brow gone.

Duke on the other hand was more on edge as his eyes flickered towards Danny before looking away. He had something he wanted to ask about the glowing boy but since no one can see it or just isn't saying anything he will keep quiet for now.

Next was Barbara who teased the new kid.

"So how do you like your new family? Ready to be the new robin?" She asked.

"Im robin." Damian mumbled groggily.

The others were waiting for Damian to finally fall asleep and glared at one another in a challenge to be the one to pick up Damian and put him to bed. Dick was winning.

Speaking of Dick, as expected he was off the wall excited to learn more about his new little brother. He wanted the full story as to why Bruce took him in. He could almost certainly guess it was because of a tragic situation and Dick was already ready to handle it as the greatest big brother ever and he wasn't sharing the title no matter what Barbara said. Even if she was Stephanie's favorite.

Bruce cleared his throat and the table went silent. "So, Danny. Where exactly did you come from? Why are you here? And how did you know who I am?"

Everyone went white. Did they all just risk their identities believing that Danny was a new Robin? Why didn't Bruce say something? Not even a signal for the protocol they would use.

Danny frowned looking a bit hurt.

"What do you mean, Bruce? You said you owed me. You said you'd give me anything I wanted if saved your son. I even helped you get back home when you got lost in time." Danny huffed feeling betrayed.

The table went silent.

Bruce made a few calculations in his brain before something must have come to mind. "I lost my memory for a bit so I need a bit of proof."

Danny placed a batarang on the table. The batarang had an engraving on it in a code that only Bruce knew.

"You told me to show this to Alfred when I came. We had a deal, Bruce. You promised me whatever I wanted." Danny huffed clearly insulted.

Just like Danny had said the code was the one Bruce had made. However this code wasn't a promise to grant a favor but to welcome someone new to the family. Past Bruce must have had plans to take the boy in but told Danny something else to lure him here.

Bruce recognized that everyone was right and he has a problem now that he's looking at it like this.

[solxamber]

Imagine having mc take care of dorm leaders that turned into animals like riddle a hedgehog, leona a lion, Azul a octopus, kalim an otter, vil would definitely be a peacock, idia would be a cat, and lastly malleus a dragon. They would definitely turned into animals due to some spell and I mean imagine seeing a huge dragon outside the ramshackle dorm, it would be really shocking and funny at the same time. 😆

Zoo Tycoon: Housewarden Edition

In which they accidentally turn into animals.

a/n: i started vibrating the minute I saw this because that's such a cute concept and I have no self control so here we go

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle turning into a hedgehog was not on your to-do list today. But alas, here you were, holding a furious, tomato-colored hedgehog that refused to be handled by anyone but you.

“Aw, look at his little face!” Ace cooed, leaning in way too close.

Riddle puffed up, his tiny spines bristling in pure indignation. You could practically feel the how dare you emanating from his quivering form.

Deuce, ever the voice of concern, scratched his head. “What do we do now? Can he… even turn back?”

Ace smirked. “Maybe we just keep him like this. He’s a lot cuter when he can’t yell at us.”

Riddle launched himself at Ace’s hand, delivering a swift poke with his needle-sharp snout. Ace yelped, flailing backward dramatically. “Okay, okay! Geez, he’s still scary even like this.”

You cradled Riddle closer to your chest, where he settled down, still glaring daggers at the others. Somehow, he was perfectly content in your hands, even though he practically vibrated with rage whenever anyone else got near.

As the day went on, Riddle’s hedgehog antics only grew.

At lunch, he sat on your lap, sniffing your sandwich like a tiny food inspector. “You want a bite?” you teased, holding out a crumb.

His tiny paw batted it away with a disdainful look. Well, as disdainful as a hedgehog could manage. He turned his head toward the teapot, making his intentions very clear.

“Oh, of course. Tea for the hedgehog,” Ace snorted. “This is getting ridiculous.”

Later, in the library, Riddle climbed onto your textbook, curling up into a spiky ball to block your reading. You tried to nudge him gently. “Riddle, I need to study.”

He uncurled just enough to glare at you, his beady eyes burning with absolute authority. Message received: study time was over.

By nightfall, you were exhausted. Riddle was perched on a pillow next to you, looking surprisingly regal for a tiny woodland creature.

“Alright, Your Majesty,” you said, rubbing your temples. “How do we turn you back? Should we call Professor Crewel? Or maybe Professor Trein?”

Riddle chirped in protest, clearly not a fan of either option.

Deuce had another bright idea. “What if it’s, like, a true love’s kiss thing? Isn’t that how these fairy tale curses usually work?”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”

But Riddle fixed you with a surprisingly intense hedgehog stare, his little nose twitching.

“Wait, are you… agreeing?” you asked, mildly horrified.

Ace snickered. “Do it. Kiss the hedgehog. For science.”

After much internal debate (and external heckling), you sighed and leaned down to press a soft kiss to Riddle’s tiny forehead.

There was a burst of light, and suddenly, you were nose-to-nose with a very human, very flustered Riddle Rosehearts.

He scrambled backward, covering his face with his hands. “W-well, that was… unexpected.”

“Unexpected?” you echoed. “You asked for it!”

Ace howled with laughter in the background. “So it was true love’s kiss! You two are so gross!”

Riddle glared at him, but his ears were still bright red as he turned to you. “I suppose… I owe you my gratitude. And, um…” He cleared his throat, fidgeting. “Would you—if it’s not too much trouble—consider going out with me?”

You blinked. “Wait, you’re asking me out now?”

Riddle crossed his arms. “You did kiss me. It’s only proper!”

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Sure, Hedgehog Prince. Let’s go on a date.”

Riddle muttered something about proper decorum, but his small smile said he wasn’t too upset about it.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona turning into an actual lion wasn’t even the weirdest thing that had happened this week, but it was definitely in the top five.

“C’mon, Prefect.” Ruggie grinned as he all but shoved you into Leona’s room, slamming the door behind you before you could protest. “I got stuff to do, and someone’s gotta deal with him. He only listens to you anyway!”

You turned to find Leona—the lion version—lounging on his bed like the world’s crankiest housecat. His massive paws stretched lazily, his eyes locking onto you with the unmistakable air of finally, someone competent.

“Uh, hi, Leona,” you ventured, waving awkwardly.

He grumbled, a low rumble of approval that shook the floorboards, and flicked his tail in a way that said, Don’t leave.

It became clear very quickly that Lion Leona was just as much of a diva as Human Leona.

First, he refused to eat the steak that Ruggie brought him, pawing at it disdainfully until you had to personally cut it into perfect bite-sized pieces. He made a satisfied grunt after his meal, flopping down at your feet like you were the royal food taster he’d personally hired.

Then, there was the grooming incident.

“Leona, you have something stuck in your mane,” you said, pointing to a suspicious tangle.

He gave you a look that said, And?

Sighing, you grabbed a brush and carefully worked out the knot. To your shock, Leona let out a rumble that sounded suspiciously similar to a purr.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He blinked slowly, the feline equivalent of a smirk.

Ruggie, ever the opportunist, couldn’t resist stopping by to witness the chaos.

“Wow, Prefect, he’s basically a giant kitten with you around,” Ruggie teased, leaning against the doorframe.

Leona growled, a low warning rumble that sent Ruggie scurrying back. “Okay, okay! Sheesh, no need to get territorial. Have fun babysitting!”

You sighed, scratching behind Leona’s ears. “You’re really not helping my case, y’know.”

Leona just huffed and leaned into your touch, clearly unbothered.

By the end of the day, you were sprawled on the bed next to Leona, who was taking up approximately 80% of the mattress.

“You’re kinda cute like this,” you admitted, running your fingers through his mane. “Not that you’re not cute normally, but… y’know. Less grumpy.”

He gave you a look that somehow conveyed I am never not grumpy.

Feeling bold (and maybe a little delirious from exhaustion), you leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead.

There was a sudden, blinding flash of light, and before you could process what was happening, Leona was back in his human form, lounging beside you with his trademark smirk.

“Well, well,” he drawled, propping himself up on one elbow. “Didn’t know you felt that way, herbivore.”

You spluttered. “I—what—this was true love’s kiss?! That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever—”

He leaned closer, cutting off your rant with a low chuckle. “Guess that means you’re stuck with me now. So… dinner? Or are you gonna keep brushing my hair all night?”

Your brain short-circuited, but you managed a weak, “Dinner sounds good.”

Leona smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “Smart choice.”

From outside, Ruggie’s muffled voice shouted, “Hey, did it work? Can I come back now, or is he still a murder machine?”

Leona groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Sevens, someone muzzle that guy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning into Leona’s side. Maybe being stuck with him wasn’t such a bad deal after all.

Azul Ashengrotto

To be fair, you weren’t exactly surprised when Jade and Floyd ambushed you outside Mostro Lounge. Their grins alone screamed mischief.

“Shrimpy~,” Floyd sing-songed, grabbing you by the arm. “C’mon, we need your help.”

“Azul’s having a little… situation,” Jade added with a cryptic smile. “And we think you’re the only one who can help.”

Before you could protest, you were unceremoniously dragged into Mostro Lounge, through a hidden door, and deposited in front of a massive aquarium. Inside was—

“Is that an octopus?” you asked, squinting.

The octopus—no, wait, Azul—floated pathetically in the corner, looking as done with life as an eight-legged creature could manage.

“Yep,” Floyd said cheerfully. “Boss turned himself into an octopus. Wouldn’t let anyone near him, though, so…”

Jade handed you a bottle filled with suspiciously glowing liquid. “Breathing potion. You’re going in.”

“Excuse me?!”

Before you could escape, Floyd picked you up like a sack of potatoes and dumped you into the tank.

You flailed briefly, realizing the potion worked—thank Sevens—but also realizing you were now face-to-face with Octopus Azul.

“Uh, hi?” you ventured, swimming awkwardly closer.

Azul didn’t respond, but one of his tentacles twitched and pointedly smacked the glass. You got the impression he was saying Why me?

“It’s not like I asked for this, y’know!” you huffed, crossing your arms. “Your goons threw me in here!”

Azul floated closer, his large, round eyes narrowing as if to say Yes, and they will pay.

It didn’t take long for Azul to warm up to you, mostly because he realized you weren’t leaving.

“Are you sulking?” you teased after his sixth dramatic float to the other side of the tank.

A tentacle flicked water in your direction, splashing you.

“Hey!” You swam closer and poked him on the head. “Don’t be such a baby.”

Azul responded by curling a tentacle around your wrist, pulling you closer.

“Okay, fine, you’re cute,” you muttered, patting his squishy head. “There, happy?”

Azul’s tentacles tightened slightly, and you were 90% sure he was smug about it.

After what felt like hours of tentacle shenanigans (including one terrifying moment where Azul tried to steal your potion bottle), you sighed.

“You’re lucky you’re adorable,” you said, booping his forehead.

Azul blinked at you, his gaze softer than usual. He looked so pitiful and huggable that, without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead.

There was a bright flash, and suddenly you were face-to-face with human Azul, who was sitting awkwardly in the shallow end of the tank, his face as red as a lobster.

“W-What did you just—”

“Oh my Sevens, you’re back!” you interrupted, relief washing over you. “Thank goodness, I thought I’d have to live in here forever!”

Azul cleared his throat, clearly flustered. “I—thank you. For��� that.”

“No problem,” you said breezily, though your face felt like it was on fire.

Azul hesitated, fiddling with his glasses. “Would you, ah, perhaps… accompany me to dinner? As a token of gratitude, of course!”

“Sure,” you said, smiling. “But only if you promise to stop turning yourself into an octopus.”

He flushed even deeper, complaining something about “unavoidable circumstances,” but you couldn’t help laughing. Maybe dating an occasionally-octopus Azul wouldn’t be so bad.

From outside the tank, Floyd’s voice rang out: “Aww, Boss finally grew a backbone! Way to go, Shrimpy!”

Azul groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I’m never hearing the end of this.”

You patted his shoulder. “Welcome to my life.”

Kalim Al-Asim

You really should have known something was wrong when Jamil showed up at your doorstep, eyes bloodshot and twitching slightly.

“I need your help,” he said, and those four words alone should’ve been your cue to lock the door and pretend you weren’t home.

But you didn’t, and that’s how you ended up sitting in Kalim’s opulent room, staring at a very excited otter splashing around in a gold-lined kiddie pool.

“You’re telling me Kalim turned himself into this?” you asked, pointing at the small, slippery creature currently attempting to roll onto his back and failing.

“Yes,” Jamil said, deadpan, rubbing his temples. “And he refuses to let anyone near him. Except apparently you.”

Kalim—the otter—perked up at the sound of your voice, flipping over and waddling toward you. He made a happy chirping sound before flopping dramatically onto your lap, his tiny paws grabbing at your shirt.

“See?” Jamil muttered, folding his arms. “This is why you’re staying here. I can’t deal with this anymore.”

Kalim was, to put it mildly, a handful.

One moment, he was contentedly snuggling in your lap, and the next, he was zooming across the floor, knocking over priceless vases and dragging an entire silk curtain into his pool.

“Uh, Kalim?” you called, watching as he tried to balance a sparkling golden spoon on his nose. “Maybe we don’t need to destroy the room?”

Kalim chirped in protest, clearly having the time of his life. He then waddled over to you, clutching the spoon like it was a treasure, and deposited it in your lap with a proud squeak.

“Well, at least he’s sharing,” you muttered, patting his head.

From the corner, Jamil was silently mouthing “thank you” over and over like a man who had just been freed from a lifetime of torment.

Kalim’s kiddie pool was more like a miniature lagoon, complete with floating toys and what looked suspiciously like a jewel-encrusted raft.

At some point, Kalim decided it would be fun to drag you into the water.

“Hey—wait, no!” you yelped as his surprisingly strong little paws grabbed at your sleeve, pulling you toward the pool. “I’m not getting in there!”

Kalim chirped insistently, his big otter eyes boring into your soul.

“Oh, come on,” you groaned. “Don’t give me that look.”

He gave you the look.

Five minutes later, you were sitting in the pool, soaked and glaring at Jamil, who was clearly struggling not to laugh.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you snapped.

“Immensely,” Jamil said, smirking.

After hours of otter chaos—during which Kalim managed to steal your shoe, splash water in your face, and attempt to juggle three golden coins—you finally sat back with a sigh.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, patting his head as he snuggled against you.

Kalim let out a happy chirp, his little paws clutching your hand. He looked so ridiculously adorable that, without thinking, you leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead.

There was a sudden burst of light, and when you opened your eyes, Kalim was sitting in front of you, back to his usual self—though still dripping wet and grinning ear to ear.

“You kissed me!” he exclaimed, his face lighting up like the sun.

“I—uh—well,” you stammered, your face heating up.

“Does this mean you like me?” he asked, tilting his head with an innocent smile.

Before you could respond, Jamil groaned from the corner. “Sevens, just ask them out already.”

Kalim turned to you, his grin widening. “Will you go out with me?”

You blinked at him, still processing the fact that you had just kissed an otter-turned-human. But then you smiled, nodding.

“Sure, Kalim.”

Kalim cheered, pulling you into a hug that nearly knocked you over. Meanwhile, Jamil sighed in relief, celebrating about finally getting some peace and quiet.

From the doorway, a passing student peeked in, took one look at the drenched mess of a room, and decided it was better not to ask.

Vil Schoenheit

The day Vil Schoenheit turned into a peacock was the day you realized that your life at NRC was destined to never be normal.

“I don’t know how it happened!” Epel blurted, waving his hands in panic. “One second he was lecturing me about my skincare routine, and the next—poof! Peacock!”

“Of course, he’s a peacock,” you muttered, staring at the magnificent bird perched on the Pomefiore chaise lounge. The peacock in question—Vil—looked at you with a familiar haughty glare, which was impressive considering he now had beady bird eyes.

From the very beginning, Vil made it clear that he refused to be handled by anyone except you.

When Rook tried to approach him with a soothing poem about the beauty of nature, Vil screeched so loudly it sent even the huntsman scrambling.

When Epel tried to shoo him toward the door, Vil flared his tail feathers in a display so intimidating that Epel backed away, muttering, “This is worse than when he makes me wear lip gloss.”

But when you stepped forward, Vil immediately strutted over, his glossy feathers shimmering under the light. He circled you once before settling at your feet, letting out a dignified coo.

“Well, at least someone likes me,” you muttered, kneeling down to pat his head.

Vil preened under your touch, looking every bit the diva he was even in bird form.

Life with peacock Vil was… an adventure.

For one, he refused to eat anything that wasn’t served on fine china.

“Are you serious?” you asked, holding up a bowl of birdseed.

Vil turned his head away with a disdainful chirp, his tail feathers twitching in annoyance.

“Fine,” you groaned, dumping the seed onto a porcelain plate. “Happy now?”

Vil cooed in approval, delicately pecking at the food like it was a Michelin-star meal.

Then there was the incident with the mirror.

You found him perched in front of the Pomefiore vanity, admiring his reflection with an intensity that could only be described as borderline obsessive.

“You’re really leaning into the peacock thing, huh?” you teased.

Vil shot you a look that screamed How dare you, you pleb? before returning to his reflection, fluffing his feathers dramatically.

After a few days of peacock antics—including Vil refusing to let Epel touch his feathers (Glaring at him like he was screaming "He’s going to ruin them!”) and scaring off an unfortunate group of first-years with his aggressive tail display—you decided enough was enough.

“Alright, Vil,” you said, sitting down beside him. “We need to figure out how to fix this.”

Vil cooed softly, nuzzling against your hand.

You stared at him, your heart melting a little. He was undeniably cute in his current form, but you missed the human Vil—the one who could scold you for slouching and deliver a flawless monologue at the drop of a hat.

Without thinking, you leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his feathered head.

There was a blinding flash of light, and suddenly, you were no longer holding a peacock but a very human—and very flustered—Vil Schoenheit.

“You… kissed me,” he said, his cheeks turning an uncharacteristic shade of pink.

“I—uh—well, you were cute?” you offered weakly.

Vil blinked at you, his usual composure slipping as he processed your words. Then, to your surprise, a small smile tugged at his lips.

“Perhaps we should make this official,” he said smoothly, though the faint blush on his face betrayed his nerves. “Would you like to go out with me?”

You stared at him, your brain short-circuiting for a moment. Then, you smiled, nodding.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Vil’s smile widened, and for the first time since he’d turned back, you saw the confident, radiant Vil you knew and admired.

From the doorway, Rook peeked in, his eyes sparkling with delight. “Ah, the beauty of true love!”

Epel groaned, muttering, “This is the weirdest dorm ever.”

Idia Shroud

The day you were unceremoniously dragged into Idia’s room by Ortho, you knew something was amiss.

Ortho clasped his hands together as you stumbled inside. "Please take good care of Big Brother!"

“Wait, what?” you started, but Ortho was already zooming out the door, leaving you alone in the darkened chaos that was Idia’s sanctuary.

And there, sitting in the middle of the room on a glowing gaming chair, was a cat.

A very grumpy-looking cat with blue flame-like fur tips and unmistakable, judgmental yellow eyes.

“Idia?” you whispered, staring at the cat.

The cat hissed—its ears flat against its head. Yep, that was definitely Idia.

"Ortho wasn’t joking…" you muttered, inching closer.

Idia-the-cat glared at you, his tail swishing like a disapproving metronome. But as soon as you reached out a cautious hand, he hesitated before begrudgingly letting you scratch behind his ears.

He let out the tiniest, most reluctant purr.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, your grin growing. “You’re so cute like this.”

The purring immediately stopped, and Idia swatted your hand away with a mortified meow that screamed, Don’t push it.

It didn’t take long for you to realize Idia-the-cat was just as much of a shut-in as his human counterpart.

When you tried to offer him some cat toys Ortho had left behind, he ignored them completely—until you dangled a toy shaped like a gaming controller.

Then, he lunged at it with surprising ferocity, claws out and eyes gleaming with an intensity that said, This is serious business.

You had to stop him from knocking over his prized figurines while he chased the toy across the room.

“Idia, stop! That’s a limited edition!” you cried, diving to save a teetering anime girl statue.

Idia froze mid-pounce, his tail twitching guiltily.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you said, setting the figure back on its shelf. “You’re worse than Grim.”

Idia meowed in protest, and you could swear he was rolling his eyes.

After a few hours of babysitting Cat Idia—during which he refused to eat anything but snacks from his secret stash and managed to trap himself inside a VR headset—you were completely exhausted.

You flopped onto his bed, sighing. “Idia, you're my friend, but you’re so much work.”

The cat jumped up beside you, curling into a surprisingly neat ball. His flame-like fur glowed softly in the dim light, and for a moment, he actually looked peaceful.

Unable to resist, you leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his head.

There was a sudden flash of blue light, and you yelped as a very human—and very embarrassed—Idia Shroud appeared beside you.

“W-What just happened?!” he stammered, his face as red as his fiery hair tips.

You blinked at him, your brain struggling to reboot. “Uh… I think true love’s kiss broke the curse?”

Idia froze, his expression cycling between mortified and completely panicked.

“Wait, d-does that mean you… like me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because if you don’t, I-I’m just gonna go dig my own grave now—”

You cut him off with a laugh, your cheeks burning. “Yeah, I like you, you dummy.”

Idia stared at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Then, after a moment, he managed a small, shy smile.

“I… like you too,” he mumbled, fiddling with a lock of his hair. “So, uh… do you maybe wanna… go out? Like, on a d-date or something?”

Your heart did a little flip. “I’d love that.”

From the doorway, Ortho peeked in, his face lighting up. “Brother, I knew you could do it! This is the best day ever!”

Idia groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Ortho, please!”

But despite his embarrassment, he couldn’t stop the small smile that lingered on his lips.

Malleus Draconia

The day began like any other—except for the part where a massive dragon blocked the sunrise by parking itself right outside your window.

You blinked blearily, rubbing your eyes. Surely, this was a dream.

Then you heard an enthusiastic voice from below. "Good morning! Do you like your new dragon?"

You leaned out the window to see none other than Lilia Vanrouge, waving up at you with far too much cheer for this absurd situation. Beside him, Sebek was on his knees, his fists clenched, eyes practically bleeding tears of devotion—or frustration. Hard to tell with Sebek.

“Lilia,” you called down, “what the hell is that?” You pointed at the dragon, who was now looking at you with suspiciously familiar glowing green eyes.

“Oh, that’s Malleus!” Lilia replied, as though this was completely normal. “He seems to have had a little… magical mishap.”

“MISTAKE OF FATE, NOT A MISHAP!” Sebek roared, glaring up at you like it was somehow your fault. “AND THE YOUNG MASTER HAS CHOSEN YOU TO TEND TO HIS NOBLE FORM!”

You stared at the dragon—Malleus—again. His enormous tail thudded against the ground in what you could only assume was agreement.

“...You’ve got to be kidding me.”

After some coaxing (read: being dragged out by Sebek while you were still in your pajamas), you found yourself face-to-face with Dragon Malleus.

He lowered his massive head toward you, his glowing eyes narrowing in what you could only describe as smugness. When you hesitated, he huffed, a cloud of warm smoke billowing over you.

“Okay, okay, I get it! You want attention,” you grumbled, reaching up to pat his snout.

The dragon let out a low rumble of approval, curling his tail protectively around you.

Sebek sobbed dramatically in the background. “TO THINK THE YOUNG MASTER TRUSTS YOU ABOVE ALL OTHERS! IT IS BOTH AN HONOR AND A TRAVESTY!”

“Sebek, for the love of the Seven, stop yelling,” you snapped. “I already have a headache.”

Lilia chuckled from his perch on a nearby tree. “Oh, this is delightful. I wonder if I should be worried for you or amused by Malleus’s possessiveness.”

Dragon Malleus growled at Lilia, his tail sweeping protectively in front of you like a giant scaly barrier.

“Noted, noted!” Lilia said with a laugh, holding up his hands.

After a day of being followed around by a giant dragon who wouldn’t let you out of his sight (and growled at anyone who dared approach), you were officially at your wit’s end.

“Malleus,” you said, crossing your arms. “I know you’re stuck like this, but you can’t just… kidnap me for emotional support!”

Malleus blinked at you, his big dragon eyes somehow managing to look both sheepish and stubborn.

You sighed, stepping closer. “You’re kind of cute like this, though,” you admitted, reaching up to scratch his snout. His eyes half-closed in contentment, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

Then, on a whim, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his scaly cheek.

There was a sudden burst of magic, and you stumbled back as the massive form of the dragon shimmered and shrank. In its place stood a very human—and very flustered—Malleus Draconia.

“Child of Man,” he said, his face uncharacteristically red. “Your… your kiss… it broke the spell.”

You stared at him, your brain buffering. “Wait, true love’s kiss was the answer?!”

Malleus nodded solemnly. “Indeed.”

From behind you, Lilia cackled. “Oh, how romantic! A tale for the ages!”

Sebek, meanwhile, looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “T-T-THE YOUNG MASTER’S TRUE LOVE?! UNBELIEVABLE!”

Malleus stepped closer, his expression softening as he looked down at you. “If this spell has revealed anything, it is that my feelings for you are genuine. Will you allow me to court you properly?”

You blinked, your face heating up. “Uh… yeah. Sure. But maybe next time, we skip the whole ‘giant possessive dragon’ thing?”

Malleus chuckled, taking your hand. “Anything for you, my treasure.”

Sebek fainted on the spot.

Masterlist