#this one is so vibrant he can't blend in at all and I love it

[earl-grey-love]

Random gush 🫶 but I think he looks especially gorgeous with this background

[frantic-fiction]

I'll Find My Way Back to You

(Can't find source of pic if it's yours let me know)

Astarion x GN!Reader

Prompt: A century after Tav passes Astarion comes across an artist who is oddly familiar and paints moments that seemed to be pulled straight from Astarion's life.

Thank you to @justporo for letting me use their idea. Go show them some love.

Warnings: Tav's death, brief mention of s*icide, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 4.6k (Oops kinda went overboard)

Masterlist

“There’s no world I wish to live in without you,”

“My dear Astarion, we will find our way back to each other. This is not the end.”

Over a century has passed—a long, lonely century without Tav by his side. Astarion doesn’t understand how he’s endured, not with the void in his chest that appeared the moment he laid them to rest. The absence of his person, his love, his Tav, has left Astarion once again alone. 

For nearly a decade, he found himself trapped in a state of near-catatonia, a prisoner of time within their empty home. He wasted away, the days blending into one another, each marked by a silent ache in his chest—the void left by Tav’s departure. Tears soaked into the earth of the carefully tended grave, adorned with vibrant flowers from Tav’s garden. He often contemplated surrendering to the sun’s embrace, letting its rays turn his existence to ash for a semblance of peace.

He yearned to end the pain, yet he refrained. He made a promise whispered with heavy hearts and painful sobs—a promise that forced them to confront the harsh reality that Tav would always leave first. Instead of embracing the end, Astarion wasted away, a ghost of his former self, yearning for the return of his love. Change arrived when Tav visited him in a dream; the details were blurry, but Tav’s beautiful smile was etched in memory. The sweet words in that dream eluded him, yet upon waking, a faint lightness settled within him. Astarion graced the night with a flicker of energy for the first time since Tav’s passing.

Tav would have wished for him to move on. They would have wanted him to live. The stagnant life he clung to wasn’t what Tav would want for him. So that day, Astarion gathered his essentials into a bag and set forth as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. Only momentarily stopping to bid his love a final, tearful farewell. Since that moment, he hasn’t stopped moving.

Astarion believed Tav would take pride in the life he’s built—the good he’s accomplished over the many years. He traversed all over Faerun, from Waterdeep to Skull Crag, never lingering in one place for too long. He wasn’t the hero Tav was, but he aided towns against monsters, dispatched goblins, and took odd jobs to help however he could. Throughout his travels, he dedicated most of his time to sharing stories of Tav, ensuring their memory lived on. When he first heard the bards’ songs recounting the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, he knew he had succeeded. Now, you can’t sit in a tavern without hearing tales and melodies about Tav.

Every day, he longed for Tav to be by his side. He yearned to feel their soft skin, experience their tender kisses, and sense their warm arms encircling his waist—the echo of their laughter dancing in his ears. He missed every aspect of Tav and would do anything to see them again. Yet, the world ran out of miracles for him. Instead, he learned with time to cope, to come to terms with their absence, and keep them close to his heart. 

***

Astarion traverses the dusty cobblestone of Wyrm’s Crossing and finds himself back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate—a city he’s consciously avoided for most of the century. It’s a place drenched in memories from his past life with Cazador, but mostly, the streets seem to be haunted by the presence of Tav.

His return to Baldur’s Gate remains shrouded in mystery. All he can discern is that he awoke one day in Daggerford, gripped by an inexplicable yearning to revisit the city. A compelling force tugging him down the Sword Coast, Astarion initially dismissed it as mere homesickness, scoffing at the notion. Yet, the persistent thought lingered, infesting his mind until he could no longer ignore the instinct to return.

The city remains strikingly unaltered despite the passage of time and the trials it endured. The same piss-stained cobblestone, alleyways cluttered with remnants of urban life, and a diverse array of inhabitants navigating the night. It’s an unsettling constant, especially juxtaposed against the transformation of Astarion’s existence.

Wandering through the back alleys and side streets, Astarion meanders aimlessly. Occasionally, a sight triggers memories, evoking a lump in his throat. The Elfsong Tavern, once familiar, now bears a different name and identity, a formal establishment concealing the echoes of nights spent in Tav’s comforting embrace. Bloomride Park, the graveyard, and the docks—all weave together, painting a vivid tapestry of Tav’s omnipresence.

Amidst the tumult of emotions, Astarion grapples with why he subjected himself to this emotional turmoil. The urge to retreat, to flee Baldur’s Gate before the dawn breaks, lingers within him. Yet, the itch persists, buried deep within his bones, propelling him forward. He silently promises himself the night to wander the city, and by this time tomorrow, he will be on his way to another town for another adventure.

Venturing into a dim, isolated street, Astarion observes a solitary lamplight spilling its soft glow from a store window. Peering through, he discovers a small art studio. Within, a graceful elf seems to dance with a paintbrush, each stroke deliberate yet flowing. Like a harpie song, Astarion is mesmerized and utterly captivated. He watches on silently, observing the elves happily consumed with their work. It gives him a wave of nostalgia, moments of watching Tav as they painted, unaware he was watching from the door. Astarion could almost hear the sweet hums that filled the room between brush strokes. 

Then he freezes, gaze snapping to the paintings that adorn the studio, scattered reflections of his life. Images of Karlach, Shadowheart, and all the others grace the space. However, it’s the depictions of himself that seize his breath. Compelled by an unseen force, Astarion walks right into the studio. In a far corner, he sees an intimate portrayal—an embrace that resonates with familiarity. 

The bell rings, and you break from your artistic trance. Startled, you look up, and there stands the pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves. Startled, you look up, and there stands a pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves.

The dreams began as mere fragments—white curls, sharp teeth, delicate hands. Gradually, they evolved into more vivid scenes—muffled conversations by a campfire, laughter and gentle shoves, and stolen kisses between bed sheets—private moments of a stranger, a byproduct of an active imagination intertwined with an elven crush. Or at least that was what your mother would say. Now, the subject of those dreams stands before you.

Astarion, surrounded by the art that mirrors his life, fixates on a miniature portrait. The details are hazy, yet he recalls the campfire, the desperation in his gaze, and a significant confession followed by an embrace.

You pick up a fallen brush with a trembling hand, placing it in a water cup. Asterion was just as breathtakingly beautiful as your dream portrayed, but to see him in person has your heart hammering in your chest and your breath quickening with nerves. Wiping paint-covered hands on your smock, you took a deep breath and gathered the courage to approach Astarion. 

Staring at the portrait, you utter quietly, “This one’s my favorite. Though I wish I could have captured the others’ images better.”

“Tav.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The person you painted. My partner Tav, they used to paint too,” Astarion’s voice carries the weight of unspoken emotions.

“Oh, yes. They were the leader of your group, if I remember correctly. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Astarion remains silent, the canvas now a source of unbearable memories. He moves through the studio, examining the art up close. It’s weird to have your muse perusing around your gallery. It’s embarrassing to have Astarion see just how many pieces have been dedicated to him. What do you do at this point? Should you follow him, tell him about each piece and the dreams behind them? No, that seems pretentious, so you retreat to the canvas you’ve been working on for the better part of the week.

This piece was different—a symbol rather than a person or scene. Rings of unknown runes fan out in jagged edges, evoking a sense of beauty tinged with profound sadness. It disturbed you to your core, but you needed to paint it. It’s how it always goes. Once a dream pops into your head, whether it’s a scene, a person, or a symbol, it refuses to leave until you’ve laid it on a canvas. Picking up the brush, you dip it back into the red paint and continue to bolden the lines. 

“Who are you?” Astarion’s voice is right behind you; you jump, knocking a pot of paint over. Cursing softly, you quickly right the pot, attempting to salvage the spilled paint. Paint isn’t cheap, and in your non-upper-class circumstances, every drop is precious.

“Oh, I’m sorry; I have been very rude,” you offer your name. “I, of course, already know you, Astarion. It’s hard not to come across the tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, but I guess—” Your rambling trails off pathetically as something changes in Astarion. There’s tension in his shoulders, a coldness in his eyes. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you nervously play with a loose thread on the smock.

Astarion scrutinizes you with a piercing gaze, his eyes lingering on your face as if searching for hidden truths. The air becomes taut, charged with an almost palpable intensity. Then, as if propelled by an unseen force, he reacts like a tightly wound rubber band snapping. Reaching out, he harshly pulls you to him, bearing his teeth at you. Your stomach drops, shocked by the aggression. 

“Have you been following me? Stalking me?” His voice carries a storm of anger, his grip on your shoulders unyielding, the coldness of his touch akin to ice piercing through the fabric of your being. “Don’t lie to me because I’ve shown one person that fucking scar, and I buried them.”

Your heart races, fear coursing through your veins as you whimper a response, tears welling up in your eyes. “I-I don’t know, I’m sorry,”

“Don’t lie!”

“Please, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know; I have dreams; I don’t know why, b-but I dream of you,” your voice falters, and your vulnerability is laid bare. “I dream of you, your friends, and places I’ve never been. I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I promise.”

As abruptly as his hands seized you, they vanished, leaving you stumbling to your knees, unable to contain the torrent of tears streaming down your face. Curling in on yourself, you can’t stop the cries of apologies and promises of never picking up a brush again, of burning every last piece in the room. 

Astarion looks down at you, his expression shifting from anger to a complex amalgamation of horror and something else—perhaps realization. Stepping away, he leaves you rooted to the spot. Your gaze fixed blankly out the window. Odd and conflicting emotions swirl within you—fear, confusion, longing?—all clashing fiercely. Amidst the tumult, one thought emerges with undeniable clarity—this won’t be the last time you see Astarion.

*

Astarion’s breaths come in ragged gasps as he runs through the barren streets, escaping the grasp of the haunting memories that threaten to consume him. His thoughts are a raging storm, and he pays no heed to the bewildered faces of those he rudely pushes past. The town of Rivington is a blur as he sprints through it, a desperate escape, picking a direction and refusing to stop until his body aches, halting only when the sun begins its ascent above the horizon.

In his frantic need to run, there was no consideration for shelter from the sun’s relentless rays. Mercifully, he stumbles upon an abandoned cave. Dry, dusty, and shrouded in darkness, it becomes his refuge. In a corner, he sinks slowly against the cool, rough wall to the ground, seeking solace in the obscurity.

Astarion pulls his knee to his chest, pressing his forehead against his crossed arms. Shaking and shivering, a stark contrast to the bitter summer heat enveloping the cave, he clings to his vulnerability. Eyes shut tight, jaw clenched, fingernails dig deep into his arms as if attempting to anchor himself in the reality that threatens to crumble around him.

Desperation claws at him, and he yearns for Tav. The desire to feel Tav’s warm embrace, hands crossing over his chest, pulling him close, torments him. He longs for the soft whispers of love and the gentle press of lips. Astarion can’t navigate this without Tav. He’s a mess, barely holding on, living each agonizing day, acutely aware that the best part of him is gone, and he can do nothing to reclaim it.

The cruelty of encountering such intimate moments from his past life with Tav wounds him deeply. These were moments meant for him and Tav alone. Realizing that a stranger could capture those cherished memories intended for one person alone turns his stomach.

Anger becomes a conduit for his overwhelming emotions, and the terrified look on the artist’s face is etched in his mind, an indelible scar on his conscience. Shame burns within him, a searing reminder of the boundaries he violated. Physically assaulting someone in their own space—what would Tav think of him now?

The artist adds another layer to Astarion’s confusion. The familiarity is uncanny—the excited calf raises, the almost-stumbles afterward, the nervous lip biting, puffed cheeks during deep concentration, and the mindless dancing when no one is watching. Every little thing the artist did mirrored Tav, and with all his memories physically displayed, Asterion finds himself lost in a sea of confusion. Why does this stranger resemble his love so deeply?

The bards’ tales of soulmates and reincarnation, once dismissed as mere children’s stories and fiction, now claw at the edges of Astarion’s consciousness. What if? What if Tav found their way back to him? Weirder things have happened in his long life, and the possibility plants a seed of hope within him.

Yet, he forcefully suppresses that hope. It won’t serve him, not now. Instead, he resolves to learn more. By nightfall, he returns to the city, catching the first boat to Waterdeep. After a day and some change, he stands outside the Wizards’ tower, resentment simmering as he contemplates turning to Gale, his best chance at answers.

A groan escapes Astarion as he hangs his head, and a series of knocks echo on the thick wooden door. “This better be worth it…”

The door swings open on its own into a dimly lit foyer. Astarion follows a familiar path, the cool air and faint scent of ancient tomes embracing him. He ascends the staircase with nostalgia and reluctance, each step echoing the countless times Tav and himself sought knowledge and assistance within these walls.

As he pushes open the study door, a scene unfolds before him. Gale is hunched over a worn scroll, graying hair ruffled, and a small pair of reading glasses set on the tip of his nose. The room is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, creating an intimate ambiance. Notes adorn the margins, evidence of Gale’s ceaseless quest for understanding.

Gale looks up, a broad, warm smile gracing his features, and Astarion is momentarily transported back to the times when this sage was only a joke he poked fun at across camp. Removing his reading glasses, Gale pushes up from his desk, an air of welcoming familiarity enveloping the room.

“Well, look who the tressym dragged in. How are you, Astarion?”

Astarion stiffens as he is pulled into a spontaneous hug by Gale. The embrace is both unexpected and oddly comforting, a physical manifestation of the genuine camaraderie they’ve shared through the years. Astarion, unaccustomed to such displays of affection, awkwardly pats Gale’s back before gently pulling away.

“I’m afraid I’ve been better.”

Gale’s eyes convey concern and understanding as he gestures for Astarion to sit. The worn chair creaks under the weight of memories and the weightier burden of Astarion’s troubled soul.

“Then sit down, my friend, and tell me how I can help.”

***

Days of tireless research and a network of favors exchanged between magical acquaintances have led them to a glimmer of hope. Though not expansive, the discovery hints at the possibility that souls entwined so tightly may have a magnetic pull toward each other. A pull is so strong that souls can find each other in different lifetimes. Tales have described soulmates experiencing memories from previous lifetimes together, but they were vague at best. The specific remains elusive, shrouded in mystery, yet it’s enough to kindle a spark of hope within Astarion’s lonely heart.

Gale, ever the bore, offers a gentle reminder, “Now, just remember, if you try to force feelings before—”

“I would never!” Astarion’s retort carries a venomous edge, an unspoken warning to watch his following words carefully. Gale raises his hands in defense. 

“My point is the brain is a prickly thing. It’s best not to rush anything it’s not ready for.”

“Yes, yes, you have said this five times already. Would you please activate the portal? I have an apology to make.”

Anticipation hums in the air, a palpable energy that courses through Astarion. A fleeting smile graces his lips, and for a moment, the weight of his grief is replaced by a glimmer of life.

Looking at Astarion with a fondness born of shared trials, Gale responds, “Of course, Astarion.”

With a confident shake of his wrist, he activates the magical circle, and the room is bathed in a radiant glow of bright runes, their purple luminescence dancing in the semi-darkness.

Astarion steps toward the portal, his heart pulsating with trepidation and newfound hope. However, before crossing the threshold, he turns around to face Gale, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Gale. I will not forget this.”

“It was my pleasure. Now, I expect to meet this lovely artist sooner rather than later.” Gale’s parting words hang in the air, infused with the hope of rekindling a connection beyond the realms of understanding.

*

Back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion swiftly navigated the bustling streets, an air of anticipation accompanying him. His purpose was clear—to reach your studio and beg for your forgiveness. A brief pause along the way allowed him to acquire a small bundle of daisies, a spontaneous choice fueled by the memory of Tav’s fondness for these delicate blooms.

As Astarion approached the studio, a surge of uncertainty clawed at him. Hesitation gripped his every step, the shadow of fear etched across his features. The fear in your eyes during the last encounter was seared into his memory. Had his previous outburst irreparably damaged any chance of reconciliation? The conflicting forces of his desire to see you again and the instinct to flee wrestled within him. Yet, he pressed forward, forcing himself down the street, and there you stood.

The scene that greeted him was a chaotic masterpiece of colors. Paint adorned your cheeks and arms, a testament to the artistic fervor that consumed you. Your hair, a cascade of untamed strands, framed a face that mirrored both exhaustion and creative passion. Astarion had a sudden urge to brush the strands away and press a soft kiss to your cheek, something he often did with Tav.

Your weariness was palpable—shoulders slumped, eyes half-lidded. Perhaps, he pondered, he should postpone this encounter, allowing you the reprieve of rest. The realization that he might be the last person you wanted to see compelled Astarion to take a step back, an unspoken retreat.

But just as he moved to leave, your eyes jumped up to meet his, you froze mid-stroke, and Astarion couldn’t read your expression. He should go. Why did he think this was a good idea? He’s just about to run when you nod for him to come in. Obliging, Astarion found himself standing awkwardly within the studio; you went back to painting. Your brush danced across the canvas, applying a vibrant shade of blue in deliberate strokes. Astarion’s attempts to break the silence faltered, his words dissolving into the room’s stillness.

“What are you doing here, Astarion?” The steadiness in your voice pierced the calm. You tried to hold on to your anger for the man all week. But upon seeing him standing so lost on the street had your resolve crumbling. You can’t deny the mild excitement that fluttered through your veins upon seeing him again.

His voice, momentarily lost, found its way back. “I-I came here to apologize for last week. My behavior was deplorable, and I wish to make things right.”

A wry amusement flickered in your eyes as you evaluated the bouquet, now slightly worse for wear under his tight grip. “And you believe a bundle of broken daisies would win you my forgiveness?”

Astarion, caught off guard, looked down at the bruised bouquet. “Um…well, I was hoping for roses, but they were fresh out.”

A snort escaped you as you put down your paintbrush and approached him. A tentative touch on his forearm transferred the flowers from his grasp to yours, eliciting a shiver down his spine. The longing to reach out is strong, but Astarion holds still as you retreat.

Intently studying the daisies, you began to divide the bundle into two piles. Astarion watched silently, recognizing echoes of Tav’s essence reflected in your actions. While understanding that you were not Tav, the profound sorrow gripping his heart seemed to ease in your presence.

“Half,” you declared suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“Half of the daisies survived.”

“And where does that leave us?”

With a theatrical flair, you pondered the question, pacing the room. “That, good sir, is the question. What is my forgiveness worth? I did luck out; daisies are my favorite, so you’re a step farther than roses would have gotten you.” 

Astarion, grasping the playful undertone, decided to play along. With a hand on his hips and a wicked smirk, he responded, “Well, I am a pretty lucky man. Now, please, I beg, what more can I do to gain your forgiveness?”

You hummed softly, tapping your chin. You keep Astarion in suspense for a moment before you suddenly turn to the man. “How about…I get dressed, you take me out to dinner, and we’ll go from there?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” The agreement hung in the air, a hope for something more lingering. 

***

The dinner evolved into an evening stroll, a seamless transition from pleasant chatter to playful banter. It was an unexpected evening, but the time spent with Astarion was so easy, so familiar you didn’t want it to end. Reading about the saviors of Baldur’s Gate was intriguing, and dreaming of a vampiric elf held its allure, but nothing compared to the tangible presence of the real Astarion.

Astarion embodied the epitome of perfection – handsome, intelligent, and endowed with a wit that had you giggling all night. He was the quintessential gentleman, the embodiment of every mother’s hopeful wish for their child.

What started as a single date quickly snowballed into a series of enchanting encounters – one date led to two, then five, until you found yourself drawn into his orbit every week. The pace was exhilarating, and being around Astarion felt like being charged with an electric current. It was not just addictive; it was a whirlwind of happiness, and you couldn’t help but revel in it.

If one indulged in whimsical tales, the idea that Astarion might be your soulmate would have crossed your mind. His ability to read you so intimately sometimes felt like he delved into the depths of your mind.

The dreams persisted, evolving into a kaleidoscope of memories that intertwined your moments with Astarion and a phantom era where someone else shared his company. Astarion, at times, would cast glances at you as you transferred another dream to canvas, an anticipation lingering in his eyes. Despite his attempts, he couldn’t veil the disappointment when the visions resulted in nothing more than another painting adorning the wall.

Then, it occurred on a serene spring day, three years since Astarion first entered your studio. The sun had yet to set, and you found solace curled up with Astarion. Limbs tangled, chests pressed together, hands intertwined – a tableau of intimate connection. His cold nose nestled against the crook of your neck, his white curls playfully tickling your nose.

Behind your closed eyelids, soft images of a forest clearing unfolded – Astarion shirtless, beckoning you towards him. Something clicked, and suddenly, the foreign memories that greeted you each night became a mosaic of your own experiences. The floodgates opened, overwhelming you with a lifetime of moments – kisses beneath the stars, laughter resonating around a campfire, and heart-stopping close calls with death.

Astarion often spoke of Tav, a robust and kind soul who played a pivotal role in shaping him. He wouldn’t be who he is today without them. You now knew a bit better; yes, you had nudged him along the way, but his growth was his own, and you couldn’t be more proud. To think of the years he spent without you, the grief he must have had to push through. If the roles were reversed, you don’t believe you would have been strong enough to keep going.

Startled from his slumber, Astarion found your body descending upon his, your hand meeting his chest with firm slaps. “Stop you, little gremlin.” Groggily, he attempted to restrain you in a tender embrace. He was met with your swift departure from his lap. He heard the patter of your feet retreating from the bed.

“You are a bastard, Astarion!”

Fully alert and by your side instantly, “What did I do, my sweet?”

Worry etched into every crease of his face as he cupped your jaw, looking frantically into your eyes. You intertwined your fingers with his, your other hand reaching out to caress the skin of his hip. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Astarion scrutinized your face, his eyes delving deep into yours. The faintest furrow of his brows betrayed his thoughts. As if following an unspoken script, he pulled you in by the waist, foreheads gently meeting.

Glistening with unshed tears, Astarion whispered, “You remember?” His voice trembled.

“Yes… maybe it’s all still tangled. But yes, I remember Tav – well, I remember us.”

Astarion’s smile widened, his fangs peeking out, and his lips met yours in a heated kiss spinning the two of you around the room. It was a slow dance of lips as if Astarion had all the time in the cosmos to savor this moment. While you could quickly lose yourself in the embrace, you were privy to all his subtle tricks. You turned your face when he attempted to draw you back into the kiss.

“Gods, Astarion, for three years, you knew and never said anything. I’ve painted you for almost as long as I could wield a brush, and for three years, you knew why!” Another slap graced his chest, and tears trickled down your cheeks, eagerly wiped away by his thumbs.

“I wanted to, my love. The moment I realized I wanted to. But this couldn’t be rushed; you can’t rush the mind.”

“Star, I’m so sorry I took so long,”

“No, stop; you took as long as you needed to return to me.” His forehead rests against yours once more, and the room stands still for a moment. “What matters is you’re here, in my arms, and I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

A choked sob mingled with a chuckle, and you nuzzled closer into Astarion, hiding your face into his neck. “Gods, I love you, Astarion.”

“And I love you.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Okay loves, let me know what you think. I've been working on this for over a week and still find some sections I'm not all that happy with, but I want to move on to other pieces. Any and every interaction makes my day.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna

[23victoria]

Father’s Day!!

f1 grid x reader

warnings: just fluff

authors note: today is Father’s Day so want to do something with the grid!! any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!!

f1 masterlist

Max

It's Father's Day, and you're determined to make it special for Max. The morning sun is just beginning to peek through the curtains as you gently wake up your little one, Oliver. You both tiptoe down the hall to the kitchen, where you've prepared a simple but heartfelt breakfast: Max's favorite pancakes, fresh fruit, and a steaming cup of coffee.

Oliver insists on carrying the tray, wobbling slightly but managing to keep everything balanced. You lead the way, quietly pushing open the bedroom door. Max is still asleep, a peaceful expression on his face. Oliver climbs onto the bed, and you can't help but smile as he places a messy kiss on Max's cheek.

"Daddy, wake up! Happy Father's Day!" Oliver's excitement is infectious, and Max stirs, a smile spreading across his face as he opens his eyes.

"Good morning, my babies," Max says, pulling Oliver into a hug and then reaching for you. "This is the best way to wake up."

After breakfast, you all head to the living room, where Oliver presents Max with a hand-painted picture. It's a portrait of your family, with a rainbow in the background and everyone holding hands. Max's eyes mist over as he looks at the painting, his heart swelling with love and pride.

"This is amazing, Oliver. Thank you so much," he says, kissing the top of his son's head. "And thank you, love, for making today so special."

The rest of the day is filled with laughter and joy. You all head to the park, where Max and Oliver play soccer while you watch, capturing every moment on your phone. In the afternoon, you return home for a barbecue, with Oliver helping to flip burgers and Max manning the grill.

As the sun sets, you all snuggle up on the couch to watch Max's favorite movie. Oliver falls asleep in Max's arms, and you rest your head on Max's shoulder, feeling content and happy.

"I couldn't have asked for a better Father's Day," Max whispers, kissing your forehead. "I love you both so much."

Lewis

Father's Day morning comes gently, the sun's rays filtering through the curtains as you and your daughter, Amara, lie in bed, savoring the rare opportunity to sleep in. Last night had been a marathon movie night, with the three of you snuggled on the couch, laughing and enjoying each other's company until the wee hours. As the morning progresses, you and Amara tiptoe out of the bedroom, leaving Lewis to catch a few more minutes of sleep.

In the kitchen, you and Amara prepare a light and easy vegan lunch. The menu includes a vibrant quinoa salad with roasted vegetables, a fresh avocado and tomato sandwich, and a chilled fruit smoothie. Amara is excited, and you guide her hands as she slices veggies and blends the smoothie.

As the meal comes together, you set a tray with the food and a small vase holding a single flower that Amara picked from the garden. Together, you quietly walk back to the bedroom, the tray balanced carefully in your hands. Amara climbs onto the bed first, gently shaking Lewis's shoulder.

"Daddy, wake up! We've got a surprise for you!" she says, her voice filled with excitement.

Lewis stirs, opening his eyes to see Amara’s bright smile and your loving gaze. He sits up, rubbing his eyes, and grins as he sees the tray.

"Good morning, my beautiful girls," he says, pulling Amara into a hug and giving you a warm kiss. "This is an amazing way to wake up."

After savoring the delicious lunch, you and Amara present Lewis with his special gift. Amara hands him a small, wrapped box, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. Lewis opens it to find a handcrafted bracelet, ring, and necklace, each piece intricately designed with tiny charms and beads that the two of you had spent weeks working on together.

"Wow, Amara, these are incredible," Lewis says, his voice filled with emotion. "Thank you so much, sweetheart. And thank you, love, for helping her. These are truly special."

Amara beams with pride as Lewis puts on the bracelet and necklace, sliding the ring onto his finger. The rest of the day is spent in relaxed joy. You all lounge around the house, playing board games and sharing stories. In the afternoon, you take a walk in the park, where Lewis and Amara race each other along the path, their laughter echoing through the trees.

As evening falls, you all return home and cuddle up on the couch once more, this time to watch the sunset through the living room window. Amara eventually falls asleep in Lewis's arms, and you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling a deep sense of contentment.

"This has been the perfect Father's Day," Lewis whispers, kissing your forehead. "I love you both so much. Thank you for making today unforgettable."

Charles

Father's Day morning begins with the sun gently illuminating your bedroom. You and your son, Lucas, had stayed up late the night before, giggling and making final preparations for Charles's special day. After catching a bit of extra sleep, you both decide to let Charles rest while you head to the kitchen to prepare his favorite breakfast: croissants, fresh fruit, and a strong espresso.

Lucas, eager to help, assists in arranging the food on a tray. You add a small vase with a single rose, a simple yet thoughtful touch. Together, you carry the tray to the bedroom, where Charles is still in a peaceful slumber. Lucas carefully climbs onto the bed, placing a soft kiss on his father's cheek.

"Happy Father's Day, Papa!" Lucas exclaims, his voice filled with excitement.

Charles stirs, opening his eyes to see Lucas's beaming face and your loving smile. He sits up, reaching out to pull Lucas into a warm hug and giving you a tender kiss.

"Good morning, my loves," Charles says, his eyes sparkling with happiness. "This is the best way to wake up."

After enjoying the delicious breakfast, Lucas announces that he has another surprise for Charles. He dashes out of the room and returns with a beautifully wrapped gift. Charles's curiosity is piqued as he carefully unwraps the present.

Inside, he finds a custom-made photo album. Each page is filled with pictures of the most cherished moments you've shared as a family: vacations, birthdays, holidays, and candid snapshots of everyday life. Lucas had painstakingly decorated the pages with stickers, drawings, and little notes, each one a testament to his love and creativity.

Charles's eyes well up with tears as he flips through the pages, reliving the memories. "Lucas, this is amazing. Thank you so much, my little artist. And thank you, love, for helping him put this together. It's perfect."

Lucas beams with pride, and you wrap your arms around both of them, feeling a wave of love and happiness. The rest of the day is filled with joyful activities. You take a family trip to the zoo, where Charles and Lucas marvel at the animals and share ice cream cones. In the afternoon, you return home for a barbecue, with Lucas eagerly helping to flip the burgers while Charles mans the grill.

As the sun sets, you all snuggle up on the couch to watch Charles's favorite movie. Lucas falls asleep in Charles's arms, and you rest your head on Charles's shoulder, feeling content and happy.

"I couldn't have asked for a better Father's Day," Charles whispers, kissing your forehead. "I love you both so much."

Carlos

It's Father's Day, and you and your daughter, Sofia, have been planning a special surprise for Carlos for weeks. The morning starts with you both sneaking into the kitchen to prepare Carlos's favorite Spanish breakfast: churros with hot chocolate.

Sofia climbs onto the bed and places a kiss on Carlos's cheek. "Happy Father's Day, Papa!" she exclaims, her excitement waking Carlos with a start. He blinks a few times before his eyes focus on the two of you.

"Good morning, mi princesa," he says, pulling Sofia into a hug and reaching out to you. "This is the best surprise."

Sofia announces she has another surprise for her papa. Sofia dashes out of the room, returning with a large, colorfully wrapped box. Carlos, his curiosity piqued, smiles as he accepts the gift from his beaming daughter.

"Open it, Papa! I made it just for you!" Sofia exclaims, practically bouncing with excitement.

Carlos carefully unwraps the gift, revealing a beautifully handcrafted model of his race car. The model is made from wood, meticulously painted in his team's colors, with fine details that capture the essence of his real car. Sofia had spent weeks working on it, sanding and painting each piece with your help.

Carlos’s eyes widen in amazement as he examines the intricate model. "Sofia, this is incredible! You made this all by yourself?"

Sofia nods eagerly. "Well, Mommy helped a little, but I did most of it. Do you like it?"

"I love it," Carlos says, his voice filled with emotion. He pulls Sofia into a tight hug. "This is one of the best gifts I've ever received. Thank you, my little artist."

The rest of the day is spent in high spirits. You all head out to the park for a fun-filled day of activities. Carlos and Sofia race their remote-controlled cars, laughing and cheering as they navigate through makeshift tracks. Later, you enjoy a picnic under the shade of a large oak tree, savoring the simple pleasures of being together.

You rest your head on Carlos's shoulder, feeling a deep sense of contentment. Carlos looks at you with love and gratitude in his eyes.

"This has been the perfect Father's Day," he whispers, kissing your forehead. "Thank you for making it so special. I love you both so much."

Lando

Father's Day morning starts with you and your son, Theo, preparing a fun and easy breakfast for Lando: banana pancakes with maple syrup and a side of fresh berries. After breakfast in bed, Theo excitedly announces he has a special surprise for Lando.

Theo runs out of the room and returns with a small, neatly wrapped box. Lando's eyes light up as he takes the gift from Theo's eager hands.

"Daddy, open it! I made it just for you! But mommy help me as well!!" Theo exclaims, his excitement palpable.

Lando carefully unwraps the gift to reveal a handmade keychain. The keychain is crafted from colorful beads and charms, spelling out "Best Dad" along with tiny race car and helmet charms. Theo had put his heart into making it, with your help guiding his little hands.

"This is awesome, Theo! I love it," Lando says, his voice full of warmth. He pulls Theo into a hug. "Thank you, buddy. I'll keep this with me always."

The rest of the day is filled with activities at Lando's favorite amusement park, where he and Theo ride all the roller coasters and enjoy the day to its fullest. Back home, you all enjoy a cozy movie night, snuggled up together, cherishing every moment.

Oscar

Father's Day morning begins with you and your daughter, Ava, preparing a simple but delicious brunch for Oscar: an egg omelette with spinach bell peppers onions and bacon with waffles and some turkey sandwiches cut into half’s with a fresh fruit smoothie. After the brunch, Ava eagerly announces her special surprise for her daddy.

Ava rushes out of the room and returns with a beautifully decorated scrapbook. Oscar's curiosity is piqued as he accepts the gift from his daughter’s proud hands.

"Daddy, we made this for you!" Ava says, her eyes sparkling.

Oscar opens the scrapbook to find it filled with drawings, photos, and little notes. Each page captures special moments they've shared: trips to the beach, family game nights, and candid snapshots of daily life. Ava had worked tirelessly on it, with your help organizing the pages.

"This is amazing, Ava. I love it," Oscar says, his voice filled with emotion. He pulls Ava into a hug. "Thank you so much, sweetheart. This is a treasure."

The day continues with a visit to a botanical garden, where Oscar and Ava explore the vibrant plants and flowers and even go into the butterfly garden. After that you guys go to a nice restaurant for dinner and go home ending the day with a lots of cuddles.

Sebastian

Father's Day starts with you and your son, Max, preparing a nice breakfast for him: honey and cinnamon pancakes with eggs, turkey bacon and fresh fruit. After enjoying the meal in together, Max reveals his special surprise for his papa.

Max runs to his room and returns with a large, carefully wrapped package. Seb's eyes twinkle with anticipation as he accepts the gift from Max’s excited hands.

"Papa, open it! I made it for you!" Max exclaims, his excitement evident.

Sebastian unwraps the package to reveal a handmade birdhouse. The birdhouse is painted in bright colors and adorned with tiny flowers and leaves. Max had spent countless afternoons working on it, with your guidance and support.

"This is wonderful, Max! I love it," Sebastian says, his voice brimming with pride. He pulls Max into a warm hug. "Thank you, my little craftsman. We'll put this in the garden together."

The rest of the day is spent outdoors, visiting a local farm and feeding the animals. Back home, they set up the birdhouse in the garden, watching for birds to come. The day concludes with a cozy evening watching The Incredibles 2, Max falling asleep in Seb's arms.

Jenson Button

Father's Day morning begins with the sun shining through the curtains and the soft sound of paws padding around the house. You and your two kids, Lily and Jake, are up early, ready to surprise Jenson with a day filled with love, laughter, and a few surprises from the whole family, including the dogs.

First, you all head to the kitchen to prepare a hearty English breakfast: baked beans, toast, and a selection of fresh fruits. The dogs, Storm, Rogue and Bentley, are excitedly wagging their tails, sensing the fun to come. You prepare a special dog-friendly treat for them to deliver to Jenson as well.

Once breakfast is ready, you and the kids carry the trays up to the bedroom, with Storm, Rogue and Bentley following closely, each with a small, wrapped gift tied to their collars. Lily and Jake eagerly climb onto the bed, placing kisses on Jenson's cheeks to wake him up.

"Happy Father's Day, Daddy!" they exclaim in unison.

Jenson groggily opens his eyes, a smile spreading across his face as he sees his excited kids and the delicious breakfast laid out before him. "Good morning, my little loves. This is the best wake-up call."

As he sits up, Storm, Rogue and Bentley jump onto the bed, tails wagging furiously. Jenson laughs as he notices the gifts tied to their collars.

"Looks like even the dogs have something for you, Daddy!" Jake says, grinning.

Jenson unties the first gift from Storm collar. Inside, he finds a personalized mug with "World's Best Dad" written on it and a picture of Jenson with Storm, Rogue and Bentley. "This is fantastic! Thank you, Storm," he says, patting the dog's head.

Next, he opens the gift from Rogue collar. It's a new set of golf balls with "Best Dad" engraved on each one. "Wow, Rogue, you know me so well," Jenson laughs, scratching Rogue behind the ears.

Jenson unties a gift from Bentley's collar. Inside, he finds sunglasses with "JB" engraved on it. Jenson smiles and gives Bentley a big hug. "Thank you, Bentley. This is so nice."

"Now for our gifts!" Lily says, handing Jenson a brightly wrapped package. Inside, Jenson finds a handmade photo frame decorated with seashells, featuring a picture of the whole family from their last beach vacation.

"This is beautiful, Lily. Thank you so much," Jenson says, giving her a big hug.

Jake hands over his gift next, a Lego set to build The Millennium Falcon. "We can build it together, Dad!" Jake says, his eyes shining with excitement.

"Awesome, Jake. I can't wait to get started on this," Jenson says, pulling Jake into a hug.

The rest of the day is filled with fun and adventure. You all head to the nearby park with the dogs, where Jenson and the kids play catch, run around, and even try their hands at flying a kite. Roscoe and Coco have the time of their lives chasing after the frisbee and each other.

In the afternoon, you return home to make a special dinner together. You gather in the kitchen, setting up a pizza-making station with various ingredients. Each of you gets a dough base to create your own unique pizza.

Lily goes for a classic margherita with lots of cheese, Jake opts for a pepperoni and olive combo, Jenson decides on a prosciutto and arugula pizza, and you make a buffalo chicken masterpiece. Storm, Rogue and Bentley are given their own special dog-friendly pizzas, which they eagerly gobble up.

As the pizzas bake, the kitchen fills with delicious aromas. You all sit around the table, enjoying your creations and sharing stories. The evening is filled with laughter, as you recount the day's adventures and enjoy the warmth of being together as a family.

After dinner, you all snuggle up on the couch with the dogs, watching one of Jenson's favorite movies. Lily and Jake eventually fall asleep, and Roscoe and Coco curl up at their feet. You lean against Jenson, feeling content and happy.

"This has been the perfect Father's Day," Jenson whispers, kissing your forehead. "I love you all so much. Thank you for making today unforgettable."

Daniel

Father's Day morning begins with a mischievous plan you and your son, Jack, concoct to wake Daniel up in a way he'll never forget. The two of you tiptoe around the house, preparing for the grand surprise. You and Jack decide that a good old-fashioned prank will be the perfect way to start the day.

You both set up downstairs, positioning yourselves in the kitchen with a delicious vegan lunch waiting to be served. On the count of three, you and Jack begin to scream and shout, creating a cacophony of pretend chaos.

"Dad! Help! There's a huge mess!" you yell, adding to the commotion.

From upstairs, you hear the sound of Daniel springing out of bed and rushing down the stairs. He bursts into the kitchen, his hair tousled and eyes wide with concern.

"What's going on? Is everyone okay?" Daniel exclaims, looking around frantically.

You and Jack burst into laughter, unable to keep up the act any longer. Daniel's confusion quickly turns to a smile as he realizes he's been pranked.

"Happy Father's Day!" you both shout, grinning widely.

Daniel shakes his head, chuckling. "You got me good! Whose idea was this?"

You and Jack exchange glances and remain silent, trying to stifle your laughter. Daniel raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Oh, so you're not going to tell me, huh?" he says, moving towards you both with a mischievous grin. "Well, I guess I'll have to get the truth out another way."

With that, Daniel starts chasing you around the house. Jack squeals and runs, but Daniel quickly catches him, lifting him up and starting to tickle him mercilessly.

"No, Mom! Save me from the tickle monster!" Jack cries out between fits of laughter.

You stand back, laughing as you watch the two of them. Daniel’s infectious laughter fills the room as Jack squirms and giggles uncontrollably.

"Alright, alright! I surrender!" Jack finally manages to say, still giggling as Daniel relents.

As things settle down, you guide Daniel to the dining table where the surprise lunch is laid out: a colorful spread of avocado toast, quinoa salad, and fresh fruit smoothies.

"Happy Father's Day, love," you say, kissing Daniel on the cheek. "We thought you deserved a fun wake-up call."

Daniel smiles, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you in for a hug. "You two are the best. This is perfect."

The rest of the day is filled with laughter and love. You spend the afternoon playing games in the garden, enjoying the beautiful weather and each other's company. In the evening, you all snuggle up on the couch for a cozy movie night, feeling grateful for the special moments shared together.

© 23victoria 2023-24 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate or claim my work as your own

[hisui-dreamer]

omg omg !! HAPPY 2K RINNA <3 i’m so so proud of u and u deserve everything 💗 the event looks so fun hehe YOU ALRKEUADY JNIW WHI IN GONNANS ASK FOR

i really really love tulips so could i ask for lilia and tulips please? its meaning is perfect and deep love hehe CHEWS YOUR WALLS

good luck with your assignments and take all the time you need !! i love you and miss you mwahh

a crown befitting of you

Pairing: Lilia Vanrouge x gn!reader

Synopsis: his feelings had grown so subtly, so steadily, that he had not realised at all

Tags: fluff, developing relationship, reader eats lilia's food omg

Word count: 783

Notes: mil mil my favourite person ever!!💕💕💕 thank you so much ill work hard on my assignments 🫡 i hope you enjoy lilia hehehe >∪<

Masterlist

flower of choice: tulip

tulips are commonly asosciated with perfect and deep love.

Looking back, Lilia vividly remembers the day you arrived in Twisted Wonderland. Amidst the grand spectacle of the entrance ceremony, particularly with Grim's frantic attempts to avoid being captured, there was something about you that captured his attention. Maybe it was the distinct curiosity shining in your eyes, navigating through an entirely foreign world with a blend of composure and uncertainty. Whatever it was, he found himself wanting to reach out and make you feel welcome.

He started looking out for you without even realizing it. He began with small gestures, like offering help with your studies when he found you hunched over a book in the library or popping down from the ceiling to help you find a classroom. He enjoyed seeing your smile brighten whenever you grasped a new concept or conquered a challenge. It felt good to be there for you, to share his experiences and insights.

As time went on, your interactions blossomed into a regular occurrence. Hours seemed to melt away as you engaged in conversations about anything and everything, exchanging stories of your homeland and experiences while he eagerly recounted his adventures from various countries. Among the students, you were the only one to actively praise his cooking, willingly joining him in the kitchen. These shared moments became cherished moments for Lilia, feeling a connection forming between you that he couldn't quite explain.

But it wasn't until much later that he realized the true depth of his feelings. They had silently amassed over time, creeping up on him when he least expected it. Suddenly, he found myself thinking about you all the time, wondering how you were and yearning to see your smile once more.

Just as his thoughts drifted to you, a familiar laughter dances through the air, drawing his attention. Turning towards its source, he finds himself captivated by the scene unfolding before him. The sun bathes the school courtyard in a radiant golden hue, casting a warm, inviting glow upon everything it touches. There you are, seated on the grass with legs crossed, skillfully weaving delicate tulip flowers into a crown.

Curiosity piqued, he approaches quietly, not wanting to interrupt your moment of concentration. As he draws nearer, you glance up, your eyes shimmering with delight and a mischievous grin playing upon your lips.

"Lilia!" you exclaim, a hint of surprise colouring your tone. "What perfect timing! I've made something for you."

With a graceful flourish, you hold up the tulip flower crown, presenting it as if it were a priceless gem. Each vibrant petal seems to shimmer and sway in the sunlight, casting a spell of enchantment over the surroundings. The delicate blooms, ranging in hues from deep crimson to soft pastel pink, are meticulously arranged in a circular formation, creating a majestic crown fit for royalty.

"You made this for me?" he asks, a wry grin on his face. He can't help but think it suits you far better.

"Of course!" You reply, your grin widening. "Don’t you think it’ll enhance your cuteness?"

A huff of laughter escapes him as you delicately place the crown upon his head, adjusting it until it sits just right. He can't help but feel a rush of affection towards you, grateful for your kindness and the undeniable warmth you bring into his life.

As you step back to admire your handiwork, your gaze meets his, and time seems to stand still. He finds himself entranced by the sparkle in your eyes, the way your smile reaches all the way to your soul.

It is then, with the sun kissing your skin and the scent of tulips filling the air, that he realises just how deeply he cares for you. In your laughter, in your playful gestures, he found a love he hadn't known existed, a love that filled him with a warmth unlike anything he'd ever felt before. And as he looks into your eyes, his own heart overflowing with emotion, he knows that he has fallen completely, utterly in love.

"Rather than me," he begins, lifting the flower crown from his head and gently placing it upon yours. "I believe it enhances your cuteness far more effectively."

He watches with rapt attention as a delicate flush blossoms across your cheeks, like the soft petals of a rose responding to the morning sun. The warmth of embarrassment paints your features with a gentle hue, adding a touch of ethereal beauty to your already captivating presence. In that moment, your eyes widen slightly, reflecting a mixture of surprise and affection, like sparkling jewels illuminated by a ray of sunlight.

Truly, the deepest of loves.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[urdnotstxrm]

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen & Reader

AU: The Targaryen family dynamics are a blend of political intrigue and personal emotions. Rhaenyra Targaryen, the strong-willed and fiery daughter of King Viserys, is caught in a dilemma. Her father has decreed that for her to secure the Iron Throne, she must marry your brother, a match designed to solidify alliances and secure her claim. Despite this, Rhaenyra's heart belongs to you.

The evening was lively as Rhaenyra Targaryen graced your family's household with her presence. Laughter and conversation filled the air inside the grand hall, where your family and Rhaenyra's entourage were gathered. The warmth of the fire and the clinking of goblets created a vibrant atmosphere. However, Rhaenyra's mind was elsewhere. Excusing herself from the festivities, she made her way outside, her steps guided by an unseen force. In the cool evening air, she walked towards the stables, drawn by a feeling she could not ignore. The sound of hooves and the gentle whinnying of horses filled the silence. There, she found you, brushing down one of the horses, the lantern's light casting a soft glow on your face. She paused, watching you for a moment before stepping forward.

"I thought I might find you here," she said softly, her voice carrying a mix of relief and longing. "The celebrations inside... they feel so distant compared to this." You looked up, surprise flashing in your eyes before it was replaced by a warm, welcoming smile. "Rhaenyra," you greeted her, setting aside the brush. "I didn't expect you to come out here."

"I needed some air," she admitted, moving closer. "And perhaps... I needed to see you." She reached out, gently touching the side of the horse, her fingers brushing against yours. The simple contact sent a thrill through you both. "You should be inside, enjoying yourself," you said, though there was no real conviction in your voice.

"I don't want to marry your brother," she whispered, her hand moving to rest on your chest, her voice trembling. "I can't imagine a life with him when my heart belongs to you. Please, go to my father and ask for my hand. It's the only way we can be together." She leaned in, her forehead resting against yours, her breath mingling with yours in the cool night air. Her words struck a deep chord within you, the longing in her eyes mirrored in your own. But you knew the truth, a truth that weighed heavily on your heart. "Rhaenyra," you began, your voice soft but firm, "I wish I could. More than anything, I wish I could ask your father for your hand and be with you openly. But I can't." She frowned, confusion and hurt flickering across her face.

"Why not? If we love each other, why can't we be together?" You took a deep breath, steadying yourself for what you had to say. "I yielded my right to the leadership of my house, Rhaenyra. I chose the path of knighthood, entrusting my younger brother with the role of leader. He is the one destined to lead our house, and I cannot undermine that decision. It would bring dishonor to my family and chaos to our house." Rhaenyra shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "But you are the one I want, the one I need. Surely there must be a way..." You took her hands in yours, holding them tightly. "I would give anything to be with you, Rhaenyra. But our world is built on duty and honor. If I were to go to your father now, it would not only betray my brother but also bring great strife to our families. I cannot do that to you, or to the realm." Her tears began to fall, and you gently wiped them away with your thumb.

"So, what are we to do? Live in secret? Love each other in stolen moments?" You nodded, your heart breaking with the truth of it. "For now, that may be all we can have." She leaned into you, seeking solace in your embrace, and you held her close, wishing that the world were different, that duty did not stand in the way of love. But in that moment, all you could do was hold on to each other, cherishing the time you had, however fleeting it might be.

[valkyriexo]

Invasion of Privacy | Ep. 2 - Favors

ᑉ³SYNOPSIS; In the dazzling world of fame, you have it all—a beautiful home, devoted fans, and Chan, the love of your life. But when cryptic messages start arriving, the line between adoration and obsession blurs. With each note, you feel increasingly unsafe. Now, you're on a dangerous journey to uncover the truth before it's too late.

ᑉ³PAIRING; Chan x Idol! reader. Ft. Stray Kids

ᑉ³GENRE; Smau, FF , Angst, Hurt, Comfort, mystery

ᑉ³GENERAL WARNINGS ; Violence, Sasaeng (Stalker). Mentions of a knife, mentions of blood, Home invasion, cursing, Kissing, Pain, death, Implied female reader, Certain episodes may be Suggestive MDNI

ᑉ³EPISODE WARNINGS;  Death, Suggestive MDNI, Cursing

EPISODE WORD COUNT; 4.7k

AUTHOR'S NOTE ;Surprise! Episode 2.. have you ruled some people out yet?

If you enjoyed this episode, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Whether it's through comments, reblogs, or sending an ask, your feedback means the world to me.

Master Post | Teaser |

The morning sun casts a warm glow over the bustling streets as you and Chan make your way through the vibrant shopping district. Surrounded by a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, you feel a sense of excitement bubbling up within you.

As you stroll arm in arm with Chan, laughter spills from your lips, the carefree atmosphere infectious as you revel in each other's company. The windows of the shops lining the street display an array of enticing goods, each one tempting you with its allure.

Entering a boutique, you're greeted by a wave of delightful scents and the soft melody of music playing in the background. You browse through racks of clothing, giggling and flirting as you playfully model various outfits for each other.

"What about this?" he asks, trying to contain his smile. You can't help but burst into laughter at Chan's suggestion, his playful grin infectious as he holds up the most outrageous garment he could find.

"This could work perfectly for the family dinner."

"Oh, absolutely," you reply with a playful grin, "I'm sure my parents would love to see you show up in that."

"You know what? I think there's a matching one for you," he says with a sly grin, disappearing into the racks of clothing.

Moments later, Chan emerges from the racks of clothing with a triumphant grin, holding up what can only be described as a fashion disaster. The dress in question is a riot of colors, with clashing patterns and textures that seem to defy all sense of style. But what truly sets it apart are the dozens of teddy bears, each one seemingly hand-sewn onto the fabric with reckless abandon.

"Voila!" he exclaims, unable to contain his laughter at the sight of the garment.

"Chan, what on earth is that?" you manage to choke out between giggles.

Chan's eyes widen dramatically, a look of mock horror crossing his face. "What? You don't like it?" he exclaims, his voice filled with playful disbelief. "To think, I put so much effort into finding the perfect ensemble, only to have my impeccable taste called into question."

You play along with his theatrics, pretending to be remorseful. "Oh, forgive me, fashion guru," you say with a grin, reaching out to pat his arm consolingly. "But that thing looks like it was designed by a kindergartener on a sugar rush."

Chan chuckles, unable to contain his amusement any longer. "Okay, maybe not the best choice," he admits, his laughter blending with yours as you share a lighthearted moment amidst the racks of clothing.

"Ooh, what do you think of this one?" you ask, grabbing a dress that caught your eye. As you hold the dress in front of you, its allure is undeniable. The flowy skirt cascades from your hands, swaying gently with each movement, while the corset top adds a touch of allure and sophistication to the ensemble.

The corset is expertly tailored. Its intricate lace-up design adds a hint of drama and elegance, drawing the eye to the sculpted lines of the bodice.

Chan's eyes light up as he gazes at you, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Absolutely stunning," he says, his voice filled with genuine admiration. 

"The dress or me?" you say.

Chan's grin widens as he steps closer, his gaze lingering on you with unabashed appreciation. "Well, the dress is lovely, But you? You're dangerous"

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. "Dangerous, huh?" you echo, feigning innocence as you tilt your head, "And why's that?"

Chan's grin widens. "Well, it's simple," he says, his voice a smooth, seductive murmur, "because you make heads turn so hard they might break their necks." The words hang in the air, thick with implication, as he leans in, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours.. "You make it impossible to look away, sweetheart."

Before you can respond, he closes the remaining distance between you, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, lingering kiss. It's a moment of sweet surrender, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine as you melt into the embrace.

When he finally pulls away, a knowing smile plays at the corners of his lips, his eyes alight with affection. "See what I mean?" he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "Absolutely dangerous."

You can't help but laugh at his corny yet utterly charming response, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you at his words. "Smooth talker," you tease, nudging him playfully

"Smooth talker? Nah, I prefer to think of myself as a master of compliments," he quips. "But hey, if the shoe fits..."

As you glance past Chan, your laughter fades as something catches your eye through the boutique window. Your gaze falls on a figure standing farther away, amidst the bustling crowd of people passing by. Despite the distance, their eyes seem to lock onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

You freeze for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to make out their features through the crowd. You realize that their features are obscured not just by the throng of people, but also by an oversized hood and mask that conceals most of their face, leaving only a vague silhouette in your line of sight.

With a surge of determination, you shove the dress into Chan's hands, your urgency evident in the abruptness of your movements. "Hold this," you instruct him quickly, your voice trembling.

Before Chan can react, you turn on your heel and bolt out of the boutique, your heart pounding in your chest. Pushing through the wave of shoppers, you make your way towards them, only to find that they have vanished into the crowd, leaving behind nothing but an eerie sense of déjà vu.

"Where are you going?" Chan's voice breaks through your thoughts, his tone laced with concern as he noticed your sudden change in direction. Frustration mounts as you search fruitlessly for any sign of the stranger, your senses on high alert. But no matter how hard you looked, they were gone.

"I saw... something," you reply cryptically, your focus solely on tracking down the shadowy figure that had captured your attention.

Chan's hand finds yours, his touch grounding you in the midst of your swirling thoughts. "Saw what?" he questions, his tone gentle yet insistent.

"I-....Nothing....Nevermind," you murmur, shaking your head slightly as you try to dismiss the unsettling encounter. Despite Chan's comforting presence, the memory of the mysterious figure lingers in the back of your mind

"Are you sure?" Chan asks, his concern evident in his voice. "We can stay if you want, but if you're feeling unwell, maybe we should head home."

You consider his suggestion, feeling a sense of relief at the prospect of leaving the bustling street behind. "Yeah, let's go home," you agree, a small smile playing on your lips. "And hey, how about we cook lunch together? It could be fun."

Chan's eyes light up at the suggestion, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I like the sound of that," he says, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "Let's get going then." With his hand in yours, you allow him to lead you away from the busy street.

Once home, you kick off your shoes and settle into the cozy ambiance of your shared space. Chan wastes no time in heading to the kitchen, his enthusiasm for cooking evident as he gathers ingredients and starts preparing lunch.

As you watch him move around the kitchen with practiced ease, you find your thoughts drifting, a slight fog settling over your mind. You know you should be helping him, but the weight of your thoughts is making it difficult to focus. Your mind is a mix of thoughts, uncertainties, and unresolved questions.

"Hey, could you help me out with this?" Chan's voice breaks through your reverie, snapping you back to the present.

You blink, realizing you've been lost in your own thoughts for a few minutes. "Sorry, what was that?" you ask, your voice slightly distant.

Chan gives you a concerned look. "I asked if you could cut this cucumber for me," he repeats, holding out the vegetable and a knife.

You take them from him, trying to shake off the fog that clouds your mind. "Right, sorry," you mumble, feeling guilty for not being more present.

As you slice through the cucumber, your mind still feels preoccupied. Chan's voice brings you back once again.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone gentle as he looks at you.

You meet his gaze, offering him a weak smile. "Yeah, just lost in thought," you reply, though you know it's more than that.

In response, Chan sets down the ingredients he's working with and moves closer to you. There's a determined yet gentle look in his eyes as he takes your hand, pulling you away from the cutting board and towards him.

Without a word, he guides you to sit on the edge of the countertop opposite him. His touch is comforting as he stands between your legs, his hands resting on your waist.

"You seem really on edge," he murmurs, his voice filled with genuine concern. "Is there something specific that's bothering you?"

You hesitate. "I don't know," you murmur, not really wanting to reveal much.

"You don't know, or you don't want to talk about it?" Chan's voice is gentle but probing, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow.

"I don't know," you confess. "I'm just feeling.....weird."

Chan's lips brush against your neck in a tender gesture, sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

"Feeling weird huh....," he murmurs against your skin, his warm breath sending a wave of tingles through you. You find yourself nodding, unable to form coherent thoughts as his lips continue their mesmerizing dance along your skin. The tension that had gripped your shoulders begins to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of warmth and arousal.

"Does this help?" his kisses growing bolder, more insistent. His hands wander back down to your waist, tugging you closer. You feel the heat from his body even through the layers of clothing, his arousal pressing insistently against your stomach. You nod again, feeling your face grow hot as your body reacts to his touch. "You always help," you reply softly, melting into his comforting touch as his lips trail along the sensitive skin of your neck. 

He looks up, meeting your gaze with gratitude and affection. Leaning in, you close the distance between you, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. The soft, sweet press of his lips is everything you've dreamed of and more.

He moans softly as your tongue darts out to tease at the seam of his lips, eagerly granting you access. You can taste the faint traces of peppermint on his tongue as it slips into your mouth, tangling with yours in a heated dance.

You sigh happily, losing yourself in the kiss as the world seems to fall away around you.

He slides a hand up the back of your neck, gripping your hair and using it to pull you closer to him. His mouth moves over yours, hot and hungry.

"Tell me what's on your mind, love," he urges, his voice husky with desire.

"It's...it's nothing," you breathe, gasping slightly as his hand tightens in your hair. " I was just... just thinking.." you stutter as he trails a line of hot kisses along your jaw.

"Mmmhmm" he purrs, his breath warm against your skin.

His hands slide down back down your sides, caressing your hips and then moving further south to cup your ass. He squeezes firmly, making you gasp in surprise, and then grinds his hips against you, causing a jolt of electricity to shoot through your body.

"Chan," you moan, arching your back and pressing closer to him. You want more. Need more.

"Hmmm?" he hums against your lips, kissing you again.

"You're distracting me."

He smiles, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "Maybe that's the point," he murmurs, his hand moving to your front to palm your breast through your shirt. You whimper softly as he continues to explore your body with his mouth and hands, teasing you mercilessly until you can’t take it anymore.

A faint sound interrupts the peace of the moment. It's barely noticeable at first, like a distant melody weaving its way into the room.

Chan lifts his head slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion. "Did you say something?" he murmurs, his voice tinged with curiosity.

“Chan, want you..” You beg.

He smirks against your lips and pulls away slightly, looking down at you with dark eyes. “What do you want?” he asks, voice low and husky.

“Tell me what you want, baby.... I need to know.” You swallow thickly, your face heating up at the way he stares at you with lust in his eyes.

He growls low in his throat and leans back down to kiss you again, more forcefully this time. His tongue slips past your lips and into your mouth, exploring every inch of it. The taste of him fills your senses and makes your head spin.

"You."

His hands slide under the hem of your shirt, caressing your skin. You can't help but arch your back, pressing closer to him.

"Please..." you beg.

He trails kisses down the column of your neck, his lips and teeth leaving a path of fire in their wake. He bites down on the junction where your neck meets your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and you gasp in pleasure.

His fingers deftly unbutton your shirt and push it aside, revealing the black lace bra underneath.

The faint sound interrupts the space once more, still barely noticeable.

Chan lifts his head again slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion. "Did you hear that?" he murmurs, his voice tinged with curiosity.

You shake your head, the sensation of his touch still lingering on your skin, your attention fully focused on him.

He frowns and turns his attention back to your exposed chest, placing kisses in the valley in your chest. He lets out a contented sigh and moves lower, trailing kisses along the curve of your stomach.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he murmurs against your skin. " but i know something that taste so much sweeter."

Your breath catches in your throat as his lips brush against your inner thigh, teasing the sensitive skin there.

He pulls back and looks up at you, his dark eyes burning with desire.

"You want me, baby?"he asks, his voice rough with need. You nod wordlessly, unable to speak. He smirks and places another soft kiss against your skin, making your whole body shudder. "Say it."

"Y-yes."

"Say my name," he commands, his fingers tracing patterns on your inner thighs.

"Chan."

"Again."

"Chan."

"Louder."

"Chan!"

"Mmmm."

His tongue darts out to lick a stripe along the seam of your panties, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

You can feel his hot breath on your core, teasing you through the thin material. You moan, arching up against him, and his hands move lower, slipping into your panties. His fingers brush over your folds, and he lets out a low growl as he feels how wet you are.

"So wet for me already, babygirl?" he murmurs, his lips pressed against your ear.

"Yes," you breathe, squirming under his touch. "I need you, Channie."

The sound persists, growing slightly louder this time, and you both become aware of a subtle vibration beneath you. Gradually, realization dawns as you exchange a puzzled glance.

Chan runs his other hand through his hair, his brow furrowed in frustration. "Okay," he muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of disbelief and determination. "I know I'm not going crazy."

With a sudden jolt of recognition, you shift and reach into your pocket and retrieve your phone.

You glance at the screen, irritation flaring up as the same unfamiliar number flashes over and over again. Chan shoots you a pointed look, his annoyance palpable.

"Who is it?" he mutters, his eyes narrowing.

"It's some number ," you reply, your frustration mirroring his. "They keep calling me, and I don't know who it is."

With a sigh, you decline the call and return the phone to your pocket.

"Well, whoever it is, they can wait," he growls, leaning in to continue his previous actions.

The phone vibrates once again, the display illuminating.

You both let out an exasperated groan as the ringing persists.

"This is ridiculous," he huffs, his lips curled into a frown. "Why won't they just leave a message or something?"

The phone continues to ring, its shrill sound cutting through the silence of the room. You sit up, reluctantly untangling yourself from his embrace, and reach for your phone again. "Fine, I'll answer it," you grumble, pressing the answer button with more force than necessary.

"Must be important if they're calling this many times," he remarks under his breath. You offered a strained smile in response before finally speaking into the phone, trying to keep your frustration in check as you greeted the unknown caller.

"Hello?" you say, trying to ignore Chan's comment.

"Hello, Y/N."

"Yes? Who is this? How do you know my name?" Your voice trembled with a mixture of confusion and apprehension, the unexpected familiarity sending shivers down your spine.

"I'm sorry to inform you, but there's been a fire at Y/F/N's house," the voice continued, its words carrying a weight that seemed to crush the very air around you. "They... they didn't make it out in time. I'm so sorry."

The world seemed to come to a screeching halt as the full impact of those words registered in your mind. Your heart plummeted to the pit of your stomach, a heavy weight settling over you like a suffocating blanket.

Shock immobilizes you, rendering you momentarily speechless as your mind struggles to process the news. Disbelief clouds your thoughts, and for a fleeting moment, you entertain the hope that this must be some cruel prank or a terrible misunderstanding. But the solemnity in the caller's voice leaves no room for doubt, and the reality of the situation hits you with relentless force.

"What?" The word escapes your lips in a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. It feels as though the ground beneath you has shifted.

"Your friend has passed away," the voice repeats, its tone filled with sympathy.

Your breaths come in shallow gasps as you struggle to comprehend the news, each inhalation feeling like a struggle against an invisible weight pressing down upon your chest. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment, but you fight to hold them back, afraid of what might happen if you allow yourself to surrender to the overwhelming sense of grief. Your hands tremble as you clutch the phone tightly, the cold metal offering little solace in the face of such devastating news.

Chan's irritation dissipates instantly as he sees the color drain from your face. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice filled with worry.

You struggle to find the words, your mind reeling from the devastating news. "It's... it's ," you manage to choke out, tears streaming down your cheeks. "She didn't make it... there was a fire..."

As you relay the news, Chan's expression shifts from concern to horror as your words sink in. His features contort with disbelief, mirroring the shock and anguish etched across your own face. For a moment, neither of you can find the words to articulate the overwhelming grief that threatens to consume you both.

All around you, the morning light seems to dim, casting a pall of darkness over the room as you come to terms with the harsh reality of mortality. The laughter and playful banter of moments ago fade into the background, replaced by the deafening silence of grief.

"I never got to say goodbye," you confess. Chan's arms wrap around you in a comforting embrace, holding you close, as if trying to shield you from the pain that threatens to overwhelm you. You bury your face in his chest, his heartbeat echoing in your ears.

The phone slips from your grasp, forgotten amidst the grief. Time loses all meaning as you surrender to the overwhelming tide of emotions, the world around you fading into insignificance as you grapple with the void left behind by your friend's passing.

In an attempt to find some semblance of peace amidst the chaos, you seek refuge in the familiar routine of your self-care, the warm shower offering a brief respite from the relentless pain. But even as the water cascades over you, washing away the physical traces of sorrow, the weight of grief remains heavy upon your shoulders, a reminder of the gaping hole in your heart.

When you emerge, you are greeted by the sight of Minho, Seungmin, Felix, and Han, chatting quietly with Chan as they enjoy the lunch he had prepared.

Your heart sinks at the sight of them, a mix of surprise and apprehension washing over you. You had completely forgotten that they were supposed to come over today, and the thought of facing them in your current state fills you with dread.

Before you can retreat back into the safety of your room, Felix spots you, his gaze locking onto yours with a mix of concern and understanding. There's no escaping now. You feel a lump form in your throat as you reluctantly step into the room, their eyes following your every move.

Chan's expression softens as he catches sight of you, concern etched into his features. "Hey, there you are," he says gently, his voice a welcome anchor in the storm of emotions raging within you.

You offer a weak smile in response, attempting to mask your emotions. The weight of their collective gaze feels suffocating, and you find it difficult to meet their eyes.

Minho offers a sympathetic smile as you approach, his eyes reflecting the shared sorrow. "I'm so sorry for your loss," he says softly, his voice filled with genuine compassion.

Your throat tightens with emotion at his words, grateful for his heartfelt condolences. "Thank you," you manage to croak, each syllable heavy with the weight of your grief. You step closer to them, the fragrant scent of the flowers filling the air around you. "This means a lot."

Seungmin nods in agreement. "We're here for you," he assures you earnestly, his voice filled with sincerity and support.

You offer Seungmin a grateful nod, feeling a lump form in your throat at the sincerity in his voice. "Thank you," you whisper, your voice barely above a whisper, choked with emotion.

With a final round of supportive embraces and reassuring words, Minho, Seungmin, Felix, and Han bid their farewells, their departure leaving an emptiness in the room. As the door closes behind them, the silence settles in around you, heavy with the weight of your grief.

Your eyes catch sight of a single black rose with a white ribbon tied around it, placed delicately on the counter, near the gift basket. The ribbon, elegantly tied around the stem in a neat bow, adds an air of mourning to the scene, evoking memories of funeral bouquets and memorial services. It's presence feels out of place in the bright warmth of your home, casting a shadow of unease over the otherwise cheerful atmosphere.

Beside the rose, the torn page from a diary lies in disarray, its edges jagged and uneven, hinting at a hurried and frantic tearing. As you approach, the faint scent of ink lingers in the air, mingling with the delicate fragrance of the rose.

"What... what is this?" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you reach out to examine the mysterious objects. Your fingers tremble slightly as you pick up the torn page, the words written upon it sending a chill down your spine.

 You quietly read the note out aloud, the words sinking in with a weight that threatens to crush your spirit.

It's the same signature as the letter you received the night before, the one that filled you with a sense of foreboding.

This wasn't just a casual letter. It was intentional. Someone out there is targeting you, and you can't help but feel a creeping sense of unease at the thought of what might happen next.

Your mind races with questions, each one more terrifying than the last. Was "Her" referring to your friend? Did someone harm her? The possibility sends a wave of panic coursing through you, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggle to make sense of the cryptic message.

Then the realization sinks in:

How did it get in the house?

You frantically look around for Adam, your bodyguard, realizing he should have been by your side. Panic sets in as you rush to the door, throwing it open to find him outside. Confusion and fear intertwine as you demand an explanation.

"Adam, what are you doing out here?" you ask, your voice trembling with urgency. "You were supposed to be inside with me. Why are you here?"

Adam's expression is grave as he meets your gaze, a shadow of concern flickering across his features. "I'm sorry, Y/N," he says, his tone tinged with regret. "I sensed something off and decided to check the perimeter. Is everything okay?"

You furrow your brow, a mixture of frustration and concern evident in your voice as you question him. "How did this get inside?" you say waving the note and flower in your hand.

Adam's gaze follows the items, his expression darkening as he takes them from you, examining them closely. He hesitates for a moment, looking puzzled before responding, "I'm not sure," he admits, his voice tight with worry. "I didn't see anything, ma'am."

Your irritation grows. "Isn't it your job to do just that?" you say sharply, the edge in your voice reflecting your annoyance at the situation.

Adam, visibly flustered, stammers out . "I apologize, ma'am," He said bowing. "I'll check with the other guards on duty as well as Stacy, who was here this morning"

"Who's Stacy?" you inquire, your curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar name.

As if on cue, Aera enters through the front entrance, her presence graceful as she bows respectfully. "That would be me, ma'am," she says, introducing herself with a polite smile. "It's my English name. Most people call me Stacy. Though I must admit, I prefer Aera."

You nod in acknowledgment, still processing the unexpected revelation.

You address your bodyguard with a firm tone, your frustration evident. "Under no circumstances are you to allow anything or anyone into my home without my explicit permission. Is that clear?"

He nods in understanding, chastened by your stern reprimand. "Yes, ma'am," he responds.

You turn your gaze towards Aera, a firm expression etched upon your features. "And why, may I ask, are you here?" you inquire, your tone tinged with a hint of sternness.

Aera's eyes widen slightly, and she bows apologetically. "I... I'm sorry for the intrusion," she stammers, her voice soft with regret. "I wanted to offer my condolences, but I realize now that I've interrupted."

Aera retrieves a bouquet of flowers from behind her back, her movements hesitant as she extends it towards you with a slight bow,her eyes downcast with humility.

You nod, acknowledging her apology, taking the bouquet, delicately tied together with a pristine white ribbon, from her hands. "Thank you, Aera," you say, your voice softening slightly. "But next time, please check with me before coming over."

Aera bows again, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Of course, I'm sorry," she says, her tone contrite. "I'll make sure to do that in the future."

As she turns to leave, Chan steps forward, concern etching his features as he approaches you, his touch gentle as he places a comforting hand on your back. Aera's gaze lingers on him for a moment, a flicker of curiosity dancing in her eyes before she quickly averts her gaze and bows once more.

"Thank you. You may go home now," you say, dismissing her with a nod. Aera bows again, her expression a mix of regret and understanding, before quietly leaving.

Turning to Adam, you gesture for him to follow suit. "You too," you say, your voice firm but not unkind. Adam bows respectfully before leaving, leaving you alone with Chan and the weight of the day's events settling upon your shoulders.

Chan notices the tension in your posture, his concern evident as he approaches you with a gentle touch.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern.

You offer him a reassuring smile, though it feels strained. "Yeah, I'm fine," you reply, though the words ring hollow even to your own ears.

Chan's gaze softens as he takes in your troubled expression. "You don't have to pretend, you know," he says softly, his hand reaching out to gently brush away a stray lock of hair from your face. "I'm here for you, whatever you need."

Chan notices your hesitation and gently prompts, "You've been on edge all day. Do you want to talk? I want to help."

As you lean into Chan's comforting embrace, the tension in your shoulders begins to ease, but the sense of unease still lingers at the edge of your consciousness. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself to voice your concerns.

"I... I feel like someone's watching me," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chan's brow furrows with concern. "Watching you? Why didn't you tell me before?" he asks gently, his concern evident in his tone.

You hesitate, searching for an explanation. "I'm not actually sure," you admit, feeling a pang of guilt for keeping it from him.

"Well, do you think it's your mind playing tricks on you?" Chan suggests, trying to offer a rational explanation. "Now that you've won Artist of the Year, you probably just feel like more attention is on you."

"Yeah, you're right," you concede, the weight of his words resonating with you. Perhaps it was just your imagination running wild in the aftermath of your recent success.

"Besides," he adds, "you have a bodyguard. He's good at his job. You're safe with him around."

You nod, appreciating his attempt to ease your worries. "Yeah, you're right," you agree, feeling a sense of relief wash over you at his words. 

"And you also have me," he adds

Chan's concern is evident in the softness of his gaze as he gently suggests, "How about a massage?"

His caring tone and thoughtful suggestion warm your heart, and you can't help but smile at his consideration. "That sounds wonderful," you reply. "But I think I just want to rest," you admit, exhaustion tugging at your limbs as the events of the day catch up with you.

Chan's lips curve into a reassuring smile as he squeezes your hand gently. "Okay." He says.

With a heavy heart, you decide against sharing the note with Chan. You don't want to burden anyone of your fears, and the thought of putting him in harm's way fills you with dread.

What if whoever sent this comes after him next?

For now, you keep the note to yourself, tucked away where no one else can find it. It's a burden you'll bear alone, at least until you can figure out who's behind this and why they're doing it.

But no matter how hard you try, the sense of foreboding lingers, a constant reminder that danger may be closer than you think.

ઇଓ Ep.3 - Knock, Knock

ઇଓTaglist in the comments! If you want to be removed from the taglist send me a dm!

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

[03jyh23]

— capturing us || choi san

every moment captured with you is a masterpiece painted with love, each frame a testament to the beauty of our journey together

vlogger!san x reader

genre: fluff

trigger warnings: none!

words: 1.6 k

reminder: what you're about to read is purely fiction, so let's keep it separate from reality.

minors do not interact

— hi there! thank you @monstaxdirtywonk for requesting this prompt, i hope you will like it! in my country spring has finally arrived, and since it's my favorite season i can't help but write about it.

love, monika. ♡

Spring was your favorite season. The vibrant blossoms, the lush greenery enveloping you, and the gentle caress of sunshine on your skin filled you with boundless joy. With the first sip of your beloved iced coffee, the perfection of spring seemed complete. Yet, amidst all this beauty, there was one presence that outshone even the splendor of the season - Choi San, the one you cherished above all else. Spring always brought a sense of renewal and joy, but nothing compared to the warmth that San brought into your life. With him, every moment felt like the perfect blend of sunshine, laughter, and love. As you sipped on your favorite iced coffee, you couldn't help but smile, knowing that spring was made even more beautiful with him by your side. 

Describing San as merely handsome felt like a gross understatement; he embodied all that was good and beautiful in this world. When his smile lit up his face and reached the depths of his eyes, it was as if the entire universe aligned just to witness that moment. He was the epitome of perfection, your favorite sight in the whole world full of wonders. In San's embrace, every doubt melted away, for his love was a constant beacon of warmth and reassurance. Never did you question his love, for his actions spoke volumes, always placing your comfort and happiness above all else. With him, there was never a moment of feeling unloved or unseen, as he showered you with care and attention in ways both big and small. His selflessness knew no bounds. In his arms, you found solace and security, knowing that you were cherished beyond measure. 

In the park, surrounded by the vibrant energy of spring, even the people passing by seemed to carry an extra bounce in their step, their smiles mirroring the blossoming flowers around them. As you waited for San to wrap up his recording for his latest vlog, you couldn't help but feel a swell of pride witnessing his passion for filming flourish. From humble beginnings to now, with a growing community of subscribers, his dedication was inspiring. This year marked the third chapter of your relationship, as you watched him work, you marveled at how far you had come together, cherishing every milestone and triumph along the way.  

Returning from the depths of your thoughts, you were greeted by the familiar click of a camera. Following the sound, your eyes lit up as you saw San, your heart swelling with affection as you realized he was the one behind the lens. His mischievous grin mirrored your own bright smile, with him by your side, every instant was a precious memory.  

"I like seeing you smile." San's words danced in the air, wrapping around you. His tender affirmation ignited an even brighter smile on your lips, your heart fluttering with joy at his sweet sentiment. ''So beautiful...’’ As he swiftly pressed the camera button, freezing the moment in time, his whispered declaration washed over you, filling you with a sense of pure adoration. In his eyes, you saw reflected the depth of his affection, a love that made every moment infinitely beautiful. 

"Well, hello to you too," you greeted playfully, rising from the bench. San's response was immediate, his arms enveloping you in a gentle embrace as if he couldn't bear to be apart from you for another moment. 

"Hi, my love," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine affection. "I couldn’t wait to kiss you." As San leaned in to press a gentle, feather-like kiss against your lips, a wave of tenderness washed over you. In the early days of your relationship, there were whispers of "puppy love" and the expectation that it would eventually fade after the first year. Mentally preparing yourself for this supposed shift, you braced for changes that never came. But as time passed, you realized that your love defied such constraints. With each passing day, your connection only grew stronger, deepening into something far beyond the fleeting infatuation of puppy love. Your relationship was anchored in mutual respect, understanding, and unwavering support, traits that only strengthened as you journeyed through life together. 

"How did the recording go?" You asked, intertwining your fingers with San's as you began to stroll down your favorite path in the park. With each step, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in your own little bubble of happiness. San smiled warmly, his gaze softening as he recounted the day's events.  

"It went really well," he replied, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "I lost to Yunho about three times, but it’s fine. He was always a better gamer than me." You chuckled, imagining their friendly competition.  

"Well, at least you gave it your best shot," you said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Besides, it's all in good fun, right?" San nodded a playful glint in his eyes.  

"Exactly! Plus, I'll just have to practice more for our next gaming session." Yunho and San's friendship traced back to their teenage years, they bonded over shared interests and endless hours of gaming together. Initially, they started their YouTube journey with a joint channel, where they showcased their gaming prowess and took on various challenges. However, as time passed, San's creative aspirations blossomed, and he yearned to explore more artistic avenues through his vlogs. Recognizing this, they made the mutual decision to branch out and create separate channels, each tailored to their individual passions. Yunho's channel became a haven for gaming enthusiasts, where he could delve deep into his love for video games and connect with like-minded viewers. Meanwhile, San's channel emerged as a platform for his artistic expression, showcasing his unique perspective through visually captivating videos and thought-provoking content. 

"I’ve been working on the vlog from our trip to Rome " San shifted the conversation, his tone filled with excitement. "And my favourite shots are with you... " The truth was, fame held a certain fear for you, and the thought of being recognizable sent unpleasant shivers down your spine. It wasn't that you didn't support San's endeavors or take pride in his accomplishments; rather, the idea of stepping into the spotlight yourself felt daunting. San, ever understanding and considerate of your feelings, made a conscious effort to respect your privacy. He never mentioned you in any of his content, carefully safeguarding your relationship from the prying eyes of fame. Three years had passed, and San's desire to share your love with the world had only grown stronger. Despite accumulating a treasure trove of videos featuring you two together, he had refrained from posting them out of respect for your privacy. Yet, deep down, he had a silent hope that one day, he could introduce you to his audience, showcasing the beauty of your love. The thought of sharing your journey with others filled him with excitement and anticipation, a dream he held dear to his heart. 

"San..." you sighed softly, feeling a mix of apprehension and affection at his words. 

"I know, baby," he murmured, his voice filled with understanding. "I know you’re scared, but it’s just... I really want to show you off in my art." In these words, a gentle plea echoed. While the thought of being exposed to the world still made you nervous, you couldn't deny the sincerity and love in his words. San didn't see you as a mere subject for his videos; he viewed you as a muse, an integral part of his creative expression. "You know I won’t let anyone hurt you"  

"I know," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, filled with gratitude for his unwavering protection. "I trust you completely." With his reassurance echoing in your mind, you took a deep breath and met his gaze, allowing yourself to be vulnerable in his presence. In his eyes, you found a place where fear dissolved into the warmth of his love. 

"Okay, San," you whispered softly, "Let's do it." San's sweet laugh filled the air, in one swift motion, he enveloped you in his arms and lifted you off the ground, spinning you around in a whirlwind of happiness. 

"I can't believe you finally agreed!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with delight. Caught up in the moment, you couldn't help but laugh along with him, feeling a surge of exhilaration and contentment coursing through your veins. In his embrace, you found courage and reassurance. "I love you so much," San whispered tenderly, his voice carrying the weight of his affection as he gently set you back down on the ground. With a gentle touch, he lifted your chin, drawing you in for a sweet and lingering kiss. After pulling out of the kiss, San wasted no time and immediately started recording. Surprised and a bit flustered, you couldn't help but laugh at his spontaneity.  

"What are you doing?" You chuckled, trying to compose yourself as he aimed the camera at both of you. 

"I'm not letting this moment slip away," he replied with a grin, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Hi, everyone," he addressed the camera, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "I couldn't wait any longer to introduce you to someone very special to me." And as he spoke those words, a mixture of emotions swirled within you— anticipation, nerves, but above all, a deep sense of love and appreciation for the man standing before you. With San by your side, you felt ready to embrace whatever the future held, knowing that your love would guide you through every adventure, on and off camera. 

[htpssgavi]

pleaseee bestfriends to lovers with gavi🙏🙏🙏

hiii!!! Sorry it took me that much to write it😭😭

Best Friends to Lovers

Gavi and y/n had been best friends for as long as he could remember. Growing up in the same vibrant neighborhood in Barcelona, they shared everything from childhood secrets to teenage dreams. Now at nineteen, Gavi was making a name for himself as a talented footballer at FC Barcelona, while y/n, eighteen, was finishing high school and making waves as a rising star in volleyball.

Their bond was unbreakable, a blend of deep friendship and mutual respect. They were always there for each other, through the highs and lows, laughter and tears. But lately, something had shifted. Gavi couldn't deny the way his heart raced when y/n was around, the way his eyes lingered on her a bit longer than before, the way her touch sent shivers down his spine.

One breezy spring evening, after a particularly exhausting match, Gavi decided to unwind with y/n. They agreed to visit their favorite spot—a quiet beach just outside Barcelona. It was their haven, a place where they could escape the world and just be themselves.

As they walked along the sandy shore, the setting sun casting a golden glow over the waves, Gavi couldn't help but steal glances at y/n. She looked more beautiful than ever, her eyes reflecting the warm hues of the sunset, her smile radiant. His heart swelled with a mixture of affection and longing he could no longer ignore.

"Do you remember when we first came here?" y/n asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

"Of course," Gavi replied with a smile. "We were just kids, and we thought this beach was a hidden treasure. We even made a pact to keep it our secret spot."

Y/n laughed, the sound like music to Gavi's ears. "And we've kept that promise all these years. This place still feels magical."

They found a spot near the water and sat down, the serene atmosphere enveloping them. For a while, they watched the waves gently lapping at the shore, the scene as peaceful as their friendship had always been. But tonight, Gavi felt a sense of urgency, a need to say what he'd been holding back for too long.

"Y/n, there's something I need to tell you," he began, his voice tinged with nervousness.

She turned to him, her eyes filled with curiosity and a hint of concern. "What is it, Gavi?"

He took a deep breath, his heart pounding. "We've been best friends for so long, and you've always been there for me. But recently, I've realized something… something more. I can't keep it to myself any longer."

Y/n's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening. "What do you mean?"

Gavi reached for her hand, his touch gentle but firm. "I love you, y/n. Not just as a friend, but as someone I want to share my life with. I've been afraid to tell you because I didn't want to risk our friendship, but I can't hide it anymore."

Tears filled y/n's eyes as she listened, her heart pounding in her chest. "Gavi, I… I love you too. I've felt this way for a while but was too scared to say anything."

Relief and joy washed over Gavi as he pulled her into his arms. They stayed like that for a while, holding each other as the sun dipped below the horizon, their hearts beating in sync.

From that moment on, their relationship changed. They were no longer just best friends; they were partners, lovers, soulmates. Gavi's career continued to soar, and y/n's volleyball skills flourished, each of them supporting and inspiring the other. They traveled together, explored new places, and built a life filled with love, laughter, and countless shared moments.

Their bond, once a simple friendship, had grown into something beautiful and profound. Through every challenge and triumph, they stood by each other's side, their love growing stronger with each passing day.

And so, beneath the ever-present Catalonian sky, Gavi and y/n wrote the chapters of their love story, forever intertwined, forever in love. Their journey together was a testament to the power of love and the beauty of finding a soulmate in the most unexpected places.

[denksmail]

Hello love, i stumbled upon your blog and think that it's cool! Can you write a superman/Clark Kent x flourist!Reader? I can't think of a scene so go crazy😭

let me cook 😈 😈

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢꜱ: Superman (Clark Kent) x Reader ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: none! xx ᴀ/ɴ: Finally a Dc request!! I love writing for DC sm >w<. Especially writing for the batfam. Also thank you everyone for the fat load of requests omg!! Multiple of you asked what my guidelines regarding NSFW, just DM me, and see if I'm comfortable writing your request. ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ: Clark is visiting Smallville for the weekend and decides to go to his local florist shop to buy a little something for his mom. Little does he know, he will leave the shop with more than just a bouquet of flowers.

.

.

.

Clark was always sweet but he put his work and responsibilities before everyone. Even his loved ones. His friends start to pick up on this behavior and demand that he take a break from saving everyone all the time. With time, Clark gave in and started with visiting his family back in Smallville. It's been months since he spoke with them. He didn't even know what he'd do when he saw them again. An idea crossed his mind. The least he can do is provide a gift for them. His first idea is to buy flowers for his mom, Martha.

He left the house in hopes of finding the perfect flowers for her. Across the street was a small pink flower shop that recently opened. Clark adjusted his glasses, smiled, and made his way across the street to the shop. Upon walking into the shop, he was immediately hit with fresh floral scents. A blend of roses, lilies, and other exotic blooms. The whole shop was decorated to match each flower displayed. With every flower of every color filling the room and making the shop vibrant.

Behind the counter stood a young woman, arranging a bouquet with deft hands. She had a warm smile and bright eyes that sparkled with enthusiasm. Clark approached her, his usual confidence slightly wavering in the presence of her captivating aura.

"Hi there," he greeted with a friendly smile. "I'm looking to buy some flowers for my mom. Do you think you could help me find the perfect bouquet?"

The florist looked up, her smile widening. "Of course! I'd be happy to help. What's the occasion?"

"Just a visit," Clark replied. "I haven't seen her in a while, and I want to bring her something special."

The florist nodded thoughtfully, her fingers tapping her chin as she considered his request. "Well, let's see. For a mother, you want something that conveys love, appreciation, and warmth. How about a mix of roses and lilies? Roses symbolize love and admiration, while lilies represent purity and refined beauty."

Clark watched her as she moved around the shop, selecting flowers with care. Her movements were graceful, almost like a dance. He couldn't help but be mesmerized by her dedication and passion for her work.

"That sounds perfect," he said, his voice sincere. "You really know your flowers."

She blushed slightly, her smile becoming a bit shy. "Thank you. I love what I do, and it's always a pleasure to help someone find the perfect bouquet."

As she continued to assemble the bouquet, they chatted about various topics—flowers, Smallville, and even a bit about the bustling city of Metropolis. Clark found himself enjoying the conversation more than he had anticipated. There was something refreshing about her genuine interest and warmth.

"You know," she said, tying the bouquet with a delicate ribbon, "these flowers remind me of my own mom. She used to tell me that flowers are nature's way of smiling at us."

Clark smiled, feeling a connection with her words. "Your mom sounds like a wonderful person."

"She was," the florist replied softly, her eyes reflecting a mix of fondness and nostalgia. "I think your mom will love these flowers. Here you go."

She handed him the bouquet, a beautiful arrangement of red roses and white lilies. Clark took it, marveling at the care and artistry that had gone into creating it.

"Thank you," he said, his voice warm. "I really appreciate it."

As he reached for his wallet, the florist placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. "It's on the house," she said with a wink. "Consider it a gift for your mom."

Clark was taken aback by her generosity. "Are you sure? I don't mind paying."

"I'm sure," she replied, her smile genuine. "Just promise to come back and tell me how she liked them."

He chuckled, feeling a warmth in his chest. "I promise."

Before he could leave, the florist reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. She scribbled something on it and handed it to him.

"Here's my number," she said, her cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. "In case you ever need more flowers, or, you know, just want to talk."

Clark took the paper, his fingers brushing against hers briefly. "Thank you," he said softly. "I'll definitely keep that in mind."

With the bouquet in one hand and her number in the other, Clark left the shop, a smile playing on his lips. As he took to the skies, he felt a sense of excitement and anticipation. Visiting his parents was nothing new to him but this time, there was an added reason for his uplifted spirits—a charming florist who had managed to make his day a little brighter.

[boobo13cambridge]

Magic Kingdom | Kylian Mbappé

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x f.Reader

Warnings: Penetrative sex, fingering, kissing, breeding kink, no condom (wrap it before you tap it folks).

Summary: After spending the day at Disneyland Paris with his niece and nephew, Kylian wants to start a family with you

A/N: Hello, everyone! Sorry for posting this so late in the day, I got caught up with work. As always, I hope you enjoy it. I quite enjoyed this one because I’m such a sucker for Kylian with kids. 

The sun shone brightly in the clear blue sky as you entered Disneyland Paris holding Kylian's niece close to your chest, the vibrant colors of the park's attractions and decorations catching your eye, and making the little girl squeal with joy. Kylian walked ahead with his nephew, eager to explore the different lands of the park. The air was warm and the breeze was refreshing, the sweet smell of pastries making your mouth subtly water. It was the perfect day to enjoy all the rides and experiences the park had to offer. 

As you walked through the park, you were struck by the vibrant colors and delightful sounds of Disney magic all around you. You and the kids marveled at the elegant architecture of Main Street, U.S.A, with its charming shops and cafes, and then ventured into Adventureland, Frontierland, and Fantasyland to explore more of the park's wonders.

Walking by the Mad Hatter's Tea Cups ride, Kylian's niece tugged on his sleeve. "Tonton Kyky, est-ce qu'on peut aller sur ce manège, s'il te plaît?" ("Uncle Kyky, can we go on that ride, please?")

Kylian smiled down at her. "Bien sûre, ma petite poule. On y vas!" ("Of course, my little chicken. Let's go!")

As you all made your way over to the ride, skipping through the long line as you had made sure to buy the fast passes, your heart swelled with love and admiration for your husband. It was clear to you that despite being one of the greatest footballers in the world, he never let his busy schedule interfere with being a loving and devoted husband.

Watching him interact with his brother's children, Kylian's niece and nephew, was a true testament to his character. He was patient, playful, and always put their needs first. Seeing him be so caring and attentive made you dream about starting a family of your own with him.

As you all climbed aboard the Mad Hatter's Tea Cups, you found yourself lost in thoughts about the future, imagining Kylian spinning around with your own children, making them giggle with delight just like he did with his niece and nephew. It was a sweet and tender moment, and you knew in your heart that Kylian would make an amazing father.

"This is going to be so much fun!" exclaimed Kylian's nephew breaking you from your reverie as you all sat in the pretty pink teacup, as requested by little Lana. 

"I know, I can't wait!" replied Kylian's niece, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

You and Kylian shared a smile, both feeling happy to be able to share this experience with his family. Kylian's little 4-year-old niece was holding onto you tightly as the ride spun faster and faster. The colors of the ride blended together in a dizzying and exhilarating whirlwind. Kylian bit his lip noticing how well you took care of his niece, and he couldn't help but dream about how nice of a mother you would be.

As the ride came to an end, you all stumbled out of the tea cups, still a little disoriented but filled with a sense of pure joy and laughter.

"That was so cool!" Kylian's niece exclaimed, bouncing up and down with excitement.

"I know, right? Let's do it again!" added Kylian's nephew.

You all shared a laugh, happy to have created such a fun memory together. As you made your way through the park, you stopped to take photos with the characters, capturing memories that would last a lifetime. The kids were especially excited to meet their favorite Disney princesses and heroes, and the look of pure joy on their faces was priceless. Throughout the day, you felt Kylian giving you these discreet looks that you couldn't quite figure out what they meant and he was usually very easy to read. You also noticed how extra-touchy he was.

Kylian usually kept his hands to himself when the kids were around but since you got off the Mad Hatter's Tea Cups ride, he was extra affectionate. A lingering kiss here, and a discreet pat on your behind. You finally caught on to his behavior when Lana had accidentally spilled her juice all over her beautiful Princess Ariel dress while you were all sitting down to eat at Casey's Corner. She got teary-eyed and looked up at you, "Tati, I ruined my dress!" You immediately comforted her and reassured her, "It's okay, Lana. Accidents happen. Let's go get you a new dress, okay?"

As you got up to find the nearest boutique, Kylian staying behind to clean up the spilled juice you caught the way he looked at you and Lana with such wistfulness and longing that even a blind person would have caught on to what he wanted. You were sure you were blushing to the tips of your hair, your heart filled with warmth and love. Shaking your head, you switched your focus to the still upset little girl holding your hand, putting thoughts of little babies with your husband’s dimples to the back of your mind.

As the day wore on, you took breaks to enjoy refreshing drinks and tasty treats like popcorn and cotton candy, and then continued to explore the park's many attractions, including the magnificent Sleeping Beauty Castle. As the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, you and Kylian found a  spot to watch the enchanting Disney Illuminations show, with its stunning projections and dazzling fireworks illuminating the night sky. The children, tightly secured in your arms after a brief argument about who would get to sit in Tati or Tonton’s lap, were entranced, and as you looked at each other, you couldn't help but feel a wave of pure love and affection wash over you both. 

Back home, the kids tucked into bed after an exciting trip to Disneyland, you and and your husband snuggled into bed. You had one leg thrown over his strong thighs as you rested your head onto his naked toned chest relaxing to the comforting sound of his heartbeat. 

"I had such a great time today, mon amour." Kylian said as he stroked your hair his chin resting on the top of your head. 

"Me too," you replied. "It was so much fun to see the kids' faces light up."

Kylian paused for a moment before speaking again. "You know, spending the day with them made me realize something."

"What's that?" you asked curiously, sleepily nuzzling into his chest. 

"I…uh…I was thinking about how I wanted to start a family with you," Kylian said slightly stuttering, as you felt your heart stop for a second. You looked up at him seeing the way he was nervously chewing on his bottom lip. "Really? Are you sure?" you asked, unsure of how to respond, not like you weren’t secretly fantasizing about that the whole day and you were pretty sure he caught on to that.

Kylian nodded, gently stroking your lower back. "I've been thinking about it for a while now, and today just seeing you with the kids made me want it all the more."

You snorted while fiddling with the silver chain with your initials you got him for your second anniversary which he never took off. " Yeah, baby, you were really subtle about it today." 

Lightly pinching your waist, he rolled his eyes. “Yes, because you were so subtle mademoiselle, blushing every time I looked at you.”

You giggled and leaned into his touch, feeling a wave of desire wash over you. Kylian's eyes flickered with amusement before turning serious. "I'm serious, though. I want to start a family with you."

Your heart swelled with love for him, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "I want that too, Kylian. More than anything."

He leaned down to capture your lips in a soft, sweet kiss, his hand moving up to cup your cheek. You responded eagerly, deepening the kiss and wrapping your arms around his neck. You had made love countless times before, but this felt different. It was as if you were cementing your commitment to each other and to the future you were planning.

Breaking the kiss, Kylian gazed into your eyes, his own filled with love and longing. "I want to make love to you," he whispered, his voice husky and filled with emotion. Your heart fluttered at his words, feeling a heat building within you as he began to trail kisses down your neck, causing shivers to run down your spine.

Your hands scratched the back of his head causing him to let out a sinful groan that sent streaking pleasure deep to your core, fluttering emptily. He hovered over you, his wet lips trailing kissing down your chest over the fabric of the silky black nightgown you were wearing wetting to fabric with his eager tongue, leaving you breathless with his touch.

“You’re so perfect, mon coeur. Je t’aime si fort,”, he whispered against your covered nipple making you whimper his name as his hands trailed over your legs lifting your gown up and revealing more of your soft flesh. You slightly arched your back off the bed to help him take the silky fabric off, leaving you naked under his smoldering gaze. He gently cupped your cheek his thumb sweeping tenderly across the soft skin, a deep contrast with the dangerously molten desire swirling in his dark eyes. 

“Ma femme,” his voice said, finally, so low that it was almost a sigh. That one word alone ignited a flame of passion so intense, you were scared you were never going to come back from it. This moment here with him felt almost sacred, it was as if everything in your life led you here, in a penthouse in the middle of Paris, lying naked as the moonlight from the large window illuminated your body, and this beautiful, beautiful man looking down at you as you embarked on a path that would leave you intertwined with him for eternity. 

Just as you started to feel overwhelmed, he was all over you. His hands were on your skin, gripping and circling around both breasts at once, pushing against your hard nipples, as he whispered sweet nothings against your heart making your toes curl and dragging hungry moans from your throat.

He slowly trailed his hand down your belly, giving it an extra caress as it would be his child’s new home, and cupping your swollen flesh making you groan his name. His fingers trailed through your wetness as he opened up your folds and found the little nub, rubbing it back and forth. You arched your back, the pleasure zapping up your spine as you lost yourself in him. “Ky…Kylian… Fuck, j’ai besoin de toi,” you practically sobbed as he pressed his forehead against yours, his hot breath on your face making you lose your mind from desire. (“Ky…Kylian… Fuck, I need you,” )

“Tu es que à moi, mon amour. Juste à moi,” he whispered, his words leaving your heart a mess. Kylian slowly slid two of his fingers deep into your swollen, wet pussy, preparing you for him as you cried out in pleasure due to the intrusion. ("You are only mine, my love. Only mine.")

“Fuck, bébé. You’re so tight for me,” he moaned into your mouth, his tongue tangling with yours as he scissored his fingers to stretch you out, creating an inferno that had you reeling. You cling to his broad, warm shoulders, feeling the shift of hard muscle as your husband curves his fingers upward finding that special spot inside you that has your thighs shaking. “I’m go-going to cum, baby…please.”

You’re writhing in his hold as he continues to invade you and push you towards your peak. Tears start to build in the corner of your eyes as the pressure builds up inside you. It only takes another flick of his wrist, to send you spiralling towards completion as you shout his name. Kylian continues to pump his fingers, helping you ride out your high. 

Feeling sensitive, you gently push on his chest signalling him to stop. He slowly takes his finger out of your wet core and pushed the sticky hair back from your forehead. Tenderly, he pecks your nose, cheek, and finally your lips. “Let me put a baby in you, mon amour, yeah? I want to see you swollen with my child,” he groans lustfully. “Tell me you want that, bébé. Tell me you want my child in you.”

“Yes, Ky. I want your baby, only yours,” you moan wrapping your legs around his waist as you feel him rolling his hips into yours, his clothing member rubbing your drenched mound. “I want you to get me pregnant, please Ky.”

You trail your hands down his back, struggling to take his tight briefs off. Taking the hint, Kylian gently unwound your legs from around him and quickly takes them off throwing them somewhere in the bedroom. He stands over you, his large, swollen cock, standing straight up, the tip wet with precum. You let out an embarrassingly loud moan at the sight of him stroking his generous length up and down.

“Beg me, bébé,” he says lost in the sight of you spread open for him, your hole clenching in front of his eyes. “Beg me to fill you.”

God, you were losing it. “Please, Kylian. Fill me up, I want you inside me so bad.”

Throwing his head back at your pleading, he nudges your legs, spreading you wider, and trails his length through your wet folds, tapping your clit, sending shudders down your spine. Just as you were about to beg him again, he presses that hot, leaking hardness into you, delving it between your wet lips and spreading them apart, oh putain.

A loud moan erupted from your throat as your husband entered your heat, immediately he put a hand over your mouth, shushing you gently. “Bébé, as much as I want you screaming my name, the kids are asleep.”

Through the hefty fog of lust and desire that had engulfed your brain, the thought that his innocent niece and nephew were sleeping peacefully down the hall pierced through you, cooling the flame of passion slightly. You nodded your head at his words, as he continued to slide through, as your walls struggled to fit his thick length. He was huge. There was always so much of him.

“Putain, bébé,” he gasped in that deep voice of his that had you clenching even tighter all around him. “You’re always so fuckin’ good for me.”

He finally bottomed out inside, your sweaty bodies wedged tight together, spread thighs flush against his hips, the bulging weight of his balls pressing against you from below. He waited, letting you adjust to him, always the gentleman, before you nodded at him, giving him the go. 

Gripping you tight, he dragged himself out, slowly, and then sank back in with a single driving thrust of his hips, shit. You had to bite down on your lip so hard, you were pretty sure you broke through the skin, to stop yourself from letting out something alarmingly close to a scream. It was so good, particularly when he let out those breathtaking deep groans right in her ear. 

“Ky, more. Please,” you gasped, pushing his butt with your feet. And just like the caring, attentive husband he was, answered your wish and sped up his thrusts. Dragging his leaking cock back, and then rapidly slamming hard inside, sending a blast of screaming shattering ecstasy through your body.

“Oh, God. Ky, faster. I want you so bad,” you pleaded as tears escaped your eyes. Kylian looked at your teary face contorted with pleasure and went feral as he crashed his mouth onto yours devouring your soul. His huge cock ploughing through her wet cunt and his heavy cum-filled balls slapping her ass, the filthy sound of their love-making resounding in the dark room. “Take it, bébé. I’m going to fill you up so good,” he growled biting her lip, soothing it immediately with his tongue. “You’re going to look so beautiful round with my child. Take it, princesse, Fuckin’ take it.”

You were going crazy, your heart was ramming into your chest as you felt searing white-hot pleasure spread through your body. “I’m cumming, fuck, Kylian,” you muffled your moans in his neck, as you felt your cunt spasming around his hot length. “Cum for me, princesse,” he groaned as his hips stuttered, his own orgasm racing through him. Just as you were spiraling, your mind dizzy from the force of your own release, you felt his hot cum splattering your walls, filling you with his seed as his sinful moans invaded your hearing. You felt so sensitive, but Kylian continued to thrust, pushing his cum inside you as it started to leak. 

As he felt himself getting overstimulated, he got off of your, slowly taking his cock from your battered pussy making sure to push back his fertile cum that escaped. “Gotta make sure it sticks, bébé,” he said making you let out an exhausted giggle. As he laid down beside you, after putting a pillow under your hips as you heard it helped with getting pregnant, he lovingly stroked your hair placing a gentle hand on your belly, basking in the afterglow of your love-making.

“I love you so much, mon ange,” he said delicately, eyes filled with love and affection. Turning to look at the man who stole your heart two years ago in the most unexpected way, you cupped his cheek, placing a soft kiss on his nose. “I love you more, baby. I hope I’m pregnant right now.”

Chuckling, he took the pillow from underneath your hips as it had been ten minutes and pulled you into his arms. “T’inquiète, mon amour. After all, I am known for always shooting on target,” he said cheekily, making you laugh. “Ah, oui. How could I forget? Meilleur buteur du PSG, n’est-ce-pas?”

("Ah, yes. How could I forget? The top scorer of PSG, yeah?")

As you lay tangled in each other's arms, you both knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in your lives, one filled with love, laughter, and the joy of starting a family together.

[elriel-fireheart]

I see the Light

Morrigan stumbles upon the Truth between Azriel and Elain.

This is Elriel coded. Please be kind.

The Townhouse was filled with a beautiful melody. Elain is sitting in the family room playing the piano, singing what her heart yearns for her to say. The sun is shining down on her, bathing her in a golden glow. Shining like the purest star. Azriel's shadows pick up on her. He's flying high over the city in an attempt to find some peace after his long and drawn out mission. They play the melody in his ear, ignoring his direct orders of refusing to spy on her, and he can't resist the pull of it. The music and her voice together creating a sirens call. He ends up in the doorway, struck by the sheer beauty before him.

He hadn't seen her in weeks. Months. Not since he tried to explain about the events of last Solstice, and was feebly and utterly broken by the sadness on her face. Rhysand's retaliation for revealing the truth was to send him on a long and tedious mission far away on the continent. The Wraith Twins eventually informed him that Elain moved out of the River House that night. Said her anger towards Rhysand was a midnight fury. Only Feyre's pleading got her to stay in the Townhouse. To not sever family bonds and heal her heart in the privacy of her own home. A gift, Feyre said, for the poor actions of her territorial, meddling mate.

A forethought sends his shadows scouring across the city and to the estate looking for the rest of the inner circle, but all is silent. Empty, save for Elain and her song. Unable to resist, Azriel slowly makes his way to her. Hearing the shadowsinger's soft footsteps, she turns and gives him a shy smile. Nods to the seat beside her. The thought of sharing the bench with her, of sharing a moment alone together, breaks any lingering resolve of turning around and leaving her be. Rhysand's command snuffed out by his sheer need to be with her. So Azriel sits. Gently places his scarred hands on the keys and starts playing, adding to her melody.

Elain looks at Azriel with a smile she reserves only for these stolen moments and urges him to continue. The light in her eyes warms him to the core. He looks at her and seems to struggle for words, but he finally released a breath. And so, Azriel sings. His midnight voice, low and velvety. He looks at Elain with an openness in his eyes she rarely sees. The windows to his soul thrown wide open. The green and gold in his eyes glowing vibrant as spring. Together, they sing. Together, they fall into rhythm and let go. The shadows of the setting sun begin swaying and dancing between the golden rays. Elain and Azriel get lost in their song. Completely oblivious to an awestruck Mor hiding behind the door.

Morrigan just arrived from the Summer Court moments ago. She came to the Townhouse only to give Elain some rare flower seeds she had requested. But in Azriel's distraction, the front door was left slightly ajar. In all her years, Mor had never once heard Azriel sing. Curiosity's grip on her was fierce and she couldn't resist taking a peak. Glamour and shields up to hide her scent, for fear of ruining such a virtuous moment, watching and listening to the song of Death and his lovely Fawn. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection...a band of golden light shining brighter than all the rest. The faint glow connects them, blending with the last rays of the setting sun. The rest of Azriel's shadows are twirling all around the room. Bewitched. Entranced. Whispering in an ancient long forgotten language...mates, mates, mates.

Their song reaches its end. Azriel leans down slowly, one hand gently reaching up to cup Elain's face. Her eyes flutter close and their lips are a hairsbreadth away from each other... just as Mor decides its time take her leave. Mor saw the Truth that day. Confirmed every suspicion. She vowed to keep it secret. Protect this delicate pair, and let them find happiness in these small merciful moments with one another. She prayed to the Mother that night. Prayed that fate would intervene and show the world that the hearts of the Shadowsinger and Seer belong to one another. Prayed that the cauldron was wrong indeed.

I have this small headcanon that Elain can sing and learnt how to play piano growing up. I have a small inkling that Mor will be a part of this next book in the narrative of Elain and Azriel's story. There's alot to unpack between her and Az. There's alot to unpack between Elriel and the IC. Amidst the drama, I'd like to think that Mor would back up Azriel in his claim that the Cauldron was indeed wrong in matching Elain with Lucien. There is many instances where it seems like she notices something between Elriel. Nesta as well. Only time will tell.

Anywho, I hope you enjoyed my one little dabble in fanfiction that I wrote long ago.

[kiwi-but-the-bird-not-the-fruit]

I really like your Nefero. How about a story where he helps femReader with her look. Like, one day, I'm talking fashion disaster. Reader is going through it and to make things worse it's picture day! And Reader and Nefero planned also do it couples photos! When Nefero gets a call from his girlfriend that in desperation, he comes to recuse with a army of help from his home's staff

Thank you for your time.

Thanks for the request (^v^)

This sounds AMAZING!!

Love our fashion couple,this is gonna be good.

____________________________________________

Male! Nefara x fem!reader

Prompt- reader has a bad makeup & outfit  morningd and needs immediate help from her boyfriend and it's senior picture day with also couples pictures in the next few hours! We have code fashion emergency

Using [Name] as substitute for (y/n)

Fluff/ comfort/kisses

Nickname for the reader- my jewel or my queen

(Readers Nickname for nefero in here with I'll probably use from now on for any fics with him hehe)

(H/c) Hair color

(H/t) Hair type

(There's not that much fanart so I'm using what I find so it may repeat sometimes.)

*Art not ime found it on pinterest*

____________________________________________

___________________________________________

It's 6:30 am senior picture day and a ghoul is stressing more than ever before.

We see [Name] in her lush (f/c) bedroom, she is seen frantically rushing back and forth to the mirror and the closet, she holds up different skirts and crop tops in a rush.

"What to wear what to wear"

She tried one look "ugh no" and another "disgusting" and one more out of a hundred she had tried on "this is unmatchable and not what I need for our photo shoot"

She wears shorts and a crop tank top to help her see easier what would work but as she picks up and throws clothes all around it's quickly becoming stuffy in the room.

She curses under her breath and instantly thinks "maybe if I do my makeup first I can pick my picture Day outfit more easier" rushing to her vanity , picking up the essentials she quickly makes a base for her eyeshadow, she looks through her drawer picks up the eyeshadow pallets she recently got from her boyfriend as a in his words "a pallet with reds and greens that show my two favorite thing,  money and you since you are my scarlet fire that burns within me"

She smiled as she applied the vibrant and rusty colors on her eyelids. Moments later she looks at herself and frowns

It all looks wrong. The way it looked so smeared like a toddler was the one to help her, the shimmers were all over the place, the blend was outrageously horrid and why did she start with red instead of green to be easier to show up!

"Ughh what is going on with me!" She screeched throwing the makeup brush strongly to the ground, [Name] grabs the makeup remover and reusable rag and dunks a ton of it, she sneers at her reflection. Then vigorously wiped her face in anger.

Stopping for a second looking at herself again she noticed her long (h/c) (h/t) was not as good now as when she started this horror show.

Tears start to sting and drip down from her cheek down to the vanity  "w-why now *sob* i- I can't be this bad at doing something so easy...it's second nature to be good at this *snif* *hiccup*"

She looks at the clothes discarded on the floor and walks to them, "i need to call Nefie *sniff* i-i need him" she thought of how they were supposed to be doing a couples photo shoot and she wouldn't disappoint him it was special for him and her

Going through the piles of clothes she finds her phone in the small plush seat she had in front of the mirror that got forgotten at the start of her panic.

She drops to her knees onto the soft lavish rug she got as a gift from him as she makes the call.

                           RING RING-

it takes only two ring for her loving boyfriend to pick up the phone "my jewel good morni-" he stops as he heard her sniffling "WHO HURT YOU" he demands making her slightly laugh be it breathy between sniffles "N-no one Nefie I'm *sigh**snif* I'm having a terrible time getting ready and- can you come I need you here" her voice was soft yet rigged, tired & honestly done with today even if it hadn't started "I'll be there in five" he states before hanging up

5 minutes exactly [Name] hears the familiar sound of Nefero's limo and another one?

And as fast as she question there where rapid footsteps going up from the stairs and straight to her room "SLAM" the door opens to reveal Nefero dressed as handsome and beautiful as he is with dark green velvet bell bottoms with a matching suit, a dress shirt opens to reveal his chest, adorn with layered golden dainty necklaces with one that had a crimson red diamond to represent his darling.

"My queen" he said with extreme tenderness Nefero gets on his knees and embraces her in his strong gentle arms, caressing her back as she cries new tears not of frustration as she did only moments ago but of happiness that he was here to comfort her and help, truly touching to her ghoulish soul

She hugs him tight her grip strong it seems to dumb but this is just good

"Take deep breaths with me jewel" and she did in and out, holding him and vice versa after a few minutes she lifted he head up and looked at his purple eyes, smiling "thank you for being here" [Name] leaned forward and kissed him,  broke the kiss "whatever the cost I'll gamble my way yo see you" he proclaimed "now let's help you up" taking her by one hand and another on her back he pulled her up from the ground.

Nefero looked at her up and down "now let's see what we can do, you up for being my model this morning?" Grinning [Name] replied "always... especially now haha"

Nefero claps his hands and comes in a group of professional fashion artist, makeup artists.

"Now let's get this going for you my queen" he took her hand and lead her to her vanity that was immediately cleaned out except for foundation, pallets and other things, Nefero sat her down went straight to the makeup artist told him the theme, the artist came in front of [Name] and got straight to work.

He did greens & golds with red shimmers and eyeliner that could kill and lashes that fitted on top of the ones you had.

Nefero was seated next to you as the fashion artists worked and got his approval for dresses, skirts, tops all while having one hand on his lap and the other on your thigh,squeezing  just right, every once in a while when he found something he definitely approved of being a specific dress or looking at the progress on your gorgeous face but mostly looking at your lips.

"I'm loving this my jewel~" he held a hand to his mouth practically foaming, looking at her made his mad and week at the knees, the overbearing feelings to just worship her as many did when he was alive was a thrilling feeling he liked, to be on his knees for only her~

"Thank you Nefie~ I like anything you put or take off me" She lowered her tone leaning towards his face as the makeup artist was looking for something to the far side of the long vanity

Nefero blushed, his eyes filled with desire. He took a long breath, his chest heaving, hands itchy to touch.

"Alright just the setting spray and we are done" they came back and sprits her face.

"Good now for my favorite part♡" Nefero jumped up from the chair took [Name]'s hand and to the front of the tall mirror, there were three stylists holding different clothes that she hadn't seen before which means Nefero had for sure got for her before the original mess.

They were lined up with one holding short and long dresses, the second holding short skirts and long shirts, the third holding tops cropped and not.

Nefero went up to the first one and said "my jewel this one if most definitely for today" he held up a red velvet short dress with a backless heart and a green velvet bow that tied around her waist, he signed for everyone to leave.

" i thought the green would be a good reminder that you are my crimson fire and I will always be the fool who marchers toward it holding it for warmth" he held her face delicately, [Name] smiled " and I'll for the rest of my being subside my radiant flames to keep you within my embers"

They embrace each other with a kiss soft and warm just the way they liked

  ~~~~                                                     ~~~~

At the room for the pictures it was empty after everyone had gone, the happy couple liked that it was just them.

And as they held eachother close & intimate, smiling calmy just enough it reach their eyes you could see a glint in them both since they only looked at eachother.

__________________________________________

Nickname for nefero is Nefie

I'll fix some grammar that passed me later but here it is!

@myjerseygirlblog

[soulofapatrick]

Party Favours - Raphael Santiago x female reader 

Summary: One of Magnus’ parties leads to the unexpected 

Words: 1.8k 

Warnings: beginnings of a panic attack 

Y/N’s POV

Alec’s dragging me through the door of Magnus’ apartment, his grip firm but gentle, drawing a sigh of resignation from me. I don’t put up much of a fight, not because I particularly enjoy parties, but because I love Alec so much. 

He’s always been there for me, a constant presence in my life. Two years older than me, he’s not just a brother figure, but also a father figure in many ways. His protective instincts kick in whenever he senses my hesitation or reluctance. 

I squeeze his hand in reassurance, offering a small smile as we step into the vibrant chaos of the loft. The music pounds in my ears, the chatter of voices blending into a dizzying hum. Downwards and Shadowhunters mingle together, their differences monetarily forgotten in the revelry. 

Alec leads me further into the room, his expression a mixture of determination and excitement. I follow along dutifully, trusting him to guide me through the sea of unfamiliar faces and overwhelming sensations. Despite  my reservations, there's a part of me that's grateful for Alec's insistence. He knows how much these gatherings mean to Magnus, how important it is for us to show our support for him.

We weave through the crowd, catching glimpses of familiar faces – Izzy's infectious laughter, Jace's cocky grin, Magnus' sparkling eyes. They all seem to be in their element, revelling in the festivities with a sense of abandon I can't quite muster. But, Alec is by my side, his presence a grounding force amidst the chaos. And for that, I am grateful. With him beside me, I know I can face whatever the night may bring, even if it means stepping out of my comfort zone. 

As we navigate through the crowd, Magnus slinks over with the grace of a cat, his eyes alight with mischief as he greets us. His magnetic presence draws attention wherever he goes, and tonight is no exception. 

“Ah Alec, my dear boy,” Magnus purrs, his voice laced with amusement, “Might I steal you away for a moment? There's someone I simply must introduce you to.”

Alec glances at me, silently seeking my approval. I offer him a reassuring smile, nodding my consent. Magnus and Alec share a unique bond, one that transcends mere friendship, and I would never dream of standing in the way of that.

“Of course , Magnus," Alec replies, turning to me with a gentle squeeze of my hand. "I'll be back soon.”

As Magnus leads Alec away with a flourish, a pang of loneliness tugs at my heart. I watch them disappear into the crowd, feeling a twinge of envy for the easy camaraderie they share. But I quickly push aside those feelings, reminding myself that Alec deserves to enjoy himself, especially in the company of someone as captivating as Magnus.

Alone now, I shift uncomfortably in the too-short dress Izzy insisted I wear. The fabric clings to my skin like a second layer, its tightness making each breath feel constricted. The pulsating energy of the party presses in on me from all sides, overwhelming my senses with a cacophony of noise and movement. 

As the minutes tick by, the intensity of the crowd becomes almost suffocating. Conversations blend into an indistinguishable buzz, laughter rings in my ears like chimes in a storm, and the kaleidoscope of colours and faces whirl around me in a dizzying blur.

Panic begins to gnaw at the edges of my consciousness, a cold knot of fear tightening in my chest. I feel like I'm drowning in the sea of people, struggling to keep my head above water as I desperately search for an escape. With trembling hands, I push my way through the throng, each step feeling like an uphill battle against the tide of bodies. My heart pounds in my chest, a frantic rhythm matching the pulse of the music that reverberates through the loft. 

Just when I feel like I can’t take another moment of the overwhelming chaos, an icy grip clamps around my wrist, drawing me sharply from the crowd and into the hallways with lightning speed. Instinctively, I try to wrench my hand free, my heart hammering in my chest as I spin around to confront my captor. 

But before I can even form a coherent thought, I find myself face to face with Raphael Santiago, his dark eyes searching my face with an intensity that takes my breath away. Relief floods through me like a tidal wave, washing away the fear and panic that had threatened to consume me only moments before. 

“Raphael,” I gasp, my voice barely more than a whisper as I practically collapse into his solid chest, seeking refuge in the safety of his embrace. 

His arms wrap around me instinctively, holding me close as if to shield me from the chaos of the world outside. For a long moment we stand there together in the quiet stillness of the hallway, the only sound the slightly muffled thumping music in the next room. 

Feeling a sense of calm wash over me in Raphael's embrace, I let out a shaky breath, allowing myself to relax for the first time since arriving at the party. With his steady presence by my side, the overwhelming panic begins to ebb away, replaced by a warmth that spreads through me like sunlight breaking through the clouds.

As the tension slowly melts away, Raphael gently guides me towards the spare room I had been heading towards earlier. With each step, I feel a sense of gratitude welling up inside me, grateful for his unwavering support and understanding. 

But as we step into the dimly lit room, my cheeks flush with embarrassment when I catch sight of myself in the mirror. The black dress Izzy had insisted I wear barely reaches past my ass, leaving little to the imagination, while the plunging neckline barely covers my cleavage. Paired with the knee-high boots that add a significant amount of height to my frame, I can't help but feel exposed and vulnerable. 

I tug self-consciously at the hem of the dress, trying in vain to cover a little more skin. I can feel Raphael’s eyes on me, his gaze warm with amusement as he takes in my discomfort.

“You look beautiful Birdie,” He murmurs, using the nickname he gave me the first time he met me, his voice soft but sincere as he steps up behind me, eyes meeting mine in the reflection of the mirror. 

His hands cold as ice, settle on my hips, their touch sending a shockwave of awareness through me. There’s an eerie chill to his fingertips, a stark reminder of his undead nature, as they trace delicate patterns on my skin. When his lips press against my jugular, there’s no warmth, only what should be the unsettling sensation of death brushing against my skin but it’s Raphael. My pulse jumps beneath his touch, his lips curving into a smirk against my neck. 

Flushed with heat, I feel a rush of flustered embarrassment washing over me. It’s not just Raphael’s proximity that sets my heart racing, but the realisation of the feelings I've harboured for him for so long. Despite the impossibility of it all, the boundaries that separate our worlds, I've never been able to shake the ache in my chest whenever he's near. Shadowhunters can’t date downworlders and the law is the law but sometimes laws have to be broken. Izzy’s been sleeping with Meliorn…

As I stand there, lost in the intensity of Raphael's gaze, my thoughts drift to Alec and Magnus, two souls who could be so happy together if not for the unjust laws that govern our world. The bitterness of the truth sends a surge of frustration through me, and before I can stop myself, the words spill out. 

“Fuck this…” I mutter, my voice laced with defiance as I spin around in Raphael's grip, determination burning in my eyes. 

Before he can react, I grab his face with both hands, pulling him into a kiss I've wanted for so long. His initial surprise is evident, his body stiffening for a moment before melting into the kiss with a raw, unbridled passion. For a moment, time seems to stand still as our lips meet, the world fading away around us as we lose ourselves in the heat of the moment. His kiss is electrifying, sending shockwaves of desire coursing through me as I lose myself in the sensation of his touch.

Suddenly, I feel myself falling, the sensation of weightlessness overwhelming me as I land on the bed with a soft thud. Raphael hovers over me, his eyes dark with desire as he leans down to capture my lips once more. His kiss is fierce and possessive, a silent declaration of the longing we've both denied for so long. In that moment, as our bodies entwine in a tangle of limbs and desire, I know that there's no turning back. 

As our lips remain locked in a fervent embrace, Raphael's kiss becomes a whirlwind of passion and longing. Every brush of his lips against mine sends sparks flying, igniting a fire within me that I never knew existed. But just as I feel myself becoming lost in the intensity of the moment, he breaks the kiss, allowing me to catch my breath.

I inhale deeply, the rush of air filling my lungs as I stare up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. His eyes, dark with desire, bore into mine with an intensity that steals my breath away. And in that moment, as our bodies remain entwined on the bed, I realise just how long he's been waiting for this.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long," he whispers, his voice husky with emotion. "But I needed to wait for you to make the first move.”

His words hang in the air between us, heavy with meaning and unspoken desire. In the silence that follows, I feel a surge of warmth spreading through me, knowing that he's waited for me all this time, just as I've waited for him.

With a shaky breath, I reach up to trace the contours of his face, my fingers trembling with anticipation. His gaze softens at my touch, a flicker of tenderness in his eyes as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to my forehead. 

“Better late than never.”

The Shadowhunters Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

[ss-skyearn]

Sugar Rush

PAIRINGS : Choi Yeonjun x fem!reader

WORD COUNT : 7.8k

GENRE : Angst, Smut, Fluff

WARNINGS/CONTENT : Fantasy au, multiple pov (yeonjun+reader), profanity (mild cursing), yearning, mutual pining (?), any more warnings and the storyline will be spoiled; it'll unravel as you go along. ♡

A/N : First time writing for TXT, so I guess this is my debut into moablr. Happy late Valentine's, lovelies. ♡

Just why are you the manifestation of temptation? Why does he desire you so? When he's never had you before… 

Or has he? 

Plush.

That's the only way you can describe this. This sensation.

Euphoria.

That's the only word for you to chronicle this. This feeling.

Elation of the unadulterated kind.

Ecstasy of the bonafide variety.

It's a feeling of fullness, of satisfaction, of gratification.

And all of that accomplished, merely by his presence. You can feel it. The heavy exhale of breathe right at the shell of your ear, the slow drag of his fingers along your curves, explorative, accustomed. Like he's done it a million times prior, like he's never done it before. Unlearning. Mastering.

"Play with me, sugar." A sultry whisper, a request, a promise.

It sends a tingle down your spine, back arching, body aching for more. Yet you force your eyes open, trying to make sense of anything that's not him. Given your state, it's not so easy a task.

Yet as your vision clears, you make out a black and amber sweater, the zipper down as far as it'll go, a plane of smooth skin on display. Looking over his shoulder, all you see is a whirlpool of colours. All kinds, vibrant persimmons, holographic blues, iridescent lilac, swirling and blending, converging together somewhere behind him.

It's hypnotic, looking at the whirlwind of hues, but even moreso, his voice.

"You're addictive." Silky smooth, dripping honey.

You zoom in your eyes on him, trying to recognize his features, his eyes, anything really, to know who he is. But all you see is blur, a pixelated mosaic at best.

You can make out everything in perfect clarity, everything except his face. The expanse of pigmented background, the countless variegated butterflies flying about.

Your eyes land on a magenta one, and it flies its way to come rest right on the convex bulge of his clavicle. But just as it makes contact with his creamy skin, it promptly disintegrates, disappearing with a puff, dusting his collars with even more sparkles.

You don't know where it comes from, this urge to lean forward and lick the glitter studs off his skin, but you make good on that impulse nonetheless, slowly dragging your tongue over his collar bone, savouring the taste of him.

He hums out in satisfaction, slender fingers tangling in your hair, not trying to move you around, just holding, feeling.

"Just like that."

You moan against his skin, trying to make out what he tastes like. You've had it before, this flavour of lust. Your tastebuds tell you as much. But you can't remember where.

Where have you tasted this before?

What is this taste, this flavour?

You move to his other beauty bone, and just as you know you're close to finding out what it is, you're shaken awake by a cool tinge on your neck.

Your eyes slowly fan open, and it takes a moment for you to blink through the tears staining your cheeks.

When had you started crying?

What the hell was that dream?

More importantly, where the fuck are you?

Suddenly wide awake, you snap your head around, looking at your surroundings. Grass and greenery abound, you're positively lost.

You remember being on the cruise a while back, but the vast stretch of water in front of you certainly doesn't look like the lido deck you were soaking in mere moments ago.

Were you thrown off the ship or something? As crazy as it sounds, that's the only possible explanation you can think of. But one body scan later, you conclude that couldn't have been the case. You see no surface injury, no indication of anything painful going down. You try standing up, expecting to at least wince a little after having been laying down on the sand in an uncomfortable position.

But nothing. Nothing at all.

One more full body scan and you find traces of dried up blood on your calves, still no sign of any wound.

Is this someone else's blood? But there's no living thing in sight for as far as you can see.

All you see is the vast ocean and the sand, extending as far as your line of sight goes, a row of bushes separating this piece of land from what lies beyond.

There's something eerily nostalgic about this place. It's evident in the way you know the trees are mulberry even before you catch the sweet waft of the ripe berries in the air that breezes past you, in the way you're sure the chameleon resting on the rock near the water will change colour once you touch it.

Intuition has always proven to be on your side, yet for the first time, you find reason to doubt it. So you take the few steps towards the reptile, extending your palm slowly so as to not scare it away. It hops on to your awaiting hand all too eagerly, much to your pleasant surprise. And true to form, the simplest of touches turns the dusky beige of its scaled skin to a wine shade of purple in a matter of seconds.

Your intuition was right.

But you feel no better, feel no sense of security at having confirmed the reliability of your sixth sense. Quite on the contrary, it's unsettling.

You know this place, have been here sometime ago, that's for sure, but have no recollection of it. Indeed, the sea is something you avoid being in the vicinity of at all costs, the water never failing to instil a sense of dread deep within you. It had taken a lot of cajoling- and bribery- on Taylor's part to even get you on the cruise, under the disguise of emotional blackmail.

"It's my Bachelorette."

"Can't you do this much for me?"

"You know it's been my dream since Love Island."

"Just don't go out on the deck and you won't even know you're on water, it'll be like living in a resort."

Endless arguments made, it was only a matter of time before you caved, the joyous squeal she let out more than worth the trouble you knew you would face when the time finally came to climb aboard. A small price to pay for her happiness, you thought back then. If only you knew how it would come back to bite you in the ass.

After pondering over it for a long while, you decide to see it for yourself, just what is it past the shrubs, what is this magnetic pull you're being dealt with.

Curiosity killed the cat, sure, but standing here, near the water in the mid winter freeze isn't doing you any favours, either.

So you move, seeking the gravity of the tug you're experiencing, like the sailor edges nearer to a siren, even with the smell of his demise prominent from kilometres away.

Only, it's not so much a demise that you're smelling. It's something entirely different.

Something mysterious. Something dangerous. Something delicious.

Something you're willing to risk it all for.

Sweet.

That's the only way he can describe this. This taste.

Arousing.

That's the only word for him to chronicle this. This sensation.

Titillating in every sense of the word.

Galvanising in a way he hasn't known before.

It's a sense of security, of safety, of reprieve.

And all of that accomplished, by your mere existence. He can feel your legs trapping his waist, body pressed against his. You slowly drag the zip on his sweater down, eyes fixated on every tract of skin you uncover.

"Come a little closer." Your voice is sweet, much like everything else about you.

His body moves before his mind does, coming impossibly close, the water sloshing about around the two of you.

"Let me help you now." Anaesthetic, that's what your voice is to him.

"Mm?"

You huff out a laugh, clearly knowing the effect you have on him, the power you hold.

Even if you didn't know, he'd never fail to let you know of it himself. How you have him wrapped around your finger, all yours to have.

He doesn't know why he feels the way he does. For all he knows, is that you're a haze. It's not that you're not real, far from it. He can feel your presence in every single one of his neurons, your touch setting his skin on fire, your breath claiming the attention of every one of his muscles.

But even so, he can't see your face, no matter how he squints, wills his head to stop spinning with want.

Your laugh is what breaks him from his reverie, and he gives up trying to figure out just who you are. For now.

"You just made me feel good, didn't you? My turn now."

As if on cue, his taste buds pulsate and almost suddenly, his mouth is filled with a sweetness he tasted moments prior. A sweetness he's never had before, but simultaneously experienced all the time.

He swirls his tongue around, trying to make sense of this absurd taste.

What is it?

Seemingly having noticed what he's upto, you break out into yet another laugh,

"It's okay, darling. You'll get more of me."

His face blooms red, shyness washing over him at having been caught tasting the remnants of you in his mouth. He lets out a squeak, burying his face in the crook of your neck, arms tightening around you.

You chuckle, "Now now," lacing your fingers with his and giving a squeeze. Your way of letting him know it's okay, that he doesn't need to hide, doesn't have reason to fret. He's safe with you. Secure. Free to be vulnerable, to let his boundaries down.

How he knows all of that from a simple squeeze of his hand, he doesn't know. The same way he doesn't know who you are, and why he trusts you with his life.

All he knows is that he does.

And that he doesn't question it. Not when it feels so right.

A sharp pang of gut wrenching pain that he knows all too well is what jolts him awake, stirs him from yet another one of his dreams. Of visions of a being so beautiful, he's never known the likes of. Of a flavour so sweet, he'd die- time and again- for a taste.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to calm down the thumping of his heart, the one he can hear all the way up to his ears.

That's when he feels the streams marked on his cheeks, down all the way to his neck.

This is a first.

He's dreamt of her before. He's tasted her in his dreams before.

But never has he cried like this. Never has his heart ached this much.

He swears he was able to taste it this time. This time, he promised himself that he'll remember it. But just like all the other times, it fizzled from his palate the moment he woke up.

It's frustrating, to say the least. He feels denied, deprived of what he deserves.

Soobin won't shut up about craving his lemon sherbet all day. Taehyun won't stop raving about how it's the best sorbet he's ever had the pleasure of tasting.

Beomgyu, Huening; they've all had their share of flavour a billion times over by now.

So why? Why is it that he's the only one that's left behind?

Why is it only him that doesn't know what his person tastes like?

"Good things take time." Is what Mrs. Yeon says. What she's been saying for years now.

But what does she know? Sure, she might be the community elder, the one to have the most wisdom when it comes to anything of the matter. But she's not the one yearning for someone who never comes, wishing upon every fallen star for someone who never shows up, aching for a taste that's not found in anything he tries.

And God, has he tried. The flavour lingers for a little while every time he wakes up, before it disappears from his memory. He's tried committing it to memory, finding it in anything and everything.

Perennials. Botanicals. Herbs. Drugs.

Grapevine is the only thing that comes the closest, but that's honestly downplaying it. It's near insulting to call her taste similar to a mere grapevine but it's a beginning, he supposes.

He almost fell face first into a chronic one-way paralysis trying to make up a concoction by infusing fernflowers with grapevine in an attempt to replicate her flavour.

He's been banned from the Aesculapian Estate ever since, barred from anything relating even remotely to phytomedicine.

But really, is he one to be blamed? He's desperate, rightfully so. Needy in a way he's never been.

Natives call him crazy, fixated, but at the end of the day, they aren't the ones wanting something they can't have. Wanting something they deserve, something their mothers' bedtime stories promised they'd have, something the community elders never failed to mention they would be rewarded with when the time comes.

It's unfair.

It's been years since he came of age. Years since he's been denied his mate. Years and years since he's been seeing everyone around him being paired up and skipping along merrily.

So, why him?

As he lies there, nestled among the outstretched net of tangled roots emerging from the trunk of the Bristlecone Pine tree, he feels it.

Again.

Reluctantly, he gets up and runs to the nearby pond. Aligning himself into the familiar position, hunched over, hands on the edge, he waits for what's to come.

It's violent this time around, the way his stomach squeezes, body convulsing, the breath being knocked out from his lungs.

Retching hasn't ever been something he objectively likes to partake in, but this is excruciating. As painful as it is everytime, it's never this bad. It feels like liquifying all the soft organs he has, coming out in the form of the pink, shining sludge he's seen one too many times before.

After what feels like forever, and for all he knows might as well have been, it stops, the temporary reprieve much welcome. And temporary it is, he knows it to be.

It's what, the sixth time today?

Two is the average, maybe three if the universe is feeling particularly cruel that day, but this is out of the ordinary, even for the level of brutality he's subject to on the daily.

Returning to the previous position against the trunk, he finds a semblance of normality, chest heaving a little slowly, head pounding a little less loudly.

For a reason unknown, the proximity of the evergreens has always had a calming effect on him, being the closest thing to a natural sedative.

He slumps back into the position he was in initially, the drag of bark against his back a welcome comfort, puts an arm over his closed eyes, attempting to even out his breathing.

He's not sure how much more of this he can take.

The further you go, the stronger the pull gets.

It's starting to get dark now and the range of bushes you crossed hours ago is nowhere in sight, lost somewhere in the late evening fog that's beginning to coat the air surrounding you, lacing it with a heaviness, making it a little difficult to breath.

Yet you move in a daze, empowered by this urge, that there's something, someone you're seeking.

You don't know what, or who, just that it's here, somewhere.

A faint whistling catches your attention, coming from somewhere towards the east. Its a sonic you've heard before, a note all too acquainted. It's calming and unnerving at the same time, and you're not particularly fond of the way it fails even your second sight, for you, once again, are doubtful of what is it exactly that's transpiring, every second you venture further into these forsaken woods setting off new alarms within you.

So, much like what you've been doing until now, you follow the unsaid attraction and move towards the sound.

You spot a curtain of string leaves hanging down between two thick tree trunks, violet beams of light peeking through them. Fireflies are buzzing and glowing all around them, seemingly attracted to the luminescence, the night properly pitch dark by now.

You trudge forward, reaching for the leaf garland and drawing it aside and a gasp leaves your lips.

The view you witness is something that puts any fantasy you could ever have to shame.

It's violet all over, everywhere you look. Violet leaves, indigo trunks, prop roots hanging off branches, touching the ground covered with equally purple sand. Thick roots emerge from the tree bases, entwining and curling together, forming a spiderweb on the forest floor. Some leaves shed from their petioles, swirling in the air, filling it with a flowery aroma, twirling and landing on the river. The water has a translucent lavender tinge to it too, moving in small eddies, echoing a gentle hum in the quiet of the night.

That's when you spot it, spot them, someone in the water, submerged save for the head that peakes out. Only the back of the long locks of hair is visible to you, but something within you tightens, and in the same daze, you approach the silhouette without thinking twice about it.

As he hears the sound of the slowly approaching footsteps, he sighs audibly, closing his eyes, getting ready for the blow to land. This is the time of the night when Boemgyu loves to come to him with his stories. Stories of how there's nothing better he's tasted, how much he wishes Yeonjun could have it too.

He knows he comes from a good place, he really does. But listening to him for hours on end, about something that he can't understand, is painful to put it mildly.

But it's through these conversations that he lives vicariously, the closest he gets to knowing what it would be like to finally get to have his mate, the one made just for him, and for whom he was made. It'd all sounded like a fluke the first he heard of it, like the stuff from fairytales; had he not witnessed it firsthand, seen with his very own eyes, he'd still refuse to believe it. He'd been better off not knowing, in all honesty. Sometimes peace of mind comes from being none the wiser, and if this is not the best instance he could apply that faith to, he doesn't know what is.

But the younger native he considers his brother doesn't let him forget it, makes it a point to remind him everyday without fail.

So really, it's a vicious requisite. A masochistic desire.

It hurts him to hear, but is the only salvage he gets to have for now. For however long into the future, until he's shown some mercy.

Even so, as the sound of the footsteps grows, the familiar nausea returns, the bile gurgling up his throat for the seventh time this day, rendering hours of water therapy useless.

He's suddenly on edge.

"Leave me alone, Gyu. I don't want to hear it."

Might be harsh, but he doesn't have it in him to be tactical with his words right now. With how things have been today, he's long given up on being pleasant. That can always wait for another day.

The stomps stop, but don't retreat.

"Leave." He sighs.

Boemgyu knows when not to push him, he knows when to press and when to leave, so the lingering doesn't make any sense. The sheer frustration in his tone would have been reason enough for him to realise that leaving him to his devices was for the best, the best for both of them, and for the tranquillity that envelopes the night. For Yeonjun when mad, is a sight vexatious. He isn't proud of it, but anger control has never been his forte, and considering all the times his anger issues have done him and his community good, he doesn't plan on fixing that aspect of him anytime soon. Sure, it might make him an unpleasant person for many, but it's his shield when needed, his unforgiving armour when other senses fail to be of moment. Beomgyu knows of this, so the stalling about is so unlike him.

Annoyed, he emerges out of the water, whipping around,

"Didn't you hea-"

And promptly stops dead in his tracks.

Gorgeous.

That's the first word that comes to mind.

He's gorgeous.

As you stand there, staring at what you would imagine an angel to look like, your heart thuds the fastest it ever has. A tinge runs down your spine, a feeling akin to a sugar rush coursing through your veins.

Standing in the water, invisible from the waist down, he's the most ethereal being you've ever laid eyes upon.

His jade black hair is wet, crimped and sticking to his forehead, some stray strands getting in his eyes, heavy water drops cascading down his sharp cheekbones, even sharper jawline. So soft, so silken looking.

It's weird how you know the way they would tickle against your inner thighs.

His heart-shaped lips, full and pouty, shining, dripping water. So wet, so inviting.

It's funny how you know what the plump texture would feel against your own.

His flexed biceps, lean and long, skin a fair butter tone. So smooth, so unmarked.

It's uncanny how you know what they would feel like underneath your fingertips.

You've been there, with him. He's been here, with you. Yet it feels as though it were a time no longer valid, or perhaps a time that never was.

He's beauty personified, and you are unwilling to tear your haze away for even a second. He seems to be of a similar mind, for he's been standing there, completely still and gawking up at you, unblinking. His irises restless in their orbits, the way they run in small circles within his pupils is testimony enough to the miles a minute nature of his racing mind.

Then suddenly he frowns, turning about completely, and begins making his way through the splashes, walking towards the shore. And as the water level goes down inch by slow inch, revealing more of his torso, you're a goner.

Body slim yet toned, lean muscles accentuating his morphology at just the right places, his beauty encompasses even itself as he reveals more of himself from under the water. He wears nothing but a thin vest, a poor excuse for clothing, shrinked even more due to being wet, sticking to his sides, honey skin out for you to marvel at. Well technically, not for you to marvel at, but you're going to indulge all the same. He's completely out now, swinging long limbs over the edge of the shore, bending a little, a silver spiked garland necklace clinking and bouncing against his chest. And oh, that chest. Broad and smooth, a far cry from being muscular, but still well defined, clean cuts marking and outlining his pectorals, buds mercifully hidden under the sides of the vest.

The glint from the overshadowing moon catches on the sparkles adorning his body, making him twinkle against the dusk. The gleam only brightens as he comes closer, with you now realising that they embellish his neck too.

Would they come off if you licked them?

Shaking your head, you force your thoughts to come to a halt, their intrusive nature a surprise to your dazed state.

He's a stranger, and by the looks of it, not a normal one. Normal humans don't shine, don't have sparkled necks. No matter how much you feel like you know him, in the grand scheme of things, you don't.

He's standing before you now, soaked cloth clinging to his laterals, figure on display.

One look into his deep chestnut eyes, and the sugar-like rush is back again, albeit stronger this time around.

It's familiar, the way you want to drown in those pools of honey, the way you know the pattern of the golden flecks scattered in his orbs. The kind of knowingness that comes only from years of studying, admiring, loving.

It's well acquainted, the way his plush lips part, the silky tone of his voice,

"Sugar?"

The words are as hesitant as they are shocking, even to himself. It's evident from the way his forehead creases, pouty lips taking on a downward tilt. He's just as baffled as you are, if not more.

"Is that your name? Sugar?"

You meekly shake your head no, even though every impulse is forcing you to agree.

"Oh."

"But it feels like it."

"Oh."

It's deja vu. A familiarity. A recollection.

You know that's not your name. But what you also know is that it belongs to you, the feeling of connection near immediate within your being.

How else would you describe the way your body reacts? The way your ears perk up at the mention, your tongue ready to hum out an affirmative.

It's not your name. But it's meant to be yours.

There's a moment where you both just stare into the other's eyes, standing still, the fireflies flying about, enlightening his face at different angles, casting shadows in different gradients.

But all too soon is the haze broken, and he's averting his eyes, looking at everything but you.

You fight the urge to take his face in your palms and force it back towards you.

He's a stranger, you remind yourself, ignoring every instinct saying otherwise.

A clearing of throat is followed by a quiet question, "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, I don't- know."

That sounds sketchy, you're aware of it yourself, but you genuinely don't know. And for some reason, you can't lie to him, don't wish to.

He doesn't seem fazed, just hums. If you were of a more sane mind, you'd find it odd how that was the first question he wanted the answer to, skipping the essential who are you and how did you get here. No, the wording he used, what are you doing here, as if already aware that your arrival was by your own will and knowledge, something that was expected to happen. If so, he couldn't be more wrong.

You know it's not your place to ask questions, to demand any explanation, but the way your heart is brimming with emotion, this feeling that you know him, you can't help yourself,

"What are you?"

His head snaps to face you, those chestnut eyes boring into you with intensity. Not the good kind. He's tense all of a sudden, almost defensive.

"Something you're not." He snaps.

You're thrown off by the bite, but despite yourself, whisper,

"I beg to differ."

The frown deepens, his gaze near burning.

He arches a perfect brow in question and scoffs, "I'd be careful on the bluntness, little one. You're in my territory, with no knowledge of who I am, or what was it that you said? 'What' I am."

He's trying to intimidate you, back you up in a corner, to seem domineering, but you know him to be none of these things. Despite his razor sharp features and tough exterior, his warm eyes give him away. He can play pretend all he wants, but you can feel the gentleness rolling off of him, and perhaps it's on a spiritual level that you feel it, because there's no other way you would have known that he, in effect, poses no harm, however much may he play the part.

"Wouldn't be so sure of that."

Now he just seems amused, the earlier irritation sublimed. His eyebrows rise again in silent expectation, prompting an answer.

"I think- I think I kno-"

You cut yourself off before the thought is said out loud. You're not sure of his reaction, of what to expect, when in total honesty, your own response to the thought said out loud isn't predictable.

"I think I've seen you somewhere." You settle.

The playful expression drops, eyes almost whimsical for but a moment, before his face takes on the neutral stance you'd found him in.

It's baffling, how quickly he changes expressions, his features almost trained to follow suit. Yet you know of this habit of his to be borne out of the need to protect, to self preserve. You wonder what had to have happened for him to adopt an outlook such as this. If you didn't know any better, you'd simply label him a lunatic with no emotional control, but you do know better- the reason for which still unbeknownst to you- and all it does is make you want to shield him from all that is vile, the sudden urge to protect this Adonis of a man running rampant.

He inhales a deep breath, and you assume it's to possibly calm himself- God knows you need to. Rolling his shoulders until his joints pop, he shoves his hands into his cargo pockets, sighs,

"How can you get back hom-," A pause, "get back where you came from?"

Not entirely sure about the reason for the need he felt to correct himself, you once again let your subconscious do the talking,

"No idea. Guess I'm staying."

Leaving a dumbfounded stranger behind, you've no clue where you get the courage to stroll right past him and towards the lake, comfortably seating on the edge, your legs crossed underneath thighs. You cast a glance over your shoulder and sure enough, the bewildered expression is still very much present, maybe even augmented now.

"You gonna keep standing there?"

He blinks, a gesture oddly endearing on his stone cold shell, titling his head to the side, confusion clear as day.

In the short while you've spent with him today, you've already decoded half of his workings apparently, for he says nothing, quietly making his way over, settling down next to you, as far away as the narrow bank allows. This is the way to tame him, you've concluded. Be unsure and he'll take it upon himself to act condescending, be assertive and he'll act not too different to a puppy, following along as instructed. It all feels too natural, taking the lead with him, not being fooled by his sham.

"So," You begin, partly to break the silence that's uncharacteristically taken over him, but more so because it's been bugging you more than you ever could explain, "who's sugar?"

He cuts his eyes in your direction, the heat back in those orbs, and you've got a snide remark ready at the tip of your tongue, having already predicted a reaction such as this- really, he's too easy to read.

Or maybe you've been reading this genre of his longer than you believe, and this is the past experience coming back in waves.

Or, you're simply reading too much into it.

Nevertheless, just as predicted, he snarls,

"No one."

And just as quickly turns away, bringing knees up to his chest, tucking his chin over them.

He looks not unlike a hurt soul masking under the veil of an arrogant persona, and no matter the displeasure he expresses, you can't find it in yourself to find reason to believe the front he puts up, the urge to 'take care' the only inclination overpowering you.

The dismissal too abrupt to have been a result of a thought-over notion, you don't believe it. Not for a second.

But you suppose you'll let it go this time, if only in favour of your own inner turmoil.

Maybe he's feeling what you're feeling too.

The desire to let your guard down, to let this complete stranger in, said desire engaging in a constant contest against preservation instincts.

"Who are you, then?"

It's delibrate, the reframing to your question, and if the laxing of his face is any indication, he registers it too, appreciates it.

"Yeonjun." He breathes, still not looking at you.

You echo your name too, mulling over whether to extend a polite 'nice to meet you' or something of the sorts, but deciding against it, realising it might come off absurd, what with the nature of your conversations uptill now.

The head he had nestled on his knees snuggles further down, and it's either your ears playing tricks on you or you actually do hear a whimper.

"Hey, you okay?" A tentative arm hovers over his shoulder, and you wonder if he'd really mind the comfort you so badly want to offer. If the roles were reversed, you know you wouldn't.

"Fine." He rasps, voice hoarse, his guttural confirmation more alarming than reassuring.

"But you don-"

You don't get to finish the sentiment, as he's suddenly standing to his feet, making a run for the small pond sitting right by the lake. And what you witness is more than enough to have your blood running cold. It's something all too personal, the way he coughs up a saje coloured semiliquid, the way you can see the energy being drained from his person as he spasms violently.

Without second guessing this time around, you run to the pond yourself, crouch down just behind him, run a soothing hand across the expanse of his back. The halting of his shivering is almost immediate, and it only serves to spur your movements as you begin shallowly massaging the muscles.

He slouches back, covers a hand over his mouth, grumbles,

"Changed fucking colours. Cute."

And yet again, you know what he means.

"Used to be pink, huh?"

This seems to have grabbed his attention, as he slowly turns to look at you. You find it perplexing too, how he could have been going through what you have for longer than you can remember, the retching a part of your daily routine by now. There's something bigger at play here, something tying you and this stranger together, something beyond your simple hunch of familiarity.

And this time when you are met with his big, glassy eyes, you find something you didn't before, something you haven't in years.

Ardour. Sorrow. Oddly together.

Not only is the strange mix of emotions familiar, it's familiar in his hue of chestnut, his champagne orbs, the amalgamation untypically unique.

You've seen this look in these eyes. Irrespective of how miscostructive it sounds, you know you have. You'd swear your life on it.

He seems to have been struck with something similar, for the newfound warmth in his eyes- something you mentally blamed him for hiding- is basically overflowing, his guard visibly dropping.

His lips part, release nothing more than a gasp, waver, then seal back. He's hesitant, not wanting to say it out loud, but you hear it all the same. Hear the unsaid endearment, understand the implicit elucidation to his apprehension.

"Can you say it again?" Your voice is a whisper, afraid to shatter this stolen moment of intimacy.

"Say what again?"

"Say my name again?"

He breathes out your name, eyes averting, a blush adorning the apples of his cheeks.

"No. My name."

He's confused for all of a second before realisation dawns on him, cheekbones burning a deeper shade of crimson.

"You mean-?"

"Just say it."

"But- but you said it wasn't your name."

A sigh of exasperation and eye-squeeze of annoyance is all the incentive he needs it seems, for he's fulfilling your wish all too soon.

"Sugar."

And all too soon is your heart thumping in your ears, the same rush coursing through your veins.

Why your body chooses to react this way is beyond you, but it's intense enough to have a deeper connotation than a response to a mere nickname. It means something more.

You know it does.

Have known all this while.

He turns to look at you, and from this up close, the sparkles catching the moonlight once again, he shines brighter than any star, any constellation, any galaxy.

He's your star. Your constellation. Your galaxy.

Your own escape, your angel.

Wait.

Your eyes trail back to the curve of his shoulders, searching for something you know is missing.

He follows your line of sight. There's a split second where you see the panic in his eyes, which disappears when he looks over his shoulders. If he thinks he's safe, he couldn't be more wrong.

"Show me."

It's not a question. Not a demand either, just a soft request, one he can easily decline, but made with enough conviction that tells him there's no way he's getting out of this one with a lie.

So he just looks at you, eyes drooped in acceptance, a sombre expression on his face,

"How?"

You know what he means, but you don't have an answer for him.

"How do you know?" He reiterates.

"I just do."

"Who are you, really?"

You smile at that, for you know the frustration he feels. You feel it too.

The knowledge that you know him, but don't.

The understanding that you know he has wings, but not sure how.

The awareness that you want him, but have no right to.

"Show me, please?" You disregard his question entirely, and he knows as well as you that it's a pointless one anyway.

So he gingerly stands up, backing away from you a little. You thought you were prepared; you overestimated yourself.

A fluttering sound echoes through the silent forest, and amidst the dead of the night, you experience a sight all too enchanting.

The same whirlwind of colours, of shades blending together, the same kind you witnessed in your dreamland not too long ago, is presented before you. Manifesting in the most beautiful pair of wings. The Blue Morpho doesn't hold a candle in the face of such gorgeousness.

Your dream hadn't been a fluke, you saw him in it. You saw his wings, felt his lips.

Once again, your eyes glaze over, heart splitting in two at the view. He's standing there, with tears of his own and you know why.

As if in a trance, you get up and run off towards him, stopping only when you're inches away, panting, out of breathe. And not out of the exhaustion at having made the spree, really there wasn't more than a few metres between you and him. But the emotion has engulfed you, your breath practically belonging to him in this moment, entering your lungs upon his command and his command only.

Your eyes trace his wings, from the arch at the top to the downward droop at the bottom, eventually trailing to his face, and ultimately to his lips. Those full lips.

You step closer still, hands cautiously reaching for his shoulders, going on your tiptoes to whisper against his plump lips,

"I'm sorry, but I really have to do this."

Strong arms wrapping around your waist is all the consent you need and in the next moment you are lunging for him, taking his lips in an all consuming kiss, even after trying your best to hold back, if only to not freak him out. It's no use now, so you let go, let your body react the way it does, let your subconsciousness take the lead.

His mouth is indeed as addicting as you imagined it to be, knew it to be. Your hands make their way up his shoulders to his nape, where you brush his hair and true to form, they're just as soft as you imagined, as you knew.

He lets out a groan in your mouth, tilting his head more, deepening the kiss. He's licking into your mouth at this point, tongue swirling around, sucking the essence right out of you, drinking it in earnest. It's not a kiss, it's so much more than that. It feels like he's ravishing you, tasting you.

A sudden tickling in your back makes you shudder, a feeling akin to having an ice cube slide down your bare skin. Goosebumps break all over you, and the familiar fluttering sound permeates the air around you two.

You pull back to gasp, shaking your shoulder blades. His wings are still there, the same they had been before, so what in the world was that sound?

You look up at Yeonjun to find him not looking at you, his gaze fixated on something behind your shoulder. You turn your head back yourself, only to be met with a carbon copy of those angelic wings somehow attached to your back.

"Wha- How.. What is happening?"

Contrary to your panicked tone, he's calm, almost delighted. That claim is proven right when he suddenly breakes out into a wistful smile, the tears making their way down his waterline.

"I knew it." He ducks his head, resting it on your chest, hands refusing to let go of your sides.

"Yeonjun, what is going on? I'm getting scared now."

His head snaps up at that, hands finding your cheeks, cupping and cradling your face with gentle care.

"Don't be scared, sugar. You're here now. With me. You're finally here." He chokes out the last words, clearly overwhelmed.

You frown, but don't question him, deciding to be patient.

His thumbs brush against your skin, caressing back and forth,

"Don't you remember me?" He gently whispers.

There it is again, the same question, the same vague feeling. You known him but you'd don't.

"It's okay," He somehow senses what you're experiencing it seems, as he doesn't push it further, "it's okay. Let me help you remember, yeah?"

And with that he's closing the distance between your bodies again, lips moulding against yours, whisking you away in a trance like state once again.

This is it.

This is the taste he's been dying for, time and time again. And to think he already had it before, once upon a time.

It's not a sudden downpour of memories that rains down to him, but a slow sprinkle, a calm drizzling, the kind that comes before a thunder storm.

And then it's a torrent, a gush of water, drenching him whole, making him lose his footing. It makes him dizzy but he'll have it any fucking day if it means he gets to taste you again.

He remembers you, remembers the time when you belonged to him, and he you. The times you spent together, near this very spring, tasting each other for hours on end. The times that he has now come to know of as the most peaceful and fulfilled. He felt content, whole.

Before you were snatched away from him, a you-shaped gaping hole left in his heart. Every single one of the memories you made together wiped, yet the hole never closed, never healed.

He always felt something in his life was missing, a last puzzle piece to complete him, a last drop to fill his glass.

And now, with your wings outsretched behind you, the same ones as his, he has found that piece of puzzle, that drop of nectar.

You taste just as he imagined. Like grapevines with an undertone of fernflowers.

A grapevine left untouched for so long, harbouring yeast on the surface. All he has to do is crush his lips against yours, and the grapes burst open, outer skin tearing, juices squirting out, fermenting with the yeast to form the richest wine to ever grace his palate.

The fernflowers that bloom for a period too short, for him only, his very own summer solstice, being fertile just for him.**

He remembers. And you're here with him. At last.

The only thing that's left, is for you to recall as well. It's going to be no difficult fate.

As he reconnects your lips again, pulling you impossibly closer by your middle, his wings wrap around your bodies, and just like every other time in the past, yours do too. With both your appendages curling over and forming a cocoon around your forms, he feels the security all over again, the one he wanted to revel in forever.

Too bad no one told him forever doesn't last as long as one thinks, but now that he finally has you again, he doesn't plan on letting go anytime soon, if ever.

When he breaks the kiss, your own tears have made their way past your jaw, wet eyes twinkling, reflecting the moon in them. For him, they are the moon themselves.

He softly thumbs them away, smiling through his own tears,

"Welcome back, sugar."

You give him a wistful smile, his own sorrow reflecting on your features. An underlying hope buried somewhere deep within the pain.

"Missed you." You mumble, scrunching your nose in a sniffle. It's something you always did back then, and everytime it made him wonder how it was possible for someone to be so cute, so precious.

Winding his arms around your shoulders, he steps forward, slotting himself against you, his face in your neck.

"I missed you more. I fucking missed you so much."

Hot wet trails run down your neck and you lovingly ruffle his hair, remembering how it always soothed his anxiety.

He stays like that a while, hiccuping and reiterating his saudade for you. After his breath evens out, and tears dry up, he pulls back, looking deep in your eyes.

"You know me, right?"

You huff a little, endeared by his need for confirmation.

"I do. I do know you, darling."

Darling.

That's what you always called him. That's what he's been unknowingly wanting to hear all these years. That's what makes him feel complete again.

"Can I kiss you?" The question is frantic, his excitement leaking through the words.

You don't give him an answer, opting to push at his chest and jump up slightly, wrapping your legs around his lean waist. It's the same, the way you fit over him, legs slipping into the curve of his waist. He knows he'll fit into you in other ways, too.

He can't wait to complete you, to be your last piece of the puzzle.

You lean into him again, sliding your lips with his, the soft sounds of moisture all he hears. As if on autopilot, his legs move of their own accord, side stepping all the hurdles, all while kissing you with his eyes closed, with a practised ease. And when your back hits the same Bristlecone Pine tree trunk he spent all day slumped against, he remembers why this routine feels rehearsed. Because to put it simply, it is. It's something he's done countless times before, carrying the familiar weight of you to this very spot.

Once there, he presses his body into you, his want eminent in the way it digs you in the thigh, his hands kneading the flesh. He feels himself getting lost in the pleasure, a throaty groan escaping him,

"Give me more."

Part 1 | Part 2

Main Masterlist

[The follow-up smut drabble will be posted soon. Send an ask if you wish to be tagged when it drops.♡]

**The fern flower is a magic flower in Baltic, Estonian and Slavic mythology. According to the myth, this flower blooms for a very short time on the eve of the summer solstice, and represents fertility. This theme will be explored more in part two to this piece.

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© ss-skyearn 2023. All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting and translating any of my works is not allowed.

[brainrotwriter]

Another unedited Cinderella fic I have in the works! Watch out people, there is so so so much pining in this one XD This one is going to be pretty short since a song inspired me for it lol

For Buddy, climbing trees wasn't a task.

 

Like walking and swimming. He learned it once and then it was second nature to him ever since. He liked being high up. He liked being hidden from everyone in the shadows of the leaves. He liked the pure comfort and safety it brought to him.

 

He liked being invisible almost as much as he loved the limelight.

 

No one could give him orders up here just like no one could pretend. Everyone's true nature is revealed the second they think they are alone. That's how he protected the Ex Libris. That's how he became the Elder's favorite.

 

So, why, why must his burden be so...transparent?

 

Buddy is used to two-faced lies, he is used to backstabbers and people who try to hide away narration for themselves. He is used to it. He deals with them. He knows what to do. He knows how to stalk them for weeks without getting tired. He knows how to blend in with the shadows of the trees. He knows they will eventually reveal themselves. He knows he will be there to catch them when they do.

 

But Chase isn't like that. Chase is transparent. Honest. Outspoken. Sincere. Frank. Open. Direct.

 

Everything Buddy isn't and more.

 

So, he does what he always does. Tucked between the vibrant green leaves and sturdy trunk of a mighty tree, he watches. Chase probably isn't aware he is in the book. The villainess hasn't debuted yet, after all, and Buddy tries not to temper with the story too much. They will meet when they meet.

He looks bored as the prince goes on and on about his love to the princess. Mostly survaying the vast garden, warm brown eyes occasionally following a butterfly or a bird as it frolicks around the flora.

And Buddy can't help but stare.

[acescorazon]

I LOVE YOUR FIC CHANGES!!!!! I HOPE YOU UPDATE SOON!!!!!

THANK U BBYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY. ILY MUAH. I was updating like every day but then i got my period... i mean i fell into a pit of darkness and didn't have the energy to climb out. How bizarre. ANYWAYS, HERE'S YOUR FOOD.

Title: Changes Ch: 5/?

Rating: M (I'm just putting that as the rating in general for every ch lol)

Word count:2291

Warnings: Depressed clown :(

Chapter excerpt:

"Mihawk keeps asking about you," Mohji announces all of a sudden, "He keeps asking if you're okay and if your illness is something serious." Hawkeye keeps asking about him… Why? To know if he's died yet? What a joke! That man doesn't care about Buggy, why is he even wasting his breath asking about him? "I just keep telling him that you have the flu, and he's always like, 'Ah…is that so? Tell him I hope he feels better.' Isn't that…ridiculous?!" Yeah, that is rather ridiculous.  Buggy has a hard time believing that Mihawk is genuinely concerned about him, but at the same time, he can't imagine why he'd just pretend to care either. It's weird.

|Ch1|Ch2|Ch3|Ch4|

The next several days are on an endless loop for Buggy. He stays in bed all day, unwilling to come face to face with Mihawk after his little drunken rant from days prior, afraid of what Mihawk will say to him now that he's completely sober. So, he stays in bed, either sleeping or lost in thought. He should be preparing men, supplies, and their new flagship for departure, but he can't bring himself to do it. At the very least he should be making sure everything on Emptee Bluffs Island is going smoothly, and yet… he doesn't care about that either. 

Being in Cross Guild is so…exhausting.

Crocodile has called for meetings every single day, and every day, Buggy has one of his men lie and say he's sick. He's missed about 10 meetings now, he thinks. He can't remember, everything is starting to blend in together. All he knows is that sooner or later Crocodile is going to get pissed and come looking for him, and then what? Beat him up? Threaten him? Actually, kill him this time? 

Man, who cares?

Cabaji, Mohji, and Richie, often come by and sit with him, usually overly worried about Buggy's well-being and not believing him when he says he's just sick or tired, but of course, Buggy always tells them that he's fine. 

Today, they're with him again, sitting by his bed and trying to get him to eat some of the sea king the other members of the crew somehow caught and killed today. "Captain…" Mohji sighs, "Come on, at least take a couple of bites." He asks, but he sounds more like he's begging than asking. "You've hardly eaten anything these last few days." While that is very true, it's because Buggy doesn't have much of an appetite these days, nothing tastes right or really interests him, and god knows he doesn't have the energy to make his own food…just… he just wants to sleep.

Buggy sits in his bed, slightly peeved that Cabaji and Mohji insist he sit up in general, and looks down at the sea king on his plate. He's not normally a picky eater, you can't be picky when you've spent most of your life at sea, but… this thing reminds him eerily of a poison dart frog with its vibrant color and spots, yet at the same time, it's got fins and a body like a snake... He doubts his men would actually cook up something poisonous, they aren't that naive…but still, Buggy has no interest in this fish..frog…snake thing. 

But if he did die from ingesting it…that'd just be his luck, wouldn't it? Death seems… inescapable at this point, and he often wonders just what or who will end up taking his life first. "I'm not hungry," Buggy repeats, but Mohji and Cabaji seem determined today.

 

"Just take a couple of bites, please, Captain?" Mohji practically begs, "Just a couple, it's actually really good!" Doubt it, Buggy thinks. 

Cabaji follows suit, "Yeah, just take a couple of bites and if you don't like it, you don't have to eat the whole thing! We'll just feed the rest to Richie, right, Mohji?" 

"Right!" 

Buggy really doesn't want to eat anything, but he hates to make the other two worry, so he ends up taking a couple of bites of his lunch, and yeah, it isn't bad…it's one of the better-tasting sea kings that he's had, this one actually tastes like chicken despite its weird appearance, but Buggy still only eats a couple of bites, just enough to get the other two off his back and then hands Mohji his plate to give to Richie. 

He wants to lie back down, but the others won't let him. "Um, Captain?" Cabaji calls out, seemingly a little nervous, "Uh, how about I run you a warm bath and…uh, How about I help you wash and brush your hair today?" Cabaji suggests with a small grin. Oh, yeah, basic needs are a thing. Man, Buggy really doesn't care about any of that stuff anymore, he's going to die anyways, so what's the point? He'll just ask one of his men to make him look nice for his funeral. 

"Okay?" Cabaji asks, still smiling.

Buggy understands what this really is about. This is a very polite and roundabout way of telling him he needs to bathe, but none of his men would ever outright tell him he stinks so they have to use words like, 'Oh, how about I run you a bath and help you wash your hair today?' Or, 'Wow, you look like you need to relax…how about a nice bath?' 

Whatever. 

Buggy lets Cabaji run him a bath, and he sits and waits in bed while he prepares everything for him. He watches Richie eat his leftover sea king, and can't help but think how nice it'd be to be a lion, well, actually a cat. If reincarnation exists, he thinks he'd like to live a carefree life as a cat, a spoiled one too. Being a pirate isn't something he thinks he'd want to do again unless he could live a life with his old crew again, this time a happy one that isn't cut short, maybe then he'd be a pirate again... Or he could be a star in the sky, that'd be nice. 

"Mihawk keeps asking about you," Mohji announces all of a sudden, "He keeps asking if you're okay and if your illness is something serious." Hawkeye keeps asking about him… Why? To know if he's died yet? What a joke! That man doesn't care about Buggy, why is he even wasting his breath asking about him? "I just keep telling him that you have the flu, and he's always like, 'Ah…is that so? Tell him I hope he feels better.' Isn't that…ridiculous?!" Yeah, that is rather ridiculous.  Buggy has a hard time believing that Mihawk is genuinely concerned about him, but at the same time, he can't imagine why he'd just pretend to care either. It's weird.

"Crocodile has asked about you too, but only once, and when I told him you had the flu, he rolled his eyes at me and went: 'Of course that dumb clown is sick.' And then walked away! I tell ya, I don't know what the others see in those two!" Mohji frowns, "They're so mean to you! I… I think if we all banned together then we could…you know…." He whispers the next part of his sentence, "Show them who's boss."

Honestly if Buggy thought he and or his crew had a chance against Mihawk and Crocodile, then he would have had both of them taken out a long time ago, but he knows even with an army of men, he couldn't take out one of his business partners, let alone both. It's a fun thought though, "Let's not waste our time," Buggy replies, exhaling a long, shaky sigh, "Besides, it's like I told you before, I can handle those two! Do you really think I'd let them beat and bully me?!" 

Mohji just stares at him from his seat, obviously not convinced but he doesn't push the subject any further, and thank God for that.

Cabaji reappears a few moments after that, telling Buggy his bathwater is ready, and in all honesty, Buggy rather not do this, but he doesn't feel like hearing the other two complain either. He follows Cabaji into the bathroom and tells him he can at least bathe himself, and somewhere at the back of Buggy's mind he feels like he should feel more ashamed by the situation, but he doesn't. His former captain always told him that good friends don't judge you when you're at your lowest times and that they instead help you when no one else will, and so maybe that's why he has no guilt about letting Cabaji wash his hair. He'd do the same for him and then some. He and Mohji are more than just subordinates, they're friends, no, they're family, and honestly Buggy doesn't deserve either one of them. 

As he washes Buggy's hair, Cabaji also tells Buggy that Mihawk keeps asking about him. Again, Buggy finds the idea of Mihawk asking all of Buggy’s crew about his well-being almost comical. Did the world’s strongest swordsman grow a heart? Ha, as if. Or maybe Buggy’s earlier suspicions are correct, maybe Mihawk’s waiting, hoping that Buggy’s ‘flu’ will take him out and that he won’t have to deal with him anymore, which honestly seems like a more realistic explanation for everything. 

A hot bath and a nice relaxing hair wash later, and Buggy’s sitting on the small couch in his room, getting his hair brushed by Cabaji as he listens to both Mohji and Cabaji ramble on about this and that, and occasionally bicker over trivial things. It feels like his men are the only consistency in his life, but he wonders if there will be a day when even that changes. Maybe he’ll end up with so many men that their crew will seem more like an army than a family, then again maybe he won’t live to see the day when that’s actually a problem. And if that doesn’t happen, then maybe Mihawk will eventually end up replacing Buggy’s crew with a new, more efficient one that he hardly knows let alone can consider his family…who knows?

Now, as stated before, Buggy’s usual visitors consist of Mohji, Cabaji and Richie, but today Buggy finds himself getting an additional guest in his room. Sometime around late afternoon Alvida joins Buggy’s already boisterous company, and as soon as she realizes Buggy’s perfectly fine, she sighs at him,”I knew you weren’t sick.” she mutters as she has a seat on the couch next to him after Cabaji and Mohji fight over who’s spot she can take, “But oh well, you won’t believe what I just saw.” She says, grinning. 

Hopefully, she saw Crocodile and Mihawk board a ship and sail as far away from the island as possible, never to return again, but that’s just not realistic, is it? “What did you see?” Buggy asks though he’s not particularly curious about her gossip today.

“Mihawk and Crocodile were fighting.”

“Crocodile and Mihawk bicker every once in a while, so what?” 

“No, they were actually physically fighting earlier.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know but they were both heated,” Alvida claims, “I think they reached a draw, but they were fighting for a long time, half the island saw it.”

Despite claiming that he doesn’t care about either of the two, Buggy’s slightly curious about Mihawk and Crocodile’s altercation. Sure they’ve butt heads a couple of times in the past because Crocodile is so damn overbearing and of course, Mihawk doesn’t take being bossed around lightly, but they never get physical with things, it’s usually just threats of possible fights that don’t go anywhere. Maybe that was it, maybe Crocodile just got too controlling again, and Mihawk got tired of it. He did say he was tired of Crocodile’s shit the other day… Yeah, that’s got to be it…Because what else could it be???

…

A couple of more days go by after that, and Buggy’s still stuck in that same loop: Sleep. Overthink. Sleep. Overthink. Sleep. Overthink. Of course, there are brief things that break the cycle like Mohji and Cabaji checking on him and feeding him and making sure he’s being taken care of, but other than that, it’s just sleep, overthink, repeat. He just doesn’t see the point in getting out of bed every day when Mihawk and Crocodile are just going to make his life a living hell, or worse, end his miserable existence. 

Despite all his stress though, there are times when his bedroom is rather comforting, he knows that it offers him no real protection from the outside world, but in his room he feels safe and like he’s miles away from all his problems even though they’re literally just right outside. He thinks he’s missed, hm…12 meetings now, maybe 13 …14? Who knows, he’s surprised that Crocodile is even still calling for them, or that he hasn’t come barging into his room to yank him out of his bed and beat him to death for ruining his perfect schedule.

Buggy doesn’t care about Cross Guild though (or for much of anything right now) he never has and he doubts he ever will. He’s perfectly fine just keeping himself locked away in his bedroom for as long as possible. Mohji will take care of the others and if he doesn’t, then Alvida will, and if she doesn’t, then Buggy’s sure that Crocodile and Mihawk will boss his men around, but they’re strong, spirited, and oblivious, they can handle anything. 

Something breaks his seemingly endless depressive cycle by the time he’s missed 18 meetings…or was it 19?

One of his men comes into his room around midmorning, like always, and tells him that a meeting has been called… But today, Mihawk’s the one who’s called for the meeting apparently, and Buggy instantly tells his subordinate to tell Mihawk that he’s still under the weather and can’t go to the meeting, to which his subordinate replies, “He says it’s urgent, Chairman Buggy, and that if you can’t go to the meeting room, that he’ll bring the meeting here instead.”

That’s got to be the worst, no, actually, the second worst thing he’s been told in his entire life. Why? Why now? Why can’t Mihawk and Crocodile just hold their dumb meetings by themselves? It’s not like Buggy gets to make any decisions or his input matters, why does he have to leave his safe space and go see them?

((A/n: Hate how they didn't add ChouChou to the live-action or Richie. The idea that some of you might not know that Richie is a lion and you might think he's just some guy is funny though lol.))