#unwind oneshot

[heliads]

the brother of a god - lucas lassiter

Even with Connor taken away by the Juvey-cops, Lucas can't stop himself from wondering about the brother he used to have.

masterlist

Lucas Lassiter wakes up and he doesn’t have a brother. 

He didn’t have one yesterday, either. Or last week. This should stop being a surprise. Is there a point at which the novelty wears off, really? When you stop forgetting that you haven’t always been an only child? That a few weeks ago, Juvey-cops broke into your house and took your brother, and your parents let it happen because they asked for it in the first place?

Lucas won’t forget. He has promised himself this. There was a boy named Connor Lassiter in this very house, and he tormented Lucas all the time except for when he lost interest, and when he was a good brother who taught Lucas how to ride a bicycle and how to run from guys who were bigger than you. They say Connor ran from the Juvey-cops, that he’s still hidden somewhere no one can find him. Lucas wonders if he remembers Connor’s lessons well enough to do the same thing if he ever had to.

He’s supposed to be moving on. His parents have told him that. The special therapist they hired when it became increasingly clear that Lucas couldn’t just up and forget that Connor used to live right down the hall keeps reminding him that the past is the unchangeable past, but it isn’t. Not to Lucas. Memories of his brother refuse to leave him. For that to happen, they’d have to unwind the parts of his brain, too, the ones that still hold Connor, and they’ve assured him that won’t happen again. No more sons lost to the harvest camps. But they might have told that to Connor, too, and look how that worked out.

Privately, Lucas wonders if he can’t let go of his brother because he’s terrified the same thing that happened to Connor will happen to him. Maybe Lucas will not be good enough either. Maybe he will bomb a math test and his parents will start reconsidering. A botched strikeout in a faulty game and they’ll wonder about the forms they signed in triplicate again. It was easy enough the first time. Surely it would be a simple thing to do it again. 

No. No. It won’t happen to him. Lucas is— Lucas is the good one. Yeah, he’s the good one, and Connor wasn’t. Connor got in trouble all the time. Connor stayed out late and picked fights and did everything an under-eighteen shouldn’t. God, it was like—

Like he wanted to be unwound. Like he wanted to die. 

But that’s not true. Connor loved living. That’s why he went about his days like even the rules couldn’t stop him from enjoying his life like he wanted. Connor lived more than Lucas will, even if Lucas never gets unwound, even if he survives to a hundred and one. Lucas could do stupid things like go sky-diving and play chicken on the railroad tracks and he’d still never get that vicarious glint in his eyes that Connor had all the time. Connor knew how to live. He hopes whoever gets that grisly chunk of Connor’s brain gets to live like that, too. 

Lucas thinks it would be incredible. Like flying. Connor felt more than anyone. That’s why Lucas couldn’t do anything but stand, frozen, on the flight of stairs, as the Juvey-cops hauled Connor away into a small car and took him away forever. Connor was so afraid– it wasn’t right. Lucas couldn’t imagine a world in which Connor was that terrified. So he stood there and did nothing and let his brother go get butchered. They say Connor started running later. Once he remembered how, maybe. Or when he realized no one was going to help him anymore. Not even his own brother.

Lucas had not run. He had stayed on that stairwell, looking uncertainly towards the door, watching the lights of the car drive away. His parents had told him to go to bed, but even after he forced his feet back inside his room, Lucas couldn’t sleep. He lay awake hands folded across his stomach like a corpse, wondering if his brother was dead yet. Wondering how a father decides his boy isn’t good enough to live. Wondering how a mom stops wanting two boys and decides just one will be fine.

And the worst part is, with Connor gone, Lucas still isn’t the most important Lassiter brother. He had assumed that he would be. Which is stupid, and mean, but true. He would be the best. He always had been, historically– fewer fights, higher grades, and of course the fact that he hasn’t yet been unwound is a definite plus in his favor– but it’s still not as certain as he would like. If he does not improve his act, if he does not clearly prove that he is the favorite child and not just the one left over, what will stop Connor’s fate from befalling him? The Lassiters have already unwound one child. They can do it again.

And when his family sits around the table, when his father instinctively puts out a glass of water at an empty chair or his mom starts to make a fourth plate to set out late, they start remembering these things too late. That Connor isn’t coming back. Sometimes they call Lucas down for a meal and they say Connor’s name first. Even after he’s gone, Connor is the one that matters. Lucas is just there in the background. Another option once the first one failed.

One time in history class, they were talking about the royal family, how they’d have the first son to inherit the throne and the second just in case. A spare. Lucas thinks he gets how it feels now. He’s the spare parts, the extra set of bones and blood because the first one didn’t pan out as they hoped. He’d better get his stuff together, because there isn’t another one. Just him, and that’s an awful heavy load to bear. Maybe that’s why Connor went crazy. Maybe that’s why he wanted to stay out late and duck curfew. He didn’t want that title, and now Lucas doesn’t, anyway. Only there’s no one left to save him now.

The other kids ask Lucas about Connor in school. They talk about him a lot, actually. They���re not supposed to. Typically, the way of the world is that a student will be unwound, creating a hotbed of heated rumors about what would happen for a parent to love their kid better in pieces, and then even the most intense whispers die down and it’s like nothing ever happened. The theories about their unwinding get attributed to other kids, and soon people start forgetting if their name started with an R or an S, if he was a Harlan or a Humphrey, if he was ever someone who had gone to their school at all. Unwound not just in body, but in name, too. In memory. In every way that matters.

Connor is the exception. Even weeks later, Connor Lassiter is still the most important topic of conversation. Lucas can’t go anywhere without hearing his name. A few of the braver kids have gone up to Lucas directly to ask about him– does he ever hear from his brother, will Connor come back and kill his whole family out of revenge, does he receive secrets about underground Unwind rings? Lucas says no to all of them, but he’s not sure anyone believes him.

Privately, Lucas cannot decide if he is bothered by the absence of news from his brother or not. He did not help Connor escape. He was unable to do anything but stand there, gaping, as the Juvey-cops loaded Connor into a car and drove him away to die. He has wondered, before, if he would have any idea if Connor was still on the lam at all. 

Maybe one day he would walk home after school and meet somebody with Connor’s eyes. He wouldn’t realize the pupils belonged to his brother until one of the eyelids unconsciously winked at him. A last laugh from beyond the knife. Such a Connor thing to do that Lucas can’t believe it hasn’t already happened.

Lucas wants to believe that he’s on Connor’s mind as much as Connor’s on his, but the worst part is, even Lucas can’t believe it’s true. It’s Connor’s world, always has been. Connor Lassiter is in the eye of this world-shattering hurricane, all gusty winds and rushing floods. Everyone around him gets caught up in the current, but there’s no room for anyone else to matter. Even supposedly dead, even on the run, even unwound, they are in Connor’s storm, not the other way around. Even alive, Lucas still isn’t the Lassiter that matters the most.

He should hate it. He does, maybe, but the guilt comes trickling in around the edges of his anger and Lucas starts remembering when he looked up to his brother like a god. On his knees, begging for the effortlessly cool outlaw to glance at him sideways. Just young enough to stop getting on Connor’s radar unless they were right in front of each other. Old enough to know he’d never catch up even if he started running with all his might. Lucas is Lucas. Connor is the Akron AWOL. There’s no beating that.

Lucas goes to bed that night and wonders if any of this will ever be over. There’s no freeing himself from the tidal wave of Connor’s reputation. He’ll die, maybe, or he’ll age out. Lucas wonders if Connor will ever come back to spit in his face or curse him out or just say goodbye for good this time. Maybe Lucas will slam the door. Or he’ll listen. Or they’ll never speak again. Brothers like them aren’t meant to last, and they haven’t by now. Stranded on opposite sides of the country. Feels like they’re on opposite ends of the earth. The Lassiters are gone. Maybe Connor will remain. Lucas is gone already.

He glances at his phone one last time before he closes his eyes and is rewarded with a fresh headline. Akron AWOL seen near Ohio. Lucas can’t even open it. He screams into his pillow, raw and guttural, then snaps his eyes shut and falls asleep like that. When he wakes the next morning, he finds that he’s still cradling his phone as if it were someone real. Someone important. 

Like a brother. 

unwind tag list: @reinekes-fox, @locke-writes, @sirofreak

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[bug-with-rabies]

WHAT AN AMAZING FIC OMG IM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH

unwind holiday week day 1: snow day ❄️

risa ward, hayden upchurch, connor lassiter (hayconrisa)

~600 words

a little cabin fever never hurt an AWOL

Risa never liked winter.

When she was in Ohio State Home 23, the cold air was always a reminder of how much she had to fend for herself. The only gifts she and other StaHo kids ever got were scratchy sweaters that felt like wearing dishcloths, and gifts from each other, hand-made, hand-spoken.

Then, she was kicking AWOL, and it was a miracle she didn't die from the unforgiving frigid chill of Ohio’s winters. Frostbite never did anything more than chip away at her fingernails, but bordering on hypothermic every day had done irreparable damage to her nervous system.

She got sick easier, she got sick harder. Forget staying warm and cozy inside a cabin with the fire burning bright and flickering across the wood—Risa stayed inside because she didn't want to catch a winter cold and have it turn much worse.

When she and Connor had their six months of isolation in Marseille, she evaded the cold and basked in the 54 degree winter days. They both found out very quickly that that lifestyle hadn't been sustainable, because they had been missing one very important person.

“You good, Risa?”

She blinked, tearing her attention away from the window. Hayden padded to the couch, sidling up to her on the couch, two mugs of a hot something in his hands.

“Yeah,” she said, relieving the tension in Hayden's furrowed brow. “Just thinking. I guess I'm doing a lot of that these days.”

Hayden hummed and handed her the mug. It was hot chocolate. Of course it was hot chocolate. There was even a snowman shaped marshmallow bobbing in the cocoa, the smile on its face slowly melting off.

“Thanks.”

Hayden abandoned his mug down on their coffee table to let the heat dissipate, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Cabin fever, huh?”

Risa snorted. “Tell me about it.”

“Oh, I have. You're going to get sick of my voice before you get sick of being cooped up here.”

Risa took a sip of her cocoa, and it burnt the roof of her mouth. “I’d never.” She set her mug down next to Hayden’s, leaning into his shoulder. “You’re the one thing that has made this winter actually tolerable for me.”

“Awww. I'm touched.”

Risa shook her head, looking at him. “I mean it, Hayden.”

His smirk dropped a little, turning into one that was more genuine, heartfelt. He always smiled that way when Risa caught him off-guard by being completely unfeigned. Never saccharine—that wasn't her style. But she knew that admitting to him that she wouldn't have her life any other way, her life with him in it, dug so deep into his resolve that he was never quite sure how to handle it.

So he smiled a kind of sheepish smile instead and kissed her forehead. “I can only take half the credit—Connor keeps us in line.”

Connor joined them a little while later, with his own mug of cocoa and a half-melted marshmallow, and they watched the snow pile up around their tiny cabin. Completely detached from the rest of the world—but somehow, for the first time in years, Risa didn't feel that same loneliness that always seemed to creep in when the frost did.

Connor and Hayden were not the entire reason why her outlook had started to change. It helped, though, that they had been there for the past few years. It helped that Hayden kept her distracted and Connor held her during the long nights.

It seemed like winter was something she could start looking forward to. There was snow falling all around her, and for once, it wasn't suffocating.

[fresitasmoribund]

frame by frame

-`♡´- pairing: Poly!Wolfstar x Fem!Reader

-`♡´- summary: Your first time working with Sirius and Remus - of course you're going to be nervous.

-`♡´- contains: model!sirius, model!reader, photographer!remus, modern au

-`♡´- masterlist

-`♡´- word count: 1.3k

-`♡´- a.n: this was the oneshot that made me have a two-month writer’s block… this was gonna be so much longer but I literally cannot LOL

You narrowly miss a huge puddle as you speed-walk as fast as you can to the location of the photoshoot. You haven’t checked your phone, afraid of it slowing you down, but you can feel you’re late.

Holding the handle of your umbrella tighter, you mutter curses under your breath. What a great first impression, you think to yourself. My first time working with a high-profile model and photographer, and I’m late. You’re sure your agent is going to murder you.

The hotel exuded chic sophistication: polished wood surfaces gleamed under the soft glow of amber pendant lights, and an energetic buzz fills the air as the team flits between tables. Your shoes click against the floor as you slip through the entrance, heart pounding. The strap of your bag was slipping off of your shoulder for the third time since you’d stepped out of the taxi. A quick glance at your phone confirms it – late. Not disastrously, but enough to have you inwardly groan.

“Brilliant start,” you murmur, tugging your bag back into place and folding your umbrella.

Before you spiral too far into self-recrimination, a voice cuts through the muted din of clinking glasses and conversations.

“There she is!” The rich, velvety voice carries across the room, instantly turning heads. Your cheeks warm as you hurry toward him, your steps a mix of soft clicks and light bounces. He leans casually against the bar, his grin as radiant as the spotlight he so clearly deserved. “We were starting to think you’d been kidnapped by a rival agency.”

Your shoulders sag with relief, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You hope your voice doesn’t sound as unsteady as you feel. “Wouldn’t that have been a story?”

Sirius pushes off the bar and strolls over for proper introductions. His charm is practically tangible. Just as he reaches you, another figure merges from the cluster of crew members setting up. Remus approaches with a clipboard in hand – the perfect calm counterpoint to Sirius’ vibrant energy. His smile is soft and reassuring as his eyes meet yours.

“No worries,” he says, his voice lower and smoother than Sirius’ but no less welcoming. “You’re right on time for the fun part.”

You nod, the tension in your frame slowly unwinding. “Thanks. I was worried I’d throw everything off.”

Sirius let out a laugh, brushing it off with a wave of his hand. “Our world revolves around pretty girls like you. You could’ve arrived an hour late, and we’d still be waiting.”

Remus gives him a sideways glance, his lips twitching in barely concealed amusement.

“We’ve only just finished setting up,” he clarifies, his eyes crinkling ever so slightly.

“Come on then.” Sirius throws an arm out to gesture toward a corner of the restaurant where the stylist is. “Let’s get you sorted. Big day ahead, yeah?”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you allow them to guide you deeper into the space.

The stylist ushered you to a corner sectioned off with screens. The team works like a well-oiled machine in the background, and you see the occasional test flash of a camera. You can feel the liveliness, and it’s only heightened by the nervous flutter in your chest.

“This is yours,” the stylist says, holding up a dress with reverence. It was breathtaking: a sleek black silk that shimmers faintly under the soft lights, with delicate lace accents that hint at sophistication without overstating. The smooth fabric is cool against your fingertips.  

Slipping behind the screen, you take a deep breath as you begin to change. The silk whispers against your skin, a perfect fit that clings to your frame in all the right places. Once dressed, you turn to face the full-length mirror propped against the wall, smoothing out any wrinkles in the fabric. Your heart races.

“I can do this.” You stare at your reflection like you can will the confidence into existence. “It’s just a shoot. With two very hot guys.” You bit your lip, rolling your eyes at yourself. “We’re professionals.”

The makeup artists gives you a final sweep of powder, a quick touch of a frosty gloss, and then steps back with a satisfied nod.

“You’re all set,” she smiles brightly, and the stylist chimed in with an agreement as she adjusts the strap on the dress.

You stand up and step out from behind the screen just as Sirius saunters over, his grin lighting up the space around him. He gives you a once-over, his eyes glittering with unmistakable appreciation.

“Feeling alright, love?” he asks, voice playful but with a sincerity that softened the edges. “You look so good; I fear I might get distracted.”

Your cheeks warm, but you manage a small smile. “High praise coming from you.”

“It’s only the truth,” he says with a wink, hands tucked casually into his pockets as if he hasn’t just made your heart skip a beat.

Remus, who has been adjusting the lighting nearby, glances up and chimes in. “He’s right. You’ll warm up as you go, I’m sure.”

You inhale deeply, letting their easy confidence in you take root. Your nerves don’t vanish completely, but they shift into something more bearable – a nervous excitement that sparked rather than suffocated.

“Ready?” Sirius asks, extending a hand toward the bar.

The first shoot begins just as you settle in front of the lights pointing toward the bar. Sirius is already in position, leaning against the counter with effortless poise. His tie is loosened just enough to seem rakish; his hair is tucked behind his ear to expose the left side of his face.

You step into your mark opposite of him, and every muscle in your body suddenly becomes hyperaware. His smile is maddening, his pose causal yet commanding. Meanwhile, you feel like a bundle of awkward limbs trying not to fall over.

“Alright, darling,” Sirius drawls. “Just pretend I said something devastatingly charming.”

You laugh nervously, trying to match his energy. But as the camera clicks, you realize how rigid you are. Your arms are still, shoulders tight, fingers curling like they don’t know where to go. It was like it was your first time all over again. You’re not usually this nervous. How does he make it look so easy?

“Relax.” Sirius clearly read your mind. He straightens slightly, rotating his shoulders in a slow, exaggerated roll. “We’re not mannequins. We breathe, we stretch.”

He demonstrates again, the movements so fluid it makes you want to sigh with envy. “Come on, try it with me.”

You hesitate, then mimic his shoulder roll. It feels ridiculous at first, but Sirius gives you an approving nod. “There we go. Much better already.”

From behind the camera, Remus steps forward, his gaze calm and steady as he considers you.

“Think about it like this.” His voice is thoughtful and deliberate. “If you were having a secret conversation with him,” he gestures to Sirius, “what would it look like?”

Heat rises to your cheeks at the thought. The idea makes you feel like you are being examined, and more like you were part of something intimate – something shared. You angle your head just a tad, letting the thought play out in your mind. And almost without meaning to, your lips part and the sides curve into a small smirk.

“Now you’re getting it.” Sirius smiles. He leans in, raising a brow as if he can hear the imaginary exchange you conjured,

The camera clicks rapidly as Remus’ voice cuts through occasionally. “Yes, that’s in. Hold that for me, love.” His praise felt sincere and grounding – a subtle tether keeping you steady.

“Perfect,” Sirius adds, his grin widening. “And just think – we’ve only just started.”

Bit by bit, you feel the tension eases out of you, and your movements become more natural. They keep the energy light, Sirius throwing in the occasional quip, and Remus’ steady voice offering praise like, “That’s gorgeous, stay there.”

[xobunni0]

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 ⏦ﾟ♡︎

ℳ𝓔𝓝𝓤

➵ 2/01/25 𝒾𝓂 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 — hurt/comfort

𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡.. shadow reminds you that even though he struggles to show it, his feelings for you aren’t going anywhere.

➵ 2/04/25 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃’ 𝓈𝓉𝓊𝓅𝒾𝒹 — fluff

𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡.. shadow begins to realize his actions may never be enough if he doesn’t say what’s in his heart.

➵ 2/07/25 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝒾ñ𝑜 — suggestive

𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡.. you help shadow unwind with a warm meal, gentle touches, and with a special request from him.

➵ 2/09/25 𝒷𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎 — fluff

𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡.. shadow has always been difficult to read, making it hard to tell if he feels the same way about you. little do you know, he’s been struggling with how to ask you a question he’s never dared to ask anyone before.

➵ 2/11/25 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓇𝑜𝒸𝓀 — fluff/suggestive

𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡.. one fateful night you meet shadow; by chance or by destiny you find yourself drawn to him.

➵ 2/14/25 𝓂𝓎 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁 — fluff

𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡.. shadow never imagined himself in a relationship, let alone with someone as affectionate as you.

can’t wait to write this little series of oneshots 🪽& thank u sm for 100 💝💝

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ⏦ﾟᢉ𐭩 - 𓊆ྀི𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #61] Jinxing It

warnings: (1) mention of toe socks, chess talk, showers, a lil bit of titty luvin, lots of kisses, oral (f&m), fingering, ass play (m), whimpery koo <3, a lil cum swapping, the starluvrs are v cute!!! lots of lil clues and hints about upcoming chapters!!

a/n: there's an authors note over on a03 so I'll you spare you my nonsense! but hi, welcome back!! sorry for the wait on this one <33 if you're only just discovering bd, hello---this is part of an on-going story and includes an established relationship, to be read in context with the rest of the story, it's not a oneshot ^^. for kofi subs, there'll be a BD 62 teaser in a few hours!

wc: 13.7K

bd total wc: 560k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

Life dissolves with Jeongguk. Days merge into one. 

Like a tablet in water, or stardust into the atmosphere, time melts.

So does Jeongguk, though. He sinks into the bliss with you. Crumbles. Collapses. You’d go as far to say he turns into a supernova, like stars often do when they collapse. 

He lets himself merge into a shared identity that he’s certain isn’t normal of such a fledgling relationship.

Two weeks from the auction, and days have rolled on by without much fuss. Deals have been finalised on winning bids, and Jeongguk’s had meetings with realtors, Yoongi by his side every step of the way. Everything has happened without much thought. Life has just been accepted; new plans and opportunities integrated into the trajectory you’re on. No meteors to throw you off course nor cosmic calamities to falter your future.

Your name is on the interview list for Shinwon’s position, and Jeongguk’s due to be accepting the keys for the building tomorrow. Everything is as it should be.

It’s terrifying, in a way. 

You spent so long fearing the rug being swept from beneath your feet, but with Jeongguk’s help, carpets have been laid. They’re not budging.

And nor is he as he sits across from you, legs crossed, his chessboard keeping you apart. It’s a rarity to be on his bed not wrapped up in one another—but he’s almost as serious about chess as he is about you. Almost .

“You know what to do,” he grins, adamant that his crash course in the game was easy to follow. In reality, he’d moved a few pieces, said a few words, and promised with a smile that you’d be able to beat him. 

His belief in you is sweet, but entirely misplaced. You’ve not made a single move without his gentle encouragement, most times resulting in you giving the match up on a silver platter. 

The correct terminology evades you, and so do the rules. An app sits on your phone unused, a subscription running up a small fortune from a membership never used. It was set up back in the early days of knowing Jeongguk. You swore one day you’d be able to beat him—but life got busy, and quite frankly, chess is not your chosen way to unwind.

But spending time with Jeongguk is, and so you’ll take him in any capacity you can have him.

“Which one should I move?” You pout, utterly transfixed on the chess pieces. There’s a bewildered panic to your expression, brows furrowed over your glittery eyes, hand hovering to and fro over your side of the board.

You single in on the bishop. Look his way with hopeful, wide eyes. He shakes his head.

“Diagonals only,” he reminds you of how bishops move, at which point you realise it’s blocked in by pawns. Your hand moves to one of them, and he shrugs. “I mean… you can .”

“But should I?”

“You wanna capture the king,” he says, reaching across to dictate your movements. He secures your grip on the pawn, and gently pushes it up a single square to free the bishop’s pathway. “Shift this one up, just one space. Clear the diagonal if you want to move the bishop.”

You do as he says, putting the pawn back in its original position so that you can be the one to place it. Slowly, you repeat his instructions, pushing the pawn up the board while Jeongguk nods. 

And then he grins in such a way that you just know you're about to curse him out.

He lifts his strategically placed knight. Knocks your freshly moved pawn. Claims the tile as his own.

“Rule number one,” He smirks, lip ring flipping in the corner of his pretty little mouth. “Never trust your opponent.”

“Dude, what the fuck,” you whine, looking at him with a faux sense of hurt and a very believable pout. “You’re my boyfriend . You’re supposed to help .”

“No moaning,” he dismisses your stropping, knowing he’s lost brownie points for his deception. He also knows he’ll earn your favour back soon enough, so whatever. “Now, what's your next move, baby? Go on.”

You study the board, and assess how different the opposing sides look. 

This time, he’s going easy on you. Kind of. You’ve almost exclusively been guided by him for the last half an hour, over a string of short games, all of which have ended with your very quick and immediate defeat. 

Jeongguk is too competitive for his own good. Jimin never wants to play against him, ‘cause he knows he’ll lose, too.

This is an indulgence for Jeongguk. He ought not to waste the opportunity—or worse yet, convince you never to play against him again.

He likes the idea of chess being an heirloom; the kind of skill he’ll teach his kids in the future. It’s integral to the very depths of his brain—how he works, and how his logical mind can jump and switch sometimes at the flick of a button—yet he rarely shares it with anyone else.

It’s only apt that you’d get an all-access pass.

Hovering over your now-free bishop, you narrow your eyes as you glance towards him. 

He nods. 

And so you move a pawn instead.

“I don’t trust you,” you tell him, because he told you not to. In a way, you are trusting him—just trusting that he’s a bullshitter. 

What you don’t realise is that you’ve just moved the very pawn that’s been protecting your King, and preventing Jeongguk from getting an easy win.

“B,” he sighs, looking helplessly at the move you just made. 

He couldn’t love you any more if he tried, but— fuck —he’ll never understand your brain.

“What?!”

He picks up his queen. Places it diagonally across from your exposed King. There’s nowhere for your King to go, other than in the direct line of his queen. He’s gone and fuckin’ done it again.

Check. 

Mate .

Groaning, you realise what's happening and flop down onto your back. Your brain is fried. There's no way Jeongguk actually enjoys this. 

"Not again," you whine, pretending to sob a little as you look up at Jeongguk's ceiling. It's without birds these days, but there are a few rogue strips of tape that remind you of your history within these four walls.

"B," Jeongguk laughs, clambering around the board to flop down with you. His arm rests over your tummy as his face aligns with yours. Might not have any birds above you, but the way you melt into his touch is just as deadly as it was the first time. You'll scorch a hole through his sheets with even the most innocent of encounters. His lips are a little pouty, smirk prevailing as he teases, "What did I tell you, huh? Protect your king."

"I tried!" You insist, your over-dramatic, distressed expression far too cute for him to care about playing anymore. He enjoys chess, but he enjoys you more.

"You left him wide open for me to take!"

"You could have gone easy on me!"

"I was!" He defends with a laugh, adamant that he could have taken you out in, like, two moves if he really wanted. "I swear you didn't listen to a single thing I told you—"

"I did! Listening to you is how you got that stupid pawn in the first place," you huff, putting your hand against the bottom of his throat to stop him from getting any closer. He doesn't deserve niceties in times like this.

He'd argue that the feeling of your sharp nails against his throat is incredibly nice.

He ignores your moaning. "I'll make you a deal."

"Go on."

"Strip chess."

"Pervert."

"For every move you make, I'll take an item of clothing off," he suggests with a glint in those starry eyes of his, ignoring your remark.

You assess the situation. Mentally make a checklist of his clothes. Sweats, a shirt, a (toe)sock on either foot, and underwear — that's only five moves, but then again, Jeongguk normally has your king trapped by that point.

"I think you're just trying to get me naked."

"I'm always trying to get you naked, B," he shrugs into his sheets, before tearing himself away and getting back into position on the opposite side of the board. "So are you gonna make it a challenge or not?"

"What happens if I take out one of your pieces?"

"If you do that," he hums, as if he's contemplating it. "I'll let you do that goddamn paper plane you wanna try out so bad."

Instantly, you sit up, like a puppy with a treat being teased in front of its snout. Your eyes are wide, smile incredulous. 

It's been a while since Jeongguk made those paper planes in your bedroom. Only one has ever been done, and quite frankly, you think it might have been the catalyst to your friendship's demise, because how you could ever go back to 'just friends' afterwards was beyond you. 

It's not like you didn't try to remain totally neutral about cock warming with him, but the way your heart swells whenever you do it now just goes to show how your bodies were made for one another. Like a turning of tides, or the cyclical rising and falling of the sun to make way for the moon, it's just as nature intended. He was made for you, and you him.

With a glint in your eye, you lean over to the chess board and swipe up one of his pawns at random. With a gasp, and a smile twitching at your lips, you exclaim, "Oh look! I won!"

"B," he laughs, but your expression remains entirely serious despite the light nature of it all.

"Lemme fuck your ass," You grin now, pleading ever so softly. "A deal is a deal."

"You didn't win."

"Says who?"

"Anyone who has ever played chess?"

"I've played, and I think I won. C'mon," you grin, positioning yourself on his lap. The chess piece is still in your hands as you lean down to nudge your nose up against his. "Face down, ass up for me, baby."

"You're in my way," he says.

"You could throw me across the room if you wanted to. I'm not stopping you."

"And I'm not throwing you across the room."

"Please," you pathetically beg.

"You really it want it, don't you?" He grins against your lips. "Huh?"

"Just wanna make you feel good."

"You always make me feel good," Jeongguk whispers, quietly deflecting the real reason why he hasn't let you do it yet. 

Truth be told, Jeongguk is a little scared. 

While yes, he's always been curious about pegging, he's never taken it that far before. Has never had the tools, shall we say, to explore by himself, and none of his exes or flings ever seemed too interested in it.

He wants it. Wants it with you. Just doesn't know how he'll react. Doesn't know what his body will do. Worries that things will take a turn for the worse and that you'll be so repulsed by him that you'll never want to have sex with him again, or that maybe he'll like it too much and that it'll be all he ever wants and it'd ruin just how good things are at the moment. 

His thoughts distract him as your lips press feathery kisses against the thick column of his neck. Something about you, and how delicate you can be, just makes him melt into your touch. His hands come to clutch your hair, a pretty little smile forming on his lips. 

"You don't have to do this," he quietly says, nails lightly scratching at your scalp. Your lips graze against his skin, before he gently pulls you back by the root of your hair. The sensation makes you want him even more than you already do. There's a love-drunk look of lust to your darling eyes, all glittery like they so often are as you look at him. 

Reaching to cup his jaw, you marvel at how a man who looks like him can be as tender as he is. The world would give him permission to break hearts, if he wanted it, but he doesn't. All he seems to want is to adore, and be adored in return—and how lucky you are to be on the receiving end of it.

A slight guilt settles in your stomach. You know he'd give you the world if you asked for it, but he isn't giving you this. 

"I'm only teasing," you tell him, which isn't strictly true. You do wanna do it, but your incessant begging is what you're joking about. It's not like you'll die if you can't fuck his ass (maybe). "I'll respectfully stay out of your ass unless requested otherwise."

He shakes his head. Laughs. Kisses you, 'cause he just can't help himself, then pulls you down into the sheets with him. "I give it a day until you're asking again."

Secretly, he wants you to ask again. It doesn't feel like pressure. Feels like validation; as if you want this even more than he does.

The thing is, you can't say no to a challenge. "Wanna bet?"

No. 

But he can't resist either. "You're on."

Yoongi stands with his shoulders pressed to glass front door, keys looped on his fingers. The streets in this area are always quiet until the evening, minor hustle and bustle from delivery drivers dropping off stock to businesses down the alley disturbing the peace. 

A small hotteok stall sits lopsided, supported by the building's exterior wall, red tarpaulin covering it from the weather and any inquisitive eyes. An elderly man runs it during the weekends, but for the rest of the week, it sits derelict. It's an eyesore, to say the least. Not the kind of thing that screams 'hot new restaurant' to anyone walking by.

It's as Yoongi's contemplating how to solve this problem, figuring the stallhand probably had an agreement with the previous owners, when Jeongguk comes into his line of vision. He tweaks a brow in Jeongguk's direction, almost as if to ask: what time do you call this?

Jeongguk's right on time. It's not a minute past twelve, which is exactly the time Yoongi told him to arrive. 

Sale finalised, paperwork complete, Yoongi got given the keys this morning. It's a done deal. The building is his, and in turn, the restaurant is Jeongguk’s. 

Despite his nonchalance, when Yoongi sees Jeongguk grin, he can't help but smile too.

"Shut up," Yoongi tells him. "We're serious businessmen. Don't get giggly with me."

"I'm not!" Jeongguk laughs, hands up in defence, until Yoongi puts his own hand out for Jeongguk to shake. Naturally, Jeongguk uses Yoongi's hand to pull him in for a hug instead. Patting his back, Jeongguk is almost fighting the urge to cry. He's waited so long for this. Worked so hard. Doesn't think any of it would be possible without Yoongi, but Yoongi would disagree.

"You better make the best fuckin' samgyeopsal this city has ever seen," Yoongi threatens with all the love in the world, breaking from the hug. Passing over the keys, he nods towards the doors. "Do us the honours."

Yoongi is fatherly in the way he never takes the glory for himself. Will be the kind of dad to build a lego castle and let his kid put the flag in place at the end of his labour. 

Jeongguk doesn't mention it, but he's noticed the way Seoyeon has been the designated driver for the past few weeks; how she didn't drink at auction, and how Yoongi's been even more attentive than he usually is. 

Could be nothing at all. Could just be a change in the weather.

But it could mean everything, and Jeongguk knows better than to intrude before being welcomed in on the news. 

Pushing the key into the lock, Jeongguk is quietly enamoured with the fact the premises has a lock and key instead of the typical keypad locks that are usually in place. The metal grates against itself as he twists the lock open, and pushes the door open. 

There's a separate side entrance for access to the upper floors. 

The floors Jeongguk intends to be the restaurant already have a connecting staircase towards the back of the room, which will make it infinitely easier for staying out of Yoongi's hair whenever he's in the workshop.

In the light of day, the furniture from the previous owners now removed, it's so much easier for Jeongguk to envisage how everything will look; where the signage will hang, where the bar will go, and, most importantly, where the disco balls will hang.

"It's really happening," he exhales, as if he hadn't realised it at any earlier stage in the process.

Yoongi doesn't berate him. Instead, he takes a deep breath, too. Nods. "It's really happening."

Though he smiles, Jeongguk wishes he had a hand to hold as tightly as his lips press together. Wishes you were here. Knows you're busy with work, making up hours to account for the fact you'll have some time off at the end of the week for your interview at the Ryu.

Why you need an interview is beyond him. He thinks they're being ridiculous. Thinks that even entertaining the idea of hiring someone else is an insult. Got so wound up about it, ranting to Jimin while he was making dinner, that he burned his sauce a couple of nights ago. Is now on a talking while cooking ban. Jimin says Jeongguk can't be trusted to multitask. Jeongguk says Jimin is a little prick.

The day is lost to making plans; sketches drawn up on Jeongguk's ipad, discussions with Yoongi about how to go about getting liscences for the premises, and back and forth over what should be done with the top two floors.

The idea of Taehyung using the fourth floor as a studio is considered, but both of them know how much he adores his current place. 

"Think he'd live there, if he could," Yoongi muses picking up a slice of napjak mandu with his chopsticks, dipping it into the tteokbokki sauce. They'd ordered from the place near his current workshop, and it makes him lament the idea of leaving it behind. 

Perhaps he can keep them both. Use the smaller space as his own little sanctuary, and the third floor here as his public-facing premises. Might be a bit of a waste, but if he can afford the rent, then why not?

"Tell you what," Yoongi hums as he swallows down his food. "If you don't add something like this to the menu, I'm kicking you out."

"I'll put it on the secret menu," Jeongguk offers, knowing that it definitely won't be what he offers to punters. He makes a mean tteokbokki, but it doesn't fit the vision of what he wants for this place. "Well, what about Jimin? He could start up his own interior place, if he wants. He's got the money for it, and I know the office he's in at the moment has been stifling him. Lost out on, like, three big commissions in the last quarter because the boss went with some other prick's ideas. Jimin's wasted there."

Yoongi hums in agreement as he swallows down his food. "We could always get him to help out with the design of this place. I reckon he knows all the tricks for good energy."

Nodding, Jeongguk laughs. Picks up another rice cake and chows down on it as he adds, "Should have seen him when we moved into our current place. Man had a compass out to align a sofa with the right energy."

"Sounds about right," Yoongi grins, resting his chopsticks back down against the edge of the bowl. "Well, what about your missus, then? Would she want gallery space? Somewhere for curation?"

Jeongguk chokes on his rice cake, and it's not because of the spice. 

"She's not my missus—" he corrects, but then decides he doesn't want to "—at least, not yet. And she's got a big interview with The Ryu this week. I'm not sure opening her own gallery is on her agenda, but I can put the feelers out—and like… I don't know. Wouldn't it be a bit much? We spend so much time together, already. She'd get sick of me if I was working two floors below."

"Would you get sick of her?"

"Don't be stupid. No."

"Exactly," Yoongi says as if it's obvious—which, in all fairness, he thinks it is. "The pair of you are in a perpetual honeymoon phase."

Jeongguk shakes his head, as if he isn't beaming. "Shut up. Just got a good thing going—and hey, you're hardly one to talk. How's Seoyeon?"

"Good, yeah," Yoongi nods, but doesn't divulge any further. As much as Jeongguk is dying to ask, he holds back. "She wants you all round for dinner soon, so expect an invite in the group chat."

"For any reason?" Jeongguk baits Yoongi, cause he just can't help himself.

Unlucky for him, Yoongi is as stoic as can be. "You know Seo. She loves any excuse for a dinner party. Has started making her own pasta and I think she wants tasters."

"B makes a mean pasta," Jeongguk says, because his thoughts so often wind back to you, and he just can't help himself. "I'm sure she'll be buzzing to try Seoyeons."

A sense of pride washes over Yoongi's features. "Gah, when did you grow up, Jeongguk? Practically married, aren't you?"

Dismissive in how he shakes his head, Jeongguk can't help but let a bashful smile grow on his face. The soft lights overhead glimmer down him, putting those stars Jeongguk adores so much right back in his eyes. He'll never get rid of you. Will eternally carry the evidence of how utterly smitten he is.

Should you ever leave him, Jeongguk thinks he'd simply die of a broken heart. Wouldn't know how to walk if it weren't in the direction of you. Would stumble and fall until he inevitably wound up back at your door like a wounded puppy.

So perahps Yoongi is right. Maybe it would make sense to offer you the space—but you've got your own agenda. Your own dreams. Jeongguk can't just entrap you in his.

The thing is, once your shift is up, and you're heading to the restaurant premises to see Jeongguk, you can't help but feel like this is a dream come true for you. 

His ambition and drive have rubbed off on you; encouraged you up a career path you once thought was overgrown with thorns and rubble. Has shown you that all you need is a little bit of elbow grease and a pair of secateurs to go after what you want. 

It's dark by the time you arrive. Lights from the other establishments flood the streets, but the blinds are closed on the restaurant for a little privacy. A handwritten 'under new management' sign is taped to the front door in Jeongguk's signature penstroke. A little smiley face accents it; a show of how he feels, you presume. 

Pulling your phone from your back pocket, you dial through to him, 'cause you've no idea how to get in, nor if he's even actually there. The building is just on the way home from the art cafe, and you'd left Jeongguk's place that morning to a very smiley boyfriend instead of his usual 'don't go' pout, so you figure he's spent all day busy with exciting plans.

"Sorry, not interested," Jeongguk's voice purrs through the speaker, as if you're some kind of cold-calling saleswoman with nothing half-decent to offer him. 

"What if I told you I'm outside the restaurant and that I'm naked under my clothes?"

"Aren't we all naked under our clothes?"

"Just open the door," you grin down the phone as he comes into view through the glass doors. 

He's got the kind of look on his face that you'd expect: pouty lips with heavy-lidded eyes. Softening ever so slightly when he notices the bunch of wildflowers poking out from the tote bag you've got hooked over your shoulder, his eyes are incapable of ever hiding his true feelings. 

Mild confusion ( did someone get you flowers?) dismissed with easy understanding—they're from the stall he always buys you flowers from, so he knows you got them yourself.

It's very conflicting to adore you and to also want to fuck you into next Tuesday, but it garners you a gaze nobody else is ever lucky enough to receive from him. You cherish it. Think about it near-constantly whenever he's not by your side.

"You're a terrible saleswoman," he scolds so softly it feels like praise.

"And yet here you are, answering the door for me," you shrug with a knowing smile, sure that'd he take whatever you sold him. Would buy sand, water, air from you. Would let you swindle him. 

"And yet here I am."

Hanging up, you mouth 'open it' through the door, and he does as he's told—kind of.

Blocking the now half-open door, he childishly asks, "What's the password?"

"I love you?"

"Ew. Gross. Get a room. No."

"Fuck you.”

"Not the password either, but I'm more than willing."

"Ew. Gross," you imitate him, gagging a little for an extra immaturity. "Hmm… Byeol is the best?"

"Ddaeng."

"Jimin sucks?"

"Ddaeng… but I approve. Good guess."

"Gimme a hint."

"It's the name of the restaurant."

The confidence that comes with the restaurant being his now is nothing short of a miracle. He's so certain of everything these days, in a way he never was before—but why shouldn't he? He got the girl. Got the dream. There's nothing he can't do. Statistically, he's two for two. A winner by all counts. A gold medalist in his very own Olympics.

"You've never told me what you want to name it!" You protest with a whine, thinking he's being entirely unfair.

It's not like you haven't asked a million times over. He's just been keeping it underwraps. Was scared that speaking it into existence would jinx it. Would refuse with a coy grin, and assurance that he'd reveal it soon enough.

Truth be told, Jeongguk's gone back and forth over names. It's probably changed ten times since he's known you, but then you said something at the fundraising auction, and everything sort of clicked into place. 

A name was coined and it wouldn't stop embossing itself into Jeongguk's dreams; the branding, the signage, everything. A new vision of what he wanted spawned like lava onto a mountainside. You sparked a volcano he didn't even realise existed, and it's solidified into molten rock. 

"I'll cut you a deal," you offer, knowing that you'll never get it and he'll never ease. Shrugging your shoulder to gesture towards the bag, you begin your enticement. "I've got cold beer and hot burgers from that place you like down the road. They're all yours in you let me in—if not, I'm going home and Danbi will—"

"Say no more," Jeongguk pushes the door open and grabs your hand, pulling you into the vacant restaurant with him. The door clicks close behind you, and Jeongguk spins you around so that you're stood infront of him, facing the large room. Arms wrapping around your waist, Jeongguk rests his chin on your shoulder, gently pressing a kiss to your neck. "Welcome in."

It's a lot to take in all at once. The room stands empty, save for the camping chairs and table Yoongi and Jeongguk had coversed around earlier, Jeongguk's ipad resting on the table with a low battery warning on the dimly lit screen. There's paperwork scattered on the surface—old utilities letters that they were using to sort out the new bills—and a bag of trash tied up on the floor from their lunch.

"I don't smell burgers," Jeongguk mumbles against your neck.

"I was lying."

"You've no shame."

Turning your head, you let him raise his nose to yours, a feathery kiss greeting your lips. 

Whenever your doe-eyed boy greets you like this, you always feel a bit like snow white; as if a dozen tiny creatures will flock to you and bestow their love upon you.

It'd be fruitless, mind you, for none of them could even come close to how deeply Jeongguk adores you. He'd sit in the corner, jealous and bratty as they fawned over you. Would hate not being the object of your affection. Would strop until your focus was back on him.

"I'll order some," you promise, but Jeongguk shakes his head. 

"Won't be here much longer. We can pick some up on the way home."

"Sure?"

"Yeah, baby," he tenderly whispers, punctuating himself with a slightly firmer kiss, before pulling away from you. Walking into the middle of the room, he holds out his arms. Grins. "Welcome."

"It's a pleasure," you grin, freely stepping into the space now, looking around with awestruck eyes knowing that this is his . "Holy shit, Gguk."

"Yeah," he agrees with your sentiment. "Mad, innit?"

"Just a little."

When you think back to the Jeongguk you first met—the one who spent hours upon hours studying for his exams, all the while working at the bar of an admittedly shitty club—you can't help but feel overwhelmed with pride. He worked himself to the bone for his dreams. 

The space is large enough for Jeongguk to go wild with it. There's no end to his possibilities. He's got an arsenal of weapons in his back pocket in the form of his friends—Yoongi can fit the place out, Jimin can help with the design work, Taehyung can make a central art piece, and Namjoon can get it featured in the paper. Of course, he won't take advantage of his access to them, but knowing how willing his friends always are to help out, it's kind of like a no-brainer. He's got all the tools needed for success.

"And right here," he points up, standing in the middle of a square marked out with tape on the floor. It's large and in the centre of the room—the intended space for a central bar and banchan preparation spot, flipping the conventions of traditional barbecue places on their heads. Wants the food to quite literally be at the heart of the restaurant. "Is where the disco balls will be."

For a second, you think you miss-hear him, but the way his smiles grows when confronted with your confusion only proves you heard perfectly fine.

Sitting on one of the camping chairs Yoongi and Jeongguk had set up earlier, you've been watching him talk you through his vision for the place. It sounds incredible—just like him, but in restaurant version. 

"Is that not a health and safety hazard?" You giggle, desperate to get up and stand with him, but feeling the need to maintain distance. He's having his moment. He doesn't need a shared stage—and yet here he is, announcing that the very embodiment of you will be centre stage for the foreseeable. 

Jeongguk shrugs. "Haven't thought that far ahead. There's gonna be disco balls here whether they like it or not, though."

Realistically, if the health and safety inspectors tell him no disco balls, there'll be no disco balls—but he won't be happy about it. Will be pouty. You both know he's just being facetious, and that he'll comply with whatever is asked of him. 

"It's my restaurant, baby," he reminds you, holding out his hands, cause he wants you closer. Naturally, you do ass requested, and join him in his square. His arm slips around your waist, a kiss firmly being pressed to your forehead before your chin leans on his chest. Looking up at him, it's a wonder that you're able to have conversations that last more than a single back and forth. A miracle, even. "I can do what I want."

There's something so incredibly sexy about this cocksure arrogance. He's not the same guy you met back in the confines of Dionysus, and while you adored him back then, you adore him even more now.

"You're sexy when you talk business," you hum, as his hand dip a little further south to squeeze your ass. "Home?"

He nods, a pretty smile hanging off his lips. "Mine or yours?"

"Yours is closer," you tell him, pulling away, linking your fingers with his as you do so, dragging him with you. Hooking your bag up over your shoulder, you're reminded of the flowers. "Oh—these are for you, by the way."

Passing them over, you're not surprised by his confusion.

"For me?"

The bunch of wildflowers looked pretty big in your hands, but remarkably small in his. You have to make a considered effort to not groan. 

"Mhmm," you nod with a sweet smile. "A congratulations."

Jeongguk's head pushes back a little into his neck, shoulders broadening as his smile forms. He quickly tilts his head to the side and then back again in the way he often does whenever his brain is processing something new. 

"Never had flowers before."

"Nice, isn't it?" You grin, knowing that nothing beats fresh flowers when it comes to small pockets of expressed admiration. 

With a bashful nod, Jeongguk feels like he should feel emasculated, but can't quite work out the way he actually does feel. All he knows is that he likes it. And that he wants to get home. And that he wants you in his bed. Naked, preferably. 

His thoughts dart back and forth to the last time you were in his room. Gets him hot. Blushing. 

Thankfully, you don't seem to notice—or if you do, you don't mention it. Why would you? It's cute. 

"What time is your interview tomorrow?" Jeongguk asks as he makes sure the door is locked behind you both. 

"One in the afternoon," you reply with a certain nonchalance, as if you're unphased, which Jeongguk knows is absolute bullshit. "Hobes said he'll work my shift if I buy him a month's supply of Sprite, so I've got, like, 48 cans arriving tomorrow."

He would have done it for free, but he's a tough bargainer and you're just an easy sell when it comes to making the people you care about happy.

"His blood will turn into sprite," Jeongguk laughs, linking his hand with yours once more as you head down the road to the nearest subway entrance. "How are you feeling about it? We can practise interview questions later, if you like."

Shaking your head, you smile. "It'll just make me nervous, and at the moment, I'm pretty calm about things. Thank you, though."

"Well, if you change your mind," Jeongguk reinforces the offer, before you redirect the conversation and get him babbling about the restaurant—projected timelines, contractors, suppliers. There's so much to do, and yet it doesn't feel overwhelming in the slightest. Not yet, at least.

With a pit stop at the burger place as promised, the journey home is effortless. Intrinsic by this point. 

Shoes off by the door, Jimin is out for a company dinner, so it's just the pair of you.

"Has he spoken with you about Nabi, yet?" You ask as you grab some condiments from the kitchen, while Jeongguk fills a vase with water.

"God, no," Jeongguk laughs. "He used to tease me all the time about you, but now he can't even look me in the eyes 'cause he's worried I'll ask about it. Idiot."

"He used to tease you? About me?" You hum, a little smug at this little snippet of information. 

"You know what he's like," Jeongguk reminds you, 'cause it's not like you've ever been spared from Jimin's teasing. "Doesn't know how to not be irritating. Character flaw. Think he was born that way."

Despite his annoying tendencies, Jimin is adored by pretty much everyone he meets. Jeongguk doesn't say such things to be mean, but rather because he views him like a sibling. 

"If anyone knows how to handle him, it's Nabi," you muse, thinking back to Pohang. "He'd have driven me insane organising the Jilympics."

"Don't call it that," Jeongguk smiles at how ridiculous his best friend is. Delicately arranging the flowers, Jeongguk's sense of perfectionism comes out once more. "He's a little narcissist. He'll sense his ego being inflated from miles away, and then his head won't be able to fit through doors." Tweaking a yellow flower to move it more centrally, Jeongguk shakes his head. "And to think the first time you were in this apartment—"

"Shut up," you groan, not wanting to be reminded of it. "Everybody makes mistakes."

"Alright, Hannah Montana," Jeongguk teases you. "It's just kinda wild, isn't it? How everything has just worked itself out?"

"Don't," you say with a glint in your eye. "You'll jinx it."

Perhaps it's foolish—naive, even—but he doesn't think it's possible. Thinks that this is all set in stone. That your names have been etched on a cliffside somewhere, and that's where you'll remain forever more. 

He forgets that cliffs erode. That the weather is unpredictable, and life even more so. 

He's always been cautious. Reluctant of counting eggs.

But he’s hungry. Ravenous. The first at the dinner table, and the last to leave. Bites off more than he can chew. Chokes and splutters in the wake of it all, every single damn time.

It’s a flaw he’ll admit to having, but why can’t vices be virtues? Why can’t he be optimistic? Why shouldn’t he hope for the best? He spent so long living in a perpetual state of fear, and it never did him any good. Wasn’t until he started opening himself to the idea of things working out okay that they actually started heading in that direction.

“I’ll do no such thing,” he assures you, reaching for a pan to start with his second course. Again, he’s hungry in all aspects of the word. Hasn’t even had his burgers yet, but he’s a growing boy, or so he’d have you believe. Better to just get it cooked first, and save him the hassle of getting up again later. “You want some?”

He nods towards the empty saucepan, but doesn’t need to explain what he’s making. You know it’ll be instant bibimyeon.

“A little,” you nod, knowing that this relationship is gonna be terrible for your waistline. Opening up his fridge, you pull a can of soda from the fridge. Jeongguk doesn’t really ever buy soda, unlike you and your minor peach soda addiction, but take-out places always chuck a complimentary can of something in with your orders, so he’s got quite a stockpile now.

“You want a beer or something instead?” He asks, as he begins to prepare the instant noodles in the most embellished way he possibly can. Spices, sauces, you name it, he’s always adding something—and it’s always delicious. 

Cracking the can open, you set it down and swipe the camera of your phone up to snap a picture of him; to document him in his element. “Nah, it’s okay. Want a clear head for tomorrow.”

Jeongguk smiles, hearing the synthetic shutter of your phone clicking. “Obsessed.”

“So?” You grin, immediately swiping across to open up Instagram and preserve the moment on your story. “You love it.”

Though he doesn’t reply, he does look in your direction with a smile that would only confirm your words.

Together, you fall into a casual rhythm, you perched up on a barstool while he cooks. Conversation darts from A to B, Y to Z. There’s no topic of conversation too obscure nor taboo for you to realm into the depths of, but there’s also something comforting about how you can just natter about the weather, how he should get his hair cut, what’s on at the cinema. 

By the time he’s eaten and cleaned up the kitchen, you’re already in the shower. It’ll be an early night. You’ve both been working today, and both have important things to get done the next day. 

There’s no objection from you as he taps on the door and asks to come in. You hadn’t locked it deliberately. Jimin’s out, and even if he’d have come home, he’d have heard the shower going—or Jeongguk would have told him. There’s no real worry there.

“Been looking forward to this all day,” Jeongguk admits as he grabs his shirt by the nape of his neck, pulling it over his head in that boyish way he so often does. Neither of you really care about being naked—it’s a daily occurrence at this point—but seeing him get undressed makes your heart feel all jelly-like and void of structure. The chambers melt, and so do you. 

It’s not just attraction, but affection. Acknowledgement that he doesn’t mind being vulnerable with you. That the things humans do to renew themselves — eat, shower, sleep — are things he wants to do with you. He doesn’t want to be full if you’re hungry, sleep while you’re starved of rest, nor wash away the traces of you. Renewal without you just doesn’t make sense to him. 

“Me too,” you quietly say as he joins you. The water pitter-patters down on you both, his hair wetting before laying flat against his forehead. When his deft hands push it away, it always falls back. 

Instinctively, your arms wrap around his waist, his around your shoulders, the embrace akin to coming home. 

“We should both just quit our jobs and do this forever,” Jeongguk muses, almost sleepy in how he mumbles his words against the top of your head. 

“Someone’s gotta pay the water bill,” you smile against his bare chest.

“That’s why I live with Jimin,” Jeongguk replies, tone cheeky and warm. 

The smile on your face sweetly settles into something a little more neutral as you outwardly consider your own living situation. “Lease is up soon, yanno. Mine and Dans.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, wet hair tangling over itself against his skin. He holds you just as tightly. “Haven’t started looking for new places, yet.”

“I’ve still got a few months left on mine,” Jeongguk says, pulling back to reposition the shower head. Just wants to hear you a little more clearly. “My bed is basically yours anyways.”

It doesn’t take a genius to work out what he’s insinuating—but it also doesn’t take a genius to know that it wouldn’t be the right thing for you both, yet. 

Your eyes are soft as you shake your head. “I’ve a whole apartment's worth of stuff, Gguk. I can’t just move into your room. Need my own space.”

He frowns, reaching for the shampoo. “You can. And I’ll even move my statues.”

“You mean your action figures?”

“Oh my god,” he groans, and then you’re giggling, and any negative thoughts Jeongguk could have about you saying ‘no’ dissolve into nothingness, like water running down the drain. He passes you over the shampoo once he’s gotten himself some, and adds, “People pay good money for a collection like mine.”

“You mean you spent a fuck ton of money on them?”

“We’ve all got our weaknesses,” he protests. “You’ve got so many clothes. I don’t think I’ve ever been into your room when there hasn’t been an avalanche of clothes on the chair, wardrobe and dressers bursting at seams—”

“Exactly,” You laugh. “Now imagine all of that in your room.”

He takes a second. Visualises it as he lathers up the foamy shampoo in his hair and almost hisses. “Yeah. You’re right. I take it back. Get your own place.”

Rolling your eyes, you flick a little water in his direction, as if it makes a difference. 

He grins, teeth on show, lip ring doing the thing that just makes you melt. 

“See,” you grin right back. “I’m always right.”

The rest of your shower is littered with dumb conversations and stolen kisses between shampoo rinses. In fact, it’s how the rest of the evening continues. Some dumb action film plays on the tv, and then Jeongguk finds a dumb youtube quiz, and you giggle into the early hours over some other dumb shit. Dumb, dumb, dumb and oh so totally in love. 

The apartment issue lingers in the back of Jeongguk’s mind, though, and questions dance on the tip of his tongue. He tries to brush them away, but the mint of his toothpaste isn’t enough to erase them. They taste sour, and he knows the only way to rid the sensation is to speak them into existence.

Gone midnight, the city is still alive. His curtains are open, because you’ve started to get used to the way he likes to sleep, and find it far easier to wake up early when the sun is giving you a warm welcome to the day. Funny, how things change. How willing he was to change his habits for you, and how seamlessly yours have changed to fit him. You’re better for knowing one another, or so it feels. 

The light pollution gives his bedroom a soft glow, and with every change of advertisement on the billboards across the street, the hue changes. Like his own personal mood lamp, it’s become a staple of his home. It’s blue, now, and so is he when he considers the fact that you haven’t yet reached the stage of sharing a home.

Your arm is looped over his waist, ‘cause he’d decided that the role of the little spoon would be going to him. Fingers interlocked with yours, he has no interest in ever letting go. 

“B?”

“Mhmm?”

“Is Dan definitely moving in with Tae?”

“Think so.”

Jeongguk doesn’t immediately reply, but you leave space open for him. A question like that didn’t come out of the blue. It’s something he’s been ruminating on, no doubt.

When he finally does speak, the weight of his soft, if not somewhat pouty, words crush down on your chest in a way that you can’t quite explain. Hell, in a way you don’t want to explain, because it would mean admitting that a man has such power over you (even if said man is Jeon Jeongguk).

“They’ve always been one step ahead of us,” he laments.

And then he leaves silence for you. Knows that you always have a response of some kind that will settle his woes. Feels guilty that you’re always cleaning up the messes of his loose lips, but would be a liar if he said he didn’t crave the sweet nothings you soothe him with.

“They’re on an entirely different path, baby,” you gently press a kiss into his shoulder. He’s so warm and powder-fresh from his shower that you can’t help but want to cling to him like a koala bear. Most importantly, though, you don’t want him to move away. Space to talk is fine, but physical space? God, no. “There's no use comparing.”

But Jeongguk is a glutton for punishment. Will continue making himself feel small for the sake of his perceived flaws.

“Loved you before Taehyung even knew who Danbi was,” Jeongguk pouts, ‘cause he’s in his head again, going round in circles when he really needn’t be. You know he does this, though. It doesn’t surprise nor concern you. If anything, it reassures you, because his willingness to share these thoughts just signposts how far you’ve both come. He used to stew and sour over things like this. Now, he shares his burdens “But they’re doing all these big milestones first. They were a couple, went on vacation, and now moving in together. All before us.”

“It’s not a competition,” you sweetly laugh. “Their relationship couldn’t be more different to ours. Plus I hardly consider a weekend in Jeju a big vacation—we can literally do that this weekend, if you want.”

You’re not sure why you’ve never been away together. Busan is always lovely, but it’s a short drive, and is somewhere Jeongguk still considers to be home. It’s not a holiday. Perhaps you should rectify that. It's better spoken about during the daylight hours, but always a little nicer to dream at night. Make silly, fantastical plans that you could always turn into reality, if you really wanted. 

“Gguk,” you softly continue. “As much as I love them both, we’re literally so different from them. Our relationship was never gonna be like theirs.”

“You think?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, lips brushing against the bare skin of his shoulder. “Well, I mean, he lets her peg him for starters—”

Jeongguk turns so quickly it’s a miracle he doesn’t fall out of bed. Even in the darkness of his room at night, the open curtains mean his shock is easy to make out. “Does he actually?!”

Giggling, you roll onto your back, thoroughly enjoying his reaction. Truth is, you’ve no idea. Just said it to be a dick. 

“Probably,” you say, admitting that you don’t know. You just knew it would cause a reaction. Ease the tension, somewhat. “He’s like, obsessed with her. Would let her do anything she wants.”

Sinking back down into the sheets with you, Jeongguk wraps his arm over your body now. Pulls you close. Presses a kiss to your neck, and says, “You lost the bet, y’know? Can’t even go 24 hours without thinking about fucking my ass, can you?”

It sounds like a complaint, but the way his lips seem unable to stop pressing wet kisses against your throat would prove otherwise. Your hand tangles in his hair, scratching his scalp in approval. 

“Cute that you think I haven’t been thinking about it all day,” you tease, biting back the small murmur of a moan that’s just begging to escape from his touch. 

You often have thoughts about him throughout the day, both pure and impure. It’s not like you mean to—it’s just that there’s something about Jeongguk that is impossible to forget. Like a class-A drug, you linger from high to high, using thoughts about him to sustain your comedown until you can see him again. 

He is your boyfriend, though. Would be weirder if you weren’t a little obsessed.

“Liar,” he scolds. “I picked your clothes up after our shower. Your underwear were dry.”

“You were inspecting my underwear? Freak,” you tease, because quite honestly the idea of him studying your underwear in the hopes of finding arousal is kinda hot, even if a little perverted. “And maybe it’s because you don’t get me excited.”

Rolling his eyes, Jeongguk ignores your insult. Instead, his hand creeps down the mound of your pussy, pausing before he sinks his fingers between your thighs. “So you’ll be dry right now, then?”

“I’ll be just like the Gobi,” you assure him with that tone of defiance he's grown to adore. “Try me.”

You don’t know why you’re offering yourself up like this, ‘cause you know it’s only gonna end up one way.

“You’re such a fuckin’ liar,” he smirks—and then is proven correct as his fingers slide between your slick folds with ease. A gasp escapes from your lips as he casually brushes past your clit, paying it no attention whatsoever. “And even if you weren’t, there’s like, five bigger deserts than the Gobi. Sounds like it’s a pretty easy drought to rectify—but fuckin’ hell, B. My pretty girl and her filthy mouth. Full of lies, isn’t it? You’re fuckin’ soaked.”

“No,” you purr, hips languidly rolling to intensify the sensation he’s facilitating. After all, he’s right. There’s nothing dry about the situation between your legs. “Never told a lie in my life.”

His teeth nip at your neck as his body presses up against your side, the thick ridge of his cock letting you know that you most certainly get him excited. 

“You’re so full of shit, B,” he quietly says, lips from a pretty little kiss against the edge of your jaw. “Told so many lies, haven’t you, hm? Like when you used to tell people we were just friends?”

The desperate sigh that escapes your mouth only fuels him on even more.

“You remember the first time I touched you like this, huh?” He husks against your ear. “Those pretty eyes of yours watching us in the mirror. You can see us now, can’t you?”

Nudging his head against yours, he encourages you to look in the direction of his mirror. You always sleep on the side of the bed closest to it, but you rarely pay it any attention these days. The pair of you are obscured—bed sheets and shadows hiding what he’s doing to you—but the eroticism is just as potent as it always was.

“Gguk,” you rasp, back arching when he strokes against your clit just right.

Restraint is something that you wish you had been gifted with, but alas—you are just a girl, and he is just the sexiest man you’ve ever had the pleasure of sharing a bed with. Of course you melt with every little thing he does.

“What is it, baby?” His index finger pushes into the seeping entrance of your cunt, just once, twice, to really get you moaning. “You like it when your boyfriend touches you?”

Something about Jeongguk referring to himself like that always gets you hot, but it’s partially because of the way he almost growls when he does it. You know it’s a turn-on for him. Know that his cock is throbbing. Know he loves calling himself yours.

Tugging on his arm, you encourage him to move on top of you. It’s late, and you should both be getting a good night's rest, but whatever. In half an hour, you’ll both be away with the fairies. If anything, this will help you fall asleep quicker.

“Thought you wanted an early night?” he husks against your lips, finishing his question with a kiss that lasts far longer than any words spoken. His firm lips part yours as your legs wrap around his hips as they grind up against yours.

“And I thought you said whoever speaks about fucking your ass next loses?” You smile against his lips, knowing that he definitely must have a twisted idea of what punishment is. “How is this losing?”

“We never set out terms,” he reminds you, unable to stop himself from kissing you between sentences. “But maybe it's not about losing. Maybe it’s about winning.”

“Okay?” You entertain his flirt, giggling between those kisses he just can’t seem to stop giving you. “So what are you winning?”

He pretends to give it thoughtful consideration. Squints his eyes and looks away as if contemplating one of life's great questions. Why are we here? What is the point of life? How do I want my girlfriend to make me cum tonight?

Jeongguk presses a kiss to your neck, nose nudging against your skin. He’s feline-like. Purry. Pathetic. Just how you like him.

“You haven’t sucked me off in a while,” he whispers, teeth nipping at your earlobe. Your hand laces in his hair, a soft moan humming from your lips. There’s a softness to the slow movements of your bodies. A comfort. A desperation. Unadulterated devotion. “So maybe that?”

You laugh at his shamelessness. Press a kiss to his temple, still scratching at his scalp. “I gave you a blowjob, like, two days ago, baby.”

“I know,” he whines like a wounded puppy, all docile and dejected. “It’s been so long I might die.”

“Hmm?” You hum in response, pushing on his waist ever so slightly until he gets the message to roll onto his back. He does as he's told, because he really is just a puppy dog beneath it all. Well-trained and desperate for a treat.

Following the movements of his body, you naturally ease into position on top of him. Legs straddled either side of his waist, you raise yourself up into a seated position, earning you a grunt of approval from Jeongguk. 

The way his hands immediately reach up to play with your chest is curious, considering he still plays himself off as an ass guy. Strong with his movements, he grips the softness of your tits, his hips gently pulsing up against you.

“These might help prolong my life expectancy,” he says. “Best stress balls known to man.”

He seems quite content like this. Eyes closed, a smile hangs off his lips like he’s in a serene state of bliss. You cock your brow, unable to fight a smile, too. 

“Did you just call my tits… balls?”

One of his eyes cracks open. “No?”

“You definitely did.”

“Didn’t.”

“Did—”

“Byeol,” he reprimands your diversion of the topic. “C’mon. Business, baby.”

“Is that all I am to you, huh?” You say, reaching for his wrist so that you can pull your hairband from it. He lets you do so and looks on with salacious curiosity as you begin to tie your hair up in a ponytail. “Just a transaction?”

“Mhmm,” he nods, his own hair tangling against his pillow as he does so. “A bird for a bird, remember?”

“Are we not past the point of the birds?”

“Well, yeah,” he says as if it’s totally obvious. “Thought we were gonna do a plane?”

Jeongguk’s reference back to the paper planes that he crafted in your bedroom makes your heart seize. You know what he means by that. Knows that it’s permission, in a way. That he wants what you want, even if he doesn’t outwardly say it.

“Are we?”

“Well we’re not gonna do anything if you keep up with the small talk,” he fondly teases you, pulling you back down so your chest is against his. One of his hands wraps itself in your ponytail and tugs ever so gently. A soft moan escapes your lips, much to his enjoyment. “I like your hair like this.”

In all honesty, he just likes being able to pull on it. Loves your hair no matter how it’s done. 

“You’ll like it even more in a few minutes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his jaw before you embark on your journey south. 

It’s intrinsic, how you work his body. A routine so well learned it’s not even given a second thought anymore. You know how to make him tick. The way he groans when you press pretty kisses down his collarbones and the way his hips roll when you drag the pink of your tongue over his pebbled nipples.

His hand clutches in your hair, keeping you in that position, encouraging you to pay a little extra attention to his nipples for a change. It’s not often that he wants too much focus on his chest, but he’s so turned on that even the slightest touch is making him go feral. 

“Shit,” he hisses when your teeth gently press down around his nipple before you suck it ever so gently. “You’re so fuckin’ good at that.”

He’s never cared for it before. In all honestly, he actively didn’t like it when previous partners did it. There’s something about you that subverts all his desires. You’ve changed him. Altered his understanding of his body. Opened him up to so much more than he’d ever considered before.

Still, you’ve got an agenda, and unfortunately for him, it doesn’t involve his chest. He lets you move down, one hand lazily hanging by your head, the other resting over his chest. His thumb strokes over his pebbled nipple, still wet from your tongue, the pleasure of your touch sending him into a state of ecstasy.

Your body shuffles down, and you both reposition yourselves. No longer are you straddling, but rather you’re between his legs. His thighs are dappled in kisses from you, before your palms rest flat to his inner thighs, spreading him just right.

Alternating between slow kisses and languid drags of your tongue, you teeter ever so close to his thick, solid cock, but never quite touch it. Every time you get close, he whines, cock twitching.

There’s a satisfaction to be found in the way his body responds to your touch. His desperation is painful. Visceral. All he wants is you. 

And because you can’t bear to see him in pain (whether or not because he’s so turned on he might just die), you concede. Give him what he wants. 

Hands on his thighs, you let a little spit pool on your tongue before slowly dragging the tip of your tongue up his shaft.

“Fucking hell,” he curses, writhing from the contact.

You smile, and the lightness of your breath against the wet streak of your tongue makes him shiver. 

The tip of his cock is already leaky with precum, his eagerness to be inside you so pathetically obvious. You avoid it, instead opting to repeat your previous moves. Slowly, you lick up his fat length, tongue flat as can be. You want him to feel as much of you as he can. Want him whining— begging —for your pussy.

If the precum seeping from his tip is a sign of desperation, then heaven only knows what the fuckin’ mess between your legs is. Every stroke of your tongue against him only serves to make you want him just as badly as he wants you.

Your hand reaches to wrap around his shaft, gently stroking his foreskin. Your tongue flicks against the base of his tip, right where you know he’s the most sensitive. 

It’s no surprise when his grip on your ponytail tightens. 

But it is a surprise when he lets go. 

“Hm?” You chirp, looking up, just to make sure he’s all good.

He is—he just isn’t looking at you to confirm it. Instead, his upper body twists ever so slightly as he reaches for his bedside drawer. 

You know it’s got a host of indecent artifacts—his sex toys, condoms, polaroids of you that are for his eyes only—but don’t give it much thought. Figure maybe he’s after a condom to make himself last longer, until you feel him tapping at your shoulder with the side of a small plastic bottle. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

Not immediately, at least. 

What he wants is something he can’t really bring himself to ask for. Hopes that you’ll work it out for yourself. 

As you take the bottle from him, a small chirp echoes from your throat, as if you’re asking for clarification. Again, Jeongguk hopes you’ll work it out. That he won’t have to shamelessly tell you what he desperately wants, cock twitching and leaking precum on his stomach.

The way you pause as you study the bottle, trying to read the text in the dim light of Jeongguk’s room, only adds to his apprehension—until he hears a soft smile exhaling from your lips when you realise exactly what it is: lube .

Never usually required, thanks to the fact Jeongguk makes you resemble a waterfall from just a look in your direction, you know the lube isn’t for you. It’s for him. 

And given the state of conversations around sex over the past week or so, you know what he’s asking for.

After all, he’s the one who wrote that damn airplane in the first place. Told you straight up that he liked ass play way back in the days of the sticky notes (some of which remain on his wall, yet to be conquered).

His drawer only really has his things in it, though. You’ve not got any of your toys at his place. This is a preliminary. A follow-up, almost, to the night spent in the Min’s garden, doing things that probably scared a few dozen nocturnal animals.

“Yeah?” You encourage, lips pressing to his upper thigh. His body adjusts ever so slightly, as if he’s shy. Your hand wraps around his shaft, slowly rolling his foreskin up and down his length in just the right way to get his hands gripping his sheets. 

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” he rasps through the pleasure of having you touch him. “Just want you to do it.”

“Talk about what?” You tease, ‘cause there’s no way he’ll actually enjoy what he’s asking for if he keeps being this uptight about it all. Relaxation is key.

“B,” he groans, this time out of frustration—and so you know you need to be the one to take the lead.

It just doesn’t feel right to take the lead, knowing he’s a little bit tense. You’ve always been so clear and consistent with each other when it comes to consent, and while you know what he wants, you wanna hear him say it first. 

So you leave the bottle of lube next to his thigh and clamber up his body. Legs straddling his waist, you’re pleased that his hands come to stroke your thighs without a second thought. Conversely, your hands softly hold his cheeks, bringing him in for half a dozen pretty little kisses.

“Words are important. I’m not gonna be crude about it,” you tell him, ‘cause it makes a change to the way you joke around with one another. “I just love you, and I want to make you feel good.”

Jeongguks nose nudges back up against yours, as if to plead for more kisses (of which you give him, willingly).

“I love you more,” he argues into your lips, earning a giggle from you that somehow melts all of his worries away. 

“Chess is always an option,” you remind him, but he shakes his head.

“Just… Fucking hell,” he groans as if it’s some sort of laborious task he really can’t be bothered to see through, which couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s just embarrassed. It’s all rather cute. Or at least it is until he continues. “Just finger my ass.” 

He bashfully half whimpers, half laughs, and then adds a pouty, “Please.”

A smile sinks into your lips, and the way he seems almost shy makes your tummy feel all funny. He’s disastrously cute like this. 

“I’ll make you feel so good,” you promise, lips brushing against his ear.

He nods. Knows you will. Lets his hands stroke up and down your back, bringing them around to cup your boobs. Squeezes. Smiles. Can’t resist himself when he questions, “Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” You nod, pulling back to sit upright just for his viewing pleasure. His hands are still holding your tits, gently caressing. He’ll never not love the sight of this. Of you. Of the way you respond to his touch. 

“C’mere,” he grunts, pulling you back down, ‘cause he can’t let you go just yet. Your hands grip onto his bedframe as his lips eagerly latch onto one of your nipples. One of your hands drops to tangle in his smooth hair, a pretty little moan escaping your lips.

He takes it as a sign he’s doing something right. Switches up his sucking motion to flick his tongue against your hardened bud. Get you moaning all over again, the position of your legs spread over his waist, letting him know just how pleased you are to have him like this.

And while Jeongguk might have been asking you for favours, all he can think about is returning them.

Tapping on your ass, he’s a little breathless as he lets go of his latch on your nipple, and husks, “Up, baby. On my face. You before me.”

“Hm?” you languidly hum—not because you don’t know what he means, but because it goes against what he was asking for just minutes earlier.

Still, Jeongguk doesn’t care to explain his thought process (mainly because he doesn’t have one (he just likes having you in his mouth in any and all capacities)). Instead, he just continues tapping your ass until you get the message.

“You’re so impatient,” you lightly scold him while you do as he requests, but barely have time to position yourself before his arms are hooking over your legs, pulling your pussy to his mouth. “Oh fuck.”

He wastes no time suctioning his lips around your clit. He doesn’t care to be quiet about it. Eats you like it’s his last fuckin’ supper. Laps up against you. 

It’s not just his tongue, though. It’s like he wants his whole fuckin’ face in your cunt. His nose rubs up against your clit, while his tongue greedily licks your entrance. There’s no such thing as perfect, but the way he’s proportioned is as close as it gets, you think. Your hips grind, a hand tangled in his hair, the way you both move entirely primal. 

Hands squeezing at your ass, he encourages your movements. Wants you all over his face. Loves nothing more than being coated in you. 

His tongue begins to focus now, though. He positions himself just right. Flicks against your clit at such a speed it’s hard to comprehend—and then he’s moaning. Vibrating against you. Delivering a sensation that could never be replicated.

“I’m close,” you rasp. Whine. Moan. “Don’t wanna cum. Not yet.”

And while he wants you to, Jeongguk knows why. Knows you wanna fuck him. Knows you wanna cum around his cock instead of on his face. Multiple orgasms have never been an issue, but it is late. You do need a somewhat early night. 

He nods, easing up his tongue, slowly sucking on your clit. The movements of his head as he sucks only serve to make you feel like you might cum regardless, so you shakily (and regretfully) pull away. 

When you reposition yourself, he pulls you against his lips for the messiest, most obscene kiss possible. It’s all tongue, and little else. The taste of your cunt. The sweetness of his whines. The filth of how much he loves sinning with you. 

There's nobody else he could be like this with. Only you. Only ever you.

Straddled over his hips, you grind gently, his thick cock perfectly snug between your lips. Wet and swollen, they feel like silk against him. Jeongguk knows, given the chance, that he’d be able to cum like this. Easy.

That’s not what he wants, though, so you retrace your steps. Sink back down. Don’t fuck around this time. Instead, you take him in your mouth without hesitation. Return the favour he’s just bestowed upon you.

Head bobbing up and down his fat length, your hand wraps around the base of his cock. Pulling back, you spit against him, using your hand to spread it, gaining momentum. Loose with your grip, you focus on the tip of his sensitive cock, jerking him until he’s whining. Whimpering.

And then, you let your tongue stroke against his balls. 

“Oh, fuck,” he whines, his hips pulsing beneath you.

It’s all the approval you need for your hand to get a little tighter, and for your lips to take one of his balls in your mouth. It’s a sensation Jeongguk fuckin’ loves, if done right—and of course, you know how to do it perfectly for him. 

You take his ecstasy as a chance to move things along. Know he’s feeling good. Know he wants more. 

Pulling back, you sit on your heels. Neither of you speak, but Jeongguk does slowly nod when he sees you reaching for the bottle of lube next to his body. Trepidation hangs in the air. This territory is uncharted, and it’s been a little while since you last ventured so far south—but you’ve got a roadmap. Know the way. Even if you didn’t, you like to think intuition would guide you, regardless.

Warming it a little bit in your hands, you’re slow. Cautious. Careful, knowing that he’s probably feeling a little more vulnerable than usual.

Hands slick with the gel, you wrap a palm around his shaft. Ease him into the feeling. It’s not like it’s a new sensation, but the pair of you rarely ever use lube. You’re always wet enough. He nods. Lets his eyes close as your other hand gently massages against his balls.

A little further south, you venture. He’s not a stranger to your tongue against his taint, but your fingers are less frequent. He's not as well acquainted with the sensation, but he likes it. Legs spreading a little further, Jeongguk makes himself available for you. 

Smiling at just how cute he looks, you’re a curious mix of enamoured and outrageously turned on. Just like nobody could ever make him feel the way you do, nobody could ever make you feel the way he does. 

“You’re so hot,” you tell him, gently wanking his cock as two of your fingers stroke up and down his taint. You apply a little more pressure. Replace his bashful smile with a wanting gasp.

Slick with lube, you let your middle finger go lower. Slowly, you press against his rim. Watch him closely as his brows furrow. There’s that look of desperation once more, and the assurance that yes, he wants this. Wants you. 

You count in your head. 1, 2, 3… make sure he doesn’t stop moving his hips. If anything, he’s edging himself down. Encouraging you to apply more pressure. 

And so you do. Slowly, eyes trained on his pretty, pathetic face, you push your middle finger against his tight hole, until the muscle eases.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, the penetration of a single finger overwhelmingly pleasurable for him. His eyes flicker open, landing on yours as your finger begins to curl ever so gently. Just a little. Just enough.

Chest heaving, Jeongguk looks beautiful in a way that’s hard to put into words—and when you slowly pull out, he looks ruined in a way that’s also hard to comprehend.

His lips hang slack, chest heaving as his eyes burn into you like the heat of a thousand stars. Face dewy with sweat, hair sticks to his forehead, the storminess of his gaze quickly triggers a whirlpool within your stomach. There’s a neediness to him as he swallows back a breath, lips coming together so that he can lick them, before his pout forms that pretty little o-shape once more.

Breathless as he speaks, Jeongguk rasps, “Again.”

The corner of your lips twitch into a smirk. “Yeah, babe?”

“Yeah,” he pathetically nods, fucked out but somehow still painfully desperate for more. Of course he is, though. It’s you. No one gets him like this. No one ever will. His brows furrow together, his tongue flicking against the silver hoops in the corner of his mouth, as his eyes drop to his pathetically weeping cock. He’s so hard. So keen. So needy—and what he needs right now is you. “Please, B. More.”

You tease against his entrance, applying just enough pressure to make him gasp. It’s like a reward, to hear him like this. As if you’ve done something truly remarkable.

Your other hand wraps around the base of his cock, adding to the electricity surging through him. He reaches down. Wraps his hand around yours. Encourages you. Wants more. Needs more. And so you give him more.

Finger pushing into his tight entrance, you’re slow. Painfully so, though you aren’t causing any actual pain. Jeongguk just wants you to hit that spot. 

“Yeah?” You check in.

Breathless, nodding his head even though his eyes are closed, he says, “Yeah.”

Your finger curls. Strokes. Searches. Finds.

And Jeongguk moans in a way you don’t think you’ve ever heard before. It’s a whimper, almost. A plea. Or rather, a confession, maybe.

Your hands work in tandem, your finger stroking right against the spot that makes him whine, while your other hand strokes him in tempo. He’s stimulated in a way he isn’t used to. In a way he never really thought was possible. 

There’s a vulnerability that comes with penetration. Far easier to fuck someone than it is to get fucked.

When he looks down towards you, it's like looking through a telescope; galaxies in his big brown eyes. Wide and wanting, he'll give you all the stars in his eyes, no questions asked, no fee charged.

It’s when your head dips to press wet kisses against his taint that his whines really begin to get desperate. Has always loved your mouth. Loves it when it does things it shouldn’t. 

A girl like you shouldn’t have your nose pressed to a ballsack or her tongue mere millimetres away from an asshole, but the way you focus on delivering him pleasure would suggest otherwise. You’re made for this. Made for him. 

It’s when you whine, though, obsessed with his body's response to you, that he really begins to get twitchy. His hips pulse ever so gently, encouraging the movements of both hands.

“Yeah?” you breathlessly whisper, smirking at how a man so strong is just absolute putty in your hands. “You fucking yourself with my hands, huh?”

Jeongguk is beyond the point of pride. Has no need for dignity. Just wants to feel good.

“Yeah,” he admits between desperate breaths. “Gonna make me cum so fuckin’ hard.” 

Everything is moving in the same chaotic rhythm: his chest, his beating heart, his pulsing hips. Jeongguk’s cock is twitching, the sensation of you massaging his prostate taking him closer and closer to the point of release. He isn’t gonna last, and you don't want him to. 

Your hand grips even tighter around the base of his cock, the stimulation impossible to fight against. There’s only so much he can take.

“B,” he whines. “Oh, fuck.”

“Cum for me,” you tell him, not even caring for your lost orgasm from earlier. He can make it up to you later. You keep the pace of your finger consistent, but wank him off faster. He whimpers and he writhes, but he doesn’t ease up. “C’mon, baby. Show me how good I make you feel, yeah?”

If there’s one thing that drives him wild, it’s when you call him sweet little names. 

“Please, baby,” you beg, because you know just the right buttons to press. His hands grip his bed sheets, eyes struggling to stay open. He’s seconds away from death, or so it feels. A little death, at least. His legs begin to twitch. The onslaught of what is about to happen is unmistakable. “That’s it, baby,” you coo. “Show me how good it feels.”

“B,” he tries to speak, but can’t. All he can do it succumb to the pleasure. Whine. Mewl. Moan.

And then it’s happening; the evidence of how fucking good you are for him painting his abdomen. His cock is pathetic as it spurts ropes of thick, hot cum onto his belly. White and wet, it’s never-ending. He cums and he cums; gasps and gasps. 

It’s not until he begins to twitch, chest heaving, cock spent, that you withdraw from him. Immediately, you gently begin to trail your tongue across his hard abs, cleaning up the evidence of how much he likes having you in his ass. You're keeping his secrets. Promising you'll never tell a soul.

“Shit,” he curses, all breathless and fucked out, one arm over his chest, while his other hand reaches down to stroke the side of your head. “Fuck.”

Giggling now, you clamber up to join him, and Jeongguk cares not for the fact your cum is still on your tongue. In fact, he deliberately stokes his against yours, swapping the evidence of his pleasure between you both. Moaning into your lips, he’s spent in a way he never has been before. 

“God, I love you,” he whines into your mouth. Gets needy all over again. “You know that, huh? You know how much I love you?”

With a bashful nod, you find yourself giggling. “You know I know.”

“Good,” he nods, pulling away to face the ceiling, eyes closed, trying to get a little breath back. You snuggle into him, all rather sweetly considering what you’ve just done. “‘Cause I do. And I mean it. You’re literally, like, the love of my life.”

“Who knew all it would take was a little ass play to get your saying such soppy shit,” you tease him, pressing a kiss against his chest. “Should have done this months ago.”

He laughs now, too. “Just cause I didn’t say it back then doesn’t mean I didn’t think it.”

The pair of you descend into a comfortable warmth, giggling and joking, until you get up to wash yourself up a little. Jeongguk protests. Says he needs to return the favour—but ultimately agrees to wait until the morning. 

“Need to sleep at some point, babe,” you tell him as you both meander to the bathroom. Jeongguk makes a mental note to get a place with an en-suite when he moves out. In a pair of boxers, he watches you fondly as you wash your hands in the bathroom sink, all love drunk and bleary-eyed.

You’re in one of his shirts, and it drapes over your body in a way that it would never drape over him. He likes it better on you. In fact, he likes most things in his life better with the addition of you.  Thinks life would be impossible, if he were ever to lose you. 

“I think I’d die, yanno,” he mindlessly says, watching you plait your hair to stop it from tangling in the night. “If we ever broke up or weren’t together, I’d think I’d just die.”

You laugh, because it’s absurd. Both the concept of dying of a broken heart, and the idea that you would ever break up. 

“Don’t speak it into existence, then,” you tease. “It’s a full moon, Gguk. Can’t be manifesting things like that on a night like this.”

“I’m not,” he assures you, because if anything, he’s trying to do the opposite. Not once does he think to tell you that the full moon has nothing to do with it, or some other belittling remark about believing in the stars, like you know most guys would. Why would he though? A star is the closest thing he knows to religion, and he’s looking at it right now.

“Well, good,” you hum, turning to face him, hair now secure. “Let's just agree to not break up, and that way you won’t die.”

“Sounds good,” he sleepily smiles, tugging on your hand, guiding you back to his bedroom. 

It’s a ridiculous conversation for a ridiculous concept. 

Or at least, in the warmth of lust-drunk night, it is.

In the cold light of day, stark and sterile, everything has the potential to change. 

After all, bad decisions are your forte, are they not?

[girlokwhatever]

learn about palestine and how you can help

MY MASTERLIST

༉‧₊˚.✧˚ · .˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆.ೃ࿐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

→ PAIGE BUECKERS

↳ oneshots/mini-series:

ׂ╰┈➤ late nights (summary): you and paige can’t seem to fall asleep

ׂ╰┈➤ you belong to me (1) (2) (summary): another guy at a party is dancing with you and paige gets jealous (18+)

ׂ╰┈➤ awakening (summary): paige realizes she’s in love with you, but she’s never liked a girl before

ׂ╰┈➤ nice surprise (1) (2) (summary): paige takes an interest in you on kk’s live and asks you out on a date

ׂ╰┈➤ early morning (summary): paige craves you in the morning (18+)

ׂ╰┈➤ are you done yet? (summary): paige doesn’t like your attitude and decides she needs to do something about it (18+)

ׂ╰┈➤ focus on me (summary): paige is jealous of how close you and kk are

ׂ╰┈➤ taking care of you (summary): you come home drunk and paige takes care of you

ׂ╰┈➤ gentle loving (summary): you help paige unwind after a game night

ׂ╰┈➤ marks of my love (summary): you give paige hickeys and the team teases her about it. (18+)

ׂ╰┈➤ that should be me (summary): you get jealous watching another girl flirt with paige, even if she’s not your girlfriend

ׂ╰┈➤ on the phone (summary): during an away game, paige misses you a little too much (18+)

ׂ╰┈➤ you can take it (summary): you make paige mad and she reminds you why you shouldn’t. (18+)

ׂ╰┈➤ battle of the blondes (summary): paige, kate, and emily all like you, but who will get you?

↳ series:

ׂ╰┈➤ she loves me, she loves me not (summary): to make your toxic ex regret her choices, you let her believe you’ve moved on with paige. it starts out innocent, but what happens when it gets more complicated?

→ part one (beginning of the end)

→ part two (discover me and reality)

→ part three (back and forth)

ׂ╰┈➤ big baller (paige and nika x reader)

↳ headcannons & blurbs:

ׂ╰┈➤ paige with a sleepy gf

ׂ╰┈➤ paige with a famous gf

ׂ╰┈➤ paige with a hockey gf

ׂ╰┈➤ paige with a swifite gf

ׂ╰┈➤ paige with a short basketball player gf

ׂ╰┈➤ paige with a figure skater gf

ׂ╰┈➤ golden retriever paige with a black cat gf

ׂ╰┈➤ paige and her gf playing roblox

ׂ╰┈➤ paige and her gf arguing

ׂ╰┈➤ paige making out with her gf

༉‧₊˚.✧˚ · .˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆.ೃ࿐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

→ KATE MARTIN

↳ oneshots/mini-series:

ׂ╰┈➤ all mine (summary): kate gets jealous when another girl dances with you at the bar

ׂ╰┈➤ uh oh! (summary): you and kate can’t seem to keep away from each other, even after saying you will.

ׂ╰┈➤ my pretty lady (summary): kate does your makeup routine voiceover.

ׂ╰┈➤ battle of the blondes (summary): paige, kate, and emily all like you, but who will get you?

ׂ╰┈➤ illicit affairs (summary): kate has to be your secret.

↳ series:

ׂ╰┈➤ meet the martins (MASTERLIST)

↳ headcannons & blurbs:

ׂ╰┈➤ kate with a makeup loving gf

ׂ╰┈➤ kate martin making out with her gf

ׂ╰┈➤ kate martin and her gf arguing

ׂ╰┈➤ kate messing up her gf’s makeup (blurb)

༉‧₊˚.✧˚ · .˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆.ೃ࿐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

→ EMILY ENGSTLER (discontinued)

↳ oneshots/mini-series:

ׂ╰┈➤ late night needs (summary): it’s late a night and emily is needy for you (18+)

ׂ╰┈➤ make you feel good (summary): emily uses the strap on you for the first time (18+)

ׂ╰┈➤ end of beginning (1) (2) (summary): you and emily reunite on the washington mystics after being broken up for two years.

ׂ╰┈➤ battle of the blondes (summary): paige, kate, and emily all like you, but who will get you?

↳ series:

ׂ╰┈➤ N/A (requests always open)

↳ headcannons & blurbs:

ׂ╰┈➤ overprotective emily

ׂ╰┈➤ emily with a short gf

ׂ╰┈➤ you and emily find a stray cat (blurb)

ׂ╰┈➤ emily and her passenger princess gf on a road trip

[knavcsblade]

haiiii! i love you works sm and i was wondering if i could request a subby!transfem!arle x f!reader oneshot wherein we ride her to oblivion? it’s totally fine if you dont wanna^^ but if you do, thank you sm!

surrender.

+18.

cw: transfem sub!arlecchino x reader. praise. dom arle turned sub. choking, if you squint.

wc: 2.0k

summary: arlecchino is awfully exhausted, so you help her unwind.

a/n: well, this was interesting to write… it’s hard for me to see arle as a sub, so i gave it a little twist, i guess... also hi! i'm back

Morning, afternoon, evening—they all blurred into the same dreadful hell for Arlecchino. Whether it was the moon or the sun high in the sky, it didn’t matter. She always found herself stuck in drawn-out journeys across Teyvat to carry out her missions.

Yes, her job as a Harbinger was practically her entire life. But if she were to be realistic, she was still human despite the powers she wielded and took pride in. It all managed to leave her drained. Weary. She would be lying if she said it didn’t drive her mad every now and then.

And here she was, after months away, dragging herself into her private study at the House. Her limbs felt like lead, every step a silent battle against gravity which threatened to pull her down. It wasn’t physical exhaustion she felt, no. She had the endurance of a warrior forged in battle. But she felt hollowed-out. Depleted beyond the bodily sense.

As Arlecchino sank into the plush material of the artfully designed chair behind her desk, which sighed and dipped beneath her weight, her shoulders slumped. She was home, at last.

She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep going like this—but she always did, out of habit more than will.

Her mind buzzed with static, thoughts coming slow and disjointed as she analyzed her performance back in a distant nation. But then, as if on cue, the door creaked open.

Her expression remained sober as you stepped inside. It was as calculating as that of a predator sizing up their prey, as it usually was. It belied the fact that she felt like a limbless creature at the moment. The sight of anyone, including yourself, interrupting her vulnerable musings… It wasn’t something she enjoyed much.

“Is there a reason you’re awake at this hour?” She asked after a stretched-out silence that threatened to consume the room.

“I was waiting for you.”

The statement made her eyebrow arch. She hadn’t exactly informed you of her arrival. Perhaps it was your own intuition that had led you to stay up, as if somehow you knew she would be returning that night.

To clear any impending questions she saw coming her way as you opened your mouth, she spoke again. Her voice was rough, unusually so as she interrupted you. “I’m doing fine.”

She gauged a singular reaction from you. A long exhale. She could already see the gears turning in your head, the way you shifted your weight from one foot to the other like you wanted to protest.

Which you did.

“Are you, now?” You asked, quiet concern lacing those three words.

Arlecchino already knew you weren’t the easiest person to deceive. No, not at all. Somehow you managed to see past her dismissals and refusals like they were nothing more than a fragile wall of glass blocking your path. As much as it served to infuriate her, it was a nice change of pace.

She studied you for some time. Those red crosses examined every last inch of skin your robe exposed, her forefinger tapping a staccato rhythm on her crossed leg. She took in the sight of blemishes, scars, and tender flesh silently. You were a pretty little thing. If she hadn’t felt so jaded, she would’ve given you what her body was already aching for.

When she met your gaze once more, her eyes narrowed. It was an imperceptible thing, barely a twitch of her eyelids. She still was unused to the way you didn’t mind defying her so brazenly. “It seems you are quite… observant,” she remarked. “I lied. I’m fatigued.”

You nodded at her admissal, already feeling triumphant deep down. As much as you wished to celebrate this win, since Arlecchino oddly revealed such things, you couldn’t. Not when you could now see it.

The woman had stamina for days—years, even. Seeing her there, sitting on her chair, gave you pause. You saw the way her eyes hooded slightly, the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed like her throat was dry, the way her chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.

You now knew you had a duty to care for her, just as she had been caring for you for months. As unconventional as this relationship of yours was, it wouldn’t be one-sided.

“I see,” you eventually said, your bare feet already beginning to lead you towards her.

She watched, transfixed, as the silky fabric rode up your thighs with each step. She was beyond caring for being discreet. As if she hadn’t had you moaning and writhing beneath her before. As if she hadn’t felt every ounce of your being under her palms and tongue in lazy mornings. There was no point in hiding her desire, and there never had been.

Once you gently guided her legs to unfold so you could straddle them, she snapped out of her daze. Your weight pressing down on her made it so her eyes flicked back to your face, all just to take in your lightly determined expression.

This was new.

Arlecchino always took the reins. She always guided, always led. This position is compromising, she thought, but she didn’t find it in herself to stop you. As uncharted as the territory was, she… liked it. As much as she could really like anything.

“What is this about?” She breathed out, her darkened hands finding their spot on the armrests of the chair the moment she felt that well-known stirring in her tailored pants.

Maybe she’d lost herself in the moment an awful lot. The tiredness she felt seeping into the back of her mind, adding the unexpected surge of want, produced a heavy cocktail in which she slowly began to drown. If you had given her an answer, she wouldn't have heard.

Not even the warmth of your hands pressed on her chest broke her out of it. Time blurred and warped right before her very eyes, and the throbbing ache she felt due to your closeness was more like a distant discomfort she couldn’t—didn’t—want to shake.

It wasn’t like anything she had experienced before. Every second of your open-mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin of her neck was divine in its own right. It was reverent. It was all she needed and never thought she’d deserve.

And then, the sudden heat enveloping her cock hit her like a stampede.

She blinked back the remnants of her trance. She could see your barely covered body, the way your robe had fallen open to reveal the tantalizing form she had worshipped inside and out several times. She saw it in a new light now.

She took in the valley of your breasts—which she had trailed her hand through like clockwork whenever she found enough time in her schedule—. The sight of your abdomen. The way in which your pussy engulfed her length and didn’t seem to want to let go anytime soon.

The faint glow of red her eyes cast upon your features only made you look more like sin and temptation rather than the human she had grown strangely fond of. And now, Arlecchino’s usually calm heart stammered in her chest for some unknown reason, like a caged bird flapping its wings and hoping to fly away.

“Don’t worry,” you murmured, voice filtering through her ears like a purr that sent a shiver down her spine. “I’ll take care of you.”

Then you moved, and her composure shattered to pieces.

The first roll of your hips was her undoing. She gasped, softly. It was barely audible to those without keen ears, but you heard it. You always did. It was as rewarding as a soft breeze on a warm summer afternoon.

As soon as your soft hands cupped her jaw just to close the distance, you gauged another reaction. A quick whimper. It was a brand new sound. A perfect, needy sound that sent a rush of desire coursing through your veins.

Arlecchino, on her end, was dissipating. She melted against your lips like ice cream under the scorching sun, like wax that sat too close to the flames and didn’t mind burning. The taste of that sweetness in your tongue was almost like an aphrodisiac to a woman like her—a sip for the parched.

Every delicious noise that escaped from her mouth, you swallowed it greedily. You bounced on her lap leisurely, which would’ve made her lose her patience on a regular day, but this wasn’t one. This was otherworldly. The feeling of your delicate fingers around her throat didn’t feel like a threat, but like the caress it truly was.

Once you picked up the pace, she moaned. Once. Twice. Then she was fully letting go. Then she was looking at the spot in which you two became one and let her hands fly to grip your hips. It was usually the controlling gesture she would give when in the throes of passion, but it was different this once. It was more relaxed.

“You’re beautiful.”

The suddenness of the comment made her gasp. Had she ever been called that? Had she ever been seen in such a vulnerable state, but didn’t feel like fighting?

She held you close, but didn’t lead. She surrendered beneath you and let you do as you pleased, because she was enjoying it. Because she could feel the knots she carried along with herself every day slowly untangling.

So there she was, eyes half-lidded as she watched her cock disappearing inside you with each movement, throwing her head back from time to time as the tip rubbed deliciously against your velvety walls. All you had to do was watch and stroke her pulse point with the pad of your thumb.

Each and every clenching sensation around her shaft made her nails dig into the flesh of your hips, merely as an instinctive reaction. She heaved, her vision blurry as she focused on the way your tits bounced so close to her face. She reached out, of course, strong hand cupping the swell of one of them before you grabbed her wrist and guided it back to your hip.

She was stunned for a beat. How dare you? She always touched. Always grabbed. But, oh my. This was thrilling. You were almost lucky she hadn’t the energy to protest.

She wouldn’t have, either way.

Even as you smirked down at her and then bit your lip to stifle a moan. Even as you leaned in to capture her lips in a searing kiss without permission once more. She held onto the pillowy globes of your ass and allowed you to suck on her tongue. If anything, it drew a sharp exhale from her.

Before Arlecchino even knew it, the usually silent study was filled with the sound of moans, deep breaths, and the creaking of the chair beneath your combined weight. She felt drops of sweat dripping from her temples and down her face, all just for them to disappear somewhere between where your palm met her neck and the column of her throat.

Then your movements grew erratic as your thighs trembled against hers, and she was already feeling like a live wire ready to snap. The coiled tension in her belly was almost unbearable, and so was yours.

All it took was just another roll of your hips. Just one singular movement that drew a sharp cry from the depths of your chest and a shaky moan from Arlecchino. Then you were spasming on top of her, and her cock sprung free from the tight grip of your cunt just for it to spurt thick ropes of cum.

Now you were fully drenched in more ways than one. Your body jerked in the aftershocks of an all-consuming orgasm that dripped onto the fabric of her pants, and her own fluids cascaded slowly down your abdomen.

It was an awfully erotic picture she wished to capture and never forget.

“Was this… your attempt at looking after me?” She breathlessly asked after a long pause.

You chuckled as your eyes flicked down to take in the mess you had created together. “Yes.”

She hummed. “Well… Nicely done.”

[stxrsniolo]

♰ֻㅤ۫ㅤֵ⠀𝅥⠀matt's stress reliever ꒰͡⠀𝅄⠀͡꒱⠀⠀ִ⠀﹚⠀❟ㅤ

ㅤ◜ ✴ ⠀ 𓈒ㅤ ﹙surprise tour!matt x y/n﹚─── ⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ once the triplets came back to the hotel after a long photoshoot session with prada, matt needed that sweet relief only you could provide him. ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ( ˖ ࣪★˳ ) : surprise tour setup + oral (female receiver) + cussing → smut oneshot.

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ ( aegan's notes )﹕i swear that i'm still alive i'm just being gatekeeped by mai (just kidding, mai i love you).

the day’s been a grind; hours in a wooded clearing, the air thick with pine and the faint buzz of a drone overhead, capturing matt and his brothers for a prada shoot. the forest had been stunning—mossy trails, sunlight dappling through leaves—but the work was relentless: posing, reshooting, dealing with chris’s antics and nick’s perfectionism, all while some photographers lingered at the edges, snapping pics for their youtube tour vlog.

matt’s drained—shoulders slumped, eyes heavy, his black prada jacket still clinging to him as he trudges into the hotel room, y/n at his side, her hand brushing his in quiet support.

the room’s a sleek modern, minimalist haven with a king bed draped in crisp white sheets, a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city’s twinkling lights. he kicks off his sneakers, muttering, “fuckin’ exhausted,” voice low and rough, running a hand through his hair as he shrugs off the jacket, letting it fall to the floor.

y/n watches him, her own fatigue mirrored in her soft eyes, but there’s a warmth there—understanding, steady. “you did great out there,” she says, voice gentle, stepping closer, her sundress swaying as she moves, the hem brushing her thighs.

he looks at her, blue eyes darkening, stormy with stress and something shifts, a need flickering beneath his weariness. “c’mere,” he murmurs, voice a tired rasp, sitting on the edge of the bed, patting his lap.

she hesitates, then moves, but he shakes his head, a faint smirk tugging his lips. “not there... up here,” he says, lying back, head on the pillow, hands reaching for her hips, guiding her until she’s straddling his chest, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of him.

“matt... what are you—” she starts, but he’s already tugging her closer, hands firm but slow, sliding her up, her thighs now framing his face, her dress bunched at her waist, panties exposed, the white lace, already clinging to her with a hint of dampness.

“need to unwind, i wanna taste ya,” he mumbles, voice slurry with exhaustion, but there’s a hunger there, a lazy determination as he hooks a finger in her panties, pulling them aside, baring her to the cool air of the room.

“you—shit—you’re sure?” she gasps, hands bracing on the headboard, but he’s already leaning up, breath hot against her, his nose brushing her clit as he inhales deep, groaning soft, “fuck, you smell so good.” his tongue flicks out—slow, deliberate—dragging a long, languid stripe through her folds, tasting her slick, warm and sweet, and she shudders, a soft moan slipping free.

“matt, oh god,” she breathes, hips twitching, but he holds her steady, hands gripping her thighs, keeping her pressed close as he works.

he’s lazy about it: exhausted, moving slow, but it’s intense, every lick a heavy, indulgent drag, his tongue circling her clit with a patience that makes her tremble. “y’so fuckin’ perfect—my girl,” he mutters, voice muffled against her, lips sucking gently, then harder, drawing a sharp cry from her as her thighs quake around his head. he groans into her, the vibration sending sparks up her spine, his hands kneading her ass, pulling her down harder, like he’s drowning in her and doesn’t care.

“matt—fuck, you’re so good,” she chokes, head tipping back, fingers white-knuckling the headboard as he laps at her, slow and messy, her slick coating his lips, his chin, dripping down to the sheets.

he’s relentless in his laziness, tongue dipping inside her, curling deep, then back to her clit, sucking with a rhythm that’s almost hypnotic, his eyes half-lidded, watching her fall apart above him. “cum f’me, i need it, baby,” he slurs, voice fraying, and it’s the plea in his tone, the way he’s using her to unwind, that tips her over.

she shatters immediately, a cry tearing from her throat, “Fuck!” as she cums, gushing against his tongue, her body convulsing, thighs clamping his head as he groans, lapping her through it, slow and greedy, savoring every drop.

“you taste like heaven,” he mumbles, voice wrecked, kissing her clit soft as she trembles, oversensitive, her breaths ragged. he pulls back, lips glistening, a tired grin spreading as he looks up at her, “feel better now, you’re my fuckin’ cure.”

she collapses beside him—breathless, flushed—curling into his side, his arm wrapping around her, heavy and warm. “you’re gonna kill me one day,” she laughs, weak, kissing his jaw, and he hums, lazy and content, “good way to go,” the city lights twinkling outside, their quiet a balm after the storm of the day.

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Touch Starved - Ominis Gaunt x Female!Reader

Summary: To say you were going insane would be a monumental understatement. Ever since Ominis’ abrupt departure from the bedroom two nights ago, he had exercised an unnatural amount of restraint when it came to touching you.  There had been no more playing with your hair.  No hand holding.  No hugs.  No kisses.  No cuddling. No sex.  You had definitely upset him.

Alternatively summarized as Ominis getting rubbed the wrong way by a joke you crack at his expense, so he makes you suffer for it until he thinks you've learned your lesson.

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, Ominis being petty, explicit sexual content, praise kink

This lovely precious Ominis oneshot is now up on Ao3

Ominis was a touchy-feely person. 

It was a trait that went hand in hand with being blind, you had realized after a while. He liked to really take his time running his fingertips over certain things to gauge an object's material, its sharp edges, and the size of it. Even though he had his wand to guide him, you had noticed a long time ago that he preferred to walk close to walls so he could run his palm along the length of a corridor, giving himself an added safety net for getting where he needed to go. 

He enjoyed the feeling of soft, gentle things; blankets, grass, running water, and especially your hair. He liked running his fingers through the strands slowly– almost sensually– as the two of you curled up together in bed once the sun had set. For a while you had assumed he did it for your benefit– lulling you to sleep every night with tender, soothing touches that made you melt against him without fail. Upon further investigation, however, you’d come to the conclusion that Ominis derived his own pleasure from playing with your hair. 

So when you finally deigned to comment on it one night, the last thing you had expected was for him to become disgruntled. 

“You’re like a baby Mooncalf,” you teased softly, your finger tracing random patterns against the smooth skin of his chest. Ominis’ hand stilled against your scalp, a few strands falling from between his long, dainty fingers soundlessly, but you barely paid it any mind. “All clingy with a penchant for soft things. I’m surprised you don’t build nests like they do.”

With your head nestled in the crook of his arm, you weren’t able to glimpse his face following the lighthearted joke, but you did feel him stiffen against you. “Is that so?”

You barely read into the flat tone of his voice. You simply continued to swirl your finger around against his sternum, dragging your nail lightly over the area above his heart. “Mhm. You’re so needy all the time– always touching me. What would you do if I turned up bald one day?” 

There was a long, drawn out pause before Ominis removed his hand completely from your hair, the absence of the appendage prompting you to look up at him through your lashes questioningly. “You’re right. Perhaps I should stop. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of such a travesty.” 

You blinked with confusion, your own movements against his chest halting as you considered whether or not you had offended him somehow. Then, just as you were about to reach up to reassuringly touch his cheek, you felt Ominis begin to unwind his arm from around you. He sat up calmly before swinging his legs over the side of the bed, picking his wand up from the nightstand as though he were about to go somewhere. Hesitantly, you murmured, “Ominis, I didn’t mean–” 

“No, you’re quite right. I should calm down and let you rest,” came his smooth, emotionless voice. That told you more about his true feelings than anything else, and you pushed yourself upright atop the bed as he started to exit the bedroom. “I have some work that needs to be done, anyway. Get some sleep, darling.” 

Just like that, Ominis strode out of your shared room without so much as a goodnight kiss. You were left reeling on your side of the bed– completely and utterly stumped as to which part of your teasing had chased him away. Had you known that your jesting would lead to the most frustrating week of your life, you would have just kept your mouth shut to begin with. 

—

To say you were going insane would be a monumental understatement. Ever since Ominis’ abrupt departure from the bedroom two nights ago, he had exercised an unnatural amount of restraint when it came to touching you. 

There had been no more playing with your hair. 

No hand holding. 

No hugs. 

No kisses. 

No cuddling.

No sex. 

You had definitely upset him. There was no denying that fact– not when the proof was laid bare before you so plainly. But every time you tried to broach the topic with Ominis, he simply waved you off and dismissed your attempts at apologizing. It didn’t take long for your remorse to turn into indignant anger. He was playing a cruel, unnecessary game, and you weren’t about to let him have the last laugh. 

So, you gritted your teeth through the torment and dealt with it. 

Every time you felt the desire to touch him, you dug your nails into your palms. Every time your eyes fell to his lips, you would bite your own and look away. It was difficult, but you weren’t about to beg. Not when this entire situation was one of his own making. He was trying to punish you for poking fun at him, but you wouldn’t give in. You would just play along and bide your time until he caved. 

That ended up being easier said than done. 

Towards the end of day two, Ominis returned home from work. You were in the kitchen preparing dinner, chopping vegetables from the garden with more force than was probably necessary, when the sound of the door closing reached your ears. When you glanced over your shoulder in search of the culprit, you spotted him removing his shoes with his briefcase still in hand. Normally when he came home, he would do exactly that before making his way towards you to give you a kiss in greeting. Sometimes he would even wrap his arms around your waist and perch his pointy chin on your shoulder to take in the sounds and the smells of whatever you were cooking. 

But not today. 

His wand pulsed once, prompting him to fix his unseeing eyes in your direction before peacefully saying, “Hello, love. How was your day?” 

That was it. No hug, no kiss, and no close proximity of any kind. Ominis let his long legs carry him through the kitchen and into the living room to set his briefcase down on the table near the couch, waiting patiently for you to fill him in on what you’d gotten up to that day. Words were failing you at present, though. You were shocked, and maybe even a little hurt. 

“It was fine…” you finally managed to reply. Your grip on your knife turned white knuckled as you frowned, then looked down at the pile of carrots and onions you had almost finished dicing. “Ominis, about what I said the other night–” 

“Oh, by the way,” he interrupted casually, which only served to deepen the frown pulling at your lips. “My colleague is hosting a gala for the Ministry at his estate tomorrow night. We’re both invited, so be prepared for that. It begins at five o’clock.” 

Unbelievable. 

“Alright…” 

This was absurd. How long was he going to ignore your attempts at reconciling? Aside from refusing to put his hands on you and pretending like he didn’t hear you trying to apologize, Ominis was acting completely normal. He carried himself the same way he always had, he conversed with you, and he wasn’t giving you the cold shoulder. He said good morning and bid you farewell before he left for work, and he ate dinner across from you with a smile on his face once he arrived home. 

Your nightly cuddles were a thing of the past, though. His back was always to you when you rolled over to bury your cheek against his chest– an addendum of his self-imposed ‘no touching’ rule. 

Resuming your aggressive chopping, Ominis took it upon himself to set the table. He flitted about as though he didn’t have a care in the world, and you openly glared at the side of his head from behind the counter. 

This was terrible. It was spiteful and it was mean. But if he wouldn’t let you make amends, then what choice did you have other than to endure? 

—

Ominis wore suits all the time. It was more unusual for you to find him dressed down, if you were being honest. His hair was always styled neatly without a strand out of place, and his tailor had perfected the art of selecting fabric colors that complimented his eyes beautifully. If there was one thing you had come to expect from your lover, it was that he would always look remarkably well assembled. 

Today, however, Ominis had gone above and beyond preparing for the Ministry gala. 

His suit was dark brown with an almost orange undertone that made his eyes pop. The sleeves of his blazer and the length of his trousers were hemmed perfectly– not too long or too short– and it somehow made him look impossibly taller. Soft blond hair was combed back from his face to showcase his high cheekbones, but unlike his everyday look, Ominis had intentionally used less product to keep the strands at bay. 

Which meant there were a few pieces of hair hanging deliciously over his forehead. It gave him a bit of a roguish appearance that made your throat dry up and your hands twitch. You wanted to touch him. You wanted to rake your fingers through that devilish hair of his and slam your lips against his. Every part of your touch-deprived body yearned to wrap around him– to feel him the way you had craved for the last three days. 

You knew it was pointless, though. He was still annoyingly averse to touching you, and you were still petulantly trying to wait out his weird form of retribution. Part of you was convinced that he had dressed himself this way specifically to get a rise out of you. 

He had to know he looked handsome. There was no other alternative. 

The gala was a luxurious affair that involved the finest foods, the finest wines, and even live music. The band that had been hired to perform all night was set up in the corner of the grand space, the rich melody emanating from their string instruments blending easily with the idle chatter happening around the dinner table. Ominis was seated to your right, directing a work-related comment to someone across from him while you picked lazily at your dessert. 

In all honesty, you were at your wits end. 

While you had fully expected Ominis to maintain his infuriating distance from you tonight, a tiny part of you had hoped that he would relent when you’d asked him to dance earlier. When he had turned down your request with some half-assed excuse, you couldn’t help but become positively pissed about it. 

He never passed up the opportunity to waltz with you. 

In the past, he had divulged that his parents had forced him to master the art of ballroom dancing for the sake of ‘keeping up appearances’– and although you loathed his family for the things they had subjected him to as a child, you were immensely grateful that they had invested in their son learning the skill. Ominis was a wonderful dancer. He led with poise, moved with grace, and always caught you when you stumbled. It felt like you were flying in his arms when the two of you spun across the room together, and you had grown to look forward to any occasion that made dancing with him possible. 

So to have been denied even that in the wake of his no-touching-allowed spell was the cherry on top of your already shit week. 

Letting loose a shaky sigh, you set your fork down and placed your hands in your lap. You didn’t want to be here anymore. You wanted to go home and bury your head beneath the mountain of pillows on your bed. It was hard not to feel so dejected in response to the weaponized isolation you had been subjected to this week. You knew it was your own fault for having poked fun at him, but you never would have done it had you known this was the punishment you would earn. 

Your face flushed in response to the tumultuous emotions running rampant through your mind. You didn’t know whether you were sad, angry, or numb to everything happening around you. It wasn’t until Ominis had stopped being physical with you that you’d realized how much you looked forward to and treasured his lingering touches. 

And he would even let you apologize. Where were you supposed to go from here? 

“Are you alright, darling?” 

Ominis had shifted his attention back to you, his milky-blue eyes narrowed with the faintest bit of concern. After the last three days, you didn’t know whether the look was fake or genuine, but at this point you didn’t care. You didn’t feel like getting your hopes up just to have them dashed again. 

Your silence only prompted Ominis to twist in his seat, angling his body sideways just enough so that his knees bumped against yours, and the sudden, unexpected contact made you jolt. The heat in your cheeks amplified when you watched his fingers stretch towards you, following the curve of your shoulder up your neck before the back of his hand settled against your forehead.

It was an innocent enough display, but after three straight days of no physicality of any kind with him, the gentle touch made your heart hammer against your sternum violently. 

“You’re rather warm… are you not feeling well?” 

Swallowing thickly, your voice came out sounding like a pained croak when you said, “No. I’m fine, just tired.” 

Ominis hummed thoughtfully, not at all convinced by your lackluster delivery. He removed his hand and swiftly rose to his feet, excusing himself as well as you by announcing that the two of you would be heading home early. You were hardly at liberty to object– you barely knew any of these people. Besides, any arguments you might have made were dutifully silenced by the blond’s hand appearing on the small of your back to steer you in the direction of the foyer. 

It felt like you were moving through dense mud as Ominis pulled you against his side, apparating the two of you into your living room in the blink of an eye before releasing you. The warmth from his skin lingered against your upper arm for a long while, and you remained standing in front of the couch when the taller man moved away to begin fiddling with his cufflinks. Only the sound of his shifting clothing filled the otherwise silent house. You didn’t say a word– just stood there quietly and watched Ominis loosen his attire. 

Once he had shrugged off his jacket and neatly draped it over the back of the sofa, his silky voice shattered the stillness of the room. “Would you like some tea? It might help if you’re feeling poorly.” 

Poorly… yeah, that was a word for it. “No, thank you. I’m not sick.” 

His brows furrowed questioningly, “It felt like you had a fever back at the estate, and you hardly touched your food the entire night. There’s a very good chance you’re ill.” 

So he had been paying attention. For some reason, that thought only served to upset you further. He knew you had been sulking, and still he had refused to abandon the ridiculous sanction he had placed on himself in regards to touching you. The only thing that had gotten him to even partially relent was his assumption that you were coming down with something, and all that had earned you was his legs bumping into yours and his hand resting fleetingly against your forehead. 

It had been too much and not enough all at once. 

“I’m not sick,” you repeated flatly, putting your back to him as you lowered yourself onto the couch. “I don’t need tea. Don’t worry about me, just go get ready for bed. I’ll be in shortly.” 

Liar. Tonight was beginning to look like the first time you would willingly sleep apart from him in years. You couldn’t take it anymore– turning over in the dead of night in search of Ominis’ warmth, only to be met with his back to you. It was a unique form of torture that you hadn’t thought him capable of. He had a vindictive side that you had seen inflicted on others, yes, but you had never been on the receiving end of it. Not like this. 

It was maddening. 

The room fell silent again, and for a moment you were convinced that he had heeded your insistence and gone to the bedroom by himself. But then you heard his feet padding against the floor, getting closer and closer before they stopped behind you. You chanced a look over your shoulder and found Ominis looming over you, his hips flush to the back of the couch, and he tilted his head to the side as a curious expression broke out across his face. 

“You’re upset.” It wasn’t a question– he knew you were bothered. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. Everything is perfectly fine.” 

The hint of a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, and you narrowed your eyes in blatant displeasure. He knew exactly what had you so bent out of shape, but addressing it directly? No– that wasn’t his style. Ominis would make you confess before making his next move. 

What that would be, though, you didn’t know. 

“I can’t help you feel better if I don’t know what’s bothering you, darling. Talk to me.” His head dipped down ever so slightly, causing those loose strands of hair to fall in front of his face temptingly. Between that, the undone buttons at the top of his shirt, and that infuriating smirk he was failing to hide, you were quickly reaching your limit. “Does your less than stellar mood have anything to do with my lack of neediness these past few days? Have I not been clingy enough for your liking?” 

Bingo. It didn’t even surprise you to hear him acknowledge the root cause of your irritation. Of course you knew that was why he had been so distant. He was remarkably skilled at pretending otherwise, however– behaving naturally apart from keeping his hands to himself. 

Bastard. 

“I never said that as a bad thing!” Your voice was shrill as you finally erupted, slapping your hands against the cushions indignantly. “I was just teasing! And then you go and ignore me for three days– driving me crazy with your civility, treating me like I’m a blasted work colleague or something! You wouldn’t even let me apologize! What kind of sick, twisted game did you think you were playing?” 

“The kind that gets my point across,” he replied smoothly. Ominis left his wand-bearing hand braced on the couch as he leaned forward, effortlessly wrapping the other around the back of your neck to tug you closer. His skin was soft and warm, his even breaths ghosting across your cheeks as he held you mere inches away from his lips. “I had to make sure you learned that I don’t take kindly to being deemed needy or clingy. I am who I am– I love fiercely and without restraint. If those are facets of my character you want to poke fun at, I had to see to it you knew what life was like without them.” 

You gaped up at him, your mind spinning with insults and complaints that passed by too quickly for you to give voice to a single one. All of this to prove a point? He was insane! Never before had you thought your lover to be anything resembling petty, but he had remedied that in a shockingly little amount of time. He was petulant. He was mean and vengeful and too conniving for his own good. You had half a mind to retreat out of his hold and give him a taste of his own medicine– pack a bag and stay at some decrepit inn for a few nights out of sheer spite alone. Three days of enduring him keeping you at arms length all because you had tried to make a joke!

You would never jest again. Ever. 

But before you could pull free from Ominis’ loose grip and tell him as much, he was kissing you. Suddenly, passionately, wantonly– the taste of him gracing your tongue after so long sent a bolt of arousal through your entire being. Your eyes squeezed shut, your muscles tensed, and your thighs clenched together as your body ignored your brain’s demands to fight back. You wanted to refute his kiss and make it clear that you wouldn’t tolerate such treatment from him ever again. You wanted him to apologize for leaving you feeling so pitiful and lonely for days on end. 

But your more primal desires were stronger. After three days of craving everything about him, your mind was quick to shut itself off and drink him in greedily, your wounded pride be damned. 

Your fingers curled into the fabric of the couch as you let the imposing man part your lips with his tongue, the wet muscle sweeping through your mouth with devastating precision, and gods, he had you. Ominis, and that prideful expression on his face. Ominis, and that domineering lilt in his voice. Ominis, and those stupid, slender, mind-numbing fingers that dragged up the nape of your neck to collect a fistful of your hair. The pressure of his lips against yours increased as he forced you to crane your neck back, guiding you exactly where he wanted you with indisputable finesse. 

“Come on, darling,” Ominis murmured against your kiss-swollen lips after a while. “Tell me what you want. What have you been craving these last few days, hm?” 

You were positively dazed in the wake of kissing him, your mind reeling as you struggled to get your vocal chords to obey and answer him. “I– I want you to touch me. I missed you touching me– I hated that you wouldn’t.” 

A throaty chuckle sounded from deep in his chest and made the hair on your arms stand on end. “Is that all?” 

Fuck– hell no. You wanted all of him. 

There was no way you could have stopped yourself if you tried; your hands shot out to grab him by the scruff of his shirt, slamming your lips into his with the strength of a damn Troll. Ominis grunted in surprise– mercifully letting you manhandle him into another kiss– then brazenly hoisted his knee over the back of the couch. He scaled the barrier with little effort, never once breaking away from your mouth as he effectively climbed onto the sofa and trapped you beneath his taller frame. He tossed his wand to the far end of the cushions to free up both of his hands and immediately began running his palms down your sides, gathering up your dress so it sat in a messy heap above your navel. 

When the lack of oxygen in your lungs forced you to pull away with a gasp, Ominis took the opportunity to purr, “Looks to me like you’re the needy one now, love. I won’t lie, it’s a gratifying turn of events.” 

You were so swept up in your own arousal that you didn’t even care about his taunting. If it took doing the fucking waltz with an Inferi to get what you wanted, you would do it. “Please, Ominis,” you pleaded breathlessly. “Please– touch me.” 

“Show me,” he instructed calmly, causing you to shiver against him. “Show me where you want me.” 

With trembling fingers, you grabbed his wrist and dragged his hand between your legs, letting him feel the wetness saturating your undergarments for himself. His lips parted with obvious want at the same time your hips bucked up into his touch, deriving your own pleasure from the friction against your clit. “Here,” you gasped. “I want you here. Please.” 

Evidently three days was long enough for Ominis to punish you, because he didn’t waste a second before moving on his own. He slipped his fingers under the side of your underwear, sliding his fingers through your folds to collect the moisture seeping from you, then cupped the entirety of your cunt with his palm so he could sink two fingers inside of you. A satisfied moan tore from you then, causing Ominis’ features to darken as he pumped and curled the digits at a slow, even pace. “Like this? Is this what you wanted?” 

“Y-Yes,” you stammered, entranced by his methodical movements and obsessed with the way he let his palm press down against your bundle of nerves. “Yes– just like that.” 

Through your hazy vision, you watched as Ominis lowered his head so it was nearly touching yours, a pretty, pink flush creeping over his cheeks at the sounds escaping you. “You won’t tease me for touching you again, will you? Is it a bad thing that I enjoy the feeling of your skin? Your hair? Am I the equivalent of a baby animal for appreciating those things about the woman I love?” 

With every question voiced, Ominis ground his palm against your clit with wicked intent. Your breathing hitched in your chest as you tried your best to rock down into his rhythmic movements, but your prone position made it difficult to do much of anything. You were entirely at the mercy of your lover, and he hummed pointedly before plunging his fingers all the way to the base of his knuckles– curling them to wring a strangled cry from your throat. 

Your eyes flew wide open when the pads of his fingers pressed against the sensitive area hidden deep within you, and you quickly blurted, “N-No. No, you’re not– I won’t tease– it’s not–” 

His tempo never changed– his digits never wavering from the incessant come here, come here, come here motion that was quickly igniting you from the inside. You heard him chuckle when you dug your nails into the skin of his wrist, and then you felt his other hand splay against your thigh so it could run up and down your leg appraisingly. “Good… you’re nearly there, darling. I can feel it. Right here,” he pressed into that one spot harder, making your toes curl and your eyelids flutter. “That’s where I’ll aim since you’ve waited so patiently. What do you think?” 

That was just it– you couldn’t think. Ominis had effectively nullified your higher brain power with two fingers and his sinful voice. When your senseless noises transformed into shaky iterations of his name and hiccups of pleasure, he closed the minuscule distance between the two of you to kiss you again. 

Well, he kissed you. You mostly just whined into his mouth. 

You wanted more; more kisses, more touches, more of Ominis. Your body unconsciously arched towards him as he pumped his fingers and ground his palm against you, and your heels dug into the couch cushions as the tension in your lower stomach mounted. In the far reaches of your hazy mind, you could faintly hear yourself calling his name over and over again– repeating it like a mantra as though your life depended on it. 

“That’s right,” he cooed, pressing harder on your bundle of nerves and laughing softly when you released his wrist to slap your hands against the couch. “That’s it. Come on, darling.” 

You didn’t know if you wanted to be grateful or woeful over the fact that he didn’t stop. It had only been three days, but after being denied every variation of his touch, your body was hypersensitive to everything he gave you. The tension in your gut grew tauter than a wire until it finally snapped, leaving you clutching at the cushions as you rode out every wave of euphoria with a buck of your hips. Ominis groaned at the sounds falling from your lips, his fingers continuing their assault as you begged him not to stop– to keep doing exactly what he was doing. Or, you did in your head, anyway. 

Out loud, it came across more like garbled syllables, curses, his name, and “Oh, gods, please”.

When the high finally died down, your whole body buckled beneath him. Ominis’ hand mercifully stilled against your cunt, and he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips before pulling away and moving off of the couch. Your heart lurched in your chest at the blurry sight of him retreating– afraid for a few agonizing seconds that he was going to leave you and go back to being standoffish. 

But then the feeling of his hands on you returned, his arms wedging themselves under your boneless body to lift you off the couch and hold you against his chest. He had reclaimed his wand at some point before that, the red tip pulsing as it guided the man on his short journey to the bedroom, and he let it clatter against the floor once his knees hit the edge of the mattress. You were gingerly set down atop the covers and left to watch as Ominis’ hands fell to his belt, his deft fingers sliding the leather out of the metal buckle with practiced ease. 

“I suppose I was rather cruel about this whole charade, wasn’t I?” His voice was laced with mockery as he began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing inch after inch of smooth, pale skin. “It was obvious you were upset. I’m sorry, love. Can I make it up to you?” 

He could do whatever the hell he wanted if it meant he wouldn’t tease you anymore. Weakly, you rasped, “Yes...” 

Ominis let his shirt hang open so he could pull his cock from his trousers, the full length of him arching proudly in his fist as a result of his escapades on the couch. He gave himself a testing squeeze before lowering himself onto the bed, feeling for your outstretched legs so he could crawl over them and cage you in with his lean arms. “I could feel your frustration, too. You were wound tighter than a spring– so desperate to make the feeling go away. I almost gave up the other night when I felt you shifting around on the bed, mewling like a neglected kitten…”

Ominis’ tone was sickeningly saccharine as he reached down with one hand to pull your dress up your torso again, dropping the excess material over your chest so it pooled above your breasts. He made short work of tugging off your undergarments so he could trail his fingers over your stiff nipples, thumbing over the rosy peaks and grinning unabashedly when you whimpered. “Do you want it, darling? My touch? My love? All of me?” 

“Yes,” you whined, gasping when you felt the blunt head of his cock press against your hole tauntingly. “Yes, Ominis, please. I love you– I want you– I want all of you.”  

He hummed gleefully to himself, all too pleased with your pliant, remorseful nature. The hand on your breast skirted lower, lower, until it was splayed securely against the side of your thigh. Ominis shifted your leg over to give himself more room as he pressed into your cunt, the first few inches leaving you stuttering and panting into the empty air above you. 

Given how facetious he had been throughout the entire process, part of you was expecting Ominis to take you roughly and without restraint. Instead you were met with slow, shallow thrusts as he cautiously worked himself into you, his long, slender fingers stroking your leg comfortingly until he finally bottomed out with his hips flush to your rear. “That’s it, love,” he muttered huskily, letting his head hang between his shoulders so he could fix his cloudy eyes in the direction of your clipped noises. “You always take me so well.” 

You could only writhe beneath him in search of more, squirming against him as your walls began to tighten and urge him to move. Much to his credit, Ominis obliged the wordless command– knowing all too well what your body’s tells were almost better than you did. He pulled his hips back before plunging his cock back into your wet, waiting core, expelling a groan from your throat that caused his nails to dig into your flesh. 

“Gods,” you gasped, relishing in how deep Ominis managed to reach. You would always love and appreciate his dexterous fingers, but they could never compare to the long, curved length of him. 

“How does it feel? Tell me.” 

Ominis began to thrust into you then, setting a steady pace that stirred your insides and made your head spin. That same spot within you he had assaulted with devastating accuracy earlier was effortlessly struck over and over again by the head of his cock, driving you higher embarrassingly fast, forcing more choked moans from your scratchy throat. “Feels– feels so good,” you managed breathlessly. “It’s so good, Ominis. I– I think– I’m–” 

Strands of blond hair tickled your forehead as Ominis leaned down to laugh derisively in your face, the closer proximity putting his pelvis flush to your still-sensitive clit. “Are you close already? You poor thing– you must have been really pent-up these last few days…” 

His teasing didn’t sound nearly as malicious as it had before. It was strained– shadowed by his own arousal quickly creeping into the forefront of his mind. The sight of his eyes pinching and his lips parting was making you dizzy. Your inhibitions were a thing of the past as you became wholly focused on how Ominis grunted softly, his hips grinding against you with every perfectly measured plunge of his cock. The pressure he inadvertently placed on your swollen nub filled a void inside of you, and in a flash, it was all too much to handle. 

“There you go,” Ominis encouraged when he felt your muscles start to spasm around his length, your walls constricting him so tightly that his next panted gasp was laced with a throaty moan. “Go ahead, darling, come for me.” 

His velvety praises were your undoing as you trembled violently beneath him. It was as though Ominis had lit a fuse on you and caused every part of your body to explode, your second climax stealing your breath and leaving your body burning hotter than a furnace. His pace stayed the same– never faltering as he fucked you through all of it– and only once you went limp did he deign to change his methods. 

Ominis’ let go of your thigh to brace both of his forearms on either side of your head, caging you in so thoroughly that all you could see, smell, hear, and feel was him. His hips moved faster, his breathing fanning across your flushed cheeks quicker, and the hairswidth of space between you both left you with no choice but to watch his expression contort into one of sheer hunger as he chased after his impending finish. Your hands lifted off the bed of their own accord to sneak under the flaps of his undone shirt, stroking over his spine, his ribs, and those two little dimples that adorned his lower back. 

Drinking in your fill of his skin after three long, grueling days without it seemed to do as much for Ominis as it did for you; he shivered and buried his fingers in your disheveled hair to clench at the strands, his eyebrows knitting together with concentration as he slammed his hips into yours once, twice, then a final third time before he spilled inside of you. His entire body trembled as he came undone, a drawn out gasp of your name leaving his lips as he slotted his mouth with yours sans the grace of an actual kiss. It was all a clash of tongue and teeth as Ominis devoured the tiny sounds you made, only managing to pull away when the twitching of his cock had ceased completely. 

He didn’t get very far, though. Your arms were still wrapped around him– holding him impossibly tight to your chest in your pitiful attempts to keep him close. There was no chance you were letting him get away that easily– not after everything he had put you through this week. 

“So needy,” Ominis chided with a smile, releasing his grip on your hair before affectionately smoothing down the strands. “Perhaps I should keep my distance more often if this is the treatment I’ll get for it.” 

He couldn’t see it, but you narrowed your eyes up at him challengingly. Your hands slid down his sides so they were directly over his ribs, and when you dug your nails into the sensitive area, he flinched at the same time a strangled hiss slipped from between his teeth. “Don’t even think about it. I’m already forbidding myself from making jokes around you after this.” 

“Jokes are supposed to be funny,” he scoffed, flicking your nose lightly. “Although I do suppose the role reversal right now is rather amusing. It’s ironic– of the two of us, you’re the one clinging to me like a baby Mooncalf.” 

“You’re pushing your luck. This is all your fault.” 

“Ah, my apologies. Should I leave?” 

“No!” 

He was unbelievable. Merlin only knew what future, shoddy quip would prompt Ominis to disappear for a week straight, all in some ghastly attempt to teach you a lesson. You vowed then and there that you would never try to be funny again. Ever. 

[leonw4nter]

can you make a fluff/angst leon oneshot when he came back from a long mission and saw his gf decorate the house with the "welcome (home) leon" lettering and cook his favorite meal? where he was speechless at first, because he got the dejavu, and when he asked why, they said "because your survival and mission acomplished is worth to celebrate for" 🥹

Every Breath You Take

RE4!Leon x GN!Reader

He should’ve been home 48 hours ago, indulging in the simple joys that his home provided him with, but his mission got in the way of that happiness; he just had to get infected with some insect-like parasite while on the job, along with prolonged exposure to extreme weather conditions, and gut issues from eating raw snakes, eggs, and whatever meat didn’t have mold or rot which landed him in isolation for further observation until USSTRATCOM was sure that he didn’t have any bug in his system. It’s not like he can unwind and relax in his room– there was a lack of decorations and furniture, absent of any warmth; everything was either white or beige that was damn near white and the food wasn’t even that good. For some odd reason, he was forbidden from having outside contact until he completed all 48 hours of total isolation. It’s not like he can even do anything to soothe himself, aware that hidden in the lampshade, lighting fixtures, and sockets lay bugging devices.

Luckily for him, he’s cleared their health checks and is free to go home. After parking his black sedan in the garage, he unlocks the door with a hidden spare and walks; the comforting warmth contrasts the biting chill of the night, a safe haven in this little corner of the universe. The feeling of walking inside your shared home is something he could get used to, the aroma of a home-cooked meal wafting through the air instead of the stench of death and decay. A change in the curtains and pillow cases remind him of how much time has passed, how the trees and shrubs have shed their old leaves and grew new ones in place. Leon wishes he was just like the shrubs you loved to tend to: if only he could let go of the past , move forward, and become a new person. The sight and realization sends a pang of grief and guilt straight to his heart like a poison-tipped arrow, souring what was supposed to be a fuzzy feeling that brewed inside him. He walked further into the house, his mud-caked boots thudding against the clean floors; somewhere inside he heard your humming accompanied by music playing in a low volume and he picked up the pace, unable to wait any longer.

“Leon!”

Your sweet voice peaks into a high-pitched squeal, ending on a slightly shaky note as you stop whatever you were doing and run into his arms. Leon gently says your name back, running to you before colliding into the first hug in 4 months. Neither of you are unable to stop the cascade of tears that flow down, wracking both your frames as you cry into his chest and his tears drizzle down and drop on your shoulder; his hands bring your head closer to him, finger digging into your scalp. The embrace is tight as if your hearts are trying as hard as they can to press into each other and fuse as one but it’s definitely needed after those months of separation and sparse contact with one another. You pull away first, looking up at him with tear-glossed eyes.

“I’m so relieved to see you in one piece, sweetheart.” Wiping at the tears that streamed down your cheeks, you give him a wobbly smile. “I was worried sick.”

Leon felt his heart lurch in guilt at the fact that he’s mainly the reason as to why you’re constantly on the edge and uneasy.

“I’m so sorry for leaving you alone again,” he apologizes. “I’m so sorry for always worrying you and leaving you wondering if I’m still going to come home to you.”

You take his face in your hands, feeling the slightest prickle of an incoming stubble in your palms; pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, you brush away all the negative feelings that have followed him home from Spain.

“It’s alright Leon. You’re here with me now, safe and sound. You’re saving the world from those horrors, you deserve a moment of peace in your life.”

He looks up from you and gazes longingly around the room, eyes settling on what aspects of his home changed or stayed the same since he left those long months ago. As he takes the sights in to really let it sink in that for once he doesn’t have to worry about enemies and their attacks, he catches sight of a banner reminiscent of a lost city.

“‘Welcome home, Leon!’,” the banner reads. Unlike the one from 1998, this one isn’t made up of yellow letters and blue circles with some star streamers; instead, it’s floral print cardstock cut into letters with neat origami flowers, butterflies, and lions of different colors.

“Do you like it?” You ask meekly, clasping your hands together as you watch Leon walk up to the decoration you put up for him. “Hunnigan sent me an email yesterday saying that you’d be home in a few hours so I decided to spend some time making that. I know it’s not exactly your taste in aesthetics.”

His silence worries you but he’s lovingly touching the little origami animals you put up, tinkering with the lion specifically. You watch on at the scene, letting him have his moment when you hear a barely-concealed sniffle and see his shoulders tremble.

“It was just like this,” he reminisces. “Back at the station, in Raccoon. Well, not exactly like the design, but there was a banner for me. They were elated to have me join the force.”

You walk up to him, hugging him from behind while resting your cheek on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, honey, I shouldn’t have– I didn’t mean to bring up the past–”

“No,” he interrupts gently. “It’s… it’s fine. It’s incredibly sweet and touching for me.”

Turning around to face you, he takes your hand and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckle.

“Why did you decide to decorate around though?” He asks. “Not that I’m complaining, just curious.”

“Because your survival and accomplishments are worth celebrating,” you simply say with a tender smile. “Everytime you get out there and disappear from me for months on end with no contact and no clue on how each of us are doing, you’re making the world a safer place. You’re on the front lines, behind enemy lines even, and throwing yourself at these threats just so we won’t have to.”

Overflowing to the brim with a variety of emotions, thoughts, and sensations, he cries his weary heart out in your arms. You let him take this time to feel his emotions and properly process it, giving him pats and soothing words.

It eventually dies down and gives way to hunger, his stomach rumbling for some good food. Much to his glee, you thought to cook his favorite food– his first decent meal in months. With each forkful, bursts of flavor and comfort exploded inside his mouth which reminded him that for now, he’s far away from the sight of death and the stink of rot. You’ll be there to hold him as he sleeps in your comfortable bed and to greet him when he wakes up come morning time.

NOTE - thank you to the anon who requested this!! and apologies for taking a long time 😓 i hope this little thing was worth the wait and you had a great time reading it <33 this is a little shorter than average but i hope that this is still okay with guys coz a lot of ppl i know prefer longer fics so yeah huhu :| anyway, that's all and thank you for reading my fics + supporting me!!!!!!! I <33333 UUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!

The divider (the lacy flower one) is not mine [ I forgot who made it :'( ] , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[heliads]

don't ask too many questions - hayconroland

Hayden wants Connor. Connor clearly doesn't want Hayden, but he does want Hayden to stop hanging around Roland. Or maybe he just doesn't want them to be together when he's not there.

masterlist

Hayden Upchurch is seventeen years old and sick of himself when he realizes he’s in love with his best friend. The one who’s dating his other best friend, that is. The one who would never, ever, fall for someone like Hayden. 

He’s had a problem with daydreaming, always has. Feels like the worst part of his heritage– two actor parents, of course he’d come up with a fantasy, everyone around him with a part to play to secure his happy ending. Hayden wants to believe that the world revolves around him and so he does. Even when his parents split. Even when they give him up to be dismembered. Even when he comes in contact with the one boy who finally might put him first, and then doesn’t.

But then again, who hasn’t wanted to be in love with Connor Lassiter? Hayden hasn’t met a single soul in the Graveyard who hasn’t contemplated it at some point. Sure, some make a point of pretending they’d never go there, but they would. They all would. Even Hayden. That’s kind of why this aches so bad. Connor has his pick of anyone in the world, even if he hasn’t put that together yet. He could have anyone, and he doesn’t want Hayden.

The worst part is, Hayden’s pretty sure he could have made it happen were it not for the fact that the good story has already started to play out. Connor chose Risa. Of course he would. It’s a match made in heaven, if there’s any bit of heaven reserved for the bits-and-pieces Unwinds even a mother couldn’t love. Pretty people fall in love with pretty people. Risa’s smart and Connor’s brave. Hayden knew it was over for him the second they showed up together, and with a baby no less. God, it’s like they’re already jumpstarting their iconic unwind celebrity family.

It makes him want to gag, and he probably would, if it weren’t for the fact that he feels more like sobbing instead. Technically, Connor and Risa haven’t announced anything, or done anything for that matter, but they don’t have to. Hayden’s seen enough lovesick glances to know a crush when it’s right in front of his face.

It was one thing when he could hide from the truth of it, tucked away in the darkness of the antique store basement. In the shadows, Hayden could convince himself of anything, even that the Akron Awol might find him hot. And– it’s stupid, right? Hayden knows he’s hot. The PR agent his parents hired for him since the age of five has made sure of that. Yet all it takes is one (honestly, average) teenage outlaw and Hayden’s wondering if his hair has somehow lost its luster or if his eyes are starting to bleach out their blue. Maybe his jokes are falling flat. Maybe he was never funny in the first place. Maybe that’s why Connor wouldn’t look at him unless his feet were on fire or something.

Trapped in the Graveyard, there’s no hiding from the truth. Stuck labeling boxes and unpacking crates, Hayden has the perfect view as Connor and Risa make more excuses to find each other. He’s organizing canned food now, slamming each box down with unnecessary force so he doesn’t punch somebody instead. He has the perfect view through the bars of the storage caddy as Connor benefits from another excuse to visit the medical wing.

Connor has just emerged from the med bay, grinning ear to ear. He shakes his head foolishly as he heads back into the sunlight, as if unable to believe himself. Hayden can’t believe it, either. He certainly can’t believe that he’s still letting himself feel so terrible over the proud smirk on Connor’s face, the pride that certainly means he’s not holding himself back the way Hayden is.

He can’t do this anymore. Slumped against a wall of crates, Hayden’s eye catches a flicker of pink amongst the scores of labels. It’s a heart, part of a logo of some company. Filled with a sudden, irrational burst of anger, he lunges forward and tears the heart away, piece by piece, until blood wells up underneath the edges of his fingertips. He sucks on his index finger to take the sharp prick of pain away, cursing both the can and himself. He could go to medical to get it cleaned up, of course, but then he’d have to see Risa, and that’s out of the question.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

A sudden voice nearly makes Hayden jump out of his skin. He bangs his head against one of the shelves, and straightens up, swearing, to get a good look at whoever’s just surprised him. Oddly enough, it’s Roland. He doesn’t usually bother Hayden, opting instead to save himself the nuisance of Hayden’s endless barbs and digs at his expense, but apparently Hayden’s done something today to warrant the visit. Lovely.

“Jesus,” Hayden mutters under his breath, rubbing the sore spot on his head, “Where’d you come from? Don’t tell me you’ve taken to spawning out of the shadows now.”

Roland just chuckles, face completely deadpan. “I’ll consider it. Why do you look like you just got hit by a bus? I want to know who beat me to it.”

Hayden rolls his eyes. He barely has the strength to deal with his own thoughts. Roland is so far from what Hayden can deal with, it’s not even funny. “Can you just– just fuck off, will you? Go bother one of the little kids and leave me alone.”

He tries to storm off, but there isn’t much room tucked in amongst the crates, so Hayden is only able to stomp a few feet away and stand with his back to Roland, glowering at the jars of green olives in front of him. He can just make out Roland’s reflection behind him in the watery sheen of the glass, the confused furrow of his brow.

“What’s gotten into you?” Roland asks, genuinely curious.

Hayden doesn’t even bother to answer. He reaches out, uselessly straightening the rows of olives in the hopes that Roland will get bored and leave him alone. Strangely enough, Roland doesn’t, and walks closer to Hayden until they’re shoulder to shoulder again.

“Seriously,” Roland says. “I’ve never known anything that could make you shut up. I’m kind of jealous.”

Against his will, Hayden’s gaze betrays him and flits through the gaps in the crates to where Connor still idles near the medical bay. Roland turns his head to follow Hayden’s line of breath and he sucks in a breath as he puts the pieces together far too quickly.

“Oh,” Roland says, voice strangely deep. “Oh, shit.”

Hayden feels as if all the blood in his body has suddenly rushed to his feet. His face must be like bone, stripped of any sign of light. “You shut the fuck up,” he says unsteadily, “You shut the fuck up, I swear to God, I’ll kill you, I swear it. I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll hit you so bad you won’t even walk. Don’t you say a damn thing.”

They both know it’s bullshit, Roland could kick Hayden’s ass in a second. This close, practically breathing down each other’s throats, Hayden can sense all that muscle, vibrating with nerves. Everything in Roland is electric, ready to pounce, but instead, he says raggedly, “I can help with that.”

Hayden blinks in surprise. “You want to help me kill you?”

Roland shakes his head disgustedly. “No, dumbass. I can help you with Connor.”

Hayden just stares. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

Something like a muscle twitch pulls the corner of Roland’s lips up into a half-smirk. “I like getting under his skin. Maybe under his shirt, at least.”

A flash of white-hot courses through Hayden in an instant. He waits for Roland to start laughing, or start swinging, to tell him that he’d been joking, or messing with him, or something, anything, for this situation to make sense. Instead, Roland leans a little closer, expectant, and Hayden realizes that he’s not joking around at all.

“Alright,” Hayden says at last. “What did you have in mind?”

Roland’s teeth bare in a full grin. “I was hoping you’d ask. See, I’ve noticed something about our mutual friend. Connor doesn’t do very well with jealousy.”

Hayden laughs derisively before he can stop himself. “Problem with that one, Roland. Connor isn’t jealous of either of us.”

Roland doesn’t look remotely fazed by this. “Want to bet?”

They both turn as one again to look over at Connor. Stupid, reckless Connor, who’s straightened up to look back at them, who may be seeing two silhouettes behind the storage crates where there should just be one. Connor doesn’t look quite so carefree anymore. In fact, although it may be reaching, Hayden would go so far as to say that he looks quite worried indeed.

Hayden lets out a low whistle. “You actually might be right about that one.”

Roland scoffs. “I’m usually right. You just don’t pay attention.”

Hayden fights the urge to roll his eyes again and only mostly succeeds. “How’d you know?”

Roland initiates an elaborate shrug. “I know what to do when a boy doesn’t give me what I want.”

He’s really close right now, Hayden realizes. He’s not sure when Roland got that close, but Hayden can either stay here or back up, and this closed in surrender doesn’t really seem like an option, so he stays. Roland’s breath is hot on his mouth. They’re still so damn close. This might be what heatstroke feels like. Insanity may set in soon, if it hasn’t already.

“Alright,” Hayden stumbles. “Let’s make him jealous, then.”

Roland’s grin really is sharklike, Hayden decides, but he can’t tell if he’s the prey or Connor. Maybe both. “Great choice.”

Before Hayden can do or say something stupid, Connor appears around the stack of crates, peering at both of them dubiously. “What are you two doing?”

Roland reacts immediately, like he was waiting for it. Probably salivating over their moment of discovery, too, like a dog with the premise of a bone. “Talking, Connor. You’re familiar with it?”

He claps his hand down on Hayden’s shoulder, and Hayden does his best not to startle. He feels like he’s hyper aware of everything going on with his bicep, down to the slightest shuffle of Roland’s fingers against the fabric of Hayden’s shirt, or the heaviness of Roland’s breathing despite doing his best to pretend as if nothing were the matter.

Connor seems to notice it too. His eyes are glued to Roland’s hand on Hayden, and it seems to take him considerable effort to swallow harshly and say, “That true, Hayden?”

Hayden can practically feel Roland’s gaze boring down on him, demanding that he play along. Well, Hayden’s perfectly fine with playing along. It’s supposed to be in his genes, isn’t it? “All good, Connor. Just fucking around on duty. You going to report us to the Admiral?”

He manages to force a chuckle as he says it, and Roland nods along, clearly pleased. Connor swallows again. “Just– get back to work, will you?”

“So bossy, isn’t he?” Roland muses, and it seems like an inside joke between him and Hayden. Hayden laughs because he can, because he should. Connor looks like he’s stopped being able to understand the language they’re speaking.

Roland lets the moment sit a second longer, then tears his hand from Hayden at last and sweeps away, purposely bumping into Connor as he goes. Both Hayden and Connor watch him disappear. Connor turns back to Hayden once Roland is out of view, and says hoarsely, “What was that?”

Hayden can’t answer.

Everything feels different, and does for hours after. Days, even. At meals, Roland appears to drag Hayden away by the arm, and they eat alone together, tucked in a corner of the room where no one else can reach them. They’re always touching, somehow– a shin against a shin, a hand on an arm, fingers grasping the back of Hayden’s neck like the scruff of a dog. He’s going to explode with the force of something great and terrible, but Connor first, because Connor has to see all this happen and not feel it, too, not like Hayden. Hayden gets to feel it all, because Roland asked him, not Connor. It feels fucking fantastic.

It all comes to a head about a week later. Connor’s been strumming with the rage of not being the first choice for several days now. Hayden wants to tell him that he’s being really selfish– how long had Hayden put up with the same thing, anyway, several weeks? Months? Longer than this, at least. Hayden could take it if their situations were reversed. Probably.

Connor’s been trying to talk to Hayden all day, but Hayden keeps dodging him, claiming to be busy or something. At last, when night falls, Connor tracks him down and Hayden runs out of excuses.

“It’s dark,” he tries to claim, Connor’s hand thick and strong on the sleeve of his jacket, “People are trying to sleep, Connor. We can’t disturb them.”

“Fine,” Connor says icily, and all but drags him to one of the grounded planes. 

Roland meets them halfway there. Maybe the scent of Hayden’s fear carries across the whole damn Graveyard. Sure feels that way, at least. He says not a word but walks with them, opens the door of the plane. Locks it behind them.

Then they’re all standing in a rough circle, Connor’s hand still stuck on Hayden’s jacket sleeve. “I want to know what this is about,” he says roughly. “And don’t try to bullshit me. You’re doing something.”

Roland folds his arms across his chest, all casual. “We’re doing something, alright.”

Connor almost growls with irritation. “You’re trying to bother me. I get it, I’ve been snapping at everybody. Fine. It’s dangerous out there, I wanted to keep us safe. Sue me, but talk to me, instead of doing this.”

Roland grins. Sharklike again. Like he doesn’t know how to smile any other way. “What are we doing, Connor? You tell us.”

“Us,” Connor seethes. “There’s never been an us. This is what I’m talking about. You keep playing up this– this thing between the two of you. You’re trying to get to me, I don’t know why, but I’m sick of it. Can’t you be normal for once in your lives?”

Hayden can sense the power thrumming through the room, turning the air thick and hot with imbalance, but for once, it’s not on Connor’s side. It feels good to be the one in charge, he has to say. Hayden doesn’t usually like it, but he does now.

“Why would us talking bother you, Connor?” He says, relaxed as anything. “I don’t see what could possibly be the problem. We’re just talking.”

Connor rounds on him. “You’re not just talking, though. I know you aren’t. Maybe you’re trying to get me out or something. I don’t know what you’re doing.”

Roland stalks closer. “It bothers you, doesn’t it? Not knowing what we’re up to.”

“That’s what I just said,” Connor spits out, but he doesn’t sound as self-righteous as he did before. In fact, his voice wobbles slightly on the last syllable, just like it had when he’d caught them the first time.

“I don’t know why it would bother you,” Hayden says matter-of-factly. “To be honest, if you’ve got anything wrong with it, I think you should prove it. Otherwise, I mean, how would we know what you want?”

It’s a good move, Hayden’s proud of it. Even Roland’s grinning, the two of them in on another joke. Connor chafes against that exclusion like a dog at a bit, foaming at the mouth at the thought of them having anything without him.

“What I want,” Connor says slowly, voice thick with it, “is for you two to stop fucking around like this. Stop looking at me like I’m the odd one out. You two hate each other, anyway.”

Roland stalks closer. The way he’s eying Connor is downright predatory. “I think I’m confused. Do you want us to stop, or do you want to be a part of it?”

“I don’t even know what it is,” Connor tries to say, but his voice drops away into nothingness the closer Roland gets to him. Hayden can understand the feeling. He still feels like the floor of the plane isn’t all too steady anymore.

“I think you do,” Roland says. He looms over them both now, less in stature and more in spirit. The span of him could last forever. Enough for Connor and Hayden to share, and a little left over too.

Hayden’s jacket is on the floor, and he only knows it happens at all because of the quick flash of Connor’s hands ripping it off of him in the corner of Hayden’s vision. Roland doesn’t even react to the motion. He just keeps staring at the two of them, grinning, waiting. Then he moves, is on them in an instant, and there’s nothing any of them could have done after that.

Hayden honestly doesn’t know if Connor was there to stop them or join. In the end, it doesn’t matter. Hayden knows how that would-be intervention ended, and it didn’t really seem like Connor was that keen on any of them stopping, for that matter.

He has no idea what’s going to happen after this. Roland’s plan really only went so far as getting Connor to snap, no continuity for the fallout. For once, though, Hayden doesn’t think he needs a plan for how to act, what to do. Maybe he can just make it up as he goes along. Roland and Connor would be down, and nothing else really matters. Everything is business as usual and he feels good. Really good, actually, and if Hayden’s voice is oddly hoarse the next morning, most people have the good sense not to ask why.

Most people, that is. Risa sidles up to Hayden later that day. He’s pretending to organize some cans of food, although he starts pretending extra hard when he notices the suspicious look on her face. 

“The windows on one of the planes were quite fogged up this morning,” Risa remarks. 

“Planes do that sometimes,” Hayden replies calmly. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Risa casts him a sidelong glance, but when Hayden refuses to extrapolate on that absolute failure of a sentence, she sighs so deeply he’s pretty sure the Admiral could hear it from his office. She looks like she’s going to call him out on this obvious bit of bullshit, but then she spots something across the tarmac and straightens up a little. 

“Never mind,” she says, “I think I’ve answered my own question.”

Risa starts to walk away, then pauses as if she’s just thought of something important and turns back to him. “Don’t do anything stupid, Hayden. Or anything else stupid.”

With those inspiring words of wisdom, Risa heads back the way she’d come. Hayden frowns, confused, then tries to figure out what she’d been looking at to change her mind so quickly. 

It doesn’t take long to figure it out. Shaded by the metal underbelly of one of the Graveyard’s many planes, two figures stand close together, their shoulders brushing as they whisper. Roland and Connor. Two people who supposedly hate each other, who did hate each other or were at least good at pretending until last night. Now, instead of trying to kill each other, they’re muttering back and forth, all the while both eyeing Hayden with identical, bloodthirsty grins. Like they knew exactly what prey they wanted. Like they already knew it was twitching under their claws. 

Oh, Hayden is so fucked. But hasn’t that always been true?

unwind tag list: @reinekes-fox, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[nemisuki]

𐔌 ✧.* ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴄɪᴘᴇ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ || Maybe there’s a purpose behind his baking after all!  

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff, no smut or angst, oneshot, crush au, oblivious + foodie reader, flustered bkg, acts of service, realizations, he’s just a lil guy, 663 word count

“Oi, slow down will ya?! Food ain’t going nowhere!”

It was almost humiliating how he doubted her ability to eat.

The blonde would never admit it, but even she caught him off guard. it just seemed like the girl never got full!

Despite the amount of dishes he brought out, she kept returning for more, more and more!

“Uwahhh! You made dessert too Bakugo?!”

Her eyes practically sparkled as he took a — notably mouth watering — apple pie fresh out of the oven.

Absolutely baked to perfection.

A glistening golden brown as he sets it on the counter before her. She’s clearly holding back the urge to inch closer.

He huffs.

Grabbing a knife to swiftly cut the sweet treat into small slices.

“It looks soooo good!”

“Tch, of course it does! I made it!”

She gives him a pleading look, only making him roll his eyes in response.

Begrudgingly taking a slice — both the largest and most presentable one — then placing it on a plate, swiftly sliding it across the counter.

A bright smile forms on her face as she eagerly grabs a fork.

“Watch it dumbass, it’s fucking hot—“

“Agh!”

“For the love of— you idiot!”

He’s quickly scrambling to fill a glass of milk despite his irritation — a small feeling of worry creeping in — handing it to her with a stern expression.

She doesn’t deny the help.

Instantly chugging the cold liquid as it begins to soothe the burning ache of her tongue.

“I fucking told you to eat slower!”

The girl could only giggle at his usual grumpy nature — knowing he never meant any harm with his yelling — used to it by now.

His eye twitched soon after.

“What’s so damn funny huh?!”

“N-nothing! Nothing! I just find it a little odd how someone so angry can be so good in the kitchen.”

“Hmph, I’m damn good at everything!”

“Can’t deny that when this is so tasty! How’d you do it?!”

“As if I’d tell you my secrets! Just eat the dang thing!”

She pouts but nonetheless begins stuffing her face.

Her cheeks turning puffy as she nibbles on the pastry — the sight almost comical — almost… if it didn’t make him feel some type of way.

The pure enjoyment in her expression made his heart stutter — staring at her a little too long for his liking — it was new to him.

Had him shaking his head to get rid of such thoughts, furrowing his brows in confusion.

The hell was that?

“Can you try making a cheesecake next time Bakugo?! Your baking is always my favorite!”

His gaze returns to her.

Taking note of the small crumbs on her lips, eyes filled with innocent hope as she tilts her head, straight up resembling a chipmunk with her food.

He should be telling her no — remind her of how stupid she looks — or even chase her away, like he does with the others.

The kitchen being his domain whenever he wants to unwind.

But for some reason — as if his body acted without thinking — he hands her another slice with a grumble.

“Maybe if you stop being a klutz, then I’ll actually think about it…”

That earns a small cheer from her.

And the reaction only fuels his ego with pride.

“I promise! Oh I’m so excited!”

He looks away — has too — before she could see the way his face heats up.

The small twitch of his lips at her excitement, her yearning to try his food, words that not many people have said to him.

Probably because he’s always kicked everyone out when he’s cooking — tried the same with her — but she’s damn persistent.

His eyes suddenly widened with dramatic horror at the realization.

The impossible somehow becomes true — mentally spiraling right then and there — as the girl continues to eat, practically licking the plate clean.

The conclusion appears clear as day despite his constant attempts to deflect the inevitable.

Maybe the secret ingredient to his baking, truly, is love.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

ᴀ/ɴ ||| wrote this while eating as u can tell lolololol, i loveee baking themed fics!! anywayssss everyone welcome sunny to the taglist, oh em geee! ty for joining the katsuki bakugo cult where we live laugh and love anything this man does! sending u hugs and kissessss (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ ɴᴇxᴛ ꜰɪᴄ ||| katsuki bakugo x f!reader (fluff) ᴛᴀɢꜱ ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 @qyuin @sunnyalmighty — ໒꒰ྀི ´๑  ̫๑`  ꒱ྀིა

[sundrop-writes]

Sundrop's Criminal Minds Masterlist

Lessons For A Genius - Capsule Series (Temporarily Complete)

Note: This is a Capsule Series, so each fic can be read as an individual oneshot. There is no overarching story, and no specific ending.

Lesson One: Slick Silicone - Sub!Spencer Reid x (BAU)Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Friends With Benefits. Smut. Despite being a genius, Reid still has a lot left to learn about life. (Mostly sex related.) And he definitely wants to learn from you. His first lesson? Well, a linguistics lesson turns into a hands-on demonstration with a very special toy. (17,200 words.)

Lesson Two: Magic Metacarpals - Sub!Spencer Reid x (BAU)Dom!Fem!Reader. (Pining) Friends With Benefits. Smut. After receiving his first lesson, Spencer is eager to learn more for you. So you teach him the next logical thing - how to pleasure you in return. (26,300 words.)

The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes - Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Fake Dating. Hurt and Comfort. While undercover inside the Separatarian Sect, you and Spencer realize something important: you can’t live without each other. (8,200 words.)

Push and Pull - Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader - Co-Workers to Lovers. Smut, Sexual Tension. When investigating Viper, Emily doesn't fall for his tricks, and in fact - spends the night teasing him by showing more interest in you. Little did she know, she was driving you insane in the process. (2,800 words.)

The Perfect Brat - Dom!Elle Greenaway x Dom!Fem!Reader x Sub!Spencer Reid. Co-Workers with Benefits. Smut/PWP. Spencer acts up, so you and Elle put him in his place. (2,900 words.)

Loverboy - Bratty!Virgin!Spencer Reid x (Dom)Fem!Reader. Co-Workers with Benefits. Smut/PWP. You try your hardest to make Spencer's first time a good one. (3,100 words.)

Black Suit - Dom!Emily Prentiss x Sub!Fem!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut/PWP. After a particularly hard case, Emily takes you home and helps you unwind by showing you exactly where you belong. (2,900 words.)

From Your Lips - Jennifer Jareau x GN!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut, Hurt and Comfort. After JJ is attacked on the Hankle farm, you take the time to check on her and distract her flustered mind. (3,000 words.)

Figure It Out - A Criminal Minds Casefic. Fem!Reader x Gen!BAU Team (Platonic). General Casefic, modelled after a Criminal Minds episode. Angst, Mystery, Hurt and Comfort. When the team takes a case in your hometown - a secret that you have been trying to hide for years comes to be known with a vengeance. (18,000 words.)

Meddle About - Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Smut. Morgan calls you Reid's 'Mommy', and you don't think much of it - but Reid can't get it out of his head. It accidentally slips out of his lips, and you like how it sounds coming from him. (6,300 words.)

Pathetic - Dom!Elle Greenaway x Switch!GN!Reader x Sub!Spencer Reid. Established Dom/Sub Relationship. Smut/PWP. Spencer gets punished again - in a very creative way. (2,600 words.)

She Keeps Me Up - Dom!Jennifer Jareau x Sub!Fem!Reader. Established Dom/Sub Relationship. Smut/PWP. JJ is very protective of you - and very possessive of you. When an UnSub leaves a tiny scratch on you, she feels the need to remind you exactly who you belong to. (3,100 words.)

Jennifer Jareau x Fem!Autistic!Reader Headcanons

Jennifer Jareau and Emily Prentiss Kink Headcanons

Random Spencer Reid Headcanons

JJ Being Protective Of You (Jennifer Jareau x Fem!Autistic Reader)

The Scale of Dominance and Submissiveness in The Criminal Minds Characters (Headcanons)

How would Spencer react to you teasing him with a lollipop?

How would Spencer react to you fainting around him?

How would Spencer, Emily, and Elle react to getting proposed to?

How would Derek, Emily, and Spencer react to your daughter being clingy with them?

Note: This last fic links off to AO3. I'm probably not going to edit it and post it on Tumblr - it's going to live on AO3. So if you want to read it, you can do so at this link.

Burn The Witch - Spencer Reid x (BAU)Fem!Reader. Mutual Pining Co-Workers. Heavy Angst, Smut, Casefic. (Series - Complete.) You weren’t sure which you regretted more: acting on your feelings for Spencer, or writing them down first. But there wasn't much room for regrets when a psychopath was waving a gas can in front of your face and telling you he intended to turn you to ashes. (69,900 words.)

[cosmicalily]

"heaven is a bedroom" a minho oneshot by @cosmicalily

author's note: okay so even though this wasn't on my publish schedule, i really loved it and wanted to put it out anyways! whilst the lyrics of this song don't totally fit with the theme, i thought the whole idea of the bedroom being like a safe space was really beautiful and based it off the title! my mum and i bond over drinking rosé, eating dark chocolate and doing puzzles together late at night (often with skz code in the bg lol) and i need a man who matches this niche comfort activity of mine, and i feel like lee minho would really fw puzzles. warnings: alcohol consumption, making out

The bedroom you and Minho had built for yourselves was less of a room for sleeping, and more of a nest for the two of you to comfortably exist alongside each other within. Minimal furniture, soft, freshly washed bed linen and a huge window with long navy curtains; simple, calming and easy on the eyes. A place to unwind.

After one of your first dates, Minho had invited you over to his apartment.

“I’m not expecting you to let me hit, I promise.” he assured you. “It’s too early for that. But I’d like to spend the evening with you.”

So you’d gone back to his, hands warm in each other’s. And when he’d let you in through the door, he had opened a bottle of wine, pulled out a puzzle, and lit a single lamp in the corner of his living room. It felt intimate, in a way that wasn’t lustful or desperate. It was cosy and familiar.

And as the two of you sat beside each other on the rug, placing pieces and chatting about anything and everything, one of his three cats on your lap, you’d felt something in your stomach settle. A sense of calm that hadn’t washed over your body in this kind of way for too long.

It had always been that way with Minho. The things that would have normally sent you into a spiral were settled into mere dust. Irrelevant when you had a person that simply got you, a person who loved and knew you through and through, in ways that you hadn’t thought were possible.

There was something permanent about Minho, a feeling you were thankful for.

Now, four years later, you sat on your shared bed, glass of red wine in hand, head resting against his shoulder as you worked on the large-scale Monet puzzle laid out on a tray in front of you. It had been a while since you’d had a pocket of peace like this together; you’d both been busy with work and had spent most nights falling asleep wordlessly, bodies entwined. But this evening, there was a power outage in your apartment block. There wasn’t any WiFi to answer work emails with, so you’d put your laptops to the side and moved into your bedroom. 

Whilst the candlelight was a little difficult to work with, the two of you had a knack for puzzles, identifying dips and curves in the pieces, knowing exactly where the next would go.

“Missed you,” you mumbled into Minho’s shoulder, slotting a piece into your growing patch of ocean.

“Mm? I’ve been around,” he replied, but pressed a light kiss to your cheek anyway, knowing you didn’t mean it physically. He set his wine glass down and moved his hand to your waist, gently squeezing and running his fingers along the soft skin. “It’s nice like this. Slower. Less to worry about.”

“I never worry when I’m with you, my love.”

Minho’s face stretched into a soft smile at that, and he moved the puzzle tray to the end of the bed, pulling you into his arms and kissing your forehead. “Good. You’re stuck with me, you know that, right?”

“I’m happy to be.”

Oh, drunk kisses with Minho were some of your favourite. There was a different side to him when he was like this; although he was never rough or cold with you, he was gentler and at times, sappy. Wanting you all over him, wanting to breathe in nothing but you.

But before his tongue slipped between your lips, he pulled away suddenly, head turning to glance at the rustling sound beside you.

Soonie, rather proudly, rolled through the sections of completed puzzle, purring gently.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” you smiled in amusement, cupping Minho’s cheek with your hand and pulling his face back towards yours.

Red wine had most likely trickled out of your tilted glass and onto the white sheets, but that was the least of your worries. Minho’s fingers were in your hair, his burgundy stained lips warm against yours. Somehow, it tasted better on his tongue; sweeter, softer, more fragrant. His kisses were desperate yet measured, taking time to trace his tongue around your mouth, savouring you, downing you slowly and intentionally.

You managed to set your glass down on the wooden table beside your bed, using your now free hand to hold his cheeks. His skin was soft and smooth, a little flushed and warm under your fingertips.

And the way the two of you slotted together, your legs wrapped around his waist and his chest against yours, you knew for sure that amongst the thousands of pieces in your world,

He’d always be the perfect fit.

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo @modesttiger - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

[bummblebe]

"You look pretty.."

Bumblebee x Reader

Word count: 613

Summary: A short Bumblebee oneshot inspired by the audio from Hot Rod (2007).

Song choice <3

> Brazil - Declan McKenna

Light pollution from the city no longer felt like an obstruction when you stood in your silent neighborhood, now in front of your garage; you were glad to see the stars at their full potential, lighting up the sky one-by-one in full view. You were dropped off at your place by none other than Bumblebee, always spending the last few minutes of the day spent together either gazing at the stars or having late-night talks; it's become routine at this point. A few moments to unwind in comfortable silence has always been a highlight, the two of you just enjoying each other's presence even while there are no words exchanged.

Tonight, you thought this to be another wordless soon-to-be goodbye.

Your eyes stayed fixated on the countless stars, your irises shifting ever so slightly to every new one you found, it really did feel endless.

Bumblebee's optics stayed fixated on you, the same fascination.

Some of the stars looked to be a lot rounder than a few others, a lot more noticeable than the typical shapeless glimmer. Your mind wandered, maybe it was a planet you had the privilege of being able to see with your naked eye. It doesn't make any of the surrounding stars any less special--no--it's just appreciation for a different kind of beauty. Alternatively, you remember reading somewhere that the stars you see in the sky in the present are actually impressions of what they looked like thousands of years ago, and that those stars probably don't exist anymore. It's strangely beautiful to catch a glimpse of a sight of 10,000 years ago, even if its bittersweet to know that these stars truly are gone now. You wondered, almost laughing to yourself, at the thought of if the autobots began their journey to Earth in the 9th millennium BC and only landed now in the 21st century.

Bumblebee stayed fascinated, not at the stars as he's done on other nights, but on you. Your eyes slightly widened in wonder, shifting in constant activity as you take in as much as you can of the night sky. He looked upon you in silent admiration, optics softening in a pale-blue glow. Really, he was doing the same thing you were doing, only he was appreciating his own different kind of beauty.

Bee couldn't help it.

"..Krrsh.. -- You look pretty.."

You snapped out of your stargazing, turning to face the mech, clueless. "Sorry, what was that?"

Bee gave a surprised whir and scrambled back to his full height, alarmed at his radio unintentionally exposing him outright. He bumped the lower plating on his chassis over and over with a fist to get himself to shut it.

Unfortunately, even with every hit he gave to his chest, his radio kept going.

"Zrt! -- Uhh-" Hit.

"-- I said-" Hit hit.

"-- You look shitty! -- Kzrt!" He winced.

Bee backed away quick, panicked whirs and mechanical trills filling the air. "Goodnight, Denise!" He gave a swift two-finger salute and bailed, quickly transforming back into the Camaro and speeding away, tires screeching as he did. 

You stood there, completely stunned; the only thing you could hear were the night crickets and Bee's roaring engine, gradually getting quieter the farther he drove away.

The smile that crept up to your face couldn't be helped. You shook your head to yourself, heading inside to your house as the smile never went away.

You may have not heard the first thing he said in the moment, but you sure did recognize the sound-bite the longer he kept talking.

Bumblebee really did call you pretty.

The electric jump you felt in your stomach couldn't be helped.

[bryan-writes]

Hey! I don't know if you take requests but I like collecting headcanons of people

so do you have some Obey me headcanons?

Have a wonderful day<3. (if you don't take requests then feel free to ignore)

Hello anon, I hope this is what you were asking for! Thank you sm for the request, I hope you have a wonderful day as well lovely<3!

Obey me headcannons— the seven brothers

Just a bunch of cute head cannons I have about the brothers :)

No warnings!

Lovely dividers by @cafekitsune <3

Lucifer

A total plant dad in secret! He has a small collection of rare plants in his office (hidden away from Mammon ofc). He enjoys their low-maintenance nature and often has a calming ritual of watering them and reflecting after a long day. You found out by accident once, and gift him small plants whenever you visit the human realm (a spider plant, dracaena, snake plant).

He's a classical vinyl collector. I feel like this one’s pretty popular, but he has an extensive vinyl collection (mainly of classical or jazz) and insists they sound better than any digital recording he’s heard. He prefers to listen to them alone, insisting his brothers will only ruin the experience, but he’ll never deny or turn you away if you ask to join him.

He’s a total fancy sleepwear enthusiast. You’d think it’d be an Asmo thing, but Lucifer has a collection of luxurious silk and satin pajamas. He believes that “even in sleep, one must uphold dignity” (he gave you that speech the first week when you wobbled through the kitchen in an old, stained band shirt).

Mammon

He’s absolutely adored by stray animals in the Devildom, but especially by cats. They tend to follow him around (much to Satan’s dismay), and he’s always a bit flustered about it but secretly loves it. Sometimes he’ll even sneak treats and treasures to them (things like fancy ribbons and long necklace chains).

He’s a total hoarder too, keeping a collection of things that remind him of you specifically— small trinkets, wrapped, tickets/receipts, photos (I wrote a oneshot for this if you want more!). He keeps them hidden, safe from his brother’s prying eyes and questions.

He also has a ton of good luck charms. A little ceramic ladybug, a pressed four-leaf clover, crystals, a horseshoe, etc. He’s convinced they’ll bring him good luck and fortune in his schemes, even if he doesn’t quite remember where they all came from. His favorite good luck charm is you though. He refuses to leave the house in the mornings without a good luck kiss.

Levi

It’s no secret that Levi loves the ocean, keeping a fish tank that he’s decorated to look like the real deal. He’ll watch Henry swim around in the rare moments he’s unwinding, taking the quiet time to find inspiration for his gaming and anime stories.

He totally has an otaku daily planner that he’s decorated with anime stickers and fan art. He tracks everything from game release dates to plans with you— which he surrounds with little hearts. He’ll doodle in free spaces and will bring it with him everywhere.

He’s a total random trivia buff, with a surprising amount of knowledge for most obscure topics. He’s like the caps of Snapple bottles, popping off with a random fact that relates to the conversation every now and then.

Satan

Satan is an avid audiobook listener. He likes to experience different narrations of the classics he loves, often falling asleep to them. There have been countless times where he’s recorded you reading to him just to later listen to your voice when he naps.

Over the years, he’s secretly given each of his brothers a nickname of a cat breed based on their personalities. He calls Mammon a Bengal (for their boldness) and Lucifer a Maine Coon (dignified and regal) for example. Nobody knows he does this, and would rather die than tell anyone.

Satan is a tea connoisseur. He loves to experiment with different tea blends based on his current read. He’ll make a “Wuthering Heights” blend on stormy days or a “Sherlock Holmes” blend when he’s feeling particularly investigative.

Asmo

Asmo has a vast collection of rare perfumes and fragrances from both the human and demon realm and can identify perfumes by smell alone. He’ll often make blends for you that he thinks “capture your essence”, and makes you wear them on date nights.

He creates outfits based on moods, and very rarely based on occasions or weather (although whatever he wears is beyond beautiful anyway). If he’s feeling even slightly out of sorts, he’ll wear a specific scarf to “help align his vibes”, insisting you wear a matching one with him.

Asmo has an elaborate manicure routine, and he offers special “spa nights” just for you (it’s become a weekly routine). He does all of his brother's nails, but never treats them to full nights of face and hair care that he does with you.

Beel

He loves to experiment with recipes, trying to come up with “the ultimate snack” with a variety of unique flavors. He has a small notebook filled with random snack ideas he wants to try with you, including “infernal honey nachos” and “fiery chocolate popcorn”.

He will occasionally build the most elaborate and beautiful blanket forts in his room, to hide from his brothers for quiet time and snacks. He’ll sometimes invite you to join him for late-night snack chats.

Beel loves trying to combine Devildom foods with human foods, attempting to make hybrids like “hellberry pizza” or “demonic takoyaki.” He gets super excited when you introduce him to new human-realm foods and suggest new fashion ideas.

Belphie

He has curated playlists for every possible sleeping scenario ever. He has a “nap in a meadow” playlist and an “underwater dream”, which he’ll share with you if you ever want the “perfect sleep/nap vibes.”

Belphie has a habit of sketching while sleepy. He doesn’t remember half of what he draws, but he’s done some surprisingly good doodles of you, the brothers, and his dreams. You’ve started keeping them to collect in a sketchbook for him.

He actually puts some thought into his “lazy look.” He has favorite clothes that he feels make him look effortlessly comfortable and will proudly say, “Fashion is all about making it look like you didn't try.” (You’ve seen him get mad when his hair won’t look ‘the right amount of disheveled’, whatever that means).