#this fic is all sharp edges haha

[mrs-luigi-vargas]

Inky Soup for the Soul

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Characters: Kamek, Kammy Relationships: Kamek & Kammy Tags: Sickfic, Bickering, Arguing, Frenemies, neither of these two end the fic having a good time tbh, Sicktember 2023

Summary: A few days after Kammy visits a sick Kamek, it’s Kamek’s turn to visit a sick Kammy. This visit goes even more poorly than the last one. Prompts: 3. "What happened to your phenomenal immune system, huh?", 7. “You’re a Jerk When You’re Sick”, 23. Coughing Fit Word Count: 1,444 words

Note: The events immediately preceding this fic are detailed here, and the events that immediately follow are detailed here.

[AO3 Link]

~~~

"What happened to your phenomenal immune system, hm?"

Propped up against the headboard of her bed, Kammy looked up from the book her eyes were too tired to read. “Don't put words in my mouth, you asshole,” she spat, voice hoarse.

Kamek swept into her quarters, a smug air about him. While he still was a bit pale from his own bout of sickness, he looked leagues better than Kammy did at the current moment, which to her, the objectively prettiest person in this castle, was both infuriating and humiliating in equal measures.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Am I not allowed to return the favor of your visit the other day?” Kamek’s voice oozed with false concern as he approached her bedside.

Ugh. Consequences.

“Oh, but where are my manners?” Kamek continued, waving his wand. “I didn't come here empty-handed, after all!”

A bowl floated in the air and settled in Kammy’s lap. It was warm. It was soup. Her nose was too stuffed to smell it, yet she could tell Kamek had at least bothered to get a flavor she didn't hate. As she examined the soup, Kamek watched her expectantly. Kammy sneered at him. “How do I know you didn't poison this?”

“Why I never!” Kamek put a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’ve never poisoned anything in my life!”

“I seem to remember a rather important poisoning you did a few decades ago.”

“That was your poison,” Kamek sniffed, “that you made. I just delivered it.”

“Bah.” Kammy looked down at the soup. She should eat it. But the effort of lifting her leadened arms didn't seem worth expending right now.

Kamek smirked. “If you need assistance —”

On spite alone, Kammy mustered the energy to shove a spoonful of soup into her mouth. Kamek’s smirk didn't budge at the scowl she made around her spoon.

It only took a few more spoonfuls before Kamek opened his stupid mouth again. “I also bring news from Lord Bowser!” he said.

“Let me guess. The project is canceled.”

“The project is postponed!” Kamek corrected, smarmy grin on his face. “Until further notice!”

Great. Kammy took a cranky bite of her soup. And Kamek will probably be back at the helm of it, because he was the healthier one. Kammy huffed. It had been worth a shot, she supposed.

Kamek was still standing there watching her. “Why are you still here?” Kammy scowled. “Aren't you finished making my day the worst I've had in months?”

“But how can you say that” — Kamek reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper — “when the Young Master drew this especially for you!”

Kammy took it from him, squinting at the haphazard scribbles of color. ”What the fuck is this supposed to be?”

“I was told it was you, with your crystal ball.”

“Hmph.” Kammy glared at her likeness. She definitely wasn't that fat.

“It’s surely fridge-worthy, isn't it?”

“It’s certainly garbage worthy.”

“Oh? You're not going to add it to that locked box you have hidden under your bed?”

Kammy stilled. “...why do you know about that.”

“Same way you know about the hidden panels in my desk.” Kamek crossed his arms. “You really need to change those wards of yours; those outdated protections could be cracked by an infant!”

“Bold of you to say, hypocrite. Have you even noticed where those magazines of yours had gone off to?”

“...which magazines.”

“Oh you know.” Kammy regarded him lazily. “Those ones.”

Kamek regained his composure faster than Kammy would’ve liked. “W-well,” he said, fiddling with his glasses. “I found a chest in a panel in your dresser a while ago,” he blurted out, and as Kammy’s face flipped from smug to stormy Kamek barreled on, leaning in closer to her with a smirk. “Wooden, right? Pink with glitter and lace? Not really something that matches your usual style, I'll have to admit.”

“You...!” Kammy growled, low and dangerous.

“Me!” Kamek sang. “It's a shame you're in no shape to get up and check on it. I might have taken a few souvenirs; who knows!”

The drawing in Kammy’s hands crumpled in her grip. “You're bluffing.” He had to be. But in her sickened haze, she wasn't as sharp at reading his tells.

Kamek seemed to realize this too, and the glint in his glasses was almost gleeful. “There was a lot of paper in there. Quite the flammable little display,” he remarked, idly inspecting his claws, and no. No, he couldn't have actually —

“You fucking bastard!” Kammy swiped at him with her spoon; her swing went wide, and Kamek danced out of range, cackling. “You’re bluffing,” she hissed, hating the way it came out less like she was calling his bluff and more like she was trying to convince herself he was bluffing in the first place. “You didn't see shit! And if you put your filthy hands all over my clothes I’m going to rip them off and shove them up your —!”

Kammy’s voice caught in her throat. She tried to breathe past it, but the rest of her threats were lost to coughs and coughs and coughs. Coughs that very quickly had her head spinning, bent double over the bowl of soup that hadn't spilled a drop despite all her movement. The foresight required for casting the correct charms for such a thing compounded by the helplessness from the coughing fit and Kamek’s supposed invasion of her privacy had her clawing at her bedding in frustration.

When she could finally take in ragged gasps she could actually control, she unscrewed her eyes and saw Kamek watching her with something close enough to pity lurking behind his hideous-looking glasses that Kammy saw red. She bared her teeth at him and threw her spoon as hard as she could.

“Hey!” Kamek ducked, the spoon spinning through the space where his head just was and clattering against the far wall. “You know,” he groused, “you’re a real bitch when you’re sick.”

“Evidently not enough of one,” Kammy snapped, voice crackling and thinning, “considering you’re still here. Get out!”

Kamek hesitated.

“And give me back my damn spoon,” Kammy added, so he had something to do that wasn’t looking at her like that...!

As was his specialty, Kamek did as he was told. He absently wiped the spoon clean on his robes once it was in his hand, a without-a-second-thought motion that soured Kammy’s mood further. Did this fool know how to do anything but coddle?

“Well!” Kamek rolled his eyes. “I can tell when I'm not wanted —”

“Can you?”

“— so I suppose I’ll take my leave.” He ignored Kammy’s interruption, setting her spoon on the bed. “I’ve got much more important things to do than waste time with you, after all, like actually doing my job and enjoying the ability to breathe through both nostrils simultaneously.”

Kammy waited until he was almost at the door before she spoke again. “While you’re doing that,” she drawled, knowing this would be the last thing her throat would let her say for a good while, “tell me if the air under the King’s desk still smells the same, will you?”

Kamek’s head whipped around so fast it was a shame he didn't snap his own neck. Kammy stared back at him, chin high and bored expression settled on her face. His enraged sputtering was a balm to her soul; his wand arm even twitched as if he was briefly considering outright violence. But faced with Kammy’s unflinching gaze, all he could do was grind his teeth and storm out of her room, slamming the door behind him with a loud bang. The noise nudged at her budding headache, but it was worth it. Peace and quiet at last.

Basking in her success, Kammy turned her attention back to her soup. It was still warm; another charm on the bowl keeping it that way. Her earlier resentment rose up again, but it was swiftly quashed by the growling of her stomach. Absently, she reached for where Kamek had put her spoon. Less absently, she strained to grab it, claws failing by a mere hair’s breadth to brush the cool metal no matter how far she stretched. That rotten, good for nothing —!

Kammy screamed, a near soundless noise that ended in a few more coughs as she fell back onto her pillows. She stared up at the ceiling, blowing the bangs off her face with a huff. They fell right back where they were. She sank further into her bed, hands over her face. If only the Stars would put her out of her misery right now...!

#this fic is all sharp edges haha #i like to think i have range~ #mlv.fic #smb #super mario #kamek #kammy koopa #sicktember 2023 #i was gonna add the 'kamek is bowser's dad' tag for this #but that's only relevant to the last line of dialogue so... :)

[whatudowhennooneseesyou]

Mommy!May: Essence

A siren rescues you from the plunder of a shipwreck, you're grateful for his mercy in letting you live.

But at what cost?

Content Includes: Siren!Mommy Seonghwa x sub!fem reader, DUB-CON & DARK THEMES, it's why I included the ominous blurb in the beginning, scent play, spit kink, aphrodisiacs, scratching, biting, rough sex, kissing, oral (fem receiving), nipple play, body worship, mating kink.

Word Count: 2.8 K

Disclaimer: 18 + only. I don't endorse these themes, this is pure fantasy.

Please heed the warnings, this is the darkest fic I have written thus far.

If you still feel 'called' haha to read this, enjoy :)

The waves crashed and battered against you as you called out for help, your hands and feet kicking and clawing at the ocean that was ravenous and against your favour. 

‘Help! Someone help me!’ 

The words baffled and frothed against your mouth, you felt your lungs were drowning and your body weakening. 

The imminent drag to the bottom of the ocean is close to being the untimely death of your demise. 

The night sky was bright, the moonlight an ominous globe that silhouetted the hidden creatures in the water and the shrieking screams of fear heard from any direction of sight. 

The ship was creaking, the fire illuminating the darkness and the smell of smoke and salt filled your nostrils. 

A piece of wood peeked out of the corner of your eye, it wasn’t there before…why would it be there now? 

You were too focused on surviving to care, lunging towards the wood and gripping it with what little strength you have left, hands shaking and trembling white as you gripped onto the edge and heaved your torso up onto the plank. 

Coughs and gargles were filling the air as you churned up all the excessive water over the wood, your head resting against the rough material as you closed your eyes for a few moments of peace. 

Just a few seconds, just give a few seconds, a few seconds of freedom, a few seconds to feel grateful for the extended life the Universe has so kindly placed upon you. 

A swishing noise was heard around you, soft and mild, barely enough to wake you from your slumber, your lashes fluttered as you attempted to close your eyes and let the ocean take you away. 

Until the flicker of scales shone under the water, peeking out in your periphery. 

‘Wow, that’s so pretty’ You murmured in a groggy daze, unaware of the presence hovering over you, watching you, contemplating where his song would lure you. 

To the ocean to feed? 

His mouth filled with saliva, his body ready to pounce and the tail swished around him in a defensive stance. 

Until moonlight hit the side of your cheek, glittering and gleaming against the wetness and soft droplets forming on the tips of your lashes. 

Like the stars. 

So precious and fragile, little human, so beautiful and weak. 

A precious, little star. 

His precious, little star. 

A low hum filled your senses and a shiver ran down your frozen body, the melody encapsulating and the tension easing from your chest. 

You followed the noise to the man floating in the water, his skin wet and droplets riveting across his bare chest and shoulders. 

The illusion was too easy to believe in your breathless state, his tail deliberately hidden underneath him, gills flat behind his ears, his mouth closed and hiding his sharp and deadly fangs. 

‘Please…’ You whimpered out in a croaky, gargled voice. 

‘Help me’. 

He swam over to you, though not using his arms, it was like he was gliding across the water, the soft hum becoming louder and making your mind foggy and head feel heavy. 

A gentle stroke to your hair, a webbed finger softly prying your mouth open and a warm, sweet type of wetness was felt upon your tongue, a soft thumb wiping the excess away from the corner of your lip. 

‘Shhhh, don’t be scared…I’ll look after you’ He cooed, something he mimicked from watching mothers speak to their children upon the shore. 

‘Ssssssleep’ He purred, his words almost snake-like and his webbed hand stroking your back, watching your eyes flutter close and your body almost go limp against the wood. 

‘Thank you’ You mumbled out before darkness took over you, the silence and the heaviness more comforting than the need to survive, to kick against the current and thrive. 

The man you thought was your saviour, heart filled with gratitude and appreciation for the one thing that might make you live another day. 

Was not even a man. 

Was not going to save you. 

He was going to be your next nightmare. 

…

‘Precious…’

The droplets of water on your forehead and a cold hand running along your calf brings you to the present. 

‘Wake….up’ 

The sound of rain pitter-pattering caused your lashes to flutter and your nose to scrunch up as your eyes adjusted to the darkness of the cave you were in. 

A soft whimper left your throat at the realisation that you were here, yet again in the rain and the dimly lit cave with nothing but your bare clothes and your sanity hanging on by an ocean’s thread. 

‘Come on…there there…open those pretty eyes’. 

A soft voice cooed in your ear as you felt a hand move up from your calves to your naval, stroking over the thin fabric of your shirt, motioning in smooth circles. 

The touch was so gentle against the roughness and fear of the dark sky and rain, it felt familiar, nurturing almost as the unlocked fear and anxiety pushed past the confines of your lungs and chest. 

‘Mommy??’ 

You whined, your vision becoming more clear as you reached out with grabby hands to latch onto whatever the soft touch and gentle voice came from. 

‘Look at me precious…can’t you see? Mommy’s here’. 

The slightest tilt to your head and a shudder of breath made your body cold and skin prickle in goosebumps at where the voice was coming from. 

Seonghwa’s cheekbones and jawline were covered in silver, chrome coloured scales that ran down his neck and collarbones, his skin so luminescent it looked metallic against the moonlight beaming upon him. 

His wavy, jet black hair fell just under his ears, hiding the gills that reverberated the hymn he was using to help make you lucid, pliable and compliant. 

Webbed and inky-streaked fingers with sharp, pointed nails were followed by shades of silver speckled across his bare chest and torso, seamlessly transitioning from man to creature as his tail floated behind him. 

His lower half was submerged in the pool of water as he perched over you on the flat rock and sticky seaweed he carefully placed underneath you, wanting to form a makeshift bed for your comfort. 

The silver iris of his eyes were uncanny, bright and reflective, you could see a clean image of yourself in them. 

‘It’s…feeding time…Mommy feeds you’

His speech was stunted and broken, he was obviously speaking in a tongue not of his native language but he had heard the laughs and drunken banters of humans before they turned into screeches of pain and cowardly fear. 

So, he knew a little bit. 

Enough to speak to you. 

‘You eat…’ He spoke again, his eyes glancing from your neck up to your chin, the ends of his nails digging into the flesh of your skin as he firmly pulled down your chin, opening your mouth for him. 

‘Eat precious…then…Mommy…play’ 

Darkness glinted in his eyes as his other hand exposed the chunks of raw fish that he had been saving for this moment, the flesh and sinew of it nudging your bottom lip before being pushed gently into your mouth. 

You might have gagged at the metallic-taste if you weren’t starved enough to care, lapping your tongue around Seonghwa’s fingers, too focused on feeling sated to notice the glow of his skin. 

‘Thirsty’ You croaked in a parched voice as you limply reached out to avert the attention to the pool of water. 

‘Thirsty?’ Seonghwa mimicked, his gills flaring up as he looked over to the small rock pool, thoughts pondered in his head as he looked back at you. 

‘Water bad…Mommy make it clean’. 

His head slowly lowered into the water and his tail swished as it doused you in water, causing your clothes to be soaked even more. 

His mind wandered as he swam quickly and with a need to hit his goal with hastiness. 

Seonghwa needed you alive and well. 

He much preferred to play with living prey after all. 

You were his to play with the moment he swam up to the flat bank of rock outside the cave and leveraged you on it with his tail, picking up seaweed so you could be comfortable during your ‘long-term’ stay. 

And as he stared down at your sleeping form, his tail wrapping possessively around you that he heard a slight cry leave your mouth. 

‘Mommy’ You whimpered before you fell back into a state of exhaustion. 

Mommy…

An endearment of trust. 

Only to humans though, 

To a siren, however. 

Oh, the taunting was too tempting to deny. 

‘There…there…Mommy’s here'. 

The sound of Seonghwa’s movements in the water gave you a sigh of relief as a large abalone shell scraped across the rock with a taloned finger. 

The droplets of water glitter across his scaled figure had you frozen in beauty. 

He was gorgeous and terrifying at the same time, too human for a creature and too much of a creature to be human. 

‘Mommy…clean water..to drink’. 

Seonghwa heaved his body over the ledge so half his figure was on land, his legs and tail still submerged in water. 

Your eyes widened as he brought the abalone shell towards his mouth, it seemed like he was going to swallow the contents of it. 

‘No..what are you doing? I need that’ 

You weakly pushed yourself up on your elbows and swatted at Seonghwa to fight for the abalone shell. 

‘Stop!’ He hissed out, bottom lip lined with a sticky substance, his skin now SHINY and glowing with sweat. 

‘Mommy clean water’. 

You watched weakly as he drank the water, a few drops of it sparkling against his skin as he crawled forward to hover over you, his tail and fins dampening the bottom of your thighs and calves. 

His face was inches from you, a series of quiet chirps and clicks emanating from his throat and his call relaxed you slightly. 

Seonghwa spat the water from his mouth into yours, his tongue…LONG tongue swiping the inside of your palette and you felt a pinch on your bottom lip. 

He finished the messy kiss by pulling away slightly, his kindness turned to roughness when his hands gripped your jaw and made your mouth as wide as possible. 

Seonghwa pursed his mouth and a long, thick and viscous string of his saliva landed on the centre of your tongue. 

‘It tastes sweet’ 

The final thought before your head became foggy and satiated. 

Heat ran through your body as a mindless sense of arousal and euphoria rushed over you, letting out little huffs and whimpers as your legs started to grind together. 

Seonghwa’s silver eyes brightened with lust as his eyes fixed upon the buds of your nipples aroused and swollen, peeking through the translucent, wet shirt. 

Low clicks and chirps of desire were heard throughout the cave, his saliva and the siren hymn making you feel euphoric, dazed and needy. 

Seonghwa’s tongue swiped around the bud of your nipple, causing your back to arch and whine as he sucked around the fabric, scraping the bud slightly with his fang before repeating the process on the other one. 

‘Mommy’ You panted out breathlessly. 

‘Mommy play…play with you’ He spoke firmly, webbed fingers pushing the shirt up and over your breasts, watching you stare back at him with glazed eyes. 

The saliva was working, the aphrodisiac qualities making you feel needy, pliable, horny and submissive. 

Seonghwa’s hand wandered down to your covered mound, feeling the heat of it under your fingertips and the smell of your arousal filling the air. 

It’s Mommy’s playtime now. 

‘So little’ 

With one strong and lithe hand, your pants were torn in the middle and the fabric gathered around your calves and knees. 

He watched your body twitch and he was hard, saliva and venom pooling in his mouth at how beautiful your cunt looked and how wet…WET you were from his saliva, staring at your wetness dripping down near the crevice of your thighs. 

Seonghwa spread your thighs open roughly, a warning growl leaving his mouth and fangs bare when he heard your discomfort. 

A curious lick of your slick on his tongue and he moaned, the scent of your arousal seeping into his skin before laving his tongue over you again and again. 

Loud chirps, clicks and guttural moans were heard from your core as Seonghwa messily slid his tongue up your folds, sucked your clit, placed wet open-mouthed kisses against your core and licked you clean. 

‘More…more’ 

You whined out, your body feeling limp and eyelids heavy, satiated in a daze of pleasure and being relieved of touch starvation to understand the depravity of how trapped you were by the one thing that was keeping you on that rock. 

Seonghwa sucked more and more, the talons of his fingers scratching your thighs and eyes slitted, the veins on his arms shining silver and his skin glowing. 

Thoughts of a different language repeated over in his mind as he sucked and licked the wetness out of your cunt, 

What would taste better? 

The life force he was consuming from you?

Or the softness of your skin between his teeth? 

A flash of red sparked through his eyes and he pulled his tongue out to bite into the plushness of your inner thigh, not enough to bleed but enough to feel the puncture of his fangs. 

Seonghwa grabbed your hips and pulled himself back up towards your face, leaving bite marks and wet trails of his saliva all over your bare skin, the aphrodisiac seeping into your skin and the pain subsiding into numbness, into lucidity. 

‘Mate’ 

He spoke out to you with certainty, demanding and with authority. 

‘Mate. My mate’ 

Your mouth was red, swollen and wet with a line of drool coming out from the corner of your mouth from how good the pleasure was and how far gone your mind was. 

Seonghwa puckered your lips with his fingers and his tongue swiped over your bottom lip, your cum mixing with his saliva and your mouth opened freely, the taste of his spit and your essence filling your nostrils and making you squirm with desire for more. 

He grinded his scaled hips over your core as he felt himself unsheath his appendage, much like a human male but thick, with a rougher texture. 

‘Stay…mate you.’ 

With one hand on your waist and the other supporting himself up, he pressed himself against your entrance, watching your hips jolt and brow furrow. 

‘Mommy’ You whined out as you gripped the seaweed below, jaw clenched from the overbearing pressure you felt between your legs. 

‘Shhh’ He cooed softly, running his hands in comfort up your side as he attempted to push in further but the resistance was rough and he could feel your muscles tensing under the broadness of his hands. 

He stayed still as he gently held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes shifting to a normal human lens as he gently tilted your head up. 

A glob of his spit landed on your tongue and you could feel it trail down your throat, it was sweet, like honey and immediately your body became sensitive. 

A rock of your hips languidly and your lips trailing his was enough for Seonghwa to move again, lust and desire overwhelming both of you as he bottomed out inside of you, feeling every ridge of him in the inside of your core. 

‘Precious’ 

His tongue licked over your cheek, savouring the salt and sheen of your skin as his scales grazed over your thighs, your body sensitive and fragile like an exposed wire underneath him. 

‘Star’ 

Seonghwa’s voice was husky, raw as he panted above you, his free hand running down the front of your body in appreciation and worship. 

‘Keep…Mate…Care…Love’ 

He lovingly spoke to you with each thrust, his hands tangled in your hair and his spit, essence and saliva was felt on your tongue, on your lips, down your throat and in your skin. 

He may be your nightmare but you were his dream. 

Your body, your voice, your vulnerability, your isolation. 

Did he lure you or did you lure him? 

Your life was spared, your freedom? Maybe not. 

‘Mate’. 

He whimpered out for the final time as his hips quickened, his scales glistening and shining brighter, the low-light of silver dimmed underneath the sheen of his skin, soft eyes and wet mouth. 

‘You’re Mommy’s mate’.

Author's Commentary:

If you did choose to read this fic, thank you for giving it a chance.

This did not write how I was expecting it too.

This took me weeks to write because I wanted to incorporate spit play into one of my fics after reading the kink used in a vampire!idol fic.

I am personally not into spit play myself but I've always wanted to write a siren!idol piece and it just fits perfectly.

Thank you to @byuntrash101 for beta-reading this for me and giving me the motivation to turn try something different and write a dark fic.

Hey *shrugs*, at least I tried.

Taglist: @hipster-shiz @creativechaoticloner @cherry-0420 @scuzmunkie @marievllr-abg @stardragongalaxy @starsareseen @lino-jagiyaa @mischiefsmind @mrcarrots @junieshohoho @partywithgyu @whatsk-poppinhomies @craxy-person @hologramhoneymoon @gyuhanniescarat @staytinyinmybpack @necessiteez @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @berryberrytan @sensitiveandhungry @laylasbunbunny @bangchanbabygirlx @i-love-ateez @anyamaris @lemonhongjoong @krishastumblernow @hexheathen @michel-angelhoe @aris-ink @hwalysm

#ateez smut #park seonghwa smut #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa x reader #yandere kpop #yandere ateez #dark fic #kpop smut #ateez hard hours #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #seonghwa scenarios #seonghwa fanfic #atz smut #ateez drabbles #ateez fic #mommy!seonghwa #mommy seonghwa #mommy!hwa #mommy!may #whatudowhennooneseesyou

[rineptune]

hiiii! i just read your angel fic and it was so amazing omg😭😭😭 and i wanted to make a request for hazbin hotel if its possible, like the reader is from goetia clan, and somehow (i didnt think much about this request im sorry😭) ends up in the upper circle of pride ring, aka where hazbin hotel is, and i wanted it to be more alastor baised, because we know he doesn't like people who are stronger than him, and goetian are royals, so reader is stronger than him, i dont know you can wing it as you like i just really like your writing style!!

thank you!!!

under your skin.

summary: alastor despises aristocrat hellborns for the priviledged, unadultered power they’re born with, and he loathes you even more than anything else because you fall under every category he despises in hell.

a/n: winging it as we speak, nonnie & don't worry!! this made sense, and i just love this trope you submitted pls. and thank you!!

alastor despises you.

it’s pretty straightforward, though he conceals it perfectly with that for-show smile of his. no one could’ve guessed that there was a demon in hell that made his blood boil to the highest degree.

but he made sure the façade never crumbled, even when you showed no interest in him and his sinister advanced to use you as leverage for him.

he remembers the day you came to visit the hotel to congratulate charlotte. alastor remembers all too well because you paid him no mind and had your fill in questioning his true power. that’s when he found out that he loathes aristocrat hellborns—you, specifically.

“who are you again?” you ask.

“oh, forgive me,” he smiles, his eyes narrowing into slits for a second.

“i am the host of the hotel! you might’ve heard of me from my radio broadcast.”

“radio?” you ponder aloud.

“and here i thought radio had been long gone. vintage,” you chuckle. a bow of greeting you returned. “but quite irrelevant nowadays, won’t you agree?”

the way he smiled... so rigid and on the edge, you already knew how to get under his skin.

“i suppose we have contradicting perspectives on the matter.”

•

alastor wants to murder you.

you and he were the only ones present in the hotel, with the others out and about with their daily activities to bump up their morale to be redeemed.

and all of the places you could’ve made yourself comfortable in, you decided to lounge in his radio broadcasting tower. the nerve. you’re about to set off all of alastor’s accumulated rage if you were to break anything or even misplace anything from their original position.

“i heard the rumors,” you tell him.

inspecting the surroundings, alastor’s alert enough to not let his guard down. it’ll never completely settle.

“of how you broadcasted the screams of the overlords you overtook.”

that piqued his attention.

you? having heard of him now? 

how pathetic.

“i’m well-aware of how i get under your skin,” you smile. “and i’m glad i’m able to do so. it’s entertaining to see your glare, how your aura shifts, and how your shadow mirrors your true emotions.”

“ha-ha, you’re quite observant, sir.” alastor forces him to laugh.

“then, i hope for you to broadcast my agonizing scream in this very tower one faithful day.”

the mood dips. the usually easy and light aura is suffocating, and alastor’s knees buckle, forcing him to kneel in front of you. all of this against his will, his eyes piercing through yours. 

this triggered alastor’s fight-or-flight appearance, the figure becoming sharp and menacing as if he were as much of a threat as he used to be—as if he were still in his rising prime. 

“because i love the challenge,” you conclude with a chipper clap. “and i’d love to see you try and fail miserably.”

“fuck you,” he spat, smiling. “where’s the originality when you’re only quoting my exact words? haha.”

“i thought you’d be much wiser than to question my motives. though, i suppose i should be heading to the main lobby as i hear charlotte and her party have just arrived.” 

“think about it, alastor. if you play your cards right, you might be able to make a deal with me—or even better, kill me.”

alastor was not a man of faith; he does not believe in gods and deities, but he does pray for the goetia’s downfall. and when the time is right, he will strike with all his might just to laugh at your misery.

satan, he’s obsessed.

#classic ໒꒱ ink #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor

[nyoomerr]

For a prompt:

If you could take one scene from svsss to 'fix-it' what would it be?

my favorite place for fix-its is as a jin-lan city divergence, just like half the population of this fandom, LOL. i've done fix-its there a couple times now, and i want to try my hand at a "the trial happens" fix-it fic sometime in the future, but there's no way i'd be fitting that into a drabble length ahaha 💦

so in the meantime, here's a shorter thing, set when lbh is trying to cure sqq of the sower's rash!

---

In Shen Qingqiu’s defense, he’s had a very, very stressful day. 

Meeting Luo Binghe two years too early, getting accosted by a bunch of no-good Huan Hua upstarts, getting infected with the sower’s curse - there’s just been a lot, okay! By the time he’d made it here, cornered in a dingy alleyway with Luo Binghe looming over him, he’d already used up a large amount of his daily rationed tolerance for bullshit! His face had already started to crack!! He wanted a break!!!

He did not get a break. Instead he got Luo Binghe, suddenly larger than Shen Qingqiu himself, shoulders broad in a way that made his height look far more becoming on him than it had when he was 17 and on the edge of the abyss, a beanpole that had just recently grown tall enough to look Shen Qingqiu level in the eyes. 

Instead he got Luo Binghe, as observant as ever but with far less respect for his Shizun, catching Shen Qingqiu’s wrist and running his thumb over the rash caused by the sower’s curse. 

Instead he got Luo Binghe, his ears a bit too pointed for a human and his teeth more like fangs in his mouth, raising his own hand to those deadly teeth of his and tearing into his flesh, and -

Shen Qingqiu had a defense, remember!! Stressful day, no breaks!!

- and Shen Qingqiu can’t help himself, and raises his free hand up to Luo Binghe’s mouth, too, pressing the pad of one thumb up into one too-sharp canine. 

“They’re so much sharper than I thought…” Shen Qingqiu mumbles to himself, as if he’s making a simple field observation and not sticking his hand in his future murderer’s mouth. 

The hand Luo Binghe has wrapped around Shen Qingqiu’s other wrist tightens, and Shen Qingqiu freezes.

“Haha,” he says, and then very quickly tries to extract his hand from Luo Binghe’s mouth. 

But then - stressful day, no breaks, very good excuse!! - Shen Qingqiu doesn’t actually drop his hand all the way back to his side. Instead, he finds himself hovering useless fingers over the bleeding wound Luo Binghe had torn into the palm of his hand.

“...Shizun?” Luo Binghe asks, sounding a bit like a lost kid and not at all like a blackened emperor on the path to revenge.

Shen Qingqiu lets his fingers make contact, sliding gently through the hot mess of blood dripping from Luo Binghe’s palm. Luo Binghe shivers under his touch.

“...You shouldn’t let it bleed like this,” Shen Qingqiu says. Luo Binghe’s blood is precious, after all - watching fat crimson beads of it fall to the ground beneath them feels like a waste. 

Beneath Shen Qingqiu’s fingers, the wound knits itself back together. He supposes that makes sense - there’s blood all over Luo Binghe’s hand and wrist, and Shen Qingqiu’s fingers as well, now. There’s no need for him to keep the wound open; he can use any of the existing blood to force down Shen Qingqiu’s throat. 

…Fuck, Shen Qingqiu really forgot to be scared of that, just then!!

(In front of him, Luo Binghe is thinking very, very hard. He’s remembering every moment of his childhood when his Shizun had made an ill-advised move to get closer to some beast or another just to get a better look; he’s remembering the feeling of his Shiun’s fingers in his mouth, curious and testing.

Luo Binghe… perhaps has a better idea than his current plan. After all, if his Shizun won’t take him back willingly, then Luo Binghe will simply take his Shizun back, himself - and what better way to attract Shen Qingqiu than with a beast?)

Beneath Shen Qingqiu’s fingers, Luo Binghe shifts his hand, moving it to be palm-down. Shen Qinqgiu frowns, watching Luo Binghe’s blood drip onto the ground faster, now, but - 

But then Luo Binghe’s fingers do something - odd. They were human looking just now, Shen Qingqiu was sure of it, but now Luo Binghe’s nails are black and pointed and curled like claws, and his fingers are shaped oddly up to the first knuckle. It almost looks like…

Shen Qingqiu slides his fingers down from Luo Binghe’s palm to his fingers, taking a couple of them firmly in hand and pressing gently at the base of the claws there.

Fascinatingly, Luo Binghe’s claws extend out like a cat’s. 

“Oh,” Shen Qingqiu says, unconsciously tugging Luo Binghe’s hand up to his face for a closer look. He doesn’t remember the Luo Binghe of PIDW ever having this feature. “Where do they go, normally?”

“If Shizun comes back to this disciple’s rooms with him, I’ll cut off a finger for you to dissect,” Luo Binghe says, as if that’s a completely normal and sane thing to suggest.

Shocked, Shen Qingqiu drops Luo Binghe’s hand and rears backwards, pressing into the dirty alleyway wall behind him. Luo Binghe stares down at him, expression twisted up.

“Is this disciple so despicable that Shizun doesn’t even want that?” Luo Binghe asks, voice bitter. “Which part is so undesirable to Shizun? Following me anywhere at all, or being made to inspect any part of this disciple so closely?”

“Obviously that isn’t what’s wrong, here!” Shen Qingqiu gasps, offended and terrified in equal measure. “What kind of - don’t cut off your fingers to use as bait!”

“Ah,” Luo Binghe says ruefully. “So I couldn’t fool you after all. Was that it, then? Shizun took offense to my attempts to lure him in? Or was it all of it, after all?”

Shen Qingqiu gapes at him, then finally remembers he has a fan and very quickly snaps it open to hide behind. What kind of person wouldn’t take offense to being lured into a trap, ah! If a rabbit knew it would be skinned and eaten once caught, it also wouldn’t like any sort of bait, no matter how tasty!

Aloud, Shen Qingqiu says nothing. Luo Binghe’s expression grows more pinched, his lips pulling up in a sneer, and -

- and ah, his teeth are even sharper, now! Shen Qingqiu hadn’t even noticed!! Had that happened when Luo Binghe had released whatever sort of glamor made his nails look human, too? Was it a physical modification, or only an illusion? Did it break if someone tried to touch it? But, no, Shen Qingqiu himself had touched Luo Binghe’s teeth, and they hadn’t seemed out of sorts, so -

“Do your teeth retract too?” Shen Qingqiu can’t help but ask. 

Luo Binghe lets out a frustrated sigh. “Shizun can experiment with this one all he wants, if he would just -!”

Shen Qingqiu peers out over the edge of his fan carefully. Luo Binghe has been acting seriously, seriously OOC for a blacked demon lord this whole time, and it leaves Shen Qingqiu feeling off balance. Should he try to talk his way out of this? Should he just go back to trying to run for it?

Luo Binghe narrows his eyes at Shen Qingqiu. “If Shizun tries to run again, I’ll release the whole glamor and stand in the middle of the town until you come get me.”

“Binghe!” Shen Qingqiu exclaims. “Don’t be foolish, you - this master hasn’t told anyone about -”

“I know,” Luo Binghe says. “So either Shizun would be able to see a demon that is willing to let him dissect it, or someone else would come along and do that very thing but with far less precision.”

Shen Qingqiu raises his fan higher, nervous. “Don’t talk about being attacked like that,” he scolds.

Luo Binghe hums, pressing in closer to Shen Qingqiu’s space. “Shizun’s right, of course - anyone but him would ruin this disciple if they tried to take me apart. They wouldn’t be delicate enough; they’d ruin all the best parts to study.”

“That’s not -”

“So Shizun should be the one to take charge,” Luo Binghe says. “If you won’t follow me back to my room, I’ll follow you back to yours.”

Shen Qingqiu hesitates. He doesn’t really want to dissect Luo Binghe, of course - he has enough trouble as it is repressing the feeling of Xiu Ya slicing into the flesh of Luo Binghe’s chest from years ago. But he - he does want to know how Luo Binghe’s teeth work.

Shen Qingqiu’s room… is in the same building where Liu Qingge is staying, too. Hadn’t Shen Qingqiu first wanted to hug that battle-obsessed idiot’s thigh to get a strong protector for the future? If Luo Binghe tried anything, couldn’t he just call for help from his own room?

…This is very, very stupid. Shen Qingqiu is glad he has his very excellent and reasonable excuses from earlier. 

“If Binghe wants,” Shen Qingqiu says aloud.

Luo Binghe grins at him wide enough that Shen Qingqiu can make out the odd way Luo Binghe’s teeth sit in his mouth, as if he has a second row of them. 

Fascinating, he thinks, and reaches up to once more stick his hand into the mouth of his most deadly disciple.

Luo Binghe opens wider, letting Shen Qingqiu look, and starts quietly herding them back to the building the Cang Qiong delegation is staying in. It’s… ah, it’s probably fine, if Shen Qingqiu could just look a bit more…

#okok i'm killing it at the “keep these drabbles short” thing now im killin it #ty for the prompt! #svsss #scum villain's self saving system #bingqiu #fic drabble

[ivy-loves-chocolate]

I saw you wanted some ideas for Leon so here’s mine: you’re hiding with him in the RPD from Mr.X in the stars office, and the more you talk the more you realize you’re into each other. A small make-out session turns into something more and Mr.X becomes your last worry.

Btw, I loved your recent Leon fic :3

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ N o t e ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ I found this in my drafts with a few paragraphs written and decided to finish it. I'll start the year with a smut, haha. Thank you, anon for the idea, and I'm sorry I made you wait 🙏❤️. I hope you like this 😊. I wanna write more about him, so keep the requests coming! Also, your feedback is appreciated ❤️.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ P a i r ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ Leon S. Kennedy x F!Reader

I take commissions so if you're interested check my Ko-Fi. ❤️

You were both panting as you barely escaped the monster that was chasing you relentlessly all night. He was tall and strong, and bullets didn't kill him. From the distance, it looked like a normal person given the simple outfit; he was wearing a hat and a trenchcoat, both black, but from up close, he was rather scary due to his grey skin and dead eyes. The height also added to the intimidating factor.

How did he end up dressed that way? You asked yourself as you saw him kneeling on the ground. Leon just emptied a clip by shooting his head. Apparently, bullets stop him for a bit, giving you a chance to run. Still, you couldn't help but be amused by his attire.

"Who the fuck gave this thing a fedora?" You asked quietly as you passed near him. "Like, it has to be custom made or something? Look at the size of its head…"

"Probably, but I think we have more important things to worry about right now."

You hurried outside the library and never stopped running. They just kept coming… from all directions. You tried blocking some windows, but it was useless.

All this time, you followed Leon's command, as he seemed more collected, even if he was just a rookie. You had a hunch that he was trying to impress you, and you had two reasons. One, you heard him curse like a sailor around the station before meeting him—something that didn't happen when he was with you—and two, you caught him staring at you a few times. He'd looked away every time you turned your attention to him, but he couldn't hide that smirk.

"This way," he whispered as he gently closed the door behind him.

"Where to-"

"Shh," he said, pointing to the ceiling. Your face turned pale at the sight of the horrendous creature that was crawling. Its sharp, long claws tapped on the surface as he walked on all fours; its brain was popping out, and he didn't appear to have any eyes. Terrified, you froze in place, but Leon grabbed your hand and guided you into the corridor.

"Just watch your steps, ok?" he whispered again in a soft voice, trying to soothen you. "Don't look at it; you'll be fine. Just stick with me."

With steady steps, you made your way to the STARS office and closed the door behind you. Leon pressed his ear on the door, and once he heard the licker crawling away, he told you that you were safe.

You let out a sigh of relief. You hadn't realised you were holding your breath until now.

"Good. Listen, do you mind if we rest a bit here? It's too much cardio for me," you joked.

"Sure, I could use some rest too."

The STARS office was clear, and you found supplies too. Some medicine, ammo, food, and water felt like a gift sent from God. There was also an armory, but it needed to be unlocked from the computer. A reminder that your work is far from done. Still, you tried to enjoy your small break. Leon was sitting at one desk from the edge, and you were sitting next to him. Behind you was a nice brown leather jacket, which you considered taking, but it was too big to fit you. The team's belongings were intact, making you wonder why they closed the unit so suddenly.

"Where do you think they are? Do you think they are safe?" you asked Leon, who was busy starring in the blank.

"They are probably doing better than we are. Those guys were elite."

"I think we're holding up pretty well, considering you're a rookie and I never touched a gun."

"Yeah…you almost blasted my brains back then," he chuckled.

"I'm sorry about that." You said it soflty and gently squeezed his forearm as a sign of comfort. "But you burst through that door, and I panicked."

"It's alright," he said, smiling. He smoothly slid his arm to the edge so he could grab your hand. Your fingers intertwined quickly.

"Thanks for the quick lesson, tho…it came in handy."

"No problem, you're a natural," he winked, which made you blush.

"Yeah, but I kinda had a great teacher."

"What can I say? I work best under stress."

You both chuckled. A short pause followed, in which both of you just stared at each other. Leon wanted to say so many things to you. He wanted to praise you for being so brave and for taking care of him; he wanted to tell you how lucky he feels to have found you in this mess, but he didn't know where to start.

"You ok?" you asked, seeing that he got lost in his thoughts again.

"Yeah, I'm fine… I was grateful for having you with me; that's all."

"Really? For a moment, I thought I slowed you down."

"Me slowing you down? You're faster than me. You actually left me behind a couple of times."

"Oh, that? I thought you did that on purpose...just trying to get rid of me."

He chuckled.

"Nah...I never wished to get rid of you. I really like having you around." He said.

"Me too..."

Neither of you let go of the other's hand.

You both stopped talking. Your smiles dropped and your eyes closed as you leaned forward towards each other. Soon, your lips touched over and over again, filling the room with faint sounds of kissing. You were both shy at first, but Leon got more courageous and came closer to you. His hands found your waist, and you cupped his face, prolonging the kiss. Soon, you felt Leon's tongue trying to find yours, and the kiss got a lot more intense.

Not carrying about Mr.X and other threats, you climbed onto Leon's lap and continued to kiss him with the same passion. Now you were closer to each other as you wrapped your arms around his neck, and he wrapped his big arms around your waist, hugging you and keeping you close.

It shows that Leon craved this kind of affection and intimacy from the sweet whimpers that came out occasionally.

"Wait…" he said as he broke the kiss. "I know a more comfortable chair…"

You didn't know what he meant until he suddenly stood up while managing to carry you and went to Wesker's office. He was a strong fella.

On his way, he never ceased to kiss you, becoming even more eager.

He sat on Wesker's chair, which was more comfortable and much bigger than the previous one. Since your legs had more room to rest, you had the strength to roll your hips over his crotch, letting out small, deep whimpers as you felt his bulge growing between your legs.

His hands squeezed your flesh as they ran along your waist. His muscles relaxed under your precise movements. His needy whines filled the room as you kept moving faster.

"Y/N…" He whispered shyly, breaking the kiss for a few seconds before coming to taste your lips again. He felt his cock throbbing in his pants. He wanted you; he craved you. It was unbearable.

You felt the same way, and your cunt was throbbing with excitement as you thought about him inside you…he felt…big…

With fast movements, you took your pants off, and then you proceeded to strip him off. His cock jumped in the air once his boxers slipped past those big thighs of his, and oh, what a sigh it was. He was long, thick, and leaked heavily in front of your eyes. You watched how a droplet of his precum glided along his length, making you drool. His tip glistered as it was basically drenched in his own juices.

You teasingly tapped his tip with one of your fingers, which made him whine loudly.

"Y/N…" he said, his attempt to maintain his composure being obvious.

"Shh. Just stick with me." You said this, looking at him with siren eyes.

You climbed back, one leg slidding next to him, and the other followed slowly. You raised a bit and aligned yourself above his tip. You wrapped your arms around his neck as you began to descend slowly and gasped when you felt his cock entering inside you. When he felt himself inside you, he pulled you again in a passionate, eager kiss.

Moans and whimpers filled Wesker's office quickly. You let out sharp, deep exhales as you took more and more of him. You struggled a bit at first, but both of you were so wet that after a few thrusts, you slid up and down with ease. Leon moved his hands to your ass, squeezing your cheeks hard with every throb of his cock. Not only did you feel him leak inside you, but you also felt how he rubbed that sweet spot inside you. It was pure bliss, which turned your mind foggy.

He also thrust his hips from beneath you, matching your own rhythm. You allowed yourselves to sink deeper into each other's touch without being bothered by what was happening out there. The kiss became messier, the touching more intense, and the thrusts more erratic as you chased your own release.

However, Leon felt that his time would come sooner, so he lifted you spontaneously and placed you on the desk, knocking down everything that would make you uncomfortable. Was that too loud? He didn't care.

"You are so strong, officer." You teased him and gave him the same dirty look, enjoying how that made him visibly weaker. He rolled his eyes and lowered his head a bit to the side, trying to hide his blushing cheeks.

His cock was halfway inside you now, and his arm rested near your head. With a deep breath, he began to thrust inside you, and he maintained eye contact this time. His face was still red, but not because of embarrassment, but because of how good your cunt made him feel. You wrapped your legs around his waist so you could feel him deeper.

His pace was slow at first, and he didn't go all in. It was pleasant, of course, but you wanted more, so you gently pulled him closer with your legs.

Understanding your intentions, he went all in, his balls constantly slapping your skin with each thrust. His breathing became faster, and your moans became louder as he finally hit that spot inside you again. When he picked up the pace, he placed his big thumb at your clit and stroked it fast. You felt a familiar pressure in your lower belly, and your throbbing cunt gave him a clue that you were about to cum.

"Leon…don't stop…" You said it between whimpers.

With his final strength, he went even faster with both his thrusts and strokes, and finally, he felt your wall clenching around his cock. With rolled eyes and curled toes, you grabbed his forearms as the orgasm hit you hard. A few seconds after your climax, you heard his moans getting louder. Then you felt hot spurts of his cum filling you up fast.

Both of you were trying to catch your breath now. Leon collapsed on top of you and allowed himself to indugle with your gentle touch for a few moments. Your arms were tightly wrapped around his tired body, with one hand playing with some strands of his blonde, smooth hair. The other caressed his back.

His nose was buried in your neck, enjoying the warmth and comfort that your body provided.

"I never thought I'd get laid on my first day as a police officer," he muffled, making you chuckle.

"Well, I bet you never expected a zombie apocalypse either."

"To be honest, if you would've asked me a few days ago which was more likely to happen, I'd go for the zombie apocalypse."

You chuckle again.

"You need to be more confident, Leon." Your fingers moved to his nape. "You're a great guy."

Once he felt your feather-like touch, he sighed with satisfaction.

"Oh yeah, just like that."

You began to massage gently. All this time, he remained inside you, and neither of you protested.

"You like that?"

He let out an affirmative hum.

"I'll tell you what," you began in a soft, calming voice. "When this is over, we keep in touch and go on a normal date. To get to know each other, you know?"

"Sounds good, but we need to get out of here in one piece…"

"Hmm…yeah…let's do that then."

He pulled out eventually and helped you get dressed.

You slowly made your way out of the STARS office, then made your way further into the station, looking for a way out. Now you look at the situation with a little more hope. Maybe it's because of the sex, or maybe you realised you have someone to count on. Who knows, but one thing is sure: you lived to go on your first date.

Tag-list: @lunarastrobabe @skylar-todd@rokurodokuro@brownsugarwrites (if you want to be added DM me 🤗)

#resident evil #resident evil leon #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x f!reader #leon kennedy x you #leon re2 #resident evil 2 remake

[blossomwritesthings]

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭

pairing: felix x fem!reader (afab)

genre: nonidol!felix. softboy!felix // harddom!felix. estranged relationship. angst. smut - MDNI, 18+ only. reader pov. established relationship.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. mild thematic elements. this one has got some angst in it. mentions of estrangement/tension in the relationship. smut warnings below cut!! 

word count: 4.3k

summary: in all of the time that you've dated him, felix has never dropped the innocent, flower boy persona that he's known for. but perhaps, you'll finally be the one to crack him open to show who he truly is underneath all of the softness and glitter.

18+ warnings: unprotected sex (keep it safe, my friends). angry sex. soft boy felix turned bad boy. harddom!felix. sub!reader. fingering. breast/nipple play. dom/sub undertones. degradation (slut, whore, bitch, dumb, etc.). ass spanking. manhandling kink. humiliation. dirty thoughts/fantasies. hair pulling. choking. dumbification. dacryphilia kink. ownership/possession. cum play. felix edges reader. overstimulation. controlling felix. lots of dirty talk. breeding kink!!. subspace. loud sex.

a/n: this idea just randomly popped into my head last night and I had to write it down before I went back to work tmrw so... here we are haha! 😂 I've always wanted to write a harddom!felix piece, and I'm really happy with the way this one turned out. like- I can appreciate a soft and flower boy lix, but sometimes, a hoe just needs some MANHANDLING in her life!!! 🥵

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). © ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

“I don’t know what you want from me, Y/N,” Felix said, throwing his hands up in the air in a defeated way. His entire face was covered in shadows, dark brown eyes flashing with strife as he ran a few frantic fingers through his sandy blonde hair. “I’m trying- I am, but you’re making this incredibly difficult.” 

 You just stood there, near the kitchen counter, too stunned to speak. 

 It had been a long day. 

 A long week. 

 A long month, for that matter. 

The two of you had been trying to cook dinner together, but the night had resulted in the two of you getting into an argument on the stupidest of things. But you knew why the two of you were fighting. And he knew too. 

 Tensions had been rising between you for quite a while. 

 More often than not, you’d get into small arguments throughout the week. But mostly, it was always you who lost your cool. 

 But you couldn’t believe him - couldn’t believe that he was truly so clueless as to why you were so upset in the first place. 

 “You don’t even understand why I’m mad.” Is all you could say, just shaking your head in disappointment as your eyes scanned his face. The familiar sight of his angelic-like features pulled at your heartstrings, but at that moment, just looking at them turned your stomach sickeningly. 

 “No, I don’t think I do. And I’d love to be enlightened.” His voice was stern, with not a hint of softness to it. The quiet and serene way that you were used to him talking was completely wiped away, replaced with a tired and fed-up Felix. 

 Clenching your fists at either of your sides, you felt your sharp nails dig into the flesh of your palms. “You’re too- too fucking nice all of the time.” You finally blurted out, cheeks starting to burn with the fury that was steadily rising in your very being. 

 Felix’s expression turned dumbfounded, as he stared on at you with slightly parted lips, shady eyes widening in surprise. “What?” 

 “You’re too good- Felix. You’re always forgiving, always kind, always understanding. Maybe I should count my blessings that you’re just that type- that you’re such a nice guy,” you began, voice low as the feelings started to pour out of you. As all the warring emotions that had been swimming deep inside of you for so long were finally being brought to light. “And call me masochistic, but sometimes, I just want to fight with you… want you to get angry, to react to me. But you don’t, you just… take everything in stride, and the less you do, the more it makes me crazy.” 

 You couldn’t believe you were confessing everything to him. You had been bottling up all of your thoughts for so long, it felt foreign to finally spill them out in front of the both of you. Leave them out in the open, free to be judged and assessed by your boyfriend. 

 At first, you liked his kindness. You liked his warm heart and his gentle persona. 

 But the longer you loved him, the more you realized that it just… wasn’t enough. 

 You, with your sharp jabs. And him, with his soft edges. 

 It was like two worlds, constantly clashing together to meet at the center of a dangerous, unfamiliar storm. 

 Most of the time, you ignored the urges - you ignored the way you wanted him to react in some other way than coy smiles and shy laughs. He was a sweet man. But you were starting to realize that the sweet was becoming too cloying - it was too strong for you, and you finally cracked beneath the sugariness of it all. 

 On countless occasions, he’d bring you breakfast in bed the morning after you had been out clubbing the night before. You’d make a colossal mess of things at the huge parties, getting upset at everything and everyone in your drunken state. Only to have him come in and save you from it all, carrying you away and back home to your shared apartment. 

 And the next day, as he sat there in bed with you, watching as you chewed on the baked goods he had made for you, he’d act as if nothing had ever happened. Like you making a scene at the local club wasn’t a big deal and it didn’t anger him in the least bit that you were out so late at night without him. 

 Every time he made you such a comforting meal so early on a weekend morning, it only made you more furious at him. 

 Because you wanted him to react. 

 You wanted him to get angry at you, for blatantly ignoring your well-being and safety. 

 You wanted him to punish you, irrevocably. In more ways than one. 

 But instead, he brushed soft fingers through your hair, offering up quiet words of ease. Instead, he’d sit there and watch you eat until you were done - making sure you got enough food and water into your system. 

 “So, what, you want me to be an angry, abusive asshole to you all of the time?” Felix asked, tone incredulous and rising a bit in his irritation. And good, you wanted him to be mad. You wanted to finally get a rise out of him. “I seriously don’t understand what you’re saying right now- do you want me to treat you like shit all of the time?” 

 “No!” You finally shouted, the tears starting to prick at the edges of your eyes, making things go fuzzy around the edges. Felix was standing nearby, in the dining room, while you were still there in the kitchen, clutching onto the marble countertop for dear life. “I just- I just want you to stop being so nice all of the time. You- you hug me when I-”

 Felix was moving then, rounding the kitchen island and trying to draw close to you. He reached out with an arm, wanting to hold onto you. But you pulled away from him, backing up a few steps with your heart pounding in your chest and the breath catching in your dry throat. 

 “What is it that you truly want, angel?” His voice was quiet again. Like how it always got when you were yelling at him and he was preparing to not yell back at you. 

 And the realization that he wasn’t going to get angry at you - like how he always did during most of your arguments - just heightened your fury. Suddenly, you were seeing so much crimson in your rage. It blurred his face, painting his slim figure in a blurb of silky brushstrokes. 

 “I- I want you to kiss me - make me lose my breath - instead of hugging me and telling me sweet things!” You burst out, a shudder running down the length of your spine as you finally told him one of your deepest longings. 

 You were like a column of fire. Always burning brightly, red, and wanting so much passion. Whereas, he was a cool vat of water. Soothing and gentle, calculated with his movements and words. 

 But you didn’t want that anymore. 

 You couldn’t put up with it any longer. You had already tolerated it for so long… 

 The lazy days in his arms, the nice sentiments from his lips, the gentle love-making. 

 When in reality, you wanted him to take control of everything. Wanted him to guide you in all ways, demeaningly. Wanted him to lay claim to you in every possible way. 

 You saw the look in his eyes as the words fell from your lips then. The way they swam with uncertainty, his jaw ticking as he processed everything. 

 “Just forget it,” you said, already shaking off the growing argument and beginning to back away from him further. The fight was rapidly leaking out of your soul, draining you into a weak pile of hurt and raw emotions. “It’s stupid anyway…” 

 As you fled from the kitchen and neared the dining room, you heard footsteps pound on the wooden floor behind you. Trying to ignore it all, you rounded the modestly-sized table that you and Felix frequently ate at during the week. 

 Then, a hand was grabbing hold of your wrist. Fingers digging into your flesh, and forcefully spinning your body around. Pushing you back so that your ass hit the edge of the dining table. 

 Felix was upon you in an instant, practically breathing fire down on you. His face was but a few mere centimeters from yours, so close, yet not close enough. He gaped down at you, gaze stormy and lips squeezed into a firm line. 

 He was the opposite of how you had always seen him - how you had always known him as. Almost like, a switch had suddenly been flipped and what was now before you was a Lee Felix that you had yet to discover. 

 “I can be so mean to you if that’s what you want,” he whispered, voice low as death and gravelly. You swallowed around the lump that was beginning to form in your throat, heart beating against your ribcage as he leaned into your further, mouth nearing your jawline but not touching your skin. “You want me to stop being all soft and nice? Stop calling you by sweet names?” His lips neared the shell of your ear, his warm breath fanning against the exposed skin of your neck. “You want me to call you filthy things? React to you with punishments? So be it, you dirty little slut.” 

 His teeth caught onto your earlobe, biting down and tautening the air right out of your lungs. His hands were moving so fast, you had no time to react as they gripped at your hips and hoisted you up onto the dining room table. Then his fingers were imprinting into the flesh at your waist, tearing down your panties in one swift movement and throwing them off to the side as he pushed up the front of your bright-blue flowered sundress. 

 “F-Felix,” you gasped out, too shocked by the sudden change in his demeanor to say anything else. You were still sitting up on the table, fingers plowing into his blonde locks as he regarded your naked core desire in his eyes. 

 “Is this what you want? What you’ve fantasized about for so long?” He growled, one hand gripping your waist while the other trailed in between your legs. When the tips of his fingers discovered your soaked core, he shook his head in disbelief, tsking in a mocking way that caused you to squirm under his hold. “Look at you- already dripping wet just from the names alone… didn’t know you were such a whore, hmm?”

 When he skirted his thumb up your slit, your eyes squeezed shut, the pleasure unlike anything you had ever felt before already starting to take over your mind. Blurring your senses, making you sensitive in all the right ways. Through your dizziness, you could feel his thumb draw circles around your puffy clit, before he was dipping a practiced finger into your heat.

 “Shit, you’re so tight, gonna have to fuck this little hole right open with my cock…” His voice trailed off, and your eyes were yanked open as soon as he curled his finger, plowing into that warm, gooey spot inside of you. When he added another finger, and another, pumping in and out at a heated pace, the moans steadily began to fall from your lips. “You like that, yeah? Getting full on my fingers- bet you’d like it even more when you’re stuffed to the brim with my cum, since you’re such a cumslut for me.” 

 You choked on a sob, throwing your head back at the way he moved his hand, thumb digging into your inflamed clit while pressing into the warmth between your pussy lips. Mouth falling open, you felt the blood rush through your system like a crazed tidal wave, casting stars across your vision as he thrust his slim fingers between your throbbing walls. You merely shook beneath his hold, already nearing the brink of release. 

 It was when you felt the hand slip out between your legs, traveling up your body, that your eyes were torn open. Then, in a single beat, two strong hands were fitting around your neck, squeezing the flesh there. 

 You breathed out shakily through your nose, eyes widening at the way he stared down at you. His gaze dimmed to blackness, shadows dancing across his cheekbones. “Answer me, kitten,” he commanded in that deep voice of his, causing a fit of quivers to move across your skin. “Are you such a whore that you’d let me use you? Use you like my own personal plaything- fuck into you until you can’t walk or talk?” 

 You were nodding your head before you even understood what he was truly saying, already falling into that murky headspace once again as his fingers pressed down on your windpipes. Constricting the airflow, making you delightfully lightheaded. “Y-Yes, wanna be yours so much, make me yours, please.” You whined in a wavering voice, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the pressure around your neck.

 Felix lifted his hands away from your neck, shoving his lips on your mouth, tongue roughly swiping around yours. He bit down on your bottom lip, pulling out a strangled moan from you. Then his head and hands were moving in tandem, stripping you of your dress and bralette while beginning to pepper kisses down the column of your neck. 

 Your fingers dug into his scalp, pulling at the blonde roots there as he bit into your skin, leaving purple and red marks everywhere his mouth touched. Then his mouth was hovering over one of your breasts, hot breath washing across your skin and shooting goosebumps on every part of you that he neared. 

 “No wonder why you’ve been such a bitch lately,” he chuckled darkly, hands coming around your hips and leaving faint imprints on the skin there. “You wanted to get ruined, huh? Wanted to get fucked over so bad by my cock alone…” Then his tongue was darting out, dragging kitten licks across your breast.

 You pressed his face close to your chest as he lapped at your skin, teeth taking hold of your pebbled nipple and biting down. A scream fled from deep inside of you, and you squirmed in his strong hold as his tongue swiped at your skin again and again, teeth edging you ever so slowly.

 “W-Wanted this so fucking much,” you mewled out, eyes forced open and watching the way his lips molded around your skin. So perfectly, so sensually. “I… I need you, Felix…” 

 But you had said something similar to him many times before, on the days when the two of you would make out or make love late into the night. However, this time was different. This time, you were asking him to have his way with you, to take hold of you, like you had always wanted him to do. 

 At that, he dragged away from your nipple, a faint popping sound dancing across the room as his tongue left your skin. A faded trail of cool, wet saliva was shining around your bud in the wake of his torture. “Well, if you hadn’t been such an ornery little slut and had actually fucking talked to me, perhaps my cock would’ve been stuffed in your pussy tonight, instead of having us arguing for the past hour.” He grunted, staring down at you with those ferocious eyes, lips already puffed from all of the kisses. 

 “Well, if you hadn’t been so oblivious to my hints, then maybe we wouldn’t have had to fight in the first place.” You muttered in a weak voice as Felix shoved you off the edge of the table, turning you around and bending you over the flat wooden top. 

 “Oh, shut the fuck up,” he said, tone thick with arousal and mirth as he landed a blow across the bare expanse of your right asscheek, making you jump in shock. “Last time I checked, fucktoys don’t talk back.” He gave your other cheek another harsh slap, drawing a squeak out of you. 

 You leaned forward then, bracing both hands around the edges of the table and waiting for him while you heard shuffling behind you as he shucked off his jeans. You stared down at the line of the cherry wood, brain fuzzy with so much arousal and heat. The two of you had never fucked on a table, in all of the years that you had been dating. No- usually, the sex consisted of long, drawn-out nights in bed, with sweet words flooding from his lips and quiet whines falling from yours. 

 Felix grabbed at your thighs, pushing your legs open and slotting himself against your heat. He dragged the tip of his cock across your folds, the swollen thing catching onto your inflamed nub and forcing your head to fall between your arched shoulder blades in agony.

 When he finally slammed into you, everything around you burst into a bright crimson light. Redness flooded every part of the room, as you honed in on the way his rigid cock felt between your walls. As your rapid breaths matched the way he steadily began to move inside of you. 

 You felt a hand snake up the length of your spine just before fingers were threading into your hair. He tugged your head up and back, forcing you to bend slightly backward and face him as he hit into you with a crazed pace. 

 “Want you to scream for me, you dumb bitch,” he barked in a loud, strangled voice just as his dick hit a newfound spot inside of you, washing everything in blue sparkling stars. “Let all of the neighbors know how much you love my cock- how good I’m making you feel, how much of a useless cumwhore you are for me.” 

 At his commands, the moans were flooding from your lips unbidden. You peered up into his eyes, never breaking the contact there as his long, hard cock reached new places in your throbbing cunt that you had never discovered before. And when the curved tip of it hit that melty spot inside of you, the screams were coming out of you in choked gasps. 

 “That’s it…” He mused darkly, smirking at you in a demeaning kind of way. His one hand yanked at your roots, forcing tears to cloud the rims of your eyes while his other hand was busy between your legs, shoving into your puffed clit as his cock thrust in and out of your cunt at a relentless pace. “I want everyone to know that you’re mine- that this pussy is mine. Gonna fuck you so full of my cum you won’t be able to think after I’m finished with you.” 

 “Y-Yeah… I’m yours, you own me.” You wailed out, eyes screwing shut at the feeling of your high quickly approaching. Your walls fluttered around his cock, just aching to find some kind of release. Then his nails were digging into your scalp, thumb rubbing abusing figure-eights around your swollen clit. And just like that, you were tipping over the edge. “Want you to fill me up, please- please Lix!” 

 He seemed to like the begging on your part, as he pounded into your cunt with a newfound vigor. The light dimmed in the corners of your vision, as you fell over the cliffside of pure bliss. The blaze rippled through your veins, setting flame to everything in its path. You could feel Felix shutter inside of you, as he chased his own high like a rabid dog. You were reduced to but a mere pile of shaking limbs, heart pounding in your ears. 

 “Fuck! You fit me so well!” He shouted, gruff voice ringing out across the expanse of your apartment. The only sound that could be heard was from the two of you - with his hips slapping against your ass, cock fitting into your tight wetness. “This fucking hole- damn it, you’re so tight! Gonna fuck you so good with my cum.” 

 The explosiveness of his sudden orgasm only made your high that much sweeter, as he rode it out, coating your insides in stark white and filling you to the brim with his sweet, warm seed. Your eyes rolled into the back of your skull at the feeling of his shivering cock inside of you, and when he leaned down into you, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the side of your exposed neck, your heartbeat fluttered in your chest. He rutted against you, fucking his essence deep between your walls. 

 When your heart began to slow down, and the red starriness started to fade from your mind, you found your words again - since the only thing that had fallen from your lips for the last few minutes had been an endless string of moans and cries. “That’s what I’ve always wanted, Lix. For you to just… let go of that good boy image, just for a little bit.”

 You cracked your eyes open only to be met with a smirking Felix. He was staring down at you again, cheeks flushed red and lips but a mere smudge of inflated desire. “You know why I never allowed you to see that side of me, even after all of these years that we’ve been together?” He asked, a slim fingertip coming underneath your chin and drawing across the bone there as you shook your head ‘no’ in reply. “I was too worried that I’d scare you off- I was always under the impression that you liked the softness. That you liked the nice persona.” 

 Felix slipped out of you then, and the absence of his veiny girth being lodged deep inside of you made you a little cock-hungry for him all over again. The sound of the tip of him sliding out of you made a wet pop dance around your ears, since your pussy had had such a strong grip on him. 

 Nonetheless, you managed to get control of your urges and turned around to face him fully. You ran two hands up his chest. He was still clad in his oversized butter-yellow t-shirt, the one he always wore when the two of you were having a relaxing day at home on the weekend. 

 “I do like the bright side of you,” you said in a quiet voice, hands coming around his neck and bringing his face close to yours. “But I also like the dark side. You can have a mixture of both, yeah? Be a ray of sunshine when we’re outside, and inside… well, that’s up to you, I guess.”

 “Really?” His eyes illuminated at your words, a sly grin already spreading across his mouth. He pulled your bare waist near him, and you could already feel the growing hardness there. “You’re gonna leave such power in my hands?”

 You nodded slowly, leaning into him and giving his red, shiny lips a few delicate pecks. You were being completely honest with him. It’s not that you didn’t like his innocent, boyish side. You did, at certain times. But other times, you wanted him to act his age - wanted him to throw you around at home, both physically and mentally.

 “Then I already know what I wanna do next…” His voice trailed off, as he quickly grabbed onto your hips, wrapping your bare legs around his waist just before he was taking off from the kitchen.

 “Felix, what are you doing?” You laughed, playfully hitting his shoulder as he made his way into the bedroom with you in his arms. 

 He stopped in front of your bed, throwing you atop the soft mattress like you were a fucking rag doll. He shrugged as he stared down at you, the lust already beginning to fill his eyes once more. “You said I have free reign at home, right?” 

 You swallowed, once, having to force down the moan that threatened to flood out of you at the way he was looking at you with so much intensity. You could already feel the tension building in the room again, your wetness mixing with his drying seed and coating your thighs once more. 

 All you could do was nod in agreement, waiting and watching in silence, as Felix reached behind his back and ripped off his shirt, casting it off to the side. The only light source in the room came from the ajar bedroom door, where the warm, cozy kitchen lights were still shining illustriously. His sculpted abs shined in the faint glow of the bedroom, his chest rising and falling, pretty pink nipples catching your attention as he stood there in bated silence.

 “Then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t breathe.” His voice ground out, ringing across your ears and sending a zap of energy right to your core. 

 He was upon you in the next beat, already jerking your legs wide open and sliding his body between yours. He stopped just as his face neared your dripping heat, smirking up at you with dark eyes. 

 “You’re a true, absolute menace, you know that?” You muttered in a strangled tone, watching with halted breath as his tongue darted out between his swollen lips. 

 Felix dragged the tip of it across your inner thigh, leaving a wet trail of saliva and fire in the wake of his touch. “Yeah, but you fucking love me for it.” He taunted in a lilting voice. Giving you no time to prepare then, as that perfect, red tongue of his came upon your mound, licking a long, wet stripe up the length of your cunt.

 And your head fell atop the fluffy downy pillows, as your body all but melted into his touch. As your mind was flooded with thoughts of nothing but him - of how he knew you so well, of how he could pleasure you so well. 

 In the end, he reacted the exact way you had wanted him to. And it felt really fucking good to win such a long, and arduous battle. To have him taking action, in the way that you had always dreamed of. 

Fin.

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[the-travelling-witch]

as promised, the outline for the halloween fic i didn’t write haha

pairing: suna rintarou x gn! reader (though i really considered marius von hagen as well >///<)

warnings: nsfw/ minors dni; incubus! suna, somnophilia, allusion to oral, wet dreams, dub con

haikyuu!! masterlist

♡ 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐮𝐛𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐚 …

… who you meet while you’re out and about.

It was an accident, really. You didn’t watch where you were going for a second and immediately bumped into someone. Luckily, that someone manages to steady you by your shoulders before you can stumble.

There’s an amused grin on his handsome and for a few seconds you can’t do much but stare into his stunning olive eyes, captivated without noticing the mischievous glint lighting them up.

“Woah there,” he laughs, his voice smooth and melodic, and it’s a good thing his warm hands are still on you, otherwise your knees might’ve buckled at the sound. “Must be my lucky day today when someone as pretty as you falls for me.”

You profoundly apologise but he just shrugs it off, assuring you he could’ve watched his step too. Too soon for your liking, he lets go of your arms and you part ways with no way to contact each other again and your heart is just a little heavier because of it.

But, much to your joy, you run into him again at a crowded coffee store, searching for a seat when a familiar figure waves you over. You can’t help but grin as you chat the afternoon away, fingers brushing against each other occasionally, before exchanging numbers as well. Seeing the name flash across your screen when he asks if you arrived home safely, butterflies start flapping their wings in your stomach.

Suna Rintarou

It’s a name that leaves your lips as you stuff your hands down your pants that night, your mind clouded with images of him above you, underneath you and behind you, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the thought of what his fingers would feel like, if he’d tease you and edge you or if he’d stuff you impatiently just to ruin you that way.

This cycle of running into him and consequently ruining another pair of underwear repeated over the next weeks and drove you to near insanity. And if you didn’t react to his flirtatious remarks yourself, Suna would show up in your dreams, leaving you to wake up needy with a throb between your legs.

Just when you think you can’t take it anymore, your dreams that night turn far more sinful than the ones you had before. Your skin feels feverish as you gasp the name of the man above you, whose hands bruise the fat of your thighs as he settles in between them. The grin he flashes you as he pulls your hips flush with his prominent bulge makes his fangs gleam in the moonlight.

Wait… his fangs?

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he chuckles darkly as his sharp claws dimple and dig into your flesh. Inky horns curve from his dark hair as he leans down to nip at your throat, leathery wings stretching out behind him. His voice is low and raspy as his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Did you have sweet dreams?”

“Suna, what—“ you try to shake your haziness only for it to be replaced by a different kind of fog when his lips slot against yours. They’re just as soft as you thought they’d be and you instinctively melt back against your pillow. However, there’s a taste of something else there…

“You’re delicious, wouldn’t you agree? Worth the wait I had to endure,” he whispers and it draws your attention from the tail flicking over your cheek back to where you are most sensitive, noticing the sheer amount of arousal coating you. Did he-?

“Quite the heavy sleeper, are you?” He laughs at the look of realisation flashing through your eyes. One of his hands gathers your wrist above your head, leaving you defenceless as the fingers of his other hand travel down your body; caressing the side of your face, the dip of your throat, brushing over one of your nipples. “Not that I mind. You make such sweet sounds when I play with you, even if you’re asleep.”

“Rin,” you whimper the nickname you’d secretly given him when you feel his strong thighs press against yours harder. Faintly, you wonder where his clothes went but the thought is just as quickly tossed away again when you feel the heat of his dick rub against you.

“Mhm, that’s it. Keep saying my name like that,” he groans, sharp teeth nipping against your shoulder and throat and he lines himself up, “especially when I’ll make you cum and stuff you full over and over again.

“And it’s going to feel so much better than any of the dreams I’ve given you so far.”

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[rrxnjun]

two people ;; mark lee

pairing: mark lee x fem! reader genre: wedding planner! mark, fiancé! jeno, strangers to lovers au | slice of life, slowburn, angst, hurt/comfort word count: 16.8k warnings: swearing, a break up a/n: i broke my own heart with this one. also, the blue monday series is finally over, after more than a year passing since i started it haha <3 sorry it took so long, but im happy to finally have a series that i managed to complete :) thank you for everyone that read the series, all of the fics are insanely special and to me and i hold them very dear to my heart. hope you like a painful hurt/comfort as our last stop!

synopsis: two people under bedsheets: one suffocating lover, one fool in a wedding gown. in other words, where you find the courage to get over your guilt and break free from your own promise, all becasue, in true irony, your wedding planner.

blue monday series | playlist

TWO PEOPLE UNDER BEDSHEETS, ONE SHIVERING WITH COLD FEET

You’re quite certain you’ve rethought your decision more times than you can count.

When your body hits the cold sheets of your bed, stumbling to your side of the mattress, you wonder if the heater broke again and you’re going to spend another night alone, shivering until the tiredness doesn’t make your thoughts turn off and your eyelids get heavy with sleep. Dressed in your usual pajamas and staring out of the window, watching the stars shyly glimmer, the moon kisses your cheeks in a solemn feeling of a weird nostalgia you can’t seem to shake off no matter how hard you try. The feeling is quite uncomfy. It makes your bones itch, it makes you wonder what is wrong and why you’re suddenly so deep in your thoughts, wondering about all the different paths you could’ve taken. You try to battle the feeling, but there’s no use– it’s too strong and you’re too weak; too tired to keep fighting.

A huff lands into your ear, a muffled sigh that makes you slightly open your eyes and still in your movements, wondering if you’ve woken him up. Feeling momentarily bad, you get ready to mumble a whispered apology for going to bed so late when you know that he has to wake up early for work tomorrow, acknowledging the fact that your arrival to bed always startles him and makes him wake up in the middle of the night, when a strong arm slings itself over your middle, engulfing you in a tight back-hug.

His body grows closer to you, shuffling himself to stick himself as close to your body as possible, a heavy breath reaching your ear. Your hand automatically reaches for his one laying on your stomach, looking over at him to see his eyes still closed, noticing his breathing being steady. You haven’t woken him up, you sigh in relief, eyes traveling along his face for some time, studying his features as if this was the first time he’s so close to you. 

His eyelashes kiss his cheekbones, sharp edges of his face making him perhaps one of the most handsome people you’ve ever seen. You remember all the girls in university being jealous of you, for you’ve managed to catch Lee Jeno– the Lee Jeno everyone had been pining over ever since before you enrolled, feeling pride for how long your relationship has lasted. The shape of his lips is now a familiar sight to you– you bet you could recognise his mouth even with your eyes closed, knowing his warmth and his mannerisms while kissing you by heart now, for it’s happened more times than you can count; more times than you can remember. 

Looking back over to the window, eyes briefly catching the time glimmering on the alarm clock sitting on your bedside table, you bite down on your lips and try to battle the weird feeling starting to dangerously spread across your insides again. His body pressing itself into your back is warm, trying hard to provide you with a sense of home and safety.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you fight the sigh that desires to come out of your chest.

Shimmering in the cold– because your body doesn’t let you absorb the hotness of his love anymore– you nervously play with the silver on your ring finger, twirling it around and feeling for the little pedant in the middle.

Almost like every other day, not being able to fall asleep, you’re quite certain you’ve rethought your decision more times than you can count.

Heels clicking on the shiny white floor, you walk through the narrow hall of the building in the very center of your hometown, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. As you near the service you’re supposed to visit today, your heart starts doing little tumbles and turns, your hands shaky as you think of the appointment right in front of you. Taking a deep breath in and out, you run your hand through your hair, trying to calm yourself down for the last time as you open the door and step inside of the room, telling yourself that there’s no turning back now and you’re in it for good.

The bell above the door rings, making you cautiously look around the room, noticing the whole store decorated in white and nude tones, plants and flowers potted everywhere across the spacious room. In the corner of the whole store, you see a little light wooden desk with three cushioned chairs, a desktop computer in the corner, various catalogs scattered across the surface with some more in a little white IKEA bookshelf right behind it all. 

Admiring everything, you almost don’t notice the man peeking his head out of the door on the right, a hesitant look playing with his features. 

“Good morning,” he says, bowing to you out of politeness.

Caught off-guard for no reason at all, you turn your lips into a tight-lipped smile, greeting him. “Good morning! I’m… uh… I’m supposed to have an appointment today,” you say, playing with your fingers as you clasp your hands together at your waist.

“Oh,” he nods, finally coming out of the room, furrowed eyebrows and all, “Ms… and Mr Lee?” he asks, confirming, earning himself a hurried nod.

“Yeah,” you say, “I’m- I’m Ms Lee to-be,” you clarify, licking your lips in nerves.

The man in front of you nods, ushering you towards the little station in the corner, leading you to the chair and inviting you to sit down. “And Mr Lee is…?”

“At work,” you mutter, putting your hair behind your ear, “he’s- he’s quite busy with work, usually, so he wasn’t able to come and I didn’t just want to cancel it, so I figured I can come alone, but- but he’ll be here the next time, I promise!” you hurriedly explain, suddenly feeling shy under the stranger’s gaze, not wanting to be judged by, who you assume is, your wedding planner.

His smile is gentle and reassuring, nodding as he stares into your eyes. “No worries! It’s okay, it’s just… unusual to come alone to a wedding planning, but I suppose we can work with only you today, then,” he says, his voice calm and sending shivers down your spine.

Clearing your throat, you take your eyes off the stranger in front of you, letting them travel all across the room, desiring to find something to put your attention towards. The whole situation feels weird and awkward. Who even comes to plan their wedding alone? It’s not like it’s only your wedding– there’s two of you that are getting married, and it’s only expected for you two to do it all together. And that’s how it was supposed to go anyway– the appointment at the wedding salon was scheduled a little over a few weeks ago, with Jeno reassuring you that he’s free that day; but when the day came and he told you he has work, you wanted to cancel it and come some other day. He refused, though, telling you that you can start on it alone and he’ll just compromise with you and follow what you’ve chosen.

It all feels like it’s supposed to be about you, but when your own wedding is the thing on line, it almost looks as if your own fiancé isn’t even interested in being a part of it. 

“My name is Mark Lee, by the way,” the man says after clearing his throat, catching your attention again and offering you his hand to shake, “I’m the person in charge of your wedding, it seems! I hope you find working with me on this important day fun and that we can arrange something you two have always dreamt of,” he smiles as you take his hand and shake it, noticing the warmness of his touch.

Mark Lee doesn’t seem like your typical wedding planner. The ones you see in the movies are almost always female, with long acrylic nails and blonde hair pinned up into a funky hair-do, with bright eyes and smile lines imprinted into their face. Mark Lee, on the other hand, is a male– which is unusual, to say the least– and he also seems nothing like the movies. He’s calm and gentle, although still excited to work with you on the day of your dreams, with a shy smile and honest eyes that are slightly covered by the fringe of his chocolate hair falling into them, making him look young and lively.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, “my name’s ______ ______,” you introduce yourself with your first and last name, not taking Jeno’s just yet and shuffling a little in your seat.

“Okay, so,” Mark says as he takes out a notepad and types in the password into the computer that’s sitting in the corner of the desk, “I suppose we can start brainstorming today? Maybe tell me your main ideas, what you want for the wedding and what you don’t, how you want it to be decorated, just- just the general idea, nothing too detailed. We can move further when your fiancé is here as well, to make sure your ideas align and stuff. Sounds okay?”

Humming in approval, you watch him click around for a bit, opening some documents, while also twirling his pen in his other hand, the movement of it through his fingers fascinating you. The steady motions of the blue plastic of the pen catch your eye and make you zone out for a few seconds, completely making you forget about the task at hand and clearing your head out.

“So, anything you have in mind?” Mark perks up your attention again, making you swiftly take your eyes off the pen in his hand and instead look into his eyes again, finding yourself having a hard time maintaining eye contact with his deep brown eyes.

“I- I…” you stumble over your words, trailing off as you get lost in your thoughts. Wondering what your ideal wedding should look like, you chew on your bottom lip and try to imagine the day playing out right in front of your eyes. Your imagination tends to be crazy and wild, completely vivid, but for some reason, in this moment, you can’t seem to see the scene materialize in front of your eyes no matter how hard you try, all moments of it in your brain turning out blurry and hazy, making you sigh in frustration.

What do you even want your wedding to look like? How do you want it to play out? The questions run through your brain in a rush, not letting you focus and come up with answers, making the man in front of you silently clear his throat to get your attention. 

Noticing that you’re probably wasting his time with this, your cheeks feel hot as you point your eyes towards your shoes, sighing. “I’m- I’m sorry. I think… I… I don’t- I don’t really think I have an idea of how the wedding is supposed to look like?” you mumble out, sounding more like a question than a firm answer.

“I see,” Mark answers, nodding in acknowledgement, “you have all the time you need, don’t worry. We’re here to make it perfect,” he says, smiling at you.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you realize you’ve never really fantasized about your wedding. You remember all your classmates at school sighing and gasping about the idea of a big wedding, marrying the love of their life; but you surely don’t remember ever engaging in those conversations. It’s like you never really cared to get married, you never really wondered how it would feel to kiss your loved one at the altar, you never really thought of it as a big deal. And now, when the day is supposed to come that those imaginations are to come true, you find yourself torn and confused, because how do you even chase a dream that was never there in the first place? How do you fulfill expectations you don’t have?

“To be honest, I have no idea about what I want, I just- I kind of know what Jeno would want, so I suppose I can just follow that, but- but I never really…” you trail off, seeing Mark nod and bite on his lower lip. 

“Uhm,” he hums in understatement, “I see. Maybe… maybe you can look through some catalogs and see what you like the best? I understand that you know what your fiancés' imaginations are, but I also want both of the parties to like the big day, so I need your input as well.”

Gulping, you hurriedly nod, sweaty palms reaching over to the magazines on the desk, desperately flipping through the pages and pointing your gaze towards the pictures, trying hard to admire the big ceremonies, the pink and red decorations, the flower crowns and red carpets on the beach; but once again failing, noticing that this is nothing close to what you imagine when you think of what’s supposed to be the happiest day of your whole entire life. 

The pages of the catalog stick together, making you desperately try to peel them off of each other with your clammy fingers, your breathing getting quicker as you notice the eyes of Mark Lee on your figure, watching over your every move. 

This is not at all how you imagined the appointment to go. You’re only wasting his time and embarrassing yourself– there’s no way you’re ever going back.

“Hey, I’ll send you this quiz, okay? It’s like a- like a little questionnaire where you pick and choose what you like and answer some simple questions and then it gives you a rough idea of what your wedding could look like based on these answers,” Mark says, making you halt in your motion, “I know this is probably a lot of pressure on you right now, since the whole process could be scary and stressful and you’re out here all alone, so don’t worry about not giving me an answer today, alright?”

You find yourself nodding, averting the hands off the pages of the catalog and pressing your body further into the chair. “Alright.”

“And you can also take some of these catalogs home and look through them, mark what you like, take notes in them… whatever you want, okay? And the next time you come with Mr Lee, you can tell me what you both like and we’ll work from that.”

Following his lead in the conversation, you nod again and watch him close the catalog you’ve been frantically searching through for the last few minutes, stacking some more on top of it and pushing the pile towards you so you can take it home. 

“Tell me your number so I can text you the link to the test and the next time you come, it will be easier, I promise.”

“Okay,” you nod, desperately trying to take your attention off the fact that you probably look like a little child, following each instruction that’s been given to you, too scared to take a move.

Paying your goodbye to the wedding planner and taking the pile of catalogs back to your car, your heels meeting the ground resonating all through the empty hallway as you walk out of the building, your mind flashes with the thought that Mark Lee already had your email address and he could’ve just sent you the link there.

Sitting in the silent car for a minute before you drive off, you try to battle the memory of what happened just a few minutes prior out of your head.

Fixing up your lipstick in the mirror of Jeno’s car, you get ready to enter the premises of the wedding salon once again, but this time, with your fiancé by your side. You suppose that the last meeting was completely useless- Jeno told you so as well, and you agree, in a way– but if you wouldn’t have gone to that first meeting, you think that the second one would make you even more nervous.

You see, it’s easier to pretend that you know what you want when you’ve rehearsed what you want to say beforehand. Taking the quiz Mark Lee sent you, and also a couple of more, accompanying yourself with catalogs, magazines and Pinterest boards while your fiancé was at work, you tried hard to come up with something you wouldn’t hate as much. 

Maybe you just don’t like the idea of a wedding. That doesn’t mean you should crush your fiancés dreams to the ground and make the whole thing more difficult than it should be. You’ll just go along with it, get married, and then, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. It's as simple as that– you’re good at compromising, after all.

“Ready?” Jeno asks you as you put the cap of the lipstick you’ve been using back on, shooting you a quick look before you nod and open the door of the car, climbing out of the vehicle.

Following Jeno’s footsteps, so confident and easy it almost makes you feel like he’s been here before, you reach the entrance of the wedding salon in no time. You texted Mark about the time of the next meeting a week ago– you figured it’s easier to communicate like this, instead of emailing each other back and forth. Finding a time when it would be fine with both Jeno and you, and also looking for a free time in Mark’s schedule was quite difficult, but you managed to find a spot on a Thursday afternoon. 

You hoped the day would come slower than it did, but as we all know, life doesn’t work like we want it to all the time.

Hearing the ring of the bell above the door, your wedding planner is already waiting for you at the computer, a welcoming smile adoring his features. You find yourself smiling back at him, easing into the situation. The man in front of you is wearing black jeans and a white button-down, opting to a more professional look, as he shakes his hand with your fiancé and introduces himself. 

“Hello!” Mark smiles, sitting down at the stool, pointing his eyes towards the computer and clicking around for a bit, seemingly opening some document where he can note down everything you two tell him about the vision you have for your wedding. “So, as I already mentioned with Y/N the last time, I’d like to hear some brainstorming from both of you right now, just to see the general idea that we can build off of next. Sounds good?”

Jeno offers him a nice smile, the one where his eyes crinkle up into moon crescents, turning into the adorable samoyed you fell in love with in university. Reaching for his hand, you try to calm yourself down by playing with his fingers– an action you always used to practice whenever you were nervous about something– ready to continue with the planning of your wedding. 

“Sounds great,” Jeno agrees, making Mark nod at his answer, glad with the reply he got. Resting his back against the chair, the man in charge of your wedding looks at you with expecting eyes, ready to hear your answers.

“So, what comes into your mind when you think of your wedding?” Mark asks.

Jeno looks at you for a split second, smiling, as if he was waiting for you to go first and say your ideas. When you don’t comply and stay silent instead, he wastes no time in turning to the other man in the room, talking enthusiastically about what’s going to be the most important day of his life, making you stare at him in examination and interest.

“I think of something romantic. I like grand gestures and big things, so I want our wedding to be one big party where everyone has fun and stays up the whole night,” he starts, making you hum. You knew that Jeno was into these kinds of things– he never missed a chance to celebrate anything with his friends Doyoung and Renjun. Even the way he proposed to you was a grand gesture in itself.

The whole thing played out on your vacation in Spain. You like Spain– the architecture, nature and the sea. Everything about it is your ideal vacation spot, a spot that makes you relax and reset after the whole year. Your first vacation with Jeno was in Spain, and so to be proposed to in the same spot you two walked across together a little over 4 years ago was only fitting and romantic. The beach spot you two found together when you graduated from university was decorated with flower petals and fairy lights, making you wonder how and when your dear partner managed to set all of this up, and when he kneeled down and asked you to marry him, you didn’t have it in you to say no. 

Not that you wanted to say no, of course. You’re in love with Lee Jeno– you somehow think that you always have been and also you always will. Marriage is a big step, though, so you think that the status itself was what made you halt and hesitate for a split second before you replied a teary-eyed “Yes” and kissed your boyfriend with fondness and urgency.

“Alright, sounds good. When you close your eyes and imagine the day, what do you see? Anything specific?” 

Jeno hums, even closing his eyes and thinking deeply, before he replies with a grin. “I see people dancing. I also think I’d like it to be in a big venue, a lot of white and pink… something similar to what you have going on right here, to be honest,” he says.

“Great. Y/N?”

Raising your brows up, startled, you point your look to Mark and realize he wants you to answer his question as well. A wedding is a thing for two– at least– so it’s only normal for him to expect you to have some opinion and idea of what you want.

“I… I’d like it to be something small and comfy? With my closest friends, and stuff. I don’t mind it being decorated simply, since… I’m not really that about flowers and… all that romance stuff…” you say honestly, making sure the rehearsed sentences you made up in your mind on your way here sound gullible. 

It’s not that you’re lying– you just, frankly speaking, still don’t think you love the idea of a wedding. What you’ve said is just a thing you know you’d hate the least. 

Mark looks at you with an examining look, furrowing his eyebrows as he nods and notes down everything both of you have said into the computer. 

“That’s… your opinions are completely opposite, to be honest, but I’m sure we can find a compromise and create something both of you would like. I’ll show you some catalogs and you can both point to things you’d like, okay?” Mark says, rummaging through the drawers of his desk and offering you some magazines, almost identical to the ones you have at home from the last time you visited.

Seeing Jeno taking charge and flipping through the pages with much excitement, you watch his profile when he smiles and points to pictures of greatly decorated wedding halls, churches, tables full of cakes and a picture of the groom and the bride photographed together in a dramatic posture, dipped down and kissing. Flower petals, sparkles and fairy lights everywhere– this is the image of a wedding your fiancé would love, and you’re aware of the fact all too well.

“Isn’t this great, love?” he asks, not even tearing his eyes off the page he’s currently looking at, too busy with studying all the details, already imagining the two of you in the moment captured on one of the pictures in the catalog.

Eyes glazing over the glossy page, you bite down on your lower lip, sighing. 

Again, you don’t find it in you to disagree. He looks so excited and you wouldn’t want to break his heart with your decision.

So instead, you only nod and try to put on your best excited tone. “It looks amazing, Jeno.”

Your eyes meet Mark’s for a moment. 

The look is full of stern sympathy.

ONE SUFFOCATING LOVER ONE FOOL IN A WEDDING GOWN

The next part of your wedding planning journey is perhaps the one you, as the bride, should find the most exciting. How you’re gonna look on your big day is truly important, since you can only imagine full instagram stories of the wedding of every single guest invited, and also, the pictures you take on your wedding are what’s shown around to next generations, making your kids look at the moments captured in time, making them see the blueprint of what’s love supposed to look like while also simultaneously reminiscing of the feelings that died down over the years, simmered and a little washed-out into gray.

Maybe the last thing is what is making you despise the idea of marrying someone so much. What if, after many many years, when you’re at the end of your journey, the pictures would bring more pain than joy? What if it’s a painful reminder of something great that you no longer have in your grasp?

You don’t know what’s making you feel so conflicted about the whole thing. Thinking about it is scary, but the underlying stress of everything is still present and makes you constantly feel like you’re walking on eggshells, bound to mess something up.

Standing in another wedding salon, joined by your closest friend Seori– because you despise the idea of a big group of screaming women joining you on your journey of your own remake of Say yes to the dress– and your wedding planner Mark, you wait for inspiration to kick you and set you off to hunting down the perfect wedding dress. 

“Hello, hello,” a man– lean in posture, wearing dress pants and loafers– joins your little group, a bright smile sitting on his face as he speaks to you, “I’m Na Jaemin, nice to meet you!”

Bowing to the man in formality and shaking his hand, introducing both yourself and your best friend of many years, you grow hesitant in your place. Eyes roaming around the room– walls painted a light peach color, creating a beautiful contrast with the white dresses hung all around the room– you take a deep breath in and out, taking a glimpse of Mark Lee standing by your side and saying something to you.

“This is where we usually go with our brides to pick out dresses, since Jaemin here has the most amazing assortment of all kinds and styles,” Mark explains, making you notice that the two men seem rather close. As you nod and walk around the salon with Seori, they catch up for a minute before the one with blonde hair walks up to you with a bright smile.

“Do you have any preferences about the dress? Any image in your head?” he asks, making you startled. This is not the first time you’ve heard someone ask you about your preferences for the wedding, yet, the question always surprises you and catches you off guard. Usually, you’d consider yourself a woman with strong opinions that’s not afraid to voice them– you’ve gotten into multiple arguments about feminism over your university years– but suddenly, you feel weak and disheartened, shrugging.

“I’ve looked on Pinterest the last night… and the last couple of nights, actually,” you softly laugh, trying to ease yourself into the conversation, “I found more styles that I liked, but I’m not sure if they would fit me well.”

“That’s what we’re here for!” Jaemin encourages you. “Just pick up whatever you like and we’ll help you try it on! Any adjustments needed will be done here, so don’t stress about it.”

Gratefully smiling and nodding at the man, you turn to the rack full of pearl white and shades of cream, your hands start working before your brain does, moving the hangers around and taking a look at all of the dresses available, taking your time. You’re not quite sure what would look good on you, not really able to imagine the dresses on your figure, and you feel the mental block of not being excited enough about all of this holding you back and tying you down. 

“What about these?” Seori asks, an excited glint in her voice. Turning around to her, seeing the dress she’s picked out, you can’t help but giggle, since the dress is awfully similar to the obnoxious gown you wore to your senior prom, just in white. 

“You’re unbelievable,” you laugh, coming up to her and taking the hanger into your hands, “one look and I’m back in high school,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief and hanging the dress back onto the rack, giving up on that option already.

“I still remember how funny you looked,” Seori laughs, poking fun at you, “I can’t believe you wore that.”

“I can’t believe you let me wear that!” you argue back. The memories of your senior prom hit you with a sense of weird nostalgia. It was all so easy back then– you went with Jeno, and you had a lot of fun together. It felt like an end of an era, and it truly was just that, even though the reality of it didn’t click for you back then. You’ve lived through multiple stages of your life with Jeno, and to think you’re going to be with him until the end of your life, seems oddly unbelievable on your insides. 

“You were unstoppable, girl,” Seori grins, shaking her head. Continuing to look through the dresses, you pick out a few that you like, hesitantly moving them to the separate rack that’s emptied out for your options. Catching a glimpse of Mark sitting at one of the sofas, alongside with Jaemin, your eyes meet as he offers you a warm smile. This works as a reassurance, making you walk back to the dresses, standing next to Seori, seeing her pick up another white gown, showing it to you.

The dress is long and lacy, decorated with mesh on the shoulders, flowery details scattered all along the skirt. You can’t help but find the dress a little obnoxious, a little too much, perhaps, yet, you’d still call the piece of clothing beautiful, for you can see the appeal of a princessy look for most women your age. Hesitantly scanning over the many details, Seori speaks up to you.

“Jeno would love this on you.” 

Meeting her eyes, she looks at you warmly. She’s known Jeno for as long as you have, all of you being friends since high school, so you can’t say she wouldn’t know. Because, frankly speaking, it’s true– Jeno would love that dress, and he would love it on you. It fits the image of his ideal wedding perfectly, with all the romanticness, all the grand gestures matching with the long skirt and the girly detailing across the neckline. You hate the dress, you feel sick as you’re looking at it, it makes you feel claustrophobic and dizzy, yet, the words that came out of Seori’s mouth resonate in your head over and over, making you pick up the hanger and move it to the rest of your options.

Jeno would love that dress.

“I… I think I have enough options now, I’m gonna try some on,” you say, smiling at the men sitting on the sofa, being met with eager nods of acknowledgement. The two of them seem to talk like old friends, and you can’t help but wonder why Jeno doesn’t meet up with his friends anymore and why he no longer has time for anything other than work. You’d like to see him like this– immersed into a conversation, yet, still playful and happy to just… exist.

Seori helps you into the dresses behind the curtain of the dressing room. The first few of them are a miss, you don’t like the way they look on you and the way some dresses enhance the features you dislike on yourself, saying no to them almost instantly. You don’t know how long it takes for you to get through all the dresses; it feels like infinity, like the time’s stopped and you’re stuck in this loop forever, when only two dresses are left: the one Seori picked out and your own, personal favorite.

Choosing the one Jeno would love the most, you wear it and hear Seori squeal out with excitement. “This looks so good on you! Oh my god!”

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you look like the woman Jeno would want to marry. Like a cut-out from the wedding magazines he likes to look through on his free days, you spin around like a princess, fitting the image of Jeno’s ideal wedding almost perfectly– with all the flowery details and romantic style. 

“Do you like it?”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shrug. You must seem unsure– but on the inside, you are screaming. The claustrophobic feeling settles into your chest again, making you feel like you’re suffocating on the inside, making you desire to rip the gown off and never see it again. 

“Let’s show them!” Seori says, opening up the curtain and making you step outside of the dressing room, turning you in your place so you twirl like a Disney princess. “Doesn’t she look magical?” 

Jaemin instantly nods, a happy glint in his eye. You wonder if he likes his job so much– he certainly looks like it, from the never-disappearing smile on his face and the enthusiasm he walks around the place with. You’re quite jealous of him. He seems like the perfect image of what you’ve dreamt of being when you graduated university– a person with their life together, loving their stable job and starting a family. Yet, you’re here– seemingly put together in a wedding dress that makes you panic, the eyes of everyone on you feeling judging, not sure of what to do and to which direction to step towards to finally get yourself together.

“She looks amazing!” you hear Jaemin say, making you nod with tight lips. “Is this your favorite one?” he asks.

Opening your mouth to agree– even though it’s a lie– you blink a few times to calm yourself down. The mental image of your favorite dress still waiting at the empty rack, waiting to be tried on, burns in the back of your brain, but you’ve said goodbye to it the moment you dressed up as Jeno’s bride. 

“It can’t be,” Mark says, making you look at him with glossy eyes, confused.

“B-but-”

“You have one more to try on. You’ll see which one you like better after, okay?” he says, almost as if he was reading your mind, seeing the hesitance you tried so hard to hide.

Nodding, you step inside the dressing room again, changing the dress for the one you picked out with the help of your best friend. Taking a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, your eyes almost start to water, the A-line of the skirt and the simplicity of it all making you feel the best, like you could actually imagine yourself getting married, if you were wearing this gown. Turning around in your place, admiring the silk fabric, you don’t think you could ever find a better one. 

Yet, the other dress still sits in the back of your mind like a bad memory, not letting you leave without it. It’s there, pettily kicking it’s foot against the flooring of your brain, bringing you headache and making you nervous as your clammy fingers move your hair away when you step outside of the room, ready to be criticized by the other people at the salon.

Eyes shaking, they find solace in the features of your wedding planner, his eyes like big pools of honey when he softly traces over the lines of your body, his lips parted agape. The expression makes you shy away from his gaze, heat rising to your face when you notice light pink dusting the man’s cheeks, quickly breaking his gaze from you.

“You look beautiful,” he mumbles, clearing his throat. The compliment should sound more casual than it has, the three words making your hands shake as you turn back to the mirror, forcing yourself to watch your surroundings through it instead, shielding yourself from the situation.

“Thank you,” you say.

“So, which one do you like more?” Jaemin asks, walking up to you and tightening the dress around your waist, showing you its full potential. 

Locking eyes with Seori, you see that she’s not up to the simplicity of the dress you’ve got on. You see the suggesting look to the other dress, the one that makes you drown in despair, the one that you should be wearing, logically; the one that Jeno would love to see you in, the one you should be wearing to be his wife. 

Pupils shaking as you take your reflection in for the last time, you’re ready to say goodbye. You’re ready to take the dress off and force yourself to forget about it, force yourself to never think of how pretty you thought you looked wearing it, force yourself to never see the image of you in your brain– to not cause yourself the bittersweet feeling you’ve been getting used to recently.

“Y/N, you should… You should only think about yourself right now, okay? Our opinions don’t matter,” Mark says from behind you, your eyes locking in the mirror. He uses the word ‘our’, suggesting that you shouldn’t think about the people in this room, that you shouldn’t think about what Seori, Jaemin, or Mark himself thinks, but somehow, you feel as if the words had a deeper meaning.

Perhaps he’s telling you to forget about Jeno’s opinion for a minute. To truly let yourself get lost in the planning of the wedding, to let go of the opinion that’s weighing you down the most of them all. To pick the dress you like, and not the one your fiancé would.

“This is the only part of the wedding that’s completely up to you, after all. Maybe you should take advantage of that,” Mark completes, sending an encouraging smile towards your figure.

And he’s right. You can’t be fully in charge anywhere else– almost to the point of feeling like your opinion doesn’t matter if it’s not the same as your fiancé’s– and maybe, that’s what’s making you feel so restricted in the whole process.

Maybe you should take your favorite dress. Maybe you should do at least one thing for yourself.

The trips to Mark Lee’s wedding salon are a usual thing now. It’s your first time planning a wedding for yourself, and while you also truly hope it’s also the last time, you can’t help but feel a little weirded out at the ordinariness of it all. You get used to the trips to the salon, you get used to the time it takes you to drive there in your small car– letting you time the songs in your playlist almost perfectly until the last moment when you park and turn the engine off– only when you’re driving there alone, though, because Jeno likes to pick the music when he drives and compromise is one thing you two can’t do when it comes to a playlist. It’s okay, though. You drive to the wedding salon more times alone than with your fiancé, and while it’s unusual and you’d really want him to be there, you guess you can’t really do anything about it now. It’s not like he was the one to ask you to marry him, after all… 

“What about the honeymoon?” Mark asks one day, looking at you from under his eyelashes. The weather outside is cold and he’s wearing a thick hoodie, his whole outfit looking twice as cozy as your little thin jacket that you threw on yourself quickly before leaving the house. The image of his sweater paws makes you wonder how it would feel to be in the soft material of his light gray hoodie, making you almost slap yourself when you're caught on your own with the thought in your brain. It’s not like you’re thinking of another man when you’re on your way to get married, that’s not it– it’s just the simple jealousy of the warmth Mark radiates that’s gotten you to this point. 

Shrugging, you glance at him, meeting his chocolate eyes. “I bet Jeno would love to go somewhere to the sea. We got engaged on a beach, so I guess that’s the right way to go.”

Scribbling on the notebook that’s sitting on his table– you wonder when he switched from his laptop to written notes; maybe it’s the power crisis– he hums before he turns back to you with an examining look. “And you?”

After working for you for a couple of weeks, the man should already know that it’s no good to ask for your opinion when it comes to your wedding. You don’t really have an image in your mind, and when you do, there’s no use in pushing through with your view, since Jeno’s would always be stronger, and what Jeno says, usually goes. And you love him– he’s the one dreaming so much about marriage. So you do what he wants, naturally. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble.

Earning yourself a sigh from Mark, you almost laugh at his annoyed look. “How many times do I have to tell you that you need to tell me something I can work with, Y/N?” he asks.

After so many days spent at the wedding salon with Mark Lee, you two have come to a state of a casual friendship. It’s not all so formal and stern anymore, leaving you two space for jokes and snarky comments about cliche decorations shown on the shiny pages of magazines, making you two comfortable with each other enough to joke about looking dead when the other one is tired and telling each other about your days when you have time. Ever since you two have met, you’ve been the most indecisive person Mark Lee’s ever known– and he’s met a lot of people in his profession of a wedding planner so far. The only thing you’ve ever had a straight opinion on was the wedding dress.

He can’t get the picture of you in your dress out of his mind. Sure, he’s seen a lot of brides before, the image not really impacting him as much anymore as before– for the look on the bride’s faces never failed to make him emotional with the premise of the fact that he’s a part of something beautiful. He’s seen a lot of brides and weddings before, but in the white lights of the bright salon, he couldn’t help but think that you’ve been the most beautiful one so far, and he can’t seem to imagine anyone ever beating you. It’s a silly thought– one that he finds himself battling more times than he should, but it’s still there, in the back of his mind, whenever you two meet eyes. 

That’s why he couldn’t let you choose the dress Jeno wanted. Not because he would be selfish– at least he desperately hopes he’s not selfish for wanting to see you in that dress again, at least once, at the wedding– but because he knows that you wouldn’t feel like yourself in the other one. And why would he let that happen, when he’s practically the one in charge of the whole ceremony?

And so, the fact that you say you don’t know what you’d like for your honeymoon doesn’t surprise him. But still, he wishes you could let yourself get more in tune with your opinions than Lee Jeno’s. At least when he’s not present…

“I know, I know,” you roll your eyes at the scolding manner, “but I just… I’ve never thought about it before, I guess?”

“That makes sense, I mean, it’s your first time getting married,” he shrugs, “but you must have a place you’d like to see one day, no? A place both of you, with Jeno, would love to travel to one day,” he says, looking at you with expectations in his orbs.

Lost, shrugging at his question, you almost look full of despair and confusion. Truth be told, planning a wedding is not as relaxing as one would think. There’s many things to take in mind, a lot of things that can go wrong and need to be taken care of. And you keep telling yourself that it’s going to be alright and that it has to be the most perfect day of your life, but you just can’t seem but to be a little stranded, especially in moments when Jeno isn’t by your side; when he’s the one that should be in charge, and not you. 

Maybe Mark can read your mind. Or maybe, he’s just too good at reading people.

“Okay, relax,” he smiles, nudging your leg a little under the table, “then just… think about what you’d like to see. Your dream holiday destination. A place you always wanted to visit. Don’t think about the honeymoon thing or the wedding, if that helps.”

The grateful smile on your face is like a reward for the man, your eyes close a little as you lean back in the chair and think of the place you’d love to see the most. Not held by the grudges of the wedding, not holding on to the thought of a honeymoon, you find it easier to see the place right in front of your eyes, to focus on the noise of the destination, the crowded town centers and amazing architecture; you find it easier to be in tune with what you want, letting go of the thing you always force yourself to say.

“I’d love to go to France. Paris. I- I know they say it’s dirty, but frankly, I just want to see it with my own eyes at least once. And I think it’s quite romantic,” you say, opening your eyes to see the man in front of you glancing at you with a soft smile playing with his features, feeling yourself getting shy as your cheeks heaten up at the words you’ve just uttered out of your lips, “oh god, this might just be the cheesiest thing I’ve ever said out loud.”

Mark chuckles, shaking his head at you. “It’s a nice change.”

Scratching the back of your neck, you watch as the man scribbles down the word ‘Paris’ into his notebook, the lack of eye contact leaving you with your walls down and your soul in open. “But I don’t think- I don’t think Jeno would like to go to Paris. I’ll think of something else, so it fits…”

Looking back up at you, the shame mirroring in your eyes when he examines your whole figure, he lets himself shake his head in disbelief, showing you his true opinion on the comment. “I think you should compromise, you know.”

“Yeah, that’s what I just said.”

“That’s not a compromise, Y/N,” he says, his voice considerate, “that’s just… you compromising. Not Jeno. Never Jeno.”

And while you’d like to tell him that that’s how it’s supposed to be, because you already agreed to the wedding despite not making your mind yet, while you’d like to tell him that you owe it to him for not being fond of the idea, while you’d like to tell him that what Jeno says goes, because you can’t imagine yourself breaking his heart with telling him that this is not at all what you want– you stay quiet. Shrugging, you avert your gaze to the ground.

“I’m fine with that. I’m more than happy to comply, if he’s happy.”

TWO PEOPLE UNDER BEDSHEETS, ONE WALLOWING IN DEFEAT

Swirling the maroon liquid around in your tall glass, feet dressed in warm socks as you’re twisted into a blanket burrito, you overlook the figure of your fiancé sitting at your small couch, papers sprawled all around the coffee table. Taking a sip of the red wine, you feel comfortable for the first time in weeks– you don’t feel rushed, you don’t feel like there’s a burden on your shoulders– and you pray hard that it’s not just the effect of alcohol.

“Can you pass me that paper?” you ask Jeno, seeing him turn around with his half-wet hair, having just come out of the shower after work, his slight smile putting you at ease.

“Which one?”

“The list of guests. The one in the corner,” you point to the paper sitting at the coffee table, the contents of it another important step closer to your wedding. Mark advised you two to compile a list of all the people you want to invite to your wedding, so you know how big of a venue you’ll need to rent out. You complied to his request, sitting at your table one afternoon and scribbling down names of all the people you’d miss at your wedding, having the list not being that long– there was around 15 people, including your family, and you knew damn well that some of the people in your list will overlay with Jeno’s, for you have a couple of mutual friends.

“Oh,” he nods, passing you the list, “want to go over it? I did mine a while back, when you were at work,” he adds, making you nod.

“Sure.”

“Are you inviting girls from university?” he asked, looking at you from under his eyelashes. He knew some of your friends from uni, and while you could very well imagine your wedding full of people that you barely knew, it’s not something you strive for. Your wedding, at least in your head, is supposed to be a little safe haven– a place where you dance around and have fun, a place where you know each face that shows up, being able to let loose and enjoy the evening with your closest friends. So, to Jeno’s question, you shake your head in disagreement.

“Only a couple,” you say, “my roommates, yes. The other ones, I don’t really need there.”

“Oh,” he mumbles, squinting his eyelashes. In the midst of the scattered sheets of paper on the coffee table, he finds his own list, full of lazy scribbles in black ink. You can tell he took the paper you keep in the kitchen for when you need to write down a shopping list, because it’s a little greasy at the bottom. Looking over the names he’s written down, you notice that his list is significantly longer than yours, and you can also tell that some names, you barely even recognise.

“You want that many people to attend?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “I want them all there. Besides, my family’s big, so I can’t really make the list shorter, if that’s what you’re implying,” he notes, taking you off-guard with the sudden protest to something you haven’t even started talking about yet.

“I-I wasn’t saying that, but I think we could… go through your list and maybe forget about some people? I mean, my list is only 15 people long, and if we go through with what you have, we’d have to rent a big venue, and I can only imagine how expensive that will be…” you mumble, trying hard to pursue him.

There’s a shadow of an encouraging smile somewhere in the back of your head, a soft memory of a voice telling you that you two should compromise– you bet it’s Mark Lee, but you won’t admit that to anyone. Something about his words on your last meeting struck with you, though, and even though you would love to comply to everything Jeno wants, because he’s the one in desire of a wedding, you find yourself protesting to his idea, because, frankly, maybe you do not want to spend that much money on a venue, and also, maybe because you wanted your wedding to be small and intimate.

“I don’t care how much it costs, Y/N,” he shrugs, “it’s our wedding. We can spend some money on the special day.”

Sighing, you chew on the inside of your cheek. “I just thought we could have a smaller wedding, you know. I always wanted it to be filled with people I know, people I can’t imagine the day go by without, so I was very cautious with the choice of my guests-”

“And I wasn’t?” he cuts you off, suddenly all defensive.

“That’s not what I said, Jeno-”

“Look, I don’t want to cut anyone off the list. You have your own guest list and I have mine. We rent a venue that can fit both, okay?” he insists, making you finally snap, annoyance for the first time slipping off your tongue.

“Why can’t we just compromise on this?”

The man looks at you with cold eyes, something you never imagined to see from a man you’re in love with. Sure, you’ve had arguments before. Yes, they scared you a little each time, but they weren’t anything you weren’t sure you wouldn’t get through. You and Jeno argue over small, blatant things, things you can fix in a second– nothing to make you worry. This time, though, there’s a hit in your stomach that makes you freeze in your movements, halt in your step. Maybe you’ve hit a weak spot in him. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that.

“Do whatever you want,” he says, full of frustration as he throws the paper onto the table and storms off, closing the door behind him as he walks off to the bedroom, ready to sleep.

Is this how your dialogue was supposed to go? With you stating your needs, and him telling you to get over it? Do whatever you want?

You scoff. As if you wanted to get married in the first place…

Drinking the rest of the glass, you shuffle further down into the sofa, trying hard to make yourself fall asleep in the living room, despite your thoughts running around like they’re on a marathon. The warmth that radiated off the man and the whole situation is now long gone, leaving you feeling like an unlit fireplace, hugging yourself as if to shield your body from the impact of the silent sobs that dare to cut out of your throat.

What Jeno wants, goes. How silly of you to think you can compromise.

Sometimes, you wonder if you’re just not holding on to something that’s slowly burning out. Looking at your fiancé in the wedding salon right now, his side profile so perfect you’ve gotten used to it over the years, you reminisce about the memories you two have made together during your early stages of the relationship. The images flash through your brain in a feeling of bittersweet nostalgia, making you desire a time of life that’s no longer here, because you’re getting older and settling down. It’s not like you can feel free forever, you just don’t feel like you’re free in the relationship anymore– and truth be told, you were free and in love in all those moments you think of with a soft smile, so why is the essence of it no longer there? Is it really just because the thought of marrying someone is so deeply terrifying to you, or is there something more to it?

“Do you like these?” Jeno asks, holding up a wedding invitation to you. It’s snow white and the corners are rimmed with a rose gold color, everything falling perfectly with the decorations and the whole theme of your wedding.

“I do,” you nod.

You don’t.

Everything about the whole day, the closer it is, the more scary it truly feels to you. You can’t bring yourself to think of it, to imagine it, to have the promise of staying with Lee Jeno until the rest of your life right there in front of you eyes, and it all makes you wonder– truly, deeply reflect on yourself– as to why you don’t want that, and why you’re so scared of staying with him forever, when in theory, he’s the one you love and the one you should want to marry. 

“And what about these ones?”

“They’re pretty,” you reply, not meeting his eyes.

You wonder if this is just the aftertaste of the fight you had about the number of guests. Maybe you just don’t feel in tune with it because neither of you has acknowledged the argument yet, maybe because you feel bitter because you felt like your opinion wasn’t valid in the process. Maybe that’s what’s making you soullessly stare into nowhere, eyes trailing over the white walls and the clasped hands of your wedding planner sitting cautiously right opposite of you– maybe that’s what’s making you agree to everything Jeno likes; because your opinion will never matter in the first place.

But that’s okay. That’s your fate now– that’s what you signed up for, after all. You agreed to marry him. You told him yes, even though the reply wasn’t clear in your head, you said you’d love to spend your forever with him, even though the feelings battling inside of you were so conflicting, yet the one you were leaving more towards was the urge to run away. So now, you have to face it; you have to marry him, because you lied to him about your emotions, because you let him down with a promise you never wanted to keep; because you can’t face the reality of breaking the man’s heart when all he did was love you deeply.

And it’s not even that you don’t love him anymore. Maybe you just hate the idea of your relationship feeling ordinary. Maybe you’re selfishly just bored. 

“So, which ones do you prefer?” Jeno asks, looking at you with big eyes. If you stare into them for long enough, you could even see a hint of him trying to do better– asking for your opinion and ready to respect it, a hint of him saying sorry for the things he’d said without words, laying the opportunity of being in charge to you again. 

Shrugging, you chew on the inside of your cheek. You hate both. You hate the idea of every single wedding invitation, because you don’t want a wedding, and the idea of using these little pieces of cardboard to invite numerous people to see you lying into your partner’s eyes makes you want to dig a hole and lie in it, maybe even bury yourself alive. “I like both.”

“But we need to choose one,” he insists, putting a hand to your thigh, his grip soft, yet protective and comforting. You used to love his sudden touches, the affection seeping off his fingers any time his fingertips glazed the surface of your skin. Now, you find yourself wanting to shrug the hand off, for the contact of it with your body burns, making you guilty for a mess that’s currently going on in your head, making you dizzy and confused.

“I-” you stutter, “which ones do you like?” you ask, helpless.

Eyes scanning over your figure, Jeno almost pressures you for more. He almost asks for your opinion again, wanting to see the excited glint in your eye as you look through the magazines and choose your wedding invitations, but when he finds nothing in the endless pools of your eyes, he knows to step back and leave it be, a hopeless sigh escaping his lips. “I like the first ones better.”

You could guess the answer if you were asked to.

Smiling, you nod. “I was leaning towards these as well.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Totally,” you nod, trying to reassure him with a soft smile. You’re not sure if it reaches your eyes– you just know that if it doesn’t, Jeno can clearly tell.

“Okay, that’s all for today, I think,” Mark concludes, making you look at him. His chocolate orbs are plastered on your distressed face and you feel naked in front of him, you feel as if he can see right through your lies, as if he can tell that you really want to be anywhere but here right now. 

“Thank you,” Jeno smiles at your wedding planner, the two of them shaking hands in a formal manner before your fiancé stands up from his chair and reaches for his coat, ready to leave the office. When your eyes meet with Mark’s, you offer him a friendly smile– the one you always have saved for him– and turn towards your coat as well, ready for your departure. Just when you’re about to leave the room, Mark’s voice echoes after you, making you halt in your movements.

“Actually, I forgot… Can I talk with Y/N alone for a sec? It’s about dresses, so… you’re not really allowed to hear, Jeno,” he says, cracking his knuckles as he utters those words, making you nod as Jeno offers him a polite nod, telling you that he’ll be waiting for you in the car outside. Once the door closes behind him and the room falls silent, you move closer towards Mark, looking at him with expecting eyes.

“What is it?” you ask.

Mark takes a deep breath in and out, shaking his head as if to get his thoughts straight, before he looks at you again with softness in his eyes, his voice barely louder than a whisper– for the contents of his speech are something that should be banned to say, especially in a setting like this. “You know you can still back away, right?”

Looking at him for a few seconds, a few seconds that feel like eternity, you blink at him in shock and surprise. “What?”

“There’s still time to say no,” he says, now looking you dead in the eyes, the expression stern, yet considerate. 

His words can’t really process in your head, the whole situation making you break down your walls as you shake your head, running your hand through your hair. Scoffing in disbelief, you turn defensive– because who is Mark Lee to tell you anything about your upcoming marriage and why can he see right through you? Who gave him the right to see through your walls, through the facade you built up all those months ago; who let him make you feel utterly, completely naked in front of him, scared of what he’ll see inside? 

“What are you even talking about?” you snap.

“I think you know what I mean, Y/N,” he says.

“I-” you stutter again, all words stuck inside of your throat, “why would I even want to do that? Why would I want to call it off?”

“Y/N-”

Nothing can stop the tangent that’s incoming out of your lips right now– not the soft, considerate look he gives you, not the eyes full of truth and honesty staring right inside of your soul, not the soft touch on your shoulder that you shrug off in the speed of light as your hands fly into the air in frustration. “It’s not your place to tell me to cancel my wedding, Mark, and I don’t know what’s gotten into your brain to make you think for just a second that that’s what I want to do, because- because I know that I’ve been out of it, I do know that, but I just- I just can’t do that to Jeno even if I really wanted to, you know?” you let out, tired voice echoing off the walls of the salon. “So don’t go around and tell me I can still say no, when I’ve already said yes, and don’t try to tell me that this is what I want, because I truly, deeply wish that I didn’t.”

The defeated look on your face is enough for the man to break, yet, he offers you nothing more than silence as you stare him down, wordless and empty. Breathing heavily, you turn to the door, shaking your head in disapproval of the whole thing.

Turning around one last time at the door, you try to burn Mark Lee down with your eyes, for the comfort he gives you with this new opportunity both sets you free and makes you suffocate at once, his words make your insides burn with ashes as you desperately try to breathe for fresh air– the whole thing leaves you mad and stranded, completely alone and left to lean on nobody, because the one that’s supposed to be there for you now and forever is the object of this mere conversation.

“Don’t- don’t mention this again,” you sternly say, reaching for the doorknob, feeling a stray tear falling off your cheek as you escape the pure white walls of his office. 

This whole time, you didn’t even notice you’ve been crying.

Voices of the people present resonate through the half-empty venue, pearl white pillars supporting the weight of the ceiling situated in calculated places all around the spacious room as you lean on one of them, watching your fiancé walk around with your wedding planner, observing the place. There are big windows on one of the walls, the glass panels providing you with a view of the outside– a pretty, long garden filled with flowers that will wilt once the cold season is over, tall trees shielding some places from the sun, providing a relaxing shade. 

Tugging your sleeves down to further cover your arms, since the place is kind of chilly, you try to catch up to the two men in the other corner of the room, both physically and in conversation. Listening to Jeno asking all about the technical stuff and how the place is going to look once decorated, Mark answers him with factual answers, showing him around and making sure the groom is 100% satisfied with his choice. 

You still think you’d prefer a smaller venue– you still prefer a smaller wedding. It’s not up to you to decide, though, and you’ve given up on that opportunity a long time ago. Maybe in the same moment you said yes to him on the beach– you think that was the moment where you decided your own destiny, the moment where you tied yourself down with a metal ball on your leg, and now it’s your fate to drag it around and pretend it’s not there and that you’re not bothered by the weight.

“It seems perfect,” Jeno hums, making you automatically nod with a mechanical smile, looking around the venue once again. In Jeno’s eyes, it sure does seem perfect– it fits all the criteria of his ideal wedding, of the best day of his whole, entire life. And you can’t lie, if you really tried hard enough, you could even see the vision. You could even force yourself to enjoy the image of it in your head, you could even imagine the day going exactly by the plan, and in reality, nothing will even change, because you’ve been living with Jeno for quite a while now, but the concept just seems so scary and unnatural to you that you can’t help but feel like the reality will crash you any passing second if you don’t try hard enough to keep your guard up.

“It’s amazing,” you nod, afraid to meet any of the men’s eyes. Gathering up all the courage you have left in you, you add another convincing message. “I can almost imagine it all decorated and stuff, it’s gonna be great.”

You hear a strangled hum come out of Mark’s throat, a noise you can only decipher with it’s true emotion because you still have the conversation from a few weeks ago fresh in your brain, replaying over and over in front of your eyes as you can’t fall asleep under the blankets of your soft bed, twisting and turning in despair. If he could see it, why can’t Jeno? 

There’s a hint of you that wishes oh so deeply that your fiancé, the man that knows you the best, could see right through your white lies; there’s a hint of you that desires for him to talk to you about it, to get mad and leave you for leading him on and breaking his heart.

That doesn’t come, though, and you know it never will. You're too far in now to ever look back.

A touch on your hand brings you to avert your gaze from the ground to the man next to you, the emptiness of it all breaking your heart a thousand times over and over, your heart yearning for somebody to take it and mold it back together, glue the sharp pieces back again even though they could cut them, to tell you that it’s okay and that you’re human and that people make mistakes, yours just was a way bigger one than you should’ve ever let happen. But that doesn’t come, and it may never– but it’s okay, because you are the reason for your own downfall, and you’re the reason why you now have to play pretend and suffer. 

You glance up at Mark. Strangely, his eyes soften. He should hate you– for even though you pretend, he knows damn well what storm’s going on on the inside, and maybe you could say it’s only for the years of experience he has with fiancés eagerly planning their wedding that he can see you don’t share the same enthusiasm, or you two were just simply connected and in tune. Chewing harshly on your lower lip, so hard you taste the iron bitterness of your own blood on your tongue, your discomfort tries hard to show at your face and you keep battling hard to not let it slip. 

It’s been years with Lee Jeno by your side. Why can’t he see your suffering?

And you keep telling yourself that maybe it’s just his own joy and enthusiasm that makes him so blind to your averted eyes and still body under his sheets. But that doesn’t help your situation; you’d argue it makes it even worse, for you don’t think you can keep going for any longer, and he’s the one pushing forward with such force. You never enjoyed the difference in power you two have. You should’ve never said yes to him in the first place.

And it’s drowning you, because it’s not even his fault. He’s done nothing wrong, but you can’t help but want to stay away, want to hide and run whenever the topic of a wedding is brought to your attention, because it’s not what you desire, even though it’s what you should want, after so many years by his side.

Mark’s voice echoes in your brain, his damn argument never leaving the walls of your head. You want to silence it, but you’re never strong enough.

It’s never too late to back away. But how could you do that to him? You shouldn’t.

You shouldn’t, and that’s why you’ll never do so, no matter how scared and panicked you feel. 

You shouldn’t, because you loved him.

ONE UNREQUITED BELIEF

They say that staring into a cup of black coffee won’t make your troubles go away; nor will it make you feel at least a little better about yourself, but nonetheless, you do it on a cloudy, sad afternoon, sitting in your kitchen as you hug your knees to your chest. Hearing the steady ticking of the clock on the wall, you wonder why you can’t make the time stop– why you can’t just hide away from your problems for a little while, finding a quiet haven and listening to yourself for just a second, to see what you really need and what you should do.

But you can’t stop the time, even though you sometimes really desire for that to happen, and that leads to your fiancé eventually coming home to find you staring into the cup of now cold, black coffee, the solemn look on your face telling him perhaps more than you would’ve expect, but still not enough to fully understand.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, taking a cautious seat on the chair opposite of yours, not even bothering to put away the groceries he brought with himself on his way from work. Sensing the tense atmosphere, you take a glimpse on his face, and with the sad pools that are his eyes right now, you force yourself to swallow away the guilt and look away. 

“Nothing,” you mourn, your voice weak and almost a little shameful. It makes you feel bad for him– for letting him see you like this, on your worst; but the reality of the knowledge that if you two want to really stay together forever, he has to see you like this until you die– the image of him looking at you with such scared eyes every single time, it sends shivers down your spine. You’d rather crawl out of your own skin than to experience it over and over again, the motion of it destroying you completely until there’s nothing left of you than a broken, empty shell of a human you used to be.

And Jeno, he’d fit in your skin, if he could. He’d crawl inside with you, trying to fix every piece that’s broken, trying to understand the patterns of your veins and the thoughts flowing through your head. But the truth is, that you’ve got some problem, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. And that’s even scarier than anything he’s ever encountered before.

But he’s not stupid. 

“We need to talk about the wedding, right?” he asks, and the reality comes crashing down on you. He knows– he knows, he knows, he knows; he’s aware of the storm on your inside and how the raindrops can’t seem but to wash you completely away, making you drown. And you should’ve expected it, he’s your partner, after all, but you never once in your life could’ve predicted the lost look in his eyes when you finally look up at him from the darkness of your coffee cup and offer him a hushed whisper.

“What about it?” 

Offering you a tired smile, he sighs and nestles deeper into the chair. Brushing his hair out of his face, as if to prepare himself for the tough conversation, he puts his hands on the table and you watch his muscles flex when he moves to crack the knuckles of his palms in nerves, a habit you’ve noticed in him from when you first started dating back in high school.

“You’re unhappy with it,” he proclaims, not even leaving you a second to react with a disapproving ramble that he knows is coming– you always say everything’s fine when it’s not– as he proceeds with his observations, “and I know I might have been too pushy with some of my decisions, and I wasn’t being considerate enough of your opinions, but I promise you that we can change all the parts you don’t like and compromise. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you can’t have a say in it,” he says, and there’s a wallowing pit inside of your stomach, because after all,

he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know what’s going on, he doesn’t see it in your eyes when you tiredly close them to get rid of the exhaustion, he doesn’t understand that this is not the problem, and it’s okay, because he’s not a mind reader, but to your poor, selfish self, it feels like you’ve been wronged, because who can understand you in this, if not your own fiancé, the love of your life?

“It’s okay, Jeno,” you mumble, almost automatically.

“I said I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

There’s a silence overtaking you two, the clock ticking on the wall driving you insane. You think that if you hear the piercing sound of it ever again, you might just open the kitchen window and jump out of it, but then there’s another sound, and that one makes you crawl out of your skin again, the sound of Jeno's voice making your nails scrape against your own insides as the last remains of you need to stay inside, true to themselves.

“So what’s wrong? What do we work on?” he asks, and the tone of his voice is so considerate, so gentle, it almost brings you to tears.

Because you don’t deserve to be treated like this. 

Because you’re a traitor. That’s what you are, aren’t you?

“Nothing…”

“Do we change the invitations? Is it the venue?” he insists, his eyebrows furrowing with confusion as you don’t offer him any response. The silence is excruciating to him and you can clearly see, but still, it doesn’t lead you to breaking the truth to him, it doesn’t make you say the words that have been slowly dying at the tip of your tongue since the day you got engaged.

“Y/N, if you don’t tell me, we can’t fix it. Can you please talk to me and tell me what it is so we can work on it together?” he asks. 

And it’s killing you. 

Shaking your head, you scowl. This is not the way your script is supposed to play out. You were too careless, let him see inside, but all he saw through the crack was a glimpse of the full thing and now him aimlessly searching with a pointless game of guessing is only making it worse, and you don’t know how longer you can go without bursting apart.

“I told you it’s fine,” you insist, eyes closed as you plop your head against your palm, resting your elbow on the hard surface of your kitchen table. Your voice is barely louder than a whisper, but the impact of your words still feel like arrows with a straight goal to Jeno’s poor heart.

Another sigh leaves the man. Reaching gently for your wrist, he tries to pry your hands away from your face, but you stay put as he asks you over and over again. “If you really want to have a smaller wedding, I’ll cut down the guests. I’ll do it for you, if you want me to,” he says, and you don’t know why him fully letting go of what he wants is what makes you break– maybe it’s the fact that now that the wedding won’t be exactly to the point like his ideal, leaving the whole thing a whole fraud, an act you’re playing just to satisfy him and the others– but you do, as you cut him off with another hesitant, yet firm sentence.

“Maybe we can lower the guests… to zero.”

A heartbeat passes, and then another one. You think he can’t quite grasp the full meaning of your words, and you’re right as he opens his mouth and inquires for an explanation, his heart hammering against his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe we don’t need a wedding.”

His expression falls more, if that’s even possible, his eyes losing all their glint as he stares at you, dumbfounded. Snickering, he shakes his head. “You’re joking.”

Wetting your lips, averting your gaze from him and taking a glimpse outside of the window– the snow falling for the first time this winter making the whole situation even more idyllic, pushing you further with your final decision– you sigh and shrug, the argument already started and there’s no going back now, so you aren’t even scared of the idea of backing away anymore. 

“I don’t want to get married.”

And in this moment, you almost feel like the clock got broken and the ticking stopped, or the world stopped spinning and the time halted in that exact second– either one of these, as your heart beats angrily against your ribcage, the sound of it in the veins of your ears making you drown out everything else. Lee Jeno is staring at you with eyes that slowly lose all their life, his expression growing more and more full of despair, and the image tears you apart, the little you inside wanting to break free at the sight of him completely crumbling under the impact of your words, and suddenly, you don’t know what to do as you stare him down and await his response. You don’t know how he’ll react. He could scream, he could shout– hell, he could even cry or leave you in silence, the closure never coming as you wait for him at that damned kitchen table forever. But Lee Jeno’s always been a man of words, and so, he doesn’t leave you hanging for long as he scoffs again, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re joking, right?”

But when the silence is his answer, he already knows he doesn’t have to keep asking.

“So you’ve just been… what? Leading me on for the last few months?” he asks, the bitterness falling off his tongue making your hands tremble, lips parting as you want to hurriedly assure him that your feelings were real, they were real until suddenly, they weren’t, and now you don’t even know where they stand and what to do with them and the confusion on your insides.

“This is unbelievable…” he says, running his hands through his hair as he stands up from the chair he’s been sitting on for the last few minutes, walking across and back through the kitchen a few times before he continues, “all those months… You’ve been just lying straight to my face? What did I even do? Why- why do you- why do you suddenly not want to-?” he rambles, and his voice slowly starts to break as you can’t seem to push any other answer out of yourself, all words stolen from your tongue as you stare at him, just waiting until the moment is over and you can let your body relax.

And it’s not his fault. It never was, but suddenly, you’re too weak to tell him, too selfish to give him the answers, too small to be the bigger person and tell him that it’s you, it’s always been you and none of this is a problem he’s created.

“Why did you say yes, then? If you never wanted to get married?” he asks, halting in his steps as he looks dead at you, waiting for your answer.

You should’ve never said yes to him. But you did. And why?

Because you were scared of this exact moment happening sooner? Maybe it would’ve hurt him less if you declined right when he asked. Maybe it could’ve been saved. But now, you’re sure you made more damage than can be fixed.

“Great. Don’t talk to me. Amazing,” he snickers, closing his eyes tightly as a stray tear comes down his cheek, the one you try hard to not notice in fear of breaking down as well, because truthfully–

now is not your time to feel bad or feel sorry. It’s not your time to cry and make it about yourself, because it’s you who messed up. It’s you who made all of this mess.

Looking at you again, and this time, it feels like the last, the question falling off his lips makes you completely shut down and build up walls around yourself, for the weight of the guilt is too heavy and you can’t seem to carry it well this time.

“Do you even love me anymore?” he asks.

Tears falling off your cheeks, your lips pressed into a thin line as you look somewhere into the unknown– anywhere but his eyes– you give him the silent answer again, and that’s enough for him to nod at you with a choked-out ‘okay’ before he disappears out of the door, the rambling through your closet being a background noise to your crying.

And relief doesn’t come even when the door shuts behind him and you don’t get up and try to stop him from leaving and the clock starts ticking in your ears again, grounding you back to reality; relief doesn’t come even when you let your sobs overtake you and your eyes tiredly fall from your coffee cup to the groceries left on the kitchen table.

Staring outside of your window, you can’t seem to find energy to even make any sound, your sore throat reminding you to take a step back and take care of yourself, just like you did mere seconds ago, finally breaking free.

On December 2nd, when the snow fell for the first time this year, you broke Lee Jeno’s heart, and you don’t think you’ll ever forgive yourself.

You decide a walk is surely gonna clear your head– at least that’s what you decide to think when you put on your winter shoes and get out of your small, silent apartment with a loud sigh, the meeting point of your errand today brightly lit in your mind as you leave the car in the parking lot and shudder in the cold. 

The walk doesn’t clear your head, it makes you even more lost in your thoughts, it seems, but there’s no turning back when you’re already halfway there and you’re too lazy to get back and turn the engine of your little old car on, driving there instead. It seems like the consequences of your own actions leave you more miserable than content lately, and although you’re doing all of this for yourself, you feel like you’re unknowingly engaging in some sort of self-sabotage, and the fact that your body is frozen in the strong wind is only the tip of the iceberg of this topic.

After some time, you arrive, your nose runny from the condensation when you reach the heated interiors of the building, clearing your throat as you walk through the door of Mark Lee’s office, just like you would any other day, more often than not with your fiancé, sometimes alone. The man is currently waiting for you at his desk, his silly little journal open on the pages you know so well by now, the image hurting you to your core. 

“Y/N!” he greets you, confusion mirroring on his face when he notices you being alone, since this meeting was scheduled precisely on Jeno’s day off, so both of you could attend, “why are you alone?”

Not giving him a reply, instead walking over to the chair and settling deeper into the cushion, preparing yourself to break the news to him, the curious nature of the man shines through as he asks you hushed questions, a tiny hint of bitterness in his voice unknown to you.

“Does he have work again? Did he cancel?” he asks, prepared to give out an over-exaggerated sigh if you tell him that he’s right about his assumptions, but when you just chew on your cheek and avert your gaze away from him, and instead look everywhere across the pearl white room, he senses that there’s something wrong.

“Yeah, about that…” you mumble, shrugging. 

It’s now or never, you think to yourself– you went here for a reason unknown to you. Maybe you seeked comfort in the man that pushed you towards your decision, maybe you desire for someone to tell you that what you did was okay and the right thing to do. You could’ve just texted him you weren’t going to plan the wedding anymore, since there is none to happen, but you didn’t– you went here yourself, just to break the news to him face to face, expecting nothing and everything at once. It’s weird. Maybe you just, true to your fragile nature, need someone to look out for you when you feel so insanely guilty for doing something for yourself. Why that person is Mark Lee, you don’t know. Perhaps there is something that is pulling you to him, the comforting nature surrounding him being your safe haven in a time like this, making you so selfishly wish that after hearing you say it, he won’t let you down and look at you with defeat and disappointment.

“I- I called off the wedding,” you say, finally meeting his chocolate orbs with expectations, “and we sorta broke up, so I just- I just wanted to tell you that I won’t need your service anymore, but that I’m really thankful,” you add, nodding to prove your point.

The man in front of you is left startled, eyes wide as he searches for a hint of something– anything– on your face that would tell him if you’re okay and what led you to the decision, opening his mouth to talk to you about it, when you cut him off and add another thing, a sentence that breaks him and glues him together in one swift motion, leaving him speechless.

“Thank you for telling me that it was okay… to do that. And that it wasn’t late to call it off. It means the whole entire world to me, Mark, and I’ll never forget that,” you say, smiling hesitantly at the wedding planner, playing with your fingers in your lap, “I felt like I couldn’t make this decision, even though the idea of getting married to Jeno was breaking me, but your words really assured me.”

“That’s-” he stutters, clearly shocked. It’s not like he didn’t know– once again, he advised you to do so himself– but still, the reality of it is making him bewildered, true surprise raining over his face as he shakes his head to clear it, providing you with a more coherent response, “I’m- I’m glad you were able to do that. It’s- it’s so great you broke away from something you didn’t want for yourself, Y/N.”

Smiling, although a little shamefully, you avert your gaze from his intense eyes. “Thank you.”

“No, no, don’t thank me, I mean-” he rambles, his professional composure breaking for what feels like the first time, his figure looking so approachable right in this moment, “are you okay, though? It must have been hard.”

Shrugging, you wet your lips in a moment of thought. Are you okay? You’re not so sure. So instead of worrying him, you just mumble: “I will be,” with a soft nod, reassuring both yourself and everyone involved. Because, in reality, even though it’s insanely hard and the moments without your fiancé feel foreign, you feel free. You feel true to yourself, and that’s the most important thing about it all. And as long as that is preserved, you will be okay one day.

Maybe your and Jeno’s ways parted just because your ideals were different. Maybe the difference between the two was so big you couldn’t get over the height; but that’s okay. Life happened this way, and there’s not much to do about it now. Only to get used to it.

“Okay,” he says, gazing at you.

You’d like to stay longer– the truth is, this is the first time in the last few weeks that you’ve felt relaxed, content, even– and it’s hard to let go of this feeling. Mark looks at you with soft eyes, as if he was scared that a more strong look may break you, and in a moment of selfishness, you think that although this chapter of your life is over, Mark is the one you don’t want to lose out of it. You wonder if he feels the same. You want him to feel the same.

But once the moment is over and you realize your stay no longer has a meaning to it, probably just wasting Mark’s time, you nod to yourself as you stand up from your place in the chair, paying goodbye to the place you’re most likely never going to visit again. “I’ll get going, then. Once again, thanks… for everything, Mark.” 

The man shoots to his feet, hesitantly walking over to you, meeting your expecting eyes. Clearing his throat, he reaches to you with wide arms, and your body moves into his hold almost automatically, selfishness hoarding over you once again as he hugs you tight into his body, perhaps with the same amount of bittersweet feeling you feel on the inside right now, the firm grip around your waist making you relax into his touch. Burrowing your nose into his neck, you forget all about Jeno for a while, the scent of Mark’s cologne overtaking your senses, everything, past and future involved, disappearing when the noisy thought in your brain keeps rambling how you need to remember the way his arms feel around your body forever, you have to imprint his scent into your brain until the end of your time, because this is your last opportunity you have to experience it. 

“I’m very proud of you,” he mumbles, one of his hands running over your back and up into your hair, a protective head pat mendling your fragile, broken body into his touch. 

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, though,” he says.

“It doesn’t- it doesn’t feel appropriate.”

And Mark understands. It feels like he’s the only one that does. And although it may feel like there’s no one but him in this world that’s on your side right now, the reality of it comforts you, because that’s enough.

Breaking away from his hold, you pay him a goodbye as you walk towards the door, not turning around as you escape the room, because you think the image of him, knowing it’s the last time you’ll see him, would break you perhaps the most.

Your journey isn’t over, though. Walking through the countless labyrinths of the town, the weather outside making your bones cold as you stride for your next destination with utter determination, you know that once you complete this task, it’s finally over. The weight of it crushes you, but you know that in a few, you’ll feel completely free, and that’s why you keep going, despite it being insanely hard.

Your eyes are met with the view of a house you know too well; the windowsills greet you with a glassy shine, the sad trees in the backyard reminding you of your university days. You’re met with Lee Jeno’s childhood home, and by the looks of his car in the driveway, you were correct about the suspicions of his whereabouts. He had nowhere else to go, after all, and although you feel a little shameful about the fact, you don’t let it get to you.

Walking over to the small gate of the land of Jeno’s parents’ house, a red post box greets you, your final destination in reach. Rummaging through your purse, you take out a white envelope containing your engagement ring, and while opening the small box, you pay goodbye to the latest chapter of your life, putting the envelope in. 

Taking one last look at the house, you imagine Jeno on the driveway, and you wave at his figure with an apology on your tongue. 

Maybe one day, he’ll understand you. And maybe he won’t.

You can’t be mad at him for the emotions he has every right to feel. You acknowledge that you were wrong for leading him on for so long. But still, you hope that one day, he’ll be able to forgive you. 

And as if your fate wanted you to have the last bit of karma you’ve earned, it starts raining as you walk home. On any other day, you’d despite the shower, but today, you think you can get through it. You think this is your prize, and you’ll keep paying it forever, until you no longer feel the guilt of everything you’ve done.

Putting yourself first breaks hearts sometimes. But still, you think it’s worth it in the end.

Maybe one day, you’ll forgive yourself.

When your body hits the cold sheets of the bed that isn’t yours, stumbling to your designated side of the mattress, it seems, you wonder if the heater in his apartment broke again and you’re going to spend another night shivering until the tiredness doesn’t make your thoughts turn off and your eyelids get heavy with sleep. Dressed in your usual pajamas and staring out of the window, watching the stars shyly glimmer, the moon kisses your cheeks in a solemn feeling of a weird nostalgia you can’t seem to shake off no matter how hard you try. The feeling, however, is no longer as uncomfy as it was the last time. It used to make your bones itch, it used to make you try to battle the feeling, even though there was no use– it’s always been too strong and you were too weak; too tired to keep fighting.

A huff lands into your ear, a muffled sigh that makes you slightly open your eyes and still in your movements. He joined the bed just a few minutes prior to you, telling you he’ll wait for you to be done with your shower, but it seems like he fell asleep in the short time period, making you feel momentarily bad for waking him. 

A strong arm slings itself over your middle, engulfing you in a tight back-hug. His body grows closer to you, shuffling himself to stick himself as close to your body as possible, a heavy breath reaches your ear. Your hand automatically reaches for his one laying on your stomach, looking over at him to see his eyes flutter open and a soft smile glazing his features. “Ready for sleep?” he asks, and with a gentle nod, you watch him get more comfy in the sheets of his bed.

Continuing to watch him, his eyes close on themselves after a short while, his eyelashes kiss his cheekbones, sharp edges of his face contrasting with his overall soft demeanor making your heart swell with the thankfulness you feel because of his proximity. 

Looking back over to the window, eyes briefly catching the time glimmering on the alarm clock sitting on his bedside table, you bite down on your lips and try to battle the smile that’s dangerously trying to spread across your face. His body pressing itself into your back is warm, trying hard to provide you with a sense of home and safety. This time around, it works. It always works out with him.

A sigh cuts out of your throat.

“Everything okay?” he asks, and it makes you snicker. You’ve never felt more content and satisfied in your whole entire life, yet, he dares to ask you this question, still uncertain. Nodding, you reply to him, sureness coating your words.

“More than okay.”

Your body slowly heats up in his hold– he’s like your portable heater, after all, since he likes his bedroom to be a little colder than you prefer, he took it upon himself to always have you glued inside of his arms whenever you sleep over at his place; to not let you catch cold, he says, but you secretly just think he loves to fall asleep with you in his hold.

Just a little over a year ago, with a different man in your sheets, you weren’t able to fall asleep with the weight of your overthinking. You rethought your decision over and over again, not ready to leave yourself to get a final conclusion, even though it was always somewhere there, in the back of your brain.

Now, though, your brain is at ease, relaxing after running laps through various scenarios in your brain– your body is soundly tucked in under the soft sheets of the bed, finding a sweet haven in a person you never imagined you’d let into your life. 

You no longer wake up in guilt and fear. You no longer startle awake at night, too scared to look at your fiancé on the other side of your bed; because the chapter is now behind you, the war is over.

And you learn to forgive yourself. All by Mark’s side. 

If it wasn’t for the actions of your past, you would’ve never met him, after all. Everything in your life has some sort of order, and while it wasn’t a happy journey, at least you’re left with nothing but experience and comfort in your heart.

Almost like every day, much to the contrast of your state a little over a year ago, you reach out for Mark’s hand again, pressing a soft kiss to it as you move it closer to your lips. Almost like every day, while you fall asleep to the scent of his shower gel and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you to sweet dreams, you’re thankful for every day with him, 

because he was the one that brought you peace again, taking care of you each and every day, carefully catching your heart when you let it fall freely into the unknown.

#nct #nct dream #nct 127 #mark lee #nct x reader #nct angst #nct fluff #mark lee fluff #mark lee angst #mark lee x reader #mark fluff #mark angst #mark x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct 127 angst #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 x reader #nct fic #mark fic #mark lee fic #nct dream fic #nct dream scenario

[callsign-relic]

I loved part 2 so much!! The adorableness makes me grin like a fan girl. How you contrasted what is going on in their heads... one dark, any negative sign must obviously be betrayal... and tiny human reader is fretting over angles and shading and (holy crap Starscream stop moving) for the giant alien war mech 😍🫠

I didn't mean to ramble, I apologize, I just hope you know how awesome you are.

And if the offer still stands, and you think this is okay, I would love a part 3!! And I had an idea that you can totally use or not use, but what about stargazing?

Maybe reader brought a sleeping bag or maybe time just slipped away on a normal visit, idk, I was trying to go for soft bonding.

Idea or not, I'll seriously be happy with anything. Thank you!!! 😊

Wow, thank you so much!! I’m very happy you enjoyed that little series so far :D I’d be happy to make a part 3 for you! For those unfamiliar, here are parts one and two!

Hope you enjoy! I kind of got carried away with it so it’s a little longer than my usual fics, HAHA

Warnings: SFW, Fem!Human!Reader

There was something you had noticed during your frequent visits to Starscream’s hideaway.

For all of the mech’s boasting and shows of his own grandeur, all of his complaints and infuriated utterances when things didn’t go his way— if there was something that could always seem to get him to quiet down, it was the view from the top of the waterfall at night.

Only once had you stayed long enough to really notice. You were already on your way back to your home before sunset, but you had forgotten your bag. You turned back into the clearing, expecting to see Starscream there, only to find him perched atop the waterfall’s edge at the top of the mountain. He wore an expression you had never once seen before on him, and was gazing up into the sky.

And so, you resolved to really see it next time.

Starscream’s optics flicker as they catch the light of the setting sun, fierce in its final moments— as it always was, the seeker had learned from his time stowing away in earth’s wilds. He raises a clawed servo to shield his optics before casting his gaze down onto you.

You were doodling away in your sketchbook— as you usually did, when you didn’t know what else to do. For once, you were taking a break from drawing studies of your mechanical companion, instead examining a finch perched upon a tree branch not too far from the rock upon which you were sitting.

The little bird seemed to be in the midst of its preening ritual. With its sharp little beak, it dug into the pit between its torso and wing and tugged. It kept tugging at the same spot for a little while, until finally, it removed a bug from its otherwise well kept red and brown feathers. With a couple twitches of its head, the bug jittered around in its beak before disappearing into its mouth— a well earned reward after its hard work.

You felt this was the perfect scene to capture on paper. You quickly brought your pencil to the page, first getting the basic shapes down, as you usually did—

But something suddenly blocked the remaining orange light from overhead, and your sketchbook was too dark to look at. Had the sun set already? No, you could still see the faint hues of pink and orange from the corners of your eyes. Perhaps a passing cloud blotted out the sun?

The clearing of a throat pulls you out of your wandering daydream, and you lift your nose from the page to be met with a gray pede. Slowly, you crane your neck higher and higher until, scaling the length of a familiar mech’s frame- until you lock eyes with a pair of squinting, red optics.

You offer a crooked grin.

“Human,” Starscream begins, servos impatiently on his hips, “it is about time you start on your way home.”

Though your grin falls into more of a smile of ‘I tried,’ you nod. You close your sketchbook and grab your bag, stuffing it full of your art supplies and a spare grocery bag full of wrappers from snacks you had thankfully remembered to bring with you that day. As you begin packing up, Starscream gives a nod of his own and goes in the opposite direction as you— scooping the spare mechanical parts he often spent his time fiddling with into his arms before stepping into the forest line. He crouched down, removing a false bush from its place, revealing a worn hole in the ground. Then, one by one, he places the metal pieces into the hole.

Now was your chance. Aside from your travel bag filled with your usual materials, you hike a much larger backpack over your shoulders. You were lucky Starscream didn’t care enough to ask what you were doing with a new bag.

Rather than head out into the forest line— while the mech was distracted, you carefully backed up and away closer to the waterfall. In your exploring, you recalled there was a little alcove hidden behind the waterfall, and that would be your temporary base until Starscream returned to his perch atop the mountain.

Tucking behind the rushing water, you pull yourself inside just in time to see Starscream cover the hole with foliage once more, quickly picking himself up onto his pedes. Though the water makes it difficult to see, you can see the bright red of his optics shift about— he had been scanning the environment as night finally began to fall.

Once he was apparently satisfied, he left your field of vision from this angle. You could, however, continue to track him from the tremors his pedes left in the earth as he walked. Though the vibrations sent your instincts into a slight panic, all you had to do was breathe, you were used to it by now.

Eventually, the quakes fade, and when you hear one final shake run its way from the top of the mountain all the way down to you, you know Starscream has finally sat down.

Now was the time to make your move.

You slip your way out from behind the waterfall and begin your ascent up the mountain. Thankfully, it wasn’t that bad of a climb, really— just a steep incline. Though, you did have to take a couple of breaks along the way to catch your breath and take the weight of your backpack off your shoulders for a little bit.

Eventually, you take another few steps up onto the hill, and the back of the silver mech’s frame finally becomes visible to you. You duck your head instantly— you didn’t want to risk him catching you so early on. But, there he was, in that same position he always liked to seem to take.

One leg dangling off of the edge of the cliff, the other crossed onto his thigh, and his arms resting behind him as he gazed into the night sky.

With another breath, you gather your courage. You approach him.

You soon make it up beside one of his servos behind him and he doesn’t even notice you. You’re not sure how to get his attention without frightening him…

“Hey—“

A shrill screech cuts its way through the air, and while you flinch into yourself, Starscream raises his servos in defense— pedes scrambling in place as he looks around in a panic before finally landing his optics down onto you. The fear in his eyes quickly twists into fury, though his chassis pounds up and down all the same. He slams one servo down into the earth with a fierce growl, using his other servo to scoop you up in one fell swoop.

“You!” He shouts, “I told you to leave! What are you doing all the way up here?!”

While getting scooped up into the fist of a metal giant would typically send you into a bout of panic, you had enough experience with Starscream’s sudden flashes of anger that you could keep relatively calm. “Okay, I know you said to leave, but…!” You trail off, trying to determine whether or not it was worth lying to the mech’s whose hands your life was currently at the whims of.

With a sigh, you drop the eager attitude. “…a couple days ago, I saw you up here, looking up at the sky. I— I know you say you don’t care about company and that having people around you is more trouble than it’s worth, but…” your eyes drift to the scar under the mech’s right optic before you lock eyes with him once more. “…I feel like your problem is that you just haven’t met the right company yet.”

Starscream examines you for a long time. His fury has simmered down by now, though his faceplate remains twisted in pure suspicion.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” you add. “Listen, I get if I crossed a boundary with you. I’ll leave if you want me to.”

Then, after another moment of scrutiny, Starscream lowers his servo back down to the floor— much to your surprise. You drop to your feet, nearly tumbling backwards from the weight of your backpack, but you manage to keep your balance enough to see the seeker staring at you with… stifled confusion. Though he appeared to be trying his best to hide his emotions from you, your eyes shifted to the side, catching his wings tilting themselves downward.

Quickly, he tears his gaze away from you. “Fine. If you don’t bother me, you can stay.”

You pump a fist quietly to yourself, all while giving him an earnest, “Thank you.” Finally, you remove your backpack from your shoulders, crouch down, and open the zipper to gaze into the contents within.

Your trusty sleeping bag.

You scoop the mass of fabric into your hands before dumping it onto the floor. You unravel the bundle into a much more usable form, lower the zipper—

“What are you doing?”

The sound of Starscream’s rough voice makes you jump in your spot just a bit. You turn around to see him staring at you with a raised optical ridge— perplexed.

You fully turn to face him and place your hands proudly on your hips. “I brought a sleeping bag,” you explain, gesturing a hand towards the bag. “It’s basically a bed that can travel with you, and you can use it to sleep in the wilderness. Another innovative human invention,” you wink.

The seeker’s confusion dissipates into disinterest. “Whatever keeps you busy,” he waves you off with a servo before turning to face the night sky again.

You shrug— you learned to never take Starscream’s comments to heart anymore. If he really didn’t want you there, he would have long since kicked you out by now. So, you drag your sleeping bag up beside the mech’s hand— Starscream lifting it out of reflex as you approach.

“No, you can stay there!” You assure him, fully unzipping your bag. “Uh, if you don’t mind me next to you, that is.”

The mech rolls his optics, shifting to the side to allow you some breathing room with a grumble. You offer a little chuckle as thanks as, at last, you slip into your sleeping bag, zipping it up to about halfway up your torso.

Then, you cast your gaze up into the stars.

The sparkling dots looked as though they were dancing gently in their places. While you couldn’t tell them very much apart, it was certainly a much better view here than from your apartment window. It was no wonder why Starscream liked the view so much.

“…hey, Starscream?” You try.

“What is it?” He replies in a low grumble, looking down at you from the corner of his eye.

“You said you were an alien, right?”

He huffs a pompous laugh, “A Cybertronian, yes.”

“So… is your planet up there somewhere?”

And you’re met with silence.

“Starscream?” You repeat.

“…yes,” he finally answers— though his tone is softer than you had ever heard from him before.

You shift from lying down to resting your weight onto your elbows behind you. “Is it visible from here?”

There’s another huff, but it’s more resigned this time. “No. Though I know its general location from this angle.”

You lean forwards, squinting— trying to get an idea of where Starscream had been looking just from the perspective of his head. But then, you suddenly pull yourself backwards as something slowly raises itself before you.

A single, dark navy servo.

You look between the hand and Starscream’s face for a moment, dumbfounded— but you decide to just take the chance and hop on. He wasn’t even looking at you, who knows how long this offer would last? Leaving your sleeping bag behind, you clamber into his palm, and the very moment you’re settled down is when Starscream raises you into the air, level with his chest.

With his free servo, he points northwest. “There. Just past that cluster of stars.”

You squint again, trying your best to follow his pointed digit. You wished you were more astronomically adept. “The… the group of seven or eight stars there, all bundled up against each other?”

Starscream nods. “There, thousands upon thousands of lightyears away, lies Cybertron.”

#relic writes #Transformers #Transformers x reader #Transformers prime #Transformers Prime x reader #TFP #TFP x reader #Starscream #Starscream x reader #TFP Starscream #TFP Starscream x reader

[ckret2]

👀 I want to hear more about this Bill AU

You were the very first person to send me an ask about the Bill AU, and it was an open-ended question, so I've been saving your ask special for... a fanfic. IDK how often or how much I'm gonna write actual full fic for this AU but for now, here: the first half of Bill's reunion with the Pines family. (Attempted murder included.)

####

February 25, 2013

The vengeful demon standing in the door of the Mystery Shack possessed only four items in the universe:

Two safety pins.

A time tape tied around his waist like a belt.

And a tunic he'd fashioned himself in the style of an ancient Greek Ionic chiton, folded and pinned so perfectly that the wearer must have seen them thousands of years ago when they were at the height of fashion.

Soos couldn't identify an authentic Ionic chiton. All he could tell was that the lady at the door was wearing a toga made out of a bright purple Pony Heist children's bedsheet.

Soos laughed, flashing the tourist a double thumbs up. "Hey! Awesome toga. That should really be like a thing. Imagine if we all wore togas. We could just wake up, roll our bedsheets around us like a burrito, and go out!"

Distractedly, the tourist answered, "Careful, you can't tell when Big Fashion is listening in." 

"Haha. Who?"

The tourist didn't reply, and she hadn't looked at Soos once; instead, her gaze was darting around the shop searchingly.

"Are you shopping for something specific?" Soos asked with his best customer service voice. "Post cards? Snow globes? Weird taxidermy thingamajigs? Pants?"

"Where are the Pines?" the tourist asked, casting a sharp look at the "employees only" door, then the vending machine.

"Oh, Mr. Pines! The original Mr. Mystery! Heh—he actually retired a few months ago. The Mystery Shack's under new management!" Soos planted his fists on his hips and puffed up his chest. "It's me, I'm the new management."

"But where are they?" the tourist pressed.

"Uhh, he and his bro are somewhere in South America, I think? Some place called... Redacted. But hey, if you really wanna meet him in person, in his last letter he said they might visit for like spring break if the kids can make it up. First week in April!"

"First week in April," the tourist muttered, glancing away from Soos, thoughtfully fiddling with the time tape wrapped around her waist.

"Oh, dude! I've tried to use a tape measure as a belt too! Haha! It worked great, until I bumped the button and it retracted. Yeesh. Hey, do you want a fur belt? We sell fur belts now." Soos turned away, rummaging through the new display next to the t-shirts. "They're all ethically sourced from recycled materials! I bought a bunch of old rugs from the Northwest Mansion to slice up."

Soos grabbed up a fuzzy pink belt. "Check it, I think this is unicorn hide or something. Bet it'd go so good with that Pony Heist toga..."

The tourist had vanished in thin air.

Soos looked around. "Huh." He stuck the belt on a shelf beneath the cash register, in case she decided she wanted it later.

Once all the other visitors had left for the day, and Soos was left alone to clean up, he glanced around the shop nervously. "Is anyone there?" He lifted his broom like a samurai sword. "Hello? Big Fashion?"

Nothing answered. He shrugged and kept sweeping.

###

April 1, 2013

A vengeful demon who possessed nothing but two safety pins, a time tape belt, and a purple Pony Heist bedsheet tunic stood in the center of the Mystery Shack gift shop.

Which was weird, because Soos hadn't heard the door and she totally hadn't been there a moment ago.

"Oh hey! Toga Lady!" Soos turned to Wendy, who was picking up a few bucks as a temp worker handing the spring break tourists. "It's Toga Lady. She came in like a month ago. The toga's cool, right? I think it's cool."

Wendy glanced up, choked back a laugh, and scrambled to grab her phone for a picture.

"So, where are the Pines?" Toga Lady asked, with an edge of impatience.

"Oh, dude, did you come all they way back here to meet them? I'm sorry, the Mr. Pineses didn't make it. They couldn't get a flight out of Atlanta." Soos stopped, frowned, and pulled a water-stained letter from his pocket to double check. "Sorry, Atlantis. Something about a siege of sirens?"

"They would pick now to invade," Toga Lady muttered. "I suppose the children aren't here."

How did she know about the children? Maybe she'd visited last summer and remembered them? Like, early summer, before Pony Heist came out. Soos would have remembered the toga. "Naw, heh. They went to Roswell."

"Oh, cool," Wendy said distractedly, busy texting Toga Lady to everyone she knew. "Checking out the competition."

"Yeah, Dipper's sending me like a billion pictures of the alien museum."

"Well," Toga Lady snapped, "when are they showing up?"

Soos was beginning to get the impression that Toga Lady was less an admiring fan, and more one of those customers. All the same, he said, "June first, for sure. That's when the kids get here for summer break so the Mr. Pineses are coming too. Definitely. Promise."

She rolled her eyes—one of them twitched, like she'd gotten something in it and was struggling to keep it open—but said, "All right, fine! June. What's the difference?" She trudged to the door and leaned next to it by the snow globe shelves, fiddling with her belt, as if she was settling in to wait right there for the next two months.

Soos frowned—she might drive off tourists, blocking the door like that—but said, "Oh! While you're here, I thought you might be interested in this belt." He reached past Wendy to grab it from beneath the cash register. "I didn't get a chance to show you last time before—"

He looked toward the door. She was gone. "Huh. Did you see Toga Lady leave?"

Wendy shrugged. "Wasn't looking."

"Huh." Soos replaced the belt. At least he knew when he'd see her next.

###

June 1, 2013

"What's with the belt?" Stan asked.

"Oh! It's for a regular." Soos pointed with both hands down at the fuzzy pink belt peeking beneath his suit jacket. "I think she's comin' today. She wanted to meet the original Mr. Mystery."

"Hey, an admirer!" Stan mysteriously grew two inches as his posture spontaneously improved. "Is she cute?"

"Uh... if you like bedsheet togas?"

"Ooh, a party girl."

Over by the shop's glass display case, Ford said, "These are new," and lifted a jar with an alien fetus suspended in green goo.

"Oh, yeah!" Soos said. "Dipper sent me like, a billion keychains of these little alien guys from Roswell. So I started filling Abuelita's empty spice jars with aliens and lime jello. Cool, huh? It looks like we stole them from a secret government lab or something."

Stan laughed, slinging an arm around Soos. "Listen to this! Brilliant! I knew I put the right guy in charge."

Soos grinned goofily. "Aw, gee, Mr. Pines..." A flash of purple caught the corner of his eye. Toga Lady was leaning next to the door by the snow globe shelves, fiddling with her belt.

Here was a chance to show off his great business instincts with Stan watching. Time to make a sale. "Oh, hey, Toga Lady! I didn't hear you come in! Still rockin' Pony Heist, huh? Hey, I've been trying to show you this belt I think you'll like..."

But she wasn't listening to him. Her gaze was fixed on the Pines twins' backs. As Soos watched, her expression darkened, and her grin widened.

The vengeful demon reached past the snow globes, snatched up a heavy "mysterious green crystal cluster ($250)" made of glued-together broken glass, and heaved it up over his head. "Hey, Sixer!" Face contorted in a snarl of a smile, he turned the cluster over, sharp broken shards pointing downward. "Welcome home!"

Bill Cipher swung the glass weight down toward Ford's head.

(If you wanna keep reading, all chapters are right here!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #soos ramirez #(I'm not gonna tag every character that shows up but Soos gets the honor of being the viewpoint character here. please enjoy him.) #gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #fanfic #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #opatoes #ask

[kimpossibly]

Okay but can I get a Wednesday x reader on how her and Wednesday argue when it gets really bad💕 maybe reader walks out and they both make up after giving each other space

𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 -> w. addams

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi yes???? I love this so much?????? Healthy relationships?????? Thank you so much for your wonderful words???? But seriously I love this kind of angsty fluff stuff fr...this is how I survive in this cruel, cruel world HAHA. Also I'm pretty sure I've used the phrase "thaw her frozen heart" in a Wednesday fic before, but oh well! I'm a sucker for stuff like that. Hope you enjoy this one! I'm really proud of this :') (Also peep the little gif paragraph break thingie I made on Photoshop...I'm a little too proud of it...)

PAIRING: wednesday addams x gn!reader WARNINGS: arguing

ARGUING WITH WEDNESDAY ADDAMS IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. She's as sadistic as they come, even when not mildly discontented (which in Wednesday Speak is as close as you can get to happy), and she never backs down from a fight. And, though a lot of Wednesday's sharp edges become a bit dull around you, that doesn't mean that she'll let you win an argument.

"You can't just endanger someone's life because they bother me, Wednesday!" you shouted. That particular argument was nasty — while you and Wednesday fit together seamlessly most of the time, she occasionally did things that you just couldn't agree with.

This time Wednesday's target had been Leah. Leah was one of the Scales, and one of the more insufferable ones at that. For the past week or so, Leah had for some reason chosen you as the target of her constant torture. She tripped you during class, used her siren song to make you humiliate yourself in front of the school, and on one occasion even managed to push you down the main staircase without anyone around her seeing. Wednesday had seen, of course. Wednesday always saw.

So she concocted a plan: she sent Leah a fake letter in her boyfriend's handwriting, telling her to meet him at a very specific location in the woods near Nevermore. As expected, Leah took the bait and made her way deep into the woods after dark. Instead of finding her boyfriend there, she was met with a pack of hungry wolves — and she quickly noticed that someone had sewn raw meat into the pockets of her clothing.

Leah returned to school half an hour later — out of breath, scratched around the ankles, and terrified. Wednesday watched her return with a smug grin — all it took was one look at her and you knew instantly this had been her doing.

Wednesday hadn't really expected you to be pleased (she had made peace with the fact that you two had very different moral codes), but she certainly hadn't expected you to react like this. "I only inflict pain upon people who deserve it," she said, her monotone voice never wavering in resolve, "and Leah deserved it."

"You don't get to decide that!" you said, rage curling your hands into fists.

"Would you rather be pushed around and ridiculed for the rest of the semester?"

You opened your mouth to speak, but your throat constricted and tears rushed to your waterline before you could get a word out. You paused, taking in a breath and willing your voice to steady. "I don't need you to fight my battles, Wednesday. If you can't respect that, then..." you trailed off, not quite sure where you were going next. Then maybe this isn't going to work out. You stopped yourself just short of putting the end in sight, not wanting to say something you didn't really believe and might regret later. Instead, you bit down on your tongue hard enough to draw blood. You blinked the tears away as you took one last look at Wednesday's stoic face and walked out, slamming the door to her dorm room behind you.

Wednesday watched you go with a bitter taste on her tongue — and not the kind she liked. You had had your arguments in the past, but you had never walked out on her. Unlike Wednesday, you were a stickler for talking things out right then and there, clearing the air before things got too ugly. But this time it had been too much. She had been too much.

Thing crawled onto the desk, having heard the entire argument. Wednesday turned sharply. "What do you want?" she snapped.

"I hope you're going to fix this."

"Why? Clearly they don't care enough to stay and have it out. Why should I be the one to piece things back together?"

Thing said nothing, but sat there in a way that said, Really?

Wednesday grit her teeth. "You're very passive aggressive for a hand."

"You're one to talk," Thing tapped back, "and ouch. Don't you think they might've needed some space?"

Wednesday paused. She hadn't thought of that, actually — not that she'd ever let Thing know that. "Fine then," Wednesday conceded. "What do you suggest?"

And, for once, Wednesday took someone else's advice.

She gave you the space you needed. For the next day and a half you received total radio silence from Wednesday. She still took her seat next to you in class, but she kept as far away from you as possible and didn't attempt conversation — not that Wednesday could ever endure small talk.

Eventually you were so unnerved by her behavior that you spoke to her, leaning over and keeping your voice to a whisper beneath Thornhill's lesson. "Wednesday? What are you doing? Are you alright?" you asked.

"I'm giving you space," she said, not meeting your eye. The words sounded unnatural in her voice. "Thing suggested it," she added quickly.

You sat back in your chair, a perplexed crease forming between your brows. This was very un-Wednesday like behavior. You weren't upset of course, just surprised. Not only at the fact that Wednesday was willingly giving you the space you needed, but that she actually took advice from Thing. It made your heart give a little flutter as you attempted to focus back on the lesson.

Wednesday never paced, but she had never been closer to doing it than she was that evening. She skipped dinner with the intention of writing her novel, but found herself staring at a blank page, unable to write a thing. Rain pounded the large stained glass window on the opposite side of the room. She had never suffered from writer's block before. This was excruciating, and not in a good way. She let out a slow breath, and finally something snapped. That's it.

She got up and strode to the door of her dorm with the intention of meeting you in the courtyard and demanding that you settle your argument from two nights ago, a crack of thunder scoring her sudden outburst. But just as she was about to reach for the doorknob, she heard a knock.

You stood out in the hallway, shivering and soaked with rain, your blazer wrapped tightly around you. The greeting you had prepared was quickly tossed away as you gave a sudden sneeze, a shiver running down your spine. You looked back at Wednesday and the words died on your tongue.

Instantly she pulled you inside, shutting the door behind you and getting one of Enid's fuzzy (revolting) blankets to wrap around your shoulders. Wednesday didn't often have these, God forbid, motherly urges very often, but again, a lot of things about Wednesday changed when she was around you. And the sight of you shaking in the cold on her doorstep was enough to thaw her frozen heart.

Once she was satisfied that you were slowly being warmed up, she stepped back, letting you dry the rain droplets from your cheeks and hair. Thing subtly crawled onto the desk and Wednesday saw it subtly sign out of the corner of her eye: "Talk."

Wednesday set her lips in a grim line. This was the part she always had trouble with. "Y/n —"

"I know you were just trying to protect me, Wednesday," you cut her off quickly. "I know that now, and I appreciate it. I didn't like what Leah was doing, and I know you didn't either, but I needed to try and figure out how to fix it in my own way first. I know that you want to look out for me, but I'm capable of fighting my own battles. I need you to tell me that you understand that."

Wednesday paused. And now she understood. This was what you had been trying to say the night of the argument — you just hadn't been able to get the words out right. Space. Space had allowed you to understand what you needed to say and what you needed to hear. Wednesday understood that now — and more importantly, she could respect it. "I understand," she said, "and I'm sorry."

You almost gasped. Wednesday rarely apologized for the things she did, especially to the people she did them to. But this was genuine.

She continued, "I don't regret what I did to Leah, but I do regret that it hurt you."

You nodded in understanding.

"I don't like seeing the people I love get hurt."

All at once you felt tears rushing to your eyes. Not the bad kind. You pushed them away with a hard swallow, sniffing. "I love you too, Wednesday," you said. "And I promise that if my way of fixing something doesn't work, you'll be the first person I call."

Wednesday felt a rush of something then, something that flushed in her cheeks and almost drew the corners of her lips up. She struggled to stifle it, but every glance at your rosy face made her that much more willing to surrender to it.

"Can I give you a hug?" you asked. You and Wednesday had reached a point where you could hug her without asking first, but you liked to get the clarification every once in a while.

Once you received a brisk nod, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around her and enveloping both of you in Enid's thick purple blanket. Wednesday wrapped her arms around your waist, letting herself bury her head in your shoulder. She allowed herself to enjoy the warmth of being wrapped up with you, holding you tightly and knowing that you were together.

The storm continued to rage outside, but you two were warm and safe in the knowledge that, when you were together, there was nothing that couldn't be fixed.

#wednesday #wednesday netflix #wednesday 2022 #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams fluff #wednesday addams angst

[theostrophywife]

fuck about it.

masterlist (azriel x reader) request: @margssstuff hii ok I have an Az request where it’s like enemy to lover and they both get on each others nerves. They’re on a mission or in a highly intense situation where they are both yelling at each other and she slaps him (maybe people witness idk) & he reacts by fiercely kissing her and then they fuck HAHA author's note: happy halloween, please have this filthy enemies to lovers fic as a gift from yours truly. like the title suggests, this piece was inspired by fuck about it by waterparks. warning: dagger to the throat, knife play, exhibitionism, overstimulation, edging. over all smut galore.

The divine scent of roses and twilight fills the air while you stroll through the castle garden with your gloved hand tucked into the elbow of the Crown Prince of Rask. The cool breeze whistles through the handsome male’s long, silver hair as he offers you a scarlet rose, taking great care into making sure that its thorns don't snag on your satin glove. 

It would’ve been a romantic moment had it not been for the shadowsinger glaring at the prince’s back. Even without his shadows, Azriel’s looming presence put a damper on the mood. You couldn’t for the life of you understand why Rhysand sent the broody, Illyrian warrior to be your escort during your visit to Rask, but the High Lord had been adamant on pairing you up for this mission. 

When the Crown Prince extended his invitation to the Crystal Castle, you primed and primped yourself to be the most charming, irresistible female he’d ever lay his eyes on in order to secure the alliance between the Night Court and Rask, but you could only do so much with Azriel’s scowl constantly eclipsing every interaction. 

The Illyrian male trails a few steps behind, dressed in his dark leathers with his wings high upon his back, looking every bit the part of the lethal warrior that he was. As your eyes meet, his lips twist into a sharp frown while his hazel gaze settles over you. You flash a glare of warning at Azriel before turning your attention back to your escort. 

“Thank you for giving me a tour of the private gardens. Your home is truly lovely.” 

“It is I who should thank you for granting me the pleasure of your company, my lady.” The Crown Prince smiles, patting your gloved hand while you continue your leisurely stroll. Emerald eyes twinkle with mischief as he briefly glances at the winged warrior hovering a few feet away. “Though I’m not sure I can say the same about your companion.” 

A flash of doubt blooms on the male’s features as he examines the obvious tension in the shadowsinger’s stance. “Are you two…”

“No,” you answer at once.

Azriel stiffens, but says nothing as shadows twist menacingly over his broad shoulders. Despite the fact that you were both under Rhysand’s employ, you steered clear of the shadowsinger and vice versa. You two were polar opposites: you were loud and headstrong while Azriel was quiet and reserved. The few times that you were both assigned to the same mission, the two of you had clashed so badly that Rhys avoided putting you together at all cost.

Unfortunately, you had no choice but to tolerate Azriel’s company during this trip since you wouldn’t be able to successfully navigate Rask without him. He knew the intricacies of this Court and you relied on his knowledge to keep you afloat in this kingdom’s political climate. 

Besides strategizing and advising, the shadowsinger makes himself scarce throughout the week long mission, but still adheres to his task of escorting you. It was entirely unnecessary since you were more than capable of protecting yourself should the need arise, but customs were different in this kingdom and it was highly unacceptable for a lady to be wandering through the night with a male who was not her betrothed. Even if it was the Crown Prince.

You smile sweetly. “Don’t mind Azriel. We’re simply adhering to the practices of your court. After all, I wouldn’t want to break any rules.” The wink you sent his way makes the male chuckle. 

“Somehow I highly doubt that you’re the type to be chained down by archaic traditions.” 

“I’ve been known to be…free-spirited and strong willed. Though I’m sure you’ll soon come to realize that for yourself, my prince.” 

The Crown Prince chuckles. “So I’m learning.” Moonlight gleams against the silver locks draped over his shoulder, each twisting braid representing the number of battles he’s won. Another proud custom of Rask. “And please, call me Rhaegar.” 

“Well then Rhaegar,” you say with a charming smile. “I do hope you’ve given more consideration to the High Lord’s proposition.” 

“Ever the diplomat. I must admit, Rhysand’s proposal of peace grows more and more enticing with each passing second, though that may have more to do with his lovely ambassador.” 

There was something mischievous in that smile of his. The royal was undoubtedly handsome. Rumor has it that nearly every powerful family in the Continent sought to secure his hand in marriage, but the male had yet to take a bride. While you weren’t here to find yourself a groom, you were intrigued by Rhaegar. You’ve never had a prince before. You wondered if the noble would fold just as easily as any other male once you sank your teeth into him. 

“I’m glad to hear that you’re enjoying our time together. I’ve been told that I can be rather persuasive.” 

The Crown Prince grins. “Excuse my assumptions, but you are nothing like the other diplomats I’ve met with in the past. They’ve always been old, haggard males more interested in me wedding and bedding their daughters rather than establishing peace amongst our kingdoms. I have a feeling that you have no intention of demanding marriage out of me.” 

You raise a brow. “Like you said, I’m not the type to be chained down by archaic traditions. Perhaps when all is said and done, I can show you how…liberating our ideals are in the Night Court.” 

Rhaegar chuckles. “You’re absolutely wicked, my lady.” He takes your gloved hand and kisses it. “Tell Rhysand that I look forward to seeing what he has in store for my kingdom, especially if your visit is any indication of our growing relations.” 

“This is merely a taste, Rhaegar. The Night Court and I have much more to offer,” you say seductively.

The royal grins as his gaze dips down towards your wicked mouth. While this mission was important, Rhysand never said you weren’t allowed to have fun on top of securing this alliance. As Rhaegar closes the gap between you, your eyes flutter close in anticipation, but instead of the prince’s mouth on yours, the shadowsinger’s grating voice is what cuts through the tension.

“Perhaps it’s time to retire,” Azriel declares in a cold voice. He doesn’t even bother looking at you as he addresses Rhaegar. “I should escort my lady to her bedchambers. We have an early start tomorrow.”

For the most part, you tolerated Azriel’s presence because it was a required portion of your employment in the Night Court, but the shadowsinger meddling in your affairs like this with the Crown Prince of all people, it simply wouldn’t do.

“I can find my own way back, Azriel.”

The shadowsinger turns towards you, his handsome face bathed in moonlight and wrath. The inky smoke of his shadows swallow every trace of light as he levels his intense golden gaze at you. 

“I insist, my lady. I wouldn’t want anything untoward to happen to you under my watch.” 

The second your eyes meet, you could see something churning within the shadowsinger's hazel irises, but you refuse to balk. The spymaster might be used to everyone else backing down from that intimidating stare of his, but you were determined to show him that not even the Mother herself could get you to back down. The dark, brooding act may be working for him thus far, but tonight is the night that Azriel finally meets his match. 

As you continue in your unflinching staring game with Azriel, the Crown Prince pats your gloved hand with an amused smile. 

“The shadowsinger is right, my lady. We should all get some rest. There’s plenty of work to be done,” he gallantly bows, pressing a kiss to your gloved hand. With a devious twinkle in those emerald eyes, he shoots you a wink. “Perhaps we’ll play another time.”

You didn’t miss the eye roll that was Azriel’s response. Rhaegar bids you both farewell before striding to the opposite side of the castle where his private living quarters were located. Not bothering to spare the shadowsinger a glance, you stalk away to the east wing where your accommodations were. His footsteps are silent, but you knew that the male was following closely behind. Unfortunately for you, the Crown Prince had placed you and Azriel in adjoining rooms. 

It was then that you decided that you’d have to have a serious discussion with Rhysand about never putting you and Azriel together again. It was bad enough to have to endure his broody mood, but getting in your way? That was absolutely unacceptable. You walk in silence as annoyance and indignation simmers through your veins, pushing through the ornate wooden doors and nearly taking it off its hinges as you slam it shut behind you. Azriel caught the fullness of your rage as you spin around to face him. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

The winged warrior doesn't appear the least bit bothered as you point an accusing finger at him. He crosses his arms and you narrow your eyes as his siphons cast a cobalt blue light around the dark room. 

“Escorting you,” Azriel drawls lazily. “Though babysitting is the more accurate term.”

“You do realize that you could jeopardize this whole mission by acting like an insufferable prick towards the Crown Prince?” 

“As opposed to what?” Azriel sneers, leveling a lethal gaze at you. “Throwing myself at him?” 

Red spots blur your vision at his words. Rage - hot and burning pulsates through your entire body as you close the gap between you, prodding at the chest plate of his Illyrian armor. 

“What is your fucking problem, Azriel?” The male blinks. “Ever since Rhysand brought me into the fold, you’ve been acting like an absolute ass. What is it about me that unnerves you so? Is your ego honestly so fragile that you cannot bear to have another spy to compete with?”

“The competition is not my concern,” Azriel bites back. “It’s you. You’re my fucking problem. I told Rhys that working together on this mission was a horrendous idea."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "And you think that I'm clambering at the chance to get sent halfway across the realm with only you as company? Get over yourself, Azriel."

"Me?" Azriel asks indignantly. "You're the one parading yourself in front of this entire court. I've had to endure an entire week of you practically drooling over Rhaegar without a hint of shame."

“I am only doing what Rhysand hired me to do. I don’t see you making any advances towards winning this kingdom over to our cause. The only thing you’ve accomplished during our stay here is being a gigantic pain in my ass.” 

Azriel catches your wrist as you lift it up to his face, curling his scarred fingers around your hand with a firm grip. “Yet you need me to navigate your way through this court.” 

“Don’t be so sure, shadowsinger. At this rate, I’d risk taking this court on by myself if only to be rid of your pestering.” 

He sneers. “I’m sure you’d jump at the chance to be alone with the silver haired bastard.”

You snatch your wrist out of his hand, taking a deep breath before committing a serious act of violence against the Illyrian male. “I have tried to be civil, but I cannot take it any more. This bullshit may fly back home, but when we’re out here in the middle of an important mission, we’re supposed to be a team. That means that you either learn how to work with me or get the fuck out of my way.” 

“Or what?” The shadowsinger asks quietly, the menacing tone of his voice matching the cold, calculated expression on his face. “What will you do, princess?”

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Why?” Azriel says, standing taller still and overshadowing you. “You seem eager to earn the title by spreading your legs for Rhaegar.” 

Against better judgment, you slap Azriel across the face with a forceful smack. The sound echoes in the room and you barely have time to process the fact that you just slapped the feared spymaster in the face before Azriel was pushing you up against the wall. 

Both of his scarred hands slam down on either side of your head as he cages you in. Shadows thrum through his powerful form as his wings flare behind his back, spreading wide and cocooning you in its red and gold membrane. 

Tension stretches taut between you as your chest heaves up and down with heavy breaths. A flash of anger graces that irritatingly handsome face of his and  the sliver of light streaming through the window hugs every plane of Azriel’s sharp cheekbones, slashing through those nearly feral hazel irises. There was nothing but heat in his eyes - a dark and dangerous challenge that seems to beckon you forth.

“And if I were to spread my legs for the Prince, what is it to you?” you grit out, meeting his unyielding gaze. 

“You won’t be doing that tonight, sweetheart.” Azriel declares as his fingers clutch your jaw, tilting your chin up. 

Understanding floods you all at once when you behold the ravenous glint in his eyes. “Mother above, is this the reason why you’ve been an absolute prick to me all this time?” You curl your fingers through his wrist, smirking as Azriel’s breath hitches from the contact. “You want me. You want me badly that you loathe yourself for it.”

“I despise you,” Azriel says unconvincingly. 

You press your body against his, pleased to find his erection protruding upon your midsection. The push and pull of this dangerous little game thrums through your body. “Your mouth says one thing, but your cock says another.”

Azriel hisses as you palm the front of his leathers. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, princess.”

“Since you robbed me of my only opportunity of finishing tonight, I think it’s only fair to tease. I enjoy making you squirm, shadowsinger.” 

“You’re a cruel, sadistic little creature.” 

“Then why don’t you punish me?”

The shadowsinger smacks the wall behind you, rattling the painting hanging beside your head. “Tell me that this is a horrible idea. That we should both walk away before we do something incredibly stupid.”

You twine your fingers behind his neck, bringing him down to your level. “Why should we try to fight it? Isn’t this what you wanted all along? To have me at your mercy?” 

Azriel chuckles, his warm breath washing over you in a delicious embrace. “You are my dearest punishment.” 

The crimson slash of your grin is nothing short of feral. “Good. I intend to make it hurt.” 

“For the record, this is exactly why I told Rhys that putting us together was a terrible idea. I knew I couldn't fucking resist you,” he whispers against your ear. “That I couldn’t be this close to you without thinking about doing this all day, every day. But he didn’t listen, so neither will I.” 

Every nerve in your body awakens at his touch and a jolt of electricity shoots up from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet while Azriel’s face dips down to yours. His scarred fingers twine through your thick hair as he positions you just where he wants you, with lips parted and lids heavy as your lower abdomen churns with need. 

Without warning, Azriel snakes his arms around your waist and hoists you up onto the wall as his perfect pink lips come crashing down on yours. For a moment you felt like the entire realm has tilted off its axis because there was no plausible reason why the shadowsinger tastes this heavenly, like a mixture of dark desire and forbidden wishes, but it doesn’t take long for you to accommodate him as you eagerly wrap your legs around his waist and kiss him back with fervent passion. 

You moan into his mouth as he grips your thighs, positioning you on top of a wooden dresser as you clamber to clear whatever was sitting on its surface. Azriel chuckles darkly, its sinful timbre sounding like absolute music to your ears. 

“I fucking knew it,” he declares as you press open mouthed kisses along his jaw. “You want me just as much as I want you.” 

The comment spurs you on as you slide your hands down the front of his leathers, kissing his neck as a distraction while you reach for the blade sheathed into his thigh. The shadowsinger groans at the feel of your velvet lips on his golden brown skin, but his pleasure is cut short when you raise Truth-teller against his throat. 

“Don’t get cocky, shadowsinger. I could just as easily switch from kissing your throat to slitting it open.” 

The dark laughter that emanates from the male makes you shiver. “I know, sweetheart. That’s what makes this so fun.”

Deft fingers snatch the dagger away from your hands as Azriel turns you over to face the mirror, dragging the sharp point of his weapon over your collarbones. The cold steel sweeps over your skin as he trails sloppy, wet kisses all over your neck. You tilt your head back in pleasure until the shadowsinger cuts the straps of your dress in one swift movement. The corset top falls to your lap and leaves you exposed to the elements as Azriel grins wickedly. 

“This dress is one of my favorites,” you hiss. 

Azriel cups your bare breasts and you involuntarily lean into his touch while he chuckles. “I’ll buy you another one. Hell, I’ll buy you the whole godsdamned shop. Just turn around and let me look at you.” 

The shadowsinger twirls you around as you slink out of the ruined dress. You’ve done this routine with plenty of males before, walking with your chin held high as they took in your naked form, but something about Azriel’s stare makes you shy away. You had to actively fight the urge to cover yourself as his fingers swept from the tops of your shoulders to the sensuous curve of your hips. 

“You’re a work of art. It’s no wonder that you have the Crown Prince eating out of the palm of your hand.” 

You smirk. “Jealous much?” 

“On the contrary, sweetheart. It’s him who should be jealous of me. Rhaegar will never get to touch you like this and once I’m done with you, no other male will dare to try again. Not unless they want to lose their heads.”

And fuck if Azriel threatening violence on your behalf didn’t absolutely turn you on. 

“Don’t keep me waiting then.” 

The smirk that graces the shadowsinger’s face makes your skin crawl with desire. He hoists you up from the dresser and places you directly in front of the four poster bed, guiding you towards the mattress until the backs of your knees hit the edge. You busy yourself with the buckles on the front of Azriel’s armor, tugging at them impatiently as he wriggles out of the dark leathers. He hoists his shirt over his head while twirling his beloved dagger in his hands. Azriel has every intention to set the weapon aside, but you catch his wrist at the last second. 

“Did I say we were done with that?”

Something wicked dances in Azriel’s eyes as he pushes you onto the soft mattress. He brings his dagger up to your naked form, gently tracing every voluptuous curve with the flat end of his blade. The steel kisses your skin as he trails a path from your chest down to your navel. Azriel pauses, pressing Truth-teller’s hilt against your pubic bone. 

“Is this what you want, sweetheart?” Azriel asks with a dark chuckle as he rubs the cold hilt against your clit. “You want me to fuck you with my dagger until you’re begging for my cock?” 

You clench your thighs together in response to the filthy words. The thought alone makes you hot all over and the contrast of the blade against your skin feels heavenly. 

“Yes,” you barely breathe. 

When your eyes meet, there’s something purely predatory in Azriel’s hazel irises. The dagger sweeps over your entrance and its blunt end is covered in your arousal as the shadowsinger prods the weapon into your soaking core. You’re so wet that his treasured blade slips in and out of your pussy with ease.

“That’s right, baby. Take all of it.” You moan in pleasure as he drives the hilt deeper, hitting that sweet spot that has your back arching off the bed. “Filthy little girl.” 

Through lust blown eyes, you blink back stars as Azriel flicks his thumb over your clit. The friction causes you to buck greedily against his hand as he drives you to the brink of collapse. Your skin felt like it was on fire and your lungs could barely take in air as your mewls echo off the walls. 

You grasp at Azriel’s hand, tugging him towards the mattress as you flip positions with ease. The dagger feels light in your hands as you wield it up to his throat, outlining his sharp jaw with its flat edge. You take the opportunity to admire every feature. Tan skin, onyx hair, perfect teeth, and most of all, those powerful wings encompassing the span of his muscled back. Everything about the shadowsinger was delicious and you couldn’t wait to taste every inch. 

You dip down to kiss him, enveloping the both of you in the dark curtain of your hair as Azriel attempts to take the lead. With a brush of the blade, you shake your head and smirk. His assumption that he’d be the one in charge tonight told you that the shadowsinger was accustomed to taking the lead in the bedroom, but you weren’t one to relinquish control. Not without making him beg for it first. 

“I’m in charge tonight, Azriel.” 

The dagger grazes the hollow of Azriel’s throat and he could barely restrain himself from devouring you. The fire in your eyes sent him into overdrive. In nearly five centuries of his immortal life, he’s never met anyone like you. Never played with a partner who preferred taking the reins rather than letting him do all the work. It was hot as fuck. 

“Tell me what you want me to do, princess.” 

“Touch yourself for me,” you breathe, settling on top of his thighs while Azriel’s eyes widen at your wicked request. 

The winged warrior obliges the command and pumps himself, rubbing a large hand over his cock. His generous length twitches in his palm while his head tilts back in ecstasy and the sound of his moans reverberate through your entire being, awakening a primal need within you. 

The glistening slickness of his precum coats the sensitive tip of his cock and you hold your breath in eager anticipation as Azriel thrusts his hand back and forth. There’s something utterly depraved about the act of watching himself get off, riding out the pleasure while he shamelessly moans your name. 

“Don’t cum until you’re inside me,” you say with a devious grin. 

Azriel inhales sharply, his parted lips and tousled hair embodying sex itself. “Then ride me, baby.”

Bracing your hands on his broad shoulders, you position your hips over his cock, grasping at the base while you guide him to your entrance. Azriel hisses at the sensation of your wet cunt on his already sensitive tip, fighting every urge to buck against you while you slowly sink down into him. His hands grip your waist while he sheathes himself into your pussy, loving the way your tight walls contract around him. Azriel was big, so much so that you’re struggling to take all of him while he groans underneath you.

“So fucking tight,” he grunts. “I love the way your pretty pussy feels.” The sheer size of him makes your eyes water as you adjust yourself to accommodate his length. “Now come on sweetheart, fuck me like you hate me.” 

Cauldron boil and fry you, you’re barely hanging onto what little sanity you had left as you rock your hips into him. Azriel shifts his hips upwards, hitting your cervix with relentless ferocity while he drives his cock in and out of you. The growls coming out of his mouth were animalistic as he whispers the nastiest, dirtiest curses into your hair. 

“You have such a filthy mouth, Azriel. I fucking love it.”

“Talking dirty is the least of what my mouth can do.” 

Azriel crashes his lips down to yours, sucking on your bottom lip as you grind against him. The deep, guttural growl it elicits out of the shadowsinger tastes like sugar on your tongue. You ride him faster, picking up the pace while your moans echo through the room, the sounds tangling together like your limbs. The familiar spread of warmth in your lower abdomen indicates that your orgasm was close. As Azriel brings you to the precipice of release, a knock on the door brings you crashing down to reality. 

Shadows envelope the both of you in a dark cocoon, swallowing light and sound as a tendril of darkness curls through Azriel’s ear. 

“It’s Rhaegar,” he informs you through gritted teeth. 

You groan softly as Azriel possessively presses you closer. “How unseemly would it be if I told the Crown Prince of Rask to fuck off?”

The shadowsinger smirks. “As pleasing as it would be, I have a better idea,” the mischievous tone of his voice peaks your interest. “Answer the door.” 

Azriel retrieves your sleeping gown and matching silk robe, draping it over your shoulders as he helps you out of bed. His scarred hand clamps down onto your bare ass cheek, kneading the soft skin before turning you around and sheathing himself inside of your pussy again. 

If it weren’t for the barrier that his shadows provided, the Crown Prince would’ve heard the filthy moan that the shadowsinger knocks out of you. Rhaegar raps against the wooden door once more as Azriel grips your hips. 

“Answer the door,” the Illyrian warrior growls. 

“But he’ll see,” you gasp as Azriel gathers the silky material of your nightgown in his hands, watching as he slides his cock in and out of your pussy slowly. 

“My shadows will provide cover. Rhaegar won’t see a thing, but you and I will both know that I’m balls deep in your pretty little cunt while you turn the Crown Prince away.”

Your arousal coats his length, causing the male to chuckle darkly. The shadowsinger detects the shift in your scent and the fact that you were turned on by his indecent proposal turned him on even more. Azriel smirks as you nod wordlessly, guiding you to the door with his hands gripping your waist. 

Swallowing thickly, you open the door a sliver and squint out into the dark night, barely making out Rhaegar’s form as Azriel pushes deeper inside you. As you grip the wooden handle, you fight the urge to moan as the Crown Prince smiles at you. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt your rest,” Rheagar starts with an apologetic smile. This male, who you thought was handsome just hours before, couldn’t compare to the winged warrior behind you now, grazing your earlobe with his teeth as you try your best to focus on the task at hand. 

“Forgive me for my appearance. Had I known you were paying me a visit, I would have better prepared myself.” 

“It is I who should be apologizing, my lady. I only wish to bring you the news first. I accepted Rhysand’s offer and have sent a raven to the Night Court with my terms.” 

Azriel kneads the soft tissue of your right ass cheek, pressing a kiss in the middle of your spine while he thrusts into you. You bite down on your bottom lip, nearly drawing blood. 

“Are you alright, my lady?” 

“I-I’m fine. Just feeling a bit exhausted from our rather eventful day.” 

Rheagar nods, seemingly realizing the late hour and the intrusion his presence posed. If only he knew what Azriel was doing behind you. “Of course, I shall let you return to rest. I hope to see you on the morrow, my lady.” 

“Good night,” you barely mutter before you’re shutting the door on the Crown Prince’s face. 

Azriel wastes no time as he presses you up against the brick wall, bracing your hands onto the solid surface before placing a soft kiss on your cheek. 

“Look at you. So greedy for my cock that you’d shut the door on Rhaegar’s face. I imagine the Crown Prince was hoping his night would end the way mine is right now, buried inside you while you try so hard not to moan my name. Too bad that I’m the only one who gets to feel this pretty little pussy of yours from now on.”

You moan as he claims you with a kiss, his tongue prodding past your parted lips while he clasps the hollow of your throat possessively. “Brace yourself, sweetheart. I intend to fuck the thought of any other male out of you.” 

“That’s rather cocky of you, shadowsinger.”

The feline smile that curves through his handsome face was full of promise. “It’s not cocky if it’s true.” His shadows swirl through your ankles, pushing them further apart as Azriel smirks at the shock on your face. “Now be a good girl and bend over for me.”

Flush with need, you wordlessly oblige his command. Azriel links your fingers together as your palms spread out against the cool brick, his hips thrusting into you from behind while the sound of skin against skin echoes through the room. The death grip you had on his hands didn’t seem to bother the Illyrian as he muttered a string of curses that would put a sailor to shame. 

His palm catches your cheek before it scrapes against the rough cement of the wall, turning your chin to kiss the breath right out of you. The shadowsinger’s other hand clamps down on the front of your sex, circling his fingers deliciously against your clit. Shadows swirl through your nipples, sweeping over your skin like a tiny million kisses and heightening the pleasure that much more. You could feel yourself chasing that familiar high, moans growing louder and louder with every flick of Azriel's digits. 

Without warning, he withdraws his touch and slips out of you. You whine in desperation, needy to feel all of Azriel in you again. 

“Why’d you stop?” 

Azriel grins wickedly. “I want to see how long you can hold out before you’re begging for me.” 

You snarl, capturing his bottom lip with your teeth and biting hard enough to draw blood. “Perhaps I’ll bring you to your knees first, Azriel.”

He chuckles darkly, licking up the crimson droplets from the corner of his mouth. “I don’t see why we can’t have both.” 

Before you could ask him what that meant, he picks you up with ease and sits you atop the wooden dresser. Azriel knocks the perfume and other items scattered on the surface and grips the tops of your thighs, pulling you to the edge while he kneels down between your legs. Dark wings flare across his back as he smirks, not saying a single word before he plunges his tongue onto your soaking core. 

Gods help you, Azriel knew exactly what he was doing. His greedy mouth works you into a writhing, whining mess while he expertly flicks his tongue against your clit. Every kitten lick sends a rush of euphoria straight to your brain, short circuiting what little logic you had left while you hang onto Azriel’s silky dark locks for dear life. His satisfied hum reverberates through your skin, making your clit throb with desire and desperation as he continues to worship you with his hands, lips, and tongue. The sensation of his warm and wet mouth against your sex had your eyes rolling back into your head. The moans Azriel was eliciting out of you was borderline obscene. 

If this was a dream, you never wanted to wake up. 

Not realizing that you’d vocalized that last thought, Azriel smirks up at you, his mouth and chin coated with your arousal. “It’s not a dream, sweetheart. I'm right here and I’m more than willing to make you cum. If you say the magic words.” 

“Fuck you, Azriel,” you rasp teasingly, barely clinging onto what little pride you had left. 

The shadowsinger smiles. “I’m afraid that’s not it, but perhaps this will remind you how to say please.” 

Azriel yanks you to him, spreading you over the dresser as he slips inside of you once more. Your breath fogs up the glass as your features contort with pleasure. In the reflection, the shadowsinger’s smirk was nearly feral as he rams himself into your pussy, making you arch your back as you moan his name. 

His eyes darken with lust as he gathers your hair in his right hand. “Say it again.” 

“Azriel,” you chant as he hisses sharply, snapping his hips at a punishing pace.

“Ready to give up yet, princess?”

Rolling your eyes, you latch your lips onto his neck, grinning against his golden brown skin as you rake your nails along his back. Azriel moans and you continue your path, fingertips stilling over the apex of his wings. Your light touch makes the Illyrian male shiver, burying his face in the crook of your neck while he bites back the growl threatening to reveal just how good it feels to have you caress his sensitive wings. 

“Nesta told me how sensitive you Illyrians are with your wings. She said that the right touch can even bring you to completion,” you state with an innocent smile. “Shall we test that theory, Az?”

“Fuck,” Azriel moans, his teeth grazing your shoulder as you run your pointer finger over the red and gold membrane behind his back. “You’re a vicious tease.” 

You grin, sucking at his earlobe as his thrusts grew sloppier. “I’m just giving you a taste of your own medicine, baby.”

The curve of his wings feels leathery underneath your digits as you continue to tease Azriel, tracing little patterns upon his leathery wings. You’ve never heard a male make the sounds that the shadowsinger was making now - needy, desperate, and literal music to your ears. 

“That feels so fucking good, sweetheart.” Azriel pants and the sight of his glistening skin and sex tousled hair makes you beam with satisfaction. 

The ever stoic shadowsinger was a writhing mess above you, his warm breath fanning over your skin while he chants your name like a prayer. The teasing becomes a competition between you, both eager to make each other cave first. Unwilling to yield, Azriel fucks into you deeper but his resolve is barely hanging on by a thread while you lightly rake your nails over his wings. 

“So close,” he grunts, rolling his hips into yours. 

"Please, Az..." you plead. "Don't stop."

Azriel chuckles, pounding into you with a harsh snap of his hips. "You sound so pretty when you beg, baby." He smirks as you whimper.

"Nobody likes a tease, Azriel." You lightly rub the sharp talon at the apex of his wings as he releases a shuddering breath. "If you won't fuck me the way I want, maybe I should ask Rhaegar if he's willing."

The shadowsinger snarls, flipping you over and ramming his cock into you so deep that you could feel every ridge and curve within your walls. While you knew that it probably wasn't the best idea to push Azriel, awakening this dark side of him brought a different sort of thrill out of you.

"There will be no other male for you," Azriel grunts, holding your hips down while you buck against him. "Do you understand?"

"Just you," you confirm. "It's just you, Azriel."

He smirks proudly. "Good girl."

You could feel yourself on the brink of release as he releases his grip and fills all of you again, lifting your hips up to take Azriel deeper. His cock was perfect, fitting tight and snug into your pussy as you greedily squeeze his length with an ironclad grip. 

“Can we call it a draw?” 

Azriel’s eyes fill with relief, dipping his head down and capturing your lips with his. “Yes, sweetheart. Put me out of my godsdamned misery.”

He lifts you gently off the dresser, giving you the leverage to ride him until you reached that euphoric high. Azriel seems content on letting you use him, holding out on his own orgasm until he knows that you've ridden the wave of your pleasure to the very end. White noise rushes through your ears as Azriel thrusts into you one last time, whispering your name with quiet reverence while pleasure racks his entire body. His words are gentle and soft as he slowly pulls out of you, admiring the way his cum trickles down the side of your leg as you rest your head on his shoulder. 

Azriel is slick with your own arousal and you blush at the sight of him soaked with your cum. He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart. I love knowing that I can make you cum like this. Your taste, your scent, your moans. Gods, I’m going to be thinking about it every waking moment.”

He turns over to face you, smiling as you shy away from his gaze, running his fingers over your skin while he drinks in the sight of you blissed out and euphoric. The shadowsinger had only allowed himself to imagine you like this in the dead of night when he could no longer fight off his desire, but nothing could compare to the real thing. He traces the outline of your lips with a fond smile.

"You were right, you know. I do want you. So fucking badly that I acted like an absolute prick."

You giggle. "Of course I was right." Azriel rolls his eyes and kisses your knuckles. "Have you ever considered that maybe I wanted you too?"

"The thought did cross my mind. After that first failure of a mission that we ever went on, when you got in my face and started yelling. I knew I was done for." Azriel grins mischievously. "Why do you think I was constantly picking fights with you? I love getting you all riled up. Your cheeks get all red and flustered and your eyes...there's something wild about them and it turns me the fuck on."

"So you're telling me that all this fighting was just foreplay?" you tease. "A normal person would've just asked me out on a date."

He chuckles. “Where’s the fun in that? I enjoy the chase as much as the catch.”

You quirk a brow. “And now that you’ve caught me?”

In a surprisingly sweet gesture, Azriel cradles your face in his hands and kisses you deeply. “I’m never letting go.”

You don’t even realize that you’re smiling until he pulls away and mirrors your reaction. He presses gently on the marks on the side of your neck, admiring the work of his lips. 

“Don’t cover these, sweetheart. I want the Prince and everyone else to know that you’re mine and mine alone.”

“Jealous, possessive male,” you say with feline amusement. “I thought the feared spymaster would insist on nothing but absolute discretion.” 

“Fuck being discrete,” Azriel says fiercely. “Unless you intend to still vie for Rhaegar.”

The notion itself was laughable. How could you ever look at any other male after tonight? 

“I shut the door on the Crown Prince of Rask for you, Azriel. If that doesn’t make my choice clear, then I don’t know what will.”

He grins, tucking a stray lock behind your ear. “Perhaps I could use a bit more convincing.”

“Asshole,” you tease playfully. 

Azriel captures your lips between his, laughing as you groan into his mouth. “You can call me whatever you want, sweetheart. As long as you’re moaning it.”

The shadowsinger flips you on the bed, pinning you underneath his body while he grins deviously. Tendrils of darkness swirl through your limbs, chaining your wrists to the headboard and spreading your legs apart. 

“Now come on, baby. I'm only getting started," he grazes his teeth over the hollow of your throat and you whimper in response. "We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

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#um? i am in a feral mood #there's absolutely no reason for this to be as filthy as it was but alas #azriel #acotar #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel/reader #azriel smut #acotar smut #acotar fanfic #acotar fic #masterlist #jess writes

[olivyh]

I straight up thought this was a jamil blog at first. Anyways I'm going to make that a little more true.

Jamil x reader but I really liked the language barrier thing you did, so here's something like that.

The whole magical translator thing breaks. That's it. That's the fic. Do what you will from this point on.

A/N: It might as well become a Jamil blog at this point haha! I'm surprised at how many jamil lovers there are here (not that I'm disappointed, he's one of my fav charas!). I aoso just found a made-up language generator online bc I'm too lazy to come up with new words ;;;;; Also, I didn't know how to make this seem so, but all of the italicized lines are in Arabic! If you/your mc speaks Arabic, then it's in the twst universe's version of Arabic!

Jamil groans softly as sunlight seeps through the curtains which sway in the breeze and cast the room in dimmed reds and golds. The person in his arms shifts slightly, likely awoken by his sudden movement. He hushes them gently, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of their head, smiling softly when he notices how they bury their face in his chest and their grip on his waist tightens.

"Good morning, my love," He whispers, running his hand along their side gently as they giggle from the feeling. They shift slightly in his arms, gazing up at him with weary eyes, still glazed with sleep as they rest their head on his bicep, fiddling with the edges of his tanktop with their deft hands.

"Veex quekninv-" Jamil snorts.

"What does that mean?" He chuckles against their hair, only to pull back when their face is laced with confusion, eyebrows knitted on their forehead as they tilt their head slightly.

"Ftuh?"

"Baby, it's too early for this," He sighs, sitting up and stretching finally. His door is swung open and slams against the wall with a loud thud, making him let out a sharp gasp as the peace of the morning is broken by the heir of the Al-Asim fortune himself, looking much more distressed than usual.

"Jamil!" The other boy rushes towards the bed, panting softly. "Something's wrong!"

"What?" Jamil sits up, swinging out of bed with an agility only obtained from years of protecting the boy in front of him from assassins and intruders. He reaches for his magical pen, instinctively pushing the boy and his lover behind him as he glares at the doorway. "Stand back."

"No! Not that!" Kalim pulls his arm back, audibly gulping. "Something's wrong with the whole school! Nobody can understand anyone else!"

"W-what?!"

"Yeah! I tried to talk to Azul and-"

"Azul?!"

"Just listen!" Kalim shoves his phone in Jamil's face as the other boy tries to smother the annoyance that threatens to burst from his chest, a migraine already forming at the base of his skull.

"Azul?" From the speaker sounds a series of clicks and hisses. "Azul, this isn't fucking funny. I'm serious, stop trying to get Kalim involved in your-" More clicks, this time sounding annoyed laced with a long hiss at the end. Another voice joins the fray, this one Jamil can only recognize as his teammate's. Floyd's clicks are much quicker and louder, with more sharp hisses and chirps thrown in. "Just hang up."

"That's the mer language!"

"I know-" Jamil sits on the edge of the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It was a prank."

"It's happening all over the school. I was only able to speak with Leona, but apparently the whole school is struggling. I can't uderstand Cater or Lilia at all-"

"Like they're speaking another language?"

"Yes!"

"Ftuh uko chea vachj juchinv? Ftuh'j veinv en?" His lover sits up, placing themselves beside him and running a worried hand over his arm.

"It's okay," He speaks slowly, trying to convey as much as possible to them. He makes a little 'ok' symbol with his hand. "The spell is broken." He points towards his magic pen, followed by a shake of his head as he stands, hrowing on his sweatshirt as he allows his magic to fix his hair.

"You think it's really broken?" Kalim asks.

"Why are you worried?" Jamil retorts, harsh even to his ears. He takes a deep breath. "You speak enough languages to understand everyone decently."

"B-but-" He gulps and shakes his head. "We can't understand them-" Kalim motions towards Jamil's lover, who stares at them curiously. "Shouldn't you be more worried?"

"Of course I'm worried," Jamil admits. "But it'll be back soon. We can understand each other fine."

Kalim nods before leavng the room with a soft apology. Jamil turns to the other student in the room, watching them button their shirt and adjust their blazer.

"My love," They mutter. "Good morning. Good. Tired. Cook. Dinner. Damn. Stupid eel." Jamil grins. A part of him feels elated at the prospect of them picking up his mutters, attempting to learn bits of his language. Another part feels guilty that he hadn't learned any of theirs.

"Understand?"

"Understand. Little." They make a small motion with their fingers as he chuckles, pulling them close by their waist and pressing a kiss to their lips, hoping to convey all his unspoken thoughts, words that have to wait until the spel is back in place. He pulls away from them for a moment, looking towards the open door and sighing. Jamil looks back to his lover and they nod, already rummaging through his drawers to pull out the clothes they started leaving there ever since they'd first started dating (a constant reminder that they always had a home in Scarabia).

He throws on his uniform, giving his lover a small wave as he leaves the room and allows them the extra time to get ready in private. Jamil takes note of the near chaos of Scarabia- some students speaking in one language only to recieve an answer in a completely different one. Some students had resorted to using over-the-top hand motions to get their points across, loudly shouting one word in their native language while acting it out in some odd impromptu game of charades. Out of the corner of his eye he takes notice of Kalim attempting to communicate with some of the students who spoke the same language as him (although Jamil noticed how much the heir was struggling, getting one language mixed with another and forgetting who spoke what). Jamil mentally prepares himself for the day ahead, knowing all too well that he would be heading back to his room at the end of the day defeated with a headache that could split mountains.

The boy couldn't help but worry about how the day would play out, repeating imaginary scenarios over and over in his head. The pit in his somach grew as he became increasibgly anxious about how him and his lover would communicate. Would it go as smoothly as it did this morning? Were they truly able to understand each other without a single word spoken?

As he puls out the cuting board, he couldn't help but allow his mind to wander to what could be, what could happen due to this spell.

Relax, he tries to tell himself, you're overthinking things again, the reasonable side of him argues. The other side, the one that needs to have every moment planned and every breath counted, tells him otherwise, taunting him as he slowly slices up the vegetables and places them onto a separate plate.

Warm arms around his waist pull him from his stupor as he jolts, tuning to see the student in question burying their face between his shoulder blades. Their grip on him tightens as he twists and attempts to embrace them, only to be met with their shy giggle.

"You-" He sighs, chuckling and ignoring the heat that creeps up his neck. He wants to ask them what would happen if someone saw (it was all an act, they both knew. Nothing would truly happen to him if someone saw just how soft they made him) but he knew it would all be in vain.

They separate from him for a moment, grabbing a knife of their own and helping him tear and slice the vegetables. The kitchen is filled with the soft sound of the knife hitting the cutting board, dull thunking in the silent room. Occasionally they would shift and bump their shoulder into his, making his head turn as their eyes would meet for a split second. So many words spoken in two languages, each one alien to the other person.

In that moment, those words warped through translation, spoken in the same breathless gasp that they shared when their eyes would meet and the others' lips would quirk in a small smile before continuing what the other was doing.

Soon they fell into a comfortable, silent pattern. Jamil would shift from one side to the other, and his partner would weave between him and the stove to reach something else. They would both be met with nothing more than shy brushes of the hand or the breezes that would graze the other's face as they would move a little too quickly.

Soon enough, they had an assortment of dishes for all the Scarabia residents, all lined up on the massive table that sat in the middle of the kitchen.

Jamil looks over to his lover as they smile, placing the final knife in the sink as they turn to him and smile so brightly he swore even the sun as it shone through the open window had dimmed in comparison. He smiles softly, holding their hand in his own gently and kissing the back (he hoped that communicated enough thank you's for all their help).

Their shy chuckle was enough to lift his spirits as he held them close, winding one arm around their waist (an action they once told him reminded them of a snake surrounding it's prey, something he was once embarrassed about, until he believed it to be a protective action more of anything).

Pressing a kiss to their forehead, the nagging voice in the back of his skull was silenced. They didn't need to speak the same language to understand one another, their routines and actions spoke loudly enough. Jamil wished he'd been more confident in that fact, a small part of him disappointed in his thoughts.

"Jamil!" A shrill voice called from the living room, making the other boy groan loudly. "I invited Azul over to help us understand our Mer students and he's on his way!"

"Are you kidding me?!"

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst fanfic #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst oneshots #twisted wonderland oneshots #jamil viper #jamil x reader #jamil viper x reader #twst jamil #twst jamil x reader #jamil twst

[hungriestheidi]

Sebchal & confess

send me a pairing and a number and i'll write you a short fic!

so, i really like this vibe ngl. tw: catholicism i suppose!

The clock keeps ticking, a gimmick his head has concocted to let him know he’s wasting time. He’s waiting and waiting for a redemption that won’t come. He knew it when he first came here, begging for something he didn’t really want, hands and knees on the coarse wood of a confessional booth. 

“Father?” He says, softly.

“Son?” Is it weird when the priest calling you son is as young as your little brother? Does it mean anything when he can make the sharp cut of his profile and how lovely he looks in this dim light, a nose so noble it seems fitting of a sculpture?

“Are you going to…” Sebastian takes a deep breath, opens and closes his fists, nails digging into the meat of his palms. “I don’t, I don’t know, absolve me?”

“Confess,” the priest says instead.

Sebastian blinks slowly. “I just did that.”

The priest lets out an exasperated huff. Sebastian can see him pinching the delicate bridge of his nose, shaking his head, muttering something to himself. 

“Sebastian, you keep coming to my church and I must know what you want” he says, the words biting at him like a dog nibbling on a worn bone. “I need to know… if you want to sink me with your demons.”

Sebastian chuckles. 

“You are too righteous for that,” he shakes his head, a smile stretching over his lips. The collar of his shirt digs into his neck, rubs and rubs until the flesh is raw, like a noose would feel before it kills you. “You think me a filthy demon ridden monster, a married man, a father at that!”

“Sebastian…” The priest says, his voice is soft, airy, defeated.

“Father Leclerc.”

The priest laughs, a sound that enunciates the ‘haha’ with soft, lilting edges. 

“Fuck you calling me father—”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “Strong words, Father”

“—like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it.” he finishes. 

“Everything about you turns me on,” he responds, tightening his hold on the wood in front of him.

“Shut up,” he demands. It’s dark and dusty, and the sloshes of light carry specks of dust like little bugs in the night. The priest’s eyes lift, the light catches on the rivets of gold and green on the beauty of his irises. “Dear Lord, please spare me.”

“I say that night and night again, he’s not rushing to change me I’m afraid.” Sebastian licks his lips, his eyes are burning. “I still desire the flesh of men, even when I lay with a woman every night.”

A pause, a sharp inhalation. 

“Does she know?” The priest asks. 

“How could she,” Sebastian responds, shrugging. “Her father would have me stoned, old timey like that.”

The priest sighs. “Sebastian…”

“Father?” He asks in return. 

Father Leclerc takes a deep breath, his head bows, chin tucked against his chest. 

“I must not tell you what to do,” he says, careful, measured, “but you must confess.”

“Have I not already?”

“Confess what do…” his voice trembles, his teeth scraping over his lips and Sebastian wishes he could reach through the lattice work and touch him. “What do you want to do with me?”

Sebastian takes a deep breath, his hands fall to his lap as his head drops. They flex open and closed on the fabric of his slacks, black, soft and stiff all at once, a texture that makes him shiver if he thinks about it for too long.  

He lets out a long breath, a huff almost. “I want to kiss you,” he says, the filthiest of his fantasies always feel like mundane things he did with any girl when he was fourteen. “Hold you in my arms, loop my fingers through your hair and kiss you until you are breathless.”

There is silence and when he looks up the open space on the other side of the latticework is empty, a dusty sunlight in its stead.   

“Father?” He asks, his voice low and faltering, a thousand fears at once in the void that spears him through the heart. 

The curtain of his small booth flies open, violent and sudden. The priest is standing there, impossibly tall, divine. His features are hardened, eyebrows tightly knit, lips parted ever so slightly. He is trying to say something, Sebastian can read it in the movement of the muscles of his jaw, their rhythmical tightening and relaxing. Then he leans in. his hands pull Sebastian’s collar until he’s standing, elevated by a force not his own, by a body not owned by his will, and then Father Leclerc pulls him in, his lips chapped and beautiful like heaven must be against his own.  

“Heathen,” he says when they part, but there is a smile on his words and he lurches to kiss him again. 

#racingliners #fic asks #sebchal #it's a vibeeeee hehe

[user-needs-new-hyperfixation]

You seem to be the headcanon person of the fandom. How do you think Sherliam would handle a serious argument/disagreement? Idk like their arguing styles? Who apologizes/gives in first? Things like that.

First off, love the idea that I am the headcanon person haha!

One of the fic prompts I'm working on involves this idea, but in a fun and sexy kinda way, so lemme take a shot at it a little more seriously, though a fair amount of what I'm gonna say may pop up in that fic later. This in itself kind of devolved into borderline fic as I went...and then crackfic at the end lol. 😅

I have a headcanon that Sherlock has a lot of underlying anxiety during their early days in NYC: that he hasn't really had the opportunity to deal with his own trauma from watching someone he loves attempt suicide, risking his own life and being injured himself, and spending months not knowing if William would wake up.

I don't think they often have serious disagreements, but the first few times they do, because of that lingering anxiety and stress, I imagine Sherlock just immediately backs down when things start to get stressful. And he's stewing internally over all the comebacks and points he desperately wants to make, but it's not worth it when he's so terrified that any sincere conflict between them might push Liam back to a dark place.

But a couple of months go by after Vermissa, and Liam is more and more okay every day, and one day some sincere yet ultimately unimportant argument comes up: maybe something to do with preparing for a mission, or a disagreement about something in one of their academic journals. And they're snarking back and forth a little, but there's a bit of a sincere edge to it. Then Liam says something and instantly, the perfect sassy comeback is right on the tip of Sherlock's tongue, but he swallows it down and says something milder instead, and Liam is suddenly all laser eyed observation, frowning at him.

And then all the pieces click together in Liam's head, and he understands what's going on. And he stops to tell Sherlock in no uncertain terms that he is not as fragile as Sherlock seems to think, and that them being on equal footing is important to him, and that honestly he quite likes Sherlock's sharp wit even when it's directed at him, and enjoys returning in kind.

From then on even serious disagreements are handled with playful bickering and snarking. They have a good sense of each other's sensitivities and how to avoid them, and it's rare for either to go too far and cause any hurt, but when it does happen the one who did so is always quick to apologize. Basically they just think squabbling is a lot of fun.

Once, Billy witnesses them pick an entirely unnecessary and random fight with each other, both grinning and clearly having the time of their lives, and he throws up his hands and says,

"Y'know, it doesn't actually count as makeup sex if you start the fight just for the sex!"

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #sherliam #asks

[im-a-king-baby]

hi ! first of all; i read ELYN over the easter weekend and stayed up till like five am waiting for it to get happy so i could sleep (i gave up) and i loved it so so much. It just feels like such a tangible, realistic outcome for them (if we ignore s3) it made me ache in that exact anxious yearning way the actual show does. Big ask and 100% appreciate it if the answer is no but are you planning to write more for them in that universe? Would love to see them when Wille is at university, or see Wille simply make some (oblivious?) uni friends, or see Sara and Simon interact again or honestly literally anything and everything.

secondly, and who knows maybe (probably) you’re aware of this but the photos/images in the fic do not appear as images but just as a text/error box? Is that intentional or did they break? I kept finding myself curious as to what image was put with the chapters haha

Hi!!! I hope you had a good easter... and went to sleep at some point... 😅

Thank you for alerting me about the images! I was not aware of that :( Although I guess that makes all those hours hardcoding the text threads and tumblr posts so they would work without images worth it 😂

I have gone through it all again and updated the image links so they are working for me now (let me know if they're still broken for you?).

There's nothing in them that's required to follow the fic, you just get to judge the time I spent procrastinating by making album covers and then sorting all the random pop songs I'd invented into albums (something that was definitely vital even though no one but me cares about the difference in vibe between Simme eras 🤣).

If you are just interested in the art, these are the 4 covers I used in the fic:

Sadly this fic was always destined to lose canon status after season 3 (although I am going to keep believing August's arc could go the ELYN route until proven otherwise).

Regarding sequels, prooobably not? Sorry :( I have more notes for Simon pov scenes during and before than anything set after because I'm not sure what more I have to say, (other than wanting to write something of ELYN Wille with Edvin's new haircut but basically all I've got is this:

For a moment Simon thinks Wilhelm isn’t even here, then the bleached blond head turns and it’s Wilhelm’s face and Wilhelm’s eyes and Wilhelm’s mouth dropping open in surprise at seeing Simon in the doorway. “You’re here,” Wilhelm says. “How are you -?” “You cut your hair.” It’s dumb. Obviously. But Simon hasn’t slept and Wilhelm’s hair is almost white, sharp and bristled, and Simon wants to touch it, to see if it hurts. “I…” Wilhelm hesitates. “There were always rules about my appearance, about how I was allowed to look, and I thought…” he reaches a hand to his hairline, his face falling a little. “Do you hate it?” The bristles give under his fingers, impossibly soft. He looks older, but also somehow younger, like he’s reclaiming the rebellious teen years that the crown never let him have. “I want to kiss you,” Simon says. The coffee shop is full of people. At least four that Simon can see are looking at them, not even trying to be subtle. There’s a camera tilted in their direction, but it’s not close. “Can I kiss you?” “I-” Wilhelm starts doing the same glance - who’s watching, who’s filming - then seems to catch himself, snorts a soft laugh and pulls Simon in. It's too short for Simon to catch hold of, but he can run his fingers through it and it's soft or ghost them over to catch the sharp edges of the tips, and it's Wilhelm and he's here, they're both here. And they're going to be okay.

<3

#elyn fic #I do kind of want to write the fic where Simon leaves Bjarstad with Candace #but that is... not the happy ending... #local angst author can't imagine what happens after happy ending #I do want post-S3 roadtrip fic though and I might be prepared to write it