۶ৎ he'll offer you his credit card and be content allowing you to purchase everything you want when you're on dates together, even if you end up spending most of it.
۶ৎ valko is that type of boyfriend who feels incomplete if he's not touching you in some way. he'll intertwine his fingers with yours while he's focused on driving, hold you closely when you're together visiting a crowded place, sit beside you in a restaurant booth just so that he can rest his hand on your squishy thigh.
۶ৎ the simplest way to relax him is to play with his fuzzy hair, rub his ears, or caress his cheeks. his tense jaw will unclench, flexed muscles will un tighten. his giant body will melt into you entirely when you pet his head and lightly fondle his soft face. it makes him feel sooo good.
nsfw
۶ৎ valko is a serious pussy eater. you're sweaty and haven't showered yet? doesn't matter. on your period? he's still devouring you carelessly if you desire it. feeling lazy and in the mood to be a receiving princess? he'll pleasure your clit without any expectations.
۶ৎ has a little happy trail down there and rarely shaves his pubic hair. valko doesn't care whether you decide to shave yourself or not, but he hugely prefers your natural body.
۶ৎ valko actually enjoys foreplay more than you do. watching the cute fucked out expressions you make, making your legs shake after you orgasmed from just his lengthy fingers, the way you squirm and whimper his name repeatedly like a mantra. all of it has him completely whipped.
۶ৎ whether you're being the dominant partner or not, valko is obsessed with body worship during sex. he just loves the idea of either of you treating the other person's figure like a temple.
Valko approaches Sylus, his hair and tail dripping with salt water.
"Valko, do not step any closer," Sylus commands from his beach chair, angling his book to hide the pages against his chest. Valko doesn't stop until he's right in front of him.
With a small, innocent smile, he shakes. Water splashes everywhere, dotting the sand, the chairs, and the towels, but mainly Sylus.
Despite his physique, you always forget how fit Sylus is until you're giggling at him chasing down Valko, both of them sprinting at full speed, until Sylus tackles him into the ocean. They narrowly miss Rafayel gliding through the water, their private section of the beach allowing him to show off his brilliant tail.
Beside you, Xavier stirs, peeking one eye open and squinting against the sun. You smile down at him. He's adorable like this, all groggy and disheveled, his cheeks tinged pink from the heat and the sun.
"Hey, Xavie. Good nap?"
He just hums, rolling over to rest his head in your lap, eye closing again. With a small laugh, you card your hand through his soft hair, allowing him to make himself comfortable again, his arm flopping over your ankles.
"I'm never doing this again!" Caleb's voice travels across the beach. "It's impossible!"
"You can fly a fighter jet, my love. I'm confident that you can surf," Zayne replies, a bit of amusement in his tone underneath the encouragement.
"The sky likes me way better than the sea does. I swear, I think that kelp was tryin' to drown me."
Zayne hums. "I think a certain fish would come to your rescue, should you need it. Now let's put some more sunscreen on and try again." Caleb just stares, and Zayne raises an eyebrow. "Don't give me that look. I know you won't give up that easily. You're too stubborn for your own good."
You could stay here forever, you decide, with zero responsibilities besides keeping your favorite men company.
𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 the world of love & deepspace. great! one thing: you’re not the main character.
so, what the hell are you supposed to do when you wake up in his bed, the man is hugely affectionate, despite you not being his canonical love interest?!
⟢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⨾ [n]sfw(??? kinda?? i wouldn't recommend reading this in a public space is all) / implied sexual content (nothing actually happens) / however MDNI / canon universe / (attempts at) humour / reader is very self-deprecating / i will probably expand on this idea with the other leads, lmk if you'd like to see that / uh really playing to that classic manhwa trope we all know and love and are kinda tired of now with this / this is probably the risqué-est stuff i've written ahaha 🧍♀️ anyways enjoy!!
⟢ ao3.
For context, and to clear your name, you’ve long grown out of that silly, adolescent desire to be transmigrated into your favourite fictional universe, because you know, and have accepted, that it could never happen.
The unobtainability of fiction, if that’s a word, is probably what makes it the most appealing. An escape from reality, because reality could never be so sweet, and just something to occupy your mind when you’re idle and missing out on sleep again. Thankfully, people don’t bother you too much. You liken yourself greatly to Rhiannon from Sweetpea. You like that show a lot.
Love & Deepspace was just one of your many distractions from life. Pushing thirty and still stuck in that low-end assistant job to your unhelpful manager, you hadn’t even had your first kiss yet, let alone dated. Your mother told you it was high time to settle down with someone nice and handsome and preferably rich. Every annual family event you attended, that you were actually invited to, it was her and your aunts and grandmother who nagged you about it.
It had gotten to the point where, man or woman, you weren’t going to bother with romance at all. You didn’t stand out, you see. You weren’t pretty like Libby from public relations, you weren’t sociable like Rick from customer service, and you weren’t brilliant like Katherine from accounting. You were just…there, running around after everyone like you were still an intern, and the prospect of a promotion to where you actually had autonomy in that tedious job had long fizzled out of existence.
At least you could feel a little appreciated when you opened the app and that theme song started playing again. It was then that you realised you were grasping at straws, quite literally. Becoming reliant on some pixels and coding stuck in a screen, fictitious? Where the character you play as is pretty, is sociable, and is brilliant? Truly laughable.
So, what the hell is this?
About three minutes ago, you’re pretty sure, you opened your eyes. Your sheets are soft-blue and flannel, because it’s winter. These sheets are wine-red and silken, perfect for the summer, or late-spring. The duvet isn’t too thick, either, and it distinctly smells of sandalwood and expensive cologne, utterly unfamiliar, masculine. Your arm’s up over it, chilled in the early-morning air, and bare. Your pajama top is long-sleeved because, as aforementioned, it’s supposed to be winter. You don’t really wear spaghetti straps unless it’s summer, and in the short one-hundred-and-eighty-and-counting seconds since your eyes sprang open, you’ve long realised you’re not wearing a top at all.
It all slowly comes to you in quick successions of realisation. One, you’re in someone else’s bed. This one’s a superking, you’re pretty sure, considering the good distance from you to the edge of it. Your bed is a king-single, barely. Your dingy apartment can only fit so much. Two, you haven’t got any clothes on. Your legs are sticking uncomfortably to each other, which is why, whether summer or winter, you usually wear long pajama pants, and dislike being in the nude anyway. And three, someone has their arms wrapped around you, and their chest is pressed to your back.
They are asleep; warm, soft breaths puffing into your ear and neck, crotch slotted snugly to your behind, and hair tickling your cheek. You’ve tried moving, tentatively, and found their grip around you to be quite solid. You are caged in this man’s arms. Your heart is beating out of your chest at this point, like a trapped bird, breathing growing laboured.
Oh god. Oh god. Oh. God. What did I do? What have I done? Why am I here? Who even is this? I’m not hungover, and I did not go out drinking last night—I think I went to bed after my shower at the usual time… Your mind is racing a million miles a second. Trying to piece this all together, trying to work it out, trying to recall the very big blunder you must’ve made and the sticky situation you’ve gotten yourself into here—it’s all getting quite overwhelming very quickly. What did I do?
There is some kind of gap in your memory, there has to be, because you distinctly remember exhaustedly crawling into bed just last night, alone, barely even possessing the energy to complete your dailies on Love & Deepspace, or any other games you played. Somehow, you managed, but you went out like a light shortly after that. You remember feeling very happy at the knowledge that tomorrow—today?—would be Sunday, your day off, and you could finally sleep in for the first time in a good millennia.
Carefully, as slowly and as gently as you can, you slip your uncovered arm under the blanket, both hands now moving to pry the man’s from around your waist, eyes darting around your limited vision to try and spot any kind of clothing you could cover yourself with once free. You need to get out of here. You don’t dare look over your shoulder at whoever it is that’s holding you. You just need to leave.
You listen closely to his breathing patterns—they’re soft, rhythmic, deep, a sure sign of complete slumber. It’s painstakingly slow, the way you move then pause then move then pause, but, bit by bit, you ease his hold off you, and you carefully shift to separate yourself from him.
Whoever this man is, you know you don’t know him, and you know that you have no business being here. Never in your life would you have ever dreamed of having a one-night stand—well, maybe when you were younger and more starry-eyed and naïve and excited for the future, but now, you are utterly indifferent. You don’t think you’re the sort of woman men look twice at, anyway, even when piss-drunk.
It would be for the best if you were to take your leave before things get severely awkward. Just by casting one glance around the place is more than telling enough about this individual’s financial status. If you had less dignity and more ulterior motives, you’d stick around, but all your dignity is already long gone now anyway, and you want to salvage the last few remnants left by high-tailing it out of here.
You softly exhale in relief when you successfully get his hands off you, stopping to listen to his breathing again. Still asleep. A bit more encouraged now, you slowly sit up, holding the blankets close over your chest, and look around a bit more closely.
Much to your chagrin, there is no item of clothing suitable enough within reach to grab and shuck on—you lean to the side, if a bit strained, to peer over the edge of the rather magnificent bed, where you lay eyes on the carpeted floor. Heat flares up your neck immediately.
Shirts and bottoms and a jacket and a coat and a bra, your size, along with a few other…bits of clothing, lie strewn across the ground, tossed haphazardly, evidence of impassioned rush and obvious…enthusiasm. You blink. You gulp. Oh, I’m in the shit now, aren’t I?
The nearest thing to you is a belt. A man’s belt. It looks expensive, too. You pointedly look away from it. The room is dim, with a high, beamed ceiling, a cold fireplace, a sofa, a massive TV, two armchairs, a large dresser, vanity, and an ajar door to, presumably, the closet. The other, average door, is shut closed, its knob gold, and there is a sliver of sunlight splayed across the floor, working its way along the room, stopping somewhere halfway up the wall to your right. The wallpaper also looks expensive. Everything looks expensive. Not anywhere the likes of you have any business being around.
Now it’s time to brave it all and look over your shoulder at your companion. You’d really rather just get out of here, but fearful curiosity has you rooted to the spot, duvet clutched to your front, bare back rippling with goosebumps from the chill. It would be the polite thing to do to wake him up and let him know of your departure, but you have this terrible feeling that getting any more embroiled in this mess you literally just opened your eyes to, not ten minutes ago, would be a very bad idea.
Slowly, you look to your left and set eyes on the drawn curtains, towering high over the room, where a narrow gap lets in the early-morning sunlight. In your periphery, you see a shoulder, a bicep, and a jawline. You suck it up and look at him fully. And then you almost scream.
Silver hair, mussed and dropped low over a brow. Broad shoulders. His arms lay limp where you just were, empty of you, toned and bulky and very familiar. And then there is his face.
Unfortunately, considering the circumstances, you’d know those lips and that nose anywhere. There is also the issue of his criminal jawline. It’s getting harder not to shriek in horror.
With a barely-concealed gasp, you whip back around and stare wide-eyed at the wall in front of you. There is no way. There is just no way. I’m dreaming. I’m still asleep and dreaming, aren’t I? Wouldn’t this kind of thing be a nice dream, though, and not one that feels like a nightmare? What the hell is going on?! Why am I so scared?!
Probably because the man you just woke up next to is a) a fictional character, b) far too familiar for this to bode anything well and c) kind of a villain. As in, he’s the head of a fictional crime syndicate in a fictional universe that is not real. No one is that good-looking and perfect in real life. This is truly it. I’ve really lost my marbles now, haven’t I?
Perhaps you were driven to the brink of insanity because of that horrid nine-to-five (well, nine-to-eight, really—yay for overtime!) you finally got a break from, even if for only a very short while, and the mistreatment of your coworkers.
Suddenly, you have the urge to laugh. Gosh, this is just so ridiculous. Me, waking up in bed with some Love & Deepspace character? Please! That’s when you grin a little, pinch yourself, hard, and expect to awaken in the real world, in your bed, in your apartment, not here.
But you don’t. It leaves nothing more than a mark on your skin from your nails. All over again, panic washes through you. You physically feel yourself blanching. God, no. Please, no, it can’t be.
Deciding against wasting any more time, you quietly and carefully, and with great self-consciousness, peel off the covers, and swing your legs over the side of the bed, dearly wishing his back was to you. But he’s asleep, so it’s not like he’ll see anything, anyway. You just need to leave.
You’re almost standing when an arm winds itself around your waist.
With a yelp, you’re tugged back into the sheets, back pressed up against a wide, muscled chest, clutched to him tightly in a firm, but tender, embrace, quite inescapable. There’s a chuckle—and, by god, in any other situation, you would’ve loved to have heard that laugh spill right into your ear—and then he’s sleepily nuzzling his face into your neck. “That eager to leave, are you, my dear?”
You have no idea what the hell to say, or do. Completely frozen, you’re too stunned to do anything else other than just let him press kisses to your jaw and squeeze you close. He’s…very affectionate? You’d revel in it, too, if it was meant for you, that is.
“Um…” you croak out, grimacing at the crack of your voice. What the hell do I say to get him off me? “I just…needed to go to the bathroom.”
He’s now nibbling on your ear, and you try not to cringe away. “Ah. Considering how all sneaky you were being, I was starting to fear you were trying to run off.”
You rest one of your hands over his, its wide expanse splayed over your hip, shrewdly trying to slip it off you. “Uh—haha, now, why would I do that?”
“You tell me,” he breathes, turning you over so he’s hovering before you, gazing down, and you’re well and truly trapped. That face you’d only ever admired from in front of a phone screen, so flawless and roguishly handsome and smug, looms above you; a pair of eyes, almandine in this lighting, are staring with an intensity you find too hard to hold. The man tilts his head playfully, full lips curling up at the corners—not into a smirk, but into a soft smile replete with devotion. The sight shocks you. “It was this time yesterday evening when you were insisting that I was strictly off-limits for you, apparently.”
As subtly as you can, you tug the sheets up and over your chest, forcing a smile and averting your gaze. Yeah, what the hell is he talking about? “Oh, well…that was…yesterday.”
“Oh? You’re saying that you’ve had a change of heart now?”
Your eyes snap back to him at his words, stunned—and you’re only further astounded by his expression. Something you can only describe as hope lightens the shadows of his face, and then he dips back down to push his face into your collar and the crook of your neck, practically purring. “That almost hurts me, beloved. It’s like you only care now that you’ve gotten a taste.”
“I…” You really, really want to go home now. You want to get away from this guy, get away from whatever this whole mess is, and return to your usual mundane routine that does not involve waking up next to a man that only exists in an idiotic dating sim.
“No matter. We’ve got this whole place to ourselves, remember? I think I’ve got plenty of time to convince you to stay.”
“Er…” If you’re acting out-of-character, he doesn’t seem to notice; he’s currently too busy snuggling up to you like some overly-smoochy housecat that’s starved for affection, and it only serves to further solidify the fact that you’re definitely in the wrong place, with the wrong person, and probably in the wrong body.
The very thought makes your stomach drop and swoop in dread. Knowing this man, what will he do if he finds out? Sooner or later, he and his annoying astuteness will figure out that you’re missing a lot of your memories—in fact, you don’t have any at all—and that you are currently very uncomfortable with having some guy invade your space so closely, apparently unable to keep his mouth off the skin of your throat for more than thirty seconds.
But the thing is—he isn’t just some guy. This is Sylus, one of the six love interests of Love & Deepspace, and you are not supposed to be in bed with him right now.
It’s starting to dawn on you now. There is no way. It’s supposed to be fiction!
“Are you sore?” he suddenly asks, finally emerging from your nape, silver fringe falling low over his carnelian eyes. They’re a deeper red, and far more striking, than depicted through 3D graphics and semi-realism. You were expecting him to move to continue the obvious…deeds of the previous evening you don’t have any recollection of, but then you remember what kind of man he is. That relaxes you a little.
“Uh, not too much,” you lie, because you’re suddenly conscious of your lower region. Your face flares with heat. What a joke. I apparently spend the night with a man any woman would kill to fall into the arms of, and I can’t even remember it? Again, it only serves to reaffirm the point of how you’re not supposed to be here.
“I’ll clean you up,” Sylus says, shifting to rise—but you’re instantly flinching upright, covers held firm to your front, shaking your head vehemently. “No! No, that’s alright. I’ll have a shower and worry about myself. You—uh, don’t have to be concerned. I, um, need to go to the bathroom, anyway.”
Sylus is staring at you with lifted brows, probably a bit surprised over your small outburst, his eyes wandering over your face. It’s then that you realise he’s risen up to knees, leaning back against his heels, looming over you in all his glory. All his glory. You don’t even give yourself time to steal an admiring glance before you snap your eyes away, entire frame now burning white-hot with embarrassment.
“Hm,” is all the man lets out, voice rumbling low. He remains there, as if considering you, before he fully moves off the bed to stand—and promptly leans over you to hike you up into his arms. “If I knew you’d be so shy, I would’ve gone easier.”
“What the—!” With a yelp, you flail a bit and lose your balance, leaving you no other option apart from tightly grasping his neck, as Sylus wastes no time in making his way for the ensuite, presumably. “I—I don’t think this is necessary! It’s not like I can’t walk!”
“And how do you know that?” he quips. “Want me to put you down and let you have a try?”
“Yes!” So I can get my clothes on and bolt, thank you very much! “Just—let me shower and brush my teeth and make myself presentable, so I can leave.”
“Leave?” Instantly, Sylus halts in his tracks. You can feel his eyes on your face. “You…want to leave?”
“Yes,” you say again, shaking your head and refusing to meet his eyes. You’re too frazzled to be polite and act as you probably should. “Look, it’s probably best if I’m blunt about this, Sylus. That was all—everything last night was—I…I don’t know. I don’t think either of us were in our right minds. This is harsh of me, I know, but—I really don’t—it’s not…”
You trail off, helpless, unable to find the right words. This is certainly one hell of a mess you’ve been dumped into. How in the world are you going to explain yourself to him? Your current behaviour is probably extremely peculiar to him—especially if, as you fear, you’re inhabiting the original MC’s body.
Somehow, you don’t think so, which is even worse. If you’ve just been shoved right between them, where the story dictates his love for her, you’re in deep shit. You’re an anomaly, and you need to leave.
“Perhaps I was…” he suddenly begins, after a good long, torturous stretch of silence, “hasty.”
“I—I think we both were.” Am I getting through to him? He’s more yielding than I thought he’d be. Good. You’re still in a panic—and when you’re in a panic, you’re far less genial. “Let me down now. I’ll clean myself up on my own.”
Sylus immediately protests, “But I want to take care of y—”
“No,” is your testy answer. Then you shut your eyes tight in regret, seeking to control yourself. So you force a smile. “…Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. Just…Just please put me down, Sylus.”
You aren’t fond of his expression. It’s a mixture of confusion, dismay, and hurt. Why? You don’t have a clue, and you’re not interested in finding out. The fact is, you know too little about your current situation to stay relaxed and rational about this, to the point where you can calmly humour this man and his (weirdly affectionate) whims, and you don’t want him figuring out what, to him, would be a very strange bout of amnesia.
With visible reluctance, Sylus finally complies and sets you down on the ground. Then you instruct him to turn around as you find something to cover yourself with.
The smirk he gives is a clear attempt at concealing how awkward he’s probably feeling inwardly. “I’ve already seen everything, sweethea—”
You grasp his shoulders to physically turn him around. “Doesn’t matter. Look away.”
You’d never possess the strength to force him away yourself, so he allows himself to be rotated with a shake of his head. You can just sense his bewilderment. You feel sorry. None of this is his fault, really. It’s whatever ended you up here, and you’re still about eighty-percent sure you’re having some absurd dream.
“I’ll shower and call a cab,” you remark, snatching up a nearby robe—his, unfortunately—and hurriedly wrap it around yourself. As expected, it’s far too big to fit on you properly, but you, too out of sorts to care, deal with it. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience. This is probably one big mess for y—”
“No cab will come out here, sweetie.” Sweetie. You jump at his use of that pet name and half-snap your neck to look up at him from over your shoulder. Sylus is facing you again, arms now crossed, not a trace of amusement on his face. A glaring contrast to the sarcastic lilt of his voice. “Too far.”
Your stomach drops, and you try to ignore the sensation. So he had to pick one of his safe houses right in the middle of nowhere for a bit of nighttime fun? Are you kidding? “W-Well, I’ll have to make do, then. Could I, uh, trouble one of your men to escort me back into town?”
He gazes at you wordlessly. It’s almost enough to make you forget he’s unashamedly, definitely-not-purposefully, directly in front of you, contentedly sporting his birthday suit right now—with the gall to even jut out a hip. Suddenly, your eyes have this uncontrollable urge to move downwards—but, out of your own, admittedly fragile, fortitude, you manage to keep them on his face, and forbid them from straying any lower. Now is not the time for sightseeing, anyway. You should probably give him his robe back.
“What if I say no?”
And that immediately shoos those thoughts away, making you straighten, the hackles on the back of your neck standing on end. “Then I’d find a way to leave of my own accord.”
A pause. Sylus’s full lips purse. “May I…ask why you wish to leave so badly?”
“Because I shouldn’t really be here,” you reply, sizing him up. No point. The bastard dwarfs you by a good mile. “Last night was—was a mistake.”
It’s not fun having to pull out the classic angsty rom-com line you’ve heard far too many times in books and movies, but you have a point to get across. You manage to refrain from physically cringing, though; he doesn’t. But his grimace is of a different kind—visible dejection. It makes your stomach drop all over again.
“…I see.” Sylus’s Adam’s apple bobs. “Well, then.”
Your conscience screams at you, especially from the sight of that appallingly crushed expression, but you muster the courage to drive in the final nail. This is so weird. What the hell’s got him so worked up? “Yes. So, uh, may I go now?”
The man isn’t looking at you anymore—he’s cast his stare aside, and you’re further perturbed by the evident conflict and uncharacteristic rue on his face. Seriously, what the hell? I certainly am not the main character, so why’s he making that expression over this? We shouldn’t be in this situation in the first place! Such forlorn eyes are reserved for his soulmate only. Something is definitely wrong here.
“Fine,” is his eventual answer, as he heaves a sigh of obvious defeat. “I’ll…call for a driver.”
“Wonderful.” Pushing those questions aside, you’re heartened by his acquiescence and immediately stoop to snatch up your strewn clothing. “I thank you for your hospitality.”
“You don’t want to stay for breakfast, at least?” That inflection of desperation in his voice weirds you out even more. “I’ll brew your coffee just the way you like it.”
Yes, this certainly is Sylus Qin. So gracious and attentive and loving—too bad you’re the wrong recipient of such affections. And how would he even know the way I take my coffee? “No, thank you. But I appreciate the offer. I’ve already overstayed my welcome, you know? Look at the mess I’ve made here! We really were foolish.”
He elicits something like a scoff at that. It sounds brittle. “…Ha. Suppose we were.”
All that your clothing is are your undergarments, a tossed necklace that glimmers with gems so large, you almost blow your cover and gape at them—and an evening gown. A lovely evening gown. You put a hand to an ear and find an earring, modestly pensile—not heavy enough for you to have previously noticed smacking against your cheek. It likely matches the necklace. Would it be a stretch to presume that these are…gifts from him?
Most likely. You’d never be able to afford such jewellery even if you were making over a hundred-grand a year. You should probably give them back. No strings attached. You need to draw a very clear, bold, and uncrossable line here—for your own safety.
You gingerly take up the necklace and decide to act on your hunch, praying it doesn’t backfire. “…Here, I’ll return this to you. I have no further use for it. Do you still have the box it came in? I’ll need it for these earrings, too.”
Sylus is practically glaring at you now—but those brows aren’t knotted in hate, you find. His eyes pierce with undisguised anguish. “…No.”
“No, what?” you press, wandering into dangerous territory. You’re doing your best to conceal your intimidation with this clueless act. “You won’t give me the boxes?”
“I don’t have the boxes,” he clarifies, jaw set. “They are yours.”
“For one evening,” you continue, shaking your head, struggling with this pretense on the inside. “In what world will I ever need to wear these again? Besides, if anyone found out I had such valuable jewellery in my possession, I’d be set right up to be robbed.”
Sylus doesn’t respond, merely settling to stare at you in what appears to be incredulity. His going nonverbal serves to only disconcert you further; there is far more to all of this than what’s already meeting the eye here, and you’re worried you’re being very stupid right now. Still, you must continue to push the envelope so all ties are cut once you leave. “…Same with the dress. I’ll return that to you as well. And the shoes.”
“You…” he breathes after a long pause, uncrossing his arms. They fall limp at his sides. You manage to stay in place and not take a step back at the look in his eyes. “How… Why?”
Resolve steadily beginning to crumble now, you somehow squeak out, “Wh-Why what?”
“Why would you do this to me?” Sylus approaches you, visibly agonised. “Was it something I did? Said? Tell me.”
You press the items in hand to your chest and back away. “Hey—what? I don’t understand—”
“Why are you leaving? So help me, if this is about the Hunter again—” Pausing in his tracks, he runs a hand down over his face, and then up through his hair, head tilted back, peering down at you. The sight serves to inadvertently erupt your stomach into butterflies, which has you immensely uncomfortable. Oh, lord. This is bad. This is very, very bad. He said ‘Hunter’. That cannot bode well. “Listen. I told you last night of my sentiments for her. It has complicated things immensely, yes, and that was my fault. But, please, you must give me a chance, sweetheart. Please. I promise you, there is nothing more I have to do with her—”
The words are out of your mouth before you know it. “I don’t care about that. It was a fling. Shouldn’t we part ways now?”
Yep. Precisely the wrong thing to say. Well done, you! Now, why don’t you go ahead and sign your death certificate while you still can for us? Because that look on his face right now might just mean an early grave.
Or not. He goes pale, and then he flushes red. What he doesn’t understand, can’t understand, and won’t understand is that, as much as it pains you terribly to treat and speak to him in such a way, laying cutting words on thick so he’ll fold and let you go permanently is crucial at present. You do not want anything to do with a crime lord. You do not want anything to do with any of this. In fact, you’d take your awful nine-to-five and condescending coworkers and verbally abusive clients over all of this any day.
“Is that…truly…?” The poor man can’t even seem to find the words. What have you done? Have you just succeeded in knocking the prideful head of Onychinus down a peg or two? Well, if that’s how it’s going to have to be. Perhaps it’ll do him some good to be humbled—but you don’t want to break his heart.
If it can be broken by you. You almost laugh out loud at the notion. Me? Right, and pigs can fly! “Look, Sylus—I don’t want to, uh, hurt you here, but I really don’t think any of this is very sensible. I, uh, am…aware of your sentiments for the Hunter, and that—”
“I told you, I feel nothing for her.” Now Sylus grasps your upper arms, and you immediately flinch at the unexpected physical contact. Upon seeing you jolt in his hold, though, Sylus’s expression twists and he lets you go, turning away. He runs a hand down his face. “I just—have I not proven myself to you countless times? Why must you—why must you continue to toy with me so?”
You blink in shock. “T-Toy with you?”
“Yes, toy with me.” Never would you have thought you’d see such a wretched expression on this man’s face. And it appears Sylus can barely even look at you, too. Oh, god, I am missing so much context here. “You—You know of my feelings. Was last night not a statement enough? Was baring myself to you completely and taking you to my bed not enough of a physical demonstration of my affections?”
Speechless, you can only gawk at him and try to collect your thoughts—try and make heads or tails of all this. You can hardly even remember to blink. Is he…well, is he confessing his love right now?
For, from the little you can tell, what seems to be the nth time?
Just what kind of person am I in the shoes of now? What in the world has been going on here? Why is the original storyline not being followed?
“I…I once said that I wouldn’t care if you never reciprocated my feelings,” Sylus continues, heaving a sigh. “But now…now I am unsure if I can stand this any more. Especially not when you turn around and do—this. To me.”
“…Okay, now, look,” you try, forcing yourself to relax where you stand and take a tentative step forward. How do I ask him to explain all this to me without looking like some blockhead who’s mysteriously lost her memories? “The thing is, Sylus, is that…well…let’s say I’ve had some, you know, second thoughts? You get me? You see, I’m not sure if—”
“And yet you humour me anyway.” The man turns and faces you again, eyes flaring. “You let me take you out for dinner and wear all the dresses I pick out for you and attend the various events I ask you to be my plus-one for. Can’t you see? Don’t you understand? You’re…You are being so cruel.”
“…Cruel?” you echo, voice small and pathetically puzzled.
But he doesn’t seem to notice. “Yes, cruel. You are leading me on, despite knowing of my desire to enter into a relationship with you. And last night—when you kissed me back, and—”
Sylus cuts himself off and turns away again, back fully to you now, both hands rising to his face. Those wide shoulders lift and sag with a heavy exhale, and then, after a moment of onerous silence, he shakes his head. “…I couldn’t care less if you’re just using me for my money, but now…now, I’ve begun to dislike being taken advantage of—even by you.”
The diamond necklace and dress in your hold right now suddenly feel terribly burdensome; you’re left at a complete loss because you have no idea what to do or say to rectify this. To rectify this mess you’ve somehow gotten yourself into that, frankly, has absolutely nothing to do with you.
The woman he seems to love is not me, you think, squeezing your eyes shut. And it doesn’t appear to be the MC either. Seriously, what kind of freak show is this? What am I going to do?
“…Do you truly feel nothing?” You start at the sound of his low voice, as Sylus half-turns to peer at you side-long, from over a shoulder. His expression spears you through. “Will you not even give me a chance? Even after—after everything?”
What do I say? How do you reply? This abrupt, unforeseen situation has not gone the way you expected it to at all. First, it began with sheer panic on your end and warm affection on his, and then the first obstacle of just wanting to get away—and then this, some bizarre escalation into a love confession, of all things.
What is this, seriously? Pride & Prejudice? Only, Elizabeth Bennet had her memories—you do not, and you haven’t been given even five minutes to think about all this and figure it out and ascertain a way to go home. That’s part of the reason why you wanted to use the bathroom—so you could sit on the toilet seat and have your panic attack in there, in peace.
So how are you supposed to reply to this? How, other than disappointing him again—at least, what appears to be ‘again’? Perhaps it would all work out for the better, though. It really looks like that…with whatever’s been going on here, he might need closure.
And if he has to get it from you, a woman he has no idea is a stranger inhabiting (what you can only rationalise to be) another woman’s body, then so be it. Wouldn’t it be a win-win, either way? Then, you could perhaps have the assurance that he won’t be bothering you after this.
You still feel awful though, even though none of this is your fault. It really does look like he’s got some serious, er, sentiments for ‘you’ here, which he should really only have for the MC—and how it all started in the first place, you don’t think you really want to know. It sounds very messy. And melodramatic. And probably eye-roll-and-yawn-worthy, if that makes sense.
This is a love interest from a dating sim, remember. What else could one expect from such an individual and, well, world, other than silly theatrics?
“Well…” Falteringly, you try again to get the right words out, and deliver them best and as kindly as you can. I really, really don’t know what to say here. “I can see now that I’ve…hurt you, Sylus, and I should—apologise for that. I’m, uh, sorry. It’s clear I’ve been careless with—your feelings, despite being knowledgeable about them, and…essentially, er, cashing in on them, so to speak.” You wince; ‘cashing in on them’? Are you serious? Are you trying to rub salt in his apparent wounds here? “It was…terribly wrong and, as you said, cruel of me. So, well, it’s largely because of that, guilt has been eating at me, and…after last night…after, you know, um, having relations, I think I’ve—taken this too far.” Clutching the items in hand to your chest closely has a weak way of self-encouragement and shielding, you smile up at him feebly. Then you promptly avert your eyes at the look in his. Oh, lord. “…I really am sorry. I was selfish. It was unfair to you and, well, inexcusable.”
Left with nothing much else to add, you fall silent, hoping your ‘apology’ came across sincere enough. You’ve never been much of an actress. And this man, for all your familiarity with his character in-game, was never an easy one to fool—and certainly not one to suffer them.
“…I see,” Sylus finally utters, after a long, long moment of silence. His hands are on his hips and he’s still only half-facing you. He’s also, unfortunately, still quite unclothed. Not that he’s no sight for sore eyes, you ponder appreciatively, before wrenching yourself back to the present, scolding yourself. Idiot! Focus on the issue at hand, not his—assets!
“So that’s why…” you begin once more, just as haltingly, “it would be better if we went our separate ways, you know…?”
Again, nothing. He makes no reply. You stare down at your bare feet and wonder at how this is all going to end—how you’re going to get back to your world. Is there even a way back? Will I ever find out just what’s going on here? Like, why the hell I’m in the realm of Love & Deepspace?
With your other hand, you clutch at the robe around you, half-considering slipping it off and giving it back to him—after changing in the bathroom, of course. What a weird dream, whatever this is. Or way to wake up, I don’t know. I really haven’t the faintest idea what’s going on here. I’m in way over my head, aren’t I?
“Then, you don’t love me?” Sylus’s voice is quiet, but it makes you jump a bit again, nonetheless. Your head snaps up to stare at him, at his disconsolate, yet strangely resigned, expression. “You feel nothing?”
If you were in any other situation, in any other context? Sure. But right now? Not in the slightest. Being thrown into such a compromising—and dangerous, if he were any other man—position as this out of nowhere has effectively erased any and all feelings you may have initially had for what you believed to be nothing more than a bunch of pixels, of code and programming, on a screen. Objectively, he’s a total dreamboat, and even now, you’re actively trying not to stare—but that’s about as deep and far as it goes. Other than that, you feel nothing. Nothing other than dread and a need to flee, that is, even if you’re pretty certain he’d never intentionally hurt you. He may run a crime syndicate, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s the type who enjoys inflicting indiscriminate harm upon others.
So, with a contrite, awkward, slow shake of your head, you finally deliver, what you hope is, the softest final blow. “…No, I do not. I’m sorry.”
Again, silence. Penitently, you cautiously set about gathering ‘your’ things from the carpet, far more than eager to finally take your leave. I’d better find those boxes he gave me for this jewellery, so I can return them. Same with this dress—oh, and these shoes—
“Leave it,” comes his voice from above, and you jerk back in fright to peer up at him. And it’s clear Sylus noticed your reaction, too, which you feel immediately sorry for, because his expression just looks even more wounded. “…I’ll summon someone to clean this up for you in a bit. Just…if you need a shower, feel free.”
“Thank you.” Leaping at the chance, you straighten and bob a grateful bow in the meantime. It earns you a flimsy scoff from the man. “I’ll have one now. Er…I apologise for taking your robe, I—wasn’t thinking—”
“It’s fine.” Sylus waves a dismissive hand, still not looking at you. He instead strides for the wardrobe, pulling it open, selecting another robe inside for himself. The room is oppressive with his clear melancholy. I really didn’t mean to hurt him. “There are…plenty of your size in here, if you need one. Also, there are clothes. Take what you need.”
Heart squeezing at the allusion in his words, you beat it down and do your utmost to tell yourself that you have nothing to feel bad for—it’s whoever, well, ‘I’ was before I arrived who’s at fault here! “…You, um, have my thanks. I’ll be quick, and out the door before you even know it! Haha…”
No response, and you shrink in on yourself in shame, inwardly cursing. The man merely dons the robe with his back to you, shoves his feet into his slippers, and barely spares you a glance as he turns to retrieve his phone from the bedside table. “…Your driver will be here in half an hour. There’s no hurry.”
With that, Sylus crosses the room, presses his phone to his ear, pulls open the door, and curtly clicks it shut behind him. Now, you are left completely alone in this vast room, where his clothes from the previous night still lay strewn on the floor, the bedsheets all twisted and haphazard on the expansive mattress, the analog clock on the wall faintly ticking away. It’s getting on to about nine in the morning. Wouldn’t this be Sylus’s bedtime? Well, you suppose that’s not your issue anymore—as if it ever was. Selecting the clothes you will wear from the wardrobe, you step into the ensuite, lock the door behind you, and get into the shower.
Well, what the fuck. It’s not everyday one ends up in a whole other dimension with a whole other life, let alone said dimension being an otome game and ending up in your favourite love interest’s bed. And then having a whole angsty dispute with him that would be quite soap opera worthy. Seriously, I have to be dreaming.
Oh, well. Once you get in the car awaiting you and depart the premises and never lay eyes on that man again, you suppose you’ll be able to adjust somehow to your new environment, and then get to figuring out a way to get back home. If that’s possible. I should hope it is.
Its actually so important to me that Ryland Grace is a teacher. Not a professor, not someone at the top of their field teaching the smartest people, but a middle school science teacher. Of course he figured out how to communicate with an alien in under a day. His main expertise is explaining complex subjects to a group that doesnt have the vocabulary or context to fully understand them. He knows exactly how to simplify things down to its core principles without sacrificing any of the scientific logic. And he knows how to do it without having to throw around hyperspecific terminology.
୨୧ — Valko was sprawled on his stomach, one arm dangling off the edge of the bed, hair an absolute disaster, ears twitching occasionally at sounds only he could hear. His tail had escaped the covers sometime in the night and lay flopped over your legs like a furry anchor.
It wagged once. Twice. Even in sleep, some part of him always knew you were there.
You'd been awake for an hour already- crept out at an ungodly time to execute your master plan, then slipped back in to wait. The apartment smelled like vanilla and sugar and slightly burnt frosting (you'd scraped off the evidence), and the living room was housing a mountain of wrapped presents you'd been secretly hoarding for weeks.
His nose twitched.
There it is.
You watched his brow furrow, still mostly asleep, processing the unusual scent data. His tail started wagging faster. Then his ears perked up- one, then the other, swiveling toward the bedroom door like little radar dishes.
“Mmrph” A grumble. His arm reached out blindly, patting the mattress until he found your thigh and latched on, “Why's it smell like... cake?”
“Good morning to you too.”
One golden eye cracked open. Then the other. He squinted at you suspiciously, clearly not trusting his own senses this early, “‘S not my birthday.”
“It literally is.”
He buried his face back into the pillow, “Birthdays are for people who age. I refuse. I'm eternal.”
You snorted and scratched behind one ear. His whole body went boneless, a low rumble building in his chest.
Cheater, he thought hazily. Using the ears against me.
“Made you a cake,” you said in the sweetest fucking voice.
His head lifted. Both ears now at full attention, pointed directly at you with laser focus.
“…What kind?”
“Chocolate. Three layers. Homemade buttercream… There may also be irresponsible amounts of presents. That leather jacket you've been staring at for six months? Those limited edition headphones that sold out in three minutes?" You grinned. "Oh, and I contacted that artist you like for a custom commission- it won't be ready for weeks so you're getting an IOU with a badly drawn wolf on it. Don't judge my art skills."
His tail was going insane now- hard enough to shake the bed. But his face was doing that thing where he tried to look cool and unaffected and was failing spectacularly.
She remembered, he thought, something warm and overwhelming expanding in his chest. Every stupid little thing I mentioned once. She was listening. She planned this. For me.
You didn't get to finish the sentence.
Valko moved fast and suddenly you were pinned beneath him, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his face inches from yours.
“You,” he said roughly, “are so annoying.”
“Rude. I made you cake-“
“The most annoying person I've ever met.” He kissed your forehead. “Insufferable even.” Your nose. “Absolutely unbearable.” The corner of your mouth.
You cupped his face in both hands.
“Happy birthday, my little wolfie.”
He made a small, undignified sound. His tail drooped. His ears flattened.
And then he buried his face in your neck, arms wrapping around you tight enough to squeeze the air from your lungs, and just... stayed there. Breathing you in.
You held him tighter, scratching at the base of his ears as his whole body melted against yours.
His tail started wagging again- slower, softer.
Best day, he thought. Best person. Gonna marry her.
“So,” you finally said, breaking the silence, “wanna see your presents? Orrrr is it still too early?”
He bit your shoulder. Not hard. Just enough to make you yelp.
“Five more minutes.” He lifted his head, flashing that sharp grin- still slightly watery but getting cockier, “Then presents. Then cake. Then I'm gonna show you exactly how grateful I am. Repeatedly.”
“...It's eight AM.”
“And? I've got all day. You gave me three layers. That's at least three rounds.”
“That math doesn't-“
He dropped back down, pressing a kiss to your pulse point, “My birthday. My math.”
୨୧ — You were drooling, eyes rolling back as you dug your nails into his shoulders trying to slow Valko down. Useless. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as he drove into you, his name falling from your lips like a prayer between desperate pants.
“V-Val- hhahh- Val-ko- s'too- m'gonna- too m-much-“
Words? What were those? Your brain had turned to mush about three orgasms ago.
A whimper caught in your throat. Tears pricked at your lashes at the stretch, at being so fucking full, like he'd shoved your organs aside to make room.
“Hah-“ His voice broke, and you could feel every muscle in his body trembling, fighting something feral as his tail lashed wildly behind him. “Tryna be gentle but you-“
He fucked you like a beast anyway. Forehead pressed to yours, ears flat against his head, panting into your mouth. Your slick made the filthiest sounds every time he thrust home and when his teeth found your neck hard enough to break skin, the noise you made had his rhythm stuttering.
“Sorry- ngh- didn't mean-“ But he didn't stop. Couldn't.
His hand slid under your back, arching you up into him. The other pinned your wrist to the mattress. Blood smeared across your throat from his lips.
“That's it, that’s my good girl-“ Completely gone. Ruined.
You came screaming and do you think that made him slow down? Fuck no. He didn't slow down even a little.
“Again.” Barely a whisper. Begging. Pleading for just one more scream from those pretty lips…
“Valko- can't- no more-“
His ears drooped, this wounded little sound in his chest, “I know babe, m'sorry-“ His hips snapped forward anyway, “what’s a pup supposed to do? You just feel so good- cant- shit- can’t stop-“
Your cunt was a sloppy, ruined mess at this point- syrupy strings of your cum and arousal coating his cock, smearing creamy across your inner thighs. You could feel yourself dripping between your ass, making a puddle beneath you.
Then something big started pressing at your entrance.
You felt it before your sex stupid brain could process it- this thick, swelling pressure at your already stuffed hole. Stretching you wider. Wider. Too wide-
His knot.
It shoved inside with a wet POP and you shrieked, back bowing clean off the mattress, nails carving bleeding trenches down his spine. The sudden fullness -that fat bulge locking him in, plugging you up, pressing against every sensitive nerve- had your vision whiting out again. Your cunt spasmed around him, another orgasm cresting before the last one even finished, milking his knot in desperate fluttering clenches.
“Huh? What happened?” Total confusion. His ears shot up, head tilting, “You alright babe? Did I do something?”
“Your- your fucking knot- fuckfuckfuck-“ you choked out.
“What?” He blinked down at you, all golden puppy eyes while his monster sized knot split you in half, “What's wrong with it?”
“Ser -seriously? Sh’too- It's s’too big-“
“It is?” As he smirks he shifts his weight and you damn near passed out, “seems fine to me?”
You laughed -or sobbed, hard to tell- and it broke into a moan when he rolled his hips experimentally. You grabbed his hand and shoved it down between your bodies, pressing it against the bulge in your lower belly. Obscene. Fucking obscene.
“Valko.”
He looked down. Blinked. His tail started wagging. Actually wagging!
“Oh wow.” Like he'd found something mildly interesting, “That's pretty crazy.”
“YEAH.”
“Does it actually hurt?” He pressed against the bulge with genuine curiosity and your eyes nearly rolled back into your skull. Tail still going.
“Do you- hahh- do you seriously not know- how huge-“
“Dunno, never measured?” He dropped a casual kiss on your forehead, sweet as anything, while his fat fucking knot throbbed like it was trying to reshape your insides. “Always been like this. Annnnd those noises don’t really convince me you’re in pain.”
You were gonna fucking murder him. Right after you finished losing your mind on his cock.
He ground down into you and you came so hard you forgot your own name, pussy clenching around him like a goddamn vice.
“Oh- shit- shit-“ Finally cracking, his voice going high and whiney, “Squeezing me so tight, you’re gonna make me-“
He buried his face in your neck and came with a broken whine, and you felt it- pulse after pulse of hot cum pumping into you, filling you up til your belly rounded out even more. His arms caged you in, tail thumping against the mattress as he bred you full.
“S'good,” he slurred against your throat…
“Valko,” you whimpered, brain leaking out your ears., “M'so full-“
“Mm?” He sounded so pleased with himself.
Still absolutely clueless.
Way later -who even knows how long- he was still on top of you, weight braced on his elbows so he didn't crush you. His knot pulsed lazy and another warm gush filled you up.
“Hey,” he mumbled into your hair, and you could hear the grin in his voice.
“Mm.”
“So...” His fingers walked playfully up your side, making you squirm- which only made you clench around his knot and whimper, “You think my knot's big, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“Nah but like-“ He propped himself up to look at you, smirking, tail swishing, “You were really loud about it. Pretty sure the neighbors know now.”
“I hate you.”
“Mmhm.” He rolled his hips just slightly -enough to make you gasp- and his grin widened. “That why you're still milking my cock right now?”
Your face burned, “I- I can't- it's involuntary-“
“Sure it is.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, nuzzling, “S'okay baby. I think it's cute how much you love my huge knot.”
“I never said-“
“‘S'so fucking big Valko,'”he mimicked in a breathy voice, and you smacked his chest while he snickered. “'Your knot Valko, oh my god-“
“I do NOT sound like that.”
“You kinda do.” Another lazy grind. Another gush of cum. His eyes glittered. “Wanna hear what else you said? Got real creative toward the end there.”
You shoved at his shoulder uselessly. He didn't budge, just laughed and buried his face in your neck, pressing smiling kisses to your skin.
“M'just teasing, babe” His tail curled around your thigh, “youre cute when you're embarrassed.” He nuzzled the tippy top of your head.
“I'm gonna kill you when your knot finally goes down.”
“Mm, that's fair.” He snuggled closer, entirely unbothered, “Gives me like twenty more minutes to annoy you though.”
His hips shifted again, lazy and deliberate, and the noise you made was mortifying.
MC slowly raised a brow, placing her smoothie down on the table in her kitchen, watching as you paced back and forth. "You think?"
"I can feel it." You muttered, biting your thumbnail. "It's like, whenever I'm out, I feel someone's gaze on me, but I don't see anyone when I turn around."
"How long has this been happening?" Your twin asks, expression smoothing out to be serious. A stalker was nothing to take lightly after all, and with you not being a Hunter like your sister, it would be difficult to defend yourself if it came down to a physical attack.
You sighed, rubbing your face as you moved to sit on top of the table, crossing your legs together. "It's only been two weeks, I really only started to get super worried like, yesterday." You pout at your twin and reach out to take a cookie from the plate in the middle of the table. "Can you get your coworker to be my bodyguard or something?"
"Xavier?" MC blinks, then hums in thought, cupping her chin. "You know, that's not a bad idea-"
"i was joking. I don't want any of your boyfriends near me."
"i don't have multiple boyfriends [Name]!" MC huffs, smacking your arm, making you wince and look to the side. "Uh huh, are you sure they don't think the same?"
"I'm not dating anyone!"
Poor MC. She hasn't seen the looks of pure longing on each of the Male Leads faces.
The reason why you didn't want Xavier to be your bodyguard was mainly because you didn't want to disrupt anything that may be going on. You did share the same face after all.
You've read stories like these. The Male Leads fall in love with the twin sister.
Ha! That's not happening to you anytime soon!
You had already told yourself that as long as they were happy, you were happy. You weren't MC after all - not in this new life - you were still and would always be [Name].
You had to keep reminding yourself that. You can look at the menu, but you better not order.
"Maybe stay at my place for now." Your sister pipes up, making you focus back on her. She glances to the side, where a small gun stood on the counter separating the living room and the kitchen. "Until this stalker goes away anyway."
You shook your head. "Nah, it's fine." You jump off the chair, stretching your arms above your head. "It's probably nothing to be honest-"
"Nothing in this world is probably nothing." MC interrupts.
". . . Look at you Little Miss Motivational Speaker."
"Shut up."
"But really, don't worry." You give your sister a small smile. "I'll be fine. It's honestly just paranoia because of all the Wanderer attacks that have been happening. Trust me."
What a fool you were.
You honestly couldn't tell if this situation was worse than a wanderer attack.
A soft dark tail swayed in the wind, ears twitching in response to the sound of the slipper you had been holding in your hand.
What did you literally just say!? You didn't want to get involved with any of the characters because you didn't want to ruin or disrupt anything.
So you take a step back, and the man (wolf, your mind whispered into your ear) leaped off your balcony and cracked his neck by moving it left and right, the pops his neck filling the silence. He takes a step towards you
And another one.
And another one.
Until your directly face to face, your back against the wall and his breathe near your face.
bad news guys i just found out i symbolize hope within the narrative so there’s gonna be a critical turning point where i die to symbolize despair 😰 maybe i’ll get to appear as a ghost or hallucination or something later to show all is not lost?
Aang won't tell you this but he thinks that kissing you is as instinctual as breathing. When dawn breaks, the sun climbing past the mountain peaks, the first thing he does when he wakes up is roll over to kiss you. He'll tug you back into his chest if you had shifted through the night, his strong arm wrapping around you like a band effectively trapping your sleep-warm body as close to his as humanly possible. Each morning, without fail, starts with a sweet trail of kisses, beginning at your temple, moving down to your cheek, and skimming along your jawline just before he reaches your neck. His face slots into the junction of it like a puzzle piece, his breath warm and lips tender as he mumbles a drowsy "Good morning."
After his morning meditation under the juniper tree, his smile is sunbeam bright when he meets you at the back doorstep. Slender fingers wrap around the steaming mug of tea you hold out to him, he sighs happily because it's always made just the way he likes, semi-sweet and very fragrant. His free hand curls into the fabric of your lounge tunic, palm like a brand on your hip as he kisses your forehead in thanks.
On the days when there just isn't enough time for him to make breakfast with you, the minute you set his plate down in front of him, he's catching your hand and holding it by the wrist to kiss from the heel of your palm to the tips of your fingers. Aang always holds your gaze when he thanks you for feeding him, needing you to see how grateful he is.
For the days he can afford to linger a little longer, he'll stand behind you, arms at home around your torso and lips pressed to the nape of your neck. Of course, he has to adjust his stance or bend his head to reach, but he doesn't mind, not even when you tell him he'll end up looking like a cooked shrimp if he isn't careful. Sometimes there are playful kisses, the ones he'll demand to give you in exchange for your towel he purposely snatched while you were showering. You let him, always, and once he's had his fill for the moment, he'd grab the towel from you and wrap you in it himself, eyes blazing with a heat hotter than the water you just bathed in. He'll kiss your neck, wet little pecks that stop at your breasts before he lets you go so that you can get ready for the day.
If you're going in the same direction, walking hand in hand, every so often he'll kiss the back of your hand. If you just so happen to be speaking at the time, it disrupts your train of thought. He does do it on purpose, and grins like a pleased puss whenever you hide your flustered face in his bicep. If you're going your separate ways, a 'goodbye' kiss is mandatory and it'll throw off his whole day if he doesn't get one. There was one particular afternoon he rushed out so quickly you were convinced spirits were nipping at the tail end of his glider as he only managed a rushed-out 'love you forever' before he was jetting off into the sky. You were left standing there, arms outstretched, eyes closed and ready for his usual kiss, it never came.
You decide not to think too much about it, lest you start dwelling on the fact that this could be where the inconsistency would start. Yes, you're spoiled to the core when it comes to his clockwork kisses and you have no shame in that whatsoever. Still, the overthinking has made you rather petulant about your kiss or lack thereof, causing you to nearly crush the newly signed scroll while wrapping it back up. Then, the breeze picked up and quick as a blink, a blur of saffron shot through the open window.
Of course, he came back.
"Aang, what-"
"I forgot somethin'." Is all he says before he leans his glider against the wall, then you're being pulled forward and dipped into a sweeping kiss, so long and lingering as if he were trying to take your very breath away.
Your arms wrap around his neck and he sighs into your mouth before pulling away and righting you. Dazed is how he leaves you as he grabs his glider and disappears the way he came, the 'love you forever' sounding like a wind chime as he goes.
Slow languid kisses in the late evening are sacred; after your council meetings end, and if his lectures with the Acolytes don't carry into the late night. The lucky days like these find you perched in his lap, your hands gripping his biceps or around his neck—wherever they can find purchase as his tongue splits the seam of your lips to chase yours, mapping the cavern of your mouth and licking the taste of apple cake out of it.
He'll scoop you up then, taking you to your shared bed, laying you back against the pillows before crawling between your thighs and peppering biting kisses up the apex. When you're fed up with the teasing, he'll apologize with slick and sticky kisses up your wet slit, asking for your forgiveness in between kitten licks to your throbbing clit.
You'll plead for the weight of him against you and he'll work his way back up, kissing the expanse of your body til he's back to your lips. Big hands squeeze your cheeks as he buries himself in your tight heat, heavy cock kissing your spongy sweet spot while you eagerly kiss the taste of your arousal out of his mouth, not stopping until he's whining, claiming he needs air. The absolute weak man that he is doesn't let you go far, he'll kiss the slivers of skin that he thought he missed while you bask in the warm haze of afterglow.
Goodnight kisses are merely a sleepy but no less meaningful chaste little thing to any part of you he can reach in his drowsy state. He'd be half-awake as he tucks you against his side muttering incoherently about one spot he never got to reach.
“stop watching that shit,” bf!katsuki groans, letting his head fall back against the couch. “you’ve seen it at least twelve times.”
“katsuki, i’m watching it for research purposes.”
“research, my ass. you’re staring at my chest the whole time.” he points at the screen. “i see how your eyes drift, you pervert.”
you gasp, placing a dramatic hand over your chest.
“excuse you!? i take this ad very seriously, just so you know.”
a smile threatens to break across your face, but you fight it.
“oh yeah?” he asks, a smirk tugging at his lips as well. “what’s the ad about then?”
you immediately freeze.
“ugh— it’s about…” your eyes dart to the screen. “uh…”
nothing. your brain comes up completely blank.
a second passes. then an idea hits.
“you don’t know your own ad, katsuki?” you fire back. “that’s so unprofessional.”
his smirk vanishes.
“hah?” he lifts his head, staring at you in disbelief. “what kind of comeback is that?”
“it’s a valid question.”
“no, it’s not!”
“it is.”
“you’re full of shit.”
a laugh slips out before you can stop it.
“sounds like someone doesn’t know his own ad.”
his eye twitches.
“don’t turn this against me.” he points at you accusingly. “give me that phone.”
“nope.”
“give it.”
“make me.”
the second the words leave your mouth, you regret them. his grin is immediate.
“oh, now you’ve done it.”
“katsuki—”
he lunges across the couch.
“no— katsuki!!”
you squeal, nearly dropping your phone as you scramble away. he grabs for it while you twist out of reach, both of you laughing and shoving each other around the cushions.
“hand it over!”
“never!”
“you watched it twelve times!”
“research purposes!”
“liar!” he barks, already trying to pry the phone from your hands while you laugh again.
a/n: nobody is watching that damn ad for the product he's selling. tags: @tokkushin @kamislop
Having free rein of your best friend's home and then combining that with a touch of insomnia is exactly what has Aang currently strolling through the long, winding halls of the Fire Nation stronghold. Zuko had left him ages ago—but only after Aang insisted that he should go and spend the night with you, as the two of them had just returned earlier in the day from a month-long incursion. The palace is mostly quiet given the late hour; the numbers of the Royal Procession have dwindled for the day, and the ones still on duty don't bat an eye at Aang as he wanders through the halls.
'Free rein means opening any and every door that doesn't look like private quarters.' Zuko had said earlier, so it was entirely an accident when Aang noticed he had ended up inside the private library. He only really wanted to get a better look at the portrait hanging on the wall, that's the only reason he opened the already ajar door wider and stepped past the threshold and into the dimly lit space. The Fire Lord and Fire Lady, his very dear friends are the subject of the royal portrait sitting high on the wall, both donned in the nation's colors and looking every bit as regal as their titles entail. You're both standing, him looking down at you and you up at him, and he's pressing a kiss to the back of your hand that's held up to his face. The painting managed to capture the soft expressions that you're always seen openly giving each other.
The unconscious smile that had formed on Aang's face is wiped clean as a muffled sound slices through the air. His eyes drop to the low seat that's placed against the wall right under the portrait and the irritating insomnia and contemplative curiosity give way to lust. Aang doesn't leave immediately after. No, he hides behind one of the many bookcases, ensuring he's out of sight as his heart thumps a beat akin to the flap of hummingbird wings.
Chancing another look, he sees you spread out in Zuko's lap, robe open with your nightgown bunched up to your neckline. Aang's cock gives a traitorous stir as it begins to swell and stiffen in his trousers when he sees that you're stuffed full and bouncing in your husband's lap. There's a strong hand covering your mouth and another guiding your movements up and down the girthy length leaving an imprint that bulges slightly through the skin of your tummy.
Wisps of steam billow from Aang's mouth and he has to bat them away and fold his lips so they don't float to the ceiling and give away his position. Another peek through the rows of the shelf and it could be a trick of the lamplight, but he swears amber eyes meet his for a fleeting second before Zuko's head turns so he can whisper something in your ear. He should leave. But the Fire Lord's breathy whimper baits him like a siren call, keeps him rooted to that one spot as he brushes a hand down the front of his sleep pants. Aang tries in vain to will his erection away with a hard squeeze, as he wonders what you could have done to have Zuko make such a sound. Or if just the simple act of being snug between your slick walls was enough to make him sound so wrecked.
Your ample tits bounce in time to Zuko's thrusts, the last nail in Aang's proverbial coffin as he unlaces his trousers, freeing himself with a near frantic need. The cool air hits him as a blast that nearly makes him sob as he grips the base of his shaft. The shame he feels seems to curdle like milk through him as he dribbles saliva along the velvety, veiny length of him.
He'll consider it punishment the way he's fisting himself so meanly, the strokes long and tight as he tries to match it to the rhythm of skin cracking against skin just out of reach.
"Gods, I missed you." Zuko groans and Aang's back bows, free hand pressing to the shelf for balance as his greedy gaze swallows up the sight of you two kissing. He's so into it, so he's completely unaware that his heated palm has left a perfect handprint in the wood, burnt on evidence of his time spent in a place he shouldn't have been in.
There's shifting, the couch creaks next and Aang's craning his neck over the cases to see that you're on your knees now, slot between Zuko's legs as you suck the taste of yourself off of him. From his hideaway, Aang can hear you working your husband to completion, every flick of your tongue, each gag as you swallow down another inch, the suction of your cheeks and intake of breath as your head is forced closer to his groin.
Zuko's robe is gone with his bare chest heaving, and his other hand fisted in his long, dishevelled hair as he thrusts into your mouth like a man who's definitely missed you and trying to leave his mark. This is when Aang stops trying to keep pace and sets his own, he jerks faster as it pulses like it's got a mind of its own, precum spurting a steady stream that he uses to lube the aching glide from root to tip.
Aang barely has time to smother the moan as his stomach lurches and the sudden orgasm collapses his chest like he's been struck with a battering ram. Now he's scrambling and finds a dusty tome to release his spend into. It snaps shut with a sloppy snick and is hastily put back on the shelf as he tucks himself back into the confines of his trousers.
One last look before he leaves finds you two still unaware, still wrapped up in each other and none the wiser about what he's just done. He finally leaves, light on his feet, fabric of his clothes merely a whisper on the wind.
"Does he think he was being discreet?"
notes: this idea been in the drafts for a minute with three total reworks. enjoy!!
aang x f!reader | modern day
summary: a house party brings out a side of aang he isn't used to.
cw: slight violence, a man is misogynistic creep
The house is packed, crowded from wall to wall with gyrating bodies and plastic cups sloshing sticky alcohol onto an already too-sticky floor. Music blasts through the confined space, its bass loud enough to shake the house's foundation and the bones under Aang's flushed skin. It should be an annoyance—it usually is as loud house parties aren't Aang's preferred spot for a Saturday night. But Sokka's hosting it and he had pleaded incessantly for Aang to come, to the point there had been tears and a surprising amount of snot.
While Sokka's begging had worn down Aang's reluctance, it was you who had driven the final nail in the coffin. You weren't much of a party-goer either, much preferring to spend your free time doing anything else. But you had a weak spot for Sokka—you both did—and had smiled at Aang with a shrug.
"If we go now, he can't ask us to attend any other parties for the next two months," you had said and that had made Aang feel a little better. Even though Sokka had yelled "Two months!?" indignantly which you had easily ignored. "So let's go and do our social duties for a few hours then we can come home and binge-watch nature documentaries."
Aang had grinned. "Blue Plant II?"
You had grinned back. "Would it be anything else?"
Sokka had rolled his eyes. "You're both so old and boring. I'm literally older than both of you and yet—"
Aang had tuned out his rant with practised ease while you had entertained Sokka's loud woes with the purpose of riling him up more and life simply continued.
Which brings Aang back to bass thrumming through his skin and his drink wetting his hand due to the dripping condensation. He nods politely to those who greet him, entertains a brief conversation here and there from passing acquaintances and is coaxed into playing beer pong by a tipsy Toph.
"You'll be my eyes," she delegates as she drags him towards the noisy table lined with strategically placed cups of beer. "Just tell me where to aim and let me work my magic."
"Wouldn't that be cheating?" Aang asks, allowing himself to be situated by Toph's side and already taking his task seriously. "Seems like an unfair advantage."
Toph snorts. "I'm blind, Twinkletoes."
Aang nods solemnly. "Touche."
They proceed to win four rounds of beer pong and Aang wanders away from it, a little high off off their successes. He leaves a cackling Toph stuffing her winnings into her pockets, begins to head towards the kitchen for some water when a thought strikes him—he hasn't seen you in a while.
You had stayed close together when you first entered the house, hands entwined as you navigated your way through a much smaller crowd. Then Katara had appeared, bright-eyed and pretty in her shimmery eye shadow and to pull you away from him. Aang had only blinked in mild surprise as he watched you disappear up the stairs, you just as surprised as Katara yelled, "I'll have her back soon!" before you both vanished around the corner. That was the last time he had seen you and while he knows you're fine, he can't help but feel antsy because, well, he misses you and it's hard to know you're both in the same vicinity and he can't see you.
Aang decides to locate Katara since you'll most likely be with her and starts towards the stairs. But on his way there, he glances towards the room of crowded dancing bodies and stops right in his tracks because right there—you're right there.
You look…ethereal is the right word.
It's like the rest of the room fades away as Aang's eyes focus on you, trained to pick you out in a mass of even a million people. You're dancing to music, hips swinging with the beat as your hands slide over the swells of your chest and down your stomach. Katara's right behind you, sure grip on your hips as she guides you through the rhythm and you're both grinning, lost in the moment of something stronger than friendship and built upon true comfort. Aang watches, his smile growing and heart fond, and is about to turn away to look for Sokka when he catches it.
A man dances towards you with intent, a smarmy grin on his face as he gets closer and closer. You and Katara haven't noticed yet but Aang has and he's already moving, pushing his way through shaking backsides and jabbing elbows. He's still got his sights on you, all of his senses on high and boiling over the moment the man gets to you before he does. Then it's like everything goes into slow motion; Aang watches this man set his hands on your hips and press forward until you're trapped between him and Katara. Immediately your eyes fly open at the intrusion and your hands are quick to push the man away, pretty features twisting with unbridled rage. Katara is right there with you, stepping between you and the man with her own fury front and centre.
The man doesn't back down; he even attempts to reach around Katara to touch you and Aang doesn't know when he snaps.
He just does.
"I don't see what the problem is," the man laughs, his grip on your wrist uncomfortably firm. "Can't a guy approach two beautiful ladies and dance with them? Especially if one of them catches his eye?" His wink towards you brings forth a visceral reaction, your face scrunched up in disgust. "And I don't see a man with her so unless you two are scissor sisters, maybe you can tell your bodyguard here to back off. Unless she wants to join—?"
He's promptly interrupted by a swift punch to the face that sends him staggering into a dancing couple. Both you and Katara are startled by the suddenness and are then shocked when they see who caused it.
"Aang," you say softly, as if in a trance as Aang comes to stand in front of you, keeping you and Katara hidden behind his bulk. "Did you just—?"
"He did," Katara confirms, her voice just as soft. "Trust me, I had to double check to see if he was the one who actually threw that punch."
"Ah."
The man stumbles up after being pushed away by the couple he crashed into, touching his nose to see if it's broken or bleeding—it's the latter. At the sight of the blood, his expression transforms into one of a hideous beast as he approaches Aang with vicious intent. But the quickness of his stride slows the nearer he gets to Aang due to the difference of size between them.
"What the fuck is your problem, man!?" He shouts angrily. "You punched me in the face when I didn't do shit to you!"
Aang calmly raises a brow. "You didn't do shit to me?" he repeats. "If I recall correctly, you saw two women dancing peacefully on their own before deciding to force yourself upon them. One who happens to be my girlfriend and the one my best friend. Even if I didn't know them personally, I wouldn't have tolerated such behaviour."
"A knight in shining armour, huh?" The man jeers before leaning to the side to catch a glimpse of you. "I guess it's true that ladies love the nice guys and all that fucking shit but it's whatever. I didn't know the bitch was taken but even if I did, what would have stopped me from taking her for a nice ride? Maybe she would have preferred how a bad guy does it."
The words fall into Aang's mind like rotten wood that shatter upon impact and every shatter further feeds a feeling he tries to avoid. It took over when he gave into the urge to punch and threatens to swallow him whole due to what's been spat at his face. Words that pertain to you, the very meaning to his existence, drenched in the utmost disrespect and degradation. To make you seem like you're only a tool meant for the pleasure of some sick man who dares transform you into something baseless and nonexistent.
This must be that all consuming rage Zuko talks about, the one that used to fuel him when he was young and afraid but so mad at the world. The causes are not the same but the outcome doesn't differ as Aang moves before he can even think.
You call his name urgently, Katara's hand grabs at his shoulder and Sokka appears like a spirit summoned.
Aang doesn't know what happens.
He sinks.
And resurfaces in the sanctuary of Sokka's bedroom with his bloodied knuckles bandaged and his cheek pulsing with a promising bruise. He instantly recognises the scent of your perfume and hides his face into the plush of your lap, calmed by the soothing strokes of your fingers against his scalp.
"…What happened?" He asks tentatively, unsure of if he wants to know.
"Quite a few things," you say quietly. "Firstly, you have a mean right hook and secondly, I can see why meditation is so important for you."
Aang groans softly, closing his eyes. "I'm not an angry person, I promise," he says, needing to clarify that. "I never get into fights. I do my best to talk things out and if that doesn't work, I remove myself from the situation. But tonight…I don't know what happened."
You tap his nose. "I know you're not an angry person," you assure him. "But we all get angry sometimes and that anger can change into something brighter and scary because of how it engulfs us."
Aang sighs, turning his head so he can look at you and the smile you're giving him right now feels undeserving. "You've felt like this before too?" He asks and you nod, slipping your hand down from his head to his cheek.
"A few times, yes," you confirm, gently rubbing your thumb over the apple of his cheek. "We all have so don't feel bad, my love. Plus the guy was being a dick so if you hadn't punched him, I or Katara would have done it."
Aang smiles, nuzzling into your hand. "How is Katara, by the way?"
"Good, she's regaling your heroic tale to Toph."
"Oh, wonderful."
You laugh and it's the best sound that Aang can hear right now, along with the sound of your voice. He reaches up to cup your cheek with a touch so reverent that seems to shock you, your eyes widening a bit.
"I'd do it again," he confesses. "To protect you and keep you smiling and happy, I'd do it again."
The corners of your lips curl into an adoring smile, soft around its edges as you turn your head to kiss the inside of his palm.
"I know. I just hope you won't have to."
Aang hopes so too because that means you'd get to exist in a world unbothered and at peace.
