ashyiiy

[ashyiiy]

gouache animation test

[ashyiiy]

we have a superman who says GOLLY and SAVES SQUIRRELS and STOPS ILLEGAL OCCUPATIONS OF TERRITORIES we are SO BACK!!!!

[ashyiiy]

━ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒-𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐨𝐱.

━ pairing; sung jinwoo x female reader

━ summary; he saved your life. you repaid him with carbs. now you’re somehow feeding Korea’s most powerful hunter like he’s a stray cat with trauma.

━ notes; please note that i don't read the webtoon and i'm still working through the anime), so please be kind or I will cry. please donate to my Kofi if you like my stuff. reblogs are appreciated!

❋ In the world of Hunters and Gates and Guilds, you’re just a minor healer with teeny-tiny support skills.

❋ So when the dungeon boss begins rampaging, you’re fairly certain that this is it.

❋ Until a portal suddenly cracks open — and out steps Sung Jinwoo himself.

❋ The reaper dressed in black. The man, the myth, the legend with abs. Saviour of your now-screaming raid group.

❋ He kills the boss as if it’s nothing. Doesn’t even look out of breath. Doesn’t say a word either — just glances at your trembling hands before he disappears.

❋ And later . . .

❋ You can’t stop thinking about him. Not in a “simping over the hottest S-rank in Korea” way (though, okay, maybe a little) — but in the “he saved your life and you never got to say thank you” way.

❋ You are a nervous little bean, but you were raised right, and you say thank you, even if the recipient could probably punt you into the next continent.

❋ So, you make a bento.

❋ You stay up all night making it pretty, running on nothing but anxiety and determination.

❋ Tamagoyaki, rice balls with little seaweed faces, chicken karaage, and some sweet dango on the side. You decorate it with love and at least 5 rounds of panic.

❋ You wait awkwardly outside a Guild building until you catch him between appearances. You hold out your bento with shaking hands —

❋ — And promptly faint from anxiety.

❋ Face first.

❋ Jinwoo catches you with one arm and the bento with the other, effortlessly smooth like he catches fainting healers every day.

❋ Jinwoo doesn't say much — just blinks, checks that you’re breathing, and gently takes you to a bench as if you're a fragile parcel of rice. He even fans your face a little with the lid of the bento.

❋ You think that’s the end of it.

❋ You move on with your healing, your stress naps, and your (unhealthy) bubble tea dependency.

❋ But then.

❋ You see him again one day.

❋ Reporters surround him, but you can tell — he looks tired. Eyes sunken. Like he hasn’t had a real meal in days.

❋ You stare.

❋ Then, immediately go home and start cooking.

❋ Somehow, this becomes a thing.

❋ You keep showing up with lunchboxes to feed Korea’s top hunter.

❋ It becomes a routine. Jinwoo doesn’t say much, but he now waits for you. Like a huge, muscular, emotionally constipated cat. Occasionally, you’ll catch his lips twitching up into a smile.

❋ Every time you hand him a box, you nervously tug at your sleeves and watch him as if he’s about to explode. But the food? It's comfort in a box.

❋ Hearty stews and curries. Sausages shaped like octopi. Fluffy white pearls of rice. Silky marinated eggs. Vegetables carved into hearts, stars, flowers.

❋ And dessert.

❋ Always dessert.

❋ Cookies, still warm from the oven. Stacks of pancakes, generously slathered with whipped cream and syrup. Sandwiches stuffed with custard and fruit. Round, fat balls of mochi dusted with icing sugar.

❋ Once, you nervously mention that you “made extra mochi because you thought he seemed tired”. He blinks. He hadn't noticed how drained he looked until you said it.

❋ He eats his meal while staring at you.

❋ You almost faint again.

❋ He catches you again.

❋ This is a pattern now.

[ashyiiy]

some yoongi gifs until he comes back home (68/79)

11 days left

[ashyiiy]

THE WAY I CHEERED BUT IMMEDIATELY WENT MISERABLE AFTER READING THE NEW CHAPTER (pls do more)

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟖]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, mentions of blood and injury, heavy angst

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. i know it's been forever, but welcome to the update lol. ik you're all gonna hate me for this one. have fun. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ���

𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗘 𝗦𝗔𝗬 𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗥𝗘 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗠𝗘 (𝗜 𝗖𝗔𝗡'𝗧 𝗕𝗘 𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗘)

Malipo Kinich.

He whispers it to himself that morning, face to face with himself in the mirror. Each syllable of the name drifts off his tongue, slow and sour and unfamiliar. It doesn’t make his chest warm, not like when you call his name, soft and adoring.

Though, that is a sound he hasn’t heard in a few days now.

After discovering his deal with Ajaw, you had practically disappeared, curling in on yourself in bed without so much as a word. Kinich tries not to take it personally, chalking it up to your surprise—he sleeps on the couch, trying to give you space.

He leaves food at your door, and he finds the clean plate next to the sink after he comes back from his commissions. At least you’re eating, he thinks regretfully, trying to remember the sight of your face. 

Most days, he sends Ajaw away for hours, hoping the lack of his presence will coax you out of your room.

It doesn’t.

The Ancient Name starts to feel more like a curse than a blessing.

A week later, the village holds a ceremony in his honor, a celebration of the name that he has inherited. The will of his ancestors is behind him, or so it is said. He wonders what they would think if they saw him now—his hesitation, his regret.

Kinich is brave. He knows this to be a fact, based on years of experience; not many things can scare him off.

And yet, with his fist raised to your bedroom door, invitation on his tongue, he just can’t bring himself to knock. A paralyzing fear grasps at his limbs, freezing him in place.

We…we were happy, Kinich. Wasn’t that enough?

Your voice echoes in his mind, heartache and betrayal lacing each syllable. He’s never heard you sound so destroyed before. And he had been the cause.

You’ve never been so angry with him before. Sure, as children, you’d had your spats, but you were usually back to speaking like normal by the next day. Things always, always returned to normal.

It tended to be that way when you were all he had.

He hisses in a breath when his mouth floods with the taste of iron—he’d been biting at his lip without realizing. He swipes at his lip, grimacing at the stain of red on the back of his hand.

His fault again, he thinks bitterly.

It stings.

With a final, longing look toward your bedroom door, Kinich sighs, gathers his things, and leaves.

(From behind the thin wood, your eyes shut painfully as you hear the front door swing closed.)

/

You’re not there.

The tribe gathers around, and as Chief Wayna drones on about the history of the Malipo name and the Turnfire, all Kinich can do is scan the crowd for your face.

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting—he hadn’t told you about the ceremony, and he hasn’t even seen you in days. There’s no logical reason why you would be here right now.

And yet, his heart pangs with every unrecognizable face that falls within his gaze.

His heart is gnawing, starved. It’s a craving that rests sharp in his chest, the urge to see you. 

Despite the cheers erupting in his ears, he misses the melodic sound of your voice.

It ends as quickly as it begins, and people pat his back and shake his hand as he moves to leave—some he recognizes, and some he doesn’t. Still, the one person who has always thought the world of him isn’t here.

Chief Wayna seems to be the only one to notice, a pitying light in his eyes as he grasps Kinich by the shoulders.

“An Ancient Name is an honor,” he says with a chuckle. Then, he leans in closer, voice lowered. “But you don’t look happy.”

And really, it isn’t that he’s unhappy. He really does understand the importance of an Ancient Name, and he can understand why the Wayob chose him. 

But something about it all feels wrong. It feels wrong to celebrate when you aren’t here, it feels wrong that you aren’t beside him, it feels wrong to smile without you. A puzzle missing a piece.

Kinich realizes Wayna is still staring at him expectantly, so he coughs, shaking his head.

“I’m fine,” Kinich replies firmly. His hands tighten to fists at his side, a detail that does not go unnoticed by the older man. “I’m happy to be recognized by the Wayob. It’s a great legacy.”

It’s not a lie. It’s not the truth, either. Wayna seems to understand nonetheless; he nods thoughtfully, carefully selecting his next words.

“Any concerns?”

For a moment, Kinich wants to tell him everything. Wayna has always been good to him, the closest thing he had to a father in this world. But he can’t seem to make the words come out; it’s shame that keeps them held tight in his throat.

So he merely shakes his head, looking down at his feet.

Wayna sighs.

“You’re a good man, Kinich. You’ll grow into this name and become a great one.”

The chief’s tone is so specific, so targeted that Kinich thinks he must know what happened. After all, the tribe’s leader seems to have a way of knowing everything around here. It makes everything feel overwhelmingly vulnerable.

Taking a step back, Kinich frowns.

“What’s the difference between a good man and a great one?”

Chief Wayna smiles, genuine and knowing. He takes Kinich’s hand and shakes it firmly.

His grip is warm.

“It takes a good man to hold on. It takes a great man to know when to let go.”

/

When Kinich returns to your home, there’s a scrap of paper sitting on the kitchen table.

Down at the river, the note says, in your neat scrawl. 

It’s the first real communication you’ve had in a while. He feels embarrassed by the mere thought bringing a pink tinge to his cheeks. But it’s a chance to reconcile with you, so he would take it no matter where you are.

So he shoves his shoes back on without hesitation, sprinting down to the riverbank. 

The air is fresh, and the leaves are already starting to turn—golds and reds pass in a blur before his eyes. His chest is aching, and he chooses to believe it’s out of exertion. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so desperate in his life.

The riverbank comes into view, clear water bubbling, and a familiar form sits on a log nearby. Above, a flock of birds whizzes through the treetops, foliage rustling as they pass.

Rushed footsteps wind down to a slow, and then a stop, just a few feet behind you.

He calls your name so softly that the sound nearly dissipates with the breeze. 

You turn, almost in slow-motion, and Kinich’s heart feels like it just might burst.

For a moment, you look just like the day he met you.

A look of surprise flashes across your face, but your expression smooths back to contentment just as quickly.

“Hi.”

Your greeting is a mere murmur, and it’s a bit awkward—an unfamiliar atmosphere for the two of you. He wipes the sweat off his forehead, shaking his bangs out of his eyes.

“Hi,” he breathes. 

You smile weakly, patting the spot next to you. He walks over, almost tiptoeing, as if he’s afraid to scare you away. He sits gently, finally exhaling.

A few beats pass. Kinich watches the river as it rushes by, slicing through the forest and the rocks that attempt to impede it. The brush across from you rustles, a young squirrel peeking from the leaves.

It’s peaceful.

“I’m sorry.”

He says it almost to no one; he’s said it to you a million times, and you’ve heard it just as much. But he can’t help saying it when he’s finally in front of you. 

You don’t reply. But you don't seem angry either, so he holds that hope close to his chest.

He can feel your warmth emanating from his side, and it’s comforting. Everything feels real when you’re next to him.

“Kinich, do you ever think of me?”

He flinches. It’s a heavy question; he lets the words weigh him down as he settles next to you, bark rough under his legs.

“Do you think I don’t?” he asks in reply. Leaning down, he plucks a flower from the grass—a small red hibiscus. He inspects it for a moment, searching for any impurities, before handing it to you. You accept it wordlessly.

“I don’t know,” you admit after a pause, rolling the stem between your fingers, letting the petals spin like a small sun under your gaze. “I never seem to know what you’re thinking.”

Truthfully, sometimes he doesn’t really understand what he’s thinking either. He’s always seen the world in values and trades, but you’re the one thing he just can’t put a price on. Even for all the Mora and worth in the world, he wouldn’t consider giving you up.

All he can seem to think about is you.

“I think about you,” he says firmly. His eyes find the azure sky, wispy clouds soaring high above. “All the time. I’m always thinking of you.”

A feeling he could never surrender, a person he could never sacrifice. In the grand scales of life, he’s never been willing to place you within the balance. 

Your voice comes out in a murmur, accepting.

“I see.”

Despite the peaceful setting of the forest, somehow, everything feels like it will crack at any second. Like the precipice of disaster.

Your pinkies touch. He chases the feeling, grasping for your hand. 

You let him, fingers lacing with his.

It’s too much.

It’s not enough. 

The words aren’t, the flower isn’t, maybe his feelings aren’t. But the tightness in his chest cannot be misunderstood, so he steels himself, gathering years of memories and moments in his words. 

“I’m always thinking of you,” he repeats, and you raise a brow. Your quiet giggle is like music to his ears.

“I know, Kin,” you chuckle. “You just said that—”

“Since the day we met, I’ve always been thinking of you.”

Your voice dies in your throat at his interruption, eyes widening. Your expression leaves him feeling vulnerable, stripped bare for the world to see—he chokes. A mere shift in your expression has this much effect on him, he thinks harshly.

Grounding himself, he tries to focus on his other senses—the scent of wood in the air, the feeling of your hand in his. Your palm is rougher than he expected. It makes his heart feel like it’s being crushed.

All this time, you’ve both been working your hands raw for the sake of the other. 

He wonders how many long hours you’ve worked when he wasn’t looking.

The thought gives him the strength to continue.

“And when you smile, and when you cry, and always,” he hisses, teeth clenched, staring down at the single flower resting delicately between your fingers, “I always want to protect you.”

It’s the undeniable truth that has decided your entire lives until now—your mutual enduring desire to protect each other. After everything you’ve been through, he finds it hard to imagine himself having any other purpose.

You swallow audibly. The river seems to gurgle in answer.

“I’m leaving, Kin.”

The forest exhales, leaves rustling, and Kinich’s breath goes with it. Everything seems to stop.

He looks to you in shock.

“What?”

He can’t find the words. He’s never been the most verbose, but for some reason, every rational thought seems to leave his mind at that moment. 

Out of every single thing you could’ve said, this was the last thing he expected.

Seemingly expecting his shock, you squeeze his hand apologetically.

“We’ve been together almost every day of our lives since we were children,” you sigh, a smile steeped in nostalgia appearing on your lips. You’re turning over the petals, absentmindedly feeling over their ridges. “And it was some of the happiest moments of my life.”

Your stare turns faraway, looking somewhere beyond the treeline.

“But I don’t think we can grow like this anymore.”

Kinich can’t reply, can’t think, can’t breathe.

Sensing his hesitation, you continue.

“You’re too busy protecting me to chase anything else. And you have an Ancient Name now—”

Kinich frowns. “It doesn’t mean anything—”

“But it does, Kin. And I’m sure you can sense that,” you interrupt, strained. You take a moment, gathering yourself. “But you’re too afraid to leave me behind to face it. You’re running away.”

And deep down, he does know. The Ancient Name thrums against his skin, and he feels it—something calling out to him. The heat of Natlan resting within his chest, a dragon to its trove.

There’s a purpose there.

He knows, and yet he just can’t contend with the thought of you not being by his side.

But you’re smiling, even despite the pained look in your eyes, and Kinich finally realizes the one thing he would trade for you, the one thing that’s more valuable than anything else in the world.

Your happiness.

“I want to see you grow, Kin,” you whisper, placing the flower down gently. You grab his hand in both of yours, bringing his fingers to your cheek. “But I want you to grow for your sake. Not for mine.”

Kinich can only watch, letting his fingertips melt into your warmth. 

He’s holding on for your sake, and you’re letting go for his. He knows this, yet somehow, he’s not ready to accept it.

You press a soft kiss to his palm, lips quivering. It sparks something deep in his chest.

You’re putting on a brave face, but he can sense the sadness in your every movement. You’ve always had more courage than he ever did. Maybe it’s time that he returns the favor.

He takes a deep breath, fixing you with a serious stare.

“Don’t go out alone at night, the monsters are much more frenzied when there’s less light. The Yumkasaurs too, but there’s a certain poison that I can show you that helps sedate them. Even certain flowers act as a mask to their senses, so it’s much easier for you to sneak past them.”

Your eyes are wide as you absorb everything he’s telling you.

He’s rambling, clinging to anything he can yet teach you, anything that may yet link you to him. He grasps blindly at the air and finds nothing. The thought makes him panic, his heart racing in his chest. He should beg you to stay. He should find some way—

Chief Wayna’s voice echoes.

It takes a good man to hold on. It takes a great man to let go.

And then, you slip right between his fingers.

“And if something happens,” he murmurs, sucking in a breath. The air tastes like dew and regret on his tongue. “Come find me. Please.”

He leaves the most painful part unsaid, letting it rest sharp in his chest instead, a knife to his heart.

But for now, I’m letting you go.

It sits for a moment, a soft undercurrent in the passing breeze. Your throat bobs as you swallow down the bitterness of his words, letting it soak into your skin and pass through your warmed veins. The implications of it all lie heavy on your shoulders.

It’s quiet.

A small sob escapes you then, and you press the heels of your palms to your eyes in an attempt to stem the tears. It hurts, unbelievably so, for Kinich to watch.

“Thanks,” you finally choke out, tears running crystalline rivers down your cheeks. “I’ll remember that.”

He wants to wipe your tears. His fingers twitch in your direction, but you’re already wiping them yourself.

“I’ll become strong, Kin,” you whisper, watching the river. He shakes his head.

“You always have been.”

He knows it better than anyone. The lone light of his life, the core of his being—it’s always been you. You have a way of making him remember the things he’s forgotten.

Warmth, and the absence of it. His mother’s footprints in the snow, and his father’s screams echoing down the cliff. Your eyes reflecting firelight. The good that fuels him and the bad that drives him forward. Faith, and his definition of love.

All of it has been you.

“Don’t let Ajaw take you, okay?” you beg, eyes watery. “I want you to be the Kinich I’ve always known.”

He would be anything, anyone you wanted him to be. If you asked, he would toss this Ancient Name away and leave it all behind. But he knows that you would never want that for him, or for anyone. It’s that kindness that he’s always envied about you.

His heart just won’t stand still.

Hopeless, Kinich grasps at your wrist, pulling you in and pressing his lips to yours. You return the kiss instantly, grip curling into his sleeve, responding with the same desperation.

It’s not the soft, warm type of kiss that he thinks you might’ve liked. The kind that you said you read in a romance book when you were kids. The kind that most girls would want for their first kiss.

It tastes like despair.

The raw pain of your imminent separation drives him closer to you, cradling your face gently. 

Despite it all, you’re so, so warm.

The salt of your tears stings at his split lip. The feeling only makes him hold you tighter.

He kisses you until his lungs give out, begging for air, until his head is dizzy with the scent of you. Even then, he kisses you for a few seconds more, trying to drown out this wretched feeling.

He just can’t let go.

But he finally does, chest heaving and breath mixing with yours. Sweat sticks to the back of his neck, cooling with the passing breeze. 

His lip stings. He thumbs at it, letting the pain sink in.

His fault again.

Kinich can’t seem to manage a single word, chest heaving. He presses closer to you, trying to remind himself that you’re still here.

Everything hurts. Too many moments pass.

Then, forehead pressed to his, you laugh. He lets his eyes flutter shut, relishing in the sound for a moment. Maybe for the last time.

“Thank you for everything. I’ll do my best every single day, and I’ll catch up to you.”

His heart lurches despite the smile on your lips.

“And one day, I’ll find you again,” you murmur, twisting the flower’s stem between your fingertips, “Malipo Kinich.”

[ashyiiy]

They can be stupid most times 😾

[ashyiiy]

There’s no place left for pity. Only the mercy of the blade.

[ashyiiy]

[ashyiiy]

Charmers🤭💕💜

Would be funny that kinich is so weird for people in his tribe but for fontaine girlies he is like The shoujo love interest. While with Ifa i hc he charms anyone anywhere because he sings and loves animals😂 Also I didn’t forget about ororon please wait i have an idea for him😌

[ashyiiy]

“Rain Flower Nights”

Contains his affection story spoilers!!! (Also twisted it around a bit for the work)

════════════════════════════════════════════

What had transpired throughout your trip in the mountains with Wanshi has gotten you pondering over a lot of things, especially your relationship with the said male Construct. As far as you and everyone else is aware, your relationship with him can be considered as comrades, perhaps even friends, but nobody's seen what you share when nobody else's around, be it during a mission or a casual day out. 

The lingering gaze on one another with such intensity one can consider as affection, a not-so-subtle tension between the two of you as you throw flirty and teasing remarks at each other, pressing kisses on the back of your hand, or palm when you least expect it. You could still feel the warmth on your palm that night — he had his lips pressed against your palm as you toyed with his soft locks and caressing his cheek before drifting off to sleep: A bold move, you'd told yourself. This was driving you absolutely insane and worsening the feelings you'd harbor towards him. Would it be unprofessional of you if you confess your feelings to him? Would it cause troubles in your workplace then? You unfortunately do not have answers for such questions. But were you to hold it off any longer, you might go insane.

On the other hand, Wanshi had taken the opportunity to take a short breather before he took you to the Rain Flower festival venue for the day as he'd promised. This is no good, he thought to himself. Your little ministrations towards one another has been... distracting, to say the least. It's been plaguing his mind, and it doesn't help as he's had feelings for you ever since his Hypnos frame, and it's only gotten worse since then. He could feel the tension between the two of you, and it's bothering him. What was only a little flirt and tease back then has turned into something of normal occurrence when you're by yourselves. 

He's going against what he used to tell you regarding relationships: that he doesn't have time to pursue such relationships given his line of work. Isn't he exactly doing that, now? Contradicting his words from before. Usually he'd hate to waste his energy pondering on very mundane topics, but such a predicament he and the Commandant are tangled in has him questioning and thinking a lot of things, which of course, will tire him out due to his frame conditions. He too, wonders if it'd be unprofessional of him to date a Commandant; you. Would it get in the way of his work? Perhaps, or perhaps not. Although, being together with you doesn't sound too bad. That's enough pondering. It's time for him to bring you to the festival and allow you to enjoy yourself and what Nanyun has to offer.

When he got back to the clinic to get you, he was greeted by the sight of you adorning a cute dress with a flower pin accompanying said dress, complimenting it nicely. To see you in any other clothings outside of your work suit is a rare sighting, so he vowed to cherish this chance he has with you and ingrain the image into his memory (he'd never admit that to you, but sooner or later you'll find out anyway.)

"Hi, Wanshi!" You greeted him enthusiastically, smiling as you stepped out of the clinic and waving goodbye to Zhongjing before you headed out for the festival. At least you're feeling happy, a small hint of smile appears on his lips. He oughta make sure everything goes well today, to keep you and the people of Nanyun happy. Mostly, you.

"Hello, Commandant. Ready to go?" He asks, to which you eagerly nodded, placing your hand atop his, lacing your fingers together as you both headed towards the festival. One might think you were dating, with how close the two of you are (and how shameless you can be with affections, such as holding each other's hand). Perhaps they aren't wrong. Soon, at least.

Both of you came across Wan and two other children as you walked on the bridge, seeing them carrying a wooden basin filled with water and flower garlands in their hands. You looked at Wanshi, who is looking back at you with a smile, amused by your curiosity and confusion before moving his attention back to the children in front of them.

As if she could read your mind, Wan uttered, "This is for the festival's blessing! We sprinkle the people using the flowers and water to share the blessings with them." An interesting custom, one that you definitely haven't been exposed to.

"But of course, if you're worried about getting your clothes wet, please let us know!" She added. She wouldn't want to dampen anyone's mood because their clothes are wet due to the blessings. 

A little sprinkle of water wouldn't really hurt though, you thought to yourself.

"It's okay, Wan! Hit us with the full thing," You assured her, giving her the okay to share the blessings with you and Wanshi. Wan was happy to hear your response. "Okay!"

After she's given you the blessing and handed the flower garlands to the both of you, gifts from the two children that are accompanying her, Wanshi decided to return the gesture to them. "May you all have a good blessing, too," He utters, a gentle smile decorating his face. Wan appeared to be bashful from the gesture, quickly muttering a thank you before setting off elsewhere. 

Noticing the warmth enveloping your hand had gone missing, you turned to Wanshi to question him before keeping your lips closed as he gently fastens the flower garland around your wrist. 

"It suits you perfectly," he mutters under his breath, that same gentle smile adorning his face as he gazes at you softly. Such a gaze and gentle gestures from the man you're harboring feelings for causes your heart to skip beats and a soft blush decorating your cheeks. "Thank you," You muttered quietly, returning the gesture to him: fastening the other flower garland around his wrist before continuing your walk towards the main venue.

...

You were convinced by the children to join the flower pole competition; where you and other participants will have to compete with each other by climbing the pole that had been coated in oil to get the prizes that sat at the top. The prizes range from chewy candies, wine, meat and more. You're more interested in the candies than anything else, due to you having a sweet tooth. 

Before the competition started, Wanshi had reminded you to step down if you're not feeling well, to which you heed his reminder because you wouldn't know if the mushrooms you've had days before could still cause any effects to you. He'll be watching in case there were any injuries or any unforeseen circumstances happening. He'd hate to ruin the fun that the people are having at the moment. 

When he'd seen you climb up the pole with ease, he sighs in relief. Perhaps you've already recovered from the poisoning the hallucinogens had caused you, but there was another problem at hand. The pole you were sitting on is apparently toppling over? That didn't seem right.

He jumped off the railings he was sitting on and immediately rushed towards you, holding out his arms to catch you while the people around helped the other researchers who were still under the influence of the hallucinogens they had. Without hesitation, you jumped off the pole and fell into his warm embrace. You know that he'll always be there to catch you, no matter what. 

"Are you alright?" He asks, worry laced in his tone as he checks you for any form of injuries. His face was in such close proximity and you can smell his faint scent and it's making you feel dizzy. You squeezed his shoulder as a form of reassurance, muttering, "I'm alright, Wanshi. It's okay." He presses no further questions, moving his gaze towards the poles and the people surrounding the researchers to help them. Perhaps he's not free from his duties after all, he sighs.

"That was very dangerous. How can that pole even fall?" He questions, seemingly frustrated about it but no hint of annoyance or anger was in his voice. It was just a question to understand why and how that happened, but perhaps he wouldn't really get an exact answer.

You shrugged, confused with what had happened as well. Perhaps the pole was a little too old for anyone to be climbing it was your thought. 

"Did you see how I got up there tho—" "I saw everything," He answered, a smile forming on his lips as he handed you the flask you had won from climbing the pole. "You won, without a shadow of a doubt, Commandant." 

Commandant.. Suddenly, you refuse to hear him call you by that title anymore when you're with him, where you're not surrounded by your co-workers. You wanted him to call you by your name. Is it so bad to hear him call your name for just once? 

"Call me by my name, please," The words came out of your mouth before you even realized. Shit. You were too far into your thoughts that you forgot he was still here, holding you in his arms. Wanshi seemed to be taken aback by your request. He wasn't expecting you to be so bold, but maybe a change isn't so bad.

"Of course. Congratulations." He uttered, his tone soft as he called you by your name. The way your name slipping off his tongue sounded so nice, you wish you could hear it more often. The two of you headed back to the clinic with him still carrying you, refusing to put you down until you safely arrive. You could only sigh in defeat, giving into his whims. You're back at the clinic to attend to a few injured researchers before enjoying the night of the festival by yourselves. Maybe you could find the courage to confess then.

... 

The music, the laughter of the Nanyun citizens was still audible as the festival goes on late into the night. The atmosphere was more beautiful during the night, with the lights decorating the shops and the streets nicely. You were sitting on top of the railings of a bridge, enjoying the scenery the place has to offer to you, watching the people dance and interact with each other with no worries plaguing their mind. It was a rare occasion to witness, and you were sure to remember and cherish this opportunity you had forever.

As you were admiring what was laid out before your eyes, a white-haired construct silently observing you by your side, a gentle smile adorning his face. His goal was to see you happy and he's glad that he could see it through, despite the ordeal that had happened during the competition.

He admits, observing people can be fun, especially when it's you. From your body movements to your facial features, it's amusing for him to witness. He wishes he could see more of it, with him being the cause of certain reactions coming from you.

"Wanshi?" You called out to him, receiving no response from the male. "Wanshi!" You called out his name a little louder this time, breaking him from his trance. He gave you a questioning look.

"What is it, Commandant?" He asks, yawning. "Were you daydreaming again?" You raised an eyebrow at him, leaning closer to the standing construct.

"Mm, maybe," Ambiguous answer, of course. You're curious to know what it is, though. Perhaps you could prod him more into sharing it with you.

"What's it about?" His gaze fell onto you momentarily before moving his eyes towards the festival that is slowly coming to its end. Maybe it's time he brings up his feelings towards you. It was a scary thought, but he's promised himself he won't hesitate on what he has decided on.

"You." Your eyes widened at his answer. You? Is this another one of his flirty remarks? Another joke you're supposed to go along with?

"Me..?" You muttered, still utterly speechless with what he's said. He nods, his eyes meeting yours with a certain intensity only you could return. 

"Yes, you. The one who's been plaguing my mind from the very first time we worked together, until now." 

The first time you met: It was during the time where you had received the news of the Red tide fluctuating and a certain creature that has caused it, the Siren. Wanshi was tasked to accompany you during that mission, and you've grown closer ever since.

"You, the one who caused my heart to beat fast when you're around me, making me question my feelings towards you," He continued, bringing your hand to his lips, kissing it gently.

"It's about time I become honest with my feelings, (Name). I love you," He confessed, gaze never faltering as he looks at you with the same intensity. You notice a faint blush on his cheeks under the moonlight. This was no game nor a dream, you thought to yourself. It is real. All of what's happening right in front of you, is real.

You couldn't speak, your throat was dry, your heart feeling as if it was going to jump out of your chest with how fast it's beating. You reached out your hands to cup his cheeks, gently caressing them as you leaned closer. He, too, leans closer until there was no gap left between you, pressing your lips onto his in a soft, feathery kiss. It was short, too short for his liking, so he pulls you in for another, this time with more fervor, more passion.

Screw what others would say about you and him. You were elated to share this moment with the person you love most, to bare your feelings to him. Just the two of you, accompanied by the fireworks and moonlight shining its light over you.

[ashyiiy]

"indulge me" // brant (wuthering waves)

cw: fem reader, nsfw/smut

wc: 4.3k somehow

Brant smiles as he notices the wine, taking the stem in his hand and swishing around the warm liquid in its gold-tinged container. “Aha! My dear, swiping some of Battier’s prized stash already?” A smile curls at the edge of your lips as you take a long sip from your own glass, tilting your head to lean it against his shoulder. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

read on ao3

[ashyiiy]

oh, the eldritch horror! — scar

summary. venturing out in the woods to clear your head was supposed to be relaxing, so why is this twisted abominable nightmare of a beast growling in your face?

notes. i rewatched shrek because i was bored and i snatched the donkey & dragon scene right out of it. but like, instead of a dragon, it’s literally baphomet. does this count as monsterfucking bc idkkk… anyway yeah it’s like scar but his goat form. i thought it would be funny. this is just painfully self indulgent.

idk wtf is going on in wuwa but my brain shut down when this loser came on screen and started ranting about shepherds and sheep. whatever you say beautiful.

warnings. scar, very minimal crack (it’s inspired by shrek. idk what to say bro…)

This has to be the worst day of your life.

The creature snaps its drooling jaw in your face.

It looks like a goat from Hell. Like a black sheep that’s wandered from its herd. You can’t see much of its face, but the ginormous pair of curled horns are sharp at the edges. The cartilage could easily slit your throat in half if you were to make one wrong move and lean in too close.

Four yellow beady eyes glare at you, way too close to your face. You can see your warped reflection along rectangular pupils. Giant ears peeled back towards its skull, pierced with two matching golden earrings in the shape of crosses that are the size of your hands.

You laugh nervously in its face.

Oh, god, it’s going to eat you alive. You know it.

You try to take a step back, but you’re met with the roots of a tree at your feet and the trunk digging harshly into your back.

Bad idea. Oh, this was all a bad idea. The bad luck streak should’ve been an indicator right from this morning: you slept through your alarm and were subsequently late for work, you fell over twice at work, you lost your house keys, and then you decided to clear your head and go for a walk.

You ended up venturing off deeper into the trees to search for herbs to help back at the clinic in Jinzhou. You don’t even know which direction the city is anymore.

And now, there’s a creature—and it can’t be a Tacet Discord—growling and snapping its teeth in your face. It’s huge. It’s way too big to be absorbed, let alone actually taken down with brute force. Whacking it with a stick certainly didn’t help.

All that did was manage to slash a decent gash into one of its hind legs and anger it even further.

It snarls at you.

A bead of sweat rolls down your temple.

Uh oh.

“Oh, what large teeth you have!” Your voice comes out shaky, and you’re trembling as you stare up at it.

A low guttural noise escapes from the depths of its throat, and its jaw unhinges.

Your eyes pinch shut. “I-I mean, white, sparkling, teeth!” You let out a nervous huff of laughter, your words almost incoherent. “I know you probably hear this all the time from your food, but, you must take really good care of those pearly whites, ‘cause that is one dazzling smile you’ve got there!”

The creature’s slitted eyes narrow in suspicion. Its jaw snaps closed as it pulls only a few inches away from your burning skin.

You quickly wipe your sweaty palms on your hands.

You clear your throat. “I’m so grateful that your beautiful smile will be the last thing I ever see. Y’know… when you eat me… ‘cause I’m sure you must be hungry!” You prattle on and on, and your knees are weak and wobbly. “Not that you have to eat me. I’d prefer if you didn’t, but– yeah! So grateful!”

You were praying to whatever Gods could hear you that your mindless babbling saved your life. Or some superhero came through and took this thing down in one swing.

The giant creature seems to preen at your words. Its sharp teeth retreat behind a now closed mouth. Its horn suddenly don’t appear as sharp as they were before, and the curl of them against the creature’s skull look softer and more defined. They were different to the ghastly sharp edges you saw before.

Your legs can’t keep still. Your hands interlock in front of you to try and quell the shaking. Your bones feel like they’re vibrating beneath your skin.

You try to control your breathing. “Beautiful hair–fur, by the way.” You raise a finger to point at the greyish locks behind its horns. For such a mangy beast, its hair looked a bit silky. Maybe unwashed, and it was full of twigs, but slightly soft. “And I smell a hint of berry…” Lie. “…Did you… wash it?”

Stupid question.

You try to control your breathing.

Maybe the beast isn’t a beast. Maybe it’s a nice creature cursed with being ugly.

The creature is still eyeing you.

Can it understand you? Or is it trying to survey whether you’re a threat or not? You can’t tell. You heard somewhere that dogs don't like when people look them in the eyes. You didn’t even know if that was true.

The correlation is stupid, regardless. This beast is far from even remotely resembling the canis genus.

Its head is huge, even when its jaw is shut. Its nostrils are the size of your hand, and it breathes puffs of hot air in your face. You reel back further into the tree. Your stomach drops impossibly lower than it already has. Your skin is soaked in sweat.

The creature bumps its nose against your sternum and inhales sharply.

You glance to the left.

Is it… smelling you? Is it trying to figure out if you’re edible? Oh, Gods, then you’re embarrassing stalling would have been for nothing. What a day. As if it couldn’t get any worse than it already had been.

You can't outrun it. It’s huge. By the time you’ve sprinted ten feet away it can simply lean over and pluck you by the back of your collar and pop you into its mouth.

Your insides churn at the thought. You were afraid you’d hunch over and vomit out of fear on the creature’s face.

Bad plan? Maybe then it wouldn’t eat you, at least. Or maybe it would. You were afraid to take the chances, and swallow the bile rising up your throat.

Its oddly bent arms smash into the dirt on either side of you. A low garble echoes in its throat and bubbles with saliva.

It sounds like a croak of sorts.

The lamb creature bumps its sharp snout into your stomach. Those beady eyes blink—you notice it has vertical eyelids. Gross. It’s like a giant lizard, almost.

Its teeth are gone for the moment, though, so it offers you a moment of reprieve. Or maybe it’s trying to calm you down so your blood tastes sweeter, or something. Sweat continues to roll down your neck, and you swallow the giant lump in your throat.

The red sashes of the torn clothes on its back pull with its form, ripping at the seams even more.

Your eyes flit nervously to the wound on its leg. It’s a small smear of crimson against grey fur, barely noticeable, and you’re sure the creature can’t even feel the sudden pain from it anymore. It seems to be walking fine, and it does not exhibit any discomfort when it shifts its weight to each hoof.

You wince when you spot the gnarly gash you left on it.

The lump in your throat doesn’t dislodge.

You try to ignore it.

The creature’s long neck pulls into view again. It’s watching you silently.

You figure if it wanted to eat you, it would have done so already. Hopefully you seemed inedible to it. Maybe it was an omnivore or something—but those sharp teeth were definitely not just for chewing on leaves and berries in the wild.

Morphed fingers dig deeper into the dirt beside your feet.

You stare into its eyes.

Its still eyeing you.

Huh.

It’s… curious. It blinks slowly, one eye at a time, as you slowly, and so slowly, slower than you’ve ever moved in your life, raise your hands.

Then, you navigate around its giant leg beside you and step towards the gash on its hind leg. Your foot tramples onto a twig and it snaps loudly. The creature watches you with lidded eyes, but there’s a flash of teeth in warning. You gulp.

You kneel before its wounded leg and pull your satchel from around your waist.

The creature does nothing. Its teeth disappear behind its mouth again.

“Sorry,” you whisper with a wince. You hope it can understand you’re not a threat. Maybe it’s scared of you. Wouldn’t that be a spectacle? A giant predator, some eldritch abomination in the middle of the woods, scared of a little flesh bag. “Um… I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just scared, y’see?”

You had meant to hurt it, but you’d spit little white lies if they saved your life.

The creature blinks creepily again. That uneven slow blink, like a frog.

You’re more disturbed than anything. You’re amazed that ginormous tongue locked behind its teeth hasn’t come forth to lick its sclera wet yet. Then you’d be more convinced.

You try not to let it show. “But, um…” You dig around in your satchel before you pull out a small glass vial. “I have something that might help.” The vial is made of a crystal glass with a cork in the rim. The liquid inside is a deep blue, like the blueberries growing on the nearby bushes, or like thick ink.

The creature lowers its great head down towards the bottle.

It stares at your hands expectantly before trying to sniff around the glass.

Hesitantly, you remove the cork and hold the rim closer to one of its nostrils. It most certainly doesn't smell good; it’s made up of a mixture of herbs and alcohol, but you know for a fact it does a damn good job at shielding wounds from infection. It was fool-proof medicine; you made it. And you don’t settle for less than perfection.

The creature seems displeased with the scent for it seems to flinch away from the rim. It does not swat the medicine, but it turns its head away.

It looks grumpy.

“It might help the bleeding.” It will help the bleeding. You know it will. It will heal the entire wound. But, you didn’t come here to gloat, so you keep your lips zipped shut. “It’ll sting, though.”

The creature makes a noise. It does not sound like a warning, nor an acceptance of your words. It’s simply an acknowledgement, like a toneless hum, but you also don’t speak eldritch lamb, so you could be far from the truth. For all you knew, it was hyping itself up to open its mouth around your head or take off into the trees.

Alas, it does neither of those things.

It sits back on its hind legs despite its wound and then falls into the grass.

Its eyes shut and it stills.

You blink in wonder.

Did it… die?

Nope. It’s still breathing. Its nostrils flare with every breath. There’s a giant pitiful feeling of disappointment, but at the same time, a smaller pang of relief in your stomach.

Your hand reaches out to touch the tender and raw skin around its wound.

The creature remains still. Maybe it’s sleeping. It did chase you around the forest for a good long while.

You hum. It’s like a giant dog, you think. Like a scary, huge, dog.

You take loose cloth from your satchel and dab the medicine generously into the cotton until it soaks it thoroughly. You don’t have anything to properly clean the wound with, but it will have to do. You do have a wrap of bandages, though, and it’s better than nothing.

Gingerly, you press the soaked cloth to the tip of the wound.

The creature blinks its eyes open and snarls.

You try again in the spot next to it, gently pulling any flecks of dirt you see from the gash.

It hisses then, low and horrible, and you flinch away. It watches you cautiously, hind leg pulled towards itself protectively.

“I just need to clean it,” you say desperately. You know there’s a pleaful gleam in your eyes.

The beast tilts its great head towards you before it snorts and rests down on the grass again.

When you press the cloth back to its wound, it makes a noise, but it does flinch.

So, you work gently. Slowly, like you’re treading through thick murky waters. It feels that way. The creature puffs annoyed noises through its nose, but you dutifully ignore it, watching the shimmer of the medicine in the evening sunlight to make sure it was spread evenly over the gash.

When you’re satisfied, you take its giant hoof in your lap and wrap the bandages around its leg. The size of its calf takes up almost all of the roll, but you make it work, tucking the ends into the wrap. The creature does not deter away from the treatment.

You hope it isn’t too tight.

It’ll give the beast another good reason to close its jaw around your head.

The creature blinks its gross eyes open again, those rectangular pupils drawing thinner. It’s surveying the bandaging like it’s foreign; it probably is, given the creature has probably never received treatment in its life. You notice the ghastly scars drawn over its face.

Still, you’re frightened. The noises that pour from its throat are guttural and flagrant. It’s still huge, even as it lays in the grass. When it raises its head, it’s still taller than you.

You feel a drop of sweat slip down your spine.

It probably hasn’t eaten you because you smell unappetising. You’re thankful, internally.

You stay knelt in the grass, dirt staining your pants as you watch the creature warily.

Then, it coos. It’s snout bumps into your stomach and it coos. You flinch away from the noise, hands raised near your head defensively. Why is it cooing? Does it like you? That’s better than hating you, at least. The creature huffs and puffs against your stomach, and washes of hot air waver over your sweaty face.

You shakily rest a palm on the top of its snout, mindful of the deep scars.

The creature only stares blankly.

Huh. “You’re not so bad.” You swallow nervously. “You’re sort of like a giant puppy.”

The creature lets off a low garble. It sounds innocent, like a passing noise of pleasantries. Like it’s enjoying your attention.

Your hand smooths over the strange fur. It’s coarse between your fingers, withered with age and scars, but it still somehow retains a slight softness. It’s nice. It smells suspiciously like livestock, but that’s better than smelling of blood and sinew.

The creature drowns in the feeling of your hand against its head. The gold earrings are cold against your skin.

Then, it reels back.

You almost jump when its mouth moves towards your face before a long and slimy tongue drags up your cheek. You almost gag as saliva drips from your skin, but you try not to let it show. You shiver instead, mostly out of disgust.

The creature seems pleased though.

You’re glad to be of service. And to still be alive.

Nice puppy.

You try to ignore the slime stuck to your skin as you thumb over the creature’s horns. They’re enormous, much larger than the width of your arm, but the cartilage is so delicate, and you notice chips in the black curls.

It bumps its nose into your sternum and makes a noise.

When you say nothing, it makes the same noise, but it’s drawn out and higher, more irritated. Petrified, you stumble back slightly. You have a clear shot of running now. There’s no trees trapping you with this thing. You could try and make a beeline towards where you think Jinzhou is.

The creature stares expectantly. There’s a slow kiss of a blink, and hot puffs of air fan over your face and send jitters down your spine.

“I don’t– um…” You try to settle your trembling. “I’m not understanding–”

The great creature lets out a frustrated huff, and lowers its head towards you. You think not to place your sweaty palm on its snout for pets again. It doesn’t seem to warrant them at that moment, either.

It’s getting dark now, and you’re growing nervous again. Does it grow violent in the night? Is it warning you? Oh, God, maybe it’s going to pounce.

A cloying scent fills your nose. Your eyes refocus from the tears that melt along your bottom lashes.

You watch, mortified, as the creature warps.

Those giant hooves shrink in size, followed by an engorging shadow of smoke and red dust like sand. It burns your eyes and floods your lungs wrong, and you cough, fanning your face desperately. It stinks. It smells like metals and burnt soil. This mustn’t be good for your health, inhaling all this stuff.

The creature horns curl smaller until they disappear. You can’t see much of it, but what you can see is almost disturbing. It looks painful. The silhouette of the great beast continues to shrink, and those beautiful tresses of white and grey hair curl along what can be assumed to be a more normal looking face.

Its silhouette vaguely resembles a human, but there’s much too little to see you’re not quite sure. Black ripples down those long arms and pulls away the fur covering them.

There’s the snapping and straightening of bones. You almost puke at the sound. You force yourself to look away. Sweat pools in your throat like an oasis.

When you find the courage to glance back, the shadows then peel away from the inky red fog and dust.

You gulp.

It’s a man.

It’s the beast, and you know it is because the scars on the creature’s head match the lines and pulls of his skin. He’s devoid of fur now, and his hair is dramatically shorter, small curls imitating those giant black horns twisting around the now fleshy lobes of his ears and his neck.

His clothes are the same. Ruined and tattered, but still that red coat. His shirt is caked in dirt and his pants are torn where the gash is. It’s still covered by the rolls of bandages.

He is on his hands and knees in the grass. He looks exhausted, like he’s trying to recover from the most painful transformation you’ve ever witnessed in your life.

“Um…” It’s the only thing that can seem to form coherently from your mouth.

A grin cracks onto the man’s face. “Hi.”

You nod slowly in a greeting.

Your spine snaps rod straight in fright.

The man stands to his feet slowly. His bones crack and continue snapping as he moves, and he lets off an annoyed sigh before he stretches and pulls knots from his joints.

Then, he suddenly looks alive. “That’s better. God, have you ever been trapped in your own body?” You briskly shake your head, to which he scoffs playfully and continues, “‘course you haven’t! Silly me.”

“Are you–” You feel stupid for asking, but there’s something forcing you to say it. “Are you a Tacet Discord?”

The man’s face morphs to answer your question. “Do I look like a Tacet Discord?”

Well. He did. About five minutes ago. It takes effort not to respond with irked quips, eyes flitting towards your satchel that’s still resting by his feet where you had left it.

He notices you staring at it and kneels down to pick it up. The thin strap you swing around your body is pulled over one of his fingers like the bag is a foreign object entirely.

You figure he might try and rummage inside. He won’t find much if he plans to rob you.

Instead, his eyes narrow playfully at you. “You are so interesting.” He grips the strap of your bag tight and takes one calculative step forward. “Usually, humans bore me. They’re all cut from the same meat platter, after all.

“But, you…” A pleased, airy little giggle escapes his throat. “Oh, I like you.”

Oh, this is very bad.

That smile on his face says it all.

Very, very bad.

You sucked up way too much to the beast.

You’re in for it now.

You laugh awkwardly in return. You’re not flattered in the slightest.

You hoped the world ended at that very moment. That would fix the problem.

You clear your throat quickly. “I appreciate you not eating me, sir. Really, I do! But I need to get going now. It’s getting dark, y’see, and… and it’s not safe for me to be walking around in the dark…” You’re stalling again. It worked the first time. You hope it works here again.

That doesn’t appear to be the case.

The man watches you closely.

“C-could I have my bag back?” You curse yourself for letting the waver in your voice slip. It sounds hopeless.

As expected, he only snorts. “Nope.” He swings it over his shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere just yet.”

You really need your stuff.

Your feet remain planted into the floor.

He’s scary. His smile isn’t normal. The scars pulling around his eyes make it so much worse, too.

His head tilts curiously to the side. He’s walking right towards you now. His eyes rapidly move from your face down to your legs, surveying every inch of you he could.

You want to fall through the floor and disappear.

“What’s your name, little lamb?”

Your heart spikes in your chest. He’ll follow you right back to the city, you know it. You can see it in his eyes, and his expression—where’s that stick to swat him off? Your eyes frantically search the ground as you move for some sort of branch to stave him off.

Your hands raise in front of you to keep him away, but of course your little frail body isn’t going to deter him in the slightest.

If anything, he only coos again.

You tell him your name reluctantly when your foot stumbles over a stray root. You don’t topple over. You can’t imagine what would happen to you if you had to start crawling away from him.

He repeats it once.

Then, his grin softens. “I like it.” It looks relatively normal now, like he’s not about to dig his teeth into your flesh. They’ve straightened up from how sharp they were prior, but you’re sure those canines could do enough damage. “I like you. You’re so nice. So small. So silly.”

You swallow hard.

He says nothing else.

Your brows knit together in worry. “What’s your name?”

His eyes flit down to himself as if he’s wracking his brain to remember. Then, he says, “Scar.”

Underwhelming. It’s like calling a kitten ‘Cat.’ You don’t voice your disappointment. At least his name is simple, and easy to remember.

Your eyes swarm to his bandaged leg.

He’s not even limping. The gash seems like nothing but a fleeting thought.

The man, Scar, hums thoughtfully, a nail pointed onto his cheek. “It’s not everyday you find a little white lamb away from its flock. It would be unwise to give you up to the other creatures in the forest.”

You swallow whatever courage you have left in your bones. “I don’t need protection, but thank you.”

He can keep your satchel. You are out of here.

You turn away from him this time and continue walking forward.

“Oh, but didn’t you just say it’s not safe for you to be out here in the dark?” His words taper off into a chuckle. His smile twists into something grotesque again. His arms are pulled open into some sort of mocking await of an embrace. “Come, little one. I promise I am gentle.”

You don’t believe him.

You’re sweating again. Hot ash clings into your lungs. You stifle the urge to choke on your spit in fear.

Your head turns back to watch him, suddenly alarmed. Gooseflesh raises on your arms.

Stupid.

Your foot catches onto a thick protruding root in the dirt again, but this time you do stumble to the floor. Your head smashes against the ground but you can’t pay it too much mind. You’re panicked, and ice rushes through your veins like blood.

You push yourself up instantly, but he’s quicker, and a foot stamps down onto your calf. It doesn’t hurt, no, but it’s firm enough to keep you there.

His knees hit the dirt on either side of your legs and you’re cornered. You try to sit up to the best of your ability, but he tuts as if he’s reprimanding a child. “Now, now. You’ve hit your head. You could be seriously hurt, y’know?”

“‘M fine!” You push on his chest when he leans down far too close to inspect you. “Get off!”

There’s no physical damage except for a small welt. You feel dizzy, but that’s to be expected.

There’s something alight in his eyes.

Excitement.

This is a game to him.

Scar lets you sit up, though he’s still very much straddling your lap.

That same wobbly grin pulls onto his lips.

Oh, gross. You should never have treated his wounds. Now he’s staring at you like you’re the only thing that matters to him. You’ve caused some great beast to grow delusional because you wanted to be nice.

You’re never stopping to help lonely animals in the forest ever again.

You swear you see hearts bubble and pop from his head when he blinks at you. He hums a small giggle before his arms wrap around your neck and draw his chest into yours.

He squeezes you tight and you buzz with the excitement that radiates off his skin in heat waves. More and more hearts float from his head, and you’re sure his pupils are a shape to match.

“I want to keep you.”

He squishes his cheek against yours.

“Uh…” What the hell else do you say? Especially to this thing that’s swamped over you like a giant teddy bear. You can’t even breathe.

“So small. Are humans usually this tiny? And you’re so warm–”

You claw at his arms. His grip loosens over your neck.

He doesn’t look the slightest bit apologetic. Instead, he looks intrigued and experimentally squeezes around your throat again. “Oh. I always forget just how fragile humans are.”

You sigh in defeat.

Oh, boy.

This is going to be a long night.

[ashyiiy]

Let me wipe it clean for you

[ashyiiy]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ you are there, when you are not

brant & gn reader ★ inspired by the "orange peel theory" ― acts of service & words of affirmation. self-doubt. comfort fluff. reassurance. pet name “little bird”

there was always something cogently warm in the way brant took care of you. he was always scrupulous in attitude despite his vivacious and teasing nature; a love language you never knew you had until you met him at the naive age of ten.

he was the fisherman's boy and always up to no good. or so... many townsfolk would spout at you. something along the lines of: "stay away from that pesky, little thing! always causing trouble. tsk tsk. you wish you had!" or "he's a bad omen, i'm telling you! i didn't get a single germinate this winter"

of course, like any other ordinary person, they would probably avoid someone like this. and you tried to for a while until he made that impossible for you. but you weren't like them, and brant was careful to remind you this every single day of your life.

you noticed you had not seen brant out in town today causing trouble. which was, quite frankly, a little odd considering he was like the rooster of the brood. so you decided to head over to his place and that was were you found him, feeling a bit under the weather.

"what did you have for breakfast?"

just like all the locutions you kept hidden underneath that timid nature of yours, brant was sharp in memorising practically everything about you. he prided himself on that by saying he was a "[name] connoisseur"; the type of childish jest you'd expect from a five year old... yet, somehow, it made you blush with newfound passion every single time he acted like that.

he was preparing a fruit bowl after asking you this, and you tell him you just had a simple bowl of chili sauce tofu with some green tea a few hours ago. he knows just how much you dislike eating fruit, but he still offered you the chance to surprise him anyway by saying yes.

"oh-- you don't have to. actually, 'm not that hungry. i'll have a snack later." you say with a nod, a small smile gracing your face as he rinses an orange underneath the kitchen's tap.

honestly, the real reason you declined his offer was because you didn't want to make him do more than he had to. he already looked a little aloof for reasons you weren't aware of. so the last thing you wanted to do was force him into doing something he didn't want to do; which was ridiculous considering he offered you first.

but he then determinedly responds with, "was that a yes? great. i'm going to make you one as well", with the dimple on the right side of his cheek curving inward.

your stomach tenses up. "ah... are you sure? you don't have to. i can do it myself." you gesture clumsily at him with your hands, but all he does is chuckle while you subconsciously make your way over to one of the bar stools underneath the kitchen island. he pulls it out for you when you sit down, and then places a kiss against the corner of your eye that has you blinking the blurriness out of it in confusion.

he tips his hat, "i insist, your needy one."

you roll your eyes at that comment, a slight snort escaping your lips as you feel your shoulders relax a little now.

"i know you can do it yourself my love, but that's not the point. just like waking up in the morning or commuting home; i know you can do that all by yourself, yet i want to do it for you. it makes me feel good." his sentence ends with a little hum as he prepares the other fruit. the ruffles at the ends of his sleeves catches against the sunlight and you feel your heart thump loudly against your ribcage.

you then brought up the fact that he didn't come to collect you the other week because he was too tired, and you didn't mind it one bit.

"i know about that, and i felt awful."

"it's okay once in a while. i can manage mys-"

"i don't care. i should bring you home no matter the circumstance. i felt terrible and i shouldn't have treated you that way."

you lay the underside of your forearms against the kitchen island, feeling the cold surface of the marble sink into your skin. you sit in silence, not sure what to say.

"i love all the things you do for me bu-"

he cuts you off once again, shaking his head with a chuckle as he juices the fruits with his hands, twisting and turning, sleeves rolled up to his elbows now. he then looks over at you, his smile reaching his eyes, "i know i don't have to, but i want to. it makes me happy to do these things for you. you make me want to do all these things. i love you."

even from a distance, you didn't know hearing those words would be so relieving. it's not like anything prompted your anxiety either; that's just how you were with him- well... more like with anything and everything in general. to own the title of "worry wort" was an understatement, but brant made it seem like such a small obstacle set out in front of you. it was like he was always watching you from a distance, even when he wasn't around.

but it didn't feel like you were being watched in a bad way, that he would simply correct your behaviour because of etiquette. it was more like... out of care and love.

feeling like not being enough for someone as compassionate as him always lingered on your mind whenever he did the bare minimum though. he'd reassure you by saying you already gave him more than anyone else had ever in his life, and that he is extremely grateful for you. he puts you on such a high pedestal every single time he whispers sweet words like "thank you for being mine", and always leaving his mark against your temple.

this was why he always knew how to bring you back up to the surface time and time again. and you loved him so much that it made you cry.

your eyebrows crease a little, unable to hold eye contact with him as you turn away. your leg bounces under the island. his eyebrows raise slightly as he witnesses your cute and blushing form but decides not to comment on it.

"how are you feeling, by the way?" you perk up, watching the leaves sway outside the window against the gentle breeze of autumn.

"i was feeling blue?" he jests lively as he shakes water off his hands in the sink.

"i-- well, i mean... i didn't assume or any-"

"it's because my little bird is here, keeping me company."

you tilt your head at that, slow on getting the innuendo. brant then feels adorable rage seep over him, compelling him to wipe his hands on a dish cloth and walk over to you.

"i feel better because i get to spend time with my favourite person in the whole entire world."

LOVEAXIOM 2025 ★ this work belongs to me

[ashyiiy]

thoughts on brant trailer??:3

lemons — brant

summary. what kind of sailor gets seasick? fortunately for you, captian brant has all the homemade remedies available.

note. nvuy back for 1 day and then will go on another indefinite hiatus. i got brant. if you can’t tell. i also liked the trailer.

warnings. gets a bit steamy at the end, ur both a bit tipsy, brant has a massive fucking crush on you, he calls you beautiful, mentions of vomit & nausea.

“You’re a riot, y’know?”

You glance up weakly from the edge of the ship with blurred vision. The wind kisses the salt staining your cheeks, and it almost burns your flesh. You make a lousy attempt at scrubbing your eyes, but that only makes them sting even more.

Captain Brant sways unsteadily before he kneels beside you. He’s holding a lemon in one hand, and a towel in the other. It’s soaked with cold water, and he presses it against one of your cheeks to wipe away the filth before you take it gingerly and bury your nose into the cold.

There’s the shifting of feet from somewhere behind. There’s a few of the Troupe singing and laughing, and they dance around a small fire crafted in the centre. They had to watch it carefully less Lario grew frightened, but it seemed the Echo was content for the moment.

There’s brandy and other liquor littering the floor, and the spillages will be a pain to scrub off the decking tomorrow. The Troupe seem to be getting along just fine. Typically, they’re all fighting and arguing, but you suppose they’ve decided to play nice for once.

It also helps that everyone is completely smashed.

You haven’t gotten to that point considering it was making you feel sick, but you most definitely were not thinking straight.

It is Tina’s birthday tonight, after all, and the crew threw together a small surprise party. She’d been upset initially having to be stuck out at sea for her special day, but the crew had made sure to accomodate. Leo and Mosi seem to be arguing over egg and milk pricing.

You know that because you can’t ignore how loud they’re talking.

He whistles along to tune playing in the background while he brandishes a small knife and slowly cuts at the skin of the fruit. He seems distant for a moment, his eyes transfixed on the waves for far to long before he realises his blade is cutting too close to pressing into his palm.

He pulls away from his thoughts with a snicker. “I mean… what kind of sailor gets seasick?”

You pull the towel away from your face and try your best to ignore the churning in your stomach. You hold your breath, though it only provides temporary relief before you instinctively lean over towards the railing again. You breathe through your teeth, sucking in sharp passes of air as you try to steady the pain.

The captain hums worriedly. “It’s not even rocky tonight.” He reaches forward to rest the back of his palm against your forehead. “I’ve told Lario to slow down… We can bank tomorrow morning so you can get some fresh air on solid ground, if you’d like?”

Guilt stirs in your stomachs.

You shake your head. “I can…” You attempt to move away from the railing, and Brant’s hands slide beneath your arms to steady you. “I can do it.”

As soon as you attempt to move, your fingers tense around the bars and you feel saliva filling your mouth. You drop the towel and he catches it before it flies off into the sea. There’s a strike of fear that zips up your spine, and Brant’s hands fly to pull your hair away from your face. He makes sure to brush aside strands that stick to your skin with the cold sweat clinging harshly beneath your clothes.

Lario—poor thing—makes an agitated nose from just ahead. You really don’t want to traumatise the poor creature anymore than you already had. For that, your heart heaves with worry and your eyes fill with tears again.

After a moment of panicked breathing, your stomach settles. Brant presses the cold towel on the nape of your neck. It’s soothing enough for your dizziness, but it does little to quell the nausea in your stomach.

“Uh, no.” He presents you with a thin lemon slice in his palm. “Suck on it.”

You blink at the fruit. Your teeth grit after a moment. The thought of trying to eat anything made you dizzy.

“It’ll help your stomach,” he explains. He then cuts another slice. “Here, I’ll do it, too.” He pops the entire thing, skin and all, into his mouth.

He chews it for a moment and nods. His lips pull to the left as if he’s considering the flavour. “Not bad, actually.”

“Yeah?” you ask weakly.

“Y–” His face scrunches up. He reels back and fans at his lips as if it will solve the problem before he covers his mouth with the back of his palm. His eyes squeeze shut as he struggles for a moment before he draws his hand away and blinks. His mouth opens and he sucks his lips through his teeth.

You sit back away from the railing. “Nice?”

Brant muffles a hiccup and points to the slice he handed to you. “You should try.”

Your stomach turns as you stare down at it. Your bottom lip trembles before you suck in a sharp breath and pop the entire slice into your mouth. You don’t move your tongue for a moment, letting it sit there as it creeps quickly over the tastebuds, and your mouth instantly twists at the sourness that floods your mouth.

Brant laughs when you finally recover and muster the strength to lie back on the deck. Your hands move to clasp over your stomach. He sidles up next to you on his side with his cheek resting on his knuckles.

You’re used to the stars by now. You’ve been out at sea for so long the days blur together in some long winded tale you’ll tell the children when you’re old and senile—if you even make it to that stage.

Captain Brant, however, has consistently kept you awake some nights by knocking at your door incessantly until you begrudgingly join him on the crow’s nest. He’s made it his mission to try and teach you the constellations that recur in a loop, and so far, no luck. You’ve been too tired to bother remembering what he says.

Still, he hasn’t stopped trying.

You’re not sure why.

Nonetheless, if some Tacet Discord doesn't kill you in the next ten years, your lack of sleep will certainly catch up to you.

“So…”

You glance to the side.

“If you’re feeling up to it anytime soon…” he starts smoothly, and his other arm crawls forward to mimic two legs strutting on the wooden flooring. “Would you… want to dance? Maybe?”

“Oh.” There a twinge of a bitter scent on the wind, and your nose twitches. You swallow as best you can. “I don’t, uh…” You glance back up at the night sky. “I don’t dance.”

He sits up. “What?!” The scent is stronger now that he leans over you. He’s practically bouncing up and down with excitement. “Everyone dances!”

“Well, not me,” you try awkwardly.

“Yes, you!”

Oh.

He’s drunk. Bad.

He sways on his feet and giggles as he stares back at the crowd. He pulls himself up onto his knees before his hands clasp yours gently.

And then, he all but tugs you onto your feet. It’s a whip of wind and a curl of your stomach that has you stumbling face first into him. Your nose squashes against his neck and you heave.

Your feet stumble over each other before stamping on his own in an attempt to steady yourself. You make some sort of noise of protest, but it’s quickly covered by your lips snapping shut. Your stomach twists as you straighten up.

“See?”

Your arms grasp shakily at his sleeves and your legs tremble. “I think I’m going to–”

“It’s easy!”

And then he tosses you.

He quite literally twirls you around before launching you towards the circle in the middle. You trample and almost knock the wind out of Rossini who topples over. He giggles stupidly before you’re whisked away quickly by the birthday girl herself.

You let out some embarrassing bleat as she drags your feet.

She’s still beautiful despite the sun being hard on her skin, and the permanent lines around her lips crease as she grins at you. “Havin’ fun?”

“I–” You’re certain your skin must be green. There's a hot flush banking up your neck.

She notices.

“Oh, darling, you don’t look too hot.”

You pull away from her only seconds later. In her drunken stupor, she immediately forgets about you as Leo spins her into the ring with bare feet.

You beeline to the hull where it’s quieter and you can vomit over the edge in peace.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

You are then grabbed by the collar and dragged back. This time, you almost do hurl onto the floor, but you manage to hold back.

It’s Captain Brant. Again.

You are trembling by this point with your fists clutched at your stomach to try and soothe the pain. There are tears prickling your eyelids as you try to fight from his hold.

You skid and trip around his feet for a moment before his grip loosens enough for you to pull away. You frantically shake your head when he tries to pull you back by your shirt.

It’s as if his brain shifts back to normal in that split second, for he lets out a frantic, “oh!” before he escorts you towards the edge of the ship.

“Fuck you,” you slur, leaning over the rail.

Brant doesn’t seem to hear you. His hand pets your hair while the other keeps a firm grip on your shirt less the ship jumps and you flip overboard.

“Sorry, beautiful.”

“Eat shit,” you spit back.

You do forgive him, though.

Your stomach settles after a while. Maybe it's because of the lemon slice.

You think he’s aware of this, because he squishes his cheek next to yours. “How about we take you to bed?”

“But it's Tina’s birthday,” you try.

“I think she’ll understand if you’re not feeling well,” he tells you softly. “C’mon. I’ll carry you.”

“No, thank you.”

Brant has already peeled you away from the edge of the ship and peers left and right to find where the birthday girl is. He ushers you gingerly towards one of the doors leading beneath the hull to the sleeping quarters.

He seems to spot her at some point, for he waves dramatically to catch her attention.

She waves back after spotting him.

He cups his mouth with his hand so she can hear him over the music before he practically yells above the crew.

“I’m taking off!” He holds you tight with one hand to keep you standing while he points at your head. “Gotta get this one to bed.”

She turns with a swish of her skirt and a hand on her hip. Somebody else who picks up on the conversation whistles. “Don’t have too much fun.”

You weakly limp towards the door and do your best to open it. Brant comes from behind to pull it the rest of the way. You mumble your gratitude before slinking through. The hall is tiny; definitely not wide enough for two people to descend the steps together, so Brant keeps a steady hand on your back as you slowly make your way down.

You hold the handrail tight and try to steady your breathing. You stop a few times, both of which you try not to keel over, and Brant keeps a steady hold on your shirt. His other hand moves to your shoulder and instinctively, your fingers search for his.

“Hey, I appreciate it, beautiful,” he whispers close. “But hold onto the rail. I’m still drunk.” You smell the liquor waft behind your ear.

Eventually, you make it down. You make an effort to steer left towards your room, but Brant pulls you right, further away.

You assume he’s taking you to the medical wing to lay down there as it’s typically cooler and has supplies, but you’re guided past the room and towards the Captain’s Quarters.

You make a noise of confusion, as he reaches behind you and opens the door before ushering you inside and shutting it behind him gently.

His quarters are better than the rooms the rest of the crew is provided with, but that’s to be expected. It’s not much bigger in terms of space, but the bed is double the size of yours, and he has a small private bathroom tucked away in the corner.

“I figured it would be easier for you if you had a more accessible toilet,” he murmurs. He’s already leaning over the bed and shucking off his boots. He kicks them into a corner before he sits on the bed and covers his eyes and groans.

You hobble over and sit next to him.

“Thanks,” you mumble.

He hums an acknowledgement before wiping at his face and patting his lap. You offer him a puzzled look before he sighs and sweeps under your ankle and pulls your leg up to rest on his thighs.

Then, sluggishly, he unlaces your boots. You mutter some sort of protest, but it’s garbled and weak. He waves you off before repeating the shaky and slow gesture on your other shoe. You’re too embarrassed to let him slip them off your feet, so you do that yourself. You set them down neatly close to his which are jumbled and upside down.

“I don’t have any clothes that’ll fit you. What a shame! But you’re welcome to sleep naked,” he slurs. There’s a cheeky smile playing at his lips as he stands from the bed. He teeters for a moment as the ship rocks, and your stomach churns.

You lay back on the covers in an attempt to steel your nausea.

Brant drunkenly crawls on top of you and you sigh.

“That wasn’t an invitation,” you tell him while scrubbing at your burning eyes. When he doesn’t answer, you clear your throat. “You… okay?”

“Mhm,” he grins. He’s too busy ogling to elaborate, and his pupils dilate. His head tilts as he teases, “just admiring.”

You blink sluggishly and his grin softens. “You’re drunk.”

“Just a little.”

He leans down and presses his lips to the side of your nose and he lingers there for a moment. Maybe too long, as he feels your face heating up against his, but he’s too wasted to register it. Instead, his mouth drags to your cheekbone, and his top lip brushes against the bottom lid of your eye.

Dizziness surges as he decides sinking his teeth into the side of your neck is the best thing to do. He’s quick to move his head and latch onto your skin with his canines, and you bark out a yelp of his name.

Your neck burns as the blood rushes to your face, and you try your damndest to push him off. His teeth sink, and his lips kiss anywhere they can touch. One, two, three times, four— and it is so quick you are sure if you were standing up you would’ve fallen over on buckled knees.

Do you get it yet?

“Captain,” you warn as he gently unlaces the front of your shirt and inches the cotton down over your left shoulder. You’re not sure if it’s nausea or anxiety that flits in your stomach. Your heart kicks hard against your chest, and he can very well feel it pulsing with his hand beneath your throat.

He hums curiously.

He’s left another mark before his lips wander upwards towards your throat and his tongue presses into your pulse.

Brant leaves a final lingering kiss to your other cheek, and it takes him a long while to finally crawl off you.

There’s a frown on his face despite how pink his skin has tinged. He hunches over for a moment.

You sit up, flustered. Your breathing remains laboured.

“I need to puke,” he buzzes quietly.

“Oh…” Right. You do your best to steady your heart.

“I’ll leave the door unlocked if you need it,” he utters as he stumbles towards the small room. “If you need it…” He lets out a strangled guffaw as he pulls off his top. “We can have a romantic mutual puking session.”

You glance to the left as he bumps into the doorframe. “Gross.”

“You love me,” he reminds before he blows you a kiss and closes the door behind him.

To his credit, you did not hear it lock.

To his credit as well, you also consider taking off your top. He’s already done half of the work for you, anyway.

[ashyiiy]

greetings, i am the yap anon 🎤 and you will listen to my yaps.

please hear me out and give crumbs on siren!reader who’s shy and quiet x brant who frequently calls for them and visits them 🎤

I'm all ears 👂

Brant x (fem) reader

The sirens lament

The moonlight danced upon the waves, casting silver ribbons across the sea’s surface. The Fool’s Troupe had long since set up camp along the rocky cliffs, their laughter and music drifting in the night air. But Brant? Brant had his eyes set on a different performance entirely.

"Little songbird," he called, his voice carrying across the water. "Surely you don’t mean to keep me waiting again?"

The ocean remained still.

Brant sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "Ah, how cruel! To sing to me once and never again—is this your punishment for my impatience?"

Still, silence.

He stepped closer to the edge, the tide brushing against his boots. "You wound me, truly." His voice softened, turning sincere beneath the theatrics. "But I’ll wait. I always do."

Beneath the water, just out of sight, she lingered. Y/N had heard him—she always did. She wasn’t used to visitors, let alone someone as bold and persistent as Brant. Where most humans feared the stories of sirens, he seemed entirely unfazed.

A deep breath. The water rippled as she surfaced, just enough for her eyes to meet his.

Brant’s grin was instant. "Ah-ha! There you are, my elusive muse!"

She glanced away, lips parting slightly as if to speak—but words failed her.

Brant, ever perceptive, leaned down, resting his hands on his knees. "No need to be shy, love. I’ll take any words you wish to give me—or none at all, if that’s what you prefer."

A pause. Then, barely above the waves—

"You always come back."

Brant stilled, surprised by the quiet, delicate sound of her voice.

"Of course I do." His expression softened, losing its usual bravado. "Where else would I rather be?"

Y/N’s fingers grazed the water’s surface, hesitant. "I don’t understand why."

He chuckled, sitting down at the edge of the rock. "That makes two of us. But I’ve never been one to ignore the pull of a good story, and you, my dear, are the greatest mystery I’ve ever encountered."

She had heard many things about humans. They feared what they didn’t understand. They hunted sirens for their voices, feared them for their ability to lure. And yet… Brant was nothing like those stories. He was loud, theatrical, endlessly persistent—but never unkind.

The waves lapped at her skin, whispering warnings against her curiosity, but for once, she ignored them. Slowly, hesitantly, she swam closer.

Brant remained perfectly still, though his eyes gleamed with something softer than his usual mischief.

"You must think of me as foolish," he murmured, resting his chin on his hand. "Chasing after a siren like a lovestruck sailor in an old fable."

Y/N blinked, tilting her head. "I don’t think you’re foolish."

His brows lifted slightly, and for the first time, she saw something like genuine surprise flicker across his face.

"Well then," he said, voice quieter now, as if speaking too loud would send her back beneath the waves. "That’s a first."

She stared at him for a moment, debating something. Then, as softly as the waves, a melody slipped from her lips.

It wasn’t a full song—just a whisper of one, a fragment carried by the wind. But it was enough.

Brant inhaled sharply, his expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable.

"I knew it," he whispered.

She tilted her head. "Knew what?"

His lips curled into something softer than a grin. "That your voice could weave dreams."

Y/N lowered her gaze, unsure what to do with his admiration. She had never been looked at this way before.

Brant hummed, thoughtful. "You know," he said, leaning forward ever so slightly, "I think I’d like to hear the full song someday."

She hesitated. "Someday."

His grin returned, brighter than before. "That, my dear, is a promise I’ll be holding you to."

And for the first time, she found herself hoping he really would come back again.

Brant came back.

Again and again, without fail.

It became a quiet understanding between them. No words were needed—he would appear at the cliffside, calling out for his “little songbird,” and Y/N would be there, waiting just beneath the surface. At first, she hesitated to meet him right away, watching from a distance as he spoke to the waves, as if confident she could hear him. And she could.

Brant talked about everything and nothing. The Troupe’s performances, the ridiculous antics of his crew, the places they’d traveled—his voice never lacked animation, his hands moving wildly even when he had no audience but the sea. But as time passed, his stories became quieter, more personal.

He told her of Ragunna, the city that had cast him away. Of the Pilgrim’s Sail. Of the night he thought he would die, swallowed by a storm and fate’s cruel hands—until he had washed ashore, a Fool but not a corpse.

Y/N listened.

For the first time, someone was willing to tell her things, rather than demand something from her. He never asked for a song. Never pleaded for a melody or a spellbound tune. And so, little by little, she surfaced sooner.

She no longer hesitated when he called for her.

Brant, of course, noticed.

"Ah-ha! My dear songbird, you appear faster every time!" he teased one evening, perched comfortably on the rocks. "Soon, I won’t even need to call for you—you’ll simply know when I’m near!"

Y/N ducked her head, but there was no hiding the way her lips curled slightly.

He grinned. "You do like me, don’t you?"

She gave him a flat look. "If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here."

Brant gasped, placing a hand over his chest like she had wounded him. "Darling, you could at least pretend to play hard to get! Where is the dramatic tension? The longing glances? The—"

Y/N reached up and flicked water at his face.

Brant blinked, stunned, before bursting into laughter. "Oh, you wound me so!"

"You're impossible."

"And yet, you like me," he reminded her, smug.

Y/N exhaled, but she did not argue.

Brant watched her then, the teasing glint in his eyes softening. The pink of his irises caught the moonlight, making them glow faintly. "Truly, though," he murmured, voice gentler now, "I am glad you no longer hide from me."

Y/N hesitated, then slowly reached a hand out, resting it against the rock beside him. It was a quiet, hesitant invitation.

Brant did not startle. He did not lunge forward or grasp her like some desperate sailor chasing a siren’s curse. Instead, he merely reached out as well, resting his palm just beside hers. Close, but not touching.

A choice. A comfort.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, watching him. "You always come back."

Brant smiled. Not his usual, dazzling grin—but something softer, something real. "Of course I do."

There was a pause, and then—

Y/N, barely above a whisper, murmured, "Then I’ll wait for you, too."

Brant’s breath hitched.

For once, the great performer was at a loss for words.

But he didn’t need them.

He simply stayed, watching as the tide pulled gently at her form, keeping her near.

And Y/N, for the first time in her life, was not afraid to let someone in.

[ashyiiy]

hear me out

ronin walking in on his darling listening to recordings of his voice. how would he react?

Devil on Repeat

The apartment is too quiet without him. It always is.

You try to fill the silence—music, TV, podcasts—but nothing sticks. Nothing hums in your bones the way he does. So, really, it’s not creepy. It’s just… coping.

Your finger hovers over the folder labeled ‘goreboy.wavs’, half-embarrassed even though you’re alone. A little treasure trove, collected piece by piece—snippets of his voice from late-night calls, glitched-out recordings he’s dropped in the chat, and that one unhinged rant about moral relativism he left on your voicemail at 3 AM.

And maybe you play them more often than you should. Maybe his voice has become something like nicotine, curling around your lungs in a way that’s addictive, dangerous, and a little too good. But hey—you miss him. And he is a comfort. Even if the comfort in question would happily dissect a man just to watch his heart stutter out.

The recording crackles to life.

"Aww, did I make you blush? Don’t worry, darlin’—I’d blush too if I were thinking about me."

You bury your face in your hands. God, he’s unbearable.

And yet… you press play on the next one.

"Y’know, for someone so sweet, you’ve got the most deliciously wicked little thoughts. I should be concerned. I’m not. I’m proud."

A breath shudders out of you, tension bleeding from your shoulders as his voice thrums warm and low in your ears. You could close your eyes and almost pretend he’s here—stretching out on your couch like he owns the place, knife twirling between clever fingers. But he’s not, and the ghost of him isn’t enough, so you play another.

"Miss me?"

The recording is barely a whisper, rough-edged and intimate. It’s unfair, really, the way he sounds like sin spun into sound. And, okay, maybe you replay that one a little more often. Just to hear it. Just because—

"Y’know," a familiar voice drawls behind you, smooth and wicked, "If you wanted to hear my voice that bad, darlin’, all you had to do was ask."

Oh, fuck.

Your heart slams against your ribs as you whirl around, and there he is—leaning in the doorway like a devil straight out of your dreams, all sharp teeth and sharper eyes. His horns catch the light as he tilts his head, and that smile—that smile—could peel the skin from your bones.

You scramble to pause the recording, too late, and the sound of his own voice still hangs thick in the air. His grin stretches wider. "Really? That one?"

"I—" Your throat is dry. "It’s not—"

"It’s not creepy," he finishes for you, voice dripping mock-sweet. "Nah, sweetheart. Just adorable. You missed me that much, huh?"

The worst part is, he’s not even mad. If anything, he looks delighted—like you’ve gifted him some precious little secret to tuck under his tongue and savor.

You try—try—to salvage your dignity. "I was just—"

"Just missin’ me," he purrs, pushing off the doorframe. His boots are soundless against the floor as he crosses the room, lazy and predatory, until he’s crowding into your space. "Aw, darlin’… if I knew you were gettin’ this lonely, I’d’ve come home sooner."

His hand slides under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. Too close. Too warm. You can feel the heat of him bleeding through your skin, burning you from the inside out.

"You’re enjoying this way too much," you mutter, but it comes out breathless.

He chuckles, dark and indulgent. "Of course I am. My sweet little thing, sittin’ here all alone, playin’ my voice on repeat? That’s the best ego boost I’ve had all week." His thumb brushes the curve of your jaw, deceptively gentle. "Gonna confess how many times you’ve listened, or should I guess?"

You refuse to dignify that with a response.

He laughs—bright and reckless, like you’ve said something funny—and you hate how much you love the sound of it. How much you missed it.

"You’re lucky I think it’s cute," he says, and then—because he’s a menace—he reaches past you to press play.

"Miss me?" his voice whispers again, syrup-sweet.

"Y’know," he murmurs, real and right here, "It’s better live."

Your face is burning. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t," he croons, eyes glinting. "You’re obsessed with me."

You should push him away. You should deny it. But your resolve crumbles when he tips your chin higher and leans in close enough for his breath to ghost across your lips.

"So," he murmurs, wicked and warm, "How bad did you miss me, darlin’?"

"Not that bad," you lie, and the smile that breaks across his face is devastating.

"Liar."

The next kiss isn’t soft. It’s a claim—teeth and heat and all the time you’ve been apart poured into the press of his mouth against yours. His hand fists in your hair, tilting your head back, and you let him take—steal—whatever he wants. Because this is the truth between you, raw and undeniable: you missed him. And he missed you too.

He pulls back just enough to breathe you in, thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip. "Keepin’ my voice like that," he muses, half-laughing. "God, you’re precious. ‘M gonna start leavin’ you messages on purpose—hell, maybe a whole bedtime story. Would you like that, sweetheart?"

Your stomach flips. "You wouldn’t."

"Oh, I would," he promises, delighted at the thought. "Every night. Just for you. Somethin’ to keep you warm while I’m gone."

He’s still teasing, still playing—but there’s an edge of something real beneath it, something raw and hungry and yours.

And maybe it’s stupid, but you want to keep it. Want to press your fingers to the pulse of him and feel it beat against your skin.

"You’re ridiculous," you say softly.

His smile gentles—just a fraction. "Yeah. But I’m your ridiculous. Don’t forget it."

He kisses you again, softer this time, but no less possessive. And when he finally pulls back, you’re left dizzy, breathless, and aching in a way that no recording could ever match.

"So," he drawls, like he hasn’t just wrecked you, "Gonna play me another one?"

"Get out."

He laughs, bright and reckless, and doesn’t move an inch.