corvus-ix

[corvus-ix]

𝐉𝐮𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦 𝐇𝐚𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

➳❥ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: (1) Can I ask for relationship hcs for Jugram?(If it really possible? Lollol) And NSFW too, if u dont mind :)This boy need more love in this fandom :c (2) Can you please write sfw and nsfw headcanons for jugram, yhwach (separately) x fem reader? Thanks ❤️❤️

➳❥ 𝐀/𝐍: Yhwach headcanons will be in a separate post, anon, since I wrote so much for Jugram. I really hope you all enjoy this and aren’t overwhelmed by the length, because I tend to be thorough for these types of content, and I also wanted to write a lot for him (he’s my fav). I also sectioned of the SFW from the NSFW for those who just wanna read the SFW.

➳❥ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: I tried to make this entirely GN reader, but got sidetracked in the NSFW section, so fem!reader in the NSFW section, very long, possessiveness, talks of hard and soft dom!Jugram, oral (giving & receiving), rough & soft sex, sub!reader, marking (spanking & creampies), hair pulling, pet names, fingering, aftercare

➳❥ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭: SFW and NSFW headcanons for being in a relationship with Jugram Haschwalth

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

「 ✦ SFW Headcanons ✦ 」

˚₊‧꒰ა He wasn’t perfect when it came to dating you. At first, he made it appear out of duty rather than emotions and connections, so it was a bumpy start. Juggling you, his duty to Yhwach and his friendship was an imbalance in the beginning. He struggled to separate his time for each of you.

˚₊‧꒰ა Dating Jugram is not an easy task because you have to be prepared to have most of your time with him fragmented, because of his dedication and loyalty to Yhwach. A date you two planned might be interrupted by the sudden request of his presence or helping him de-stress would be interrupted by him needing to sort out some arising matters.

˚₊‧꒰ა You once joked about how Yhwach might be jealous of you stealing away his right-hand man and having him devoted to another, which made him momentarily smile. He doesn’t admit it much, but you make him feel alive and help add colour to the mechanical aspect of his life.

˚₊‧꒰ა You must be prepared to receive his form of words of affirmation. They’re not over-the-top, or flowery. Instead, they are rather curt and straightforward. His compliments and adoration surround your duties and how good you are to him. “You were excellent today on the field,” he’ll mention softly, or on softer days, “You’ve ruined me, you know?”

˚₊‧꒰ა There are moments when you can manage to catch him in a slight sentimental drift, and many tender words come tumbling out. Preferably during a stressful period when Yhwach came down harsher than usual, or he had a burnout—he would hold you tighter as though you were his lifeline. “This feels nice. Thank you,” he whispers into your stomach as he holds you.

˚₊‧꒰ა It’s an odd, yet comforting and understanding gesture you had come to learn about him. Given his childhood and upbringing, physical affections weren’t something Jugram relied on or received in a comforting manner. It left him touch-starved with a bitter taste in his mouth. Hesitant to approach the act even though he desired to.

˚₊‧꒰ა So when you came into the picture and started showering him with physical affection, he treated you with feline behaviour, seeking distance because it was overwhelming and not within his stoic mannerism to be so physical. But when he did come around, you’d get those moments when he would cling to you as though you were about to vanish.

˚₊‧꒰ა All his touches are reserved for closed doors, minus brushing your hair out your face, placing a hand on your lower back or brushing his hand against yours. He found it odd how much he craved your warmth and safety. You were his safe haven.

˚₊‧꒰ა Falls asleep in your arms after a long day of duties and overseeing the Empire for Yhwach. At first, he used to tense when you ran your fingers through his hair. Now, he melts under your touch as it lulls him to sleep. Your arms have become a frequent place for him to disassociate from the world.

˚₊‧꒰ა Speaking of hair. You once asked him for his hair routine, and he calmly stated that he had none and that his hair was naturally silky and majestic. You had never been so bummed out in your entire life. However, it doesn’t stop you from offering to wash his hair or combing it after a long day.

˚₊‧꒰ა You’re the only person who can convince him—through dire persuasion—to allow you to style his hair during your private moments behind closed doors. But you’re not getting to put bows and clips in his hair. He’ll let you put some braids in since he’s from a time when braids were a common practice and a form of affection, even let you wash his hair (scratch his scalp and he might pur).

˚₊‧꒰ა Though, he would request that you keep your affections quieter in public settings since he had his professional image to upon and Yhwach was always observing. He didn’t need his King questioning why you were clingy and could not control yourself.

˚₊‧꒰ა Getting Jugram to whisper those three little words was perhaps a roller coaster ride. To him, his acts of service and words of affirmation should be enough to let you know that he loved you. Why do you need him to vocalise it?

˚₊‧꒰ა A trip to one of the female Sternritters or Bazz would let him know that it was important to say nonetheless. And that’s how you got Jugram to whisper, “I love you,” in the most heartfelt and tender tone as he held you closely. Still, it’s not all the time he says it.

˚₊‧꒰ა Expect to hear it if you get injured and he nearly loses you, after a sentimental moment filled with reassurance, or when you shower him in kisses and whisper the words until he mutters them with a tender smile.

˚₊‧꒰ა As an individual who is focused on displaying his devotion through his loyalty and service, the same will be done towards you. Silently draping his cloak over you when he notices you forgot yours or were chill, sending up fresh tea or breakfast each morning because he knows you’re too stubborn to eat properly, helping you ascend through the ranks.

˚₊‧꒰ა Jugram cares more than he likes to admit, believing that his actions were enough to convince you of his affection and devotion towards him. In the beginning, your relationship would be rough since he treated it like a duty similar to serving Yhwach. You had to be patient when it came to teaching him the proper ropes of relationship etiquette, so he could excel.

˚₊‧꒰ა Overprotective to some degree. The world is already cruel to Quincies, he doesn’t need to lose someone he considers important to the horrors of this world. Hence, his reason for excluding you from certain fieldwork or tagging along for extra security when he can. If not, he would pair you with someone he considered capable, though he never once saw anyone worthy of protecting you besides himself.

˚₊‧꒰ა His protectiveness does become overbearing because he treats you like glass as if you didn’t have the capability to dismantle the second-strongest Quincy with a few sweet words and hugs. It does lead to arguments which results in getting nowhere due to his stagnation. However, for your sake, as much as he wouldn’t outrightly admit, he would ease up on certain protective measures.

˚₊‧꒰ა Gifts will be given and that’s one time Jugram will not hold back, nor will he accept you informing him that he was doing too much. It’s his way of expressing his love and devotion—by wanting the person he’s with to have all that they need and want to make living comfortable. “Is there anything else you wish for, liebchen?”

˚₊‧꒰ა It is also his way of apologising if he did something. However, he would take a trip to Bazz, Askin or Bambietta for a bit of advice on what he could do to make it up to you, without revealing your relationship details.

˚₊‧꒰ა On that note—incredibly private on any topic involving your relationship and hate when something speaks about you. He would stand nearby, straining his ears to overhear the conversation, and should it be negative, whoever it was, would be removed from office before the day was over. “You’ve exercised your ability to be insolent for quite some time—today that ends.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Doesn’t like when you talk negatively about yourself because what do you mean you don’t see yourself as capable or strong or worthy? Hello?! In his mind, the fact that you were able to convince him that you were the best person to be with and managed to bag yourself a complex man like him, was an accomplishment by itself. You should be praising yourself, highly.

˚₊‧꒰ა He would be awkward on the emotional spectrum of consoling you. He would sit there, staring at you and wondering what exactly he should do. Say something? Hold you? Give you space? Sit and wait till you were done? Call for help? His words, when he does find the right thing to say, will carry notes of warmth and appreciation. “Please do not cry, schatz. It hurts me to see you this broken—you are one of the strongest people I know.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He would nestle you in bed, draping a ton of blankets over you and demanding that you remain stationed since you were in no condition to perform your duties. Would send the servants to fetch you food and tea, and well…you might be lucky to have him feed you.

˚₊‧꒰ა Stepping aside from that, you have Jugram who grows weak and flustered whenever he sees you in his clothes. Be it his uniform or his clothes, it doesn’t matter if it’s fitted or loose, he grows weakened at the sight. His hands would curl into fists at his sides as he fights to restrain himself from holding you. “You look…—It would appear that my clothes suit you better than me.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Reassurances. On his end that is. You need to let this man know that he’s enough and important. Let him know how much you adore and need him, he is loved and appreciated. He’ll fumble—stunned at the emotional display of words being directed towards him but appreciated them.

˚₊‧꒰ა Now, onto kissing him. The first time he experienced what a kiss felt like, he would not admit it—he melted on the inside and couldn’t shake the feeling of your lips on his. From that day on, kissing you has become one of his favourite forms of physical affection. Be it to his forehead, the crown of his head, your hand or wrist, your cheek, neck or lips.

˚₊‧꒰ა There’s something about you kissing him goodbye or good morning that helps to make his day a little brighter. It’s like a good luck charm that unconventionally chases away the stormy clouds.

˚₊‧꒰ა Kissing him easily ventures into an erratic interaction if one of you doesn’t break apart. His lips will remain glued to your skin and wander, while his grip on you tightens, his body pressing firmly against yours. He becomes a little more vocal during this moment, his terms of expressions confidently flowing from his mouth. “You drive me crazy, you know that? I could keep you here with me all day—you’re mine.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Ah yes, how could I have forgotten. His possessive streak. You cannot tell me that this man is not naturally possessive and jealous. Like why do you need to be close to others when you have me? Why do you need someone else to train you? I’m here. Where are you going without me? Why was that person flirting with what’s mine? “You’re mine, don’t forget that, or I’ll have to remind you and everyone else.”

˚₊‧꒰ა When it comes to ensuring that you and others remember who you belong to, Jugram transforms into a calculating, dominant individual (as if he isn’t). He wouldn’t be heavily affectionate and whatnot, but he will hover and remain glued at your side, and use terms of endearment a lot more, like ‘Schatz, engel, liebchen, liebe lien and so forth.’

˚₊‧꒰ა He’ll whisper against your lips after a hungry kiss, “You’re mine. Don’t forget that, or I’ll have to remind you.” His way of saying that you’re his, while it is possessive, he says it with the hidden meaning of ‘Don’t leave me, you’re all I have,’ since you are regarded as the (second) most precious person to him. You gotta fight against Yhwach for first place.

「 ✦ NSFW Headcanons ✦ 」

˚₊‧꒰ა First and foremost, his cock is pretty (if y’all didn’t know that). It’s pretty just like him—long, thick and girthy. And his stamina is insanely otherworldly. He could edge himself for a long while, all for the sake of ensuring you come first, and to display his dominance.

˚₊‧꒰ა He is a service top. This man’s entire life is built around being devoted and serving, you cannot tell me that while he retains his dominance, he is willing to showcase his ability to care and provide through being a thorough lover—listening to your needs and desires and giving, while incorporating his touch.

˚₊‧꒰ა He thrives off knowing that your pleasure is taken care of and you are satisfied. But it doesn’t mean that he isn’t willing to accept reciprocity. On his days when he’s stressed or requires reassurance, you just gotta push him down in his chair or bed and get to work. He’ll be gripping the sheets or you for life.

˚₊‧꒰ა Now, with his service top complex, he is a dominant, somewhere in between a hard and soft dom. Being submissive isn’t something you would get from him, but Jugram will allow you a moment to show your devotion by relaxing and letting you do your thing. He’s still holding onto the reigns.

˚₊‧꒰ა So, with his possessive streak, he enjoys body worshipping and leaving his mark all over you, in discreet places, of course. His mouth is attached to your skin throughout the entire session. If he’s not whispering in your ear, he’s biting or kissing your skin. Or his hands are gripping you tightly to leave a few bruises. And, uh, he secretly enjoys it when you leave scratches down his back.

˚₊‧꒰ა You once saw him looking at his back in the mirror one morning after a rough night, his fingers tracing the red lines he could reach with a small smile on his face. He likes the idea of having a mark that represents you, on him.

˚₊‧꒰ა Now, speaking of marking. Jugram has a thing (his possessiveness) for filling you up to the brim and no, he doesn’t agree to make a mess. It’s either swallowing (if you’re into it) or he empties himself inside you, and he prefers the latter a lot more due to his mild breeding kink. It’s not to get you pregnant, but he enjoys the idea of you being thoroughly marked through this method.

˚₊‧꒰ა He’ll calmly push his cum back into your pussy if it was spilling out, murmuring about how pretty it looked in you, and this leads to him fingering you into another orgasm. He also enjoys watching his handprints all over your ass after he spanks you.

˚₊‧꒰ა When he’s being a hard dom, you can expect it to showcase during times of high stress or you’ve riled him up. He’s rougher and will have you pinned under him for hours, leaving you incapacitated when finished. He’ll take you from behind, pulling your hair to sink you into a deeper arch while leaving handprints all over your ass as he whispers his filth. “Look at how well you take me. Just like that, liebchen. Squeeze me tighter.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He’s a simple guy when it comes to positions, sticking to missionary, face down ass up, cowgirl, bent of his desk and taking you against the wall. As for where he takes you, mainly resides behind closed doors—you aren’t getting him to take you in public. In the bedroom or in his office for the most public of places.

˚₊‧꒰ა His patience is unnerving. The way you could tease and taunt this man the entire mission, even if it takes days to complete, he will retain his composure UNTIL you return to Silbern. Then it’s his game, and you are to do as he commands otherwise, punishment.

˚₊‧꒰ა Jugram’s usual form of punishment, when you misbehave, would focus on spanking, overstimulation, edging and orgasm denial. He loves to hear you beg and sound needy and desperate for him—fuels his pride to know you want him so badly. He’ll use this opportunity to have you on your knees and show him just how much you crave him—suck his dick.

˚₊‧꒰ა I’m serious. He really enjoys it when you suck him off—when you struggle to take all of him yet determined to continue pleasing. It makes him smile as he guides your mouth along his cock. “Such a good girl. You’re doing so well.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Ugh, the way he speaks to you during sex is heavenly. The things he says make you question where this vocality was hiding. “You were made for me, every inch of you belongs to my will,” “I can’t get enough of you,” “Look at me—let me see how crazy I drive you,” “Do you feel that? How consumed you are by me?” “You know exactly what you do to me, and you like it, don’t you?” “Say my name. Say who you belong to.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He loves to whisper and remind you that you belong to him. Whether you’ve done something that requires him to put you in your place or a passionate moment—he’ll always tell you that you’re his and never forget that.

˚₊‧꒰ა  Underneath this shell of his, Jugram also has his softer dom side which is displayed more often whenever you two have sex on the regular. His soft dom side is filled with him expressing his reverence, like a sentimental moment, a little session before you sleep or you returned from fieldwork alive. Along the lines of that.

˚₊‧꒰ა His lips are attached to you most of the time, his forehead against yours and looking into your eyes. There’s not an inch of space between your bodies due to the way he’s moulded himself against yours. A little more vocal in terms of moaning, and fewer words since he’s deep into the moment, trying to connect with your soul.

˚₊‧꒰ა Eye contact is a serious thing for him. Whether his face is buried between your thighs, you’re going down on him or either of you are on top, he wants to maintain some level of eye contact.

˚₊‧꒰ა During his softer side, he’ll have you face him a lot more and will also allow you to ride him without attempting to manhandle you under him. However, the grip on your waist and hips is a silent reminder that he is still in control.

˚₊‧꒰ა Ah, yes. Pet names. I know I’ve mentioned terms of endearment he would address you by, but during sex, he’ll call you a ‘good girl,’ ‘princess,’ ‘darling,’ ‘sweetheart,’ in his sultry voice. Especially when he’s moaning in your ear or sweet-talking and praising you.

˚₊‧꒰ა Jugram really loves it when you moan his name. It doesn’t matter how. Be it sweetly, raspy, broken, squealing, whining, pathetically—he loves the way his name rolls off your tongue. A reason why he indulges in eating you out, just to watch you lose composure as you struggle to catch your breath and speak his name.

˚₊‧꒰ა I might not have mentioned it, but Jugram loves the way you taste. The act of eating you out is something he views as him venturing into losing control. Like, he knows he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself after getting a taste. He gets so lost in your taste, that he can’t believe you’re this heavenly and capable of making him lose his composure.

˚₊‧꒰ა He’s not going to tell you this, but during the session when you take the lead, mainly because of him being stressed or needing reassurance. When you praise him, letting him know how good of a lover he is, how he takes good care of you and how important he is to you and the empire—he loves it. Makes him feel good.

˚₊‧꒰ა Just praise this man more often. He praises Yhwach far too much, that he deserves his moment for being front and centre.

˚₊‧꒰ა This one doesn’t matter whether or not he’s in hard or soft dom mode: wear lingerie for him and watch as he slowly cracks, especially if it’s his favourite colour. He has a preference for babydoll dresses, but honestly, just wear lingerie or even his clothes if you want to drive him up a wall.

˚₊‧꒰ა Whisper in his ear how much you want him, run your hands all over his chest, rake your fingers through his hair. Congratulations, you have a composed man who lost his control and has become unhinged. If you’re in his office, you’re getting bent over his desk, if in the bedroom, then pinned under him in some position.

˚₊‧꒰ა Not a fan of quickies since he isn’t allowed to have you the way he would like, however, he would oblige if he has the time for them, due to your persuasive methods. A quickie in the shower is one he wouldn’t have an issue with.

˚₊‧꒰ა Doesn’t matter whether hard or soft dom, aftercare is important to him. Jugram will clean you up, get you a glass of water and massage what areas he can while asking how you’re feeling. His favourite aftermath is mostly pillow talk, as you two are lying in each other’s arms, your body still trembling from the intensity because he’s a thorough lover. He’ll press a kiss to your hair and whisper, “You did well. I love you.”

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @edensrose

©satsugacafé 2025: no permission to repost, plagiarise, copy or translate my work onto any other platform or this one.

[corvus-ix]

You know if I was a full time weaver I would stand ominously over people

[corvus-ix]

Having brainrot about Yandere Phainon again... I should go see my therapist.

"I will have to reject you, fair lady. For I already have someone waiting for me beyond this wall."

Phainon- the ever gentleman, kind hearted hero of Okhema has many suitors on his tail be it man or women but it is undeniable that he only has eyes for one person only.

This person is considered the biggest mystery of Okhema. They would occasionally catch Lord Phainon gaze ever so lovingly at a locket but would soon put it away after noticing he was being watched.

Even the Tribios were curious enough to ask him. The deliverer would only shyly chuckle, scratching his neck. "It is someone I left behind at Aedes Elysiae. I hope to reunite with her one day."

Hearing that they would pale and soon apologies. All people know that Aedes Elysiae was destroyed by the black tide. Its fate is left undiscovered to most people. Only a few people know what truly happened to Aedes Elysiae and the supposed beloved of the saviour of Amphoreus.

"Still mourning for her, deliverer?" While most of the time, Mydei would have knocked or raised his voice to announce his arrival. Today was quite different. To lock oneself in a room of the departed and forbid everyone else from going inside on the day of their death anniversary is quite rude. Especially when it's you.

The crown prince carefully picked the lock on the door before gently opening it to walk inside. Not wanting to affect anything that belonged to you.

"Mydei, sorry but I am not in the mood to banter with you today" Phainon said, still not turning from your bookshelf to face his friend-rival.

"Hm, not like I am here to fight you. Where is it?" Mydei shook his head. Now is clearly not the time for such a thing, even he knows that. "Her locket as well as her weapon. Aglaea told me you kept them, handed them over."

"Surely the crown prince of Kremnos would know better than to ask for something that is not his" Phainon still keeping that nonchalant attitude, turn around to smile at Mydei.

The crown prince has to stop himself from hitting the deliverer on the face. After all, they have promised Aglaea to not wrought havoc on a day such as this. "Well, it is not my kingdom that killed her."

"She is not dead" Of course that sentence alone was enough to anger Phainon.

Mydei let out a huff, crossing his arms "Right, right, as if being frozen in time, waiting for her death is any different than truly dying."

"Mydei, we have talked about this. Once the prophecy is completed, she can be rid of Oronyx's influence and return to Okhema. Let's not lose hope, my friend." Phainon said, lending an olive branch to the crown prince. A final act of putting down the flame of hate between the two.

"She does it all for you. Betray her god, sacrificing herself, and frozen Aedes Elysiae in time. To save your home, family and dear friend. I can only hope you return her as much as she has give, Phainon." Mydei said, reaching Phainon's side and took the bow near him- your weapon before walking out. "Priest of Oronyx, helping Kephale's soldier, how laughable"

Phainon watched as Mydei left the room, his hand held tight onto your locket "You don't have to worry. For her..."

"I'm willing to forsaken my tilte as the hero and burn Amphoreus down just to see her again..."

[corvus-ix]

They’re not heroes. They’re your tormentors, and you’ll love every second of it.

❤︎ Synopsis. Four men, each consumed by a darkness that binds them to you, will stop at nothing to claim your soul. In their world, love is a twisted cage, and you’re the captive—lost in a nightmare where escape is impossible and desire is the cruelest torment.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Mr. Reca x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Mydei x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Anaxa x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Phainon x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. The Game of Surrender - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 4,707

♡ TW. dom + top + older + slightly sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, suggestive themes, psychological + mental conditioning, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological + emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, Stockholm Syndrome

♡ Note. This was made before the official releases of characters, so be warned that some information may be inaccurate once additional lore comes out.

♡ A/N. Not me not knowing fully who these characters are. So... not sure if I did this right hahaha. It's too early to judge the unreleased characters but oh well. And, I did put this into my usual style... idk adjskaskd Take this like a brief hypothesis, I suppose. I am thinking on getting back to Genshin and HSR... maybe. Probably not though. Idk. Anyways, I personally thought I cooked with this. Just not sure with personalities askadsdakldsm

♡ Mr. Reca.

"Every thought you have, every breath you take, is a scene in my film—my masterpiece. And don't worry, darling, I'll make sure you never forget your lines. Not even when you're screaming them in your sleep."

The universe had always been a canvas to him—a vast, writhing tapestry of chaos and order, the kind of unpredictable beauty that Mr. Reca found utterly magnetic. He had always been a collector of moments, a Memokeeper who consumed emotions, gestures, and unguarded thoughts with the same fervor a drowning man gulps air.

But you—oh, you—you were not just another fleeting spark in the vast night of existence.

You were an anomaly, a glitch in the dreamscape, a hauntingly real smear of imperfection across his perfectly constructed illusions. And so, he watched you, studied you, devoured the fragile lines of your every expression. It wasn’t obsession, not at first. It was curiosity, a scientist’s hunger for understanding. But curiosity, as it often does, rotted into something far darker.

It began subtly. At first, you didn’t even realize you were his subject. The assistant frog—so innocuous, its mechanical chirps like a child’s toy—hovered too long in your presence. That thing recorded the barest twitch of your lips, the dilation of your pupils when you dreamt, the cadence of your breath when you were lost in thought.

He played those recordings back again and again, crafting you into the centerpiece of his mind’s latest film, a work of art that no audience but him would ever see. Each flicker of your gaze, each half-whispered syllable, was dissected with a surgeon’s precision and woven into the dream bubble of his fantasies.

You had not agreed to this, of course. You would not have, had you known. But consent had never mattered much to Mr. Reca, not when reality itself could be edited, overwritten, and reshaped to suit his narrative.

He didn’t fall in love with you in the way mortals understood love.

No, it was something far more grotesque. You were not his equal. You were not even human, not to him.

You were a role to be perfected, an actress bound to his script. And he—he was the director, the puppeteer pulling the strings of your existence with a touch so light, so surgical, that you didn’t notice your autonomy dissolving until it was too late.

He didn’t approach you like an ordinary man. Ordinary men didn’t cloak their words in riddles, their intentions in shadows.

“Your dreams are fascinating,” he said once, his tone light but his eyes dark, predatory. “I could make a masterpiece from them. Would you let me?”

His gaze burned into you, not with affection, but with hunger—the kind of hunger that consumes, destroys, leaves nothing but ash in its wake.

When you hesitated, when you stammered out a polite refusal, his smile curved sharp and cruel. “Ah, but do you really have a choice?”

You didn’t, of course.

The dream bubbles began soon after. Vivid, horrifyingly real landscapes where you were no longer yourself but a marionette dancing to his whims.

The first time you woke screaming, trembling from the phantom pain of dream wounds, he was there. He shouldn’t have been—your door had been locked—but there he was, sitting on the edge of your bed with his head tilted and that damned frog-camera clutched in his gloved hands.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, as if you were a specimen under glass. “You feel it, don’t you? The fear, the thrill, the pain. Tell me, how does it taste?”

In bed, he is not a lover. He is a creator, and you are his medium.

His touch is clinical at first, cold and calculated, his gloved fingers trailing down your spine as if mapping the curve of your body for a sculpture he plans to carve later.

But there is heat beneath that coldness, a violent, consuming fire that erupts when he lets himself indulge. He does not make love. He takes. He presses you into the mattress as if trying to merge you with it, his weight oppressive, suffocating. His hands grip your wrists too tightly, leaving bruises like the ink stains of his artistry. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice a low murmur that mixes poetry with threats, promises with lies.

“Do you feel it?” he whispers, his tone too calm for the frenzy of his movements. “The way your body betrays you? The way it obeys me, even when your mind doesn’t want to?”

His teeth graze the shell of your ear, and the sharp pain that follows is not accidental. “I could keep you here forever,” he says, his voice thick with sadistic delight. “Inside the dream, inside me. Would you even know the difference? Would you even care?”

You would care, of course.

You fight him, or at least you try. But he’s relentless, unyielding, a force of nature that smothers your resistance with sheer willpower. He doesn’t let you hide from him, not even in the sanctuary of your own mind.

His powers as a Memokeeper ensure that every thought, every secret, every fleeting desire you’ve ever tried to bury is laid bare before him. He uses them against you, weaving them into the narrative of his control.

“You want this,” he says, his voice a velvet knife. “You want me. Your body knows it, even if your mind refuses to admit it.”

His lips trail down your throat, his teeth leaving marks that will linger for days, physical proof of his dominance. “And when I’m done with you, when there’s nothing left of you but what I’ve created, you’ll thank me. You’ll beg me to keep you.”

The horror of it all is that he doesn’t just break you physically. He breaks your mind, piece by fragile piece, until you can no longer tell where the dream ends and reality begins. His dream bubbles seep into your waking hours, twisting your perception until even the memories of your resistance feel like fabrications.

He tells you that you’re his muse, his masterpiece, his greatest work. And despite the revulsion, the terror, some part of you begins to believe him.

Because how could someone so brilliant, so meticulous, be wrong?

And yet, in the darkest corners of your mind, you know the truth.

You are not his muse.

You are his victim, a living doll trapped in the nightmare of his creation.

But no one will ever hear your screams.

He’s made sure of that.

After all, reality itself is just another film to him, and he’s already written your final scene.

♡ Mydei.

"You belong to me, just as I am bound to this blood-soaked fate. No one will ever take you from me, not in this life, not in the next. I’ll carve my name into your soul, and you’ll learn to love it, even if it takes a thousand deaths."

It begins as a hum in the back of his throat, a low vibration that settles into his chest like the resonance of a beast stirring in its lair. He watches you, not from afar, but from the corner of your vision, where his shadow seems to stretch and curve unnaturally—always larger, always darker than the dim light allows. His gaze is not mere sight; it’s weight, pressure, suffocation. He sees the tremor in your fingers as you pour water into a glass. He catalogues the way your breaths hitch when his footsteps echo closer, closer still.

And when he speaks, his voice is a razor dragged slowly, deliberately, across raw nerves. “You’re trembling,” he says, though there’s no concern in his tone.

It’s an observation, clinical yet laced with something sharper, something akin to hunger.

He doesn’t touch you yet, but the proximity is suffocating—his presence a noose tightening with every passing second. His breath brushes your ear as he leans closer. “Are you afraid of me?”

You flinch but say nothing, and he chuckles. It’s low and guttural, almost amused, but there’s an edge of cruelty there, a promise that he’ll savor every inch of your fear.

He feeds on it, you realize, and the thought sends a chill racing down your spine. “You should be,” he murmurs, the words dripping like venom. “Fear keeps you alive… but not from me. Never from me.”

He lies, of course.

The predator in him is far too obvious, a wolf cloaked in something barely resembling humanity. He doesn’t see you as prey to consume in haste.

No, he sees you as a possession—a rare, precious thing to break slowly, to shatter and rebuild in his image. He thrives on control, on the knowledge that every shiver, every gasp, every cry is something he owns, something he’s dragged out of you inch by agonizing inch.

When he finally touches you, it’s with the precision of a surgeon dissecting his subject. Fingers glide over your skin like scalpels, drawing phantom lines where his teeth will follow, where his hands will linger. There’s no tenderness in the way he grips your wrist, the bruising force of his palm a warning, a declaration.

He doesn’t need to speak for you to understand: you’re his.

The room is suffused with a kind of tension that seems alive, thrumming in the air like an electrical charge waiting to snap. His lips curl into something that might resemble a smile if not for the sheer malice in it.

“You can fight,” he says, voice as smooth and cold as glass, “but we both know how this ends.”

And then he moves, swift as a predator pouncing, pinning you against the unyielding surface of the wall.

The impact drives the air from your lungs, and before you can catch your breath, he’s there—everywhere. The heat of his body seeps into yours, the solidity of him a cage that leaves no room for escape. His hands are firm, unrelenting, roaming with a kind of obsessive thoroughness that feels both maddening and humiliating. He maps every inch of your body as if it’s a territory to be conquered, claimed.

The words he whispers into your ear are sharp, biting things, designed to slice through your defenses. “Do you know how easy it would be?” he breathes, his voice a silken thread woven with danger.

“To tear you apart. To ruin you so thoroughly you wouldn’t even recognize yourself. And you’d thank me for it, wouldn’t you? By the time I’m done, you won’t want to remember what it felt like to be whole without me.”

His grip tightens, and you can feel the latent strength in his hands, the power that could snap bone without effort.

And yet he doesn’t.

Not yet.

He revels in the anticipation, in the way your body reacts—fear mingled with something darker, something you refuse to name. The way your breath catches, the way your pulse races beneath his fingers… it’s a symphony to him, a melody of submission he’s determined to conduct to its crescendo.

When he finally takes you, it’s not an act of love—it’s an act of dominance, of ownership.

His movements are deliberate, almost cruel in their precision, each thrust a reminder of who holds the reins. He doesn’t allow you to close your eyes, doesn’t let you escape into the safety of darkness.

No, he demands your gaze, demands that you see him, that you acknowledge the monster who has reduced you to this trembling, gasping wreck. And when you do—when your eyes meet his, wide and glassy with tears—he smiles. Not with joy, but with triumph, with the satisfaction of a hunter who has cornered his prey.

His words during these moments are a mix of degradation and adoration, a twisted litany that leaves no doubt of his intentions. “You’re mine,” he growls against your skin, the heat of his breath searing like a brand. “Every breath, every scream, every drop of blood in your veins—it all belongs to me.”

And yet, even as he tears you apart, there’s an undeniable allure in his madness, a magnetic pull that keeps you rooted to the spot even as every instinct screams at you to run.

Because beneath the cruelty, beneath the overwhelming force of his obsession, there’s a flicker of something more—a need so desperate it borders on pathetic, a craving for connection that he can’t voice but demands nonetheless.

When it’s over, he doesn’t release you.

His arms remain locked around you, a vice that refuses to loosen. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ragged, his body still trembling with the aftermath.

And in that moment, you realize the truth of it: he doesn’t break you because he hates you. He breaks you because he loves you, because the thought of you existing without him is unbearable.

But love, for him, is not soft or kind. It is a blade, honed to a deadly edge, and he wields it without mercy.

“You’ll stay,” he whispers, and it’s not a question.

It’s a command, a promise, a threat.

“You’ll stay because there’s nowhere else for you to go. No one else who could ever understand you the way I do. And if you try to leave…” His voice trails off, but the unspoken consequence hangs heavy in the air, a silent vow etched in blood.

You nod, because what else can you do?

And as he tightens his hold on you, his lips brushing against your temple in a mockery of a kiss, you feel the full weight of your reality settle over you.

There is no escape. There never was.

And in the dark recesses of your mind, a small, terrified part of you wonders if you’ll ever want to leave at all.

��� Anaxa.

"You think you can escape my mind, but you're already tangled in my thoughts—your every breath, every movement, is an echo of me. You belong to me, and I will never let you forget that."

The air around him was always cold, as if reality itself recoiled in his presence, drawing its warmth into the void of his indifference. Anaxa moved like an unfinished thought, fragmented, deliberate, yet ever disquieting.

You felt his shadow linger before you saw him, a chilling weight that settled on your skin like frost, sinking into the marrow of your bones. His eyes—one bared to the world, the other concealed beneath the eyepatch—were an unforgiving tapestry of contradictions: icy intellect simmering beneath the calm veneer, an endless labyrinth of thoughts that spiraled toward madness.

He whispered your name like a sacrament and a curse. Each syllable, spoken in that low, velvety cadence of his, seemed to unravel you, a knife peeling back every layer of resolve.

"You think knowledge can shield you," he murmured one night, his breath as cold and intimate as the edge of a scalpel. "But even wisdom has limits. I’ve seen them. I’ve transcended them." He would circle you like a predator savoring the hunt, his movements calculated, his proximity suffocating.

Anaxa was not a man who shattered the soul through brute force.

No, his torment was subtle—a slow dismantling, piece by piece, until you became something unrecognizable to even yourself.

You didn’t notice how he had claimed your life until it was too late. The quiet manipulation seeped in like poison—so gradual, so insidious, you mistook it for safety. Every book you touched, every whisper of thought you dared to express, every step you took outside the prison he called your sanctuary…all of it traced back to him. You'd look up from a page of text only to find him leaning in the doorway, a slight smile curling his lips, the sort that spoke of secrets too profound and too damning to voice.

"You have such a beautiful mind," he'd say, his gloved fingers brushing the side of your neck in a touch that was almost reverent.

"It’s wasted on anyone else. They’ll never understand you—not like I do." The words were honeyed, dripping with a sincerity so intoxicating you almost believed it.

Almost.

Until you noticed the way his gaze lingered on your trembling hands, on the ink smudges on your skin, on the way you recoiled yet stayed rooted in place. He liked the way fear made you fragile, and though you hated him for it, you hated yourself more for the flicker of thrill that bloomed in your chest.

Anaxa didn’t need chains to hold you down; his words alone were shackles. His intelligence was a web, intricate and all-encompassing, and you were the fly ensnared at its center.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he whispered once, late into the night when the room was too quiet and his voice was too close. "But I will, if it’s the only way to make you stay."

And you knew he meant it—not as a threat, but as a promise, a truth spoken with the same certainty as an immutable law of the universe.

The moments of intimacy—if one could call them that—were no less haunting.

His touch was clinical, precise, like a scientist studying a fragile specimen. He knew where to press, where to hold, where to carve into your soul with a calculated cruelty that left you yearning and dreading in equal measure.

His lips on your skin felt like frostbite, burning cold yet addictively sharp. His hands, those hands that wielded intellect like a blade, seemed to map every inch of you with the precision of a scholar dissecting sacred scripture.

"You’re beautiful," he would say, the words an oxymoron of tenderness and possession.

"Beautiful because you’re broken. Broken because you’re mine." He traced the curve of your throat with a gloved fingertip, lingering on the places where your pulse betrayed your terror.

His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could peel back the layers of flesh and bone to reach the essence of you. "Do you know what the Titans whispered to me in my dreams?" he asked once, his voice a mix of wonder and madness.

"They said I’d find divinity in ruin. And here you are."

The nights were the worst.

In the darkness, you felt him even when you didn’t see him.

The weight of his presence pressed against you, suffocating, inescapable. His words would echo in your mind, winding through your thoughts like a parasite. He’d appear at your bedside, his figure shrouded in the dim glow of moonlight.

"You should sleep," he’d murmur, though his tone carried no warmth. "You’ll need your strength. Tomorrow, we’ll unravel the secrets of the cosmos. Together."

And though you tried to resist, you found yourself clinging to the edges of his words, desperate for the clarity he promised, even as it led you deeper into his labyrinth.

When he finally claimed you, it was an act of calculated brutality disguised as love.

Every kiss felt like a conquest, every caress a branding. He whispered to you like a poet reciting his magnum opus, his voice soft yet unyielding, every syllable carrying the weight of his obsession.

"You belong to me," he said, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands pinned you beneath him. "Not just your body. Your mind. Your soul. Everything. No one else is worthy—not even you."

And as his touch became more demanding, more consuming, you realized that he wasn’t just unraveling you. He was recreating you, piece by piece, reshaping you into something that existed solely for him.

And though every fiber of your being screamed in defiance, a small, treacherous part of you wondered if this was love—or if it was something far darker, something that transcended the bounds of human understanding.

"You’ll never leave me," he said, his voice a blend of certainty and desperation as his lips ghosted over your trembling skin.

"Even if you try, even if you run…I’ll always find you. You’re the only constant in my chaos, the only light in my darkness. And I will burn the stars themselves before I let that light fade."

And so, you lay there in the cold embrace of his obsession, trapped between terror and desire, caught in the orbit of a man who would dismantle the heavens just to keep you by his side.

♡ Phainon.

"Every strike I make, every victory I win—it’s all for you. So don't be afraid when you see the blood. It's just a little sacrifice to remind you: you're mine, and I will burn this world to the ground before I let you go."

The moments he craves most are the quiet ones when the two of you are entirely alone, but tonight, silence isn’t kind.

It’s oppressive, weighted by the looming presence of the man before you—the Deliverer, the Nameless Hero, a man who wears the name Phainon like an armor of light.

Yet beneath that golden radiance, a storm of obsession churns, relentless and unyielding.

He stands over you, the faint luminescence of his ichor-stained veins pulsing faintly in the dim, cold air of the temple chamber. You can feel his gaze before you see it—heavy, glinting with something raw and unspeakable.

His voice, when it finally breaks the silence, is soft but unshakable, carrying the weight of a promise that makes your blood run cold.

“You don’t understand, do you? You’ve never understood.” A smile curls at the edge of his lips, serene yet terrifying. “I don’t want to save the world, not anymore. I want to save you. Every step I’ve taken, every blow I’ve struck, has always been for you.”

His claymore rests at his side, its edge gleaming faintly with an unsettling crimson, dried remnants of the battle from earlier still clinging to the blade.

He hasn’t cleaned it.

He hasn’t even sheathed it.

The weapon is as much a part of him as the air he breathes.

You can’t help but wonder if the blood that stains it belongs to someone you knew, someone who once stood too close to you for his liking.

He takes a step closer, the sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing like the toll of a funeral bell.

You back away instinctively, but there’s no escape.

His pace is slow, deliberate. He knows exactly how far he needs to push you before your resolve shatters.

“Run if you want to,” he murmurs, his tone almost gentle. “I won’t stop you. But you’ll come back. You always do.”

There’s no malice in his words, only certainty—a chilling, inescapable truth that wraps around your throat like a noose.

His hands are stained too.

Not visibly, not this time, but you can feel it in the way he reaches for you.

Fingers meant for wielding destruction now hover over your cheek, trembling slightly with restraint.

You flinch, and the flicker of hurt that crosses his face is almost human—almost.

“You’re afraid of me,” he whispers, his breath brushing against your ear as he leans closer.

“And I... I hate that. I hate that you make me this way. But I hate it even more when you’re far from me.”

When his lips press against yours, it isn’t a kiss—it’s a conquest.

His desperation seeps into you like venom, intoxicating and suffocating all at once. He tastes like metal and fury, his ichor burning faintly where his tongue grazes yours. His touch isn’t tender; it’s possessive, frantic, like he’s trying to carve his existence into your very bones.

His hand tangles in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you gasp, and the sound only seems to spur him on. “You’re mine,” he growls against your lips, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous timbre. “Say it.”

You don’t.

You can’t.

And that’s when his patience snaps.

His grip tightens, dragging you against him until there’s no space left between your bodies. The heat of him is overwhelming, a furnace of ichor and madness that threatens to consume you whole. His other hand presses against the small of your back, forcing you to arch into him as he lowers his head to your neck.

His breath is hot against your skin, and when he speaks again, it’s a guttural rasp that makes your stomach twist. “You don’t understand how far I’d go for you. What I’d destroy. Who I’d become.”

He sinks his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, not enough to break the skin but enough to leave a mark—a brand, a reminder of his claim. You cry out, and he exhales sharply, almost like he’s savoring the sound.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “That’s the truth of it, isn’t it? You’ll scream for me, cry for me... but you’ll never leave.”

And he’s right, isn’t he?

Because even now, as fear and anger coil in your chest like a viper, you can’t bring yourself to push him away.

His presence is suffocating, his obsession terrifying—but there’s something about the way he looks at you, like you’re the sun in a world of endless night, that makes it impossible to resist him entirely.

It’s sick.

It’s wrong.

But it’s real.

Phainon knows it too.

He knows you better than you know yourself, and that knowledge is his greatest weapon.

He wields it with precision, unraveling you piece by piece until there’s nothing left but the parts of you that belong to him.

“You’ll stay,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. “You’ll always stay. Because no one else can have you. Not the Titans, not the Trailblazer... not even yourself.”

When he finally pulls away, his eyes lock onto yours, glowing faintly with the golden ichor that courses through his veins. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about him in this moment, a tragic god draped in shadows. He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s just solved.

“You’re mine,” he says again, softer this time. “And I’m yours. Whether you like it or not.”

And you believe him.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Forbidden Fruits”: @uniquecutie-puffs , @belovedoftheanemoarchon , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling , @jjune-07 , @jsprien213 , @crimson-kisses , @tinandabin , @sashakittycloud , @songbirdgardensworld , @monamuskay

———

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[corvus-ix]

one my male friend convinced me to watch solo leveling to argue over power scaling, but now he suffering from ‘hear me out’ ‘a MAN aMAN AMAAAAAN’ endless edits in tiktok… he summoned wrong demon i swear because THIS is the fucking plot im watching solo leveling for

idk call me certified monstefucker?? bc i read some spoilers and there’s gonna be demons?? humans??? WHO CAN TURN INTO DRAGONSSS?? im fucking innn

yes, im gonna write for solo leveling too i guess

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HIIII!💌💌So sorry to clog your inbox but i love ypur arts and works so much 💜💜💜💜

Did you know Welt in HSR is the 'Welt' from HI? Long story short, he went there to protect Himeko. If it is okay, can we have Welt seeing Himeko x reader's kid? I want to see this old man feels acomplished.

Good luck with your thesis!🫂🫂🫂🫂

Little Red (Art only)

Omg yeah!I did read that HSR Welt is not an Expy/copy but he is the exact one from HI. I really hope he feel his job is fulfilled when he becomes an uncle/grandpa

Messy art, Gn!Reader, Himeko x Reader, but this is full on the baby and Welt, Welt's real name.

The baby is Himeko's copy paste for the sake of ambiguity.

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He was about to sneak into the nursery.

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Giving Love A Chance

Pairings: Joseph Desaulnier x Female Reader

Genre: Fluff, light angst.

Warnings: None.

Chapters 2 - 3 - 4 - 5

— ദ്ദി（• ˕ •マ.ᐟ —

Prologue —

Being a young woman in a rising in the world of men, where women are only seen as housewives, and a property of their fathers and husbands. Not only were some of the men are sexist, but also abusive towards the women.

So you often get why people often whispers about how you are raised very differently, growing up with intelligence about medicine and political views. Men especially, while studying in abroad, men had criticized you for your choice of work, as offending as it was, those men never really got the chance to graduate on the university and instead just got stuck in a loveless marriage from what you've heard.

While it wasn't surprising, you have expected some of those to happen, their attitude will get them no where, and might even be an idiot and tarnish their own family name.

Although you were successful woman who graduated in a high end university, where most normal people cannot even attend to, your father had forced you to stay at home and be the lady of the house, which means signing papers and responding to letters and such, not that you were complaining, most women wouldn't be able to do some of these so you're extremely grateful.

But that all changed when your father introduced you to a man from a foreign country and said that he arranged both of you in a marriage.

Chapter 1 —

The meeting.

Joseph Desaulniers, a man born in an aristocrat family. He was distant, elegant and enigmatic man, often attached to his camera snapping pictures of what he deemed beautiful. He was an unpredictable to decipher, like a puzzle that you have to connect to get the answer, and maybe that's why you grew interested, too interested if I say so myself.

You and him met when your parents had called you to the living room, telling a maid to fetch you out of the study room, and of course you complied, fixing your attire and appearance first to look absolutely presentable to face your parents.

You entered the room, undeniably tired, but still masked it with nonchalance in case your mother suddenly berates you for it. Your eyes immediately landed on a man with light hair tied in a low ponytail accompanied with a yellow bow and beautiful blue eyes that you could compare to the blue sky, it was simply so beautiful, eye catching even.

"Ah, come, have a seat." Your father finally spoke up with the clear of his throat, gesturing for you to sit down on the empty chair beside the couch, in which you did.

"You might be confused on why we called you here, yes?" Your father inquired again, looking at you with a stone face, not even releasing a single emotion.

You nodded, absolutely confused on why you were even here to begin with, you would rather drown in papers and signing letters than be here and be bored.

"very well, this is Joseph Desaulniers, a man who came from France," he gestured to the man you set eyes on earlier, you bowed you head to him as a sign of respect and mannerism, in which he just nodded at.

"I've decided to make an arrangement between the two of you," your father continued looking at you specifically. Your eyes snapped wide, looking at your own father who told you that you were never getting arranged to someone when you were young.

"and you did not ask if I'm comfortable enough to agree?" You questioned, a frown playing on your face while you looked at your father, hurt, and betrayed.

You mother only shook her head, as always, she was a woman of views, always so composed, not once minding any gossips about her, finally spoke up.

"Dear, you must understand that this arrangement are for the better on our business, we could now ship our items overseas." She reasoned, but you were having none of it. You shook your head with a frown still playing on your face, clearly upset.

"so I'm just a pawn in this? This is unacceptable, mother." You said before standing up and leaving the room with the door closing behind you with a loud thud.

Your mother stood up and excused herself, claiming that she'll talk to you and they should continue their conversation about the matter.

"apologies for our daughter, she is just used with having freedom of things she do." Your father apologized on your behalf, nodding at Joseph, who only nodded, taking no interest in his apology, although his attention was slightly peaked with your personality, he had never seen a woman have so many freedom about her choice in a world of men, he just wants to, capture it and make it his.

➣

Second time writing like this, I don't know if I did great, and I still don't know how to capture Joseph's personality properly😭😭

[corvus-ix]

you might need to check on him-

He's fine.

[corvus-ix]

What if (2)

Also, the redesign for Nell is made by @KarmaforAlma (I put her art and twitter below), and it's really lovely

They are making Cero double, yeah

[corvus-ix]

The Fallen

Warning: a little yandere, ooc, canon change (The fact that there is a night on Amphoreus and that's it)

English is not my native language, there may be mistakes.

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

Imagine Mydei, who knew from childhood that you were connected to him by prophecy.

Every day, little Mydei reminded himself that one day he would become the sole heir of Kremnos and, together with the wanderer from the farthest stars, he would always be with her.

Day after day, Mydei trained tirelessly, his workouts were damn exhausting, his body ached from overloads. But even when he was completely exhausted, looking at the scorching sun, he imagined how he would protect you from all troubles. After all, he's your warrior.

Every night, the young man sat on a pillow in front of the window, looking at the stars, he knew that somewhere out there you were also looking at him and also waiting to meet him.

And later, he will wish you sweet dreams, make himself comfortable on the bed facing the window and smile gently.

But little Mydei does not know that his sweet traveler will seal his heart in the strongest crystal with just one kiss on the cheek of another man. Trampling on prophecy and young warrior

[corvus-ix]

ㅡgolden, sweet nectar & love of your dreams

just a passing thought...3.0 quest spoilers do not read if you haven't finish it yet

📜🖋️🎀SUPPORT MY KO-FI🎀🖋️📜

there is an agreed unspoken rule between the chrysos heirs when there is alcohol involved within the vicinity.

do not let phainon get drunk.

it’s a simple and easy feat, if one can say. phainon doesn’t drink that often unless the situation calls for it and he doesn’t seek inebriation especially he is a soldier—a warrior, he is always ready for combat, alcohol will only impair his judgement. in a world under the prophecy’s befall upon currently, phainon is one of the last people you could think will get drunk.

tribbie mentioned the rule in passing.

you definitely should have been more careful instead of brushing off his question ‘can i drink this?’, unsuspectingly making the hero of amphoreus drink all the content of a concoction you were brewing (a burst of inspiration from gallagher’s words when you wake up this morning and it’s always morning in okhema) just because you’re curious what will a drink made from three drops of celestial ambrosia and a half glass of beautiful enemy from penacony recipe tastes like.

a few minutes earlier, you’re playing with the items in your inventory in your private chamber. as a natural trailblazer, of course, you don’t just stay in one place when every cell in your body is itching to travel the stars but when you’re stuck in a world without a touch of communication outside and no chat from the astral express and your two companions—dan heng and scrappy raccoon—are sleeping.

you’re naturally bound to get rid of your boredom like an idiot cleaning their whole bedroom and found interesting things midway. in this case, you open your inventory.

all sorts of things including yes, even the dangerous ones like shards of desires, scattered around.

phainon comes in with a knock and without turning your back to face him, brewing mung bean soda and let’s be real together, you let him enter.

at first, phainon is expressing his excitement seeing your out-of-this-world items silently, occasionally asking questions that you didn’t mind answering—still brewing drinks. until he got nearer to your sitting figure in the floor, bottles and glasses of different drinks surrounding you and asked a question that will almost brand you as a criminal in amphoreus, “can i drink this?”

“sure,” you nodded without hesitation, distracted by the energy drink’s bubbly reaction.

all is well until phainon’s large arms wrap around your waist and his heavy body leans to you, his snowy head nuzzling to your shoulder from behind. “wha-! phainon??”

“let me kiss you please?”

you almost dropped the energy drink, “what?“

“i said, let me kiss you.” he murmured, voice barely audible if he isn't closer to you, you would miss it.

“what!?” you snapped your head towards him, trying to squirm away from his grasp but what can you do when his grip is tight and he is whining? one hand reached out to move his locks away hiding his face and you found his skin hot. “..are you drunk? what did you drink?”

you tried to ignored phainon’s drunken pleas but as much as you wanted to, it all went straight to your heart, his desperate words filling your ears—they sounded so sincere and passionate and you could almost feel your restraint weakening. your poor heart almost couldn’t resist his drunken desires, a young and handsome man like phainon is a temptation, and you found yourself giving in.

almost.

safe to say, you thank whoever titan heard you to not let nikador’s titankin attack during that time as you multitask in taking care of drunk phainon and looking for a drink that could knock him out in one go so he could sleep and leave you in peace.

lady aglaea wouldn’t interrogate you the second time, right?

[corvus-ix]

..

...

All Bark and Bite (Art only)

FURRY ART JUMPSCARE 😱😱

Based on @nvuy 's Boothill dog energy post, reader is wearing hoodie!

[corvus-ix]

Okay so, mayhaps, considering aaalll the stages of change Aizen went through and some Aus; Default Captain/Traitor, 3-Holes Hollowfied, Muken, Transcended (20th Anniversary) and Human if you count Bleach Brave Souls; there must of been some serious “stat block” (among other) changes depending on what version your interacting with.

On sfw levels, I’d love to put them in a terrarium and see how they interact w/ each other and + a y/n. Though in a nsfw note, I think some thorough tests would need to be done just to see how different yet alike they all are to each other. 😉😉

I LOVE this idea haha! This was so fun to write. I’ll try to put the SFW bits before the read more, but the NSFW will be after.

CW: exhibitionism, group sex, monster fucking ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This isn’t in a fic format, so hopefully this will suffice!

Regardless of y/n being present in this terrarium or not, I can see all the Aizens interacting with each other and comparing notes. In a way, they’re all Aizens of different times (LOL Aizens of Christmas Past, Present and Future). So yes, I think they would discuss amongst themselves what has been happening.

That being said, I think Cocoon/Chrysallis Aizen and Butterfly!Aizen would be a bit arrogant compared to the others, so the other Aizen’s would be studying them like peculiar specimens.

Monster!Aizen would raise questions. I can see some of the Aizens wondering how they can avoid this transformation.

I think Muken!Aizen would be the most exhausted by this. Pointing out all the flaws of where it went wrong.

Transcended!Aizen is another story. I can see this Aizen explaining to the others how he became successful, but I think it’s in (all) Aizen’s nature to be wary and cautious. I can also see Transcended!Aizen trying to break out of the terrarium lol. Maybe they all work together and try to break it??

The “human” Aizens (from Bleach Brave Souls (which I don’t think are human?? I think in BBS, Aizen is still a soul reaper, but I digress) would be immediately curious and ask questions, maybe do their own observations and experimentations that they could in a human body. I think it would make the other Aizens curious about how the human ones live – what can they do in such a limited capacity?

In my heart of hearts, they would make a union but disagree on who would be their union leader and union rep (oh to witness the collective bargaining unit of Aizens…)

Now when y/n is in this terrarium… (I’m a HUGE sucker for the soul mate trope, which is the underlying basis for these next set of points):

I think the fact that there is only one y/n, who remains consistently the same for all the Aizens would throw some alarm bells for them! Because philosophically it would make them question the nature of fate and such.

They would immediately ask y/n questions and be incredibly cautious of y/n as well.

I think it will begin poorly for everyone involved. All the Aizens would be in disbelief that this one person remained consistent in all these iterations/timelines/universes. It unnerves them.

I think the whole terrarium would be in disbelief with what was happening overall, but y/n might feel overwhelmed with all the Aizens asking them questions.

It would make all the Aizens question how similar, and dissimilar they are, so y/n would be a so-called “neutral” party.

While they may all be physically different, more or less, I think certain traits would be similar amongst all of them and it is something y/n is able to pull out. I can see the inherent “teaching” trait being the most evident one.

Y/n will have questions, and this is where they will see the Aizens trying to answer them. It’s kind of cute!

Even the monstrous form of Aizen would be swayed too – I think also, they (as a collective) are a bit possessive of y/n.

Of all the Aizens though, I think Muken!Aizen would be standoffish. Mostly because he would be hesitant to reunite with y/n, but also because he’s the most wary/cautious of all the Aizens. I can see this almost as if he wants y/n the most, but there’s a fear of losing them again and he can’t bring himself to interact with y/n as much as the others.

I think Transcendent!Aizen would scoff at the presence of y/n but he’s more of a tsundere. While he is a transcendent being, I can imagine him thinking he doesn’t want or miss y/n, but that is far from the truth.

Watching y/n interact with the other Aizens would make Transcendent!Aizen feel a bit jealous. This will then make him question his own feelings. I can see this version trying to attack y/n as a way to test himself, but the other Aizens would protect y/n, with Muken!Aizen stopping Transcendent!Aizen.

NSFW

y/n is the test subject to all of the Aizens whims!

Each Aizen would “demonstrate” for the others, what turns on y/n. One might spank y/n infront of the others, another might be playing with y/n’s nipples.

Each Aizen would demonstrate how well y/n would suck on his cock, and this might be where y/n would see differences! Maybe one Aizen prefers y/n playing with his balls, another might prefer watching y/n finger themselves while sucking him off. Either way, the Aizens are getting a show.

Monster!Aizen would be the first to fuck y/n, more so because the other Aizens are curious as to how this would work, and y/n wants to know if his cock has changed.

Monster!Aizen would instill both fear and excitement in y/n because it is an Aizen that is unfamiliar to y/n physically, but he still reacts to y/n’s body the same way as the others do.

I think Lieutenant Aizen is a bit impatient and while y/n is sucking off another Aizen’s cock, he might “jump in” and prep y/n’s pussy for fucking, and also unlike the “older” Aizen’s, I think he would be the first to cum.

Captain Aizen would be the one to eat y/n out, making sure y/n is tended too.

Human!Aizen would be a bit rough with y/n, I think they will pull y/n’s hair, but Transcendent!Aizen would be a bit mean, calling y/n various names like, “cock slut,” “whore,” etc.

Transcendent!Aizen I can see being the cruellest with y/n. It is degrading in a sense, but the other Aizens know that y/n loves to please and this is no exception. Lots of throat fucking, hair pulling, but Transcendent!Aizen doesn’t want others involved – they are only watching.

Lieutenant and Captain Aizens I can see tag teaming y/n. Maybe with a human!Aizen as a third participant. It’ll devolve into an orgy at some point, as y/n loses track of which Aizen’s cock their sucking and who’s fucking their pussy or ass. I can see Lieutenant Aizen wanting to creampie y/n, but Captain Aizen prefers to cum on y/n’s face.

Muken!Aizen, surprisingly, I can see having tender sex with y/n? Because Muken is so isolating, he takes his time with y/n and is more attentive to y/n’s needs and wants. He might use some of his own binding to bind y/n in some shape or form, but at the core of it, he wants y/n’s touch more than the others. The feel of y/n’s hands on his body, the way y/n says his name, their kisses, etc., is something he would cherish unlike the other Aizens.

THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK AND FOR YOUR PATIENCE!!

This was so much fun to write. I hope you enjoy it!!

[corvus-ix]

Baby vanilla meeting the brave gang

Lost lamb.

[corvus-ix]

Attention Artists!!

TL;DR: spam bot stealing art to advertise a scam website

It was brought to my attention that there is an account by the name of @/rokonrrc that steals and reposts others’ art to advertise what I am 99% positive is a scam. The bot has stolen art from numerous fandoms including Cookie Run, Transformers, BG3, Mouthwashing, Resident Evil, among others including non fandom works!

I’m unsure if it only takes from popular posts in the trending tab, or it finds posts posts big and small through tags, but I know a handful of artists whom this bot has stolen the art of.

If you want to help take the spambot down, please report + block. And most importantly, do NOT click the link under its reposts, as it will send you to a scam website!

Stay vigilant and cool, and have a good day! 🫡

[corvus-ix]

happily ever after.

premise. perhaps in your last life, you wished for an extraordinary romance; a once-in-a-lifetime encounter, a dashing prince to kiss your hand, and an eternal love that could only be found in fairy tales. now, as you acknowledge that this story is not yours, your greatest desire is to remain out of the limelight while you watch your dearest protagonist twirl in the ballroom with the man of her dreams.

and just like every other time, fate has other plans.

word count. 7.8k

note. i honestly thought i wouldn't be able to finish this, but here we are. i hope you enjoy!

“The duke of Marechaussee is looking for a bride!”

The news spread far and wide, each new piece of gossip shared through word of mouth more convoluted than the last. But the gist of it essentially remains true—the reputable head of the most prestigious duchy in Fontaine, Neuvillette, whose abstinence from marriage had nobles speculating his intentions to practice celibacy, has now unfounded those rumors.

For others, this is an opportunity. For you, this is a cause for a headache.

Let's have a brief recount of your second life thus far. Ten years ago, you found yourself in a body that was not yours, one that was far too dainty and sickly for your liking. You were born to a powerful aristocratic family, your father bearing the title of Marquess. It was your greatest joy to find this new family of yours was loving and affectionate, bursting into tears of relief upon your return to consciousness the very first time you opened your eyes in this world. You were told you had nearly fallen to disease, and your parents spared no effort in finding the most knowledgeable doctors across the continent. Their embrace was incredibly warm, hands clutching your small body so tightly as if once they let go, you would be lost to the winds.

And, well. As far as you’re concerned, it isn't the worst life to live in. Your eldest brother is almost overbearingly protective, but he’s beyond considerate and cared for you greatly. Your second brother isn't honest to a fault, and you heard he often played tricks on you before, but ever since your worst fit of sickness, he's been incredibly careful in his treatment around you.

Life passed peacefully like this, adored and doted on by your beloved family. To repay their kindness, you wish to aid your eldest brother in the future and pursue your studies, but your parents assure you you don't have to do anything you don't want—including being bound by marriage.

For any other aristocratic family, it is a daughter's duty to secure a beneficial relationship with other houses of similar prestige. But your family spoils you rotten, and they hold no greed; why would they wish for more power when they already have everything they could possibly want in the kingdom as a Marquess family?

It is for that reason you are able to avoid the biggest red flag that could potentially lead to your demise: the engagement with the House of Marechaussee.

With how much you used to read webtoons and played otome games with the “I died and woke up in the romance novel I used to read” premise, you aren't all that surprised to realize you found yourself in that very situation. What did surprise you is the lack of daddy issues, and how easy you have it as a villainess.

You woke up in the world of “My Royal Darling,” an otome game with a plot as creative as its title. Cliche as it is, you ate that shit up back in your previous life and knew the story like the back of your hand. Your character [Name] Silva mainly appeared in the duke's route, a villainess who loved him deeply for his kindness and gentleness beneath his cold facade. As far as villainesses went in this game, you are certainly not the worst; the girl in the prince's route actively schemed against the protagonist and received a befitting punishment as a result. The worst [Name] Silva did was beg her doting parents for an engagement with the duke and use her sick sob story to garner pity.

All you have to do is avoid the duke at all costs, and you won't be part of the drama at all.

...That was what you thought before you went ahead and befriended the protagonist. Goddamn it.

“The duke is searching for a bride-to-be. Can you believe it?” Lumine giggles in all her protagonist glory, twinkling laughter as pleasant as the song of birds. Her etiquette is impeccable as ever, starting from her straight posture down to the elegant curve of her fingers as she raises her cup to sip tea. Her dress is not nearly as intricate as yours, the difference between your status glaringly apparent, but it's easy to envision her as a perfect princess. It would soon come to reality, you realize.

“And because of that, just about every girl I know is flocking to tailor shops to prepare for the social season.” You grimace, picking up a chocolate cake from the cake tower laid before you. You are currently having tea with Lumine in your rose garden, a bi-monthly arrangement where you shared gossip and traded information. “I fear I will be ridiculed for not following the latest trends soon. All of the shops are probably too busy to accommodate my order.”

“You must be joking. Who would dare refuse you?” Lumine shakes her head. “And even if they dressed up to the nines for the duke, they couldn't possibly compare to you.”

“I'm not trying to gain his favor,” you counter, poking at a strawberry on your plate. “I simply want new additions to my wardrobe, and the banquet hosted by the imperial family is coming up soon. My parents indulge me, but even I can't skip out on it.”

To avoid the love interests as much as possible, you minimize the frequency you go out to parties. Using your weak constitution is enough of an excuse to decline the invitations that pour out in the mail each day. But refusing an invitation from the imperial family is equivalent to a death sentence to your social standing, and even the protectiveness of your older brothers couldn't spare you from that.

If you have it your way, you absolutely would not go. The royal ball is where the official story starts, the prologue to a fairytale romance. All the love interests will be present, and the routes will branch out according to who Lumine will choose to talk to. Though you have no idea who Lumine will pick and you’re certain you were already ruled out as a villainess character ever since you made yourself her close confidant, you don't want to take on any risks. Alas, reality is unkind. You suppose you'll just see it as an opportunity to see the drama up close.

“Forget me, do you already have something to wear?”

“That is...” Lumine appears to be forlorn. “I plan to wear a dress I've worn before. We deemed it more favorable than purchasing a new dress I'll only wear once in my life. Besides, I doubt anyone would remember me wearing it already.”

She places too much faith in people. Nobles thrive on gossip—they find every possible flaw in everyone to gain leverage over them, and you've seen them ridicule Lumine in the game enough times to know. As the daughter of a humble Baron, she's already being picked on by the upper ranking ladies. If she goes to the banquet hosted by the imperial family wearing a gown that's already fallen out of trend, you have no doubt she will be regarded with derision.

But you won't allow that to happen.

“Do you have time this afternoon?” You smile. Lumine tilts her head in confusion yet nods nonetheless. “Let's find you a dress in the commerce street. We'll test out that theory of yours that they won't refuse me.”

Immediately, her eyes widen. She knows what you're planning. This is far from the first time you would be treating her. “No, it's fine! We don't have to go there!”

“Oh, c'mon, Lumine. Your birthday is coming up. Just think of it as me giving you your birthday present a few weeks in advance.”

At that, her shoulders slump. This is not the first time, and so she knows well there's no arguing with you once you put your mind into something. “If you insist so much…” She tries for a grateful smile, but it looks more guilty. When will she accept that she deserves nice things like this and so much more?

Just like Lumine said, you shot up the priority list of the tailor shop without much of a fuss. You make her try on numerous dresses, forbidding the tailors from telling her how much they cost if she ever asks. You end up choosing a pale blue dress that accentuates her good figure and complements her skin, and you manage to grab a couple of matching jewelry when she isn't looking.

Hopefully soon, you think as you begin to scarf down what remains of the cake tower, eager to go shopping. If she goes with the prince route, he’ll give her an entire castle. I should probably tell her about that cage in the basement from the yandere bad ending, though.

Lumine looks good in everything anyway, so it isn't a very time-consuming affair. You even have some time left to check out the merchant stalls before curfew arrives and you have to send her to a carriage back home.

“I don't know about you, but I'm craving some donuts.” You're raring to go to the best bakery in town, and Lumine laughs at your eagerness. Your family never looked upon fried food kindly, and you only have a chance of eating them when you're not within their supervision.

“Aren't you full from the pastries we ate earlier?”

“Hardly.” You grab onto your inconveniently long dress, prepared to race. “Come on, Lumine, we better hurry up before they run out!”

In your haste however, you fail to notice a child walking towards the opposite direction as you. She crashes to your leg, the impact sending her to the ground. You gasp, wasting no time in crouching down to her eye level and helping her up, uncaring of how the hem of your dress slides against the dirty floor. “I'm terribly sorry! Are you hurt anywhere?”

You pat away the dirt on her skirt, searching for any sign of blood. “No, I'm okay! I'm sorry too, miss!” The girl does a little cute bow, one that would normally make you coo if only you didn't feel so guilty. When she gives you a reassuring toothy grin, eyes shining bright with innocence, you can't help but pat her on the head with your clean hand.

“Did you get lost? Where are your parents?” You bring out an embroidered handkerchief from your pocket, wiping her hands free of grime. Lumine scans the nearby area and notices a man running over.

“Mister!” The child exclaims happily, pointing at him. You look up at his direction, momentarily at ease, until you actually see who she's pointing to.

Apprehension pools at the pit of your stomach. The man is the very picture of someone that children should be taught to avoid. Draped in a dark cloak that conceals half of his face, his attire is practically the standard getup for kidnappers in an abduction scene, the type that says cheesy lines like “hand over the gold or I'll kill your girl right now” and ends up getting decked in the face by the prince that saves the heroine.

Before you can say anything, the little girl runs toward him, her arms outstretched for an embrace. The man is quick to lean down and cradle her in his arms, reprimanding the girl for his carelessness. The severity of his words is utterly lost when he's too busy scanning the child's body up and down in search of any injuries to be intimidating.

“Didn't I tell you not to run? You could get into an accident,” the man admonishes gently as he uses the napkin in the girl's hands to wipe away the remaining dirt on her palms. “Not everyone is as forgiving as this kind lady. Did you apologize to her?”

“No, it's fine, it was my fault,” you interject, doing a quick curtsy reflexively. “I got too excited about buying donuts that I wasn't paying enough attention to my surroundings.”

The man pauses when he gets a good look at you, making you shrink to yourself. You put on commoner clothes to blend with the crowd better, but you wonder if you have something incriminating of your status on you.

“Did you get hurt?”

You blink at the unexpected question. How could bumping into a tiny child cause you any injury? “...Not at all.”

His lips curl into a smile, still visible under the shadows of his robe. “Then that's a relief. We apologize for this incident. I'm sorry to cut this conversation short, but I'm afraid we have somewhere to be.”

“Oh, of course!” You laugh awkwardly, raising a hand to wave at the child. “Be safe on the way there.”

The older man bows his head and the little girl yells an endearing “farewell!” as she's carried away by her guardian, spinning on his heel to turn to their destination.

In doing so, you catch a glimpse of the ornate sword strapped to his waist. A silver dragon wraps around the hilt, its scales gleaming under the sun. The sapphires in its eyes are a deep blue, the color as vibrant as the sea, a contrast to the dull shade of its scabbard.

You swear you've seen that sword before.

“[Name], we should hurry. The sun will set soon.” Lumine snaps you out of your thoughts, reminding you of the direness of the situation.

“The lady was really pretty!” The little girl—Mamere—begins to ramble as she fiddles with the handkerchief you left her. She's walking on her own now, but the man makes sure to match her slower pace. “I thought she would get mad when I bumped into her, but her voice was so nice and soft. And she patted my head!”

“My donuts!”

“She was very kind,” the man agrees, remembering the genuine worry on your face when Mamere fell to the ground.

“But what do I do?” Mamere pouts, staring at the intricate embroidery on the napkin. “I don't know how to return this to her.”

Her companion hums. “I don't think she's expecting you to return it. Didn’t she give it to you?”

“But I feel bad…” Mamere admires the careful stitching, her fingers lightly tracing its shape. “It looks so beautiful… she must've worked hard in embroidering it, didn't she?” Suddenly, her eyes sparkle with realization, an idea popping into her mind. “Mister, if it's you, you can return it to her, right?”

The older man blinks. “I suppose so. However-”

The girl offers the handkerchief to him. “Please give this to her when you see her, Mister!”

Conflicted, he stares down at Mamere, but he eventually folds when she puts on her best puppy dog eyes. He takes the handkerchief from her hands, his thumb brushing over the meticulous embroidery.

Only a fool wouldn’t recognize the insignia of the Silva House.

A strong gust of wind pulls down the hood of his cloak, revealing long hair the color of moonlight. The golden hue of the sunset basks his pale skin in a bright glow, his eyes soft as he gazes upon the handkerchief.

“I have a good idea when I may see her next,” Neuvillette assures Mamere, causing her smile to brighten even more.

All too soon, the day of the imperial banquet arrives.

Though whether she wants to see me or not is a different matter.

Natully, your escort to the event is none other than your protective second brother, but you'd argue he's a better choice over the eldest who'd probably glare daggers at anyone who comes within five meters of your vicinity. It's not even like you have other men in your life aside from your family and the knights at your service.

You intend to appear as inconspicuous as possible, but the nobles' curious gazes still follow after your shadow. Consequences of your actions, you suppose. You managed to dodge that eventful first meeting with Duke Neuvillette since you knew you would bump into him at a social gathering, but you had to go through the extra mile to avoid attending every party you could skip because the game was so goddamn vague and only described the scene as “The lady of House Silva fell in love with the duke the moment her eyes landed upon him at a banquet.”

Thanks to that, you’re rarely seen by nobility and thus attained a ridiculous nickname along the lines of “the precious flower of Silva” for being thoroughly pampered by your family, hidden from the rest of the world. Embellished tales of your beauty spread across society, and you can only hope they weren't disappointed to see the real thing in the flesh.

Damn it, you think grimly, the downturn of your lips hidden beneath the intricate fan you've taken to using in order to hide your expression. It's hard to approach the buffet table when they're all staring at me like this.

Truthfully, you’re grateful all they're doing is staring. If not for your eldest brother’s protectiveness, you’re sure more than a crowd of men would be vying for your hand in marriage, flooding your house with mail and wedding offers. Your second brother is not so fortunate, pinned by pointed stares from all sides by unwed women waiting for the right moment to pounce on him.

He pinches the edge of your sleeve before you can attempt to sneak your way towards the buffet table. “And where exactly are you going?” Amazingly enough, his pleasing smile doesn't falter even as he grumbles out his admonishment, still as flawless as ever.

“To eat. The catering is wasted on you socialites, no one bothers to take a bite just to talk to other people.” You’ve learned a thing or two from your brothers, and so your own polite smile doesn't twist into something more fitting for the tone of your voice.

His mouth opens again, definitely some spiel about how you should try making other connections because as much as Lumine is pleasant company, she will not be of any help to your trading endeavors, but a girl adorned in frilly lace tries her luck in hitting on him and you slip away when he's not looking.

As expected, the feast on the buffet table is untouched. You help yourself to a few plates, searching for Lumine all the while. As per true protagonist fashion, she’ll arrive fashionably late at the banquet and bring attention to herself when the grand doors reveal her in a stunning dress. Had you not intervened, she would've gotten a pretty dress some way or another anyway—it’s bound by the law of the universe. In the original game, she helped an old lady cross the street and she turned out to be the owner of a high-end boutique.

But time goes by with no sight of familiar blond locks, and you’re getting pretty full from the steak served. You’re thinking about going to your brother to spare him from the women when someone approaches you, a series of footsteps gradually becoming more audible—from a respectable distance, of course, but near enough to know they came with a purpose. You stop yourself from sighing, taking a moment to collect yourself and school your expression into something more elegant.

Your efforts are rendered useless when your jaw immediately drops upon seeing the figure of the very person you were trying to avoid.

Are you fucking kidding me?!

Standing before you is Neuvillette himself, the crowd behind him parted like the Red Sea. He’s finely dressed, crisp suit accented with his House’s signature colors blue and gold, and his long hair is fashioned into a low ponytail that rests on the side of his chest. His intimidating air rivals that of the royal family, a commanding presence that drives people to bow to him at once. Yet this time, the crowd instead unashamedly stares at the spectacle the pair of you must make, both parties that are often absent in galas now crossing paths.

The etiquette lessons hammered into your body makes you curtsy in a show of respect, starkly contrasting the crude expletives roaring in your head as your eyes lock onto a vague figure behind him. It’s hard to meet his eyes. “Good evening, Your Grace. I believe this is our first encounter.” But I worked really hard to make it never happen, you know?!

In turn, Neuvillette bows his head in greeting. “Indeed. I’ve heard much about my lady, so I am glad I have the opportunity to meet you at last.”

The smile on your face twitches, the fabric between your fingers wrinkling under your tightening grip. “Pardon?”

“Your older brother is quite fond of you. He’s been telling me stories of your family whenever we have tea.”

Which brother is he talking about???

If it was your eldest brother, he would at least take care not to harm your clean reputation, but his gushing about his cute younger sister could be embarrassing. However, if it was your much more tactless, stupid brother who still holds a grudge over you eating the last tea cake given by foreign ambassadors from a neighboring country, he’d probably tell Neuvillette everything that would make your “precious flower of Silva” title entirely undeserving.

“A… haha… is that so…” you begin fanning yourself harder, trying to keep your nervous sweating at bay. Neuvillette turns his head, looking around your surroundings.

“I believe you were escorted by your brother. Is he preoccupied?”

The corner of your mouth curls into a slight smirk. “Certainly. Women have been trying to pique his interest since the banquet began.”

At that, Neuvillette’s smile turns wry. You’re sure he relates to that a little too much, the poor guy. Even at this very moment, there are countless women observing the situation, attempting to find the right chance to jump in the conversation and steal him away. Though you do feel bad for him, you’re also wishing to find a good opportunity to leave without looking rude. After all, in the possibility that Lumine happens to like him, you’d soon be acquainted with him as his significant other’s closest friend.

Just as you’re cheering on a lady that’s beginning to approach the duke, he starts speaking. “If that’s the case…” Bowing once more, he outstretches his arm gracefully, offering his hand. The sight looks like a sparkling CG, and you’re not sure if the flowers surrounding him are really there or if you're starting to hallucinate. “Would my lady mind if I escorted you for the time being?”

Your fanning hand comes to a sharp halt. “Pardon?” you say for a second time, sounding more disbelieved than the last.

“I happen to be in a similar predicament as your brother,” his voice lowers to a hushed tone. “Though we haven’t known each other for long, I hope you can lend me a hand.”

Why is this happening to me…

And as if his pleading tone isn’t enough, he tops it off with a charming smile truly befitting a love interest in a dating simulator. “I’d also like to take this opportunity to be closer to you, my lady.”

--

You bite back the urge to sigh, lest Neuvillette think you thought he was an utter bore as a dance partner. Really, he’s nothing like that–there’s no way getting to see that handsome face up close could ever be boring. He’s a nice partner, actually; he leads the dance in a way that makes you comfortable, and you’re no dance prodigy, but you feel like you can close your eyes and dance just as well as long as you follow his lead.

Another point of thrill is the incessant glares you can feel on your back. Truly, Neuvillette’s more ambitious fans are terrifying. As the one in charge of the territory covering the boundary between the kingdom and the land of monsters, Neuvillette must be used to frightening creatures, but lovesick women must be a whole ‘nother terror for him altogether for him to ask for your help to avoid them.

Still…

He’s the only person I’m trying to avoid at this place, and now I’m dancing with him. Haha. What am I even doing here?

You feel him squeeze your hand softly. “Is something on your mind?” Neuvillette’s voice breaks you out of your trance. You look up at him, noticing he looks worried.

“I apologize. I wasn’t paying attention.” You shake your head, giving him a small grin.

He frowns. “It’s not that. If you feel tired or unwell, please tell me.”

“I’m fine! Very much so!” You suddenly feel bad for cursing him, albeit indirectly, in your head. You understand why the original villainess liked him so much, but you should avoid interacting with him unless strictly necessary… once this dance ends. “I must say, Your Grace has quite the number of admirers. This is the first time I’ve been stared at so intensely by a crowd of women.”

He hums thoughtfully as you twirl away from him as part of the step sequence, and he catches your waist with ease when you return. “I could say the same for you. Gentlemen we pass by have been eyeing me with hostility ever since we started dancing.”

“What?” You look around the ballroom, making a sound of surprise when you see multiple nobles eyeing Neuvillette with some amount of envy and detestation. You’ve been so caught up with the attention Neuvillette’s been getting that you overlooked your share of trouble.

“The son of the viscount in particular seems to be the most eager to ask for a dance.” He averts his gaze to the man standing by the buffet table who’s been glaring at the pair of you pretty hard. Farthest thing from your type.

“I suppose I’ll have to find my brother when this song is over, then.”

Silence ensues in the remaining duration of the song, but it’s a comforting one. You’re not much of a talker anyway, and it’s hard to think of things to talk about when practically everyone in the audience is looking for a chance to steal both of you away from each other. Eventually, the last notes of the violin are played, and you finish the dance with bows of courtesy.

“Thank you for complying with my request.”

“It was nothing. I’m glad I could lend a hand.” Your eyes roam over the area, securing the shortest route to get to your brother. “Our encounter was brief, but you were truly pleasant company, Your Grace.”

You plan to leave it at that, the heel of your foot already spinning to turn in the opposite direction. Okay, good. That’s just an irregularity. It’s too bad I couldn’t completely avoid him, but as long as we don’t get too involved with each other, it should still be safe-

But then you feel a gentle hand wrap around the tips of your fingers. You turn back, the initial confusion wearing off to shock. Neuvillette is holding your hand. Neuvillette is holding your hand. Slowly, he brings it closer to his face, and for a moment, you think, Oh, his eyelashes are pretty long, before you feel him press a soft kiss on your knuckles.

You hear a gasp. Numerous, you correct yourself, on varying levels of shock. You hope that god-awful dramatic one didn’t come from you, but you aren’t too sure because the only things on your mind are Neuvillette’s hand around yours, his irresistible smile, and the words that leave his lips.

“If my lady doesn’t find my company disagreeable, would you consider meeting me on another occasion?”

In your time living as a noble, you’ve somewhat gotten used to speaking in formal language. In nobility terms, that’s basically Neuvillette asking you out on a date.

“...Pardon???”

Word spread quickly throughout the social network. That’s within expectations, knowing how nosy nobles can get. By the time the imperial banquet ended, everyone in attendance already heard that Neuvillette had taken interest in a woman, and that woman happened to be the daughter from the Silva family.

Objectively speaking, it isn’t a bad match. Both families have something to gain from a marriage union, which is why the original duke from the game agreed to the engagement in the first place.

Subjectively, however…

“I’ve gathered you all here today to have an important discussion.”

Presently, you are situated at the family dining table. As usual, there’s a heavenly feast spread out on the table, but all the food remains uneaten because there’s apparently a more pressing matter at hand.

“...The duke has spoken his intentions to court our [Name],” your eldest brother says grimly, hands locked together and placed under his chin.

“You’re overreacting, he just asked me if I wanted to meet him another time.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for the garlic bread appetizer. He promptly swats it away. “Hey!”

“That’s basically the same thing,” your second brother argues. “Not that I don’t like His Grace, but it’s so sudden. Nobody has caught his eye until now, and I find it hard to believe you’re the first one ever.”

“Now you’re just dissing me.”

“I don’t see why you’re all unhappy about this,” your mother cuts in, smiling pleasantly. “The duke is an honorable man, one of the few I think are deserving of our [Name]. If he shows his loyalty and dedication to her throughout the courtship, we’ll see how well he’ll treat her.”

“That is if [Name] likes him. If she doesn’t and he continues to bother her, I’ll have to step in, status aside.” Your ever protective father frowns as he slices the steak on his plate. “Do tell us if he’s making you uncomfortable, honey.”

“Uh, no, I wouldn’t go that far…”

The only issue you have with the duke is that he’s a love interest. In the original game, him and your character would have nothing to do with each other if it weren’t for the original you insisting on being engaged to him. You don’t know what happened to her in the bad endings, but the situation probably wasn’t ideal. You thought as long as you avoided him, you could steer clear of trouble…

But if he’s the one running after you, what are you supposed to do…?!

“At the very least, you don’t dislike him, do you?” Your second brother cocks up an eyebrow.

“Not really, no.”

“Then hypothetically, if he invited you for a boat ride in the town today, would you go?”

“Hold on a second!” Your eldest brother interrupts. “We still haven’t discussed whether or not he’s worthy of [Name] yet, have we?”

“I thought we were past that.”

“We need to discuss it in detail.”

“Discuss what? The duke’s abundant treasury, contributions to the war against the dragon lord, or his reputation of being a gentleman towards all women?”

“...There has to be something he lacks.”

“What he lacks is a wonderful, caring wife,” your mother says. “And if [Name] is interested in the duke, we shouldn’t get in their way. I know you’re worried, dear. [Name] has always been stuck in the house because she’s sickly, but if a man wants to take her out to have a fun excursion, you should let her. His Grace is also very considerate of the people around him. Surely, if he notices her feeling unwell, he’ll take care of her.”

I haven’t said anything about wanting to go on a date with him though?!

“Fine. I don’t disapprove of him, but…” Your brother eyes you warily. “You best be home before sundown.”

A day passes. You hear three knocks on your door. When you allow the servant to enter your room, a maid rushes to you in a hurry, a letter sealed with the insignia of the Marechaussee House in her hands.

“Brother, I haven’t even received an invitation yet…”

--

The cake tower in front of you is magnificent. The fresh fruits topped on whipped cream are vibrant pops of color, and the frosting is piped beautifully in intricate swirls and shapes. The cakes pair well with the tea served, too, and you’re already planning to bring Lumine here the next time you’re both free to talk about the imperial knight she ended up talking to at the banquet. That route is definitely your favorite and you can’t wait to hear about the details.

Damn it.

There’s nothing wrong with the food. This pastry shop has been making its rounds in the newspapers for its delectable new additions on the menu, and they didn’t disappoint your tastebuds.

Though you have to say they’d be a lot more enjoyable if you weren’t surrounded by women eavesdropping on your little meeting with Neuvillette.

“This strawberry shortcake is delicious,” Neuvillette notes. “I’m not too fond of sweets, but they taste great. You should give it a try.”

“Oh, yes, when I finish this one…” The mango cheesecake is to die for, but it’s kind of hard to swallow with the death stares pinpointed at your direction. You hope the pastry shop allows takeout. “Thank you for inviting me to come here, Your Grace.”

“I noticed you mostly ate desserts at the imperial banquet, so I thought you would enjoy trying the food here.” He’s smiling, but when he glances over at your unwanted audience, his eyes gloss over and appear colder. “I didn’t anticipate there would be many people today. I’m sorry for that.”

Some of the women visibly twitch. They weren’t exactly caught red-handed, but it does prove that they’re guilty. Someone probably saw us here and told everyone else… Gossipmongers are scary.

“This situation is out of your control, you don’t have to apologize. And, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something, so your invitation came at a good time.” You fiddle with the edges of your sleeve, plucking at the lace.

Sensing the mood, the duke places down his fork to give you his full attention. “What did you want to talk about?”

Well. Here goes nothing. “Um… your invitation back at the imperial banquet… are you referring to a friendly chat or…” It’s sorta hard to say “Do you want to date me?” straight to his face. In the small chance you’ve gotten the wrong idea, you’d hate to appear presumptuous, so self-absorbed to think the highly-praised Neuvillette fell for you of all people. Lumine, you’d understand–the girl has a knack for melting the coldness of your heart and taking down people’s walls, and it’s why you became friends with her despite the odds. You, though… Nothing specific comes to mind.

Unexpectedly, a soft chuckle reaches your ears. You raise your head, surprised to see Neuvillette laughing. It’s possibly the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard in your life. When he catches you staring, he composes himself, but the dazzling smile remains on his face. “I was certain I made my intentions clear, but I suppose I’ll have to be more forward next time.”

A flush crawls up to your cheeks, burning hot. “No, I swear I know what you mean- just making sure, you know? I mean, I wouldn’t want to assume the duke is interested in me without knowing for certain-”

You stop yourself from rambling, feeling you’ve said too much. Fuck. Is it just you or is Neuvillette’s smile a bit wider now? You stuff your stupid mouth with the shortcake he placed on your plate. It’s good. Your acting is very much not.

He clears his throat, getting back to business. “I understand you don’t see me that way. I would like to court you, but if you tell me to stop now, I will.”

Isn’t he backing off too easily? I mean it’s great he respects my decision, but if I turn him down now, it’d probably be bad for his reputation…

“Before we… have that discussion, I still have more questions to ask.” You sip on your tea to wash down the sweet taste on your tongue. It’s silent once you put the cup on the table. Placing your hands on your lap, you look directly into Neuvillette’s eyes, searching for an answer. “May I ask Your Grace why you took an interest in me?”

The silence persists for a few seconds more. It doesn’t seem like he’s thinking of the perfect words to swoon you over; he’s thinking about how to verbalize what he truly thought of you.

He opens his mouth after careful consideration. “...It began as curiosity,” he starts, tapping rhythmically on the table. “I had my own reasons for turning down invitations to parties, so I wondered what were yours.”

You swallow. Officially, you turned those down using your health as an excuse. But your constitution has improved greatly compared to when you were young, and evidently, you’re almost just as healthy as any person. At the very least, you’re not at risk of passing out or losing breath in the middle of an event anymore. He must’ve picked up on that.

“I’ve heard about you from other people. According to their words, you were ‘the loveliest flower’ in the kingdom, with unparalleled gracefulness and beauty… but your elder brother’s stories suggested otherwise.”

I’m kicking his ass when I get back home.

“And yesterday, I met you myself. I thought you differed from how they described you.” He pauses, drinking his tea. “I’ve heard many say you were quite the stoic character, always hard to read. But you make a lot of interesting expressions behind your fan. You don’t hide your true thoughts when you speak, or perhaps you’re simply bad at hiding them. I previously found your brother’s stories unbelievable, but now I can see that the colorful personality he was talking about wasn’t very far off.”

??? “Colorful personality”?? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

“...I understand.” You really don’t, but you won’t bother asking him for more details. Everything he said thus far lowkey sounds like a diss. “Let me rephrase my question, then.”

It’s okay. This isn’t unfamiliar territory, and you’re not stupid. Obviously, if you do different things from the original, the story will derail from its original course. That’s what always happens in transmigration manhwas, after all. You noticed that early before the plot could truly change. If so, perhaps you can control the amount of change that will happen.

You sit up a little straighter, eyes laser-focused on his reaction to what you’re about to say. “What are you after, trying to get closer to me?”

You know these tropes. If you give him what he needs, you can separate soon, no strings attached.

Neuvillette makes an expression of confusion, his brows knitted. “Your hand in marriage,” he says it like it’s the obvious answer.

“Not that! Is there anything you need help with?”

“I did say I was having trouble with the women at the banquet, but that was more of an excuse to talk to you.”

You sputter, “W-well, you need someone to fake-date or fake-marry then?” Fake-dating often leads to them actually dating, but if you’re careful, you can probably keep that from happening, right?

The furrow in his brow deepens. “I don’t want to use you to stop women from chasing me. I want to marry you.”

Goddamn it. Does this guy have his own set of dialogue choices and he keeps on picking the one that raises affection? “…Okay, I get it! You need something from my family! What is it? We don’t need to be married for me to help you.” You cross your arms triumphantly. That should do it.

Instead of agreeing, Neuvillette looks forlorn. “Lady [Name], is it really that hard to believe I want to marry you without something else in mind?”

Now Neuvillette looks like a kicked puppy and you’re solely to blame for it. Fuck!

You sigh, rubbing circles on your temple. “I just… fail to see why Your Grace is interested in me.” You’re not talking yourself down, nor do you have low self-esteem. You simply don’t recall doing anything that would make him fall for you at all. Logically speaking, there’s just no reason behind his actions.

Your eyes widen when you have a moment of eureka.  Maybe talking yourself down is actually the way to get him off your trail?

“I’m sure Your Grace is aware, but I have a weak constitution…” you begin your pitiful tale, coughing softly to prove your point. “I can’t work very long, and I require plenty of rest to function in daily life. In the case that we marry, I might not be able to keep up with the tasks the lady of the house is expected to handle. Rather than support you as your wife, I might merely become a burden to you. And most importantly…”

A lot of what you just said aren’t complete lies, but you did exaggerate them greatly. Even if he isn’t convinced with those, you still have a hidden card up your sleeve, one that’s sure to discourage him.

“...With my feeble body, it would be difficult to sire you an heir for the duchy,” you state firmly, placing emphasis on this one point. Successors are absolutely a requirement for each family, because who else will inherit the title and everything that comes with it when the current head comes to pass? For this, you’re not even sure if you’re exaggerating anymore. The future of the original [Name] Silva was left unclear, so who knows if your body will improve or deteriorate with time?

Neuvillette’s face becomes stoic. This much is expected. Any moment now, he’ll take back his words…

…As you’re thinking that, you feel him touch your hand once more, not unlike the time at the banquet. You don’t know when you started fidgeting with the napkin on the table out of anxiety, but he’s rubbing a thumb over your knuckles to soothe you now, gentle touches that verge on ticklish.

“I’m prepared for that,” he says softly. “I won’t spare any expense on your treatment, of course, and in the case your condition worsens, I won’t stop finding ways to make you feel better. But I would never make you do anything to push you beyond your limits. I’ll take on everything you can’t do. Eventually, we’ll need to talk about successors, but I need you to know that I won’t force you or put you in any risk. If needed, I’ll talk to my relatives and figure out something from there.”

???!?!?!?!?!!!?! He wants to pass on the title to someone who’s not a direct descendant?!?!?

Your mouth is agape. You’re sure your jaw-dropped face doesn’t look very pleasant, but the affection in his gaze doesn’t dwindle. Heavy. Everything he just said is so heavy. The future is scary to think about, but when he says it like that, why does it feel like you can lean on him freely?! This is no time to be getting swept off your feet, [Name]! Focus!

“Are you still not convinced?” He moves his face closer, concern in his eyes.

“No, I get it! I get it already!” You take your hand back, but his warmth still lingers. You hold your fingers like they’re scorched, yet pain is the furthest thing from what you’re feeling, and your heart flutters traitorously in your beating chest. “You’re being unfair. If you go that far, there’s no way anyone could turn you down.”

The smile returns to his face as he takes his hand back as well. “I take it that you’ve given me permission to court you, then?”

!!! Sly! That’s what this person is, sly! He knew what he was doing!

You make a face. “Ugh… maybe persistent guys are too dangerous for me…”

“Lady [Name], you’re speaking your thoughts out loud again. Not that I dislike it, though.”

The duke of Marechaussee has found a potential bride.

“I-! Nevermind…”

That’s putting it lightly because everyone that has heard of them is certain that they’ll marry in the near future. With the amount of flirting the two have done (leaked by the eavesdropping jealous-admirers-turned-shippers), it’s a mystery why they haven’t made the announcements yet.

Notably, the pair of them frequented restaurants the most, visiting the shops highly regarded for their sweets. Chatting in slow boat rides seem to also be one of their most favored dates, and at one particularly disastrous time when the boat tipped over by accident, the duke had fretted over the lady while she merely laughed in joy, insisting she was fine and her partner was being too much of a worrywart. Both started to attend more gatherings, almost never spotted to be straying from each other, and it was more or less their indirect way of telling the public eye they were exclusive.

Their romantic dates are all common knowledge to anyone nosy by now, but there’s one thing they absolutely cannot spread.

“Don’t tell this to anyone,” a woman whispered to her loyal companion. “And I truly mean that this time. Don’t do it.”

“What is it? Is it something really bad? ‘Some high-ranking noble has a secret love child’ bad?”

“No!” This time, the woman took care to whisper her words even quieter, “I heard the duke requested a jeweler to craft an engagement ring…!”

Things I couldn’t fit into the fic:

Neuvillette already met you when you were younger. In one of the first gatherings you attended, you talked to each other because you were near in age. However, you collapsed due to your constitution and he was the one to alert the adults and carry you to a sick room. He used a handkerchief embroidered with his initials to wipe away the blood you threw up, and you hid it away in your bedside table after cleaning it in hopes of returning it (if he still wanted it back, soiled once and all) when you saw him again. Unfortunately, your family members were worried and didn’t let you outside for a long time to avoid having you perform strenuous activities, and you didn’t recognize him at a later gathering when he tried striking a conversation with you. He noted you were slowly getting better, but wondered why you weren’t attending parties if you were relatively well now.

You probably interacted with him when he was pretending to be a normal commoner several times already before your “first meeting.”

You didn’t fall for him immediately, but it was a slow progression until you forgot about the whole ‘I’m in an otome game world’ thing completely.

[corvus-ix]

A little extra from this, just for fun & stuffs

STATUS

[ Player Status: Restricted ]

[ LEVEL: 30 ] [ JOB: None ] [ TITLE: Oblivion ]

[ HP: █████ ] [ MP: █████ ] [ FATIGUE: 10 ]

[ VIT: 100 ] [ STR: 5 ] [ INT: 130 ] [ AGI: 5 ] [ PER: 5 ]

[ AVAILABLE ABILITY POINTS: 150 ]

SKILLS

Passive Skills

[ Flash of Genius

- When █████ crafts, they have a 5% chance to receive double the product ]

[ Resources, Resources, Resources!

- When █████ crafts, they have a 15% chance to refund a portion of the crafting materials used ]