#☓ letters from the sky — ⌊ answered. ⌉

[sincerely-sofie]

Is this why Ark won't straight up confess?

Oh my WORD I'd forgotten I made a meme of that. Long story short, yeah! Pretty much!

There's a cut (but still canonical) scene this is based on early in The Present is a Gift where Ark, sans memories, basically says he's very fond of Twig and he's happy he met her and is able to call her a friend. Twig doesn't straight up tell him she'll slide him a fifty if he never says that again in the original scene, but she gets VERY noticeably uncomfortable and he permanently backs off on the Words of Affirmation front.

After that, he has this lingering fear that she'll react the same way if he were ever to propose a romantic relationship, and so his ex-villain brain constantly comes up with elaborate schemes that minimize emotional risks and have Twig make the first move in response to actions he takes that may or may not be interpreted as platonic or perhaps something more, therefore shifting all risks off of himself in the process.

TL;DR--- Man's scared of rejection and has masterminded a situation in which Twig is the only one to risk direct rejection, therefore guaranteeing success... If she wasn't an idiot and would pick up on his hints.

[izar-tarazed]

"Stargazer. Have you a favorite constellation?"

‟A favorite? Oh. That would be a tough choice…”

Izar’s gaze flickers from her unfinished map out of the window; stars of ink, stars of silver, by no means all of them sorted in constellations.

‟Let me think. Some of them hold a special place in my heart because of the stories told about them.”

She steps closer to the window, pointing up. ‟There’s The Two Dragons, both easy to spot even without a telescope. The first one is that group of seven stars just above the mountaintop over there—that line of three is its neck with the head—, and the other one, smaller, is that cluster of five very bright stars closer to the horizon… There. I couldn’t find many depictions of them in the Carian records, but those that exist all show the first dragon as resting, and the other one with open wings, flying towards the horizon.”

She smiles as she leans against the window frame, her gaze never leaving the constellations.

‟Back when the stars moved, both dragons would slowly wander across the night sky, and the smaller one would eventually disappear from view. And it’s said that the first one then cried bitter tears—a shower of silver stars. Or maybe just snow. The records aren’t very clear on this. But I’ve read that in some Churches of Dragon Communion, you might still find a little niche in the northern wall—the one closest to the crying dragon—where people would place tiny dragon figurines as a means of comfort for it. They would often be made of wax and paper, sometimes carved in wood. Burnt as offerings, sending up little dragons to the lonely one in the sky to keep it company.

And eventually… since the stars followed fixed patterns, the small dragon would return to the night sky, and the other one would stop crying. I do believe that maybe that was when spring started. Now that the stars aren’t moving, the small dragon never leaves, so the other one never has to cry. But it would be nicer if they moved, wouldn’t it? The Two Dragons carry a lot of meanings in astrology. Love and grief and hope and fidelity. It all depends on which part of their story you focus on.”

She falls silent for a moment, then points again.

‟Maybe, though, my favorite one is one that the nomadic merchants showed me, because it’s all about hope and… protection? You have to squint a little for this one. Up there, a little above the resting dragon’s head? There’s a spot without stars. But darkness is never just darkness. When the merchants look up to the night sky, they see shapes both in silver and the darkest blue. So that spot of darkness over there, just underneath those two smaller stars?

It’s an outstretched hand, and the stars are a candle sitting in its open palm. That brighter star a little to their right? That’s the candle flame. The merchants believed that this is the hand of a forgotten lord watching over them, and if you ever got lost, you could call out and be guided through the darkness… safely along your path. Unlike the small dragon, the Hand would never disappear from view. You’d always be able to see the candle with its flame. You’d never lose your way in the darkness.

The merchants had a lot of tales and knowledge about the night sky. Most of it is lost. I’m glad this one isn’t.”

[notmonsters]

𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 : // tag drop : misc.

[yeyinde]

preacher's daughter (Ethel Cain inspired) and biker Ghost would go so hard. all that corruption, religious trauma/catholic guilt, and small town gothic misery, you know?

sheltered daughter meets violence personified. the devil and the sacrificial lamb. you meet him when you wander up to the motorcycle club on the outskirts of town with a pamphlet about salvation clutched in your trembling hands. he leans his big, intimidating frame against the door jamb, and with his arms crossed over his broad chest, says must be good on your knees, aren't you, birdie?

(you answer with an earnest yes, sir, i worship on my knees everyday and pretend the heat that flares in your belly when he groans is from the too-hot sun; the first of many sins.)

later that evening, your daddy tells you that he's an honest and good man, but sometimes he prays that God strikes that vile place right down. you bite your tongue and nod, but sneak out at night and meet him there where you slip into silk lingerie and dance on stage just for him. he tells every man there that if he catches them staring at you, he'll stab them in the eyes, and you think it's the most romantic thing you'd ever heard.

it's love letters carved into the sunbleached bones of a half-submerged deer left to rot in the stagnant bog just outside of the abandoned white chapel. something watches you from the dark stained glass windows as he runs his tattooed fingers over your skin, leaving smears of gunpowder and soot.

(someone set the old man's car on fire—the who leered at you while you stood in the choir, wearing your lily white dress and sang glory be while you tried to forget what those tattooed hands felt like when they slipped under your skirt and between your thighs.

the old man was still inside—)

they call him a ghost. a demon. you call him Simon and daydream during bible study that you'll run away together. hop on the back of his old Harley and forget this place ever existed.

a daydream that quickly turns into a nightmare when your sordid relationship comes to light, and your daddy threatens to have him locked away for good. there's a gun in the safe upstairs. you think about the time Simon dragged you into the woods to shoot at cans and lose your faith under the sweltering sun when you pull the trigger.

"for us," you tell him, breathing in the dank church air ripe with sin and the stench of blood. "i did it for us."

it's leaning on the back of his Harley with your fingers threaded around his thick waist as the town grows smaller and smaller in the distance. staring up at the endless blue sky and grinning wide because you finally got your monster of a man wrapped around your finger.

(and all it took was a little deal made with the thing that lives in the abandoned church.)

[ode2rin]

there sure is never a dull day in your life ever since you somehow bumped your head somewhere and decided to marry gojo satoru.

he was, without a doubt, the most dramatic man you'd ever known.

“why aren’t you obsessed with me?”

and here he goes again making your marriage life comically interesting from his never-ending theatrics that you can’t help but adore. 

he isn’t gojo satoru if he wasn’t dramatic, after all.  it was all part of the deal, one you gladly accepted, promising to be by his side in sickness and in health.

“good morning to you, too, baby,” you responded, a smile tugging at your lips. “what’s got you worked up this early?”

leaning against the bathroom door frame, his eyes fixed on you as you diligently performed your morning skincare routine. sunlight streamed through the window, casting a soft, warm glow, making your features radiant as you applied your cleanser. and for a moment of sight, he got too lost in your beauty and almost forgot his plan of interrogation. 

but still, he needs to get to the bottom of this. “listen, i’m not looking for an argument, just understanding.” 

“okay, then,” you said, still attending to your skincare routine. “let’s hear this seeking of understanding.”

gojo’s gaze remained fixed on you as he considered his words carefully, “why aren't you obsessed with me like how i'm obsessed with you?”

“i’m in love with you.” you replied instantly, without a second in waste. because that’s how it has always been, loving gojo satoru and declaring it to the world was as easy as breathing.

you threw a side glance to your lover only to be met with glassy sky blue eyes looking at you and a pout telling you it wasn’t the right answer to the question.

“but you’re not obsessed with me,” he mumbles. “while i think about you every single minute of the day – in my sleep, in my lunch – i think about you, and i don’t think you think about me at all.”

“and where could this be coming from?”

“i was gone for 13 hours, and you only called me once. once, baby. do you even care about me?”

you attempt to explain, “you were on a mission—”

“i could have an injury,” he interjects, “i could have bumped my head somewhere, had amnesia, and forgotten about you.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at the possibilities he laid out just because you only called him once. finishing your skincare with a swift application of lip balm, you make your way to your lover, who is now resting his left temple against the doorjamb while earnestly watching you with the same look in his eyes from when you walked down the aisle.

“i think that’s fairly impossible, though,” you muse. your hands naturally find their way to his neck. “my husband is the strongest.”

strongest in the eyes of sorcerers and curses, perhaps, he is. but here? with you pressed close to him like this? he was nothing of any sort the strongest.

“what your husband right now is not the strongest but an unloved husband who couldn’t get his partner to call him to check on him,” he teases, putting great stress on ‘your’ because he was, in fact, yours.

“aw, must have been hard for him, huh?” you coo, going along with his teasing, “what can i possibly do to make up for it?”

“you can start with a kiss here,” he gestures to his lips, and you gladly oblige with a soft peck.

“too easy. what’s the next step?”

“and i want you to be obsessed with me. call me multiple times a day. text me. email me if you want.”

“okay, done. do you want me to write you a letter as well, like we’re in the '80s?” you sarcastically replied.

“sure, i’d love that,” he says with a chuckle before pulling you close enough to rest your head in the crook of his neck, his jaw resting on your temple as he caresses your back.

you closed your eyes, finding comfort in his warmth, and relishing every soft little kiss planted on your temple, until you felt his head drop onto your shoulder.

“i think about you every second of the day,” he whispers right in your ear.

jokes of being obsessed with you aside, it was truly a confession.

you could be beside gojo, peacefully slumbering, and there would always be that wave of need threading in his chest to be closer to you.

and behind his theatrics, none of his words held any bite of hoax. because after all these years, it still wouldn't sink in to him that there was someone who could take him for a husband.

but you're here – waking up next to him, doing your skincare next to his own set of toiletries, roaming around the house wearing his shirt, gracing the quiet corners of his soul with your laughter.

you're here, and it's everything and more that truly matters.

as you reach to cradle his face in your palms, you feel a squeeze in your chest from how he closes his eyes as if melting in your touch.

“even after all this time? you might get sick of me, my love.” you ask, a smile so evident behind.

“never,” he declares against your lips, a boyish curl of his lips slowly showing. “you, on the other hand, might get sick of me soon. seeing that you couldn't even call me twice after those long hours i wasn't home.”

you playfully roll your eyes at his accusation, of course he wouldn't let it off that easy. “i promise to call you twice and text you as much as i can. how's that sound now?” you hum.

“promise?”

“i promise,” you assure, sealing it with a kiss on the tip of his nose,  “and what do you mean, get sick of you? that’s nonsense. i told you right? it’s you for me.”

you for me. oh, how he likes the thought. sheepishly, he whispers in question, “even after all this time?”

“until the end of time, toru.”

until the end of time. oh, heaven and earth, how he loves the thought.

note. i miss him... terribly, i'm afraid. btw, here's a payback for all the angst..

[flwrstqr]

FALLING IN LOVE ACCIDENTALLY (OR NOT) (LHS - 이희승)

SYNOPSIS: babysitting wasn't your dream job that you always wanted. as you start babysitting a new girl, lee jihyeon, you meet her older brother, lee heeseung. You end up getting closer and closer to heeseung and ultimately fall in love amidst the chaos.

pairing: bad boy!heeseung x babysitter!reader

genre: s2l, babysitter au, romance, fluff, angst, medium fic

warning(s): parties, cursing, fighting, mentions death, small grammar errors, crying, some angst scenes, kissing, reader and heeseung has a year age gap

word count: 5k+

AN: guys im back with a medium fic!! lowkey this wasn't really the it vibe as the end i feel like was kind of rushed. so if i made any grammar errors im sorry TT, i finished this writing in like 2-3 days so it was kind of hard so. but liz + hye for helping me think of a climax. i kind of got this idea for a POV on tiktok so help

AGE 21, THE SUPPOSED GOLDEN YEARS OF LIFE, or so they say. But for you, it's far from golden. Being a babysitter at this age isn't exactly glamorous; it's probably one of the last jobs you'd expect to have.

"Yunah, I'm heading out to my new client's place, okay?" you call out before leaving the door.

"Okay, just be safe!" Yunah shouts back from her room down the hallway. You close the door behind you and hurry out as usual, pulling out your notepad to review your schedule for the day:

8:00 am: Wake up 8:30 am: Go grocery shopping with Moka for breakfast 9:30 am: Have breakfast 9:45 am: Prepare for the new kid 10:30 am: Leave the house 10:45 am: Arrive at the client's house 1:00 pm: Leave the client's house

You quietly close your notepad and mentally rehearse what to say as you settle onto the bus. Upon reaching your stop, you make your way to the house.

The house is painted in soft beige and cream, with a porch ceiling resembling a clear blue sky on a sunny day. A wind chime gently sways, welcoming visitors with its melodic tinkling. You ring the doorbell and wait.

A boy around your age answers, with dark red hair and deer-like features. His ear piercings catch your attention as he regards you with an intense stare.

"Hi, I'm here for Jihyeon. Lee Jihyeon," you say, your words stumbling slightly under his gaze. "I'm her babysitter. YN LN."

"Oh, Jihyeon's upstairs," he replies with a shrug, ushering you inside.

Inside, the entrance feels airy and bright, with a faint scent of coffee lingering in the kitchen. Making your way upstairs, you come to a door adorned with pink letters and heart and flower stickers, reading "LEE JIHYEON." You knock, and a small girl, around six years old, opens the door.

"Hi," she says, her eyes wide as she looks up at you. "Are you a princess here to take me to princess school?"

You chuckle softly. "You can think that if you want. I'm YN. Your new friend," you introduce yourself, crouching down to her eye level.

"Are you here to babysit me?" Jihyeon asks as she lets you enter her room.

"More than babysitting, I'll be your new friend," you reassure her with a smile.

"Really?" Jihyeon's eyes light up. "I've wanted a friend for a while, but I don't have any at school." She quickly covers her mouth, realizing what she's said, and closes the door abruptly.

"Jihyeon?" you raise an eyebrow at her sudden change in demeanor.

"Sorry, my brother doesn't know. If he found out, he might cause trouble at my school," Jihyeon explains, pouting as she joins you.

"Your brother?"

"Yeah, Heeseung," Jihyeon beams, kicking her legs as she sits. "I love him a lot."

You smile at her innocence. "How old is your brother?"

"22!" Jihyeon exclaims. "He's like 16 years older than me, but he's a great brother."

"I see. How about we start playing now?" you suggest, earning an enthusiastic nod from Jihyeon as she jumps up to grab her toys.

"YN, COME ON! WE’RE GOING TO BE LATE TO YEJI’S PARTY!" Minju exclaims as she peeks into your room. Her mouth slightly drops as she sees your outfit. "Trying on the new dress you got?"

You nodded, turning to her. "Does it look okay? Not too over-the-top?"

Twirling to inspect yourself in the mirror, the knee-length black velvet dress hugged your figure, adorned with delicate black lace and a soft touch.

"You look stunning," Minju beamed, adding the final touch by placing a diamond necklace around your neck.

"Thanks, Minju," you said, pulling her into a hug.

"Anything for you, YN. Now come on, let's go to the party. Yunah is complaining about how long we're taking," Minju laughs, quickly letting go of the embrace before taking your hand and dragging you to the car.

As you get into the car, the six of you start driving to the party, blasting music and enjoying your life. When you arrive, the club is crazy loud. The noise from the DJ speakers vibrates throughout the room, friend groups dancing in circles, and couples making out in the back. Your shoulders tense as you scan the room. You walk over to the bar to get a quick drink before joining the party.

Feeling awkward and out of place, you shuffle around while holding your drink. You glance around and make eye contact with Moka, who is sitting with a group of people. She signals for you to join them, but you shake your head no and excuse yourself to the bathroom. As you wash your hands and return to the party, you come face to face with the one girl you wished you never saw again: Yoonhee, the girl who bullied you in high school for being "poor."

"Oh look, it's YN LN!" she gives a small fake smile. "Didn't expect to see you at Yeji's party tonight."

"What do you want, Yoonhee," you glare.

"Nothing, I'm just giving you a pleasant greeting. Nothing more," she laughs, triggering flashbacks from when you were 17.

"Then get out of my way, Yoonhee," you spat.

"Woah, no need to get so aggressive," she gives a proud smile. "I heard you were babysitting. How's it like to be poor?"

That was your last straw. You grab the nearest drink and throw it at Yoonhee's white dress. Her eyes widen as she sees the purple punch juice on her dress. Her eyes then narrow as she stares at you.

"Do you know how much this cost? This dress cost $5,270. Now you have to pay for that," she says angrily.

"Fuck off, Yoonhee. You're still the same. No wonder you have no friends," you yell before turning around and running out of the nearest exit.

You burst out into tears, knowing you were sober. You walk yourself to the nearest bus station, sobbing silently as you wipe your tears. Each step gets heavier as your heels start to burn and your bare knees and calves shiver from the cold.

“Hey, are you okay?" a voice asks. It's a voice that sounds so familiar. A voice that you swore you heard before. You look up to meet the same boy back at Jihyeon’s house. The boy with those deer-like features and dark red hair, with the same exact piercings.

"You’re the guy from Jihyeon's house," you try to piece his name together as only in your mind was the incident with Yoonhee and you.

"Heeseung, and you are?" he asks, noticing your teary eyes.

"YN," you reply, wiping your tears.

Heeseung then notices how you're shivering from the cold. He takes off his jacket and drapes his jacket over your shoulders

"Here, you can take this. Do you need a ride or anything? Do you have someone picking you up?" he asks.

"Yunah, Moka, and Minju are still there. They're my friends," you sniffle. "But I was walking myself to the bus station."

“Still there?” He raises his eyebrow. 

“At the party,” you mumbled. 

"If you want, I can take you home," Heeseung suggests.

"How do I know you're not a kidnapper," you tease with a pout.

Heeseung laughs softly. "Do you think I am?"

"Maybe," you reply.

"Trust me, I won't. Plus, what's the worst thing I can do?" Heeseung smiles.

"Weird stuff," you say.

"I won't. Where do you live?" he asks.

"Okay, that's a bit off," you reply teasingly.

"Hey..." Heeseung says in a half-joking, half-serious tone.

"Fine, I'll tell you the direction, you drive the car," you respond.

"Oh, who said it was a car?" Heeseung winks as he walks you over to his motorcycle.

Your eyes widen. "A motorcycle? Also, I need a helmet?"

"Wear mine," he grins, handing you his helmet before helping you hop onto the back. You hold him tightly as he starts his engine.

As you clutch onto his leather jacket, he speeds up, and you squeeze your eyes closed, afraid of falling. When you open them again, you admire the midnight sky, feeling the cold breeze hug you warmly. When you arrive back at the dorm, you wave goodnight to Heeseung before he turns around.

"Can I get your number?" he asks.

"Sure," you grin, inserting your number into Heeseung's phone. You wink and then turn around to walk back into your dorm.

THE DOOR SWINGS OPEN, and Jihyeon's sweet smile welcomes you in. She bounds up with excitement, leading you upstairs to her room.

"Where's your brother, Jihyeon?" you ask, your tone light. You steal a glance at your bag, where Heeseung's neatly folded and laundered jacket rests.

"He's out or something," Jihyeon shrugs, already eager to show off her new toy.

As time flies by, you and Jihyeon play together as usual. She cherishes your time together, and as you help prepare lunch, the two of you chat.

"Jihyeon, are your parents not home?" you inquire, placing the grilled cheese she requested onto a plate.

"They're not here," Jihyeon replies between bites of her sandwich, causing your eyes to widen slightly.

"I see," you murmur softly, tucking a strand of Jihyeon's hair behind her ear as she takes another big bite.

"That's why Heeseung is always out. He's always looking for a babysitter for me because I'm only 6. So, I want you to be my permanent babysitter!" Jihyeon beams, savoring each taste of her grilled cheese.

"I'll always be here for you, Jihyeon," you smile back, admiring her cute expression. "How about after this, we play some fun games?"

"Yes, please!" Jihyeon's face lights up with a huge smile as she takes the last bite of her grilled cheese. You then tidy up with her and quickly take her hand as you step outside to play together.

"DOES THIS LIP TINT LOOK OKAY?" you inquire of Wonhee, who was browsing through the new makeup offerings at the mall. She looks up, observing the tester product on your hand.

"Hmm, maybe a slightly lighter shade," Wonhee suggests before joining you to explore more makeup options. You pick up another lip tint, testing it out before making your purchase and leaving the store.

"YN?" a voice calls out your name. You glance up to see Heeseung waving at you.

"Oh, Heeseung," you respond with a smile. "Didn’t expect to see you here at the mall."

"My friend works at the café on the first floor, so I thought I'd pay a visit," Heeseung explains. "Are you here alone?"

"No, I'm here with—" you begin, but your voice is interrupted by Wonhee rushing over to you.

"YN! I finally decided to buy the new eyeshadow palette!" Wonhee exclaims, then she notices Heeseung. "Oh, do you know him?"

"Heeseung, Jihyeon’s older brother," you introduce, as Heeseung gives a small wave. "He's a year older than me."

"Hi, nice to meet you," Heeseung says, shaking Wonhee's hand.

"I'm Wonhee, YN's best friend or roommate, well, one of her roommates," Wonhee smiles.

"Nice to meet you," Heeseung replies, before turning back to you. "Well, gotta go so have a good time with your friend, pretty girl." Your eyes widen slightly in surprise at his affectionate nickname as he walks off to the first floor, hands in his pockets.

"God, he's definitely into you, YN!" Wonhee giggles, noting your shocked expression.

"Shut up, Wonhee!" you exclaim.

"Just saying!" Wonhee laughs.

A COUPLE OF WEEKS HAD PASSED SINCE YOU FIRST MET HEESEUNG, but it was that one night that really caught your attention. After a long day of babysitting, you decided to take a leisurely stroll around the park before heading back to your dorm.

The night was tranquil, nearly 9 pm, and the crisp air refreshed you as you walked. As you approached your usual alleyway, the sound of punches and kicks pierced the calm. Your heart raced with nervousness as you wondered what was happening. Was it a hallucination, or...?

Turning the corner, you were shocked to see Heeseung amidst a group of boys. Quickly, you ducked behind a wall, watching in disbelief. Why was he in a fight?

Straining to hear their conversation, you caught Heeseung shouting, "You owe me $1,000. I won the bet," just before another punch landed on his face. Your heart sank at the sight of his swollen lips and bruised eye.

"Who cares about the bet? You messed with us, you’re dead," a boy sneered, delivering another blow.

"Leave him alone!" you finally mustered the courage to intervene, emerging from your hiding spot.

The boy mocked, "Oh look, is it your girlfriend, Heeseung? If you’re a stray cat trying to get your boyfriend out of trouble, you're out of luck."

In a burst of anger, you threw your purse at the boy, sending him tumbling to the ground. Another boy's eyes widened in shock as he witnessed the scene.

"What did you say?" you demanded, your eyes narrowing.

As the tension escalated, you kicked the taunting boy hard in the legs, causing him to yelp in pain.

"Want to say that again?" you glared. "Fuck off and find something better to do with your time."

The boy slowly looking a bit scared quickly ran off through the alleyways as his friends tagged along with him. 

“So…” you began tentatively, noticing Heeseung’s bleeding lip.

“Sorry for all of that,” Heeseung apologized sincerely.

“Let's talk later. For now, let's get you patched up,” you replied, swiftly leading him to the nearby convenience store to grab a first aid kit.

"HOW DID YOU EVEN END UP IN THAT FIGHT?" you inquire as the two of you settle in at the park. You pull out a tube of scar gel, uncapping it and listening intently as Heeseung explains.

"Well, I made a bet for $1,000 and won, so I got dragged into the whole brawl," Heeseung shrugs. "It's just the usual."

"Usual?" your eyebrow raises as you first cleanse the scar with an alcohol wipe.

"Ouch, that stings," Heeseung winces as you then pat it dry with a tissue. "Yeah, it's kind of normal for me... ouch."

"Then maybe you shouldn't do it; it's dangerous," you respond, leaning in closer to apply the medicine. Heeseung's heart thumps as he watches you approach. You can feel his breath against your skin, and his cheeks flush as your fingers touch his skin. Why does his stomach feel like it's doing somersaults?

You affix a small bandage as a finishing touch. "There."

"Thanks," Heeseung smiles. "So, where were you?"

"Babysitting for another kid today," you shrug, quickly disposing of the bandage wrapper and tidying up your first aid kit.

"I see," Heeseung replies, helping you clean up. "I can walk you home if you want?"

"I'll walk," you smile.

"I could walk with you part of the way," Heeseung suggests, falling into step beside you. You both gaze at the glimmering stars, admiring them from afar.

"You know," you start, "Jihyeon mentioned something about your parents."

Heeseung's gaze drops as he stares at the ground, his smile fading slightly. He looks at you. "She did?"

You nod, meeting Heeseung's eyes. "If you're comfortable sharing, what happened?"

"Well..." Heeseung pauses, contemplating for a moment before continuing. "My parents died in a car crash. They were returning from a movie, and they never really got to say goodbye to us. I guess my biggest regret was not saying goodbye before they left. I was just being stubborn and angry because they scolded me for getting a bad grade."

You listen attentively. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's okay. It's all in the past now. It happened about five years ago, and I barely remember it," Heeseung shrugs.

"I hope things have gotten better since then," you smile.

"Thanks, YN," he gives you a grateful look.

"Anyway, thanks for walking me. Hopefully, we can talk again later," you wave goodbye before heading towards your apartment building.

"YN, COULE YOU PLEASE JOIN ME FOR A DRESS-UP TEA PARTY?" Jihyeon pleads with a cute pout, coaxing you into her playful scheme.

"Alright, fine…" you reluctantly agree, watching as Jihyeon's face lit up with a wide smile before she hurriedly led you to her room to fetch tiaras and dresses.

"This dress is from Mommy's room, so you can wear it," Jihyeon grin mischievously, confessing how she got it without her brother's knowledge. You examine the dress—a simple white garment with puffy sleeves adorned with intricate lace, reaching knee-length.

After changing in the bathroom, you admire your reflection in the mirror. Surprisingly, the dress fit perfectly, accentuating your features.

Emerging from the bathroom, you found Jihyeon holding two tiaras, dressed in her own fancy pink attire. She hands you a tiara, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she helps you place it on your head.

"Let's go! It's tea party time!" she exclaims, leading you to the dining table where she arranged fake tea cups. Pouring imaginary "tea" into your cup, you play along, enjoying the moment.

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of eyes observed from the doorway. "A tea party without me?" a teasing voice remark, revealing Heeseung, in his usual leather jacket and jeans, his smile widening as he saw you. His gaze linger on you appreciatively, taking in the sight of the borrowed dress.

"Heeseung!" Jihyeon exclaims, rushing into his arms.

"How are you, Jihyeon?" Heeseung greets, lifting her up gently.

"Why are you home so early?" Jihyeon inquire.

"Just needed to grab something upstairs," Heeseung replies with a grin. "Could you fetch my phone and wallet, Jihyeon? I need to chat with YN."

"Sure!" Jihyeon agreeing, scampering off to fulfill his request.

"YN…" Heeseung's gaze softened as he admires your appearance in the dress. "You look beautiful."

"I hope it's not inappropriate or disrespectful cause Jihyeon let me borrow it…" you began, but Heeseung quickly reassuring you.

"No, it's fine. You should keep it. It suits you really well," he insisted 

"Are you sure?" you ask hesitantly.

"Absolutely," Heeseung affirm, his smile unwavering. "By the way, are you free next Friday evening? Jihyeon will be with her aunt, and I thought maybe we could grab dinner together."

"Ah, is someone asking me out?" you tease, accepting his invitation with a smile.

Heeseung chuckles. "Guilty as charged. See you next Friday then. Feel free to continue your tea party," he added with a wink as you playfully rolled your eyes. Jihyeon returned with Heeseung's belongings, bidding him farewell as he left the house once more.

"WHY AM I SO NERVOUS…" you whisper to yourself in the bathroom before a ding dong at the door interrupts your thoughts. "I'LL GET IT!" you shout, hastily opening the door to find Heeseung standing there, clad in a white blouse with the first two buttons undone and black pants.

"I hope I’m not too early?" Heeseung grins.

"Perfect timing," you reply with a small smile. "I'LL BE BACK SOON!" you call out to your friends before exiting the house.

Outside, Heeseung's motorcycle awaits, and you sit on it, securing your helmet as he starts the engine. Arriving at the restaurant, he assists you off the bike, taking your hand and leading you inside. As you settle at a table, you quickly peruse the menu and place your order, leaving time for conversation.

"I noticed something unique about Jihyeon," you begin. "Unlike most kids who prioritize toys, she seems more…mature, especially in her care for you."

"Hm?" Heeseung looks intrigued.

"She's genuinely thoughtful and responsible, almost like she was raised exceptionally well," you add, earning a nod from Heeseung.

"You also strike me as a great brother," you compliment, noticing a faint blush on Heeseung's cheeks as he looks away, taking a sip of water to compose himself.

"Thanks," he responds, attempting to maintain his composure.

As the conversation flows, your food arrives, and after enjoying the meal, you take a leisurely stroll, chatting along the way.

"Yunah is more of a 'clumsy older sister' than an organized one," you remark.

"I could gather that from your stories," Heeseung chuckles, then pauses, "Your shoes... they're untied." He bends down to quickly tie your shoelaces, and inexplicably, your heart begins to race. Why the sudden flutter in your stomach?

"T-thanks," you stutter, "H-how about we head back home now? It's getting late, you know?"

"Yeah, sure," Heeseung nods, masking how he was blushing too.

YOU LIE IN YOUR BED, STARING AT THE CEILING, thinking of all the times you've spent with Heeseung. All the times you babysat Jihyeon and he would always stop by and wave at you. All the time he would do small things to make your heart thump loudly. All the rides you took on his motorcycle. The scent of his leather jacket when you first met him after the party. All of that was nearly 4-5 months ago. Now here you are, lying down and thinking about Heeseung all night, memories keeping you up until 4 am.

“Do you think I’m in love?” you ask Iroha.

“I think you are,” Iroha responds with a smile. “You always talk about Heeseung, and he treats you really well.”

You pause and ponder Iroha’s words, contemplating what it truly means to you. Were all those butterflies in your stomach a sign of love? What even is love?You gaze out the window, reflecting for the last time. Now you realize it, Iroha was right. You are truly deeply in love with the one and only Lee Heeseung

“YN, YOU’RE ZONING OUT AGAIN.” Jihyeon pouts as you gaze out the window for the fourth time. 

“Sorry, Jihyeon. Where were we in the play?” you try to give a small smile that hopefully Jihyeon would forgive. 

“We were where the prince confessed to the princess!” Jihyeon exclaims. 

Confess. The word pops up in the brain as you try to gain your focus back, “Right.” You whisper before then zoning out again. God, why was Heeseung taking your whole mind? 

You quickly snap back to reality, “Sorry—so basically the princess confesses to the prince of how much she loves him. How much she makes her get butterflies in her stomach. The way he gives her jacket and talks to her all the time..” You continue on as your mind is only about Heeseung. All the stuff you were saying perfectly described him. 

“You know this kind of sounds like my brother,” Jihyeon says, as she plays with her dolls. 

“Huh?” you look up from talking. 

“Is it?” Jihyeon asks. 

“Uhm..” you hesitate. 

“It is.” Jihyeon replies, reading your expression, “it’s okay cause I have my mouth shut.” She grabs her fingers and pretends to zip her mouth close as you laugh at her cuteness. But she wasn’t wrong, everything you said was about Heeseung. Everything in your mind right now was Heeseung.

YOU AND YUNAH SETTLE INTO A cozy corner at the bustling café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling in the air. Thoughts of Heeseung, the boy who occupies far too much space in your mind, tug at your attention.

"I’m going to the bathroom," you say, forcing a smile as you make your way to the bathroom. Inside the dimly lit space, you take a deep breath, trying to push aside your thoughts. 

But as you stand there, staring at your reflection in the mirror, you can't help but overhear a conversation from the other side of the bathroom.

"Heeseung definitely likes me. Like in Lee Heeseung," a voice boasts confidently. "Remember that one day he kissed me once. He's my type too."

Your heart skips a beat as the words sink in, a wave of shock and betrayal washing over you. Why did you think he likes you? Why did you like him? 

You press a hand to your mouth, trying to stop the sobs that threaten to escape. Tears blur your vision as you struggle to make sense of heartbreak. 

With trembling hands, you splash cold water on your face, trying to compose yourself before facing Yunah again. You can't let her see you like this, can't bear to let her witness the shattered remnants of your heart.

Summoning every ounce of strength you have left, you force yourself to leave the bathroom. Yunah's concerned gaze meets yours, and you offer her a weak smile.

"I'm not feeling well," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I think I should go home."

Yunah's brow furrows with worry, and she reaches out to touch your arm. But you pull away gently, offering her a reassuring smile.

"I'll be okay," you lie, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "I just need some rest."

With a heavy heart, you bid farewell to Yunah and make your escape from the café. Once outside, tears streaming down your cheeks. Sobbing your eyes, you make your way back home with a broken heart. 

"YN, COME ON. HE’S SUCH A JERK" Wonhee consoles you as she wipes away your tears for what feels like the fifth time this week.

"He completely played me," you sob, feeling the weight of betrayal. "I thought there was something between us, but turns out he's just the brother of a kid I babysit. Why did I even like him?"

"YN…" Moka's voice is gentle as she squeezes your hand, "Please don't talk like that. What if there's a misunderstanding?"

"They mentioned 'Lee Heeseung,' it's obviously him," you sniffle, trying to compose yourself.

"Well, why waste your time on someone who doesn't deserve it?" Minju interjects.

"Minju's got a point," Wonhee agrees, "He's not worth your tears. He's just a player."

"But I can't help it, I think I love him," you admit, feeling torn.

"But Heeseung doesn't strike me as the type to play with someone's feelings like that. He's a good guy," Yunah suggests optimistically. "Maybe there's more to the story that you don't know."

"I don't even know anymore," you murmur, wiping your eyes. "All I know is I can't face anyone for the next week. I might even cancel all my plans. I just can't bear to see him right now."

HEESEUNG SAT AT HIS DESK, his mind consumed with worry. It had been a week since you abruptly canceled all your plans, and he hadn't heard from you since. His messages were delivered for nearly a week and according to Iroha, you hadn't left your house in days. 

Lost in his thoughts, he barely registered the sound of his bedroom door creaking open. Jihyeon stood in the doorway, her big brown eyes filled with concern.

"Heeseung, are you okay?" she asked softly, her small voice breaking through his anxious mind.

Heeseung forced a smile, trying to hide his emotion, "I'm fine, Jihyeon. Just a little tired."

Jihyeon frowned, unconvinced by his reassurance. "But you've been pacing around your room all day, and you haven't touched your food," she pointed out, her brow furrowing with worry.

Heeseung sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He couldn't hide anything from Jihyeon; she always saw right through him.

"I'm just worried about someone," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jihyeon's eyes widened with curiosity. "Is it YN?" she asked, her voice filled with innocence.

Heeseung's heart skipped a beat at the mention of your name, and he nodded slowly. "Yes, it's YN. I haven't heard from her in days, and I'm starting to get really worried."

Jihyeon's expression softened, and she took a tentative step forward, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "Don't worry, Heeseung. I'm sure she's okay. Maybe she just needs some time alone."

Heeseung wanted to believe her, but the nagging worry in the back of his mind refused to go away. "Hopefully."

Suddenly, Jihyeon's eyes lit up with excitement, as if she had just remembered something important. "Hey, Heeseung, do you like YN?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

Heeseung's heart skipped a beat at the question, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I…uh…what makes you ask that?"

Jihyeon shrugged, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "YN may have told me that you give her butterflies and so many other things"

Heeseung's breath caught in his throat at the revelation, his mind racing with a whirlwind of emotions. You liked him? The realization filled him with a sense of hope he hadn't felt in days.

"I need to go find YN."he said, his voice choking with emotion.

THE NIGHT HUNG HEAVY WITH SILENCE. Tears streamed down your cheeks; the clock ticked, marking the passing of time as you sat alone in your room.

The sudden creak of the window startled you, and you turned to see Heeseung framed against the moonlit sky. His presence sent a jolt of surprise through you. 

"Heeseung?" you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of emotions.

Heeseung hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right words to say. "YN, I…," he started, but his voice faltered as he struggled to find the courage to speak.

"What are you doing here, Heeseung?" you asked, your voice betraying the hurt and confusion.

Heeseung took a step closer, his eyes filled with concern as he noticed the tears staining your cheeks. "YN, what happened? Why are you crying?" he asked, his voice with genuine worry.

You couldn't help but feel a surge of anger at his question,"Why do you care, Heeseung?" you snapped, your voice sharp"After everything that's happened, why do you even bother?"

Heeseung's eyes widened in surprise, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern. "What do you mean, YN? What happened?" he asked.

The anger inside you boiled over, and you couldn't hold back the flood of emotions any longer. "You like another girl," you said, your voice trembling with hurt and anger. "You kissed her,"

Heeseung's face looked puzzled, his eyes with confusion"YN, it's not what you think," he started, but you cut him off.

"Don't even bother, Heeseung," you said, your voice filled with resignation. "I know the truth now. I know that everything you did to me was just to play."

Heeseung's heart shattered at your words, "YN, please, let me explain," he pleaded, his voice desperate. You shake your head no.

"YN, listen to me," he said, his voice barely audible over the sound of your quiet sobs. "Those are all false. I never kissed anyone. I don’t like anyone but…"

You turned to face him, the tears still streaming down your cheeks as you searched his eyes.

“But  you. I like you, YN," Heeseung confessed, "More than I've ever liked anyone before."

Your eyes widened, “What?”

“I like you YN.” Heeseung confessed, before you could process anything 

For a moment, the world fell away around you as he pressed his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. Lips in sync, his hands snaking around your waist. 

But all too soon, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway outside your room, and Heeseung pulled away, his eyes wide with panic. "YN, open the door, I brought tea," Yunah's voice called out. He realized that he was about to be caught, and he turned to you. Without a word, he pressed his lips to yours one last time. 

As you stood there, the echo of his words ringing in your ears. He liked you. Heeseung Lee liked you back. 

THE WARM GLOW OF THE AFTERNOON SUN FILTERED through the curtains, casting a soft light over the cozy living room. You sat beside him on the comfortable couch, next to Heeseung’s side as you watched a movie together.

Jihyeon sat on the floor in front of the TV, completely engrossed in the movie. Every so often, she would glance back at the two of you, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she plotted her next adventure.

Heeseung wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Is the movie good, angel?" he murmured, his voice soft with affection.

You nodded, leaning into his embrace with a contented sigh. "Mhmm, perfect," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

As the movie played on, you found yourself drifting off, the gentle rhythm of Heeseung's heartbeat and the noise of Jihyeon’s laughter. 

When the movie finally came to an end, Jihyeon jumped up from her spot on the floor, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Can we play a game now?" she asked, bouncing up and down.

Heeseung chuckled at her enthusiasm, ruffling her hair affectionately. "Of course, Jihyeon," he said, shooting you a playful grin. "What do you want to play?"

Jihyeon's face lit up with delight as she rattled off a list of her favorite games, her energy infectious as she dragged the two of you into her world of make-believe. You and Heeseung played along with her antics, laughing and joking as you chased each other around the room, completely lost in the moment.

And as you watched Heeseung and Jihyeon, their laughter filling the air with joy, you knew that you would do anything to protect this precious moment, to hold onto it for as long as you possibly could. 

[monster-disaster]

[tentacle] The monster under the bed

tentacle!monster x human!Reader Good to know: somnophilia, a bit of dub-con

Summary: Your aunt's house is not as empty as you thought.

A/N: For kinktober 2023, I have a new town full of monsters. Here is the masterlist.

The change in the air is thick and heavy after you leave the Welcome to Grimbrook sign behind you. You feel it in your core. It's cold and silent. For a second, everything goes quiet, and the time seems to stop. The rumbling of your car gets muffled, and the colors of the lush, green forest at your sides fade into a milky fog flowing above the ground. You can't see the tall mountains and their sharp edges in the distance anymore. The clear blue sky turns gray, and you can't find the sun anymore, either. Just a few dim rays shine down on the road in front of you, showing your way to the village next to the sea.

As you get closer, you can smell the salty scent of the water even through the closed windows of your car. It's heavy in your nostrils. The sound of the waves gets louder too. From the top of the uphill, you can see the village with its old stone buildings and the sea behind everything. It seems colorless, merging into the dark sky at the horizon. It is beautiful and terrifying at the same time. There is something in Grimbrook that you can't pinpoint but freezes your insides. The only light you can see comes from a lighthouse at the edge of a cliff. It emits a soft, rhythmic beam of yellow light that cuts through the heavy fog, casting eerie shadows over the still village. Seagulls glide through the mist above the white seafoam, waving across the dark surface.

"Okay," you hum, forcing your eyes to go back to the GPS on your phone. The blue line clearly shows your way to the house you have to reach before night falls. It leads you out of the center of the villages until you reach a small suburb with Victorian houses standing in a long row with grand iron gates and gardens.

The monotone voice of the GPS informs you when you reach the right house, and after sitting in your car for a few more minutes, you have no other option but to get out and make your way up to the porch. The wooden planks creak under your steps as you look around a bit better. The house is old, with tall walls, characterful windows, and a dark green door with a golden knocker in the middle. It's cold in your hold as you knock it against the door.

You don't get an answer, though.

The door opens, and you find yourself facing a narrow foyer with stairs on the right side. Pictures and paintings hang on the walls in dark wood and golden frames. You can see the entrance of the kitchen at the end. And on your left side, there is an arch that leads you to the living room.

"Hello?" You break the silence. Your voice is hoarse and quiet. You have to force your legs to move and not turn back to your car and leave this place immediately. "Somebody?" Your gaze lands on a small table in the corner next to the entrance door. There is a letter with your name on it.

Dear Cat, I'm sorry I can't be here when you arrive. Make yourself at home, and we will talk tomorrow. Delilah

"Great," you sigh, letting the paper fall back onto the surface of the small table.

For a second, you think about searching for a hotel or something similar to spend the night, but to be honest, it doesn't sound much better either. You know you should leave the town to feel better, but it's not an option. So you close the door behind you and wander further into the house.

You got a call a few weeks ago about your aunt you met long years ago. She died, and now you have a house. You can keep it. You can sell it. Whatever you want.

The house is old, with a lot of wood, dark colors, and golden details. There are still newspapers from months ago on the coffee table in the living room. The rug under you is faded and thin. The floor creaks every now and again. There are two rooms and a bathroom upstairs. The bigger room is still occupied with your aunt's belongings. The scent of her perfume still lingers in the air. You remember her when you were a kid. She came to your grandmother's funeral, and you never saw her again. Nobody really talked about her in the family. The only things you know are that she was kind but preferred her own company above everything else. She lost her husband in her late twenties but stayed in Grimbrook, barely leaving the town.

The guestroom is much more bare than the other parts of the house. A bed in the middle with two nightstands and a lamp. There is a drawer in front of it and a mirror on the wall. The window is slightly open, letting in the cold autumn breeze. You have a view of the street from here. It's calm and empty. The only reasons you know you are not the only person in the town are because you can see a few cars here and there and a dog barking in the distance. The fog is thick and heavy. You can't see the end of the street through it.

After wandering around the house some more, you decide to call your friend until you have no other option but to change and try to get some sleep.

Climbing up on the bed in the guest room, you settle under the thick covers. The scent of the linen is faded and mixed with dust and the night air coming through the window. It's dark outside, not counting a few lamps on the street. Their orange lights filter into the room. And everything is quiet. So quiet that your ears almost start to ring. You are not used to it. You live in the city with constant noises.

When sleep takes you, it's restless and everything but relaxing. You fidget and turn, trying to find a comfortable position as you balance between the darkness and the real world. Your head feels just as foggy as Grimbrook, and at some point, you can't decide if you are dreaming or not.

You are on your back, one arm on your stomach, and the other is next to your body. The autumn breeze caresses your skin, moving up from your feet to your ankles and calves. Shiver runs through your spine at the feeling. You want to reach out for the blanket, but even though your arms move, they do not obey your command. Something pets the thin skin of your wrist. It's soft and barely noticeable. You feel your muscles stretch as you reach up to the headrest of the bed, but you don't even know why. The cold moves up further on your legs. It curls around your flesh, spreading you in the middle of the bed. Your heels dig into the mattress. Your body tenses when your limbs don't do as you want. A frown deepens between your brows.

"What?" A hoarse grunt leaves your lips. When you open your eyes, you meet darkness, and you are not sure if you are really awake or not. Your eyelids are heavy, and not even a second later, you fall back asleep again.

The bottom of your pajama slips down on your legs. The waist stretches around your parted legs. Something slides up on your stomach under your t-shirt. It is slick and soft. A gasp echoes in your room when it flicks your nipple. The thing curls around the flesh of your tits, groping and caressing. Your nipples harden under the strange touch. Saliva? A tongue?

Where are you?

And there is something else between your legs. The muscles of your thighs tense, and the hold around you tightens.

"What?" You groan again into the silence. As you look down on your body, you see your t-shirt around your neck. Your breasts are bare. Something dark and purple curls around them, squeezing and licking. The teasing on your nipples is almost painful. At the back of your mind, you want more. Your head falls back onto the pillows, and you are asleep again.

The tentacles between your legs move up and down on your pussy. Your panties are ruined between your wet center and the slick touch of theirs. One of them flicks your clit. Your back arches at the feeling. The cold night air hits your aching pussy when the thin fabric is pulled aside. One of them stays around your clit, flicking and rubbing the hard bud. The other one goes straight to your hole.

You want to move. To get closer or farther away, you can't decide. The tendrils don't let you go anyway.

You break the silence with a sudden moan. The limb enters you slowly. It slips into you easily, stretching your walls until you can't take another inch. It fills you up.

"Fuck," you groan.

Your breasts are soaked. The slickness on your skin shines under the dim streetlights. The tentacles play with your flesh, rubbing and pinching your nipples. The pain takes your breath away every now and again until you feel dizzy.

The others between your legs move without pausing even for a second. Your clit throbs, and your walls flutter. Pleasure flares inside your veins, rushing through your body with such force you never felt before. Your lungs burn for air, and your muscles ache as you lay taut, panting.

When you open your eyes, you see the ceiling and the old lamp hanging above you. You want to force your mind to think, to panic, to do something, but your senses are full of pleasure. The only thing you can do is moan and grind against the tentacle inside your pussy. It pounds into you, reaching every spongy spot inside that makes you see stars and beg for more. The sheet under you is soaked with your mixed juices. You can feel it dripping out of your hole.

Fuck, you want to shout, but you can't find your voice. You just shake and tremble in the hold of the limbs keeping you in place on the bed. Every nerve in your body is on edge, and when it snaps in your lower stomach, you can't remember how to breathe. Your climax forces you down and stops you from moving. A thin layer of sweat shines on your bare skin. Heat burns you from the inside, and your pussy flutters and sucks on the tendril inside you. It still moves in and out. It twitches and rubs against your walls. And doesn't stop even when the darkness envelopes you again.

When you wake up the next morning, you need a few minutes to remember where you are. The sun shines through the window, casting an orange hue over the old rug in the middle of the room. As you sit up, your t-shirt falls back over your torso, but your pants are still around your knees.

"What?" You grunt out. The question is barely louder than a whisper. Your hand shakes as you reach down between your legs. Your pussy is wet, sensitive, and swollen. A moan escapes you when your fingertip slides over your slit.

Your dream is still vivid in your mind. You can feel the tentacle in your pussy, using your hole and rubbing your clit. Your center starts to throb with need at the memory. And your breasts. Your other hand grabs one of your tits. Your nipples are still hard peaks through the thin fabric of your shirt.

"Hello? Cat?" The sudden noise snaps your head up to the door of your room. The voice comes from the entrance of the house. "It's Delilah." "Hey!" You croak out. You are not even sure if she can hear you. "I will be down in a minute." "Great!" She shouts back. "I will make some coffee, and we can talk about your plans with the house." Your fingers sink into your hole. You are still stretched out. You move in and out of your pussy easily.

Yeah, you think, you need a few nights if you want to decide about your plans.

- Masterlist Grimbrook Masterlist Patreon

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 27 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Although Bradley wasn't usually one for big gestures, he supposed he was when it came to you. Now he wanted the wife and the wedding and the honeymoon and all of it. Preferably sooner than later.

Warnings: fluff, adult language, smut, 18+

Length: 3000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

Bradley had never been a big gesture kind of guy. He never really saw the point in it. He always figured it was easier to tell how much someone cared about you through their day-to-day interactions instead of the occasional over the top displays. 

He knew Natasha had his back by the way she simply helped him prepare for tonight by taking you out for drinks without asking too many questions. And he hoped she knew that the steady friendship he built with her was strong even though their birthday steak dinners and weekend morning runs weren't flashy. He felt similarly about Maverick, thankful that he knew where he stood with him once again without having to prove it.

But Bradley wanted you to know that he was going to love you forever by the way he treated you when you were alone together, and by the way he couldn't help but occasionally show off his romantic side. He knew you didn't need words written in the sky when he would prefer to pour his heart out to you in letters and emails, but he didn't want to simply propose by handing you his mother's ring either.

That's why he got your students to fold up the paper planes. Because he just couldn't help but both ask you to marry him and show you how much those letters changed his life at the same time.

"Bradley?" Your voice was breathy as he watched your eyes flick to the wall and then back to his face. "Paper planes?"

He smiled. "It's all the letters you and your class sent to me. You know... when you were looking for a Naval aviator to write back and answer a few questions? I guess a few questions turned into a lot more than that. And a simple correspondence with a gorgeous fourth grade teacher soon made me realize that you're the woman of my dreams. My pen pals changed my whole life." He gestured toward the wall. "Your students helped me fold them up yesterday."

"They did?" you whispered as he closed the distance to you before getting down on one knee.

"They did," he confirmed, looking up at your beautiful face as tears filled your eyes. "I love you. And I have something for you, Gorgeous." He swallowed hard. "It was my mom's." He held up the engagement ring that he remembered from his childhood but thought had been long ago buried with Carole. "I want you to have it. Unless you don't like it. It's from 1984, and it's definitely vintage, so I won't be upset if you tell me you'd rather have something more modern. Maverick was holding onto her engagement ring for safekeeping." He knew he was rambling, but now that it was time to say the most important words, his nerves were taking over. "I had no idea until he heard me talking about how desperately I want to marry you."

"Bradley," you gasped, chest rising and falling rapidly with emotion as a tear streaked down your cheek. "Are you serious?"

He was serious. He was in love. He wanted this forever. "Will you marry me?"

You didn't make him wait long to see your beautiful smile and hear your calming voice. "Yes. Yes, I'll marry you, Bradley."

You started to drop down to your knees, and he caught you along the way as your lips met his. He could feel you everywhere. Your arms around his neck were familiar, and so was your soft laughter and your kisses. But your words promising forever were new.

"I love you, Gorgeous," he swore between kisses. "I fucking love you, Baby."

"I love you, too," you whispered, cupping his face in both of your hands and kissing him. 

Bradley realized he was holding the ring tight in his hand and loosened his grip so you could really take a look. "Let me put it on your finger? Make it official?"

You nodded in excitement, and then Bradley had to blindly slide it into place as you kissed him relentlessly.

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

Each of the paper planes taped to the wall was familiar to you. After so many months, you could tell which of your students had written the notes based on the handwriting. As you ran your fingers along the letters, you recognized your own handwriting there as well. The flickering candle light shone on the paper planes as well as the ring on your finger.

This was all so romantic. You never dreamed you'd be so thoroughly loved, but here you were with Bradley's lips on the side of your neck as he stood behind you, letting you inspect the message he hung up on the wall.

MARRY ME?

"In an abundance of detail, please explain to me how you managed to get my students to fold all of these up during Career Day without me noticing."

His deep rumble of laughter sent goosebumps along your skin. "You have to know by now who my regular accomplice is."

You spun around in his arms and kissed him as his big hands settled low on your hips. "Natasha can't be trusted," you whispered, gently running your fingers through his hair. "She's too loyal to you. But I know your strategy now."

"That's okay. I don't need her to be sneaky on my behalf anymore. Proposing to you was my main objective."

"Bradley," you whispered, smiling so much your face hurt. You examined the ring as you dragged your fingers through his hair. Part of you was still surprised by how the evening turned out, but he had been promising you from the very start that he was serious about you. "Bradley, you just gave me your mom's ring."

"Yeah," he grunted, running his nose along your cheek and ear. His breath was warm against your skin as he said, "We can pick out something else if you don't like it. The diamond is pretty small, because my parents got married when they were twenty-four. I think that's all my dad could afford, and-"

You silenced him with your lips on his. "It's perfect. Like you. I don't want anything else. Or anyone else."

Those big hands were on your butt now, and his body was snug up against yours as he kissed you so hard, you moaned. The living room smelled like all of the different candles at one time, and the lighting was kind of magical. And you realized you were engaged to the man you started to fall in love with before you even kissed him for the first time.

As soon as you took one small step toward the bedroom, Bradley followed your lead. You could tell he was excited as he scooped you up into his arms, and you kept yourself snug against him as he grew harder for you. Just as you ran your lips along his scars while he carried you through the bedroom doorway, his stomach growled so loudly, you started to laugh.

"You didn't eat dinner," you whispered, kissing him softly, trying to hold back the desire you felt.

"Baby, I have a whole plan," he replied, all smiles as you nipped at his lips until you landed on your back on the bed. "Dinner at Salvatore's is happening, but not until I fuck my fiancée."

You whined softly as he dragged your leggings slowly down, and you arched your back so he could remove your shirt. Then you watched him struggle to get undressed with his erection as you touched yourself. "You're taking me out for an engagement dinner?" you asked, running your fingers between your breasts and down your belly. He stumbled out of his jeans, eyes fixed on your body as you circled your clit with your middle finger.

"Well... maybe not," he grunted. "I should have thought this through a little better. Now I just want to keep you in bed."

The words were taken from your mouth and turned into a moan as he spread your legs apart and kissed you where you were touching yourself. "Bradley." Your fingers went to his hair as he teased and kissed his way up your body, letting you taste yourself on his lips and mustache.

"I love you, Gorgeous," he crooned, guiding the tip of his cock through your wetness until you were clenching with need. When you were ready for him, all you had to do was roll your hips up. When you were ready for more, he filled you up and didn't stop until you came.

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

"I should probably just try to get us a standing reservation," Bradley murmured, making you laugh as you were led to your table at Salvatore's. The two of you just finished a bottle of the overpriced wine you liked so much at the bar, and now you were looking up at him like you'd rather just go back home for round two of engagement sex instead of dinner. But he knew he wouldn't make it to that point until he ate something.

"Don't look at me like that," he whispered, grinning as you sat down when the waiter pulled out your chair.

As soon as you and he were both seated, you asked, "How exactly would you like me to look at my future husband?"

Your words left him a little breathless as he reached for your left hand which now displayed the ring that told everyone else you were going to be his wife. He couldn't stop touching you, and you were just as bad as your legs tangled with his beneath the table. "Maybe we should have made sandwiches at home."

Even mentioning food out loud made his stomach growl louder as he inhaled the delicious scent of pasta. "We'll be back home soon," you told him. "In the meantime, while we take a break from our engagement sex marathon, why don't we talk about our summer wedding?"

Bradley nodded as he laced his fingers with yours. "You know, I always wanted to try running a marathon, but I think I like this type even better."

"You can use the sex marathon as part of your training regimen."

The smile on his lips wasn't going to go away anytime soon. Maybe it was the same smile that had been there since the first time he looked at your photo. "Are you really going to agree to a summer wedding?"

"You told my students that's what you wanted," you replied immediately. 

"I owe your kiddos so much. If they didn't think I was cool as hell, I'd have gotten nowhere with their teacher. We should invite them to our wedding."

You laughed as Bradley waved down the waiter and ordered three entrees. He was still holding your hand as he told the guy, "And you may as well just bring some to-go containers out along with the food. We've been engaged for about two hours, so I'm getting a little antsy to get back home again. I'm sure you can understand."

"Congratulations," he murmured as you cradled your forehead in your right hand.

"Bradley," you half groaned and half laughed.

"What?" he replied, downing half of his glass of water. "He took one look at you and knows exactly why I can't wait to go home. Now can we talk more about wedding plans?"

You looked beyond amused and very pleased with yourself as you asked, "Do you really want a summer wedding?"

"Absolutely, Gorgeous Girl," he confirmed. "This year. Please don't make me wait."

You bit your lip for a few seconds before you said, "It's already February. That doesn't give us a lot of time. Unless..." Then the waiter returned with some bread, and you asked him, "Do you have a catering menu?"

He nodded. "I'll bring one out with your food and the containers."

Now you were the one tugging on Bradley's hand. "I have a great idea! What if we don't really have a wedding at all?"

His face fell as his lips parted silently. None of this really mattered before he met you, but now that he was here, he could clearly picture the day in his mind. "Baby, I want us to have a wedding day. A white dress and my uniform and flowers and wedding photos and all that shit."

"Bradley," you whispered, wrenching your hand free so you could drag your chair closer to his at the small table. Your palm was on his cheek, tilting his face so you could kiss him while you stroked his scars. "I didn't mean it like that." You kissed him again. "You give me these butterflies, and I swear I can't handle it," you whispered, running your nose along the side of his. "What if we have a simple wedding where we can invite my students? We can still do the dress and the uniform and as many photos as we want. But I think I know the best spot where we can have it all. And then we could go big on our honeymoon."

The wedding, the fourth graders, the honeymoon, the wife. Now he was smiling again. "Tell me more, Gorgeous. In an abundance of detail."

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

If anyone saw the two of you, it would have been comical. It was dark out, and you were holding the bag of food containers and trying to unlock the door while Bradley held onto you.

"I think it's a little bit early to be carrying me into the house like this. Pretty sure that's for after the wedding."

"You can't blame me for being excited."

You pushed the door open, and even in the nearly dark house, you could still see the paper airplanes on the wall spelling out his proposal. "Are we keeping that romantic display where it is?" you asked as Bradley took you to the kitchen.

He glanced back over his shoulder. "For now. But I don't want them to get faded or anything like that. I'll flatten the letters out again eventually and find somewhere to store them."

You gasped as you unpacked the food containers and found something at the bottom of the bag. "They gave us an entire cheesecake!" It said Congratulations written in chocolate, and you bounced around in place as Bradley's arm wrapped around you. "That was so sweet of them."

He chuckled and whispered, "They know what they're doing. They have a loyal customer in my wife who always orders the expensive wine."

His fingertips brushed your neck before you felt his mustache there. "You already know I ordered it by accident the first time," you gasped as he sucked gently on the sensitive spot below your ear. "And I'm not your wife yet."

"Based on our tentative plans, you will be in a few short months," he murmured. "Now why don't we put the food away and go back to bed until Monday morning?"

"Monday morning?" you moaned. "You feeling ambitious?"

Bradley practically threw the food into the refrigerator. "My belly is full, you look hot, we're getting married, and we can take a break for cheesecake in a few hours. So yes, I'm feeling very ambitious, Gorgeous."

Your smile was coy, and your voice was low. "A few hours without a break?"

Bradley kissed your parted lips before tasting your tongue. "I want to get some practice in before our honeymoon. Isn't Paris the city of sex?" he asked with a smirk.

"The city of love!" you said, bursting into laughter as he hauled you toward the bedroom again.

"We'll make it both. I want to practice both."

It was always both when you were with him. He was sexy and sweet, his voice close to your ear as you had each other for the third time today. You already knew that all it took was the diamond on your finger to make you go a little wilder for each other. A deployment that ended with an engagement ring? You never wanted this feeling to stop.

The diamond sparkled on your finger as you tugged at his hair. He was so methodical with you. There was a sweet precision to everything he did which felt like the embodiment of his written letters. His voice was familiar and raw with emotion next to your ear as he filled you in every way. His lips were everywhere, praising you and drawing out your orgasm. Calling you the love of his life. 

"I need this forever, Gorgeous," he panted, fucking you harder. "I need you."

You were clinging to him, kissing his scars as you came. Then the two of you snuggled in bed and discussed your plans for the perfect wedding. 

Although there were more breaks for food and the cheesecake, he did in fact keep you very busy until Monday morning. You went to work exhausted, but you made a quick stop to ask your school administrator if your wedding idea was even feasible. The answer surprised you. Then you got yourself settled in your classroom where eighteen kids soon arrived, and Violet set off a ripple effect as soon as she gasped and asked, "Did Lieutenant Bradshaw give you a wedding ring?"

Jayden and Nia both came running over to your desk to see it. Henry shouted, "She got married! Knew it!" Jackie screamed into her hands about how the magical paper planes worked, and you had to stand and try to calm everyone down.

"I didn't get married! Yet. But Lieutenant Bradshaw asked me to marry him this summer, and I said yes, so I guess the magical paper airplanes did work."

Your classroom erupted into cheers and shouting as you smiled. Thank goodness you went out on a limb and decided to write to a US Naval Aviator. Thank goodness it was Bradley who answered. 

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

Wedding and honeymoon up next? Then the epilogue? We're almost there! Anyone think they know where they'll have their wedding? Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 28

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[mooningningg]

"You're insufferable." part i, jjk.

-in which you got in a heated argument with jjk men.

part ii.

toji, satoru, and nanami, (f).

warnings, genre. swearing! not proofread! | angst to fluff! |

notes i. this was requested from like a year ago so... yeah.

Toji. the scarred man was flaring up your temper for sure, you sat at the your side of the passanger seat. drowning in your own sea of thoughts whilst you looked outside the window of the moving car. tiny drops of water was plastered right on the car window. the sound of pitter-patter by the rain can be heard but slightly muffled.

the car however was silent, toji, your boyfriend was driving with a deadly grip on the steering wheel. you both were driving home after a disasterous date. it was going on fine at the beginning but all of a sudden, your meticulous boyfriend and you were suddenly fighting with him over something you didn't seem to think about now. you were just fuming in your seat because he had raised his voice at you in front of many people, "are you going to keep up this being a bitch act of yours?" he bites, you can feel the venom seeping through his voice.

you stayed silent, trying to send him the hint that you weren't going to talk to him any sooner. he hisses beside you before slamming his hand on the steering wheel, making you look at him with a flinch, "damn it!" "what the hell is wrong with you, toji!" "now you decide to talk to me."

"if you were just being so fucking easy back there, then maybe i wouldn't have yelled." the man beside you fills you in, trying to point out your mistakes from the fight.

"oh so now it's my fault that you have anger issues that you can not somehow get a hold of? you're a fucking assassin, toji. yet you act like you can't color inside the lines with a gun to your fucking head."

"what the fuck did you just say?" his voice grumbles, and just in time for a thunder to roar in the sky, light flashes in a second before the rain came down heavier. toji took a glance at you, his eyes were filled with anger and you can tell, you calmed yourself down. looking out from the window again you wrapped your own arms around your body to provide warmness, you couldn't handle it anymore. there was never a day where you don't find yourself arguing with the scarred man over and over again, you were tired, to an extent.

"you're a fucking jerk." you mumble, resting your head on the window as you feel your tears starting to build up. it hurts you, him being too comfortable yelling at you in front of a crowd, it shatters your heart into millions of pieces. you knew you were hard to love but... toji made you feel like there wasn't hope at all.

"I hate you." it came out like a whisper, your voice vulnerable and weak. toji's grip loosened, his eyes softening in an instant with his face muscle finally relaxing, but not in a good way. damn did those three words, eight letters, stab his heart a million times repeatingly, over and over again. he was hurting you, and now he realizes it, he has gone too far now, "y/n."his voice was gentle now, no sign of anger or irritation.

you didn't answer, you felt so weak now. you felt like you were going to burst into tears within a second, " 'm sorry." your boyfriend says, your heart warms up in an instant, it was unfair, he had this effect on you and you just can't ignore it, "whatever." you replied with a sob at the end of your sentence, you had been crying again... because of him.

toji didn't like seeing you like this so he swore in him, he would kill anyone that made you cry, and if he did make you holler again, he'll end his self instead.

Satoru. "This is crazy." you say in frustration, looking at your lover as if he has grown tw heads to make your eyes shine with horrid, "oh this is crazy? you're

crazy." the silver haired exclaims with his tone sharp and absolute, you were taken a back by his response, "oh wow, don't try to point this on me when you're the one who flirted with a girl." "it's like I can't even do anything in this relationship anymore, you have this fucking vision in your head that im so fucking wrong all the time."

"you're just making up excuses, satoru. it won't cover up the fact that you flirted with the girl." you pointed at him, your eyes glared at him with your voice slightly raising. smoke was basically coming out of satoru's ear, he was fuming, "you're insecure, that's what you are." "what did you just say?" "you make a big fuss whenever i talk to another girl, you're afraid ill le...

there was the sound of your palm hitting his right cheek, it echos through out the room with your eyes tearing up. who am i kidding, it already rolled down your cheeks, your eyes held betrayal. satoru, never in your life did he point out your insecurities in an argument.

"what happened to you. if that's what you think then I'm afraid we're better off by ourselves." you say calmly, your tears still can't help themselves from falling, "y/n." "no, you don't say those hurtful things and expect me to be okay."

"im sorry, i know i crossed the line." the silver haired exclaims with a saddened voice, the slap was like a slap from reality. truly the reason why he realized his mistake. "i would never do that to you." your voice cracked, you couldn't anymore, the burden rose up to your throat and it made hard for you to say something without finding it hard. you were crying now.

backing away from your boyfriend your back hits the wall and you slide down to the floor whilst trying to calm yourself down. and just like that you feel your boyfriends familiar scent crouch down to your level, grabbing your hands gently to replace his slender hands to wipe away your tears. "im sorry baby, im so... fuck, i hate seeing you like this."

Nanami. "im just trying to calmly apologize to you, i dont want to fight anymore." the blonde says, he brings his hand up to his mouth in a frustrated manner, you stood there, your arms crossed in front of your chest with your eyebrows furrowed. your face was bear but the outfit you were supposed to wear to your date with him was still on your body, "how is that going to help me, is it going to bring back the two hours i waited for you!" you exclaim, you were frustrated, the man forgot your date because he went to a party at work. and he didn't even tell you he was going, so it caused a misunderstanding, and you waited fir him like a fool.

"did you get hurt? i said i was sorry didn't i? can i go to bed now." he says in almost a monotone voice, you were offended by the way he reacted. it was almost like he didn't even care about your feelings. your eyes by now had widened, "so you're invalidating my feelings now? so what you said sorry?" "god your voice it's so..." "its so what." "...." "answer me!"

"fucking annoying! that's what it is, you yell, you yap do you ever get tired?" nanami finally loses his composure and his words were like daggers stabbing your heart. and if you listened closely, you can hear your heart breaking into pieces, and shattering beneath you. "you... you're the least man i have ever thought to say those words to me."

"wait." but it was too late, you had slammed the door in your shared room, nanami was left inside the cold atmosphere of the living room. he drops his self to the couch, placing his elbow on both his knees as he runs his finger through his blonde locks in frustration, he fucked up.

he needed to calm his self down before comforting you, in case he hurts you again.

[cherrysnip]

sincerely yours - choi seungcheol

pairing: seungcheol x afab!reader

content: married life, dad!seungcheol's reaction when your daughter received a love letter.

(spoiler alert: he freaked out😭)

word count: 1.5k

Tuesday nights have always been Seungcheol's turn to wash the dishes. In retrospect, no one can even make him do a single household chore when he was younger. He grew up surrounded by helpers who were paid to do the job so he didn't try as much to learn them.

However, that changed when he married you. Probably it was because of how you were raised differently from him but you’re not comfortable of having other people hovering around your house to "do things you can do on your own". And unwilling as he was at first, Seungcheol just obeyed what you wanted because well, that's how whipped he is. (He'd undoubtedly say yes had you even declared the sky green.)

So here he is, seven years later, a "master" on the craft of washing the dishes. It's silly how such a simple thing could make him so happy but really, it wasn't easy for him to reach this point. He broke plates after plates that he swore at one point he saw you gritting your teeth like you were one thread away from strangling him.

But he said that every time you would smile at him and utter a soft thank you, hell, everything's worth it.

"Why are you smiling like a fool?"

He turned to see you leaning on the counter watching him with suspicion. A sheepish smile escaped from Seungcheol's lips as he reached out for a dry towel to wipe his hands.

"You don't have to know," he teased.

Your brows furrowed, "You better not be thinking of another woman or else..."

Seungcheol chuckled and walked towards you. He leaned, placing his hands on your sides, caging you on the counter. The action was so sudden it caught you off guard.

"How would I do that when you're everything I think about every waking day of my life? Hmm?" He planted a kiss on your shoulder which made you gasp. Years into your marriage but this little things your husband does still makes you giddy like a teenager. And of course, the blush spreading all over your face didn't escape Seungcheol, causing him to grin wider. Your reaction to his touch will always be his favorite drug.

"Now, you're just flattering me..." 

"I'm being sincere," Seungcheol insisted and met your eyes. "I still can't believe that after all these years, I'm actually married to you. How can I be so damn lucky?"

After he said that, your pouting lips turned into a wide smile. He is such a dork, you thought. You can't resist it anymore so you cupped his cheeks to kiss the tip of his nose. Being the competitive guy that he is, he did the same to you while chuckling. 

"I'm luckier to have married you, Cheollie. You're everything I've dreamed of a husband."

"Are you sure? I remember six years ago, you said you'll divorce me because I forgot to clean our room."

"Well, you already learned your lesson, didn't you?"

Seungcheol nodded, "I most certainly did."

"Oh by the way, I have something to tell you," you said a little bit later. Your arms were already wrapped around Seungcheol's waist with your chin on his broad chest.

"Baby no. 3?" Seungcheol asked hopefully and he only received a pinch on his side. "Aw! I'm just kidding sweetheart!"

"Tss," You removed yourself from Seungcheol but you still didn't let go of his arm while you gently dragged him to your living room. You picked up something from your coffee table and even though he was basically towering over you, he still wasn't able to have a clear sight of what it was because you were quick to hide it on your back.

"What is it?” He curiously asked but instead of answering him immediately, you slightly squeezed his arm."Promise me you won't have a heart attack?"

"How can I promise that sweetheart? Come on."

"Well, okay. Just please don't pass out."

"You're just making me nervous."

You pursed your lips and handed him the familiar heart-shaped paper. The last time he got a hold of something similar to this was during Valentine's Day and he almost lashed out. Good thing, you were able to prevent him from doing so. 

"W-what's the meaning of this?"

You clicked your tongue trying to supress your laughter. Knowing your husband, you kind of expected this reaction from him already. 

"Found that in your daughter's workbook. I was helping her with her assignment and that fell."

"Damn it! Seriously?" Seungcheol dramatically gasped and stared at the piece of paper again. "Sweetheart, you've already read this haven't you?"

"I did."

"And you're not bothered?"

"No, I'm not. Actually, I find it cute," you replied.

"It isn't." Seungcheol almost shouted but tried hard not to make it too loud because he was well aware the twins were already sleeping. "Look here sweet, whoever this kid was, confessed he has a crush on Chaewon and even wrote I LOVE YOU! He wrote I LOVE YOU to our daughter!"

You finally burst into fits of laughter, "What's wrong with that?"

Seungcheol was starting to get annoyed now but it immediately dissipated when you touched his arm and guided him to sit on the couch.

"Calm down Cheollie. It's just a simple note. No need to fret so much about it," you tried to ease him and Seungcheol sighed. He reached for your hand and pressed it as if he's trying to summon his lost composure.

"I mean...that kid wrote those words for our daughter. To our princess. And he's only what? Six years old? Does he even know what it means?"

"Don't insult the feelings of that kid, Cheollie. You yourself even proposed to someone when you were just what? Three?"

Shock passed through Seungcheol's face. He was just going to defend himself when you waved your free hand. "Don't even try to deny it. It was your mom who told me about it."

"Fine. But that's beside the point...last time it was Jungwon. Our little prince received a similar letter with three red roses on Valentine's Day and now it's Chaewon...and an I love you? God! The moment we received the result of your pregnancy test even felt like it just happened yesterday and now, they're receiving these...things. It's too fast. They're growing up too fast."

"Cheollie. It's not as if they're already marrying--"

Seungcheol was quick to cut off what you were supposed to say. "God no sweetheart! They're just six-year olds!"

"Exactly my point," You calmly said and closed the gap between you by hugging him and burying your face on the crook of Seungcheol's neck. "So loosen up, okay?"

"I'm sorry. It's just that... I know that after several years they'll grow up and will meet a lot of people. And then eventually, both of our kids will each meet the person they will love...but right now, I really just want them to enjoy their childhood first...is that too much to ask?" Seungcheol immediately stopped talking when he heard you sniffing. "Are you crying?"

You lifted your head and hurriedly wiped your tears without looking at him. "This is your fault."

"What did I do?" Seungcheol asked teasingly and helped dry your cheeks. "Okay, I'll stop being irrational now so you should stop crying too."

You immediately shook your head, "You're not being irrational. You're just being a good, scratch that, the best father you have always been. You're loving and responsible."

"And?"

"Fine. Handsome too. Very," you both chuckled. "Jungwon and Chaewon are sure lucky to have you as a father."

“And you as their mother," Seungcheol kissed your forehead.

"Seriously though," You suddenly said and peeked at the paper your husband was holding. "The kid is undeniably sweet writing a letter like that."

"Sweetheart..." He groaned and his plump red lips automatically turning into a pout like that of a kid sulking. 

"Sorry," you giggled. "I won't bring it up again."

You both just stayed on the couch for a long time hugging each other. And even with just that, everything felt perfect.

"Cheollie?" You called in a whisper.

"Hmm?"

"I just realized something after reading that kid's letter."

"Uhuh?" Seungcheol responded expectantly.

"That I don't say those words a lot to you," Your voice wavered. "Even if you very much deserved to hear it everyday."

Seungcheol can't help but smile because he is completely aware that you're not the most expressive when it comes to your feelings (which is a complete opposite of him) but he also knew that you have so much love to give and you just have a different way to express it. 

"Even if you don't say it everyday sweetheart, I can always feel your love for me and for the twins. And that, " Seungcheol hugged you tighter, "...is more than enough.

"But still, I feel like you want to hear it."

"I do but--"

"I love you, Cheollie." You said rather abruptly and buried your face on Seungcheol's chest. He could only laugh at your cuteness.

"Are you seriously acting shy now?"

Shame was definitely already creeping on your system so you slapped his chest and whined in a low voice, "Stop teasing me!"

With a contented smile, he whispered too.

"I love you more sweetheart."

—♡—

[novaursa]

Fire Cannot Heal

- Summary: A raven arrives from Dragonstone carrying news dark as its wings.

- Paring: niece!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: A lot of angst and death of the reader who Daemon married along with her older sister Rhaenyra in Valyrian tradition.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The air in Harrenhal was damp and heavy, a faint chill creeping through even the thickest of cloaks. Simon Strong sat across from him, droning on about the movements of the Hightower forces and their plans to hold the Riverlands.

Daemon Targaryen wasn’t listening.

His thoughts wandered to Dragonstone, to the turbulent seas and dark skies above its cliffs. He imagined the roaring fires of the hearths and the laughter of his sons echoing through the halls. Then, unbidden, his mind conjured the image of you, softer and gentler than either himself or Rhaenyra, seated by the window in your chamber with a hand resting on your belly, your lips curving into a smile as you spoke of your hopes for the child you carried.

Daemon’s hand tightened around his cup as he exhaled slowly, almost in frustration. The child. He had never expected such joy to stem from your union, a marriage of necessity, one he had likened to Aegon and Visenya’s—a duty, a convenience. You knew it, too, and he had seen the knowledge in your eyes even on your wedding day. Yet now…now, with the prospect of this child, there had been something new between you. Something he had not known how to name but had begun to crave.

The door creaked open, snapping Daemon from his thoughts. A messenger, pale and out of breath, stumbled into the hall, clutching a parchment sealed with the black wax of Dragonstone. The urgency in his movements immediately silenced Simon’s voice.

“My prince,” the messenger began, his voice trembling, “I bring word from Dragonstone. A raven arrived.”

Daemon stood without hesitation, his boots heavy against the stone floor as he crossed the room in a few long strides. The parchment was thrust into his hands, and he broke the seal with a swift, impatient motion.

The words swam before his eyes, black ink staining the rough parchment like spilled blood:

Silverwing…Rook’s Rest…Vhagar…Aemond…fallen…

His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. He read the message again, slower this time, as if the meaning would change if only he looked hard enough. But the words remained the same.

You were gone.

He stumbled back a step, his hand clutching the edge of the table for support. The messenger’s voice was faint in the background, explaining what the letter did not say outright. “The queen sent her…to bolster Lord Staunton’s defense. Silverwing…they say she was torn from the sky by Vhagar…”

Simon Strong rose, concern evident in his eyes. “My prince? What has happened?”

Daemon didn’t answer. His eyes remained fixed on the parchment, his fingers curling tightly around its edges until the paper crumpled. His mind refused to accept the words.

You, with your soft smiles and timid nature. You, who had hesitated even to ride Silverwing into a storm. You, carrying his child—their child—had been sent to battle.

He shook his head slowly, disbelieving. “Why?” The word slipped from his lips, quiet and raw. “Why would Rhaenyra send her?”

“She thought it wise to send your wife…” the messenger began hesitantly, but Daemon’s head snapped up, and the venom in his eyes silenced the man instantly.

“She thought it wise?” Daemon’s voice rose, sharp as Valyrian steel. “She thought it wise to send a woman heavy with child, one whose dragon has never known the savagery of war, against Vhagar and that wretched boy?”

The parchment fell from his hands as he turned away, pacing like a caged animal. His thoughts warred within him. The anger, the grief, the disbelief—they threatened to tear him apart. You were gone. The child, your child, was gone.

His hands clenched into fists. “Rhaenyra…she knew.” His voice was low now, dangerously calm. “She knew Y/N was gentle, too gentle for this. She knew Silverwing was no match for Vhagar. And yet…” He trailed off, his voice breaking for the first time.

Simon stepped closer, his tone cautious. “My prince, perhaps there is more to this. The queen may have had no choice—”

“No choice?” Daemon turned on him, his violet eyes blazing. “No choice but to send her own sister, my wife, the mother of my child to her death? No, Simon, there is always a choice.”

His mind reeled with the implications. The child would have been the first tangible bond of their marriage, something more than the duty and expectation that had defined it. And now…now, there was nothing.

Daemon’s shoulders sagged under the weight of the realization. His anger burned hot and bright, but beneath it was a grief so profound it threatened to swallow him whole. He sank into a chair, his head in his hands.

For a long moment, there was only silence.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. “She smiled when I left,” he murmured, his words barely audible. “She smiled and said she would wait for me. She said our child would wait for me.”

Simon remained silent, understanding that no words could soothe this wound.

Daemon’s mind drifted back to you once more—to the way your hand had rested protectively over your belly, the soft laughter that had escaped you when you spoke of names for the child. He had never told you, but he had begun to hope.

Now, that hope was gone, and all that remained was a searing, empty ache.

“Bring Caraxes,” Daemon said at last, his voice cold and resolute. He rose to his feet, his grief now tempered by a cold determination. “I'm leaving.”

The winds howled over the jagged cliffs of Dragonstone, carrying with them the salt-laden air of the Narrow Sea. Caraxes’ roar echoed against the walls as Daemon dismounted in the courtyard, his boots slamming into the stone with purpose. The red worm curled protectively behind him, his growls a low, rumbling threat to anyone who dared approach. Daemon ignored the Dragonkeepers and the soldiers that hurried to greet him, his violet eyes fixed on the entrance to the castle.

He stormed inside without a word. The castle’s halls, usually filled with warmth and firelight, seemed cold and dim to him now. Every flicker of torchlight reminded him of the flames that had consumed Silverwing, and every shadow seemed to mock him with the absence of you.

His footsteps thundered through the throne room, where he knew she would be. Rhaenyra was seated on the great black chair, her crown glinting in the faint light. Advisors and courtiers lingered nearby, their whispers dying as Daemon entered, his face a storm of rage and grief.

“Leave us,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

Rhaenyra raised her hand, dismissing her attendants without question. Her gaze was steady as she watched him approach, though there was tension in the set of her jaw. She knew why he had come.

When the room emptied, Daemon halted at the foot of the throne, his eyes burning into hers. “Why?” he asked, his voice low and trembling with barely restrained fury. “Why did you send her to Rook’s Rest?”

Rhaenyra straightened, her tone defensive. “Daemon, you know why. We needed—”

“You needed?” Daemon interrupted, his voice rising. “You needed to send a woman heavy with child, one who has never known the horrors of war, against Vhagar? You needed to send my wife, your sister, and her gentle dragon to their deaths?”

Rhaenyra’s lips tightened. “She had a dragon, Daemon. A dragon as powerful as any—”

“No,” Daemon snapped, slamming his fist against the armrest of the throne. “Silverwing was no war dragon. She was gentle, like her rider. And you knew that.”

“She volunteered!” Rhaenyra argued, her voice rising to match his. “She wanted to serve our cause. She knew what was at stake.”

“She was my wife,” Daemon growled, stepping closer, “and you sent her to die.”

Rhaenyra flinched at his words, but her chin lifted defiantly. “We are at war, Daemon. Sacrifices must be made. She knew that as well as any of us.”

Daemon’s laugh was bitter, hollow. “Sacrifices? Is that what you call her? A sacrifice?” His voice broke, but he pressed on. “Do you know what I found at Rook’s Rest, Rhaenyra? Do you?”

She said nothing, her gaze faltering for the first time.

“They took her dragon’s head,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less furious. “And her body? There was no sign of her body.” He paused, the words choking him. “Who knows what they did to her? What horrors she suffered before she…”

He trailed off, unable to finish.

Rhaenyra’s face paled, but she quickly masked it with resolve. “Daemon, we still have our sons. You have Viserys and Aegon—”

“It is not the same,” Daemon hissed, his voice laced with venom.

“Daemon—”

“It is not the same!” He roared, his voice echoing through the hall. “Our sons are alive, but she is gone. She was carrying our child, Rhaenyra. Our child! The first thing that was truly ours in this farce of a marriage. And now, there is nothing.”

Rhaenyra rose from the seat, her own anger boiling to the surface. “Do you think this is easy for me? She was my sister! Do you think I wanted this?”

Daemon’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenching. “You made a choice, Rhaenyra. You may not have wanted this, but you allowed it. You sent her to her death because you thought it was what the realm needed. And now she is gone, and I am left to wonder what I could have done to stop you.”

The tension in the room was suffocating, the weight of their shared grief and guilt pressing down on them both.

“You may wear the crown,” Daemon said bitterly, his voice quieter now but no less cutting. “But you do not understand what you have lost. She was more than your sister. She was my wife, the mother of my child. And you took that from me.”

Rhaenyra’s shoulders sagged, the strength she had tried to project crumbling under his words. “Daemon…”

He shook his head, stepping back. “No. I will not stay here and play the loyal prince when you cannot see the cost of your decisions.”

Without another word, Daemon turned and strode from the throne room, his cloak billowing behind him like the wings of a dragon. Rhaenyra called after him, her voice breaking, but he did not stop.

The wind was howling again as he stepped out into the courtyard, where Caraxes waited. The red dragon lowered his head, sensing his rider’s turmoil.

“Come,” Daemon said softly, climbing into the saddle. “Let us leave this cursed place.”

As they took to the skies, Daemon’s thoughts were consumed by one image: your smile, soft and hopeful, as you had spoken of the child you would never hold. He vowed that Aemond, Vhagar, and every Hightower who had played a part in your death would burn for what they had done.

[jenicaclarisse]

NOZEL SILVA

What’s it like dating the serious and disciplined nozel silva

writing: canon info, fluff to fluff, relationship headcanons and husband nozel being a cutie pie cause he is. Do not see many fics about him so I’ll do it ✋

Fragile - Laufey

MEETING:

Getting to know him was awkward but yet interacting with him left you a feeling of curiosity and intrigued of his mysterious nature. How he kept to himself and remained poised to reflect his high status. You assumed he was the serious type and he is wholeheartedly

Overtime you noticed his mannerisms, despite his love for wine he couldn’t handle it very long as you noticed his usually straight back being slightly more hunched as the night grew.

“I assume you can’t handle your wine very well Mr. Silva.” You sat at one of the chairs provided by the bar.

Nozel didn’t notice you at first as he stubbornly took one more sip of his glass. He looked at you with a raised brow and crossed his arms.

“Women shouldn’t comment on a man’s capacity to handle alcohol.”

“So it’s the truth?”

Nozel nudged his lip forward.

“Silence yourself.”

Despite that, you giggled at his expense as his cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He asked what was so funny and you replied was his face. Nozel quickly palmed at his face as he looked at you once more.

“I think I have seen you from the past.”

“Oh? Do enlighten me.” You replied.

He proceeded to tell you of his sightings of the times he had caught you walk by and or during your missions where you were with your squad.

That night he asked you of the things you experienced as a magic knight. You replied hastily as his questions came right after the other. All the time his face was adorably serious, he couldn’t even finish his wine.

In return, you asked him what he liked. He gestured to his wine.

“Wine.” He simply said.

“But you couldn’t finish it though.” You remarked.

“Then don’t ask what I like” He crossed his arms.

You laughed at his face as he decided to down half of the left over wine from his glass.

“And now you did finish it”

Nozel gulped down and nudged you to the side in slight annoyance.

“It will do you well if you silenced yourself”

You laughed once again as he now faced away from you with a gruffy sound coming from his throat.

As the night came to a close, you and him left the bar as you clutched your bag from outside the establishment. Nozel turned to you.

“I look forward… to more conversations with you.”

Despite yourself, you managed to peak the interest of Nozel. Although there wasn’t a personal meeting for much later, the both of you indulged in correspondence via letters

There he expressed his interest clearly, answering whatever you have asked in the letters you have sent. He very passionately agreed to your whims and there you learned that he can be sweet

If the flowers at your doorstep wasn’t enough then surely the desserts, dresses and jewelry can surely change your mind.

He brought you to many dates most of which was flying over the city of clover as per your request. But on times where you preferred to not tire out nozel by flying out into the sky for hours on end the both of you settled for a nice dinner, roasted duck.

Soon you began to realize that Nozel did have a cute side. He was slightly clumsy and even socially awkward at times, how he’s not completely aware that animals tend to dislike him and the way his braid makes him even more angry looking

You even teased him. “Angry bird” you call him

You ask nozel to teach you spells on times where he had free time which he very begrudgingly agreed to do.

You often pull at his braid and he slaps your hand in annoyance. But sometimes, sometimes he may let you braid it yourself.

One thing you noticed much later was the fact that he had a fan base! Everytime he appeared near the plaza or on times where he had to fight you would often hear cheers from the crowd. Mostly women.

But you rest assured. Knowing that man was yours.

———————

Nozel Silva is so fine smhhh

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

somewhere in the back of your mind, you know this isn’t how things should be.

your living room is dimly lit, illuminated only by the tv in front of you, and the moon is glowing a pearlescent blue. flimsy strings of moonlight spill over your floorboards, reflecting off the windows, and whatever you’re doing isn’t what you should be doing. you shouldn’t be awake this late, shouldn’t be gorging on sweets before bed, shouldn’t be having a rendezvous with an enemy — shouldn’t be watching movies with your ex of ten years. 

most of all, you shouldn’t be feeling nearly this content.

getō is seated right beside you, legs comfortably spread, popping a macaron into his mouth. chewing it slowly, savouring the flavour. or lack thereof, you suppose — he’s digested far too many curses for his taste buds to remain intact.

or so he says, anyhow.

this time, he brought pastries with him. expensive ones, you can tell, just from the package alone; a soft pastel pink box, wrapped up in silk, golden letters etched into the front. mont blancs, macarons, two slices of strawberry shortcake. carefully picked, suited to your tastes.

(you aren’t actually too fond of sweets, anymore, but how is he to know? he hasn’t seen you in years.)

”would you like me to make us some tea?”

when you turn your gaze towards him, getō’s wearing a smile. laid-back, the slightest upward curl, tilting his head in a manner you’re far too used to. eyes shining with something keen. somehow, it feels difficult to tear your gaze away from his.

but you manage, turning forward, grasping control over your sleepy vocal cords. ”no, i’m good.”

a low hum. he’s still looking at you.

”coffee?”

”the sweets are more than enough.”

this time, a smile — one you can’t see but still somehow sense. a little bit amused. getō gazes at you with a knowing look, watches you glance at the box of pastries on your coffee table; studying you under the monochrome flicker of the tv-screen. 

”understood,” he finally quips, leaning back into the leather couch. exhaling a little breath. ”eat as much as you’d like. i bought them for you, you know.”

you nod, nibbling at a macaron. not glancing his way.

being alone with him still feels a little awkward. a little tense — to be curled up on the same couch, watching the same movie, just like your old sleepovers in high school. there’s an elephant in the room that neither of you have addressed — not since he first showed up, just a couple weeks ago, waltzing up to your apartment with a plastic bag of dvds after a decade of estrangement. wearing heavy robes, and a familiar smile. asking to be let in.

and despite every single circumstance telling you not to, you did just that. you’ve yet to refuse. 

(satoru would hate you, if he knew.)

so he’s there, right beside you, and you don’t talk about it. not his choice, not your work, not anything except the movie playing on the screen in front of you. this time, it’s one he’s seen before. beautiful, he called it, and for once you think it might be a romance — if the kiss between the main actors is anything to go by. 

you wonder if that’s why he says it.

”say, do you hate me?”

you still. freezing in place, for a moment, discontent but not surprised. he’s always been like this; breaking any illusion of peace before you can find solace in it. 

you bite back a groan, and shoot him a glance out of the corner of your eye — but he isn’t looking at you. only at the tv, at the two men, holding hands and standing on a bridge in the rain, watching the stars twinkle in the sky. and you sigh, turning your head to look at him fully, parting your lips. your voice comes out frustrated. 

”do you really want to have this conversation now?”

”when else?” he chuckles, meeting your gaze with one brow raised. amber eyes gleaming with mirth, and something else, something less practiced. ”you don’t have to answer. i’m just curious.”

you gulp down the last of the macaron, licking your lips for any leftover crumbs — unaware of how his eyes follow the movement. ”are you?”

a hum buzzes in the back of his throat, a tiny rasp. you wonder if he’s tired. ”i hadn’t expected this, you know.” he taps at his knee with the pads of his fingers, rhythmic and controlled. ”i thought it was just wishful thinking… that you’d let me come this close.”

you feel his gaze on you. it’s heavy, heavy like lead, like a loaded gun. you feel it dissect you from afar, and can’t find it in you to reach for another pastry. 

”… would you have preferred being kicked out?”

”not at all.” a little grin plays at his lips, something in his voice betraying the face he’s making. ”are you avoiding the question?” 

another sigh. you’re painfully aware of how resigned it sounds, spilling out into the open air, already filling with a sense of dread — any leftover nostalgia bursting at the seams. you want to tell him so many things, but every thread inside your mind feels all tangled up.

and, as always, getō beats you to the punch. 

”that’s fine, too.” a brief pause, a twitch of his pinkie. he closes his eyes and inhales a breath. ”because i’ll keep waiting.”

for a second, you consider not taking the bait. 

then you’re giving in. because that’s what you always do, whenever he’s involved. you watch him in the dark, pale skin enveloped by moonlight, raven hair spilling across the headrest. he looks beautiful, like this, just resting his eyes.

”… for what?” you whisper, and his answer comes without a hitch to his breath.

”for you to love me again.”

…

getō tilts his head, opening his eyes, a golden brown dragging you into their depths. he looks expectant, selfishly awaiting a response, and you’re tired. 

(unbeknownst to you, he resists the urge to intertwine your fingers, to trace every ridge and dip of your knuckles with his thumb. to squeeze your palm like a promise, something concrete.)

when your mind has managed to untangle itself, something in your gaze turns sharp. frustrated, impatient, disappointed, looking at him with a raised brow. ”you really are stupid, aren’t you?”

as fast as it came, your gaze returns to the screen in front of you. monochrome, flickering, two beautiful men. one of them is holding a gun to the other’s temple, and the victim looks appeased. the movie’s almost over.

(how very like him, to find such violence beautiful.)

quietly, you swallow down the bile building up in the back of your throat. a decade of bitter flavours. clenching your teeth, nails digging into the couch beneath you, leather on your cold fingertips. it’s a little peeled.

you wonder why you even bother being honest, when he never quite seems to return the favour.

but the room is dimly lit, and the moon is big and bright, and your ex of ten years is sitting right next to you. in your apartment, on your couch, watching a movie on your tv. when he could, should be anywhere else. he’s with you, and he pulls the words out of your throat without trying. puppeteering your heartbeat.

”… as if i ever stopped.”

silence.

you hear a gunshot ring out. low, muffled, a crackle of static. one of the men falls down to the ground, and you can’t tell who's who. the actors are forgettable, but the soundtrack is pretty. it rings in your ears like a lullaby. 

getō says your name.

it sounds the same as you remember. honeyed syllables, spilling from his parted lips, silky and sweet. he says your name like he’s asking to marry you, and you can hear the smile he’s struggling to repress.

”will you look at me?”

it’s less of a question, and more of a demand. you wonder why he even bothers asking — but you’ve never really understood the way his brain works. never understood why a burglar would bother asking the shopkeeper for permission before reaching for the register, when they’ll be leaving with the money either way. 

and you’re paralyzed, stuck in place on the couch, gaze glued to the screen in front of you. but you aren’t watching, not really, just looking. and you don’t want to see what kind of face he’s making. so you whisper;

”.. no.”

”no?” he mimics, something like a coo on the tip of his tongue. as always, you can feel his gaze, travelling down your face like a trickle of honey. ”and why is that, my dear?”

you bite down on your lip.

a long, long moment passes, and neither of you say a word. he’s looking at you, and you’re looking down at your lap, at your clenched fists. a little meek. it’s quiet, the calm before the storm, and you know exactly what’s going to happen — it’s already set in stone.

”because you’re going to kiss me,” you exhale, finally, resignation on your breath. ”and i’m going to let you.”

…

for a second, you wonder if his silence means he understands. if he can hear the desperate plea in your voice, if he can translate it correctly. 

but his fingertips graze the lines of your jaw, his palm sneaks under your chin, and he keeps you in place. turning your head to meet his gaze, his amber eyes, dripping with something hungry; something pleading. 

this time, he doesn’t ask for permission. he leans forward until there’s no space between you, tips your head back, and kisses you with bated breath — as softly as he can manage, which is still too intense for your liking. still brimming with desperation, something carnal, like he wants to pour his everything into the kiss but knows he shouldn’t. he tastes like tobacco.

and it’s over. 

you know it is, because your senses are flooded with him, him, him. nothing but him, the strands of his raven hair ghosting your skin, his greedy tongue licking along your teeth, large palms resting on your spine and the back of your head. you’re pliant, surrendering yourself to his touch. he’s cradling you like he loves you, and you feel like you’ve done something awful, because you have.

because you’ve let him come so close, again, invited him inside — inside of your home, your ribcage. and he won’t bother making a home for himself there, because it’s already waiting for him, untouched, between your fourth and fifth ribs.

you never bothered to get rid of it.

(that’s your sin.)

getō hums, muffled by your lips. he sounds pleased. he sounds like he’s been waiting for this for decades, and you suppose that he has. he murmurs praise that you do nothing but swallow down. everything feels too perfect, too normal, and it’s too much, too much, too much. your lips pressed together, your chests pressed together, your noses meeting in a tender touch. you choke down the noise that threatens to push past your lips, and he kisses you like a starved man. like he’s trying to drown in you.

he only pulls away once he realizes that you’re crying, and by then it’s too late. his widening eyes don’t matter, your cold hands don’t matter, the tremble of your erratic heartbeat has never mattered less. he looks at you with remorse, and it doesn’t matter. 

(he’s yours, again. and you’re his.

you can’t stop crying.)

”… i’m sorry.”

in the background, you hear the sound of gentle whispers, an ending scene. the men are talking to each other, speaking softly, and your eyes burn with tears. geto catches one of them with his forefinger, and leans forward to plant a kiss against your nose. chaste, this time. still mumbling apologies.

it doesn’t matter, because a tiny sob still breaks past your throat — and you know the sound must hurt him. 

you hate that. you hate that you always hurt him, hate that you care, hate that you feel nothing but guilt when he’s around. you hate the movie still playing to your left, hate that he doesn’t hate it, hate that he loves you. hate that you love him, that you probably always will.

you hate that you blink up at him with glassy eyes, swallow down a shaky breath, and kiss him again. hate that it’s still the only thing you know how to do well.

he doesn’t pull away, only biting back a noise of surprise — but he makes sure to kiss you gently, as if you’re made of porcelain, slow and tender, cradling you closer still. he wipes away your tears with his thumb, one after another, and you hate yourself because everything feels so deliriously right.

somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that what you’re playing is a losing game. 

(he’s yours, and you’re his. it’s already set in stone.) 

[sleepymarimo]

toji x fem!reader // sfw! a little meet cute moment with some sprinkles of sadness synopsis: reader cleans and maintains abandoned graves, including that of toji's late wife.

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 doesn’t visit his late wife’s grave often, if ever.

it’s easy to say that it’s because he doesn’t care, that he’s lost all respect for the world and those on, or buried beneath it. yet, the reality is that he’s ashamed, a bit of a coward. how could he face her again? how could he read the letters of her name knowing he’d been unable to grant the one request she’d given him? take care of megumi.

he doesn’t know why he’s walking in the direction of the cemetery, an old, surely run down patch of land that’s now nestled between some homes just outside of shinjuku.

maybe the weight of his most recent job gets to him. maybe it’s nearing what would’ve been their anniversary. maybe the weather reminds him of her funeral, in which him and baby megumi were the only attendees.

a rock gets kicked a good few meters away as he remembers that day. her family had cut her off after she’d married him, seeing nothing good coming out of their future, feeling disdain at the mention of their daughter marrying man with not a thing to his name. toji scoffs. perhaps they were right.

the overcast sky does nothing for the scenery ahead, which consists of old, rusted cemetery gates and a wall made of dull, greyed stones.

however, a splash of color stands out against the monochrome background. it’s all instinct, the way his senses hone in, but it’s not because you’re the only other person in the cemetery, not because your colored scarf makes you particularly identifiable.

no, it’s because you, a stranger, are standing in front of his wife’s grave.

despite the numerous leaves on the ground, the rather quiet environment, you don’t hear him approach.

you’re focused on your task, your brows ever so slightly knitted, a bristly brush in your hand which you use to scrub away at any debris wedged between the letters of this grave. dust, mud, leaf litter… it gets removed with each gentle movement.

a bottle of cleaner is in your other hand, spraying the stone every now and then when it gets too dry or when a particularly stubborn piece of debris refuses to be erased from existence.

one little stain catches your attention, so much so that you ignore how the autumn wind nips at your cheeks. it’s just about removed. a little more, a little more…

“what are y’doing?”

a small gasp leaves you, or maybe you choke on air, and your hands retract from the gravestone as if you’d been burned. you take a couple of steps back, a natural response, wanting to put some distance between you and whoever else has decided to join you in the cemetery.

the sudden move results in you kicking over your coffee cup, your mind a mess as you crouch down and keep it from spilling any further. you put your tools away, too, placing the brush and spray bottle into a tote containing a few other items.

toji doesn’t mean to intimidate or scare you.

it’s just… how he is. it’s in the energy he carries, how he presents himself to the world that’s done him more harm than good. he’s suspicious of you, reasonably so.

when you finally stand and look up at him, he can see the anticipation in your eyes. your hands fidget, unsure of whether to retreat into your pockets or rise in self defense.

“i’m so sorry,” are your immediate words, sincere. “i didn’t know she had visitors.”

she.

why are you talking about her like you were a part of her life? toji is sure he’s never met you before. he doesn’t remember his late wife saying a thing about weirdos who hang out in cemeteries, either.

those green eyes of his narrow, just a bit. he doesn’t have to say anything more, his stance is enough. you haven’t answered his question and he isn’t going to ask again.

“i, um, clean graves,” you answer after a few heartbeats, a little put off by his stare. “i’ve been coming by for the past year, clean up every month or two. i usually wait and make sure no one comes by. i thought it was abandoned, i’m so sorry.”

the situation isn’t entirely new to you. it’s not the first time you’d been ‘caught’, and the reactions you’ve gotten have ranged from grateful to furious, but it’s jarring each time. how could it not be? you’re not a fool, you know these people meant something to someone, that they represent more than the headstones ever could.

your eyes remain on his, equal parts apologetic and bashful, clearly genuine.

toji’s posture relaxes, just a bit.

a part of that has to do with the smidge of guilt he feels. abandoned. he couldn’t be surprised. after all, he never visited, never paid for cleaning services.

perhaps a normal person would say thank you, but the words fizzle out on his tongue. he’s not one for such words, or at least that’s what he tells himself.

“it’s fine,” he ends up saying, curt, to the point, not giving away the extent of what he’s thinking or feeling.

even those two words have you feeling relieved, a long sigh leaving your lips. you can’t deny that you’re itching to leave, still a little unnerved. being alone with a strange man in a cemetery isn’t exactly on your bucket list, so you reluctantly reach down and grab your things.

your bag gets slung over your shoulder, but your coffee… well, you’re pretty much left with an empty cup now. the liquid had spilt all over the concrete floor when he’d spooked you earlier.

“i’ll leave her alone,” you promise him, truly not looking to cause any conflict. “sorry again…”

for a second, toji considers leaving it at that.

his eyes drift from you to your empty cup. he should feel bad, should be a decent person, but can’t find it in himself to reassure you.

he needs a nudge, and that nudge is given to him in the form of an acorn falling from the tree rooted over his wife’s grave.

the small object hits him right on the head, reprimanding him for his actions. toji grunts, his hand coming up to rub at the spot where the damn thing whacked him. he should’ve sensed it, should’ve been aware of its existence as soon as it snapped off the branch.

his eyes look up toward the sky, almost glaring, and for a second he can almost hear her voice, scolding him.

“don’t be mean, toji!”

with a click of his tongue, he looks back at you. you, who’d taken care of his wife in death as he’d cared for her in life.

inhaling, he decides to screw it all and take a step toward you. maybe being a decent human wouldn’t kill him. maybe.

“look, i didn’t mean to freak you out or make you spill your drink,” it’s the closest thing to an apology he’ll give, but it’s better than nothing.

he recognizes the logo on your cup, then nods his head toward the cemetery gates. “let me at least buy you a new one,” he offers, though by the sound of it, it’s quite clear he wants to do this for you. “what’s your name, anyway?”

you tell him, then he gives you his.

the sun starts to burn away at the clouds, warming the earth just as you’re about to leave the cemetery. things grow a little brighter, a whole shift in the atmosphere.

toji doesn’t comment on the gust of wind ushering you two out of the gates, the rustle of leaves which could pass as a hushed cheer. no, he won’t say anything, not even if the breeze on his back feels like the hands of his late wife, pushing him toward something new.

his eyes flicker down, watching you, noting the curve of your cheeks and the slope of your nose. he shakes his head, steels his heart, ignoring the small jump it does as you look back at him.

no, he won’t say anything, not at all.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Rotting Divinity.

Pairing: Yandere!Scaramouche x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 2.9k.

TW: Reader Is Referred To As A Shrine Maiden But Gender Neutral, Set A Few Years After Dottore Starts Experimenting On Scaramouche, Unhealthy Relationships, Obsessive Behavior, Kidnapping, Themes of Chronic Illness, and Mentions of Human Experimentation.

Scaramouche opened his eyes as the sun set, casting the sky a dull pinkish blue. You were standing above him, a straw basket on your hip and a frown tugging on the corners of your lips.

He let a groan as he hauled himself into a more dignified position, palms planted in the raw dirt and dried grass caught in his hair. One glance was spared to establish that he was no longer in the Doctor’s cramped observation room, all cold stone walls and porcelain tables with leather straps stapled into each corner, before his attention settled on you. “Mortal,” he barked, speaking loudly enough to hear himself over the pain still buzzing in his skull. “Which island is this?”

“Yashiori, near Serpent’s Head,” you muttered, disappointment heavy in your tone. When he clicked his tongue, you went on, your frown deepening. “You ruined my herb garden.”

Had he? He couldn’t remember anything after the Doctor worked those long, tapered needles underneath the skin of his forearms; after an iron mask was forced over his mouth and nose and he began to think his body may tear itself apart before that sadist had the chance to. He wasn’t supposed to be in Serpent’s Head. He wasn’t supposed to be on Yashiro at all. He hadn’t meant to be here, and yet, he’d be thrown in a cage of iron bars and subjected to another round of testing as soon as he trudged back to that dungeon of a facility. Thinking about the feeling of thick, pulsing electricity coursing through his hollow limbs was enough to send a familiar bolt of agony down the length of his spine. It was little more than a phantom, a shadow of the torture it would take to unlock his truepotential, but it was enough to leave him curling into himself involuntarily, glaring at the soil with a hollow type of malice.

He would’ve recovered in a second – less than a second, a moment, a breath – if you hadn’t fallen to your knees at his side, cooing as you pressed the back of your hand into his forehead. “Are you hurt?” If he’d tried to answer, his response would’ve been lost to your fussing, the way you hummed and shook your head as you hauled him to his feet. “Body aches? Migraines? Whatever it is—” An arm was drawn over your shoulders, his weight forcibly rested on you. “—I’m sure I have something for it inside. A place for you to rest, too – however you got here, the journey had to be burdensome.”

He considered protesting. Even in the state he’d been reduced to, it would’ve taken nothing to pry himself away from you, to shatter your ankles underneath his heel and leave you begging for the mercy of the creature you’d tried to pity. He could’ve penned a letter to the Doctor as you bled out in the soil of your own garden, recovered his strength as he took your body apart and fed your remains, piece by piece, to whatever scavengers would have you. He could’ve, if he’d wanted to. He could’ve, but then, he saw what you were wearing.

The sleeves of your kosode were rolled neatly to the elbow, the hems of your pleaded hakama dusted with dirt and grass stains. Unlike the maidens of Watatsumi and the Grand Narukami Shrine, you wore neither red nor blue, but white. Pure, never-ending white.

Scaramouche went limp in your hold, his eyes falling shut as you let out a surprised laugh, doing your best to accommodate his now-dead weight. He could kill you tomorrow, he figured. It was already dusk, and while he didn’t mind traveling at night, he knew the Doctor wouldn’t begin to wonder where he was until the sun rose tomorrow morning. He wasn’t a dog, eager to crawl home and prove his obedience. He could wait until he was called for.

At least, by then, your worrying might’ve done something to dull the burn of the electricity underneath his skin.

~

“So, you’re telling me that this is a waste of time.”

You ignored him with a light hum, a quick movement of your tasseled gohei. Normally, daily rites were something to be performed quickly and efficiently before the unlucky shrine maiden responsible for carrying them out returned to scrubbing floorboards and disturbing fortunes, but in a life as slow as yours, with so little to occupy the many hours of your countless days, even repetitive tasks such as this were given an unnecessarily artistic flourish. Scaramouche might’ve called it indulgent, if he ever decided to be so kind to you.

Currently, you were dancing in front of a dilapidated shrine at the base of the snake’s skull; the paint mostly chipped away and the wood close to rotting. You’d explained, four days after he first allowed you to haul him into your ancient cabin, that you would be responsible for rebuilding it once it inevitably collapsed, an honor only bestowed upon caretakers every few centuries, and he’d told you that you ought to save yourself a few decades and tear it down that day, but you’d only laughed. Most things he said made you laugh.

He'd noticed early on that you were of a weak constitution. Dark bags circled under your eyes despite how often and how deeply you slept, and you seemed unable to carry anything heavier than what could fit in one of your woven baskets. There should’ve been another shrine keeper, if not several. And, if there could only be one, then it shouldn’t have been you.

Still, Scaramouche was glad that you had been chosen, even if you were a bad fit for the position. If it’d been anyone else, he would’ve had to get rid of them days ago, and he was thankful to be spared the effort.

“It’s not,” you said, consciously clipping his choice of words. You finished your rite with a deep bow, then turned to Scaramouche. “Shows of dedication make him happy.”

“He being…” His gaze drifted upward, to the fanged skull. Orobashi no Mikoto – the beast’s name provided by some nameless well of knowledge that seemed to linger in the space between the back of his throat and the pit of his chest. Consciously, the only title Scaramouche had ever thought to put to the serpent was that of ‘festering remains’. “…the fucking corpse?”

Right. It was too easy to forget that there was a pretense to his time with you; that he was supposed to be some wayward, ailing traveler with a mysterious condition your charms and cures could only keep at bay. He wasn’t lying to you. All he did was lie back and let you fuss over his nonexistent pulse, the bloodless pallor of his skin, the way his temperature never seemed to rise above that of damp clay. He wasn’t like the Doctor – scheming and underhanded, prone to leading his victims in circles before gifting them with the mercy of a slow death – or the priestess he could only vaguely remember from his first days, all dark eyes and whispers of a merciful end. You liked doting on him, and he didn’t mind keeping his mouth shut.

“If you keep using that kind of language, you might have to start sleeping outside.” You took up the basket of lavender melons you’d (admittedly, unwisely) left in his care, snatching it away before he could add to the small pile of black seeds stacked on his opposite side. Your hastiness left one of the rounder melons toppling over the well-worn edge, though, and he caught it with a single hand, grinning as he dug his teeth into the ripe flesh and claimed it for himself. You rolled your eyes, but quickly occupied yourself with clearing away yesterday’s fruit from the shrine. “It’s not complicated. We keep him happy, hold our rites and make our sacrifices, and he ensures that my crops grow quickly and the village prospers.” A pause, a smile thrown carelessly over your shoulder. You smiled as easily as you laughed, something that irritated Scaramouche to no end. “If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be recovering half as quickly as you are.”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit.” He dug his teeth into the lavender melon as you gathered your things, sugary juice turning his lips tacky as he went on. “I’ve always been hard to kill.”

You came to stand above him, your smile small and eyes vaguely narrowed. “If you’re feeling that strong,” you started, holding your now-emptied basket in front of you. “Then you shouldn’t mind weeding the garden and fetching water, this afternoon.”

It only took him a moment to think to protest, but you were already gone, stumbling down the mountainside as he hastily pushed himself to his feet. He called your name, but he could already hear your voice – rising above his in one of your obnoxiously repetitive hymns and drowning him out as he chased after you.

~

The villagers welcomed you as sheep welcomed field dogs; from a distance.

Scaramouche trailed behind you as you plodded through the humble village, humming and clutching your basket close to your chest, fiddling nervously with the pure-white material of your sleeves. The crowd parted around you, twin walls of watchful eyes and hushed voices forming well-ahead of your path and collapsing as you strode past them, either unable or unwilling to acknowledge the thick silence that seemed to hang over you like a shroud. Occasionally, you’d stop at a stall or a doorway, handing off bundles of wrapped herbs to gloved and trembling hands, and less often, you’d send him a smile over your shoulder, your tired eyes wrinkling at the corners, as if apologizing that he had to come along for such a dull errand. That was how you described it, when he asked where you went off to every few days. ‘Just a quick trip to the market,’ you’d said, as you tried to convince him to stay behind yet again. When he cited your poor health and his growing concern that he’d find you dead in that garden of yours one day, you didn’t waver. ‘You’ll only be bored if you come. The villagers aren’t very friendly.’

Scaramouche decided, mostly on a whim, that he would burn down this village before he returned to the Doctor. If he had time.

He moved to rush forward, to place himself at your side, but a hand shot out of a narrow alleyway and caught him by the wrist. It was a middle-aged blacksmith, judging by the ash smeared across his cheeks, the thick apron hanging from his neck. Scaramouche was quick to pull out of his filthy grasp, but he spoke regardless, his voice low and rough. “Mind your distance, boy.” A glance towards you, a deep sneer. “Don’t you know who that is?”

Scaramouche glanced over him, fighting the urge to scoff. “Why is no one speaking to the healer?”

“That’s no healer, that’s the shrine maiden.” He said it as if he’d caught Scaramouche attempting to throw himself into a rifthound’s mouth. “They cultivate the serpent’s remains. You’ll be dead in a week if you—”

This time, Scaramouche was the one to reach out, his hand wrapping around the blacksmith’s neck. By instinct, a bolt of pure, searing electro shot from his palm into the man’s neck, leaving him limp and convulsing in Scaramouche’s hold. Scaramouche released him as the last of the aftershocks faded, watching him collapse to the ground before planting his heel on the man’s diaphragm, prepared to shift his weight and crush whatever laid below his foot should the blacksmith say something to displease him.

“I’ll ask again,” he said, slowly, ozone thick in the air. “Why is no one speaking to the healer?”

~

Scaramouche returned to your cabin closer to sunrise than sunset. Somewhere, back in the village that he would see reduced to embers if it was his last act on the face of Teyvat, the charred remains of a blacksmith smoldered at the bottom of a stone well, and he opened the door to your ramshackle home with enough force to tear the rotted piece of wood from its hinges.

You were kneeling beside your work table, grinding dried lavender petals into a fine powder. He closed the space between you in a breath, knocked the pestle from your hand in another, then collapsed beside you. “You’re going to die?”

You eyed the spilled lavender wearily. “Even the archons will fall, eventually.”

He let out a ragged sob, burying his face in the dip of your shoulder. You allowed him to, your arms coming up to wrap loosely around him. You’d always been weak, but now, you seemed as feeble as a morning gale.

He was unable to speak, so you took up the mantle, tracing idle patterns into the base of his spine as you went on. “I know what they tell newcomers, about dead gods and their rot, but it’s not as bad as it sounds. He gifts us with herbs to cure our sick and soothe our elders and in return, someone sacrifices a few years. The villagers might not be able to linger, but they make sure I’m taken care of.” He felt you smile, heard you laugh. “So long as I get to help people, I don’t mind making sacrifices.”

“Other people don’t matter.” It took him longer than he cared to admit to pry himself away from you, to straighten his back and drag a deep breath into his aching lungs. He was thankful, not for the first time, that he couldn’t cry. You would only think him irrational if he fell apart so visibly. “How long do you have?”

Your head lulled to the side, your attention drifting to some indistinguishable point on the far wall. “Only the gods can say what fate has—”

“How long?”

“…another year.” Your tone carried a sort of detached acceptance, as if you couldn’t summon the energy to care. “Maybe two. The last caretaker was very fortunate – he survived half a decade in his position.”

He tried to speak, to scream at you for not telling him sooner, but his voice caught in his throat and you reached up, cupping his face in both hands. Slowly, with a dry chuckle, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. The cool porcelain of his skin sapped the warmth from yours, but for once, you didn’t seem to mind his unusual anatomy. “I hope I’ll be able to cure you, before I’m gone.” You were mumbling, now, speaking barely above your breath. “Do you think you’ll be able to stay for a little longer?”

He tried to answer, but you’d fallen asleep on top of him by the time he opened his mouth.

~

He left the next morning, while you were still tucked underneath a small pile of furs and quilts. A letter was penned and sent to the Doctor’s base, a caddy of wildflower seeds purchased from a young girl peddling wares by the side of the road, and he returned to your cabin just as your sleep turned restless. When you rose an hour past noon, he pestered you into taking him to the groove near the shoreline. By the time you returned, chiding him for distracting you from your responsibilities and pointedly ignoring the basket full of fruit at your hip, the sun was low in the sky and masked soldiers had stamped your garden into the ground. Your cabin was in flames and your shrine had been reduced to little more than a pillar of smoke in the distance.

Whatever concern you might’ve held for him was immediately forgotten. Dropping your basket, you moved to run towards the embers of your home, but Scaramouche caught you – one hand on your shoulder, another on your waist. Careful not to break what couldn’t be repaired, he forced you onto your knees, letting you scratch at his wrists as you screamed, the noise anguished and ragged. Masked soldiers gathered in the outskirts of his vision, but he bared his teeth, keeping them at a distance as you thrashed in his steadfast hold. Once he took you somewhere else, somewhere better, you’d be able to calm down.

Once he got you away from your rotting god and your unthankful village, you’d be able to worship something worth your time.

A moment passed, then another. Finally, the Doctor emerged from the crowd, his white coat unmarred by the ash in the air. He regarded you with a grin, then looked to Scaramouche. “This is the filthy toy you’d like to take home?”

It was a foolish question, undeserving of an answer. Scaramouche countered with one of his own. “Can you fix them?”

“Can I save a human being who’s been brought to the brink of death and infected thoroughly with the rot of divine remains?” The Doctor hummed, clicked his tongue. “That depends, little puppet. How much time are you willing to spend on my vivisection table?”

Scaramouche glowered, but he didn’t protest. Rather, he pulled you close – your crying softer, now, your struggling impossibly weak – and held you against his chest as he responded. “Do what you have to. They’ll be staying in my chambers, and you won’t lay a hand on them without my permission, doctor.”

“I do wish you could call me Dottore.” He sighed, shaking his head. His acquiescence was communicated with a dismissive roll of his wrist, a silent order communicated to his lackeys. His soldiers moved to take you up, but he kept you in his arms as he pushed himself back to his feet, letting you cling to and beat against his chest in tandem.

Your voice was hoarse, your shoulders trembling. Tears streamed freely from your eyes, and he allowed himself to wonder how poorly you would take it if he ran his tongue over your cheeks. “You— You monster. Hundreds of people will—"

“You said you wanted to stay with me, right?” His smile wasn’t as soft as yours, as comforting, but he did what he could. You let out another agonized sob, crumbling against him as he let his lips ghost over your forehead, speaking against your skin and above your wordless cries.

“Now, there’ll be nothing in the world capable of taking you away from me.”

[w3irdo666]

Hi! I wasn't sure if you were accepting requests at the moment

but can I get (romantic) Alastor x Lucifer's ex Seraphim Angel wife who he left plz?

S/o eventually left Heaven and still got to keep their wings and powers before it got taken. They meet him around the time he got to Hell and they hit it off

Anything else is up to you if you'd like

Oh, interesting idea!! I'll try my best, love youuu!! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

The Drug In Me Is You

Alastor x Fem!reader x ex!Lucifer

Letter count:

Tags: slightly angst, sfw, slightly possesive behaviour, depression.

Notes: I hope i understood you right!!! Enjoy!!

Lucifer was a wonderful husband.. Constantly enveloped you in love. It seemed to you that you could not dream of anything more. Romantic dates, beautiful clothes, oh, you thought that you would drown in his care.... Which is what happened. Lucifer was undoubtedly magnificent a man...But not a great husband...When you got married, your joy knew no bounds...but...

A year later, you began to notice that he began to pay less attention to you. In the evening, he no longer went to you to cuddle in bed, but just turned his back to you and fell asleep.When you wanted to hug him, threw your hand away and answered annoyed, “Leave me alone.”

One day you were walking through a magnificent garden in paradise. The beauty of nature has always delighted you. Oh, these magnificent scarlet roses.. They look so fragile that it seems that if you touch them, they will fall into small pieces... Birds sang and flew in the sky .Everything was so wonderful, you even forgot about your husband for a while...But suddenly you heard someone’s voice. Your wings trembled slightly, not expecting that someone would be there. You came closer to the source of the sound and, hiding behind a tree, looked whose it was a voice...

Your heart skipped a beat and you felt tears running down your cheeks, like blades piercing your skin.Lucifer stood with another woman. His smile....he had not smiled as much as he smiled at this woman for a long time.You were hurt, terribly. He betrayed you. You were on the verge of hysterics. Turning around, you ran away, sobbing and wiping your tears with your hands.

Everything around you seemed so fake. These light clouds. Birds, flowers, plants. You flapped your three wings and quickly flew. Where? You didn’t know, but it certainly wasn’t where you were flying from.

..............................................................................................................

The next few days were a blur. You felt terrible, you suffered. Lucifer, betrayed you? You couldn’t accept it. When Lucifer was kicked out of Heaven because he got involved with a demon, you didn’t care anymore. You used to be a very joyful archangel. Everyone called you a ray of sunshine. But now... There were black bags under your eyes because of lack of sleep. Your eyes are red, tear-stained. Your condition was immediately noticed by other angels.

“Y/n, honey, are you okay....?” One day an archangel turned to you, concerned about your condition. But she was only met with a few rude words. This alerted her. Soon the angels began to avoid you. The archangels thought about making a decision about your expulsion. But before they could do anything, you expelled yourself. Having opened the portal, you descended into hell. “If I suffer here... It won’t be worse there..” You thought.

Unfortunately, you were wrong. A few days later, you sat curled up in a ball in some alley of hell. Your clothes were torn in some places, your wings were tattered, you felt emptier than an empty glass.Your tired eyes were closed. Your face was buried in your knees. You were so tired that you didn’t even have the strength to cry. Suddenly, you heard someone’s voice. It felt like someone was talking on the radio.

"What are you doing here, dear.With those...wings.Aren't you supposed to be in heaven?" His static voice sounded confident.

You raised your head slightly and opened your eyes. You saw a strange sinner in front of you... He was different from many of those you saw here. He was dressed in a beautiful fitted red suit, his black bow tie was beautifully attached to his shirt. He had a big smile on his face, showing his yellow, sharp teeth. His eyes were calm, but you could see a slight mockery in them.He had black gloves on his hands, and in one of his hands he held a red microphone on a stick.

"W...what do you want...?" You asked in a quiet, pitiful voice. You heard him laugh slightly.

"Ah, nothing important, dear, just curious what such.... creature..like you doing here?" He tilted his head to the side with slight -crack-.

"Who are you...?" You said weakly

"Ah, name's Alastor.Pleasure to meeting you! Quite a pleasure!" He bowed while saying this. You didn't say anything, only looked down at the ground. He continued watching you for few seconds then walked closer to you, standing in front of you.

Alastor couldn't help, but when he saw you, something woke up in him.He was in hell only few month, but still made reputation of dangerous cruel demon.But when he saw your poor, beautiful body, his heart skipped a beat. He felt a strange pull to protect you.

"Such an innocent soul..." he thought

............................................................................................................

You didn't know how it happened, but you find yourself in....his apartment...? With Alastor in front of you.There was a cup of tea in front of you. You looked at your reflection in the tea. You looked terrible. Shabby dirty hair, tired face...The demon continued to look at you, drinking his coffee. His smile never fell, you didn’t even care.

Your weak hand reached for the cup of tea. Fragile fingers clasped the handle of the tea, but your hands were too weak to lift the cup. Alastor noticed this and his eyes narrowed slightly. He put his cup on the saucer. Crossing his legs, he leaned back, watching you.

No matter how he tried to find pleasure in your suffering and raise the cup, he did not feel good. He felt sympathy for you, and a desire to protect. He slowly stood up and approached you.His beautiful long fingers took a cup of tea from your hand and brought the cup to your lips. Slightly surprised by such actions, you looked at the demon.

Opening your lips slightly, you started drinking tea with small sips.

After tea and some food (Alastor feed you too) Alastor showed you way to the bathroom, you needed it.You looked like complete mess.Alastor provided you with a towel, after which you went into the bathroom.When you came out of the bath, prepared clothes were waiting for you... Or rather, a shirt and pants...

When you were changing clothes, Alastor came into the room. He was amazed by your beauty. Your hair.. your smooth skin... Ah, those beautiful wings... He felt his pulse increase.His smile and eyes began to give off shades of warmth.

..............................................................................................................

You lived with Alastor for a long time.You became very close, you started to feel better. Every evening, over a cup of tea, he listened to your worries and sufferings... Usually he would have enjoyed this, but with you, he only felt the desire to calm you down. Every day spent with Alastor gave you more strength, and made you forget Lucifer.

In a hell full of lustful sinners and murderers, you have found comfort in a dangerous demon.No, he wasn't just a demon for you, Alastor, this soul..When he woke up in the evening because of your sobs in the next room, he would sigh and get up heading towards you. When he approaches you, he will lie down next to you and hug you. He hates touching.... But for you he will do anything.He would kill for a feeling of your wings wrap around him when you relax after telling him what bothering you.

When the angels officially kicked you out of heaven, you didn't care so much anymore.You cared only about one thing...only about one person...only about Alastor.

........................................................................................................

"Alastor, where are we?" You asked as you looked around.You were in some kind of garden. Although the flowers were not as luxurious as in heaven, life was visible in them... They looked so bewitching.Alastor coughed and turned away from you. You looked at him in surprise, not understanding his behavior.

"Alastor...?" You almost reached with your hand to his shoulder, but he quickly turned to you.

"Y/n.." Alastor began. His smile was on his face as usual, but you saw the uncertainty in his eyes when he turned to you with one black rose in his hand.You lowered your hand. Oh, how beautiful this rose was... Like an angel of death...

"yes..?"

"i....love you." He extended his hand with the rose towards you. His other hand was tightly gripping his microphone. Your cheeks turned slightly red due to the blush. You felt your heart beating faster and as if butterflies were fluttering in your stomach.He turned his head away, looking away.Without wasting a second, you grabbed his wrist with one hand and turned his face in your direction with the other. Alastor tensed at the contact, but when he felt your soft, plump lips on his, he almost melted.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the kiss. His arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him. You parted your lips slightly, allowing his tongue to penetrate. You let out a slight moan as your tongues intertwined.

After a few seconds, you pulled away each other. from each other and looked into each other's eyes. You smiled. Your cheeks were flushed with blush, but you were happy to think about it.

"I love you too."

Notes: I hope you liked it!!! Sorry that i didn't lost for a while (⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠￣⁠;⁠)