#( familiar voices ) ; the legion

[juliesback]

"Just doin' the same old shit, y'know how it is. Just.. weird seein' you all again."

@thelegionsden

[sheyshen]

I've been avoiding spoilers so going through this as spoiler free as possible and so far enjoying the story.

also looks like Jim Pirri is voicing aethas for TWW! @renaultmograine (sorry for the tag if you already knew!)

[bat-boys]

forever, my love

pairing: Azriel x fem reader

word count: 4.3k

warnings: 18+, mentions of battle and war, references to depression, smut (fingering) but it's romantic, angst but also fluff.

summary: you and Azriel had seen many battles over the centuries but when something goes wrong and has a lasting impact on you, Az promises to take care of you.

a/n: thank you so much for the love on the first fic! here's another one! I promise next time I'll write something happier haha, suggestions are welcome! I hope you enjoy.

The cruel, unyielding symphony of battle swelled in you as you continued to swing your sword at the enemies in front of you. Grunts of pain and screams of frustration left your lips as you continued to carve a path through the soldiers in your way, desperately trying to hold the line as Cassian had commanded. 

Your body moved automatically, thanks to the centuries of muscle memory drilled into you from the intense training and the many battlefields you had found yourself on during your long life. In recent decades, you may have taken a step back from helping to command the Night Court armies and turned your attention to training the next legion of warriors and aiding your spymaster in more covert missions. Still, your body would always remember the steps needed in battle. It would never shrink from charging head first.

Once, you had been told you were beautiful to watch in battle—second only to Cassian himself as you danced your way through enemy hordes. But now, as you cut through another bottleneck of soldiers, you could only focus on keeping yourself alive, so you were extremely exhausted. 

Step, swing, push, slash, pivot, hit. 

As you managed to gut the last soldier in front of you, you allowed yourself a small moment of reprieve to collect your thoughts and take a gulp of air. The sound of battle raged around you, and you could faintly see your friends and allies around you, diligently fighting for a future you had only just battled for a mere handful of years ago. You sent a pulse down that precious thread, tucked deep within your heart and nodded your head in relief when you felt a responding pulse from the male on the other end. Alive. He was still alive. That's all that mattered at the moment. 

You heard a shout close beside you and watched an Illyrian soldier, who had been grounded due to semi-shredded wings, fight off a group of soldiers starting to swarm around him. Taking a deep breath, you sheathed your long blade and palmed the knives strapped to either thigh.

Winnow, slash. Winnow, stab. Winnow, swing. Your High Lady herself had taught you this particular move after you had seen her yourself face enemies from a different war, a different conflict. You kept the image of your friends smiling at Feyre as she had embarrassingly walked you through how she did it, blushing furiously at your instance in teaching you at the forefront of your mind, and you continued to dance to the sound of the battle's symphony. 

That was the future you continued to fight for, and you were determined to protect it. 

…

Your entire body heaved as you shoved your blade through the chest of the last soldier in front of you. The sounds of battle were quietening and dying out as the last of the enemy horde were tied up or killed. 

A groan left your lips as you yanked your blade free and used the last of your power and strength to winnow to the edge of the battlefield. You stumbled as you landed, cursing yourself for letting your power drain so thoroughly during battle. Az would chastise you about that later. Speaking of which…

Where are you? You sent down the bond, waiting for the familiar calm voice to reach your mind. A frown fell on your face as the minutes stretched past, and you didn't hear a response from him. 

Az? 

You refused to panic just yet. While this was unusual, you knew the moments after a battle was the most crucial for a spymaster as he gathered up defeated enemies to spirit them away for interrogation. He was probably just busy, you reasoned with yourself.

But a small part of your brain also whispered that he always kept the precious channel between you both open and always responded when you called. 

You trudged through the mud towards the huge fortress in front of you. It may have been dilapidated and crumbling, but it provided a place where Rhys could gather his allies and forces and not be constantly caked in dirt and mud from his war camp. Once, it had probably been beautiful, home to some illustrious High Fae family, but now it was home to tired soldiers and had clearly seen much better days. 

Azriel. You tried again to reach your mate through the bond, your heart thundering louder in your chest when you didn't receive a response. This time, you stretched your consciousness along that bridge…and slammed into a cold stone wall on the other end. Panic began to claw up your throat, but you refused to give in. He was probably busy with Rhys or Cassian; you desperately tried to reason with yourself as you sheathed your heavy blade into the scabbard strapped to your back and walked up the stone steps to the bustling entrance of the fortress. 

"Injured that way, please!" You heard the familiar voice of your High Lady directing her people from inside the entrance. She turned around, and you saw her face relax in relief as she spotted you, "Y/N. Oh, thank the cauldron, you're alright." 

Feyre was wearing her Illyrian leathers, her hair windswept and looking just as tired as you felt. She walked towards you, and you hugged her tightly, grateful to see one of your dearest friends safe and sound. You gently manoeuvred around the bow strapped to her back as she hugged you back just as fiercely. Much to everyone's surprise and yours and Rhys' amusement after the war with Hybern Feyre had mastered the notoriously tough Illyrian bow - why anyone doubted her after her past in the human realm you were still confused by. You had seen her sweeping over the battlefield today and dispatching enemies, saving your life more times than you cared to admit. Her flying wasn't strong enough to join in with the Illyrian legions yet, but she had become invaluable on the battlefield once again.

"You looked awesome up there today." You both grinned at each other, warriors recognising each other, "where is everyone?"

"Amren and Mor are in the war chamber, exhausted but ok. Cassian was dropping off a soldier to the hospital wing."

"Az?"

"I thought he was with you?" A quick shake of your head had her face falling, "Ok, he's probably busy with clean up - let me see if Rhys can reach him."

"Thank you," you whispered, and she squeezed your shoulder and kissed your cheek before going back to directing people coming through the entrance. 

You jumped as you felt a bigger, wider hand fall on your shoulder but relaxed when you turned to see Cassian grinning down at you. Not the Illyrian warrior you were desperate to see but still a fucking welcome sight. 

"You saved our asses out there, as usual, tiny angry one." You rolled your eyes at the nickname he had given you hundreds of years ago as you let him pull you into a bone-crushing hug. 

"Glad to see you survived another battle, General, and without getting yourself torn to shreds."

"Yeah, yeah, shut up you." He teased as he gently pushed your shoulder. You may be Az's right-hand woman with his spy network now, but you were Cassian's second in command first. A formidable warrior whose name struck fear into your enemy's hearts, renowned for being utterly ruthless in combat and undefeated. How long ago it now felt when you and Cassian had first led the armies in that war hundreds of years ago.

"Have you seen Az?" You hated how quiet your voice sounded, but you struggled to keep the panic at bay. 

"No," Cass frowned, "is he still out there?"

"I don't know, I can't reach him." You whispered, and immediately you felt Cassian shift, ready to head back out there and find his brother - could see the panic that settled in his eyes at the thought of finding him dead on the battlefield.

"Let's not panic yet. We'll go find Rhys, and we can set up a patrol-"he continued to talk to you, laying out a plan before you, but you couldn't hear him. Couldn't hear over the sound of your own panic as you tried to not give in to the fear that was eating away at your heart. You absolutely refused to even think for a minute that he was dead. But why was the bond cold? Why hadn't he gotten in touch, and why hadn't anyone seen him since the battle ended?

You turned your head to the side, ready to throw up the small amount of food you had choked down earlier, when-

Y/N! You froze as you heard a familiar roar and couldn't place if it was something you had heard echoed around the stone room or through that precious bond you shared. 

Immediately, you turned from Cassian toward the sound of that shout, and your knees nearly buckled when you finally spotted Azriel walking through the fortress's entrance, bathed in his shadows. 

His eyes were wild as he scanned the room, looking for you. His hair was matted to his sweaty forehead, blood coated his face, and he was stalking forward with a slight limp. But he was alive. Alive.

"Az." You had barely whispered his name, but you watched as his eyes snapped to you, and something broke in his carefully carved facade as his gaze took you in. Pure, undiluted, raw relief settled on his face as he realised you were still here, unhurt and standing. 

Sobbing, you left your friend behind and ran towards your mate. He just stopped where he stood and held his arms out, catching you as you barrelled into him. He rocked ever so slightly back as he caught you, a testament to the exhaustion seeping through his body, but you felt that primal part of you that had been thrashing around your heart ease as his arms circled around you tightly and he buried his head in your hair - breathing you in.

"I thought I had lost you." You sobbed as you pushed your face into his neck, breathing in that comforting smell of night-chilled mist and cedar.

"I know, baby, I know." His beautiful, scarred hands gently stroked down your blood-soaked and matted hair as he continued to mumble, "I'm here. I'm safe. We're safe."

"What happened?" you asked as you pulled away ever so slightly from his body, letting your feet hit the unforgiving stone floor. Azriel's face was so tender, so soft, as his hands came up to cup your face. You watched, giving him a minute to scan your face for any injuries. A sigh left his lips when he noticed that you were largely unharmed apart from the usual cuts and scraps from battle. 

"Faebane," he muttered darkly, and you gasped. "One of the soldiers had some and threw it on my face when I got close. Clearly, they haven't got much, and it's a diluted solution leftover from the war with Hybern as it cleared quite quickly, but still…this is something we now have to factor in."

"I couldn't feel you down the bond." Your voice hitched.

"I couldn't feel you either, sweetheart, I didn't know if you still breathed. I was so scared." Another sob slipped through your lips, one of sadness but also one of relief as you gripped his Illyrian leathers and pulled him closer - unable to stand any distance between you. You rose up on your shaky legs and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss wasn't sweet or tender; it was demanding and all-consuming. It was a kiss between two mates who had been terrified that after their years of searching, they had lost each other. You felt the rumble of Azriel's moan as you tilted your head to get better access to his lips. His hand reached up to cup your head to hold you in place as he licked into your mouth, and his arm snapped around you as your legs finally gave out and caught you before you sank to the floor. 

You broke away gently, not going far as you rested your foreheads together. Your bodies heaved as you sucked in air for what felt like the first time since the battle ended. You closed the distance again to press your lips to his again, once, twice, thrice.

"I can't do this anymore, Az." You whispered, tears slipping down your face. Tears that Azriel captured with his thumbs as he looked at you with such devastation, "the wars, the battles, not knowing whether our friends are alive, not knowing if you are still alive. I have never felt so old."

"I know, sweetheart. I know." 

You both sighed as you felt the soldier hovering near you, waiting to catch your attention. Once, you would have known every soldier's name, but now you just had a vague recollection of his face. "Azriel. Y/N. I'm sorry to interrupt, but Rhysand has requested your presence."

Az pulled away slightly to nod at the soldier, who offered you both a respectful salute before leaving. You felt his scarred hand drift down your arm to grip your hand. You felt his squeeze, and you squeezed back, "Come on, love, let's go get this over with, and then let me take care of you."

…

The fortress was quieter now, as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the next attack; the next moment, you would all be dragged out onto the battlefield again to face your enemies. You and Az had been stuck in meetings for hours after that initial reunion, and you had felt so hollow as your friends recounted what they saw throughout the day, the tactics the enemies were using and how you stood a chance at defeating them once and for all if you hold strong. You hadn't let go of Az's hand the entire time, only letting go once he had told his story about the faebane and he had seen tears slipping down your cheeks again and had pulled you into his arms. 

A sadness clanged through your chest as you watched all of your friends that afternoon once the allies from other courts had left for their own war camps. Even through the exhaustion, the court of dreamers was still fighting, even though you had all been on the battlefield in a different war only a handful of years ago.

Azriel had made good on his promise. The minute Rhys commanded you to rest, Azriel gripped your cold hand and pulled you towards the room down the hall you were sharing. Immediately, he had asked a passing soldier to grab you a plate of food, something warm, before strolling into the room and firmly closing the door behind him. With such gentle hands, he had taken your frozen body and sat you down on the impressive four-poster bed in the centre of the room, your body sinking deeply into the comfy mattress. 

He firmly pressed a loving kiss to your forehead before moving away to stoke the fire that someone had forethought to start while you were in meetings. Once satisfied, he quickly looked back over his shoulder at you - to check you were ok - before moving into the expansive bathing chamber. You could hear his footsteps on the tiled floor and the water gushing out of the taps into the large bathtub, but you couldn't stop the fear from clawing up your throat. Panic began to settle in again because he was out of sight.

What your enemies would think at the mighty Y/N reduced to this quivering mess.

Just as you couldn't take the roaring in your head anymore, at the nausea swirling in your stomach, and were about to get up to run to his arms again, Azriel stepped back into the room. You must have been shouting down the bond again because he had a soft, sad look on his face. 

"I'm here, sweetheart." A whimper left your lips as you flew from the bed into his arms again, unable to get enough of the feeling of him, of being safe with him. His hand skated up and down your spine again, mumbling soothing words and pressing his lips into your hair: "I've drawn you a warm bath; come on."

You hadn't realised how much you had been shivering or how long you had been cold until the idea of settling into warm water felt so appealing. He smiled at you as he took your hands and guided you into the large bathing chamber. The bathtub sat in the middle of the room, large enough for not only you but also to accommodate wings, you realised. A soft smile fell on your lips at the thought.

In a comfortable silence that you and Az had always been able to enjoy, he gently began to unbuckle your damp and blood-encrusted leathers. With slow, methodical movements, he pulled the material from your body before throwing it into a basket in the corner of the room. You watched, your breathing shallow as Az ran his soft fingers up the exposed skin of your arms before hooking under the strap of your bra and removing it carefully from your body. Only then did his fingers skate down the soft valley of your breasts, over your abdomen, before slipping underneath the waistband of your underwear and slipping them down your thighs. Az had seen you in every state and had marked every inch of your skin with his lips and tongue, but this moment, him undressing you as you tried desperately to keep yourself from shattering, was the most intimate thing you had shared. It was warm and sweet, flecked with starlight.

That same warm smile was still on his lips as he took your hand and guided you into the warm water in the bathtub. An appreciative groan left your lips as your feet, legs, and body were submerged in comforting, warm water. 

You turned around and grinned at your mate as you watched him unbuckle his own leathers and shuck them off his body. You couldn't help gazing appreciatively at his body, that body you also knew as well as your own: the proud contours of his shoulders, the toned muscles of his arms, his chiselled abdomen, the thick, powerful thighs. He truly was sculpted by the gods themselves. 

Az silently padded over to the bathtub, slipping into the warm water himself before resting against one end and gently slipping his arm around your waist to pull you against him - your back pressed tightly against his chest. 

With a gentleness that you know would shock so many people, he reached to grab the washcloth and soap from the side before he lathered them up and softly washed the mud and blood from your body. He took his time, kneading his hands into your aching muscles. He even undid your tattered braid and carefully washed the blood and dirt from your hair. The moment was so loving and beautiful after what happened earlier in the day that you couldn't help the tears that silently slipped from your eyes and tracked down your cheeks. 

Once you were both clean, he pulled you flush against his chest again, letting you lean against him with your eyes closed as you enjoyed the feeling of being this close to him in the warm water. You idly traced the scars on his hand underneath the water where it was resting against your stomach whilst his other hand slid up and down your thigh, over your hip and up your body.

"I love you, Az." You whispered into the soft silence that had settled between you.

"I love you too, baby." You felt him press a kiss to your temple.

After today, after the horrors you had seen, after the panic that had coursed through your veins, you needed to feel something more. He wasn't close enough; you needed to feel him. Without saying a word, you lifted your free hand to gently grip the hand that was trailing up and down your body, stopping it in its lazy movements to slowly place it closer to that now throbbing part of you at the apex of your thighs. 

"Sweetheart?" He questioned quietly. You could sense through the bond his willingness to touch you and feel his want with the way his erection was pressed against your lower back. But he needed to check that you really wanted this and that he wouldn't overstep some line, especially after today. 

"Please, Az. I need you." You whimpered as you felt his slender fingers skim along your inner thigh.

"Relax, sweetheart, let me make you feel good." He rumbled against you as he gently began to press kisses under your ear, at that sweet spot he had found on that first night all those years ago. Your chest heaved as you felt his calloused fingertips trace up your thigh, over the curve of your hip, and along your bikini line before sensually slipping down to trace your slit.

A soft hiss escaped your lips at the feeling of his fingers so close to where you needed him most, a whimpering, "Please," leaving your lips as he chuckled behind you. His breath ghosted over the shell of your ear and caused a shiver to run down your spine. 

"I have worshipped your body for centuries, love," Azriel murmured, his strong nose nudging the side of your head so he could begin placing open-mouthed, hot kisses down your neck, "and I never get tired of hearing those noises you make when I touch you." 

You whined softly when Azriel moved his hand, but it was quickly silenced when you felt him suck on the soft flesh between your neck and shoulder as his strong hand gripped your thigh to move it to the outside of his so he had better access to you. 

One of his slender fingers returned to your centre and traced your slit once again before gently swirling around that bundle of nerves. A curse ripped from your lips as your hips bucked at the contact, and another primal chuckle rumbled up Azriel's chest at your delicious reaction. 

Azriel continued to swirl his finger ever so gently over your clit, every now and then applying the smallest amount of pressure and causing a sharp cry to leave your lips as white-hot pleasure shot up your body. It wasn't enough; he was teasing, and you needed your body to shatter in a way you were familiar with.

"Use your words, love. Tell me what you need." You could practically hear the smirk in his voice, and if you weren't wound up so tightly, you might have called him out on it. 

"Your fingers, Az. Please." You whimpered.

"Because you asked so nicely." He mumbled into your skin as he gently slid one finger into your core. A sharp cry left your lips at the feeling of those scars creating the most delicious friction against your walls. 

He set a slow but deep pace as he pumped his finger inside you, his thumb still drawing figures of eight on your clit. You could feel the pleasure building inside of you, your toes curling as you felt Azriel taking you higher and higher. His hand that you had been gripping, resting against your stomach, slid up your body to cup your breast. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he expertly rolled your nipples between his fingers and tweaked them in the way he knew you liked. You could feel that familiar crest of your orgasm approaching, and he had barely touched you. So expertly knew your body. You threw your head back against his shoulder, unable to do much but go limp against him. 

"I love you so much, Y/N." He whispered, and you turned to face him and saw that raw emotion on his face again, an emotion that mirrored yours. As he slipped another finger inside you, curling his fingers to reach that spongy spot inside of you that had you seeing stars, you reached up to grip his hair and press your lips to his. 

You felt him grin against you as you kissed him, your hips undulating and rolling against his fingers to meet his lazy thrusts. The kiss was full of teeth and passion, and you felt the rising tide of your pleasure as you writhed against him. A cry left your lips as you felt yourself reaching the top of the wave, your mind turning foggy and hips bucking sloppily as you felt your orgasm approaching. 

"Let go, love, cum for me." His words, whispered lowly in your ear, his tone dripping lust and awe, and the soft thrust he gave behind you that had you feeling how much he was enjoying seeing you like this, caused that band in your body to snap and the pleasure he had been slowly building crest and shatter. Pure, white, hot pleasure sparked throughout your body, sending every nerve-ending alight as your orgasm washed over you. Chants of his name left his lips as your back arched and your hips thrashed as he continued to pump his fingers deliciously inside you.

After what felt like hours, the wave of pleasure began to subside and be replaced with a bone-deep satisfaction. A sigh left your lips as you slumped back against your mate, his arms catching you - as they always did - and pulling you close to him. You felt Azriel mumbling your name whilst pressing soft kisses to your temple, cheek and jawline. 

"Rest, love. There will be time for more later. I promise." It was that promise you clung to as you rested against your mate and let your body relax in the cooling water of the bath. 

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 21 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

Jinwoo watched you closely as he and his shadows continued their meticulous task of destroying the ant eggs and any stragglers still lurking in the nest. His soldiers, as efficient as ever, moved like an unstoppable tide, bolstered by the shimmering aura of your butterflies. Among the usual flurry of colors, Jinwoo's attention was drawn to one distinct silver—the butterfly that previously hovered near Hunter Cha, never straying far.

He frowned slightly, wracking his brain.

What was its name again? Till? No, that’s not it. Trix? Close, but no. Tick-tack-toe? Wait, what the hell? How does she even remember all of their names in the first place?" He huffed quietly, shaking his head.

He saw you gently cradle the silver butterfly in one hand, a soft smile gracing your lips as the other hand rummaged through your inventory. With practiced ease, you summoned several items that floated around you, suspended in midair. Jinwoo recognized the shimmer of a polished silver gem and the ornate design of a potion bottle filled with liquid that shifted hues between vibrant purple and fiery orange-yellow. The faint golden glow illuminated the items as if presenting them like treasures.

To his surprise, the objects dissolved into a flurry of white butterflies—tinier, ethereal creatures that resembled particles of light more than living beings. They swirled around the silver butterfly before settling into the air above the ground in front of you. Jinwoo squinted as the radiant light seemed to change shape.

When the glow subsided, he found himself staring at a kneeling figure—a woman clad in a ensemble of black and white. The design was elegant and sleek, resembling the human form Red had taken when Jinwoo first met her, yet distinct in its details. The most noticeable feature was the overlay of silver butterfly wings extending behind her, creating an effect akin to an outer skirt or flowing coattails.

Jinwoo watched as you reached out and patted the woman’s head with a fond smile.

“You’ve done well, Trick,” you said softly, your voice full of warmth.

Ah, so that’s its—her name, Jinwoo mused, filing it away in his memory.

---

Later, you watch as Jinwoo summoned the former Ant King and officially welcomed him into his legion by bestowing upon him the name Beru. The newly minted shadow bowed before his master with a deep sense of reverence, his antennae twitching in anticipation.

As you approached, Jinwoo nodded at you in acknowledgment—a subtle greeting that you returned with ease—then turned back to the task of coordinating his soldiers. To your surprise, however, Beru bowed deeply in your direction.

You raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity passing over your face. “Why do you bow to me?” you asked, your tone calm but inquisitive. “I’m not your master, nor was I the one who defeated you.”

Beru straightened slightly, his antennae twitching as if considering how best to respond. “I can feel,” he began, his voice measured and polite, “that My Liege already holds My Lady in the highest regard.” His antennae twitched again, as if punctuating the statement, and you caught the faintest shimmer of admiration in his glowing eyes.

You blinked, taken aback. Sure, some of your children called you as such, but the title “My Lady” straight from Jinwoo’s shadow soldiers was brand new, and the way Beru said it carried an odd mixture of respect and familiarity. Is this something Jinwoo instructed, or is it something Beru decided on his own? you wondered.

Though you had read the manhwa, you were unused to this side of Beru—polished, deferential, and subdued. Was it because he’s only just been awakened as Jinwoo’s soldier? you thought. You remembered how in the manhwa, Beru often showered Jinwoo with flowery praises and dramatic declarations. This version of him, freshly reborn, was a bit different.

You were about to question Beru further, curiosity piqued, when a sudden flash of silver and hints of orange-yellow entered your vision.

---

"Is she… hissing at him?" Jinwoo asked incredulously, his eyes narrowing in disbelief as the odd scene before him unfolded. His gaze flickered from the silver-haired woman—your butterfly, Trick, now manifest in her humanoid form—to the tall figure holding her aloft like a squirming misbehaved cat.

Red, your other butterfly and Trick’s elder sister in a way, stood impassively, her expression unreadable as always. The height difference made the whole situation look absurdly comedic. Trick’s thrashing, her hands clawing at the air and her feet kicking, only added to the spectacle.

"She’s definitely hissing," you confirmed with a sigh, pressing your fingers to the bridge of your nose. The frustration in your voice betrayed how accustomed you were to such antics.

Jinwoo’s gaze flickered back to Beru, who stood behind him with his head slightly cocked to the side, the faintest wisps of black mist curling off parts of his neck. Trick's claws—or whatever equivalent her humanoid form had—had evidently done a number on the Shadow Ant. Her orange-streaked yellow eyes glowed with such intensity that Jinwoo couldn’t help but wonder if she was on the verge of spontaneous combustion. If Trick had chosen to use a beast-like form instead of this human one, Jinwoo imagined she’d be foaming at the mouth by now, her silver hair—fur? Whatever—would be bristling, her fangs bared, and perhaps a low growl vibrating through the air.

"Honestly, it’s like dealing with squabbling children." you muttered under your breath, though your gaze softened as it landed on Trick. The bond you shared with your "children" made their emotions as transparent to you as an open book. You knew Trick’s rage wasn’t born of whimsy—it had a cause, one tied to her fiercely protective instincts.

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching in amusement. "You tell me. Did Beru step on her toes or something?"

Jinwoo looked between Trick and Beru, his lips twitching as if suppressing a laugh. “Beru,” he said finally, fixing his soldier with a questioning stare. “Do you have any idea why she’s reacting like this?”

The towering ant shifted uncomfortably, his usual air of unshakable confidence dampened. “If I may inquire, My Lady,” Beru began—Again with that, your brows slightly furrowed—his deep voice uncharacteristically measured, “what grievance have I caused to incur such wrath from your esteemed creation?” His antennae twitched as if nervously seeking your approval.

You turned your attention back to Trick, who was still glaring daggers at Beru, and let out a long sigh. “Well…” You trailed off, carefully choosing your words. "It’s not about you, exactly."

"Then what is it about?" Jinwoo chimed in, crossing his arms and leaning slightly to the side for a better view of Trick’s furious expression.

You hesitated before answering, not quite sure whether to laugh or groan at the absurdity of it all. "You hurt her favorite friend," you finally explained.

Jinwoo frowned, tilting his head. “Her favorite friend?”

“Hae-In,” you clarified, crossing your arms and shooting Trick a knowing look. “Trick has a soft spot for her. She’s been watching over her ever since we met her. Seeing you injure her during the raid must’ve left a… lasting impression.”

Beru’s posture straightened, though the faintest trace of guilt crept into his expression. “Ah,” he said quietly. "I see. My actions during my life as an ant appear to have caused unintended grief. For this, I offer my sincerest apologies, to My Lady and her esteemed creations.”

You only sighed, still not getting used to Beru’s…politeness to you. Jinwoo raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, but said nothing as the scene continued to unfold. Red, meanwhile, silently tilted her head, her question clear even without words. You caught her gaze and waved her off. “It’s fine, Red. Let her go.”

Red nodded and gently set Trick down. The moment her feet touched the ground, Trick darted toward Beru like a missile. Before she could reach her target, however, she froze mid-air, a faint golden aura wrapping around her as your hand glowed softly. You lifted her effortlessly, the action reminiscent of a mother cat carrying her kitten by the scruff. Jinwoo let out a low chuckle at the sight, unable to help himself.

“Trick,” you called gently, your tone firm yet kind. Her glowing orange-silver eyes snapped to yours, and the fiery anger within them dimmed slightly. “I know you’re upset, but remember—Beru is one of Jinwoo’s shadows now. He’s not our enemy anymore.”

Trick’s lips pressed into a thin line, and though her arms crossed stubbornly, she offered no further resistance. Reluctantly, you lowered her to the ground.

“Good girl,” you said softly, patting her head. At your touch, Trick practically melted, leaning into your hand like a contented cat. Jinwoo could almost see the image of her butterfly form, wings glowing in delighted contentment.

"You’ve got an interesting way of keeping everyone in line," he remarked, his voice laced with amusement.

You shot him a dry look. "Says the guy with an army of shadows who jump at his every whim,"

He shrugged, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Touché.”

Beru stepped forward cautiously, bowing deeply. “My Lady, I assure you, I will strive to amend this misunderstanding and avoid offending your creation in the future."

You waved a dismissive hand, already tired of the situation. “Just avoid provoking her. She’s protective, that’s all.”

“Protective is an understatement,” Jinwoo muttered, earning himself another glare from you.

“Bad,” you chided Trick when she moved to lunge at Beru again. She froze instantly, her shoulders slumping as if your single word had deflated her entirely. Her lips trembled, and she whimpered like a scolded child, teary-eyed and all that.

Satisfied she wouldn’t try anything else, you turned back to Jinwoo. “Don’t push it,” you warned, your tone carrying a sharp edge.

Jinwoo raised his hands in mock surrender, though his smirk remained firmly in place. “Noted.”

---

"Do your best, My Child. Fool them to their deaths."

Jinwoo remembered the exact words you said to Trick when he ordered Beru to eliminate the rest of the ants, especially the ones that managed to escape the island’s perimeters.

As the cleanup of the ant colony continued, Jinwoo observed Trick in action. She commanded her silver siblings with ruthless efficiency, her abilities seamlessly complementing Beru’s as they tracked down and eliminated the remaining ants.

"For someone who was plotting Beru’s murder just moments ago, she works very well with him," Jinwoo remarked, his tone light as he glanced in your direction.

You didn’t miss a beat. “I taught all my children to separate work and personal grievances, thank you very much.”

“Uh-huh,” Jinwoo replied, the skepticism evident in his voice. His gaze shifted back to the battlefield, where a particularly large cluster of ants was being lured directly into Beru’s path, clearly overloading him with unnecessary targets.

Jinwoo smirked. "You sure about that?"

“She’s sending way too many ants toward him, isn’t she?”

"I'd appreciate it if you can tell her to stop, but...” Jinwoo drawled out with a grin.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, exasperation washing over you for the nth time today.

He chuckled, "Good thing my new soldier’s tough enough to handle her, huh?"

Before you could respond, the system’s obnoxiously cheerful tone chimed in.

[You lost this time, ‘Trial’ Player.]

You groaned, turning away, determined not to give Jinwoo and the system the satisfaction of seeing your frustration. As futile as it was, you continued to mutter under your breath.

“Damnit.”

---

Breaking News!

"5th Jeju Island Raid Ends with Unprecedented Results!"

4802 hunters in participation. 727 regular awakened mobilized. Of those, 46 awakened lost their lives, and 32 civilians sustained injuries—historically the lowest numbers for a raid of this magnitude!

Special Note: Flowers mysteriously appearing during the battle have left many intrigued. “What’s the deal with these flowers popping up out of nowhere?!” exclaimed one baffled netizen.

18 hunters announced immediate permanent retirement post-raid, citing personal reasons. Notably, Min Byung-Gyu, the esteemed Healer who returned from the brink of death, is among them. However, Hunter Min declined to comment further.

---

As the memorial service for the fallen Hunters drew to a close, Jinwoo lingered in the crowd to pay his respects. His expression was unreadable, a careful mask concealing the myriad of emotions beneath. He had done his part, both in the raid and in honoring the sacrifices of the deceased.

"I don’t know how you did it, but…" Baek Yoonho added after his previous statements to Jinwoo, voice thick with emotion. "Thank you. For saving him."

Jinwoo paused, his lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "It’s not me you should be thanking for that," he replied simply, offering no further explanation, his tone laced with quiet conviction. Without waiting for a response, he turned to leave, leaving Baek Yoonho staring after him, puzzled but still thankful.

Jinwoo's gaze swept the crowd until his eyes landed on Cha Hae-In. She stood a short distance away and caught his eye, her expression warm as she mouthed a quiet, ‘Thank you.’ Jinwoo nodded once in acknowledgment, appreciating the sincerity in her unspoken words.

As his eyes continued to roam, they eventually found you, standing still among the mourners. Your posture was still and composed, a faintly distant look in your eyes as though you were seeing beyond the moment, even as your head bowed slightly in reverence. When you noticed his gaze, you met it briefly before closing your eyes and turning back to the solemn proceedings, making no effort to move or acknowledge him further. Jinwoo took it as a sign.

Alright, Jinwoo thought as he noticed the Association’s official approaching, informing him that Chairman Go Gunhee wishes to speak with him. I needed to talk with him too anyway, as he followed the official, his eyes flickered back to you one last time. Huh, for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself a small observation.

She looks good in black.

---

Jinwoo should’ve finished his talk with the Chairman by now.

You thought as you slowly made your way toward the edge of the memorial grounds. The crowd was thinning, the lingering sense of grief and loss still hung in the air, but it was something you had grown accustomed to in this world, where sacrifice and loss often overshadowed victory. You had done what you could. The lives lost had been honored, and those who had survived could move on, at least for a while.

Out of the corner of your vision, a butterfly caught your eye—its wings shimmered in hues of green, black, and silver as it fluttered through the mourners—the child you had tasked to keep watch over a certain healer. Now it circled nearby as if to confirm the man’s presence.

Though you hadn’t expected him to notice you.

What were the odds? For him, standing in the middle of the sea of mourners, to notice you in the far back-end?

Your gaze drifted in the direction it came from, from where you stood, your gaze locked with Min Byung-Gyu’s. Recognition flickered briefly in his eyes before he looked away, his expression carefully neutral. You mirrored his action, calmly turning and continuing on your path.

You trusted him—he had made his vow to stay silent about what had transpired in that strange, timeless space where the two of you had crossed paths. Still, his awareness of you felt like a ripple in still water, a detail you couldn’t entirely dismiss. Though, should Min Byung-Gyu ever stray from his promise, the system would intervene.

Just as you began to retreat into your thoughts, a familiar voice broke through.

"(Name)."

You turned to see Jinwoo approaching with his usual gait. And, as you fell into steps beside him, he slowed his pace to match yours.

"When are you free?" he asked, his tone casual but with an undertone of anticipation.

You only hummed, tilting your head slightly, indicating to him that you'd need a bit more context than that.

"For that dinner," Jinwoo clarified.

Oh. Your steps faltered briefly.

---

"Sir?!" Woo Jinchul's voice rose in panic as Chairman Go Gunhee suddenly collapsed to his knees. The aide was at his side in an instant, his hands steadying the older man as he gave him a reassuring pat on the arm.

His sharp mind momentarily dulled by a wave of overwhelming warmth that left him gasping, Go Gunhee only laughed lightly, dismissing his subordinate's concern with a wave of his hand. "My apologies, Jinchul," he said, his voice calm despite the situation. " These old bones are finally starting to show their age. "

"Chairman, this isn't something to brush off!" Jinchul protested, his grip firm as he helped the older man back to his feet, then to a nearby bench. The concern etched across his features was evident, his brow furrowed deeply as he assessed the chairman's condition.

"Sir, should I call for a medic? We can—"

"That won't be necessary," Go Gunhee interrupted gently but firmly, shaking his head.

However, Go Gunhee’s attention was no longer on his subordinate— his sharp, seasoned gaze fixed on the direction Hunter Sung Jinwoo had disappeared moments earlier. Or rather, where they had disappeared.

It was ancient, commanding, and unyielding. Like a fragment of an endless abyss brushing against his very soul.

—Kneel. You are in the presence of [][][] [][][][][][][].

The fragmented sensation lingered, a half-heard whisper reverberating in the depths of his consciousness. It wasn't the first time he had felt something like this, though the last occasion was buried in the annals of his long memory, far back when the world was still grappling with the sudden appearance of Gates.

Yet, the air still thrummed with a residual warmth, all-encompassing and unrelenting, an energy that felt simultaneously divine and otherworldly. It wasn’t Jinwoo’s presence that lingered this time. It was hers.

“Chairman?” Jinchul’s voice brought him back, laced with worry.

“Hmm,” Gunhee hummed in thought, forcing himself to focus. “Woo Jinchul,” he called, his voice steady but thoughtful.

"Sir?" The younger man straightened immediately, awaiting orders.

"Investigate the young woman who accompanied Hunter Sung today," the Chairman instructed, his tone firm despite the fatigue in his posture, his gaze still fixed on that same direction. "I believe I’ve seen her somewhere before. Perhaps in our records of Hunters."

Jinchul hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Understood, sir. I’ll pull up all available data and cross-check our archives. Do you have any specific details that might help narrow the search?"

Gunhee's gaze remained, his thoughts distant. "No… but something tells me she isn’t someone we can overlook. There's an aura about her—" he paused, searching for the right words, "—similar to Hunter Sung, like she’s walked through storms most of us can't even imagine, though notably subtler."

Jinchul glanced toward that direction as well, though no trace of Jinwoo or his companion remained. "Do you believe she’s a threat, sir?"

"Threat?" Gunhee repeated softly. He tilted his head slightly, pondering the question. "No… not quite.”

“Let’s just say... it’s better to err on the side of caution.”

Jinchul's frown deepened as he processed the chairman’s words.

"I’ll begin the investigation immediately," Jinchul assured.

"Good," Gunhee said, finally tearing his gaze away. "Let me know as soon as you find anything."

"Yes, Sir," Jinchul replied, already mentally cataloging the resources he’d need to dive into such a search.

As Jinchul guided him toward the car, Go Gunhee couldn’t shake the lingering impression. For years, he had dedicated himself to understanding the dangers that plagued their world, studying Hunters, Gates, and the forces behind them. Yet here he was, feeling unsettled by the presence of one woman.

As they drove away, he couldn’t help but glance out the window, back toward the direction Jinwoo and the woman had gone.

What kind of secret was Sung Jinwoo hiding now?

End Note:

Unfinished Draft of [25/11/2024] -

[sweet-honey-fruit]

Wanted

Boothill x reader

Synopsis: Boothill has a wanted poster with your face on it

This is a snippet from what I was going to do. I might turn this into a series.

Warnings: boothill typical violence, cussing, boothill’s substitute cuss words, use of guns, mentions of splattered brains (but doesnt happen)

Masterlists: xxx

Out of bullets. Out of backup. Shit shit shit. You’re normally better than this. You are better than this. You wouldn’t have secured a job to personally work beside the Ten Stonehearts if you sucked at it. So why now? When it truly mattered, why start losing grip now?

The hallway on the space station was long and agonizing. It’s slim but somehow you still feel like prey in an open field. The grip you have on your gun is tight despite the blasphemous thing being out of ammo. How the metal is digging into the palm of your hand is the only thing keeping you grounded and focused. Focused on making it to the safe room. Focused on sending out that distress signal. Focused on the little hope you have left. Just focus.

The distant sound of gunshots urges you to run faster. Each round of shots fuels not only your need to escape but your overwhelming guilt as well. Normally you stay back and handle the threat. You stay back to help your agents and get them to safety. That's what you wanted to do. Yet the sight of seeing bodies upon bodies being thrown to the side by him, you started to, selfishly, second guess if you should.

What pushed you to get out was Jade's voice speaking through your earpiece. She specifically ordered you to run and to get to the safe room. She all but hinted that this was surely a fight you couldn’t win and you needed to get out now. She's normally calm and collected, tactical and calculating. Jade isn't one to order you to retreat for she has trust in your abilities. So when she told you to run, you ran like hell was after you.

For once, you prayed to the Amber Lord. Praying that your colleagues will make it out alive. Although, you doubted that.

The weight of your conscious is almost enough to weigh down your speed but once the familiar doors of the safe room enter your sight, all weight is washed away and it’s replaced with relief.

Finally, after minutes of running and dodging bullets, you’ve made it. You take deep breaths to calm your breathing as a shaky hand swipes your keycard over the mechanical padlock. With a loud beep that makes you internally cuss it out, you slip into the room. The moment the door shuts you collapse to your knees.

“Holy fuck.” You mumble, letting out a nervous laugh. Your gun clatters to the floor beside you as your hand loses the strength to continue the death grip. You run your hand over your uniform to try and soothe the ache that replaces the cold metal. What a shit show.

You have faced an astronomical amount of enemies throughout your line of work. Anywhere from the Anti-Matter Legion to Galaxy Rangers. All of them were a pain to deal with, sure, but this? This is something different. You have never seen someone so precise, so quick with a gun, and so cocky. Recalling everything just made your blood boil. It’s not even because he ambushed your crew. It was more of the fact that he was moonwalking while doing so. Honestly, who acts so casually in a fight?

Pass it off with humor all you want, but you know exactly why you’re left shaken. This was the work of one individual. The same individual that made eye contact with you in the lobby. His grin widened when you locked eyes, and his bullseye pupils seemed to have made you the target. It was chilling. The way your body tensed and the hairs on the back of your neck stood was foreign to you. You’re normally the hunter but in the moment you felt like prey. That feeling was followed up by Jade's command and it felt too much like an omen. Like all of this was for you. All of this was because of you.

You shake your head to get rid of those thoughts. No. There’s no reason why you should dwell on the situation. Only doing so will drag you down. With weakened legs you stand, stumbling over to the command terminal to send a distress signal out. You hesitate for a moment as you stare down at the screen. The blinking red of the button haunted your memory.

The bodies of your coworkers. The blood of the agents you were supposed to watch over on Jade's behalf. The screams of pain and terror as they tried to take down the threat that snuck onboard. No matter how hard you try, you can't push down that culpability. Your mind races at a million miles per hour, from one thought to the next, all about your irresponsibility. You tried to save who you could. You tried to take down the threat yourself. You shot so, so many bullets all for naught. Then he looked at you. Made a beeline for you. Was he here for you? Was this all your fault? Where did you go wrong? Why didn't you try harder to save the agents that were trusted to your care? Are you even worthy of saving?

Your breath hitches at the last question.

'Am I worth saving?'

Even so, that decision isn't up to you. It's up to the Ten Stonehearts. With reluctance, you press the button. There's a gentle ping that was supposed to reassure you that the distress signal was successfully sent. But all it did was make your gut twist with anguish. It shouldn't only be you in this room.

Your sorrowful eyes stare out the window with a glaze. In all of your times of need, it has always been the stars that brought you comfort. Always a shining, shimmering light in the dreadful place of your mind. For the first time since this morning, your mind goes quiet as you imagine yourself walking among the stars. You enjoy the tranquility of the safe room, taking the opportunity to worship the silence. No screaming, no commands, no gunshots.

Wait.

.

.

.

No gunshots.

Your moment of peace is ripped out of your hands and replaced with your heart dropping. Your breathing stops and slowly, ever so, you turn your head to look behind you.

Oh fuck.

There he is in all of his cowboy glory. The barrel of his gun is pointed right between your eyes and there isn’t a hint of hesitation on his face.

“Don’t tell me ya hidin’ from my welcome party.” His thick southern accent lays on thick at the realization of it all; you haven’t been fucked like this in a long time. Your gun is left on the floor. Even if it is out of ammo, you still could’ve potentially used it as an empty threat. You quite literally backed up against a wall. Alone. The only exit is being blocked by the blood-thirsty cyborg man in front of you. There’s no one left to provide backup.

That feeling creeps up your spine again as his eye pierces through you, just itching to pull the trigger on you.

"Is this what they consider southern hospitality?" You sarcastically ask, a glare settling into your eyes in hopes of masking that premonition deep within your bones.

There's a skip of a beat in your heart when there’s silence. A thick, heavy silence that only grows louder the longer you stare down the barrel of the pistol. It’s only broken by his boisterous laugh. A laugh that feels mocking. A laugh that makes you feel offended that you opened your mouth. You go from scared, to confused.

“Oh shucks! You got me gatherin’ tears in my eye! Holy fudgin shirt on a rag! It’s been a while since I had someone tell me a one-liner like that. You’re a hoot and a holler!”

He finds this humorous. He has a gun pointed between your eyes, eager to splatter your brains across the window behind you, and he finds this funny. You go from scared, to livid.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Ha! At least one of us can say it-“

“Are you fucking serious? You murdered my coworkers, you’re threatening me, and you’re laughing?”

“Don’t go actin’ all high and mighty now, you IPC scum.” His mood switch gave you whiplash. What was once a lighthearted tone was turned into a low growl. He took one step forward, then another, and another until his chest was pressed up against yours. His breath fans over your face. Your back presses up against the command terminal. The soft red blinking of the distress button reflects off the shiny metal of the gun as he presses it against your forehead. Even so, the indignation coursing through your body is enough to fuel a stellaron.

“You shouldn’t be acting all righteous either. Wanted criminals don’t deserve to act so pompous.” You snap back, huffing out a breath.

“So ya know who I am?”

“Unfortunately.”

Boothill might as well be a cursed name among the IPC. A name that brings both fear and a migraine. You never had the courtesy to meet him until now. His wanted poster has been sitting on your desk for a while along with his list of crimes. The stack was so big that his crimes were used as a paperweight for a while. While he was annoying, the Ten Stonehearts put you on missions that were ‘more important.’ His information served more as a warning rather than a task.

Now you regret not going after him when you got the chance.

“It appears my ruckus has paid off.” He whispers, lowering the gun. You had a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, that that was a sign he was leaving. That the distress signal wasn’t needed after all. He only allowed you enough relief to let out a shaky sigh.

The tip of the gun is pressed under your chin, tilting your head back to fully look up at his smug smirk.

“It’s a shame your wanted poster says wanted alive.”

Your eyes widen in his swift movements. With harsh movements, he slams the grip against your temple. There’s a burning, aching pain that spreads throughout your head and down the back of your neck. Your body falls to the floor with a harsh thud. You couldn’t help but think this is what you deserved for failing them all.

‘Am I worth saving?’ It appears the universe made that decision before your higher-ups.

Boothill kneels beside you, placing his gun back into his holster.

“Don’t ya worry. Ima take good care of ya.”

[dorabellingham]

Stars

warnings: none

characters: jude x reader

summary: when you, a hollywood actress, need to shoot an underwear campaign with him.

may contain spelling and translation errors!

You, or rather Y/n Marx, were at the height of your career. You were the most sought-after actress in Hollywood, winning awards like the Oscar and the Golden Globe, even though you were so young. Your performances in romance films, dramas and comedies have made you a global icon. Your ability to transform into any role and the charisma you exuded on camera made you an unbeatable force in the film industry. The english actress, who won hearts all over the world, has been everywhere: red carpets, magazine covers and, now, in a campaign for Skims, a renowned fashion brand. You were used to being the center of attention, but this campaign would be different. It wouldn't just be about you.

For the first time, you would share stardom with someone, and that someone was none other than Jude Bellingham, one of the most promising football players in the world and an idol in Europe. You had heard about him several times through the mutual friend you had been friends with since the days when you were still a young rising star.

Jude was, in addition to being a football star, a charismatic man, with a legion of fans around the world. He had a relaxed and natural way that captivated anyone, whether on the field or off. You've never met him in person, but his name always comes up in conversations with your friend. You exchanged messages here and there, but nothing very significant... Until that moment.

Campaign day has arrived. The set was located in a stunning mansion in Los Angeles, filled with luxurious environments and stunning views. Upon arrival, you were greeted with the usual treatment: a team of makeup artists, stylists and assistants, all ready to make sure you looked perfect for the photos. You, as always, remained calm and professional, greeting everyone with your warm smile. However, the player's name echoed in the set. You knew he was there too, but the idea that you would finally meet in person left a slight feeling in your stomach.

Y/n Marx wasn't easily intimidated, but something about this encounter made you feel different. Maybe it was because, in all your fame and success, you'd never really taken the time to get to know someone in such a...sincere way. And Jude was someone who shared that pressure of fame, someone who perhaps understood it on a deeper level.

While you were in the dressing room, you caught a commotion coming from the main entrance. It was him.

—Jude has arrived!

The makeup artist commented casually.

You looked in the mirror, taking in your impeccably prepared reflection for the cameras, but your heart started to beat a little faster. He took a deep breath and prepared himself for the first interaction.

When you finally returned to the set, you were on your back, adjusting your dress for the first photo. He heard footsteps and then Bukayo's familiar voice.

—Y/n, this here is Jude, but I'm sure you already know each other because I talk about him so much.

He joked, with that typical smile that always warmed up any room.

You slowly turned around and met Jude's eyes for the first time. It was something beyond what you expected. His photos on social media didn't do justice to the presence he exuded in person. Tall, with an easy smile, and with that look that mixed curiosity and a certain charm. You stared at each other for a moment, the world around you seemed to slow down.

—I finally meet you in person!

Jude said, extending his hand to you with a smile that revealed both tranquility and slight nervousness.

—Yes, finally! —You replied, with a soft laugh, accepting the handshake. —Saka don't stop talk about you.

The touch of your hands seems to last a little longer than necessary. There was something about the energy between you, something neither of you expected.

The photo session began, and the first poses were relaxed, with the two laughing and interacting as if they were already old friends. Jude, despite being more used to football pitches than fashion cameras, surprised everyone with his ease. He moves naturally, his athletic body perfectly complementing the campaign's aesthetic.

You, on the other hand, were in your comfort zone, but something about the man's presence made you feel vulnerable, in the best of ways. There was something genuine about him that took her out of her usual impeccable posture. At times, you found yourself actually laughing, something rare on such controlled film sets.

After a few hours of photos and videos, the team took a break. You turned around in the rest area, both of you with a bottle of water in your hands, still adjusting your costumes.

—You're really good at this.

You commented, breaking the silence as you sat next to him on the white sofa that decorated the set.

—I was a little nervous at first.... —He admitted, shrugging. —This isn't exactly my field, you know?

—It doesn't even seem like it! —You laughed. —You look very natural.

You were silent for a moment, just watching the team move around. Then, Jude looked at you, his gaze more serious this time.

—You are much more reserved than I expected. —He said, with a sincerity that caught her by surprise. —I always see you on screen, so confident, but you have this way... different in person.

You blurted out, a little shy.

—It's different being in front of the camera as Y/N Marx and just being Y/n, you know? —You confessed, something you don't usually do with strangers. —People don't always understand that.

—I understand. —He replied, with a simplicity that made your heart quicken. —I think we have that in common.

The look between you lasted longer than expected, a silent exchange of understanding that was interrupted when Bukayo appeared out of nowhere, throwing a pillow at the two of you.

—Hey, I don't care about a romantic atmosphere on the set!!! —Bukayo joked, laughing loudly. —Come on, you still have a few more photos to take.

The rest of the day passed quickly, but that exchange of looks between you was recorded in both of your minds. When the photo session ended, and the sun was already setting, you said goodbye, but with a feeling that this meeting would not be the last.

As you got into the car that would take you back to the hotel, you couldn't help the smile that insisted on appearing on your lips. Jude also looked different. You both knew something special had happened on that set, something that no camera had ever fully captured, but that they would both feel for a long time.

And so began the love story between a Hollywood star and a world football icon.

[chimeride]

𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔐𝔞𝔩𝔭𝔥𝔞𝔰

He appeareth at first like a Crow, but after he will put on Human Shape at the request of the Exorcist, and speak with a hoarse Voice. He is a Mighty President and Powerful. He can build Houses and High Towers, and can bring to thy Knowledge Enemies Desires and Thoughts, and that which they have done. He giveth good Familiars. If thou makest a Sacrifice unto him he will receive it kindly and willingly, but he will deceive him that doth it. He governeth 40 Legions of Spirits.

Lemegeton Clavicula Salomonis. The Goetia: The Lesser Key of Solomon the King

[creamtese]

Demons and Stigmas

I made a reddit post about this, and thought I should post it on tumblr too for easier reading!

I wanted to make a post about all the stigmas and demons that we know so far. The names are all anagrams of Ars Goetia demons, and some of them have similar powers to the demon or have potential motives to summon said demon. With that, we can possibly predict what some of the stigmas do that we only have a name for, as well as what might have been their motivation for summoning their demon.

I've taken some information from the Ars Goetia wikipedia page, and bolded some things that I thought are noteworthy.

Frostheim

Kamurai Jin, Bianerus.

Bianerus is an anagram of Naberius

Jin can command people to do as he says with his stigma

The demon Naberius (also Naberus, Nebiros and Cerberus, Cerbere) was first mentioned by Johann Weyer in 1583. He is supposedly the most valiant Marquis of Hell, and has nineteen legions of demons under his command. He makes men cunning in all arts, but especially in rhetoric, speaking with a hoarse voice. He also restores lost dignities and honors, although to Johann Weyer he procures the loss of them. Naberius appears as a three-headed dog or a raven. He has a raucous voice but presents himself as eloquent and amiable. He teaches the art of gracious living. He is depicted as a crow or a black crane. Concerning his name, it is unclear if there is an association with the Greek Cerberus. It is said that in 1583, Johann Weyer considers both of them to be the same demon.

Ishibashi Tohma, Argeas.

Argeas is an anagram of Agares

Tohma's stigma lets him send vibrations long distance.

Agares (or Agreas), ruling the eastern zone of Hell, and being served by 31 legions of demons. He can make runaways come back and those who stand still run, finding pleasure in teaching immoral expressions. He also has the power to destroy dignities, both temporal and supernatural. He is depicted as a pale old man riding a crocodile.

Lucas Errant, Iggnaim.

Iggnaim is an anagram of Gamigin

Lucas has a barrier

Gamigin (also Gamygin, Gamigm or Samigina) is a Great Marquis of Hell who rules over thirty legions of demons. He teaches all liberal sciences and gives an account of the souls of those who died in sin and who drowned in the sea, speaking with a rough voice. He also answers what is asked about, and stays with the conjurer until they are satisfied. Gamigin is depicted as a little horse or a donkey, which changes form into a man under the conjurer's request.

Fuji Kaito, ???

No stigma name currently, but we have an idea of what his powers may be from something Hyde has said.

Vagastrom

Mido Alan, Yagsal Olbalsa

Yagsal Olbalsa is an anagram of Glasya-Labolas

It's never been explicitly said, but it seems to be some sort of super strength

Glasya-Labolas (also Caacrinolaas, Caassimolar, Classyalabolas, Glassia-labolis, Glasya Labolas, Gaylos-Lobos) is a mighty President of Hell who commands thirty-six legions of demons. He is the author and captain of manslaughter and bloodshed, tells all things past and to come, gains the minds and love of friends and foes causing love among them if desired, incites homicides and can make a man invisible. He is depicted as a dog with the wings of a griffin.

Kurosagi Leo, Haxs

Haxs is an anagram of Shax

Leo's stigma allows him to have enhanced hearing

Shax (also spelled Chax, Shan, Shass, Shaz, and Scox) is a Great Marquis of Hell, and has power over 30 legions of demons on evil horses. He takes away the sight, hearing and understanding of any person under the conjurer's request, and steals money out of kings' houses, carrying it back to the people. He also steals horses and everything the conjurer asks. Shax can also discover hidden things if they are not kept by evil spirits, and sometimes gives good familiars, but sometimes those familiars deceive the conjurer. He should not be bothered too often. Shax is thought to be faithful and obedient, but is a great liar and will deceive the conjurer unless obliged to enter a magic triangle drawn on the floor. He will then speak marvellously and tell the truth. He knows when lies are told and uses these to teach lessons. He is depicted as a stork that speaks with a hoarse but subtle voice; his voice changes into a beautiful one once he enters the magic triangle.

Haizono Shohei, Spurno

Spurno is an anagram of Purson

We don't have an explicit answer for what it does yet, but he was able to trip? throw back? the anomaly in episode 2

Purson (also Curson, Pursan) is a Great King of Hell, being served and obeyed by twenty-two legions of demons. He knows of hidden things, can find treasures, and tells past, present and future. Taking a human or aerial body he answers truly of all secret and divine things of Earth and the creation of the world. He also brings good familiars. Purson is depicted as a man with the face of a lion, carrying a ferocious viper in his hand, and riding a bear. Before him, there can be heard many trumpets sounding.

Jabberwock

Sagara Haru, Bahnti

Bahnti = Bathin

Haru's stigma reduces the affect of gravity on his body

Bathin (or Bathym, Mathim, Marthim) is a Duke (Great Duke according to Pseudomonarchia Daemonum) of Hell, who has under his command thirty legions of demons. He knows the virtues of precious stones and herbs, and can bring men suddenly from one country to another. He helps one attain astral projection, and takes you wherever you want to go. He is depicted as a strong man with the tail of a serpent, riding a pale horse.

Otonashi Towa, ???

Another one we aren't really sure of

Shiranami Ren, Raothtas

Raothtas = Astaroth

We don't have an explicit answer as to what his stigma does, but he was able to remove ink stains from the floor

Astaroth (also Ashtaroth, Astarot and Asteroth) is referred to in The Lesser Key of Solomon as a very powerful demon who commands 40 legions of demons. In art, in the Dictionnaire Infernal, Astaroth is depicted as a nude man with feathered wings, wearing a crown, holding a serpent in one hand, and riding a beast with dragon-like wings and a serpent-like tail. According to Sebastien Michaelis he is a demon of the First Hierarchy, who seduces by means of laziness, vanity, and rationalized philosophies. His adversary is St. Bartholomew, who can protect against him for he has resisted Astaroth's temptations. To others, he teaches mathematical sciences and handicrafts, can make men invisible and lead them to hidden treasures, and answers every question formulated to him. He was also said to give to mortal beings the power over serpents. His name is possibly taken from the goddess Asherah or Astarte.

Sinostra

Hoshibami Taiga, Malab

Malab = Balam

All we know is that he has good luck

Balam (also Balaam, Balan) is a great and powerful king of Hell who commands over forty legions of demons. He gives perfect answers on things past, present, and to come, and can also make men invisible and witty. Balam is depicted as being three-headed. One head is the head of a bull, the second of a man, and the third of a ram. He has flaming eyes and the tail of a serpent. He carries a hawk on his fist and rides a strong bear. At other times, he is represented as a naked man riding a bear.

Romeo Lucci, Tiris

Tiris = Sitri

He can turn things into bombs

Sitri (also spelled Bitru, Sytry) is a Great Prince of Hell, and reigns over sixty legions of demons. He causes men to love women and vice versa, and can make people bare themselves naked if desired. He is depicted with the face of a leopard and the wings of a griffin, but under the conjurer's request he changes into a very beautiful man.

Shinjo Ritsu, Acimo

Acimo = Camio

Ritsu's stigma lets him harden his body, to the point bullets cannot damage him

Camio (also Caim, Caym) appears in Ars Goetia, the first part of The Lesser Key of Solomon as a Great President of Hell, ruling over thirty legions of demons. Much detail is offered: he is a good disputer, gives men the understanding of the voices of birds, bullocks, dogs, and other creatures, and of the noise of the waters too, and gives true answers concerning things to come. He is depicted in 19th and 20th century occultist illustrations as appearing in the form of the black bird called a thrush, but soon he changes his shape into a man that has a sharp sword in his hand. When answering questions he seems to stand on burning ashes or coals.

Hotarubi

Kagami Subaru, Talnandio

Talnandio = Dantalion

Psychometry

Dantalion (or Dantalian) is a powerful Great Duke of Hell, with thirty-six legions of demons under his command; he is the 71st of 72 spirits of Solomon. He teaches all arts and sciences, and also declares the secret counsel of anyone, given that he knows the thoughts of all people and can change them at his will. He can also cause love and show the similitude of any person, show the same by means of a vision, and let them be in any part of the world they will. He is depicted as a man with many appearances, which means the faces of all men and women.

Kusanagi Haku, ???

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Kotodama Zenji, ???

ahhhh eto...bwehhhhh

Obscuary

Edward Hart, ???

thanks old man!

Mizuki Rui, ???

I don't recall him saying his stigma, but he's able to relieve pain and exhaustion temporarily.

Lyca Colt, Ramsochisa

Ramsochisa = Marchosias

He can follow the scent of anything, so long as he's smelled it before

Marchosias (also Marchocias) is a powerful Great Marquis of Hell, commanding thirty legions of demons. He is a strong and excellent fighter and very reliable to the conjurer, giving true answers to all questions. Marchosias hoped after 1,200 years to return to heaven with the non-fallen angels, but he is deceived in that hope. He is depicted as a wolf with a man's form as well as a griffin's wings and a serpent's tail, that under request changes shape into a man.

Mortkranken

Isami Yuri, Agnihaet

Agnihaet = Haagenti

10000 iq moment

Haagenti (also Haage, Hage) is a Great President of Hell, ruling thirty-three legions of demons. He makes men wise by instructing them in every subject, transmutes all metals into gold, and changes wine into water and water into wine. Haagenti is depicted as a big bull with the wings of a griffin, changing into a man under request of the conjurer.

Kirisaki Jiro, ???

wahoo

Let me know if I missed anything or got anything wrong! Hope this helps with your theorycrafting and oc making 💖

[bridgetotheskyyy]

Yuta; Public Sex

a/n: yuta and reader fuck in paris that's it lmaooo. 18+ only. Est relationship, reader's a horn dog lmaoo. wc 1.1k

Kinktober Masterlist

“Surprise!”

You whipped your head around, the voice familiar — too familiar — to be ignored.

“Yuta?”

Yuta’s smile lit up the Parisian night as you gawked at his mere presence. “Well, surprised?”

You flung into his arms with a squeal, becoming a spectacle for the people who breezed past the two of you on the sidewalk. “How did you manage to get here?”

Yuta explained, but you barely heard. It was just supposed to be a brief interlude in his time in Africa. It took Miguel some convincing. Yuta thought it’d be nice, romantic. Blah blah. You were too happy to care. 

“Maybe we should find a hotel,” Yuta said, grazing an adoring finger over your cheek. “So we can catch up?”

You smiled, deviancy overcoming reason as you pulled Yuta by his sleeve into an unbusied alleyway, unbothered by the legions of people leaving the party you’d just attended.

“Hm?” Yuta blinked. “He — Hey! What are you doing?”

You licked your lips, the months gone without seeing Yuta beginning to dawn on you as your eyes swept over his frame. “Why wait?”

Your meaning registered and Yuta’s face ran red. He glanced back at the sidewalk, the car seated on the narrow street. “But — but —“

“Don’t be such a worry-wart.” You knew the location was odd, but it was thrilling, the danger adrenalizing you

“It’s not that I’m not intrigued,” Yuta said, and you had to suppress a holler of delight. Yuta was just as kinky as you were, if not more. You wouldn’t be surprised to reach down and find a growing bulge tenting his pants at the thought. 

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t thought about taking me in public,” You said. “C’mon.” Yuta sucked in a breath as you pressed against him, dangling your lips dangerously close to his. “Yu-Yu. For me?”

Yuta’s eyes darkened at the pet name. Bingo.

Nice. Romantic. And apparently it was, because the next thing you knew Yuta had you pressed against the wall, hard body keeping you suppressed there while he humped his impressive tent into the valley of your thighs.

“Missed you,” he rasped. “Missed you so much …”

You left wet, lingering kisses on the gorgeous column of his neck. “I know …” Yuta let out a moan when you ran your flat tongue across his Adam's apple, withdrawing only to attack his throat with teeth. “I missed you, too.”

“Say it again,” he begged, a hand cupping your ass, groping the soft flesh there. His previous compunctions about being seen — or heard — seemingly abandoned as his hips bruisingly buck into yours. “Say it again, please.”

You sunk your hand into his sweatpants, fishing for the perfect cock that was rightfully yours. “Yu-Yu …”

Yuta rewarded you with a moan, another harsh buck into your hand. 

Your fingertips grazed his ballsack, the gesture positively come-hither, and you felt Yuta shiver around you. How easy it was to make him come apart. How you loved him. 

“You’re so cute, Yu-Yu.” You brushed a finger against his cockhead. “Want me to jerk you off, make you come right here?” You asked before nibbling into his neck, stroking the cock viced in your palm. 

“No …” Yuta moaned out, lurched over you, hands pressed into the brick of the wall as he rutted into you. He was a good foot taller than you; his presence overwhelming. “Wanna come inside you — please — nrgh —“

Despite the begging, Yuta reached under your skirt and pushed your panties aside, bathing his fingers in the wet of your folds. 

“Na — haa! Yuta!”

“So wet already,” Yuta rocked into your trembling hand. “And yet I’ve hardly done anything …”

You released his cock, doing what you could to suppress your writhing. You pulled his trousers and boxers around his thighs. You squeezed his forearm between your thighs to try and stop him. It wouldn’t do for his long, talented hands to play with your pussy. He wasn’t alone. You didn’t want to come until he was inside you, until he was the one to do it.

Yuta kissed you. You sighed, running your tongue over his. All the while too distracted to detect Yuta gripping his cock — until you felt his cockhead circle your tight hole. 

“Mmf!” 

Yuta buried himself inside you. Your head thudded against the wall as you took his huge cock. Yuta groped at your breast through your flimsy cami, fondling the tit while he thrust into you. All before growing tired of the distance between his hand and your skin and tugging your top down. Thankfully braless, his hand married with your tit again, trapping a nipple between two fingers.

You squealed when he bottomed out. “Oh, fuck.” This was undoubtedly your favorite part about bringing Yuta to his limits. His aggressive thrusts never failed to take you by surprise. For such a demure gentleman, he had no problem bullying your pussy like this — his cockhead knocking into your cervix as though intent to drill itself through. Or maybe it was the desperation grown out of distance that made him so particularly feral this time.

“So good …” Pants nearly pooled around Yuta’s ankles, his hips snapped into you, again and again. You saw him gaze down a second before his hand drifted south to tease your clit. “So good …”

You were delirious, back smacking into the wall with each powerful thrust. 

“Fu — fuck!” You grabbed hold of Yuta’s shoulders at the sound of approaching footsteps. “Yuta — I — someone’s coming —“

“I don’t care,”  Yuta replied, husky admission a brief interlude from the kisses he left on your skin. It was worthless to attempt to warn him anyway; if he was willing to fuck you this ferociously knowing he could be seen then the prospect of being seen would only spur him on farther. Yuta hiked your leg leg up over his shoulder to pound you more efficiently. “Let them see. You’re so beautiful …” Yuta’s words blew heated and hurried in your ear. “You’re mine …”

You let out a moan, too loud for comfort. Yuta’s tight circles over your clit, combined with the unrelenting bullying of his cock inside you, kept the meat of your attention. Even as a group of people passed by in your periphery, you only closed your eyes, hands running over your boyfriend’s back as he brought you closer to the edge.

Yuta’s drawn-out groan, how he buried his face in your neck, was how you knew he had come to his end. Knowing Yuta was painting your walls white with his spent, still fucking you through his own orgasm, using you, was enough to send you coming along with him. His mouth came over yours before a harpy-esque scream could escape. You clenched down around him, the pleasure centered in your clit painful.

Yuta slumped against you. You were sure your embrace around him was the only thing keeping him vertical. 

“I guess this is the story,” You began breathlessly, petting his raven-black hair, “of how my boyfriend was okay with us getting banned from visiting Paris ever again.”

“Hm …” Yuta kept you hanging for a proper reply for some time. Then: “Maybe.”

You snorted as he withdrew to give you space to rearrange your clothing. “If they catch us.”

[adumbratrapedme]

streamer!kenma x reader - secret relationship

Synopsis. kenma, in the peak of his career neglected y/n, but dont worry! our pudding head knows exactly how to fix things!

wc. 2,9k words | genre. angst to fluff | cw/tags. streamer!kenma x reader, angst to fluff, post time skip, neglect.

important ! Please if the content was of ur enjoyment dont doubt following me, liking and sharing ;D! maybe i'll make this a little series of streamer!kenma and his girlfriend lives, i have nothing else to say so, enojey! !

Kozume Kenma, or "kodzuken" to his online legion, had finally reached the apex of his streaming career. Years of relentless grinding had paid off, but success often comes with a price. Especially for a relationship... and a sometimes insecure girlfriend.

Y/N, once the undisputed star of Kenma's social media and life, felt a pang of loneliness. She was undeniably happy for her boyfriend, but ever since his rise to influencer status, things had changed. Gone were the days of their selfies plastered across his feeds. Now, his past posts, brimming with her face, were archived – a digital ghost town. Kenma, wary of online scrutiny, decided to keep their relationship private. While Y/N understood the logic, it gnawed at her. Five years together, built on trust and shared experiences, felt invisible to the world. Unknown to Kenma, sleepless nights plagued Y/N.

His phone buzzed incessantly, a constant barrage of love comments, fan messages professing love, and even DMs from other streamers seeking collaboration. Despite knowing Kenma's loyalty, a seed of doubt sprouted – a fear of being overshadowed by his online fame.

Today wasn't any different. Y/N woke to an empty space beside her, the familiar chill a stark contrast to Kenma's usual warmth. He was probably hunched over his computer again, another night sacrificed to the algorithm gods. A pang of sympathy stabbed at her. How could she blame him? Reaching the peak of streaming was his dream, and his excitement over the recent growth was infectious. All she wanted to do was support him, even if it meant sacrificing their mornings together.

Treading softly towards the studio, the faint glow of the monitor spilling into the hallway. Inside, Kenma was indeed sprawled on the worn couch, exhaustion etched on his face. She knelt beside him, her touch feather-light as she ran her fingers through his sleep-tousled hair.

"Ken… sweetheart," she whispered, her voice a gentle nudge. "Why didn't you join me in bed? Your back will hate you later."

Kenma stirred, a low groan escaping his lips. "Just… so tired, Y/N. Almost beat my viewer record last night." A hint of pride snuck into his voice despite the fatigue.

"Amazing, babe! That's fantastic news," Y/N beamed. "But sleep is important too. Come on, let's get you some proper rest. Breakfast is ready, I made your favorite – [insert Kenma's favorite food]."

His response was a mumbled curse, a stark contrast to his usual cheer. A frown tugged at Y/N's lips. Was he annoyed? She knew he was exhausted, but his reaction felt harsher than usual. Maybe she was overthinking it. Taking a deep breath, she nudged him again, this time a little more firmly.

"Up you get, sleepyhead. We can talk more after breakfast."

Moments later, Kenma shuffled out of the studio, a mix of exhaustion and… something else clouding his features. Y/N followed, her smile strained. Breakfast was ready, but the air between them felt thick, a potential storm brewing beneath the surface.

The breakfast was a tense affair. Kenma scrolled through his phone, barely picking at his food. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the clinking of his fork. Finally, Y/N decided to break the ice.

"Hey," she started cautiously, "I was thinking… we haven't really had any quality time together lately. Don't you think it would be nice to… maybe go somewhere tomorrow? Just the two of us?"

Before she could finish her suggestion, Kenma let out a heavy sigh. "Y/N, I can't tomorrow, or today for that matter. I'm swamped. There's this charity stream thing with some new, up-and-coming streamer. My manager practically forced me to do it."

A flicker of disappointment crossed Y/N's face, but she quickly plastered on a smile. "Oh, I see. No worries, I understand completely. You're busy, that's perfectly fine." Her voice held a hint of forced cheerfulness.

A beat of silence hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions.

"Of course I understand," Y/N continued, her voice dropping to a low murmur. Maybe a little too low. "My name isn't Kozume 'Always Understanding' Y/N, after all."

Kenma finally looked up from his phone, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean? What are you getting at?"

Y/N's carefully constructed smile faltered. A surge of frustration bubbled within her. "Maybe," she said, her voice tight, "you should consider what being 'Kozume Understanding' actually costs sometimes."

Kenma pushed back from the table, barely touching his breakfast. "Look, I appreciate you trying to be supportive, but I have a lot on my plate right now. I gotta get everything set up for today's stream." He mumbled something about needing more coffee and practically bolted out of the room.

Y/N sat alone at the table, the untouched food mocking her. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. Understanding was one thing, but feeling invisible was a whole other story. The air crackled with unspoken resentment, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

A few hours had crawled by since the breakfast debacle. Y/N found herself folding warm laundry in the bedroom, the rhythmic whoosh of the dryer a monotonous lullaby. In an attempt to bridge the gap, she turned on the TV, pulling up Kenma's stream. He was just a few rooms away, physically close yet emotionally distant. Tuning in had always been a source of comfort, a way to connect even when they were apart.

But today, the comfort was replaced by a gnawing emptiness. The stream displayed two camera feeds: Kenma on one side, and a girl on the other. The unfamiliar face sent a jolt through Y/N. So, this was the "new streamer" Kenma mentioned. Y/N hadn't expected a girl.

They were playing Minecraft, a stark contrast to the usual high-octane games Kenma gravitated towards. The girl was chirping cheerfully, gathering flowers, while Kenma focused on mining deep underground. A humorless chuckle escaped Y/N's lips. How predictable.

Despite his focus, the chat box buzzed with activity. "Great duo!" "Shipping them so hard!" "You two should collab more often!" The girl, clearly enjoying the attention, punctuated her flower-picking with playful glances towards Kenma and flirtatious comments. He, on the other hand, seemed oblivious, a mix of annoyance and feigned disinterest etched on his features. He muttered a few sarcastic replies, clearly trying to deflect her advances.

But Y/N wasn't convinced. The way the girl preened, the way the chat reacted, it all felt… intrusive. A subtle shift began to gnaw at her. Maybe it wasn't just the lack of quality time that bothered her. Maybe it was the realization that this new reality, this world Kenma inhabited, wasn't one she felt comfortable sharing.

With a decisive click, Y/N shut off the TV. Enough boyfriend content for one day, she thought bitterly. Intellectually, she knew there was nothing wrong with Kenma collaborating with another streamer, especially a girl. Yet, a suffocating tightness constricted her chest.

It wasn't just the girl's undeniable beauty – the cascading hair, the infectious voice, the effortless charm that seemed to captivate the chat. It was the way the internet, that ever-hungry beast, latched onto the situation.

Four hours. That's all it took for the fandom to erupt. Fan art depicting them as a couple flooded Twitter. A dedicated hashtag, #KenmaAndQueen (Queen being the other streamer's username, no doubt), trended at an alarming rate. The internet worked in mysterious ways, Y/N thought, a humorless laugh escaping her lips.

Tears pricked at her eyes as she scrolled through clips people had already made of the stream. The girl's relentless flirting, the forced interactions designed to fuel speculation – it all felt like a cruel parody of their own relationship. Y/N couldn't hold back any longer. Fat tears streamed down her face, blurring the screen.

The last few months of loneliness and neglect had taken their toll. The trickle of tears transformed into a torrent, sobs wracking Y/N's body. The sound was probably louder than she'd intended, echoing through the house.

A few minutes later, Kenma appeared at the bedroom door, his face etched with concern. "Y/N? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Y/N's sobs intensified, her voice barely a whisper. "Kenma," she managed to choke out, "do you like Queen?"

Kenma's brow furrowed in confusion. "Queen? What do you mean?"

"The streamer you were with today," Y/N explained, her voice trembling. "Do you like her? Is she better than me? Prettier? Funnier?"

Her words hung in the air, heavy with insecurity. She felt like a shadow compared to Queen's radiant presence, her own worth diminishing with each passing moment.

Kenma's eyes widened in disbelief. "Y/N, what are you talking about? Queen is just a colleague. I don't like her in that way. And you're the most amazing, beautiful, and intelligent person I know. Don't ever compare yourself to anyone else."

He gently pulled her into a hug, his warmth radiating through her. "I love you, Y/N. More than words can say. You're the only one for me."

Y/N's tears subsided, replaced by a sense of relief. Kenma's words were like a balm to her wounded soul. She nuzzled into his embrace, feeling safe and loved.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice still laced with emotion. "I just felt so insecure watching you with her. The fans, the comments, the whole situation just got to me."

Kenma chuckled softly. "I understand, love. But you have nothing to worry about. You're my everything, and no one could ever replace you."

He held her tighter, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of her emotions. Y/N felt a surge of gratitude for this man who saw her for who she truly was, insecurities and all.

As they sat in silence, enveloped in each other's embrace, a sense of peace settled over Y/N. Kenma's words had not magically erased her insecurities, but they had offered a glimmer of hope, a reminder that their love was strong enough to weather any storm. An idea sparked in Kenma's eyes. He reached for Y/N's hand, his expression a mix of determination and nervousness. "Come on," he said gently, pulling her towards his streaming room.

Y/N's heart hammered against her ribs. She wasn't sure what Kenma was planning, but a sliver of hope flickered within her. They entered the room, the familiar hum of the computer the only sound. Kenma settled back into his gaming chair, gesturing for Y/N to stand beside him, just out of frame.

He took a deep breath and addressed the chat. "Hey everyone, sorry for the sudden break. Thanks to some attentive viewers, it seems you might have heard some… background noise." He glanced at Y/N, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yep, those cries were from my amazing girlfriend here."

A collective gasp, presumably from Queen, erupted from the speakers. Y/N felt a wave of heat flush her cheeks. Kenma ignored it, his focus laser-sharp.

"The truth is," he continued, his voice low and sincere, "I haven't been the best boyfriend lately. I let my career take priority, neglecting the most important person in my life." Y/N's breath caught in her throat.

He reached out, gently taking her hand in his. "This is me, publicly apologizing. Y/N, I've been a jerk, and I want to change that." He squeezed her hand, his eyes locking with hers, conveying a wealth of emotions that transcended words.

A beat of silence hung in the air, thick with tension. Then, with a swift movement, Kenma pulled Y/N closer, framing her face in the camera's view. "This," he declared, his voice husky, "is the most amazing, supportive, and thankfully, understanding girlfriend a guy could ask for." He leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a tender kiss.

"Isn't she the prettiest?" Kenma murmured against her skin, a playful glint in his eyes. He pulled back slightly, cupping her face, his gaze holding hers. A blush bloomed across Y/N's cheeks, a mixture of relief, surprise, and a flicker of possessiveness aimed at the unseen Queen.

Kenma chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "Alright everyone, enough mush for one day. We'll be back with the stream shortly, but for now, I have some serious apologizing to do." He winked at Y/N, a silent promise hanging in the air.

[bookwormjust]

Hearts of Iron

(established relationship with Cassian, you are a healer who created a clinic for trauma more specially traumatic events of war)

The sun had barely begun to rise over the mountains of Velaris as you made your way to the Healing Center. It was a quiet walk, the streets still empty at this early hour. Your footsteps echoed lightly on the cobblestones as you breathed in the cool, crisp morning air.

Being a psychologist for soldiers and those scarred by war was never easy. You carried the weight of their pain with you, their stories etched in your mind long after your sessions had ended. But it was a calling you’d accepted wholeheartedly—a way to help heal the broken, just as you had once been.

As Cassian’s mate, you understood all too well the toll that battle and violence could take on a person’s spirit. Your own mate had seen more wars and bloodshed than most could ever comprehend, and while he wore his bravado like armor, you knew the depth of the scars that lay beneath.

You arrived at the Healing Center, the building a familiar sight after all these years. The scent of herbs and healing magic clung to the air as you stepped inside, greeting the other healers and counselors with a warm smile.

Your first session was with a soldier from the Illyrian legions, one who had been injured in a skirmish weeks ago. He had seen his comrades fall, had barely survived himself, and now the nightmares haunted him every time he closed his eyes. You spent the morning with him, listening patiently as he spoke, guiding him through breathing exercises when his hands began to tremble, offering quiet words of reassurance when the weight of his trauma became too much to bear.

After he left, you leaned back in your chair, exhaustion creeping in. You loved what you did, but days like these—when the hurt was too raw, too fresh—could leave you feeling drained.

It was then that you felt a familiar presence in your mind. Cassian’s voice slid into your thoughts like a warm breeze, his tone gentle but playful. How’s my beautiful mate doing? I miss you.

A smile tugged at your lips despite the heaviness in your chest. Tired, but I’m managing, you replied. Just had a tough session. But I’ll be home soon.

You’re incredible, you know that? His voice was filled with pride and warmth, and you could practically feel the love radiating through the bond. What you do for these soldiers… for these people… It means more than you know.

You sighed softly, leaning your head back against the chair. I’m just trying to help, Cass. They’ve been through so much—just like you have.

There was a pause, and then his voice returned, quieter this time. You’ve helped me too, more than I can ever put into words.

Your heart squeezed at the sincerity in his voice. Even after all this time, it still surprised you how open and vulnerable Cassian could be with you. To the world, he was the General of the Illyrian legions, fearless and unbreakable. But with you, he was just Cassian—the male who trusted you with his heart, his wounds, his soul.

I’m so lucky to have you, you sent back, your love and gratitude echoing through the bond.

And I’m the luckiest male alive to have you as my mate, he replied, his tone lighter now. But don’t push yourself too hard, okay? I’m counting the minutes until you’re home.

You chuckled softly, warmth flooding your chest. I won’t. I’ll see you soon.

The rest of your day passed in a blur of sessions and consultations. You saw a mix of soldiers and civilians, each one carrying their own story of pain, of loss. And with each one, you offered what you could—an ear to listen, words of guidance, tools to help them begin to rebuild the pieces of their lives.

By the time the sun had set, you were exhausted, but there was also a sense of fulfillment in knowing you had made a difference, even if it was small.

When you finally walked through the front door of your home, the familiar scent of leather and spices greeted you. Cassian was waiting for you in the living room, his large form sprawled across the couch, wings draped lazily over the back. His hazel eyes lit up the moment he saw you, a grin spreading across his face.

“There’s my beautiful mate,” he said, his voice full of affection.

You couldn’t help but smile as you kicked off your shoes and made your way over to him. Without a word, he opened his arms wide, and you sank into his embrace, your small form enveloped by his warmth. His wings curled protectively around you as you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

Cassian pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hand rubbing gentle circles against your back. “Rough day?” he asked softly.

You nodded, closing your eyes as you relaxed against him. “Yeah. But it’s better now.”

His arms tightened around you, holding you close as if to shield you from the weight of the world. “You do so much for everyone else,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

You smiled against his chest, the comfort of his presence washing away the exhaustion from your day. “I’d like that,” you whispered.

And as you lay there, wrapped in his arms, you knew that no matter how heavy the burden of your work became, you would always have this—this love, this safety, this male who cherished you beyond words.

Cassian’s hand slipped into yours, his fingers entwining with yours as he held you close. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re stronger than anyone I know.”

You squeezed his hand, your heart full as you whispered back, “Only because I have you by my side.”

[heylittleriotact]

*banging pots and pans* Come get your angst! Delicious, heart wrenching Emmrook angst!

𝑀𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒷𝓊𝓃𝒹

adjective

1. near death

2.  stagnant; without force or vitality

One of us needs to consider my mortality.

Had he known what would happen hours later, he would have chosen very different words indeed.

It was a foolish assertion in hindsight - a weak argument and he knew it: Amina was always considering mortality. His, hers, and everyone else’s.

A study of Emmrich's perspective after Rook goes missing: we get to bear witness to a scruffy, smelly, devastated man up to his neck in self-loathing, as well as the spirits that help him.

Contains heavy Act 3 spoilers - proceed at your own risk!

Full under the cut or on ao3

Day 0:

It was extremely unorthodox thinking - there was no evidence or theory supporting any circumstance where it might work: without a body on this side of the Veil to serve as a ballast, it was wishful thinking at best, but he had to try. Not trying meant accepting, and he refused to accept that she was gone - lost forever to the Dread Wolf’s prison. Not with their exchange from the night before being what it was…

That couldn’t be the end. 

He excused himself curtly from the others upon their arrival back at the Lighthouse, expertly sidestepping any inquiries after his own wellbeing that followed him doggedly until they were silenced by the laboratory door slamming shut behind him. Might he have come off as callous? Perhaps. Did he care? Not presently. The time for contrition would come later.

Questions lingered about the specifics of what had happened, but it was easy enough to infer by the fact that Solas walked free and Amina had seemingly vanished from existence, she had been made to take his place in the prison he’d been trapped in. Solas had been able to survive there in that pocket of the Fade, so that meant that Amina could too… for a time at least, if not indefinitely. 

He was going to get her out. 

But first…

He stood in the middle of the room and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in, holding it… then slowly letting it go in a measured, disciplined exhalation that helped to slow his racing heart as he forced his body back into a state of calm: no mean feat when one comprehended the heaviness of the air as it pressed in around him, the tragic gravity of his task weighing on him.

He lifted his hands, felt the comforting susurrations of the Veil playing over, through, between his fingers as he trailed them through seemingly empty space: a lonely conductor at the podium, leading an invisible orchestra… the melancholy composer of a poignant dirge. 

Threads unravelled with the morose, introspective swell of a cello’s baleful hum, and the vast mystery of Beyond sang to him, a faceless, nebulous chorus of voices, ageless and legion. Some were joyful, others despondent, but they all maintained a pristine harmony that would cause even the most cruel and unfeeling of souls to take pause for the sheer perfection of their sound.

He swallowed away the tightness in his throat. Forced strength into his craven voice. Focused on the familiar verdant light that filtered through his eyelids. 

“Hear me, Amina - with my voice I am calling you!” He sent the words beyond the Veil, where no one may ever hear them again. “I set this beacon for you now: a beacon that will guide you home. Follow my voice. Follow me home: we are waiting for you…. I am waiting for you.” 

With a gesture of his hand that would look very complicated to anyone observing, he tethered the invisible line he had cast into the Fade to the only body in the room: his. Traditionally this particular spell was called upon to guide wayward spirits back to their hosts, or in rare cases, draw the spirit of a dying person back from the Fade before it was too late to resuscitate them. That anchor point in the world of the living was vital for the magic to work, but since Amina left behind no body, Emmrich could only live in hope that her spirit was as tightly bound to him as he suspected his was to her. 

It was likely folly: what affection could survive his cowardice? His preening ignorance? His vainglorious proclivity for driving something away as transcendentally pure as love itself?

But he had to try: at the very least she could live to despise him for the rest of her days. 

The green light faded as his hands stilled and the notes of the symphony resolved. Silence returned so harshly it physically hurt. He opened his eyes and clasped his hands together as he so often did. 

“I need you, dear…”

Perhaps she would hear that too. 

Day 2: 

He was awake well into the early morning hours communing with the dead, listening through the Veil for a whisper, a rumour - any rumblings amongst the spirits that would avail him of his darkest thoughts: even confirmation that she was alive would be enough. 

The spirits were indeed talkative, but not a single one seemed aware of the presence of a mortal woman in their realm.

He wept for the first time that morning as her absence in its totality hit him all at once - the first of many times that tears would be shed in the coming days as he curled around her scent-heavy pillow on the settee in her room. 

The couch which ordinarily felt rather cramped when they both shared it now seemed devastatingly wide and empty without her tangled up in him, giggling softly as she slotted her thigh between his and slipped a hand up the back of his shirt to shock him with the coldness of it against his skin.

Gone. She was gone, and it was entirely his doing…

Day 4:

It had taken precisely eight words to destroy everything, as Johanna’s remains were so eager to point out before he had her temporarily removed to a quiet alcove elsewhere in the Lighthouse. It was an astute observation, and he couldn’t find it within himself to offer a rebuttal to her further assessment that he was a ridiculous gloating twat with a truly awe-inspiring gift for cataclysmically fucking things up for every single poor soul that happened to cross paths with him.

One of us needs to consider my mortality. 

Had he known what would happen hours later, he would have chosen very different words indeed.

It was a foolish assertion in hindsight - a weak argument and he knew it: Amina was always considering mortality. His, hers, and everyone else’s. If life was a sentence in a book, death was simply the appropriate punctuation that marked the end of it: without it, the sentence lost all of its weight and meaning. 

She always spoke so romantically about the inevitability of that final mystery - the peace and freedom from pain and fear that would come with it, and the comforting guarantee of an end in a world where one could seldom rely on the guarantee of anything: food, fortune… love. To her, it was part of a treasured natural order, responsible for everything from the stars in the sky to the worms in the dirt. She was enchanted by mortality… he loathed it.

He dragged his hands through his greasy hair, hunched over an old and fragile tome.A tear splashed on the page, and not wanting to damage the delicate paper even in this state, he wiped it away.

His eyes itched and felt swollen - he didn’t need to look in a mirror to know they were bloodshot from long hours of focusing on print, missed sleep, and periodic bouts of pain and regret that would descend upon him like some great, vicious bird of wrath. It ravaged him with its talons and plucked at his insides with its wicked beak, discarding his guts methodically as it rooted around inside of him for its favored meats: his liver and his kidneys - bloody and succulent. His heart was left untouched by the cruel raptor… it wanted him to feel everything, and he welcomed its agonizing ministrations as he toiled endlessly, trying to find a way to fix his mistake. 

It was his mistake after all. 

“It wasn’t your fault!” Neve had insisted the first time he dared to speak the truth aloud. 

A thoughtful sentiment, but worthless when held up to the light: he had instructed Amina to seize the dagger from Ghilan’nain’s corpse, and she obeyed without question because she trusted him implicitly.

He had been told after the collapse that the death of his parents wasn’t his fault either - as if that was of any real comfort to a traumatized child, newly orphaned and numb with grief. 

Of course it wasn’t his fault - even as a young boy he knew the catastrophic failure of the building wasn’t his doing, but people said ignorant things when they didn’t know what else to say. Things that took root in the heart of a young man, replacing his grief over the years with a solemn and defiant indignance: ‘it wasn’t your fault,’ ‘it was the Maker’s will,’ ‘they’re in a better place now,’ ‘at least they didn’t suffer…’

Why would the benevolent and loving Maker will that a small child should be made to grow up without the love and protection of his Mother and Father? What divine goodness was there in stripping him of that and forcing him to carry the burden of their fates for the rest of his life?

Did people really put any thought to the shallow platitudes they babbled to fill space and tidily rationalize that which is utterly and completely irrational? Or was it merely a performance to give the one who offered them some measure of absolution - a sense that they’ve done the ‘right’ and ‘helpful’ thing in such a circumstance, when in fact they’ve unknowingly heaped another layer of despair on top of an already smothering, lonely mound of it?

Dizzying, petulant questions he had pondered for years… bitter, angry little things that buzzed around his head like grave-flies: when one died, three more seemed to take its place. 

A small, dark part of him - a squirming, fanged thing with gnashing teeth and a tongue like a wooden switch had been sorely tempted to enlighten Neve to the futility of her words… perhaps subject her to what would come across as an overly curt and somewhat sardonic lecture on what one might instead choose to say to a bereaved person that wasn’t the verbal equivalent of spitting in a wound and rubbing salt in it. He might have made her cry, and he would have felt shameful for it later, but in the moment he would have taken what glee he could find in the seed of misery he planted in the world.

Instead he stuffed that wicked, bristling, fanged shade of himself away and reminded himself that Neve was grieving too… as were the rest of them. Not only was Rook gone, but Harding had bravely given her life to defeat Ghilan’nain. Bellara had been captured by the enemy, her fate unknown…

The Lighthouse had taken on the solemn stillness of a mourning parlor, and he should have been the most understanding and compassionate among them of their shared sorrow. He should have been helping them:  shepherding them ably through the tribulations and challenging waves of emotion they would grapple with over the days and weeks to come like he was solemnly sworn to do, but he couldn’t… not when his every thought was occupied by her and the sheer, unrelenting compulsion to right this wrong: he was responsible for her being caught in Solas’ trap - it fell to him to get her out. 

Her hips swayed with her familiar feminine gait as she strolled away from him in a memory, and her dark hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot… she was breathtakingly radiant in the morning.

He never got to tell her that every morning he got to spend with her - disheveled, heavy-eyed, and often in a state of partial undress - was more precious than life itself to him. He never got to tell her how much he admired her maturity and well-organized mind, because the truth of it was that despite his enviable list of accomplishments and considerable years of experience, Amina possessed an enterprising bravery he knew could not be learned from a book. 

Before the day ended he called through the Veil to her again, and as it had each time, the echo of his words came back empty.

“Oh darling…” He said to the absolute silence of the laboratory. “I’m so sorry.” 

Just like Neve, he knew she’d tell him it wasn’t his fault.

Day 7: 

He had been immersed in the dagger: the act of shaping the raw shard of lyrium into something deliberate and precise. It hung in the air, rotating slowly as he manipulated the Veil around it, giving the material form and purpose. Solas’s dagger was the key to the prison, and he had reclaimed it when he freed himself. Rather than wasting valuable time trying to get it back, it had been communally decided that attempting to duplicate it would be a wiser course of action. Letting Amina go - abandoning her to her fate - was no more of an option for their companions than it was for Emmrich.

He had thrown himself into the work - it gave him purpose and an outlet for the despair that threatened to overwhelm him when his hands and mind stilled for too long.

It was momentum. A direction. 

“Pondering, planning, praying–”

Emmrich nearly leapt out of his skeleton - the shard of lyrium clattered to the workbench. He put out his hand to keep it from bouncing over the edge and shattering on the floor. 

“Never a man of faith - but what else is there to turn to when reason has fled? ‘Please keep her safe.’ Words whispered through a curtain of song: ‘Darling, come home.’”

He took a breath and turned around, finding himself face to face with a spectral woman with ragged, dirty hair and a tattered, stained gown. Her translucent, faintly glowing form was in an advanced state of decomposition: her tongue dangled morbidly from her mouth, attached by the smallest scrap of connective tissue. Her skin was mottled and discoloured and sagged tenuously from the outline of her skull. He could see all of her teeth - not due to a smile or a snarl, but because her lips had dehydrated and withered away.

A rather unusual form for a spirit of this variety to take, he decided. It was a blessing she decided to manifest here in the laboratory and not Taash’s room - she would have given them quite a fright. 

But was he truly so wretched that he had drawn Yearning to this place?

The spirit seemed to pick up on his moment of self-pity and it stiffened slightly, smoothing its decayed hands over the skirt of its ruined dress as it tossed what remained of its hair testily. 

“At least there exists one Watcher who can identify me correctly.” Her voice was an autumn breeze, sharp and stinging. 

He examined her closer, lifted a hand and felt her aura tingle against the bare skin of his palm. “Oh, my apologies,” he pulled the hand back and twined his fingers together in front of himself. “Devotion. I’m humbled by your presence given the circumstances. It couldn’t be that you’ve heard anything in the rippling currents of the Fade?”

“No.” The answer was abrupt but not unkind - the spirit did not dally with unnecessary semantics. “The Lost Watcher is hidden from all but the oldest and most sensitive of us, but she is a being of unique substance and did a great service and kindness unto me once - as she has done for many before me.”

Though the sting that came with confirmation that she was deeply, deeply hidden in the Fade hurt, he couldn’t help but be warmed with a sense of pride by the reminder that his Amina was a champion for spirits like Devotion and had spent her life aiding such beings… a fact that was clearly known amongst spiritkind. 

Glowing green eyes landed on the rough likeness of the dagger on the workbench. “I have heard of you, Professor Volkarin. The others whisper of you even in the deepest halls of the Necropolis as I soothe their loneliness and seek to mend that which has broken them. I would not have found them if not for her.”

He’d heard rumours months earlier of a spirit that had manifested in the deepest, most rarely travelled corridors of the Necropolis. Despite its lesser classification it allegedly sought out the maligned and tormented and cared for them stalwartly with a dedication that was nothing short of admirable. If Amina had been the one responsible for it manifesting in the Necropolis in the first place…

Another thing added to the ever-growing list of things he wanted to ask about - there were so many stories he wanted to hear… but he wanted to hear them from her.

“I will remain here with you, Corpse Whisperer while you toil to reunite with your beloved. I cannot do much, but I can keep the likes of Sorrow and Diffidence at bay, for they are drawn to your labours as I was. Work, Watcher… and I will keep you safe.” 

Day 11:

Was she even still alive? The thought burst into his mind unbidden, taking immediate precedence over the words he was half trying to read. Had she languished away by now, her mortal body incapable of sustaining itself in a prison designed for immortal gods? Beyond the need for obvious necessities like food and water, what horrors lurked in that place as retribution for the sins of the gods? Could she defend herself indefinitely? And if she had died, were those final moments peaceful: the welcoming of the sunset at the end of a long day? Or were they desperate seconds that stretched into eternity as she realized her impending and unavoidable demise, her entire being gripped with loneliness and terror as life slipped from her grasp like the finest grains of sand…

“No.” The assertion possessed defiance he didn’t think he was capable of. “I cannot think like that.”

She isn’t dead… she can’t be dead for the simple fact that there’s so much I have yet to say to her…

Denial, this was called, and it was a common coping mechanism amongst the bereaved. The mind was tremendously skilled at protecting itself during times of immense emotional and psychological strain. Comforting rationale would parse itself into a neatly packaged alternative that was easier to confront than the truth - a temporary neurological repair not meant to last forever, but rather allow one to withstand the immediate shock of a loss. But was he suffering the rigors of grief, or was he on the right path with his stubborn refusal to accept anything that didn’t result in Amina warm and safe and alive in his arms?

Did he even deserve her back after how he’d treated her? 

Devotion was a welcome companion and had been a tremendous balm to his soul with its presence alone, but as hours drained away and days seemingly raced past, it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore the mounting odds that there may not be a favourable outcome to this problem. 

He heaved a sigh and straightened in his chair, his spine protesting at the sudden shift in positioning. He ran a hand pensively over his chin as he stared at the pages upon pages of notes, figures, and calculations before him, decently lengthy stubble rasping against his palm. He normally wouldn’t be caught dead with even a day’s growth shading his jaw, but these were extenuating circumstances indeed. That’s what he told himself at least - the truth was that he couldn’t bear to look himself in the mirror for the guilt he carried. 

He could have just ignored it - that persistent tightness in his chest that forecasted the all-encompassing terror that would consume him in short order, stampeding through his body and reducing him to a shivering, clammy skinned likeness of a man. He could have done the intelligent thing and kept it to himself instead of trying to appease it by feeding it more pain. But no. He was Emmrich Volkarin - a smart man; an overachiever; an academic and philosophical force of nature - he knew what was best for him in that moment… and what was best for her, because for all of her quaint cheerful talk about death over breakfast, she hadn’t the faintest idea what she was talking about, and honestly, that pointy, vile little part of himself that he kept shackled with clever repartee and gentlemanly manners wanted to break that naive innocence.

So he bit. He lashed out like one of the dirty, malnourished, terrified strays that scurried between the narrow gaps of the crumbling buildings in the part of the capital that he called home in his youth. His brittle fangs caught skin and drew blood as he called her age and maturity into question, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before someone hunted him down and put him out of his misery - too dangerous, you see: the world has no need for a creature prone to such violence, even if it was shaped by its circumstances…

Perhaps he belonged in that prison with the gods. Perhaps the Maker had seen fit to free his parents from him: if they were dead, they no longer had to deal with the burden of a third mouth to feed while earning enough gold to maybe sustain one. Perhaps death had been freedom and relief for Rupert and Elannora Volkarin, because there was something wrong with little Emmrich, and it was in everyone’s best interests that he was alone. Perhaps the Maker looked upon Amina with that same kindness and called her away too, not willing to subject this kind, lonely woman to the wrongness that was Emmrich, and his carefully crafted palisade of goodwill that could only temporarily conceal the utter rot that dwelled beyond it. 

He stared sullenly at the now room temperature bowl of roasted tomato soup Lucanis had brought him hours earlier. He couldn’t remember the last thing he’d eaten. Maybe a handful of the spicy peppermint candies that Amina was so taken with. Shortly after she started spending more and more time in the laboratory with him, she strutted through the door one day with a bowl full of them that she set on the mantelpiece, declaring that she was tired of going back and forth to her room to get more every time she fancied another. 

He was always telling her that she couldn’t live on mints and needed to eat properly and look after herself. He ought to take his own advice, but the very thought of food only made his already unsettled stomach turn on itself more. 

His eyes returned to the page as he tried and failed to summon the formidable academic concentration that had gotten him this far in life. 

It was so odd how the words on paper kept replacing themselves with the words he should have said to Amina that night instead of hurling insults at her.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…

He sniffled and rubbed his eyes again, wiping away tears with the heels of his hands. He was so tired of crying. He had cried so much already. Couldn’t he be finished with crying?

He knew if he asked her that question, she’d look at him with that serious but perceiving smile of hers… maybe run her hand soothingly down his arm and say, “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, but I’ll keep you company if you’d like: shared sorrow is a halved burden.” 

Fade take him… what a fool he was…

“Professor?” 

Emmrich flinched at the unexpected greeting and looked up. Had Davrin been standing there long? His eyes flicked over to Devotion standing by the door only a few feet from Davrin - it seemed that she was invisible to everyone but himself.

“Davrin,” he put on what he knew to be a cheerful, amiable tone that might have been believable if not for the complete absence of vitality behind it. “What can I help you with?”

He’d spent so much of his life helping the living and the dead to avoid confronting his own horrors… the loss of his parents, his fear of death, the deep and persistent suspicion that he wasn’t worthy of love - why stop now? 

The warden considered him, his handsome face grim and somewhat drawn; that usual fiery spark gone from his warm eyes. Emmrich watched those eyes take note of the untouched tomato soup, then the tear tracks on his gaunt cheeks. “Assan is going stir-crazy, and honestly I think I am too. I thought I’d see if you and Manfred wanted to come for a walk with us. The fresh air and a change of scenery might do you some good… inspire some grand epiphany or whatever you want to call it.”

The mockery of a smile slid off of Emmrich’s face. Davrin surely meant well, but even the fact that he’d asked was yet another painful reminder that she was gone: Amina was the one that usually ventured out with them. “Oh. That’s… that’s very kind of you to offer, Davrin, but I simply haven’t a moment to spare. Every second that passes is precious, and I believe I’m nearing a breakthrough with the tuning of the metaphysical oscillations in the lyrium dagger… I dare not walk away now.” 

It was a blatant and terrible lie: the dagger was on the other side of the room on his workbench where it had sat untouched for two days. Despite this, Davrin seemed to possess the decency to pretend he bought the falsehood. 

“You’re always on her case about taking care of herself - maybe consider taking your own advice, Emmrich: you can’t find a way to bring her back if you’re dead.” 

There was truth in the warden’s words that echoed his own thoughts, but Emmrich struggled to feel inspired by them. 

If he had been the one to retrieve the dagger instead, he could be the one to die alone in the Fade, and she would still be here… safe. Broken hearted, surely, but she would have recovered in time…

He bid Davrin farewell and paced over to the workbench, sitting into his hip and wrinkling his nose slightly. He stared at the softly glowing twin of the dagger bound to Amina’s fate. It would not be arrogant to say that it was an impressive fake. He’d never handled the original personally, but he’d watched Amina fidget with it enough that he was confident that he hadn’t overlooked a single seemingly insignificant detail - he was willing to bet that it was identical right down to the weight. 

A shame that a pretty fake was all it would ever be. 

Their plan to duplicate Solas’ dagger had screeched to a gutting halt when it became clear that there existed no means to enchant the dagger such that it would function the same as the original - not without accessing the unique aural resonances of the Fade that remained a mystery to anyone who didn’t happen to be an ancient elf. His theory was that Solas and the evanuris’ connection to the Fade was fundamentally different on a physiological level than that of a modern mortal. Whether that was a byproduct of their spiritual origin, or the result of them manifesting physically millennia earlier, he couldn’t rightly say… all that mattered was that unless he found a way to transform himself into an ancient elf, the dagger would remain as useless as Neve’s platitudes... 

It was a petty, childish fantasy to stare at the dagger and imagine what it would look like buried up to the hilt in Solas’ eye socket, but when he could feel himself becoming overwhelmed with hopelessness and despair, it helped keep him going. 

Few could guess by looking at him, but he was a creature driven by quiet anger: injustices and wrongs, big and small, collected and deliberately curated; claimed with the same detached fascination one might feel when they spot an interesting stone on a riverbank and slip it into their pocket. 

As he amassed success and wealth and renown, he remembered those who had done wrong to himself and others, and he learned how to smile easily at them with warmth and kindness in his eyes as he shook their hands. He even learned to forgive some of them. 

But he never, ever forgot what they were capable of, and he never ever let himself be fooled into believing that they were good and decent people. 

This ire for a spirit was unusual for him, but impossible to let go of: had Solas known? Had he any idea what Amina meant to him? That she was a beloved person, and so much more than the piece on the chessboard that she was named for? Certainly as a spirit Solas would struggle with the seemingly static, immutable nature of people, but that hadn’t been enough to stop him from falling in love with the Inquisitor, had it? He was not so bound to his spiritual nature that the concept of love was beyond him. 

The fact that Solas was originally a spirit and Emmrich was sworn to protect his kind did not excuse him of the fact that he betrayed Amina… perhaps even killed her.

Her. Amina. Rook. The woman he’d known for such a short time, and whom he could no longer imagine life without. He needed her back - was that so hard for Wisdom to comprehend? Life without her was as much a shallow mockery as the dagger he’d crafted. 

He had waited so long for her - all but resigned himself to a life empty of the companionship and love that he craved with a desperation that had hollowed him out over the years, etching unwritten sonnets and love notes into his ribs until he was certain those words would die with him: an epitaph on the monument of his bones. He would take them to his grave where they would desiccate and become dust with him - imbibed and consumed slowly by uncaring, unfeeling time. 

He could have spent their last night together reading those words to her: letting her peel away his flesh and muscle so she could split open his chest and bear sacred witness to every secret hope and abandoned dream. He should have breathed them directly into her lungs between long, hungry kisses that would serve as his confession that the that his sacrosanct duty as a Mourn Watcher was little more than a facade now, for he no longer belonged to the living and the dead: he belonged to her, body and soul… with what life dwelled in his breast and what eternity his soul could endure. 

But he had done none of those things, and he could almost hear the Dread Wolf laughing at what his hesitation had cost him.

All he could do now was keep working… keep trying. Keep thinking. 

Day 15:

In his dream, he found himself in the vast center of nebulous nothing. There was no sky, no ground, no walls. Nothing with which to orientate himself - up, down - such things appeared not to exist here. 

The only other thing occupying it aside from himself was a faintly shimmering golden haze. It stretched into eternity in all directions. Endless. Incomprehensible.

He might have been gripped with terror at the idea of being alone in a place as strange as this, but he knew better than that: he was most certainly not alone. Of course he was terrified, but more awestruck than anything: if this was what he suspected it to be, this was a very, very rare encounter.

“To what do I owe this great honour?” He spoke into the golden eternity.

Two small suns burst into existence before him. They glowed with white hot fire, but radiated only a gentle warmth that permeated every cell of his being. Slowly the miniature stars rotated around each other, and a voice spoke that he perceived not with his ears, but with his soul, the agelessness and sheer power of it driving the breath from his lungs.

“One who has been drawn to this place many a time as I wander to and fro. Were you aware that it was once a refuge for the newly liberated?”

Its voice almost hurt - it felt like it was vibrating through him at such a frequency that it might rip him apart. Not its fault… it was a trait that likely came with being older than measurable time…

“I was aware,” he responded collegially. “It makes sense that such souls would attract Hope.” 

The orbs of light circled each other slowly… passed through one another in a smooth, hypnotizing motion.

“Verily,” it said. “It stood empty and still for a long time, but still I would visit now and again, if only to revisit the memory of that which dwelled here once.”

“And now?”

“A lone spirit called to me without knowing it. By the time I returned, it was gone. I found you in this place instead.”

The lone spirit it spoke of could only be Solas…

“It’s as plain as anything that you are most certainly not Wisdom. There’s a sort of… desperate imprudence about you that gives it away.” The suns stilled for a moment, shivered, and resumed their languid orbit. “So what are you?”

Did Hope just insult him? How unexpected…

“Only a man of little importance on a journey of great urgency.” He felt emboldened, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the spirit’s existence alone that made him feel such a way. “Perhaps you could be of assistance with the matter in question?”

The suns flared slightly, streaks of streaming colour sparking over its surface. His surroundings went slightly rigid, the auric mist prickling his skin. “You carry brittle echoes of death within your spirit. There is bone dust in your lungs. The scent of corpses lingers inside your nose though there are none nearby.”

Emmrich swallowed hard, but remained in place.

“You shepherd the living and the dead towards purpose and convalesce unsettled entities all while fearing your own demise. Despite this you willingly relinquished your only chance to live on in perpetuity - why?”

The immensity of Hope was overwhelming. The fact that a spirit of this magnitude existed was remarkable on its own - the fact that he was conversing with it… unimaginable. But it had asked him a question, and he knew that the manner of his answer was of utmost importance if he was to obtain the aid of this being.

“Because with her I am less afraid to face that fear. It may always hold sway in my heart, but with her beside me, I have hope that all of my days won’t be dark.”

The orbs of light rose and fell… trembled faintly as though excited…

“Fascinating,” it breathed and its air caressed him like a triumphant spring breeze, smelling of honeysuckle and luscious young grass. “I feel the pull of the one that you speak of: she is palpable.”

He was glad to know he and Hope were of the same mind in that respect. 

“The prison she is trapped in is designed specifically to keep me - and others like me - from penetrating its walls, but despair not - you are close to finding the one you seek: there is a ripple in the firmament that you may exploit - a fold in a place of significance to her… a crack.”

Emmrich’s stomach dropped - that could be almost anywhere, and even with a network of eluvians at their disposal…

“The beacon you have set for her is strong and although she cannot hear you, her spirit is joined with yours: look for her in the same place where the initial spark of curious infatuation between you quickened and became flame.”

He looked down at his hand slightly obscured by the actuality of Hope, and turned his mind to the puzzle: was there a single defining moment? Was it a culmination of weeks of stolen glances, shy smiles, and utterly fabricated excuses to find themselves in each other’s proximity once again - innocent and coincidental? 

Yes - there had been a lot of that: dancing around one another politely, both undeniably smitten but neither willing to set aside the consummate professionalism that their vocation burdened them with. 

It could have gone on forever. They might have passed like ships in the night for all their efforts if it weren’t for that one evening that seemed like so many other evenings until it wasn’t: a night of research and reading - both of them hunkered down in the library well past midnight when everyone else had retired. 

The comfortable silence that dwelled between the soft husk of a page being turned every now and then. The easy conversation that flowed between them as they discussed matters ephemeral. Their knees almost brushed more than a few times on that uncomfortable couch. Amina, smothered a yawn here and there; Emmrich glanced up at her every time. 

“What?” She’d ask, a confused little smirk on her divine lips.

“Nothing,” he’d answer. 

He suggested she get some rest: he could continue reading - it was more important that she slept. 

A defiant shrug and a polite refusal - but she did tuck her legs under herself and rest some of her weight against him - nothing familiar… just her shoulder against his. 

Shortly after, he asked for her take on Orlok’s Theory of Asomatous Transitory Regression, and he thought she was taking time to consider her response, but when she remained silent for far longer than he knew was typical for her, he chanced a look down to find her sleeping soundly, her head on his shoulder and her book still spread open on her knees. He thought to rouse her - send her to her room where she’d at least be able to stretch out properly, but something held him back and he found himself gently slipping the book from her hands and setting it aside. Felt himself readjusting his right arm slowly - carefully - so it was around her, and he could share his warmth with her in the drafty space. 

His heart had leapt into his throat, and apologies and placations lined up on his tongue a few minutes later when she made a soft noise from behind her curtain of hair and shifted, lifting her head enough so he could see slivers of green under heavy lids. 

His lungs ceased working.

But instead of lurching away from him, blushing furiously and stammering her own stream of awkward, rushed excuses, Amina just blinked… once… twice… smiled groggily… shuffled down the couch some, rested her head on his thigh and fell back asleep, her hand on his knee.

He read until the morning - the same book three times cover to cover, in fact - because he didn’t dare move her - didn’t dare be responsible for ending that moment because whatever he had glimpsed in her sleep-filled eyes when she looked at him was a kind of magic he had never seen before. 

Everything about it felt like home.

Even when he plucked up the courage to softly capture a strand of raven hair between his trembling fingers… even as he guided it away from her face as she slumbered, even as his touch lingered and he stroked down the silken length of it, his heart thundered. 

That was it. That was when everything had changed for him - and for her. 

“The library,” he croaked, throat tight. “It was in the library. I– I need to go. I need to go there now!” Tears filled his eyes as hope flooded him for the first time in days. A broken laugh burst from his lips and he clutched at his hair, aware that he looked like a madman. “Thank you!” He wept. 

The orbs flickered again - rather like twinkling eyes - and then blinked out of existence. 

“Live well, creature, and of all things that you may choose to abandon in the days to come, may hope be the last of them.” 

He woke on the too-large settee to the cool green light of an aquarium that made no sense. He scrambled to his feet, flipped his hair out of his face, and bolted for the door.

Muffled voices… all familiar - one in particular. His voice. 

Then his shape - his outline - a shape she would know anywhere. 

A hand - a beautiful, soul-shatteringly, heart-achingly artful hand that was capable of healing and holding… destroying, creating, and calming; teasing and caressing - and everything else in between. 

She heard herself sob as she seized that hand with her own and felt muscles and tendons reflexively tense in surprise for a fleeting instant before slender fingers clenched around her wrist in an unexpectedly bruising grip that wrung a clipped scream from her. Her feet left the ground as she was dragged into the bright light, and she was falling forward, up, down, and in directions that didn’t exist all at once. 

Then something solid. Something warm and firm. The feeling of well-worn wool and meticulously cared for linen against her face… a familiar scent, though it was more rustic than usual…

The excruciating pain in her wrist persisted as her eyes struggled to adjust and she looked up. She blinked… once… twice…

“Emmrich?” 

He had a decent start on a beard for one - that was new - and his hair was messier and dirtier than she’d ever seen it. The dark circles under his eyes were a particularly haunting shade of aubergine, and his sclera were dull and bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. He looked terrible…

“Where’s Varric?” She demanded hotly, panic rising in her chest as she tried to step back so she could get a better look at him - he wouldn’t let her, and she already knew the answer to her futile question. The grip on her wrist tightened and so did her throat as her mind raced to try to comprehend the situation. The grief she felt in Solas’ prison at the revelation of Varric’s death was rapidly being replaced with incandescent rage directed at the Dread Wolf: she was going to destroy him - spirit or not, he had gone too far… “Emmrich!” She yanked her wrist free and let out a cry of surprise as he toppled forward into her arms, a disheveled, weeping mess that took them to the ground. She managed to keep them both upright and Emmrich caged her in an embrace that took her breath away.

“I’m sorry, darling - I love you - I’m s-so very sorry…” He half-sobbed into her ear as he stroked her hair. His voice was so ragged... She felt tears splashing against her, wet and abundant, and her own joined them: confusion and anger and joy converged on her in a baffling wave - she couldn’t house all of this. And Emmrich…

How long have I been gone?

She managed to pull far enough away from him so she could cup his scruffy jaw in her hands and meet his gaze - his haunted, hollow gaze. 

“It’s all right now,” she soothed, summoning up enough calm for both of them - she was beyond furious, but he was despondent, and like any experienced Watcher she knew she needed to meet him on his level - manage herself for the time being. 

She softly traced her thumb down the familiar plane of his cheek and he leaned into her touch, his hand covering hers. “I love you too… I’m here and I’m safe, and I’m–” her voice trembled and broke. “Oh Emmrich… I’m sorry too.” If what she was beginning to suspect was true - if she had been lost to that place of regret for much longer than a few hours - it meant that Emmrich had been sitting on that argument for days at least, judging by the looks of him - her promise that they would talk about it at home a dangling thread that would remain forever untied if she never returned… 

She pressed her lips to his and he sighed into her, some of the tension finally leaving him. “You found me…” she murmured against his skin. “You got me out. Of course you did.” Her arms tightened around him and she kissed him properly - deeply. 

“I couldn’t live with myself knowing the state I had left things in.” He rested his forehead against hers and twirled a strand of her hair around a finger as they sat on the floor, both aware of their audience of companions - both utterly unconcerned about their presence. “Will you forgive me?” 

“If you’ll forgive me,” she offered: she carried her own regrets about that argument… though evidently not as long as he had.

His mouth curved into a smile for the first time and he chuckled weakly. “There is nothing to forgive, my dearest Amina.” His eyes continued to sweep over her as he took her in, mapping every line and angle of her, committing it to memory as if it would ensure she could never be taken from him again. 

“You really love me, huh?” 

“I have for some time, and I’m afraid that rather than embracing that fact with the deference owed to it, I acted like a cowardly fool. If I had only–”

She silenced him with another kiss, his mouth opening as her tongue brushed the seam of his lips. Her fingers stroked through the coarse, straight hair that covered his jaw and she realized with a jolt somewhere around her midsection that she rather liked it. She made a mental note to discuss the future of the beard with him later on, but for now…

“No academic theories right now, Professor…” she whispered. She was exhausted and overwhelmed. She needed to take a minute and just… come to terms with everything. With Varric, Harding, and Bellara; with how long she’d been gone… what the hell she was going to do next. What she was going to do to Solas when she got her violent, creative little Reaper hands on him… 

“Humour an old man,” he smirked tiredley. 

“I’ll consider humouring him in the bath.” 

“You’re no basket of roses either, dear.” 

“Regret bringing me back yet?”

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, placing a chaste kiss to the back of it, his eyes locked on hers - as red and puffy as they were, the love that dwelled within them was unmistakable, and Amina knew they would never be parted in this life again. 

“Never.” 

[barleyo]

Make the Most of Freedom.

Father! Sukuna X Daughter! Reader (smut)

A/N: can you tell i'm going through a sukuna obsession right now? ^_^ he's literally my everything currently, and i love him as a father

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), slight mentions of abuse and forced marriage, sexism and heavy misogyny, oral (f receiving)

Wordcount: 1.7k

Your father was decent enough to you, as fathers went. None were particularly good, but you had recently heard gossip of a man who married his daughter off to the town's local pervert in her eighteenth year, convinced by a lump sum of silver, so, certainly your old-fashioned, stern father was a lucky draw. For all the so called "decency" your old man had, though, he had a certain distaste for women. Girls more so. 

Perhaps it was when your mother died that he gained this sneering mentality on the opposite sex. Likely that being left with you, a girl he was forced to raise on his own, was what caused it. Either way, Sukuna's affections for you only ran so deep.  Not abusive, necessarily. Distant was more like it. Neglectful where it mattered most, you often thought, but diligent in your personal matters. 

He practically had a legion of homebound spies to keep him up to date on you.

Choices were not something you often got to make in your life. Every day seemed to be planned out down to the second for you. Servants crowded you and equated you to a pampered house pet. Practice this, say that, eat this, but definitely don't eat that. Look this way. Look there. 

Do not look at him. 

Boys were a nonstarter. Romance was hardly allowed to be the subject of your fantasy. If Sukuna could gain a monopoly on your mind and control your every thought, he would. Without a second thought. He could not, though, so luckily for you, you could peer around a wooden beam on the veranda and watch one of the younger servant boys walk around your father's estate. 

To catch a glimpse of a boy was a rare treat with how often Uraume, on your father's order, tasked you with some type of busy work or etiquette training. Still, you enjoyed your cheeky voyeuristic moments. You savored them, knowing that the spare moments you had to yourself were your only chances at feeling normal. 

Normal girls at your age had other normal girls to chat with about boys. Normal girls had suitors and gentleman callers. Normal girls' pursuers did not disappear randomly after attempting to court them. Normal girls did not have fathers who were feared across all lands. No, that was a you-problem. 

Then again, normal fathers did not love their daughters as much as Sukuna loved you, despite how terribly horrid he was at showing it.

Like every other day, you were aimlessly trapped inside your home. Perhaps not trapped. There were plenty of places to go—your father owned more land than any man could reasonably need—but where else would you go? Outside to be teased by the sight of assorted servants and concubines enjoying the simplicity of their lives? Or, perhaps you could go to the servants' quarters, where Uraume would grill you on your posture and wipe nonexistent smudges off of your face. As wonderful as those exhilarating options sounded, you felt that staying inside the four comforting walls of the main house would be in your best interest.

You leaned against the sliding door parked at the entrance of the house. Trailing your fingers gently over the wooden frame, your found that the door was slightly ajar. A careless servant must have left it open, and you must have been too lost in your thoughts to feel the cool draft wheedling through the crack. Your finger pads pushed against the doorframe to slide it shut, but a familiar voice stopped you. 

That boy. That wonderfully, blissfully ignorant boy. 

You envied him on a few days, but desired him on most. In essence, he was free. Freer than you, at the very least. He seemed your age, but he walked with the experience of a man your father's age. You wondered if he knew things you did not. If he could teach you—touch you.

Sukuna disliked the younger boys that worked on the estate. Lazy, the lot of them. Lazy and easily rousing to the otherwise whorish women who worked with them. You assumed your father simply did not like people, with the way he had a complaint for every make and model of society. 

Women were inferior sluts. Girls were stupid and vapid. Men were arrogant and audacious. Boys were impure little bastards and something you would have nothing to do with under his roof.

He made that very clear when you attempted to ask about leaving the estate with the boy. He pleaded for you to ask your father, and stupidly, you did.

Your father looked at you with what could most plainly be described as disgust. Shame, you would say, if you thought your father was capable of feeling any. 

"Leave?" 

You knew you made a mistake the second the words left your mouth. No phrasing or tone change could have saved you. 'Leave,' 'home,' and 'you' were words Sukuna wouldn't tolerate in the same sentence, unless of course the sentence was: 'I shall never leave home or be away from you, father.'

"For what?" he asked, clenched hands resting on the top of the table. Uraume, knowing what was about to happen from the guilt-stricken look on your face, had disappeared into the servant's quarters right after presenting dinner. "That boy?"

Such venom was spat in the word. Such degradation forced into a single syllable word. You bit your tongue for a moment, feeling offended on the behalf of your tawdry crush. 

"Why, I have half a mind to lock you up. He is the one who had put these ideas into your head, isn't he?" Sukuna asked between bites of his dinner. The idea angered him to his core, but the idea of such a pathetic man-child attempting to take his only heir was humorous enough to keep his temper even enough to eat.   "You probably think you love him, right? Foolishness."

He scoffed and waved his hand at you dismissively, nose crinkled. After a thick gulp of his wine, he continued, practically speaking to himself as you fumed silently in embarrassment. 

"He's just a boy. Swine, really, and you—" his eyes sharpened— "are not to see him again."

That shattered any hope you had left. The small window of freedom you had, the small glimpse of a future, was snatched. 

"That is not fair!"

Childishness, as Sukuna had expected. He sighed and ignored you. What he hadn't expected was the quick, flagrant backtalk you spat out. 

"He isn't just a boy. He's a man, and I am a woman now," you said, voice rushing to match the pace of your furious mind. "I'll leave whenever I want to. If I want to go into the city with him, I will. A woman can choose..." you trailed off, obviously not being as experienced as an independent woman as you claimed to be. 

Sukuna's expression never shifted. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink—he simply stared at you, his gaze sharp, predatory. The silence hung heavy in the room, oppressive, thick with the weight of unspoken things. His eyes bored into you like a vice, until you began to regret every word that had left your mouth.

"You are a woman," he said loudly, his voice a low rumble of danger and fact, "it's what I hate most about you. Just like any other woman, look at how you turned out. Spoiled. Pampered. I'll bet a whore too," he added, peering down at your body for a beat too long, seeing the way the silks trapped your matured form. "Is that why you set yourself out to leave? Lover-boy knocked you up like some common whore?"

You could tell by his tone he didn't actually think so lowly of you, but the relentless taunts broke you. Any pretense of womanhood shattered under the embarrassment of father chiding you. 

"Well, who will want you now, hm? Not a pretty, little virgin anymore. See what boys do?" Sukuna stood and pulled you up by your shoulder, forcing you to his level. 

"They ruin you."

If boys ruined you, what did men do? With your father's hands digging into your hips and with his tongue attacking your rosy clit, you reckoned that they saved you. 

Yes, saved. That was the word for it, when Sukuna's spit baptized your dripping cunt, you felt saved. How such a feared, demonic man could make you feel such heavenly things, you knew not, but that wasn't what was important. What was important was that you could hardly remember the name of the once tempting boy you had fought so hard to go with. 

Many nights after the argument with you father, you tried to force yourself to leave. You made it to the door each time, sometimes further into the garden, before returning back to your room. Your scarce knapsack was unpacked quickly and you tucked yourself back into bed like nothing had happened. 

The night that you made it to the estate gates, you ran back home as fast as your bare feet would take you. You clawed at your father's bedroom door, splintering the tips of your fingers as you cried it for him to let you in. 

You would admit it. He was right. As always, regretfully. You were a stupid girl with the dreams of a woman and eyes bigger than your true appetite. As you sobbed into your father's robes, sick gratification crossed his features. 

"Not your fault," he mumbled between your thighs, licking agonizing stripes through your folds. "Y'never learn. I know."

Your body laid bare before him, showing every curve and blemish, every sin clear as day, you seized and rocked on the mattress. Your blood was hot and your chest was uneven. 

Inexperienced and needy, you gave into your father the second his hands slid down your panties. You let him guide you. Your shepherd, his sheep. Your white wool was his for the taking, and he harvested with interest. He took all you had to give. Ever noise you could make, every gasp, he stole from your chest greedily. 

He could have you, all of you. Nobody else could match him in that moment. As your cunt melted into his mouth, he peered at you through heavy lashes with pure ownership.

How could you ever leave the man that finally made you a woman?

[genshinluvr]

Trouble in Paradise

Pairings: Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: Nanook has always communicated with you through your dreams because both you and Nanook are connected with each other. But now that Nanook has taken a human form, there's no need to communicate through your dreams! You were certain that it was just Nanook who could communicate with you through your dreams until Phantylia showed up.

Note: Not really sure how I feel about this fic 🤔 I guess the best way I can describe my feelings for it would be a love-hate relationship! I was going to post this fic way earlier, but I decided to push the publication time back. I really want to write this one fic, but I need to see how it goes because the isekai'd!reader isn't really isekai'd... but I guess it can be? There are isekais out there that have a reincarnation theme, right? 🥲 If so, maybe that can be a good way for me to have Dan Heng transform into Dan Heng IL :'> Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: A tiny bit of angst, but it doesn't last long (I think). Reader is sleep deprived (aren't we all?)

Word Count: 6.1k

You open your eyes, and you’re in the void. You sit up, looking around quizzically. The last thing you remembered was going to sleep in the comfort of your bed in the Astral Express. Now, you’re in the void, floating through endless space. The last time you were in the void was before Nanook took human form and accompanied you and the others on your trailblazing adventures. A large shadow soon looms over you, causing you to tense up with fear. A seductive yet mischievous giggle echoes the void. The giggle sounds familiar, and yet you’re having a hard time pinpointing who the giggle belongs to.

“So you’re [Y/N],” a woman says.

You didn’t dare to look at the woman, fearing you were going to be correct on who the voice belonged to. You’ve heard this voice before. The same voice belongs to the woman who tried to convert Jing Yuan into a member of the Antimatter Legion. The same woman who impersonated Tingyun. 

The woman towering over you from behind sighs. “Oh, don’t be like that now. Nanook wouldn’t be pleased if he knows you’re treating me like this,” she coos.

You clenched your jaws and squeezed your hands into tight fists. How dare she use Nanook to get you to face her. You slowly turn around to face the woman towering over you. She smiles with mirth, propping her elbows on nothing, tilting her head to the side while gazing at you with interest. 

“Why did you bring me here, Phantylia?” You demand.

Phantylia smirks and leans back, sighing. “Why are you so hostile? I did nothing to you, and yet you’re acting this way toward me?” Phantylia asks, pouting at you mockingly. 

There are many reasons for you to be hostile. One is her trying to convert Jing Yuan to be a member of the Antimatter Legion, and the other is her mentioning Nanook. What does Nanook have to do with whatever is going on between you and Phantylia? You cross your arms over your chest and glare at the woman.

“You didn’t answer my question, Phantylia,” you hiss, narrowing your eyes at her. 

Phantylia sighs, rolling her eyes. “Am I not allowed to meet the person the Aeon of Destruction is fawning over?” Phantylia asks, raising her eyebrows at you.

No, no, she is not. In fact, you did not want to meet her at all, nor did you think about meeting the woman before you. You don’t know how she managed to bring you into this void without being connected with you, like how you are with Nanook. It’s mind-boggling and a little bit terrifying. If she can bring you into this void without having any connections with you, then she can do something else to you— like taking your body as a vessel and killing you afterward. 

You take a deep breath and exhale through your nostrils, trying to remain calm. If you snap at her, who knows what Phantylia will do to you. There’s nowhere to run, and you don’t think she will let you wake up from this “dream” and escape her presence easily. What you find strange is Phantylia wanting to meet you out of nowhere. Does Nanook know about Phantylia wanting to meet you? Nanook didn’t even mention Phantylia once.

You sit on the floor before Phantylia. “Well, you and I have officially met! Is there anything else you want to say to me? I didn’t expect to meet you so soon, nor do I expect to meet you this way,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

Phantylia gazes down at your crossed arms and chuckles with amusement. “Why the hostile gesture? I am here to meet you, nothing else, little star,” Phantylia coos.

She reaches toward you and brushes your hair away from your face with her index finger. You merely flinch when her long nail grazes your forehead. You’re not used to someone of her size touching your face— aside from Nanook, but that is a different story. Nanook is the one who brought you into this universe, not Phantylia. The woman before you clicks her tongue softly and leans forward, her face a few inches from yours.

You scoot back to create distance between you and Phantylia, only for her to sigh with dissatisfaction. You’re not sure why she wanted to meet you so badly. You can go your entire life without having to meet her, and yet here you are, sitting in front of Phantylia in the endless void where you and Nanook would meet every time you go to sleep. The space you once considered your safe space when you wanted to escape from the world around you. The void was the first place you woke up in when you arrived in their universe, and the abyss is where you and Nanook first meet before you regained consciousness, woken up by Caelus attempting to give you CPR.

“You’re adorable, you know that? I can see why Nanook is so… enamored with you,” Phantylia chuckles, shaking her head. “However….” she trails off, tapping her chin.

You raise your eyebrows at her, frowning at her sudden change of behavior. First, she talks about Nanook being in love with you, but then she decides to throw in something equivalent to a ‘but?’ You don’t like where this is going.

“‘However’ what?” You demand, a deep frown etching on your face. 

Phantylia hums softly, leaning away from you with a soft sigh. She brushes her hair from her shoulders and taps her bicep with her index finger. The void around you seems to be getting darker and darker as time passes. You don’t know how long you have been in this void with Phantylia, but you have a feeling it might be longer compared to the time you and Nanook spent in the abyss together. Then again, every time you find yourself in the void, your friends make sure you don’t stay in the void for a long time. 

Phantylia suddenly laughs. “Do you think Nanook is going to love you forever?” She asks suddenly.

You blink at Phantylia, confused. “What are you saying, Phantylia? Spit it out and let me return to my world,” you sigh.

She laughs again. “Your world? Your world?! Oh, please! You’re not from this world, little star. Just because Nanook brought you here does not mean you belong here— like how he doesn’t belong to you,” Phantylia huffs, crossing her arms over her chest like a petulant child. 

Oh.

Oh.

Huh….

She’s jealous of what you have with Nanook. How strange. Does Phantylia have feelings for Nanook the entire time? Even if she does have feelings for the Aeon of Destruction, you don’t play a factor in how their “relationship” plays out. Plus, you’re a bystander who was dragged into this world because the Aeon of Destruction has taken a liking to you. 

You hold your hands up. “Listen, Phantylia. You’re not wrong about me not being from this world. I don’t think you should be going around and telling me that I don’t belong here,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest with a frown.

Phantylia scoffs and rolls her eyes. “And why is that? Are you hurt that I said it, or are you hurt over the fact that what I said is true?” Phantylia asks.

You poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue. You don’t like being in the void anymore. You don’t want to be stuck in the same area as Phantylia. You have seen the damages she can cause, but you don’t want to deal with it, nor do you want to deal with her jealousy. Great, now you’re going to be waking up in a bad mood. You’re going to talk to Nanook when you wake up. That is if Phantylia isn’t going to keep you imprisoned, of course. 

“You interpret that however you want. Nanook and I aren’t dating, and, like you said, I don’t belong here.” You shrug your shoulders. 

The abyss of endless stars around you slowly fades away as you find yourself slowly waking up from a nightmare you were trapped in. You open your eyes to see many faces peering down at you, all gazing at you with worry. You rub your eyes and slowly sit up with the help of Caelus and March.

“Are you okay? Nanook rushed to us when you weren’t waking up,” March says, sitting beside you.

You nod, still groggy from your sleep. “I’m fine….” you trailed off.

Phantylia’s words continue to echo in your head. You don’t belong here. Nanook doesn’t belong to you. Heck, none of these men belong to you, so why are you upset over what Phantylia said? She’s not wrong— in fact, she’s right. 

Caelus sits on the other side of your bed. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look shaken up,” Caelus says, rubbing the small of your back.

You tried to smile at Caelus, only for it to come out as a grimace. “Yeah, I’m fine, Caelus,” you whisper, looking at the floor of your bedroom.

You can feel their eyes stare holes into your body while you space out. Should you tell them about Phantylia? You haven’t been dragged into that void since the incident, and Phantylia somehow manages to bring you back. Phantylia was able to keep you in that void for quite some time, not allowing you to leave.

How strong is her bond with Nanook? She is infatuated with Nanook, and yet Nanook is (according to Phantylia) enamored with you. What if the feelings Nanook felt toward you were merely temporary? What happens when the feelings are gone? Will Nanook return you back to your world? 

Dan Heng raises his eyebrows at you, crossing his arms over his chest. “Care to tell us why you didn’t wake up when many of us have tried waking you up?” Dan Heng asks.

You press your lips into a thin line. It looks like you’ll have to say what’s preventing you from waking up from a rude awakening. You just know that somewhere, Phantylia is sitting back with her arms crossed over her chest with a smug smile. If only you were the same size as Phantylia so you could give her a piece of your mind, but she has the upper hand in everything. 

“You don’t have to tell us if you’re not comfortable with it, sweetheart,” Mr. Yang reassures you, kneeling before you and giving your knee a comforting squeeze.

You sigh and look down at your hands on your lap. “I realize that I don’t belong here, nor would I ever belong here, no matter how much time has passed,” you whisper.

Dear Aeons. Why are you lying to them about what’s bothering you? Nanook steps forward, his eyebrows furrowed. Nanook looks like he wants to say something. Is he going to tell you he never had feelings for you in the first place and leave for Phantylia? Nanook looks visibly startled.

Nanook lets out a shaky sigh. “Little One, how do you know Phantylia?” Nanook asks, grabbing everyone’s attention.

Oh, fuck. You forgot Nanook can read your mind because you two have this connection with each other. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Is there a way for you to block Nanook from reading any more of your thoughts? This is not good. You’re fucked. Caelus, Dan Heng, March, and Mr. Yang looks at you quizzically while you dig your nails into the palm of your hands. There’s no way out of this now that Nanook got everyone’s attention regarding Phantylia. 

“Did Phantylia do something by any chance? Did you have a dream about her?” March asks.

You hug your knees to your chest and shake your head. “A dream? No. Did she do something to me? Possibly,” you mumble.

You woke up not long ago, and you’re already being interrogated over the woman who’s in love with the Aeon of Destruction. You don’t like the power she holds over your thoughts. Your headspace is occupied by the things she said to you, and you’re certain that Nanook hears it all but doesn’t want to say anything about it because he wants you to say it yourself. 

“Hey, hey, hey! We’re here!” Sampo says, entering your bedroom with more men beside him.

Gepard sighs in relief and walks to you, trying to keep a calm exterior. “Are you alright? We were informed that you weren’t waking up from your slumber, and we all rushed to the Astral Express as soon as we could,” Gepard explains.

You smile at Gepard, squeezing his hands when he slips his hand into yours. From the corner of your eyes, you notice Nanook tensing up at the mere sight of the small public display of affection between you and Gepard. You squeeze Gepard’s hand one more time before releasing his hand.

“You know how Nanook and I communicate with each other through my ‘dreams’ or when I’m unconscious?” You ask, peeking up at the others.

Luka’s eyes widen, and his eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “What?! No! This is news to me!” Luka exclaims, propping his hands on his hips.

Oh, right. You forgot Luka is still unaware of many things and perhaps your place of origin. You make a mental note to catch Luka up to speed with everything once this is over. You just want Phantylia to leave you alone. You have an inkling feeling that this isn’t going to be the last time you encounter her. 

“As you were saying?” Luocha says, leaning against the wall with his arms over his chest.

You let out a long exhale and squeeze your thighs. You don’t know what’s going to happen after you tell them what’s going on regarding Phantylia. Still, you hope it won’t be too serious. 

You then go into detail on what happened while you were unconscious— from being in the same void you encountered Nanook when you first arrived in their universe to Phantylia being the one to tower over you in this dream to Phantylia telling you that you don’t belong to this universe, etc. It was a lot to process, and the more you said it out loud, the more you realized how crazy you sounded.

“Nanook, how can Phantylia get into contact with [Y/N] when the two of them aren’t connected?” Jing Yuan asks, turning to look at the Aeon of Destruction. 

Nanook has been silent the entire time you explained the situation to everyone. Nanook strokes his chin, skimming through the possibilities of Phantylia managing to communicate with you despite never meeting you or having any connections with you. 

You shake your head and chuckle bitterly. “I don’t think Nanook has the answer to your question, Jing Yuan. Besides, Phantylia is correct about a few things,” you mutter, tapping your fingers on your knees.

Blade raises his eyebrows at you. “And what is that exactly?” Blade asks, now standing at the foot of your bed.

“I don’t belong here, and how Nanook doesn’t belong to me. In fact, none of you belong to me, which is understandable since I’m not dating any of you. Because I’ve been taken from my world and thrown into yours, I’m an anomaly. I don’t belong here, nor would I ever belong here,” you explain.

As depressing as it sounds, it’s also a fact. You don’t belong in their universe, and you’re here because Nanook has taken a liking to you. Nanook didn’t want to be separated from you because of the computer monitor. Nanook somehow brought you into their universe because the Aeon of Destruction couldn’t stand being far from you. 

“Little One—”

You stand up abruptly and cross your arms over your chest. “How does Phantylia know about me? How does she know how to communicate with me through my dreams like you did? Did you tell her?” You demand.

Nanook goes silent and frowns. You chuckle bitterly and shake your head, running your hands through your hair. You don’t want to deal with this conversation right now. You need to clear your mind and distance yourself from Nanook. It’s not reasonable, but until you have a full understanding of how Phantylia is able to trap you in your dreams temporarily to speak to you, you don’t want to deal with Nanook.

“Can everyone please leave? I need time and space to clear my mind, and having everyone in here is overwhelming me,” you murmur.

Mr. Yang nods. “Of course. We will be coming by to check up on you and give you food, alright?” Mr. Yang says.

You nod and sit on the edge of your bed, avoiding everyone’s eyes as they gradually trickle out of your bedroom. Nanook is the last one to leave your room. You and Nanook stare at each other, not saying a word. You silently gestured for him to leave your room. Nanook sighs and exits your room. Once the door to your room slides closed, you lay on your bed and close your eyes.

You want to go back to sleep and sleep the frustrations away. Still, you’re worried that Phantylia will reappear in your dreams, holding you hostage and telling you that you don’t belong in this universe. You hate how she’s right, and you have nothing against her for saying that. Sort of. You have decided not to sleep because what if Phantylia reappears in your dreams and repeats the things she said over and over?

If she wants you to return to your world so badly, then you can’t really do what she wants. How are you going to return to your world if Nanook was the one that brought you to this universe? You know Nanook will refuse to return you back to your world. There’s a very slim chance Nanook would do that, but it’s very unlikely.

You hear a knock coming from your bedroom door. You close your eyes and try to ignore the knocking coming from the door, but the longer the person behind the door knocks, the more you start to get irritated. You get off your bed and walk to the door. You slide the door open to see Pom-Pom standing at the entrance of your room.

“Oh, Pom-Pom. What are you doing here?” You ask.

Pom-Pom props his hands on his hips. “I heard my favorite passenger is upset, and I’m here to provide comfort,” Pom-Pom says, waddling into your room.

As much as you wanted to reject Pom-Pom’s offer, you don’t have the heart to do it. You shut the door behind Pom-Pom before returning to your bed. You lay on your bed and hug your second pillow to your chest. Your pillow smells like Nanook. Despite not having an official title with the Aeon of Destruction, it does seem like he’s your boyfriend.

You don’t mind calling Nanook your boyfriend, but you’re aware of the others having feelings for you. Since Nanook is possessive and makes it known that he doesn’t like people going near you— especially those who have romantic feelings for you, they never make a move on you.

“Pom-Pom?” You whisper.

Pom-Pom hops on your bed and sits beside you, letting his feet hang at the edge of your bed. “Yes, [Y/N]?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. You didn’t want to burden the conductor with your plaguing thoughts. But Pom-Pom insisted on comforting you, and you really appreciate it. It would be best if you talk to the others about it, but you can’t get yourself to do it. What if you said the wrong thing, and everything goes downhill from there?

You take a deep breath. “Do you think I belong on the Astral Express?”

Pom-Pom looks at you incredulously. “Of course I do! No matter what background my passengers are from, you’re always welcome to the Astral Express!” says Pom-Pom.

You chuckle and pat Pom-Pom’s head. Now that you think about it, your main issue isn’t feeling jealous over what Nanook and Phantylia have— your problem is whether you truly belong in this universe or not. Everyone has welcomed you with open arms despite being from another universe. 

Pom-Pom frowns and looks at you worriedly. “Did something happen? Who told you that you don’t belong here!? Tell me their names!” Pom-Pom demands, kicking his feet angrily.

“The ‘person’ that said it isn’t on the Astral Express, Pom-Pom. This ‘person’ is like Nanook, but not an Aeon,” you say, running your fingers through your tangled hair.

Pom-Pom huffs angrily and sighs, reaching over to pat your head. You smile at Pom-Pom and lay there in silence. You’re tired, and you want to go back to sleep, but you’re afraid that she will be in your dreams like the last time. Pom-Pom leaves your room fifteen minutes later, leaving you alone in the comfort of your room.

Days go by, and you have yet to speak to anyone on the Astral Express aside from Pom-Pom and Himeko. Nanook is sleeping in his (temporary) room while you remain in yours. Sometimes, you would step out of your room and walk around the Astral Express, but only if the others weren’t on the train aside from Pom-Pom and Himeko. You weren’t ready to talk to them yet. 

You stopped tagging along with them on their trailblazing missions not because you wanted to avoid everyone but because you weren’t sleeping. The last time you slept was when the Phantylia incident happened. Now, you’re going days without sleeping and keeping yourself awake by drinking lots and lots of coffee. 

You’re doing everything you can to avoid falling asleep. You really want to tag along with Nanook, Mr. Yang, Caelus, March, and Dan Heng, but you don’t want them to see you with dark circles under your eyes due to the lack of sleep. Sometimes, you would find yourself falling asleep but would quickly force yourself to stay awake. 

Caelus knocks on your door. “Are you sure you don’t want to go with us? Everyone misses you. I miss you,” Caelus says, pressing his forehead against the door and closing his eyes. “You don’t hate us, do you?”

You shake your head, knowing Caelus won’t see it. “I’m not avoiding any of you, I promise. I’m dealing with reality right now, and it’s a lot to accept,” you reply.

Caelus sighs, turning to look at the others behind him. Dan Heng and Mr. Yang remain silent while March leans against the wall, closing her eyes. There are times when March wakes up in the middle of the night, she hears you moving around your room. March assumes you have issues with sleeping at night because Nanook wasn’t sleeping with you. 

“Hey, [Y/N]. We’re always going to be here if you need someone to talk to. It can be about anything,” Mr. Yang speaks up, walking toward the door of your room. 

March, Caelus, Mr. Yang, and Dan Heng didn’t hear a response from you. Mr. Yang gestures to the others to follow him to the Parlor Car. In your room, you’re knocked out asleep on your bed. You didn’t sleep for a long time. What woke you up from your slumber was your body twitching; it startled you awake. You sit up and bury your face into your hands, having the biggest urge to cry. 

You want to sleep, but you worry that she’s going to be in your dreams again. Trapping you in your dreams and telling you that you don’t belong in this universe repeatedly. You don’t know what else she’s capable of doing after the first time. Quite frankly, you do not want to speak to Phantylia. You lay back down on your bed and stare at the ceiling, eyelids drooping. You’re so tired.

You tried to put up a fight, but you don’t have much fight in you. You managed to stay up for days without sleep, and now you’re exhausted. Maybe it won’t hurt to sleep this time. Maybe she’s not going to show up in your dreams this time. Perhaps you’ll finally be able to sleep in peace without worrying about what Phantylia is saying due to her jealousy. You let sleep overcome you.

You’re in an endless void, floating through space. The stars twinkle around you, and you feel like you’re underwater. It’s peaceful and quiet. No signs of life around you and no Phantylia to disturb your peace. For the first time in days, you feel at peace. The peace did not last long. The same chuckle echoes in the abyss, sending chills down your spine. You fall on your back and groan. You open your eyes, searching around the void, but there are no signs of Phantylia.

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Wake up, wake up, wake up,” you plead, squeezing your hands into tight fists.

A hand reaches out for your wrist, pulling you toward the unknown. You yank your arms back, and the void suddenly disappears, and you’re awake. You stare at your bedroom wall with wide eyes, unable to move. You’re not sure if you’re paralyzed with fear or if you’re having sleep paralysis. You close your eyes, trying to calm your racing heart. You didn’t see her, but you did hear her giggling.

You toss your blanket off your body and walk out of your room. You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep, but the hallway lights are out. You walk toward the Parlor Car to make coffee for yourself. On your way to the Parlor Car, you bump into March. March looks at you with wide eyes, sighing in relief when she sees you.

“It’s good to see you, [Y/N]! I was worried you were Dan Heng at first!” March says, propping her hands on her hips.

You tilt your head to the side. “It’s good to see you too, March! Uh, may I ask why you were worried that I was Dan Heng?”

March laughs sheepishly and rubs the back of her neck. “You see, Dan Heng said I can’t go to the kitchen for late-night snacks because it would keep me up and make me tired during our trailblazing missions!” March explains.

You nod, chuckling while March grumbles to herself. You and March walk to the kitchen of the Astral Express, not saying anything to each other. You reach for a mug and begin making coffee for yourself while March flips the light on. You squeeze your eyes shut when the lights flood the kitchen and wait for your eyes to adjust to the brightness of the kitchen.

“I think it depends on what you eat as your late-night snacks, March. I’m sure Dan Heng doesn’t mind you getting snacks at night as long as they’re not sweets,” You finally respond to March.

You walk to the coffee maker and begin making coffee. March stops at the fridge and stares at you incredulously. March peeks at the clock on the wall to see it’s still in the middle of the night. March scratches her head, watching you prepare to brew yourself some coffee. 

March clears her throat. “If you don’t mind me asking… Why are you making coffee at a time like this?” March asks, leaning against the refrigerator. 

March narrows her eyes when you don’t respond to her question. You continue to make your coffee with your back facing her direction. March slowly approaches you while you’re occupied. You look at the selection of creamers and toppings sleepily, rubbing your heavy eyelids with your knuckles. You’re exhausted, but you don’t want to sleep. At least not until you know you can sleep soundly without Phantylia disturbing your sleep.

“[Y/N]?” March calls.

You don’t reply.

March reaches forward and grabs your shoulders, turning you around. When March gets a full look at your face, she nearly gasps in horror. You look like you barely slept in days. The bags under your eyes are prominent, and the whites of your eyes are bloodshot. You yawn and rub your eyes before turning back around to continue where you left off.

“I know it’s still early in the morning, but I wanted to make some coffee before going back to my room,” you sigh.

March continues to stare holes into the back of your head. “[Y/N]. You do know that it’s still in the middle of the night, right?” March asks.

You blink and pause what you’re doing. “I can always reheat this coffee when I wake up,” you reply, shrugging.

March ends up abandoning her snacks and watches you from the corner of her eyes, pretending to search the refrigerator for some ‘snacks.’ After your coffee is done brewing, you add some creamer to your coffee and stir the hot liquid with a metal spoon. March peeks from the side of the fridge, watching you take small sips of your freshly made coffee. You look awful. Almost haunting.

“I’m going back to my room, March,” you murmur, walking by the pink-haired girl.

March perks up. “You’re going to bed now, right? No offense, but you look like you haven’t slept a wink,” says March, following after you as you exit the Astral Express’s kitchen.

You hum in response, taking small sips of your coffee. March stops halfway and sighs, watching you disappear into your bedroom and closing the door behind you. So much for getting a snack in the kitchen. Now she has to tell the others about you not getting any sleep at night. Dan Heng, Mr. Yang, and Caelus would probably scold you for not getting enough sleep at night. But how would Nanook react to the news of you not getting enough sleep? He does hear your thoughts, does he not? March returns to her bedroom and collapses on her bed with an empty stomach. Looks like Dan Heng wins for today.

When you return to your room, you continue to drink your coffee while scrolling on your phone. You have never done something like this before. Yes, you’ve pulled all-nighters in the past, but staying up for days without a wink of sleep is new to you. This is going to come back and bite you in the ass all because you did not want to deal with Phantylia popping up in your dreams to tell you that you don’t belong in this universe. Seriously, how did Phantylia manage to communicate with you through your dreams like Nanook?

A small knock coming from the door pulls you from your thoughts. You turn your phone off and get off your bed. It’s still in the middle of the night— who could be knocking on your door at this time? It could be March, but you’re not even sure what she’s up to after you left the kitchen. You slide the door open to see Blade.

You and Blade do a double-take after seeing each other. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?” You ask.

“Why do you look like you haven’t slept in ages?” Blade asks, pointing at your face. 

You stare at Blade, not saying a word, while he raises an eyebrow at you. You sigh and open the door wider for Blade to enter your room. Blade enters your room, and just when you’re about to close the door, a hand stops you. You look to see the other men standing there, their hair all over the place and still in their pajamas.

“I hope you don’t mind me inviting the others with me. The pink-haired girl informed each of us of your sleeping habits,” Blade says.

March shouts from the hallway, “Pink-haired girl!? Excuse me, I have a name!”

Blade dismisses March’s exclamation and closes the door once the others step into your room. You sip your coffee before setting the mug on your nightstand. Mr. Yang sighs and sits on the stool in front of your vanity while Luocha sits at the foot of your bed.

“[Y/N], sweetheart, be honest with us. How long has it been since you’ve gotten sleep?” Luocha asks, looking at you worriedly.

You sigh and lay on your bed, curling up in a fetal position. “Since the Phantylia incident, so, a few days now?” You reply with uncertainty.

Luka nods, gesturing to Nanook in the corner of your room. “Trouble in paradise with the Aeon of Destruction?” Luka boldly asks, ignoring the looks the others are giving him.

You purse your lips before making the so-so gesture. You and Nanook haven’t spoken in days since that incident, but then again, you haven’t really talked to the others since then. Plus, the whole Phantylia being jealous and making you slightly— was it slightly?— jealous, you got over that incident. You mainly don’t appreciate Phantylia strutting into your dreams just to tell you that you don’t belong in this universe and that Nanook doesn’t belong to you.

Phantylia isn’t wrong about Nanook not belonging to you, considering there’s no label between you two (or at least you don’t think there is one). You don’t need to be reminded repeatedly that you don’t belong to this universe. Luka is correct about there being trouble in paradise, but the ‘paradise’ isn’t whatever it is that’s going on between you and Nanook. 

“Not really. I got over whatever happened a few days ago. The thing that bothers me the most is how Phantylia—” You sigh and run your hands through your hair. “I feel like I’m repeating myself,” you grumble.

You sit up and reach for your coffee mug, but Jing Yuan takes the cup away from you, shaking his head with disapproval. You huff and sit up against the headboard of your bed. 

Jing Yuan clears his throat. “If you’re worried about Phantylia appearing in your dreams while you’re sleeping, we can sleep in here with you just to be safe,” Jing Yuan offers.

“I don’t think we need to worry about Phantylia appearing in [Y/N]’s dreams. Nanook informed me that he dealt with Phantylia and told her not to bother any of us,” Gepard interjects, gesturing to Nanook.

You glance at Nanook, and the two of you make eye contact. Nanook nods and walks over to your bed while you sigh, still hesitant about sleeping even though you desperately need it. Even if Nanook handled the situation, then what was the dream you had before getting up to get coffee? 

“Come on, Gumdrop! If the big scary lady is not the issue, then what’s wrong? We’re here to listen, you know?” Sampo says, plopping beside you.

It took everything in you to tell them what Phantylia said to you. You told them everything. Yes, you already said it days ago, but it still bothers you. If you don’t belong in this universe, then you might as well return to your world, right? Fuck. You really are repeating everything that happened a few days ago. The lack of sleep is getting to you, isn’t it?

You sigh in defeat. “I’m just repeating myself over and over. It’s tiring, but I can’t help it. How do I let go of something when it’s true?”

Dan Heng sighs, closing his eyes. “It’s okay if what Phantylia said bothers you, no matter how long ago it happened. What Phantylia said doesn’t matter. We don’t care if you’re from another universe and if Nanook brought you here. You’re with us now, and that’s all that matters. You may be from another universe, another reality, or whatever it is. Still, you will always belong here with us on the Astral Express,” Dan Heng says.

You sigh, hug the pillow to your chest, and rest your chin on the pillow. “I can’t help but still be bothered by what she said, though,” you mumble. “I’m also exhausted and irritated.”

Nanook goes to sit beside you, but Blade stops him. Blade looks over his shoulders and glares at Nanook before sitting beside you, pulling you close to him and stroking your hair. You blink and tense up in Blade’s arms. It’s not like you’re against Blade hugging you; you didn’t expect Blade to do that out of nowhere. But you’re not against it, and it’s nice to have someone other than Nanook hold you. 

“Get some rest. We’ll be here when you wake up,” Blade mutters,  stroking your hair.

You peek at the others; some are pouting (Sampo and Nanook) that they can’t hold you because Blade got to you first. You snort and close your eyes, relaxing in Blade’s arms. 

“You guys can trade off on who gets to hold me while I nap. It’s still in the middle of the night, so I expect every person to sleep,” you mutter.

You wrap your arms around Blade’s waist and close your eyes while the red-eyed man lays beside you, letting you lay your head on his biceps. Nanook sighs and lays on the other side of your bed, ignoring the burning feeling deep down. At least Nanook dealt with Phantylia. You don’t have to worry about Phantylia for a while (or forever).

Note: Have you ever been so tired that you unintentionally repeated what you said? That's what happened to the reader— so sleep-deprived that they repeat the same things without even realizing it until it happened. Maybe after this upcoming week's fanfics, I'm going to take a break or something. My brain is fried, and I have school starting toward the end of September, and I need to be mentally prepared for stress over homework. But of course, I haven't fully decided on that yet. When the time comes, I'll let you all know! I wish there was a way to update AO3 readers without having to make a random chapter to talk about a break 🥹 Anyway, to my new and/or returning readers, please keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for the HSR one-shot series: @ashwasherelol, @mompt2, @elegantnightblaze, @lunavixia, @jadedist, @reversearrowhead, @pinksaiyans, @n8mareee, @aurelia-xyt, @lilliansstuff, @starrry-angel, @kaoyamamegami, @kodzuvk, @for3very0urs, @a-cosmicdawn, @g3n0dtt, @theblades, @wntrsblvd, @raaawwwr, @immahuman, @irisxiel, @siaracarroll, @crazydreamcat, @sen-nes, @sagekun, @orichalcumthief, @dyingsweetmackerel, @rosiesareblue, @ichikanu, @undecidingfate, @asoulsreverie, @angelmican, @misdollface, @4-34-am, @sxftiebee, @hispasian-otaku, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @vox34, @tsukkikeisimp, @inapileofbooke

Read more of my works on my Masterlist / Masterlist 2 | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

[gingermaybel]

So we know there’s a Grand Army of the Republic Broadcast hosted by this lady⬇️ where troopers can and will request songs for each other and here are my thoughts (cloneshipping ahead don’t like don’t engage)

Grand Army of the Republic Broadcast, voice of the Outer Rim, one-stop service for everything from love song dedications to shout-outs, GAR’s go-to source for gossip, troopers’ much-needed morale booster.

Each week a different legion takes over as the temporary hosts. The 104th had Vode An and Force Bless the Republic as the daily opening tracks of their week; the 501st held an event called which curse word sounds funniest coming out of this⬆️ broadcasting droid; in the 41st’s turn, Generals Yoda and Unduli were invited as special guests—the audience loved the Jedi tales they kindly shared so much they petitioned for the duo to start a new broadcast of their own together. Sadly it never happened.

After teaming up with Clone Force 99, Ghost Company spent months trying to get them an opportunity to host purely because they wanted to watch the world burn. Cody violently shut that down and Crosshair was extremely disappointed.

When they were still on Rishi Moon, Fives, randomly decided to tease Echo, teamed up with Cutup to dig out every single love song that had ever existed and started dedicating them to him on the broadcast every day. Echo, for his part, pretended to be annoyed but was actually flustered as fuck for how gay this thing is. Then it stopped for a while when Fives lost his crime mate. Then he started again when they actually started dating. Then there was no one around to be dedicated to anymore. And then there was no one left to request the songs.

The first time Tech heard the name Echo from Rex, it sounded oddly familiar. Eventually he realised that he was that guy whose idiotic boyfriend bombarded the GAR broadcast with all those love song dedications from I Was Born to Love You to Ye Hua Xiang. It was actually a surprise to find how non-idiotic the man himself was. He had noticed those oddly out-of-place songs for that Echo among all the military anthems since the very beginning of the war. Some of them were surprisingly good, so he saved a few into a playlist and would listen to them whenever he’s working on some small inventions that didn’t require much focus.

Some time after Echo joined the bad batch, one day after a particularly gruelling mission, Tech shared that playlist with him. Over time, both of them added a few songs to it—tracks they heard during missions, or ones Echo remembered from the broadcasts Tech had missed. Sometimes, when they sat quietly together reading, they’d let the radio play them in the background.

And then that playlist too was never played again.

[sonamytrash]

Precious cargo

An: Just Dadvi fluff that has been rotting my brain. I actually imagine Levi and readers' first baby being a little boy, but a baby girl worked better for this particular drabble. I promise to revisit some of my other headcanons following readers' pregnancy.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

Levi strides through the Scouting Legion headquarters, his sharp gaze scanning the familiar surroundings as he cradles your newborn daughter securely against his chest. The ever-present crease in his brow softens ever so slightly as he looks down at the sleeping infant, a rare tenderness glimmering in his steel-grey eyes.

"Try not to make too much of a ruckus, brat." He murmurs to the newborn, his deep voice barely above a whisper as not to disturb your child's slumber. "The rest of these idiots don't know how to behave themselves."

Levi's grip tightens protectively as he approaches the mess hall, his gaze sweeping the room. Upon spotting Hange waving enthusiastically in your direction, he lets out an exasperated sigh, bracing himself for the inevitable chaos that's about to ensue.

Carefully, Levi shifts the baby's weight, angling his body to shield your child from the impending chaos. "Hange's about to descend like a pack of rabid wolves. I hope you're ready for the onslaught." He mutters, his fingers tightening protectively around your waist.

Just as the words leave his lips, Hange's boisterous voice fills the air, drawing the attention of the entire hall. "Levi! Y,N! There you are!" they exclaim, barreling towards the three of you with unrestrained enthusiasm. "Let me see the little one!"

Levi's brow furrows as Hange approaches, their boisterous energy directly at odds with his own protective instincts. "Tch, calm down four-eyes. You're going to wake her up." He grumbles, angling his body to shield the sleeping infant from Hange's grabby hands.

Despite his gruff demeanour, there's an underlying fondness in Levi's tone as he gazes down at your daughter. "Besides, I don't want you to contaminate her with your filthy hands." He scoffs, though the slight quirk of his lips betrays his amusement.

Hange's infectious enthusiasm draws a reluctant smile from Levi as they turn their attention to you. "How are you feeling, y/n?" they ask, their eyes shining with genuine concern. "The little one treating you well?"

You nod, "I'm okay. So far, everything seems to be going smoothly." You reply, Levi's grip on the sleeping infant tightens ever so slightly, his steely gaze softening as it flickers between you and your daughter. "Tch, of course she is." he interjects, a hint of pride colouring his gruff tone. "This brat's got a strong constitution, just like her mother." He says, smiling at you affectionately.

Reaching out, Levi gently brushes a finger against the baby's downy cheek, a rare tenderness shining in his steel-grey eyes. "Causing trouble already, aren't you?" he murmurs.

The rare, affectionate smile continues to tug at the corners of Levi's lips as he watches your daughter stir, her tiny features scrunching up in a delicate yawn. "She's perfect. She gets that from y/n, too." He breathes, his voice thick with an emotion that few have ever witnessed from the stoic captain. A feint blush paints your cheeks at his affectionate display as you place your hand on his forearm.

Krista makes her way over, gushing excitedly over the baby. "Oh, she's just perfect!" She squeels.

Levi looks to you for guidance. You can tell what he's thinking, and without any words needed, you nod reassuringly. He looks back at Krista, Levi's expression shifts, his usual cool detachment replaced by a rare warmth. "Tsk. Do you want to hold her?" he asks, his tone gruff but carrying a hint of invitation.

Levi's brow furrows slightly as he carefully transfers the sleeping infant into Krista's waiting arms, his fingers brushing against the delicate girl's skin with the utmost care.

"Support her head," he murmurs, his voice low and gruff.  "And for god's sake, don't drop her."

Sasha soon bounded over, her eyes twinkling with excitement, the other members of the 104th close behind her.

"She really does look just like you, Captain!" She reached out and touched the tiny hand that was now resting on Kristas shoulder, admiring the infant's dark hair. The others in the room chimed in, oohing and aahing over the tiny fingers and toes, cooing and gushing over the newest addition to the scouting family.

"Tch, the brat's got my looks, alright." He murmurs, a hint of pride in his gruff tone. "Though hopefully she's inherited more of her mother's pleasant disposition."

Levi hovers protectively, his steely gaze flickering between the baby, the others and Krista, ready to snatch the child back at the slightest sign of trouble. A faint, barely perceptible smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he watches the petite girl and her friends coo over his daughter, his chest swelling with a fierce, paternal pride.

"Careful..." he rumbles, his brow furrowing in a rare display of vulnerability. "She's precious cargo."