#BUT BUT BUT MAYBE PERHAPS MAYBE IT'S ALREADY EVENING???

[whosashan]

Hiii! I’m sorry I couldn’t find if you were open for requests or not so if you don’t take any at this moment please ignore this.

I really love your style of writing and I was wondering about how lads boys would react if MC asked them if they are in love with her or who she was in the past life. I know with Caleb and Zayne it can be tricky but I was thinking that maybe Zayne remembered his past or like MC suddenly remembered everything? That’s just an idea I had in my mind.

Anyways like I said please ignore this request if you don’t take any at this moment or you don’t like that idea!

Have a nice day❤️

Who do you love?

A/N:Hi there! Thank you for your request. You didn't specify if you want it to be more angsty or strictly fluffy, so I did a bit of both ;p I tried to base it off of their myth's, but since I don't have Sylus' and Rafayel's memory cards, I eyeballed it. I hope you'll like it, any feedback is greatly appreciated :] Have a nice day!

For a while now, an insidious question has gnawed at the recesses of your mind. Perhaps it stems from deep-seated insecurities, a relentless curiosity, or something more profound and unsettling.

Since uncovering the intricate tapestry of your past with your lover, a disquieting thought has taken root: are you merely a stand-in for someone who no longer exists? The paradox is maddening—you find yourself envious of a former self. The notion pierces your heart with a sharp, unyielding pain, knowing that there was once another—ironically, another version of you—who preceded you. That person was, undeniably, their one true love.

You grapple with the tormenting thought: are you genuinely the one he loves now, or are you simply a surrogate, a shadow of the past?

Xavier

The room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, shadows flickering against the walls, casting elongated shapes that danced with every shift of the flames. The air was warm, thick with the scent of wax and faint traces of Xavier’s smell - something so uniquely him.

He laid across the couch, head resting on your thighs, his platinum hair spilling like silk over your lap. Your fingers moved through the strands absentmindedly, tracing over his scalp in slow, rhythmic motions, just the way you knew he liked. His breathing was steady, his body relaxed, and for a fleeting moment, everything felt peaceful. Intimate. Safe.

But your thoughts refused to be still.

You wondered—had he been like this with her too? Had she tangled her fingers in his hair just as you did now? Had she peppered his cheeks with soft kisses, stolen those rare, beautiful laughs that you cherished so much?

The thought shouldn’t sting. It was you, after all. The past version of you, the one whose fate had already been entwined with his long before you even remembered him. And yet, there was a weight in your chest, something heavy, something bitter—regret? Uncertainty? You should have been grateful. It was you. It had always been you. But still, the question gnawed at you.

How different was she?

Did her smile tilt the same way? Did she struggle to keep her hair neat, no matter how much effort she put into it? When she laughed, did her cheeks lift high enough to crinkle the corners of her eyes?

The flickering candlelight traced soft golden hues over Xavier’s face, his lashes casting delicate shadows against his cheekbones. His beauty was almost inhuman, sculpted and refined, made even softer by the haze of drowsiness settling over him. He was close to sleep, lulled by your touch. Maybe it was cruel to ask now, to shatter this moment of quiet serenity.

But you couldn’t stop yourself.

You inhaled sharply, trying to gather the courage that had been slipping through your fingers. And then, in a voice barely above a whisper—

"What was she like?"

The silence stretched.

You thought, for a moment, that he had already fallen asleep, that your question would go unanswered. Relief and disappointment tangled together in your chest, neither strong enough to win over the other.

Then, his voice, soft yet weighted.

"Who are you asking about?"

His head shifted slightly, his dark lashes fluttering open just enough for blue eyes to meet yours. There was exhaustion in them, slight confusion, as if you had pulled him from the edge of sleep. Your fingers stilled in his hair, and he let out a quiet, displeased groan at the loss of comfort.

"Her. I mean… me. The past me." The words felt clumsy, uncertain. How were you even supposed to ask something like this?

Xavier’s brows knit together for a second, a flicker of thought crossing his face before his expression settled back into something unreadable.

"You were the same person you are now." His reply was immediate, almost dismissive, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

But that wasn’t enough.

"I want you to be more specific." Your voice was barely above a breath, but there was something desperate beneath it.

He exhaled, fingers idly drawing slow, deliberate circles on your thigh, as if the motion would somehow ease whatever storm was brewing inside you.

"She was… eccentric," he finally said, his voice quiet, thoughtful. A pause. A hesitation. "Always stubborn. Always insistent. Never knowing when to give up." A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. "Not that much different from you now."

You scoffed, more out of reflex than humor. "Should I feel insulted?" you muttered, though your voice lacked any real bite.

But then, as quickly as the moment of levity had come, it was gone again. The question that had been clawing at your ribs threatened to spill from your lips.

And then—

"Did you love her more?"

It barely came out, the words fragile, splintering even as they left you. Your entire body tensed.

Xavier’s hand stilled against your thigh. For the first time, something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe even hurt. Slowly, he lifted his head, pushing himself up until he was finally at eye level with you. His gaze studied you intently, tracing every furrow of your brow, every small tension in your lips.

And then, gently—so, so gently—he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that sent warmth curling through your chest. He was close now, so close you could feel his breath ghosting over your lips, his warmth wrapping around you like a quiet promise.

"I would love every form of you the same." His voice was steady, unwavering. "For me, you will always be the one. Whether it’s the you from before, the you now, or the you in another lifetime. It doesn’t matter if you were human, a fairy, or even a worm."

A small, teasing smirk curled his lips at the end, a deliberate attempt to ease the tension, to coax a reaction from you. And it worked—heat crept up your neck, settling in your cheeks, and despite everything, you felt the ghost of a flustered pout forming on your lips.

Xavier leaned in, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to the tip of your nose, before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze once more.

"Never doubt yourself again, hm?"

And then, without waiting for an answer, he pulled you into his arms, tucking you against his chest, your face fitting perfectly into the crook of his neck. His embrace was warm, steady, grounding. The kind of touch that made all your doubts seem small, insignificant.

Because even if your question hadn’t been answered completely, even if some part of you still ached for something more—there was one thing you were certain of.

He never made you feel like she was better. He never made you feel like you had to compete with your own past.

For Xavier, it was always you.

Zayne

The only sound in the dimly lit room was the rhythmic clicking of keyboard keys, an almost hypnotic cadence breaking through the thick silence. The golden glow of Zayne’s desk lamp illuminated the contours of his sharp features, casting long shadows over his workspace. He sat with his usual meticulous posture, his frame effortlessly composed, exuding an air of quiet authority even in something as mundane as working. The reflection of his laptop screen glimmered faintly against his glasses, obscuring the rich hazel depths of his eyes.

Across the room, you lounged on the couch, your body half-sunk into the plush cushions, a book resting open in your lap. Despite the separate worlds you were both immersed in, there was a comfort in just existing beside him—his presence was grounding, a constant anchor in a sea of uncertainties.

Your gaze trailed over the words printed on the page. A romance novel—one that struck too close to home. It told the story of a man who spent lifetimes searching for his lover, chasing fragments of them across time, waiting for fate to intertwine them once more.

“Is it really me you love? Or the person—the people—I used to be?”

The line cut through you like glass, burrowing itself deep into the pit of your stomach.

Your fingers hesitated over the page as your eyes flickered toward Zayne. He remained at his desk, seemingly lost in his work, his expression unreadable. His dark hair fell slightly over his face, a few strands brushing against the thin frames of his glasses. Even when exhausted, he looked composed—controlled.

It was foolish, perhaps, to ask. You knew how he hated to be interrupted when he was deep in thought, yet you also knew yourself. If you didn’t speak now, the words would fester, gnawing at you like a wound left untreated.

"Zayne."

His name left your lips barely above a murmur, but he heard you. He always did.

His fingers stilled over the keyboard, his posture shifting as he leaned back into his chair slightly. He turned to you, the dim light catching the sharp angles of his jawline.

"Yes, love?" His voice was deep, slightly hoarse from disuse, carrying with it a subtle weight of exhaustion.

You hesitated. Just for a moment.

Sensing it, Zayne pushed his laptop aside and stood, his movements slow, deliberate. Without a word, he made his way toward you, his presence a steady force as he settled beside you on the couch. Lifting your legs with ease, he draped them over his lap, his fingers resting absentmindedly against your ankle. His warmth bled into you, solid and grounding.

Encouraged by the gesture, you swallowed and forced yourself to ask the question that had been lingering in your mind for far too long.

"What was my past self like?"

His brows lifted slightly, his fingers pausing their absentminded movements. "That’s a rather unexpected question," he murmured, adjusting his glasses—a telltale sign of nervousness, though he would never admit it. "What’s brought this on?"

You frowned. "Don’t change the subject."

A subtle exhale left him, barely audible, but you caught it. You knew him well enough to recognize when he was trying to sidestep something.

"I don't remember everything." His voice was measured, but there was a slight tightness to it. "Fragments, maybe. Fleeting pieces that don’t quite form a complete picture. But from what I do recall…" He trailed off, adjusting his glasses again before continuing.

"She wasn’t so different from you now." His tone was contemplative, as if choosing his words carefully. "Determined. Unyielding. Always knew what she wanted and wouldn’t rest until she got it." A small pause. "Much like you."

Your lips pressed into a thin line. That answer—it wasn’t enough.

"Did you love her more?" The words came out before you could stop them.

This time, his reaction was immediate. His entire body tensed, his fingers tightening just slightly against your leg—not enough to hurt, but enough for you to notice.

His eyes met yours, a flicker of something unreadable flashing across his expression before it smoothed into something composed once more.

"As far as I’m concerned, she is you. Every version of you—past, present, future—exists within the same soul, deeply ingrained in me. To compare them would be a fruitless endeavor. There has never been a question of more or less—there is only you."

His voice was even, unwavering, but there was a weight to his words, something deeper lying beneath them. A certainty so absolute that you almost felt ridiculous for asking.

Still, a part of you felt… silly. Jealous over yourself. How insecure could you be?

But it wasn’t insecurity, was it? It was the cruel weight of uncertainty, the knowledge that there were pieces of yourself you might never truly remember. And that truth would always linger, like a ghost in the back of your mind.

Zayne, ever perceptive, seemed to sense the turmoil playing behind your eyes. He lifted his hand, his fingers trailing up your arm before settling against your own, giving it a light squeeze. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, a grounding gesture.

A smirk—barely there, but unmistakable—tugged at the corner of your lips as you met his gaze. "Is that so? Then tell me more."

Zayne let out a soft, resigned sigh, shaking his head just slightly. But even as he feigned reluctance, there was the unmistakable ghost of a smile playing at the edges of his lips.

And somehow, even if your question wasn’t entirely answered, even if you knew the uncertainty would return again someday—right now, his presence was enough.

Rafayel

Laughter filled the dimly lit bedroom, loud and breathless, bouncing off the walls as you squirmed beneath Rafayel’s relentless assault. His fingers moved with precision, ghosting over your sides, tracing over sensitive spots he had long since memorized. Your body arched in protest, hands weakly attempting to shove him away, but he was stronger, faster—his lips curled in amusement as he watched you crumble beneath his touch.

"Alright, it's enough!" You gasped between helpless giggles, trying—failing—to inject authority into your voice. The demand might have carried weight if not for the way laughter cracked through it, rendering it powerless.

Still, Rafayel, ever the merciful tormentor, finally relented. With a low chuckle, he slowed his movements, his hands instead settling on your waist, fingers splayed lazily over your hips as if he had all the time in the world. Then, in a gesture as disarming as it was tender, he leaned in, pressing playful kisses across your cheeks, your nose, the corners of your lips—each one stealing the remnants of your breath.

Your smile only widened, cheeks flushed a warm pink.

When you finally opened your eyes, he was already watching you, his usual mischief softened by something more dangerous—something deeper. His dark hair framed his face in perfect disarray, stray strands falling over his forehead, and his striking blue-pink eyes shimmered with something unreadable.

"You're killing me, cutie." His voice was honeyed, teasing, yet laced with a quiet reverence. "From all that laughing, I figured you loved my fingers on you. Should I take that as a request?"

A flick to his forehead wiped the smirk off his lips.

He gasped dramatically, cradling the spot as if you had mortally wounded him. "Now, you need to kiss it better!" His pout was exaggerated, his dramatic flair in full effect, yet beneath the playful act was a calculated charm—one that had always made him so dangerously captivating.

Rolling your eyes, you indulged him, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his forehead. The faint imprint of your lipstick lingered, and you smirked to yourself, deciding to keep that detail to yourself. It suited him, after all.

Rafayel hummed in satisfaction, but then his expression shifted. "That’s slightlyyy better." A pause. "Now, how about we order some seafood?" His lips curved into a small, knowing smile, his tone lighthearted.

And yet—your stomach dropped.

Your expression faltered, barely perceptible, but Rafayel caught it instantly. His head tilted slightly, amusement fading into mild confusion. "What is it? Wasn't it your favorite?"

Your blood ran cold.

"I told you—multiple times—I hate seafood." Your voice was steady, but the weight behind it was anything but. It wasn’t the mistake itself that stung—it was the realization that followed.

It was her favorite.

The realization came like a blade, cutting through you mercilessly. The past you—the before you—the version of yourself that had lived and loved Rafayel long before your memories had been wiped away.

You weren’t her. You weren’t the one he had fallen for first.

The air in the room felt heavier now, thick with unspoken words.

Rafayel’s face fell. His usual mask of arrogance slipped, replaced by something fleeting—regret, guilt, self-reproach. He cursed himself under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "Ah—sorry… we'll get Chinese, yeah?" His voice, usually so smooth, so effortless, now carried an edge of uncertainty. He was scrambling. He knew he had messed up.

But the damage had already been done.

Because you finally saw it—the cracks in his reassurances. The way his stories about her had painted a picture you could never quite step into. She had been different. More confident. More cunning. More effortlessly herself.

More like the version of you that you always wished to be.

Your chest tightened, and before you could stop yourself, you turned away from him. You couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. Not now.

"Cutie…" His voice dropped to a murmur, gentle, coaxing. You felt his fingers ghost toward your cheek, but you recoiled before he could touch you.

That reaction made something shift in him.

The softness vanished, replaced by something colder. His jaw tensed, his lips parting slightly in what could have been a plea—but he hesitated.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat.

"Did you love her more, Rafayel?"

The words cut through the silence like a blade. There was no teasing lilt in your voice, no room for him to twist the moment into something playful. No. This time, you weren’t giving him an escape.

His body went rigid, his lips parting slightly as if the sheer audacity of the question had momentarily stolen his breath. Then, panic flickered in his eyes—just for a second.

"What?—Of course not!" The words left him too quickly, too forcefully. "I mean, god, you're the same person." His voice was rough, desperate, but the way he said it—like he was trying to convince himself just as much as you—made your stomach churn.

"Liar."

A whisper. Sharp. Accusing.

You pushed yourself up, slipping from his grasp, but Rafayel moved fast, his fingers catching your wrist before you could step away. His grip wasn’t forceful, but it was enough to make you halt.

"Where are you going?"

"Home." Your voice wavered, but your resolve did not. "I can't—I don't want to talk to you right now."

He tensed. "Y/N, don’t do this—"

"I need time." You exhaled, voice gentler now, but firm. "We’ll talk when I’m ready."

You didn’t wait for his reply.

The moment you slipped from his grasp, the warmth of his touch faded, replaced by the chilling weight of distance. And as you walked toward the door, you felt his gaze burning into your back.

But he didn’t chase you.

Not this time.

And as the door shut behind you, leaving Rafayel alone on his vast, king-sized bed, you both knew—

This wasn’t the end of the conversation.

Not even close.

Sylus

The silk sheets pooled beneath you as you sat on Sylus' bed, the fabric smooth against your skin. The soft glow of the bedside lamp bathed the room in golden hues, casting long shadows as you rummaged through the bags at your feet—your most recent indulgence. Or rather, his indulgence.

"You didn’t have to buy all this for me, you know," you murmured without looking up, fingers brushing over the expensive fabrics, the scent of luxury still clinging to them.

Across from you, Sylus leaned against the grand headboard, his arms lazily crossed, an amused smirk playing at his lips. His crimson eyes glimmered under the dim light, ever watchful, ever knowing.

"And yet, somehow, I still managed to," he mused, his voice a smooth melody laced with amusement. "Truly tragic, how I remain cursed with wealth and the urge to spoil you."

You rolled your eyes, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

"Why don’t you give me a fashion show, sweetie?" he suggested, tilting his head slightly.

Your excitement sparked instantly. You barely spared him a glance before gathering the bags and rushing into the bathroom, the sound of his low chuckle following you as you disappeared behind the door.

As you sifted through the clothes, something caught your eye—a dress you didn’t remember picking out. The color was… odd. Not bad, necessarily, but definitely not something you would have chosen for yourself. It washed you out in a way that felt unnatural, like a version of you that wasn’t quite right.

Sylus.

You sighed, shaking your head with a fond smile. He had excellent taste; he’d picked out dresses for you before—ones that flattered your figure, ones that made you feel effortlessly beautiful. But this? This felt like it belonged to someone else.

Still, you slipped it on. It’s always nice to try something new, you reasoned. And besides, you could always return it.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you straightened your posture, putting on your best model walk as you sauntered toward him with a small, playful smile.

Sylus’ gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate.

"You look ravishing," he murmured, his deep voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. He pushed off the headboard and closed the space between you in an instant, his hands slipping to your waist, pulling you flush against him. The scent of his cologne wrapped around you, warm and intoxicating.

"You think?" you asked, though your gaze drifted downward again, fingers idly smoothing over the fabric.

"That’s a rather interesting choice, boss." The nickname was teasing, but there was a layer of curiosity beneath it. "I don’t think I like this color on me, but if you do… I suppose I’ll wear it anyway."

A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest.

"Nonsense," he dismissed easily. "You’ve always looked stunning in this color. Or any color, for that matter, kitten."

Something in your chest twisted.

Your brows knitted together slightly as you peered up at him. Maybe you were overthinking it. Maybe he meant nothing by it. And yet—

"I’ve never worn this color before, though." You chuckled, keeping your tone light, masking the unease settling at the edges of your mind.

Sylus said nothing at first. A beat of silence stretched between you, but his grip didn’t falter. His expression remained unreadable, except for the slight glint of something in his crimson eyes—something calculated.

You knew this game. You knew how he played.

He was refined, meticulous with his words, carefully measured in everything he did. Sylus didn’t make mistakes.

And yet, you had caught one.

He loved you. That, you never doubted. His devotion was absolute, unwavering. But there was always this—this lingering ghost of someone else. A woman you had once been. A woman you no longer remembered. A woman you weren’t even sure you were.

And yet, she still lived here. In his mind. In his stories. In his memories of you.

"I can practically hear your mind working." His voice was smooth, but there was a quiet edge to it. "Speak."

You hesitated. You didn’t want to ruin the moment. Didn’t want to pick at something that might unravel everything.

"You seem to like reminiscing about the past," you finally said, keeping your voice even, careful.

His eyes darkened slightly.

"Of course," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Why wouldn’t I? The moments I’ve spent with the one I love should not be forgotten."

Your chest tightened.

He didn’t see it the way you did. To him, the past and the present were intertwined, threads of the same existence. But to you? The past felt like it belonged to someone else entirely.

"Is that so?" Your lips curved into a wry smile, though the bitterness in your voice was barely concealed. "Then tell me, Sylus—who do you love more? Her or me?"

It was meant to sound like a joke. A playful jab. But the moment the words left your lips, the room shifted. His grip on your waist tightened, his body going still. His expression didn’t change, but you knew him well enough to see the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"What kind of question is that, kitten?" His voice remained steady, but there was something underneath it now—something more careful.

"It doesn’t matter if it’s the past or the present I’m thinking about—it’s always you on my mind."

But it didn’t feel like it.

Not in the way that mattered.

You swallowed, the months of quiet insecurities bubbling up, spilling over before you could stop them. "I don’t want you to think about her," you admitted, voice quieter now but no less firm. "It’s in the past—the past I don’t even remember."

A beat of silence.

For the first time that night, Sylus looked genuinely caught off guard. His expression wavered for the briefest moment before something else took its place—something softer.

"…I apologize." His voice, always so effortlessly poised, now carried an unfamiliar weight. "I never meant to make you feel that way, sweetheart. I won’t mention it again."

And yet—right now, it wasn’t enough.

"I need a moment for myself." The words left you before you could think them through.

You turned, ready to step away, but his fingers curled around your wrist—not tight, not forceful, just there.

"I won’t stop you," he murmured. "Take all the time you need." His hand lifted, brushing against your cheek, his touch warm, careful. You refused to meet his gaze, afraid of the emotions that might spill over if you did.

"But know that —when you’re ready, I’ll be right here."

A pause. Then, softer—so tender it nearly broke you—

"I love you."

And then, he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head before letting you go.

And just like that, you slipped away from him.

Out of the room, out of his reach, out into the night, letting the wind carry you as you tried to untangle the storm of emotions inside you.

You weren’t sure how long it would take. An hour, a day, a month.

But Sylus—he would wait.

He always did.

Caleb

A/N:For Caleb, I decided to twist it a little and instead make it about your future self. Hope that's alright!

It was always easy to be carefree with Caleb nearby.

He made the world feel manageable—as if no matter what went wrong, he would be there, steady as ever, grounding you with nothing more than a glance. You hated how much you depended on him, how much you needed him, but he made it feel so natural, so right.

And even now, as you perched on the kitchen counter, watching the way his muscled back flexed with each movement, the rhythmic sound of his knife against the cutting board filling the space between you, you thought—maybe this is it. Maybe this is all I need.

Your gaze lingered. It was the only sight you ever wanted to see.

Caleb, as if sensing your attention, let out a low chuckle. "I can feel you staring, pipsqueak." He turned his head slightly, a boyish grin tugging at his lips. "Should I be flattered or concerned?"

Your heart stuttered. No matter how much he changed over the years, that grin—that teasing, infuriating grin—never did.

"You're a terrible chef," you huffed, crossing your arms. "I’ve been waiting for my dish for, what? An hour now?"

He snorted. "Fifteen minutes, actually."

"Felt longer."

"Impatient as ever." He shook his head, flipping something onto a plate with practiced ease.

You chuckled softly, but the warmth in your chest flickered, cooling as a shadow of uncertainty crept into your mind. You hated thinking about the future. The unpredictability of it, the way it loomed, stretching out like an abyss, no matter how tightly you tried to hold onto the present.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice Caleb moving until his presence was right there. His hand shot out, pinching your cheek.

"Finally got your attention, pips." His voice was teasing, but the weight behind it was unmistakable.

You groaned, swatting his hand away as he set your plate aside. His violet eyes—always so sharp, so unnervingly aware—locked onto yours.

"What's going on in that little head of yours, hmm?" He leaned in slightly, voice still playful, but now edged with something serious.

You hesitated.

It was stupid. You knew it was stupid to ask. But the words clawed at your throat, relentless.

"I was just thinking..." you mumbled, staring down at your dangling feet.

"Rare sight." He smirked.

You shot him a glare and shoved at his chest, earning a low chuckle.

"Shut up." You exhaled, fingers tightening around the hem of your shirt. Then, before you could lose your nerve— "Caleb, do you see me in your future?"

The teasing glint in his eyes faded instantly.

For the first time in the conversation, his smirk disappeared, replaced by something unreadable. He stared at you, brow furrowing slightly, as if trying to figure out why the hell you’d ask something so ridiculous.

Then—without hesitation— "You’re the only thing I’m certain about in my future."

Your breath hitched.

"It’s you, by my side, exploiting me as your personal slave." His lips quirked up, but you knew him too well. The humor was a shield, a flimsy attempt to soften the truth beneath it.

And the truth was—Caleb didn’t make promises easily. He was a liar, through and through. You knew that. Hell, he was probably the biggest liar you’d ever met.

But right now?

There was no lie in his voice. No hesitation in his certainty.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the future didn’t feel so terrifying.

But doubt was a cruel thing. It never let go easily.

"But what if I’m not the same?" you murmured, fingers idly toying with the fabric of your shirt.

Caleb scoffed, ruffling your hair with a tenderness that contradicted the smug grin on his face.

"Then I’ll adapt to whatever version of you I get." His voice was soft, but his grip—his presence—was solid.

Your throat tightened as warmth bloomed in your chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, breathing him in.

"Even if I become the worst version of myself?" you teased, tilting your head slightly.

Caleb hummed, amused. "If that’s the case, I’ll just make sure I become the best version of myself." He leaned in, voice dropping to something lower, something that sent a shiver down your spine. "And if your worst self turns out to be particularly sadistic, well..." His lips barely brushed against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I’ll make sure to satisfy your cravings, baby"

Heat coiled in your stomach. You barely had a second to react before he pulled back, pressing a finger to your lips just as you tried to close the distance.

"Ah-ah. Eat first, pips."

You groaned. "You’re impossible."

He chuckled, eyes glinting with something dark, something possessive. Something that promised—no matter what version of yourself you became, he would always be there.

With Caleb, there was only one certainty in life—

You would always have someone who loved you unconditionally.

[cherrycheolkat]

Hi! I love your works! For the bingo list can I request monster with cheol? I loved the mingyu one a lot

Thank you! 🫶🏻

so demon!cheol is maybe a bit different, but i hope you like him - he needs his own long fic tbh

♡ kat

bingo squares: monster

pairing: choi seungcheol x f!reader

genres: monster!seungchoel, demon!seungcheol, magic au, fluff, dark themes (they can both exist)

summary: y/n is stuck with the most useless demon to exist until he suddenly makes himself very useful

word count: 2.9k

warnings: monster fucking, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, cum eating, monster dick, breeding kink if you squint, eggs (iykyk), implied impregnation

having your own demon was largely useless. at least if that demon was seungcheol. his most useful feature was running errands - like picking up milk and cat litter. 

but the rest of the time, he mainly spent lounging around your apartment, usually reading whatever books were around. in fact, your book collection seemed to have suspiciously grown of its own accord since you ‘inherited’ him from your grandmother. you weren’t sure where he was getting them from, since half of them were in an italian dialect that your phone couldn’t recognize, but there they were, taking up space, just like seungcheol. 

having never really met your family, it had been shocking to have a demon show up and knock on your door, to say the least. in fact, you treated him like you would treat any psycho off the street and slammed the door in his face and locked all the locks. 

except, surprise, he could basically walk through walls. which he did whenever it was least convenient, like when you were showering and he had some random deep thoughts to share about a news article (you canceled your new yorker subscription because of him). 

or when you were napping, and he wanted to play animal crossing. 

or when you were dead asleep and he wanted to play the cat restaurant game on your phone. 

he refused to have his own phone. because yours existed, and he only liked the cat game and sometimes wordle when he was “acutely bored.”

you often wondered if killing him had any consequences. especially since you had already tried breaking whatever it was that bound you together, but that apparently involved some ancient-level crap beyond burning sage, so you had given up. but would you be prosecuted for slaying a demonic creature, you wondered, but decided he would probably just show back up, no worse for wear.

not to mention, you had been in a fairly foul mood lately. very snappy with everyone - you scowled at a baby for fuck’s sake. so you decided you needed a little personal reset, and that meant getting the worst excuse for a demon ever, out of your hair, at least for an hour if you were lucky. 

your plan was simple - give him an insane amount of errands that required him to roughly hit up every borough of the city. you made a tediously long list of things you needed - you fully knew that besides refusing a cell phone, he refused to use his abilities (whatever those were) to get around the city, not to mention he said he found the subway “enlightening.”  you rolled your eyes, making detailed notes of exactly which market he needed to visit for which item. 

in all reality - if someone really questioned you, you would have to admit that, despite how obnoxious you often found seungcheol, he was insanely handsome and maybe intimidating - at least based on the way people literally moved out of his way on the sidewalk, which was perhaps his most impressive trait. 

but he was also persistently around you and with zero boundaries, which meant you couldn’t just invite someone over for a quick fuck. you needed some time to do it yourself, maybe even a few times. and then you would feel like mary-sunshine again. but you needed him out of the apartment! especially since he had been showing up in your dreams lately, which was really fucking with your mind. his handsome face invading your dreams had to end.

but even as you were making your insane list, you could feel him hovering around you. when you felt his chin rest on your shoulder, you wanted to elbow him in the stomach. 

“why do you want mixed olives from there? there are already olives here, and you hate those,” he commented, his husky voice way too close for comfort. 

“some recipe i found,” you mumbled. 

“but you can’t stand them,” he tried again.

you shrugged, and he only leaned closer, his arms gently encircling you as he read your jumbled handwriting. you were mostly used to this too. he had an infuriating way of getting very close, sometimes without you even noticing. you thought it was solely to annoy, but no, he genuinely didn’t seem to understand why you constantly tried to have space from him - and made up for it by crowding you even more when any opportunity presented itself. it was a losing battle. 

you had given up explaining to him how your bed was yours because he insisted on napping there after watching whatever daytime tv show he was suddenly obsessed with - and that was months ago. 

but today, he would be out of the apartment. you were making sure of that. no random appearances. just peace and quiet and you and your vibrator doing god’s work. 

you finished the list and turned, pressing it to his chest, “if you wouldn’t mind doing the one thing you do for me.”

he watched you for a moment like he was on the verge offering some pithy response, but he just sighed and took the list. and then proceeded to take ages to actually leave. you stood watching him fumble around for who knows what, tapping your foot impatiently because you hadn’t considered that even him leaving could be such a production. 

“stop glaring at me,” he called out, “i’m leaving, okay - to run all of your precious errands,” he was annoyed, but at least he was walking out the door. you ran behind him to lock it. 

and finally, you could get down to business. you practically ran to your room and dove under the covers. this was a timed thing - you couldn’t waste a second. 

you pulled up some very dubious porn, but whatever - it was for the greater good. you didn’t bother taking off your sleep shorts and underwear, just shoving your vibrator down your pants where you needed it most and proceeding as required - lube wasn’t a luxury you could afford in the race to have several uninterrupted orgasms. 

but no - no, no, no - you’re brain froze. you had felt the small shift next to you in bed. your eyes went wide, then squeezed shut as you tried to stop everything you set in motion. you were dreaming - this wasn’t real.

but no, it was real - because he spoke. “when you’re finished can i have your phone?” he whispered, he was lying on what you begrudgingly acknowledged was his side of the bed. 

how was it that this was the one time you wanted him out of the house, and he basically made everything appear from thin air all because he wanted to play the cat restaurant game. on your phone, which was in your bedroom. with you. playing the kind of porn you would rather die than confess to watching, while you were furiously trying to stimulate your clit. 

you froze completely - you were mortified, but also how was this your life, you wondered. 

he poked you cheek gently, “y/n? i need to check my tips jar - it maxes out at 40,00 little fish monies.”

“seungcheol, fuck off,” you whispered with every ounce of civility you could muster. 

“you’re almost finished - just like a minute or so and then i check my game,” he trailed off. 

you thought you might combust, turning to look at him, “I’LL BE FINISHED IN A MINUTE? no! and you know what? no more cat cafe!”

“cat restaurant, actually,” he corrected, smiling - dimples on full display. 

“i don’t fucking care! no more cat-based food games on my phone, i’m deleting them and your games account!”

“noooo,” he whined, as you navigated to the games hub - he was suddenly straddling you and fighting for your phone - he could pry it from your semi-warm dead hand as far as you were concerned. 

you wrestled back and forth until he finally had you trapped under him using what felt like more than his body weight.

“don’t you dare delete my account,” you were surprised to see his eyes were a glowing deep blue instead of their normal dark-coffee brown, “do you know how many ads i’ve sat through to expand my cat empire, y/n - i finally have the little spa area open,” he sounded so serious and simultaneously so ridiculous. 

you glared at him, trying to focus all your rage on him for ruining your afternoon of solo sex. 

he stared at you for a moment, swallowing hard - “look what if i help you with your endeavor, and then you won’t need to do anything permanent,” he offered, his eyes drifting towards your phone, which only made you tighten your grip on it.

“helping me with my problem would be you disappearing forever,” your voice was more acidic than you meant it to be. 

he immediately pouted, “look, it’s a genuine offer, okay - i do have experience,” he stared at you with big, round eyes that could unquestionably peer into your soul. 

you groaned dramatically and tried to pull out of his grip, which was completely useless. “what is it with you and the cat games?” you asked out of pure exasperation. you had already given up on an orgasm, having switched your vibrator off almost the instant you heard his voice. 

“you know, you sit down and watch happy little animals sit and eat and eat and sit - you just get to turn your brain off for a bit, it’s nice,” he shrugged, still watching you. 

you stared at him for a moment, finally sighing, “just get out, okay, let me change and you can have your game back,” you folded like a sad, wet paper bag. 

you closed your eyes, waiting for him to let go of you and leave. instead, you felt a small kiss on your cheek. your eyes snapped open to find him still leaning over you. 

“let me help,” he said, voice gentle, his hands squeezing your wrists softly. 

you wanted to smack him - him and his stupid cute face. why couldn’t he just actually go to the stores like you had asked, you wondered to yourself.

he rolled his eyes, leaning down to whisper, “because i know when you’re up to something,” his lips brushed your skin. 

it was genuinely trying on your mental faculties that he knew what you were thinking. literally, every thought. it was why he never even asked for the passcode for your phone. and why he regularly answered questions you never verbalized. 

“so then you could have just let me have time to myself,” you pouted. 

“mmmh, but i can be so much more helpful with this little project, instead of going to get the olives i know you don’t like from a store across town in the rain,” he whispered and nipped teasingly at your earlobe. 

you shivered from the contact. you tried to make your mind blank, not exactly wanting him to know how good it already felt to be under him - he already knew too much about you. and this would only serve as reasons for him to be clingier. 

“maybe i don’t want help,” you whispered, your anger growing at the intrusion. 

he nuzzled closer, “i don’t think that’s true since you keep drafting messages to the guy you met a few weeks ago,” he whispered, kissing your throat gently. 

you felt the gentle pressure of his teeth on your throat and whined softly - the feeling was indescribably good. he purred, knowing you liked it, as his lips teased lower. his tongue marking your throat and collarbones. he worked his hands under your shirt, leaning up enough to pull it over your head. the way he gazed down at you was unexpected - his normal apathy was gone. his hands went to your breasts, massaging them, his thumbs brushing over your already pebbled nipples - he was gentle, taking his time teasing you before he dipped his head down, his lips making contact with the sensitive skin of your tits. you felt his teeth graze your skin as he sucked one nipple and then the other. 

he finally leaned up, looking a bit disheveled, and licking his lips, “i want them full,” he murmured. you weren’t completely sure what he meant, but you didn’t really care either as he made his way down your body, leaving a trail of kisses and bites. he pulled off your sleep shorts and underwear and lifted your hips so he could easily work his tongue between your slick folds, finding your clit almost immediately. 

the way he sucked the bud between his lips was mind numbing - you couldn’t help reaching down to grab his hair roughly, wanting him to know what you were feeling in the moment. your whines and moans weren’t enough, he needed to feel you gripping his long hair and pulling it every time his tongue made the most perfect contact. and when he added his fingers, you entered another plane of existence, pulling his hair, arching off the bed and moaning his name in a way that should have been embarrassing. it was like you had never been properly touched by a man in your life, and you were finally learning what pleasure was. 

you came quickly - your cum rushing past his fingers, which he seemed to enjoy based on the way he licked into you, lapping at your opening. you could feel his tongue working impossibly deep inside you. you knew without asking that he wanted you to come again. 

his fingers worked your clit while his tongue was still exploring your sticky walls, and you felt it again, the sweetest pleasure flowing through every part of your body. he leaned up, licking his lips, giving your pussy a gentle smack. 

“feeling better?” he asked, almost sounding sincere. 

you sighed and nodded, “much better.” you didn’t move, but found yourself wondering if he was as god at fucking as he was at eating pussy. 

he grinned, his hands tracing over your hips and stomach, “is that what you want now - my cock stretching you open,” he glanced up, watching you for a second before glancing back down. 

you could feel the way his fingers were carefully prodding your stomach - it was almost like he was looking for something. 

“is your dick as good as i think?”

he nodded without looking up, “you won’t even know what to compare it to,” he grinned, voice smug. 

you didn’t say anything - you just watched him undress, noiticing how good he looked, and that, at least from your angle, his cock looked fairly average. but then he was between your legs again, kissing you, licking into you, “you have no idea how perfect you are,” he whispered, his fingers still working to prep you. 

you had thought it often enough, and you knew he knew, but you found yourself confessing how gorgeous you found him. he smiled, kissing you just as he began sliding his cock inside you, “let me make you full,” he whispered when he started to move. you nodded, not caring what he did because you knew how perfect it felt. 

you were sure you were even slicker than before as he began moving inside you, but even though you could feel how thick and long his cock was, you knew you were taking every inch of him without any pain. it didn’t matter how brutal his pace was either, you only felt the pleasure of him stretching you wider than you thought possible - going deeper than you knew was possible - you were sure you could feel his dick slamming into your stomach with every thrust. you wanted to feel how deep inside you he was, but he kept pinning your hands back against the mattress, thrusting harder.

“i’m exactly as deep as you think, pet,” he groaned, snapping his hips, “i can go even further if you want.”

you laughed softly, even as you heard the deep, shivering moan that came from him. you felt the odd sensation of something entering you - not his cock or fingers, something cool and almost heavy - you orgasmed, seeing bright lights flashing behind your eyelids as you felt the same sensation, something entering you - something smooth and round going deep inside and clinging to your inner walls. 

“you’re really doing it?” you managed to whisper. 

he moaned, “told you i want you full,” he whispered, voice ragged as you felt another object pumped into your cunt, “want to breed you full, pet - make you mine forever,” he whispered, finally pulling out. 

you stayed in his arms after, enjoying how safe you felt.

“i’ve never given them to anyone before,” he whispered, kissing your temple.

you fell asleep cradled against him, your cervix full of his precious eggs. 

a/n: i love writing cheol, especially cheol in magical aus because low key i had this idea and now i want to know way more about him

♡ kat

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vindicated (swear i'd never do it again) - choi yeonjun

ꕥ pairing: bf!yeonjun x afab!reader

ꕥ genres: smut, angst

ꕥ rating: 18+ mdni

ꕥ warning: dom!yeonjun, sub!reader, arguments, confrontations because they are adults, reader cries a lot, cheating (implied), make up sex, unprotected sex, oral (f.rec) multiple orgasm, fingering, riding

ꕥ wc: 6k

ꕥ a/n: i actually hate this... i've been gate keeping it since last year because of it but nevertheless enjoy

The noise of rain tapping on the windows corresponded with the racing beat of your heart. Weeks had passed since the previous arguments, yet the ensuing silence felt even more distressing. Yeonjun's brown coloured long trench coat still hung by the door, his cologne subtle yet persistent in the air—a harsh reminder of all that was left unsettled between you.

You sit on the floor of your shared apartment with legs crossed, browsing through the pages of a vintage photo album. Your eyes soften at the shiny pictures that seem like it quite narrates a tale of love that seems unstoppable for both of you. Yeonjun was smiling at a summer festival, his eyes almost closing as you guys were hit with warmth from the sun. You were right there by his side, kissing his cheek. Another picture captured you resting on his shoulder during a late-night train journey. At that time, your friends had playfully teased you about your inseparability, during your early stages of relationship, attached closely to each other’s hips all the time.

However, it seems that his love, you don't know, maybe it has faded as time passed. Like a withering flower that is waiting for a moment to shatter on earth, words that were once delivered with sweetness now carry a sharpness. Of course at first, the arguments began minor: late response to messages, any sorts of miscommunications that could have been resolved with an apology. Soon arrived the yelling disputes, doors being slammed, and evenings spent in different rooms. Yeonjun was always the avoidant type, rather than to sit together and talk he prefers to distance himself, stressing you out at the lack of communication.

As you are occupied with countless thoughts, you hear the door slowly being opened, causing you to look up abruptly. Yeonjun enters, his jet black hair evidently wet from the rain. He appears unchanged yet changed, his eyes bearing a heaviness that didn't exist previously. For a brief time, neither of you said anything. The atmosphere in the room was dense, laden with unspoken thoughts.

"You’re still around," Yeonjun eventually says, his tone distant.

"Now you don’t want me here? Where could I possibly go?" You coldly answer, hurt by the question, or his choice of words. Your hands quickly shutting the album and putting it down.

He moves a step closer, then two, then he is standing not even two steps away from you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. "I was wondering if perhaps you… I'm not sure." His voice is toned down at the end, like he’s not sure what to say.

"Isn’t that what you do?" The resentment in your voice was unignorable, tugging at the string of his heart. "You are gone whenever situations become too tense, you always walk away."

Something flinches inside Yeonjun hearing that, but he refuses to look away. “And you always hold on too tight,” he counters back, his voice trembling. “Like you’re afraid if you let go even a little, everything will fall apart.”

“Because it will fall apart, Yeonjun!” Your voice goes up three tones higher, it even cracks, but you care less about that when you have tears welling up. “It already is. Can’t you see that?”

“What do you want me to do, Y/N?” he asks, his voice breaking as well. “I’ve tried to fix this. I’ve tried to be enough for you, but maybe… maybe we’re just not compatible.”

His words hang between, heavy and suffocating. It feels like he’s admitting defeat, like acknowledging the storm both of you trapped in will never clear. And God, does it hurt. The constant effort you make to understand him better, the lies he told to your face you turned blind eye into, the missed important dates.

“You think I don’t know that?” you whisper, your voice barely audible to him. “But even after everything, I can’t walk away. I… I love you, Yeonjun. Even when it hurts. Even when you hurt me, over and over. I can lose everything, but not you…”

Yeonjun’s shoulders droop, and for the first time in a long time, he looks guilty. He stares at your wet face, your disheveled form, your trembling hands. You never look so broken, his sweet darling, the apple of his eyes, his precious love appears like a broken piece of glass before him, it wrenches his heart thinking that it was from all his doings.

“I love you too,” he admits, his voice raw. You can feel his gaze soften a bit, eyes no longer angry. “But is love enough if all I do is hurting you?”

The question is like a stabbing knife to your heart. You both knew the answer, but neither has the courage to say it aloud. Silence fills the air once more, the rain pouring outside is like a brutal mirror to the storm inside your apartment.

Finally, Yeonjun closes the distance between you. He hesitantly kneels in front of you, his hands trembling as he cups your face. “I don’t want to lose you either,” he says, every word that comes up from his mouth shakes. “But I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Maybe we can’t fix it,” you replied, your tears spilling non stop now that he’s got his hands on you. It is obvious that his hand is cold from the freezing weather outside, yet it spreads warmth inside you as you lean further into his comforting, healing touch. “Maybe we just have to accept that we’re broken. But I’d rather be broken with you than whole without you. I don’t wanna give up on us, Jjunie.”

Yeonjun leans his forehead against yours as he hears the nickname, his own tears falling. You let him engulf you in his arms, arms brushing over each other giving you goosebumps on the realisation that you went on a week without him. His chest heaves up and down, relaxed heartbeat calming you down as you savour the moment.

“I am sorry, baby,” he is the first one to break the silence. You could not pinpoint whether he is sincere about it, but his eyes are telling you like you matter the most in his world. “I hurt you, didn't I? How’d you sleep this past week?” His voice laced with concern, tone so dulcet and sweet you feel like you are falling into a gush of sugar. Knowing you hardly fall asleep without him around, his mind floods with sorrowful guilt.

“Horrible, I missed you,” you come clean, him smiling so softly you would miss it if you weren't right in his hug.

“Poor baby, I missed her too,” he uses his usual baby tone to talk to you, stroking the back of your head while you find yourself closing your eyes at the comforting contact.

“Wanna cuddle?” He's asking so nicely, not even waiting for your answer as he lifts you up from the cold floor, wrapping your legs around his waist. He walks you both to your shared room, your heart thumping as you feel butterflies all over again. The room hasn't changed since the last time you guys slept in the same bed and room, clean simple beige sheets that Yeonjun had changed after your last intercourse being where you land on.

He's taking off his jacket, the only thing that he wears on his upper body being the black sleeveless shirt that drives you crazy everytime you see those on him. Your eyes that are set on him trembles a bit, forcing you to let out a cough.

“It's January. You shall wear something more warm.”

“I could warm up being next to you,” he's quick with his witty answer, already jumping on the bed again, pulling you yet again into his embrace. His face is buried in your neck, lips dangerously wandering around your sensitive areas you breathe deeply as you bite back a moan.

“Jjunie, I thought we were only going to cuddle,” you interrupt, yet you find your hands tangling in his strands of hair, noticeably longer since the last time you held onto them.

“Aren’t we?” his lips latching on your skin by now, gently sucking on the flesh before he lets go, leaving a fresh mark of him on you, reclaiming his territory. He retreats for a while, lips part as he hears the small gasp that comes up as you notice the hickey. “So beautiful…”

As you remain captivated by his alluring move, seemingly innocent as he keeps making out first, then his hands start to roam not only over but now under your clothing a little. He strips your top off first, fondling at your tits.

“Tell me if you don’t want me,” he pauses, looking at your expression. Your doe eyes look at him, a bit glassy. His stomach churns at that, just a moment ago, you were yelling at him but now, under him you could not deny his contact with your body.

“Oh—” you moan out, feeling every inch of your body craving for his touch more and more, you could feel your underwear sticking onto your entrance by now, your arousal grows greedier. “Yeonjun.”

“Am right here, baby. Tell me what you need.”

“Want you, need you, all of you, oh my god—” your words are cut at how he would make easy work of the tiny shorts that wrap you, he slips them off quickly, palming your ass before slipping off the lacy underwear too.

Then his shirt is off in a minute, before long you're staring at one spot on his chest, your voice that says his name shrieking. Yeonjun is confused at first, before he looks at the direction you are setting your eyes to. His eyes widen as you shove him away, your trembling hands pulling the comforter to cover your body.

“Was–was there someone else?” your voice comes up shaky, eyes glistening with tears that pools at your lower lid. Yeonjun is silenced, a lost look evident in his face. “Y/n…”

“Answer me!” Your tears are falling now, your heart crushed at how he’s not quick to reassure you, to deny your assumption, anything. The bruise mark on his chest, one that was not created by you. Sure, your relationship had been quite flimsy at times after a solid three years, but you never had a reason to doubt his love for you. Every time you argue, it was never about a third person. The third person has never come into the picture. “Did you sleep with her?!” you shout, Yeonjun flinches at the tone.

“Baby, I don’t–”

“Then, what the fuck is that on your neck?” you ask, squinting at a faint purplish mark near his collarbone. It was positioned enough to be hidden when he’s wearing a shirt, but now that it’s off, it’s so evident.

Yeonjun covers the hickey with his hand, the movements rushed and awkward. “Oh, this? It’s... nothing. Just a bruise from a fall,” he mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

“Let me see,” you say after a long silence, your tone firm but he can see the way your lips tremble. Yeonjun hesitates a little, but you reach out your hand, and he lets you inspect the spot. You feel your stomach turn as you lightly run your fingertips over it. You aren’t foolish, it was not just any bruise; it was distinctly shaped and coloured like a hickey.

Your heart drops as you feel the reality of the situation. “That has nothing to do with a fall. Be honest with me.”

Yeonjun’s face changes, and the room falls quiet for a brief period. Both of you, especially Yeonjun, feel anxious about the occasion.

He wobbles with "I... I can explain," but his words sounded unsure, and you feel that is an insincere answer. Like he’s hiding something.

Your head whirl with feelings of betrayal, rage, hurt, and disbelief. This has turned into the rifts in the trust you had established together, not simply about the mark. Your head feels heavy, turning down as you cry.

“It’s not what you’re thinking, y/n!” he’s also yelling now, frustration overcoming him. Guilt, sadness and anger mixed in as he breathed in, his own eyes wet. His heart breaks seeing your state, it’s not the first time he sees you crying but this time you look incredibly heartbroken, miserable and not just upset at him.

“Then, what, what would explain this, Yeonjun?” you are fully sobbing, words imprecise swallowed by your cry.

“I was just… at the club okay? I was drunk, I don’t even remember–”

“Fuck that!” you cut him off, your voice burst with fume. “Do you realize how this looks?! How does it feel to even think you might’ve cheated on me? You try to sleep with me when that mark hasn’t even disappeared?!”

“Baby,” he tries again, trying to get closer to you.

“Don’t baby me,” your voice cold as ice in line with the gaze you now give him. “I don’t know, I thought you would never do that to me. I would never find someone else as long as I’m your girlfriend, Yeonjun. So stupid of me to hold on to you, I should have left long ago, so I don’t feel this hurt, because now I love you so much—too much, it feels even more painful…” you confess, finding yourself laughing at the absurdness yet your tears keep on rolling non stop. “If you don’t like me anymore you could just tell me. I would pack my things myself so you don’t have to rub it in like this.” Sniffles exit your nose, the back of your hand become the temporary napkin as you rub your tears away.

His eyes softened as he reached for her hands, his touch warm but cautious. “Y/n, I’d never hurt you like that. I love you. Please believe me.”

You pull your hands back, turning away to hide the tears welling yet again in your eyes. But before you could retreat further, Yeonjun closes the gap between you both, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“Y/n, look at me,” he whispers, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re everything to me. I can’t stand the thought of you doubting that.”

You turn slowly, her tearful eyes meeting his. There is sincerity in his gaze that makes your heart falter, and along that, a little of expectation because you can still feel the love. It’s still there in his eyes, filled with it and warmth as he looks at you.

“Explain to me,” you say, trying to steady your voice but Yeonjun, knowing you through, could catch that you are still hoping for his denial, still hoping that it isn’t true what you see. With a regretful smile, he cups your face gently, brushing tears away, his fingers on you treating it as delicate as possible.

“Won’t you judge me?” he carefully asks, studying your expression as your brow rises in confusion.

“It depends,” you answer, short, simple and clear.

“Saturday,” he starts, “I was at Taehyun’s. I was stressed out about our fight, and then he persuaded me into going to the club. Relax a little. I had a drink, maybe two but I was so wasted, I don’t remember who was it, I don’t know her, it was a random girl there, I’m gonna be honest we make out a little, and she did this,” he pauses, touching the mark, before his gaze settles on you confidently this time, “Taehyun came up, and he dragged me out there, telling me all about it the next morning. He was meaning to tell you everything first, but I told him not to, because I want to settle things ourselves.”

“Why didn't you tell her you’re not single,” you complain, lips pouting as you contemplate the story, it seems believable but you don’t know for sure. “And why do you have to be so hot, people literally couldn't leave you alone.”

He softly laughs at that, before turning serious again. “I am sorry, pretty girl,” he apologizes, “I don’t know how to mend things that have already happened, I know I should’ve known how wasted I’d be and just head home.”

He then grabs your comforter covered waist, pulling your head to land on his chest, letting you wet it. Your sobbing grows louder first, hands reluctantly creeping up to touch his shoulders. “I am sorry, oh baby, you don’t know how sorry I am, it’s all my fault, should have stayed that night, just hold you close until you’re not upset at me.”

“What can I do to earn your forgiveness, tell me, gorgeous,” his voice is whiny now, almost pleading when your sniffles haven't stopped. The hand that is holding onto your back scatters random shapes on it.

“Then prove it,” you mumble, looking up to him again, your voice barely audible.

Yeonjun cups your face gently, you look very endearing with cheeks red, eyes swollen and lips pouting a bit, his thumbs brushing away the tears remaining on your cheeks. “I’ll spend my entire life proving it,” he says, the sound of his confession thick with emotion.

Your lips meet together in a tender kiss, one that starts slow but it quickly deepens as you could feel the desperation in his touch, the regret, the unspoken promise that he’d never betray your trust.

He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you back on the bed where you can place your head on the pillow comfortably. His hands roam your back as yours are tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. The tension between you dissolves into a shared need for closeness, for reassurance, for reconciliation, for love.

Seconds later, he's immediately invading your personal space, arms around you in a tight, needy embrace. He has his face nestled in the crook of your neck, a heavy breath that tells you he's relieved and something familiar, something that you hunch as love.

“Jun—“ he smashes his mouth against yours, tongue pushing past your lips, the taste of chapstick that you're familiar with, the one that he only uses during winter due to dryness. Desperate sounds leave both your mouths, you are whining while he's half groaning. His body pressed against yours, separated by the cover that hasn't left your body. When he finally pulls away from the passionate kiss, his eyes find yours, filled with affective and yearning.

“I missed you s’ much, princess, how did I survived a whole week without you,” he presses a kiss to your neck, tongue tracing the collarbone with a cherish that signifies his worship on you.

“Would you allow me, princess, I want to make it up to you, please,” he looks up at you with his big, puppy-like eyes, an expression so pitiful it’s admirable. The desperation behind them makes it difficult to say no. You aren't better, your whole body is craving for him.

“Touch me,” you let out a soft whimper, arching into his touch. "Please," you breathe out, and he happily obliges, the cover is off the bed instantly.

Then his hands travel down your sides to your hips, fingers digging in as if to keep you anchored to him. The hand then kneads the meat of your ass, your breath hitches as he goes down on you, nails digging into his arms as you inhale deeply as if committing you to memorise his scent.

“My girl’s so pretty,” he slurs out, before he dives into your pussy, your hand goes flying to grab onto his hair as he splits you open through his tongue.

“Yeonjun!”

“Sorry,” he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise in its wake. He says sorry, but his action doesn't match the word. “Has been so long since I munched on this.”

Your toes curl, eyes thrown back at the way he is switching between licking and sucking, almost like that's the whole purpose of his life. his scruffy cheeks hollow as he sucks a hickey into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He was right though, it has been a while, the pleasure is almost foreign to you.

“Are you still my girl?” he questions, sounding cocky like the usual Yeonjun you know. The sexy, intimidating confidence that has you weak in your knees every time. Your only response is a moan, causing his lips to turn into a smirk, “Of course you are, I‘m the only one that can get you this wet, baby. Correct?”

No longer able to give him a reply, he continues to work his mouth on you. His tongue is relentless, it is sucking onto your entrance, then it is swirling around your clit with increasing fervor. The pace is sloppy, uncoordinated, messy even sometimes, but it only serves to bring you higher to the excitement of it all. Each time he pulls back, you can hear his heavy pant in search of breath, feel the way his mouth lets out your name.

“Oh, Y’jun—” your mindlessly thrown words trail off into incoherent mumbles as you feel closer to the edge, bringing you the sensation. “So close, please.”

The urgency in your begging translates to him as an invitation to continue. The way your entire body is wound up so tense, unwittingly ready to snap. He moves his thumb finger to press on your clit, skilled enough to actually let another two of them be inserted in your pussy, curling them just right so that they’re pressing against that dangerous spot that has you seeing stars.

“Shit, you just got way wetter, you have been craving me that much, huh,“ he chuckles against your thighs, and he's not completely wrong. The way he's re-arranging your inside, it's like he's trying to prove a point, to prove that as much as he needs you, you need him too.

"Wanna cum, please," you gasp out, and then he increases the intensity, your thighs shaking like crazy before it all stops as your liquid gushes out. Yeonjun is more than glad to pick up some of it, slurping them from his fingers. His sexy gaze and your quivering ones meet, silent praises and apologies heard from the way he's caressing your waist gently.

“You haven't come yet,” your sweet voice echoes in his ears. You are still the bundle of love for him, always thinking of his pleasure when you were just crying betrayed by his trust earlier. With agony, Yeonjun is shaking his head, presenting you with a small smile.

“No, it's okay princess. I should be fine, let's go to sleep, hmm? You are tired, I'll hold you,” he's denying you, aware of how relaxed your body is after having your orgasm, you must be so sexually frustrated the whole week. On top of that he knows how bad your sleep was affected due to your argument. Your eyes have been drowsy for a while now, yet you find strength to get up, straddling his lap.

“Love shall go both ways, as much as I mean the world to you, you mean the same to me. What you want from me, I want you the same way too.”

Your eyes staring at him, the honesty in it clear as crystal. Your hand that he is missing so much takes off his pants. The skin against his feels so soft, you are moving a bit behind to kneel before him.

“You really don't have to, princess,” he's saying again, hands caressing your hairline. You look up to him with round eyes, determined to mean what you said earlier. In a brief moment, you are presented with his hard-ons, the sight making you drooling. He's denying you once again with the look in his eyes, so you confidently reply, “I wanna do this.”

“Fuck," Yeonjun breathes out, eyes twisting shut as he feels your warm throat enveloping him. He collects your hair in his fist gently, holding it as you swallow him whole. Your hands move to rest on his thighs, pretty acrylics pressing on it whenever another inch of him goes in.

The feeling of your mouth enveloping him has him pulsing in your throat, his lips part as lewd sounds of him moaning leaves. “You're doing so well for me, babe.”

You take the praise to relax your jaw, letting his tip hit the back of your throat. Your eyes water at the feeling, hurriedly tapping his thighs to let him know the cue. He tightens the grip he has on your hair as he starts to move your head on his length, forcing you to take more and more of him till your nose brushes against his pelvis.

He moves your head up and down, his thrust harsh as he makes you take his entire length then leaving only his tip before repeating the entire process, moaning out your name whenever his head brushes against your throat.

You know he is getting close—you could feel him pulsing in your mouth, as a layer of sweet coated his forehead despite the cold room, making him glow so charmingly. You inhale a deep breath, before sucking in your cheeks, humming his name around him, knowing it is exactly what it would take to throw him over the edge.

“I'm close, baby,” he pleads, inaudible chatters of moans follows after as you double your efforts, and as expected a few seconds later his release spreads through your throat as you continue to bob your head to swallow.

Yeonjun’s chest is heaving, his hair a disheveled mess as he leans his hand heavily against your head, staring down at you like you’d just knocked the wind out of him. You guys stay silent for a while, eye contact with each other being the only sole communicator.

And when you place your legs on either side of him, both of his hands finding their home on your waist, your hole wet and slick enough, ready for him, he’s once again starstrucked, the feeling's overwhelming like you’re made just for him. He bites his lip when you slide down with a whiny mention of his name, you stay still for a moment, and he's all but resist as he needs the comfort of you being wrapped around him right now just bad.

Your eyes could not help but trail down to the mark from earlier, upsetting thoughts taking over you as you encounter the upsetting thoughts again. Your eyes tremble with tears as you hold onto Yeonjun’s shoulders, you begin to sob again, the sight making Yeonjun uneasy as he’s even more apologetic when you are so clearly hurt by the smallest mark, yet the biggest mistake he had made.

"You're mine, you got that?" you sniffle, your touch on him soft but it feels possessive enough to Yeonjun at that point of time.

"Of course, all yours baby, only yours," he breathes as you part your lips, looking down on his neckline. Your eyes briefly glance over the hickey painted over his chest and it leaves the feeling of your heart throbbing in your chest. Unshed tears sting at your eyes, the sound of incoherent sob immediately puts him to sit up against the headboard, holding you close to him.

“I’m sorry, we shouldn’t do this, let’s just—”

“No,” you decline immediately, hands clasping together at his shoulder trying to push him back to let you be in charge. You bite back a sob, “I want to do this. Want this off you,” you snivel, looking pitiful and so eager to get the mark to be hidden by your own, your lip finding its way to his skin, sucking on it before your teeth sink on the same exact spot that leaves Yeonjun wincing in pain. He’s staring at you deeply now, heart wrenched as droplets of tears roll down your cheek in frustration.

"I should’ve been better, should’ve tried harder, I'm gonna make things right, love, I swear," he's spurting all his emotion out, hands scrambling to make their way to your thighs and helping you to move.

“Swear I’d never do it again,” he adds, his pillow-y soft lip rasps across your sensitive neck as he plants gentle kisses all over it. The action is filled with reassurance, infatuation, and warmth. Quite literally soft and tender, far from the agony that had filled your heart only moments before.

“There, princess?” he's asking, his tip reaching your sensitive spot, your voice exceptionally high pitched when you reply to him a yes.

He's much more attentive tonight. Usually sex with him was rough, which you couldn’t complain about or dislike, but there is something adorable about him being so soft with you that always made this a lot more enjoyable than usual. His kisses and praises doubles, along with the occasional apologies, his promise to do better. Your mind goes out from while to while, unable to comprehend the actual sentence that he forms. You are just glad he's holding you, grounding you from blacking out.

“Let me show you my love,” he helps you on your back, his dick sliding out for a while, smiling softly when you make a fuss for it, “I know, it's okay, baby,” comes out his mouth as he thrust up into you, sucking at your neck to leave a few more love bites.

“Faster,” you whimper, dissatisfied at the slow pace.

“We'll get there, so impatient,” Yeonjun chuckles, his hand brushing against your arms to settle into your breast, fondling it. Your desperate moans filled the room, the pace slowly building up. Your hand travels down to your clit, rubbing it before it gets shoved away by Yeonjun instantly.

Before you could question his denial, he whispers a stern “I could do that,” as you relax to his touch, his skilled fingers working its magic. You wrap your arms around his shoulder, pulling him into a kiss, moaning into his mouth as he brings you closer to your high.

He hums against your lips as you tighten around him when you reach your orgasm, peppering the softest kisses all around your face while his hands mapped out your precious body that he’s come to cherish so much. Someone as lovely, as flawless, and as serene as you is a blessing for a man like him, a man who is emotionally lacking and aloof. Your body shakes with the overstimulation, a small smile escapes as he slows the pace, tender and consistent thrust to relax you.

“You feel so good, baby.” His eyes trailing down your body to where you are connected, the base of his cock wraps with thick white rings of your arousal, and his mouth opens at the vicious sight. He watches closely for your expression every time he plunges forward; your hips moving to meet his, thrust for thrust despite your previous orgasm. “Pussy made for me, yeah? Missed me that much?”

Each harsh thrust makes your tits bounce and forces a moan out from you as a response. Yeonjun chuckles at your lack of words, the sight admirable for him. The pleasure on your part made it difficult for you to even make out his expression or words anymore, feeling like you are on cloud nine for a second and a second later you are back on ground.

“Gonna make it up to you, promise,” he’s mumbling in between his praise for you, left at his mercy as he draws various shapes on your clit to push you further in ecstasy, another orgasm creeping in as you hold onto his shoulder tight.

As you let go for him, the endless words of flattery along with assurance of the love he has for you acts as your company. He’s slowing down, waiting for you to come down from your high. As your breath and heartbeat falls into a stable rhythm again, he’s back to thrusting slowly, your breath hitches as you are flooded with oversensitivity, wincing at the intrusion.

“Shh… I’m sorry, just a little bit more, pretty,” his whisper sends relaxation, trusting him with everything as you nod, occasional whimpers leaving your mouth at the slight discomfort. You shift your entire focus on him as he reaches his release, eyebrows furrowed with a slightly opened mouth as you reach your hands out to touch him on the cheek. The contact subconsciously draws a moan from him, resting his forehead on yours.

“Baby,” he calls out, “I’m sorry, I love you.”

Your lips twitch into a small smile, nodding as you rub his cheek yet you say nothing. The silence is deafening, Yeonjun himself cringing as he pulls out from you slowly. None of you breaks the silence as he gets up first to clean himself, allowing you to take a small nap before being woken up by him, for the never forgotten aftercare.

“Do you mind if I sleep with you tonight? I wanna have you in my arms.” The question arises from him as he buttons your pyjamas for tonight. He takes in your cozy state, eyelashes fluttering as you look up to him. You rarely ever see his nervous state, he is a person that always exudes such kind of charisma, carrying himself with confidence, at least around you, yet he seems least intimidating, nervous and very cautious with that simple question.

He isn’t looking for grand gestures or dramatic declarations. What he’s asking for is something simple, intimate, and deeply human: the opportunity to lie beside you, to hold you, and maybe even to begin the slow process of rebuilding what was lost, piece by piece. For a moment, you let yourself believe that this time, it might be different. That he genuinely wants to start anew and make amends, not just relive the moments of the past.

“Of course, Jjunie. Hold me, and don’t let go.”

At your reply, Yeonjun nearly jumps, placing you snuggly in his hold, not missing the opportunity to land a kiss every each and a while on your forehead as you relax and allow yourself to doze off.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Aaaaa Yuuna is so cuuutee 💗😆 Her hair is so prettyyy. But with the addition of the new Yuu I’ve come up with a theory that with the pattern the mangas have taken so far, they’ll start switching back and fourth between male and female yuus for the rest of the dorms:

Heartslabyul - Yuuken (Male)

Savanaclaw - Yuuka (Female)

Octavinelle - Yuuta (Male)

Scarabia - Yuuna (Female)

Pomefiore - Male

Ignihyde - Female

Diasomnia - Male

Just something I came up with that i wanted to share with you ^^ Also who is the manga artist for Scarabia 🤔

[Referencing the Episode of Scarabia!]

Lots of Yuuna-related asks recently (and for good reason!) so I decided to lump them all into one post :DD

Yes, Yuuna is very cute~ The alternating genders of the manga!Yuus has actually been a pretty popular theory for a while now, actually! Some believe this is meant to be the Yuus having the opposite genders as the Great Seven member of their respective books/dorms. But yeah, the pattern seems likely at this point.

The mangaka for the Episode of Scarabia is Majiko-sensei! They have previously contributed a chapter to the manga anthology. You can read more about their past works here.

I'm not sure if "[taking] care of [one's] appearance" is the right phrase to use (as it unintentionally implies other Yuus are slobs/don't care about how they present themselves, when that's definitely not the case)? Maybe it would be more accurate to say, "Yuuna has stereotypically feminine aesthetic tastes", though it's more immature and preppy than Vil's is. I think Yuuna has a cuteness that's more characteristic of Cater than Vil--but all three of them definitely have overlap in their interests in makeup, fashion, social media, etc. I feel like Yuuna would get along with them both!! We do technically see her interacting with Cater (they take a selfie before he departs for winter break) and are assumed to have already known each other due to the events of books 1 and 2. Too bad we don't really get to see them interact in those books... and that we won't see Yuuna interact with Vil for the Episode of Pomefiore. We'll have a new Yuu by then (which gets into my disappointment with never being able to fully follow a single manga!Yuu and their character arc through to the end of the main story...)💦

Yeah, it's nice to have variety in the manga!Yuus' personalities, skillsets, and interests! ^^ It makes them a lot of fun to follow, even if we know they'll only be with us for the length of one book/dorm.

I've personally really been loving Yuuta and Yuuna a lot. Yuuken and Yuuka are also nice, but I find that their general characters are kind of similar (athletic and level-headed) and don't differ enough to result in interactions unique from game!Yuu (with perhaps the exception of them being able to physically contribute to battles). This is not true of Yuuta and Yuuna, whose abilities extend to other areas and therefore have a larger impact on the world and its characters. For example, Yuuta's love of food + cooking skill has him shouting at Grim sometimes for not appreciating food, but it also becomes excellent leverage for sleeping over at Savanaclaw later in book 3. You can also see how Yuuna's outgoing personality would draw people to her and allow her to make connections.

The manga!Yuus also speak to the diversity of Yuus we see in the fandom. I know a lot of us were waiting for a girl Yuu (which we got with Yuuka), a Yuu of different body type (which we got with Yuuta), and a very femme presenting Yuu (which we got with Yuuna). Yuuken is also great because he was the first Yuu we got that actually had the ability and the confidence in his fighting capabilities to charge head-on into an OB fight.

As I state in my pinned post, manga raws generally come from Monthy GFantasy, which publishes new chapters of the Twst manga online each month. You must PAY to access those raws.

In the case of the Episode of Scarabia, the full first volume was released in today. It is avaliable on Kindle through the Amazon JP store. This is still something you would need to PAY for if you're interested in seeing the full thing right away.

I cannot provide full chapters to the public, as this is paid content that I receive from my own friends who subscribe to GFantasy and/or who bought the first volume of Scarabia on Kindle. You can make your own decision whether or not you wish to purchase for yourself; however, there is most likely a scanlation team that will put out an English version sooner or later. Again though, this would surely take some time to get done, especially when there's 4 chapters of Scarabia to translate.

[cheshire-chronicles]

caleb consistently letting you win at kitty cards — clicking his tongue only when your sleights of hand grow a little too frequent and risk spoiling the game.

“meimei,” he murmurs, not even raising his gaze from the cards. already knowing your tricks as well as he knows the back of his hand, “behave. don’t make me say it twice.”

the kittens mewl in the teacups as you place your cards. almost as sweetly as you do, when you deflect his light chiding and try another trick two rounds later.

despite it all, he takes your banter in stride, violet eyes warm at your little victories. “maybe you should take it easy on me next time.”

“it was just a lucky hand,” you preen, flourishing in false modesty.

he laughs, unable to resist pinching your cheek. whether in chiding or fondness — well, those sentiments seem to blur whenever he endures your mischief. “I think I saw that hand move around quite a bit during the game.”

you smile slyly over the board of teacups. “perhaps you should be better at drawing good cards to play.”

“I don’t know.” he leans his cheek atop his knuckles, a knowing familiarity to his gaze kindling between you. “I think I like the cards I’ve been dealt just fine.”

[wannaeatramyeon]

Gun Park x Reader: Pre-Date Jitters

G/N. Who would have thought Gun could get nervous. Follow up to Awkward Flirtations. Masterlists

All of Goo's insults, that Gun thought he had perfected the art of tuning out over the years, are finally coming home to roost.

That fucking moron. I'm going to kill him, he thinks.

Gun had never particularly concerned himself with what Goo thought. After all, why would he, why should he. Does a human care about what a mosquito thinks?

Yet Gun looks at his reflection for a beat longer than usual, eyes drawn to his hair as uninspiring taunts 'did you dunk your head in grease', 'shave it off and start again' in Goo's whiny, irritating timbre echo in his mind.

I will kill him, Gun decides.

This morning is not starting off well.

It gets worse when Gun observes his wardrobe.

To his disdain, there are overlaps in brands and fashion houses between his and Goo's clothing despite Gun opting for a more muted, understated palette and Goo going for as obnoxious as physically possible.

Nevertheless, that never stopped Goo from running his mouth.

'You should burn that shirt.'

'Did you find that in a dumpster?'

But, and Gun's already sour mood turns even more sour at the realisation, Goo may have a point.

Well, actually no he fucking doesn't.

But what if your taste is more aligned to the blonde's that Gun Park's own. That you agree and find his hair overdone and his clothes tasteless.

Is he also going to need to don his glasses again to hide the unmissable scar between his eyes?

What the fuck, Gun thinks, eyebrows knitting together as he tries to dismiss all this uncharacteristic doubt.

"What the fuck," he murmurs, nostrils flaring as he slams his eyes shut and counts to ten.

On ten, he exhales. The thoughts disappear. All, except one:

I'm going to strangle Goo Kim.

.

.

At 1:50pm, standing outside the coffee shop, Gun burns through two cigarettes before the agreed meeting time of 2pm.

Then at 2:04pm, he lights up another, takes a short, solitary drag before stubbing it out.

At 2:07pm, he smokes one more to the filter in a single, long, inhale.

The annoyance, and nicotine, fully hits 30 seconds later as your absence becomes unbearably loud.

Less than ten minutes have passed, though with the anticipation coursing through Gun's veins, it feels like a lifetime and pride halts him from texting you.

Perhaps you got into an accident. Maybe you died on the way here. Or more realistically-

Did you waste his time? Have you stood him up?

That would certainly be a first.

Is this what being stood up feels like? A steady force of disappointment grows heavier with each passing second, eventually sure to crush him under its own weight.

Manifesting, twisting into anger and vexation in a split second.

What is he even doing with this moronic romanticism? Why would Gun Park be on a date?  He does not form attachments, romantic or otherwise. Neither does he spend his time hanging outside coffee shops waiting for someone who he can't mould into his masterpiece. He shouldn't have, doesn't have interest in anything besides getting stronger or richer-

"Sorry!"

Your voice bursts through the spiralling thoughts as you grab his attention by squeezing his arm.

You ramble. Something about the traffic and getting lost but it doesn't matter. None of it matters.

The sun, resting high and pretty in the sky, illuminates you, casting a golden aura and your halo of light envelopes Gun.

All previous anger, gone. All uncertainty from this morning, vanished.

He inhales, like the first breath of air after drowning, and with his exhale, can't help the smallest smile that rests on his face.

"You look nice," you add sincerely after your apology, eyes roving approvingly over his form.

Gun finding his mouth suddenly dry, clears his throat and acknowledges your compliment with a nod. He looks at you, gaze softer than he ever thought capable, and with a hand resting on the small of your back, leads you into the cafe.

[freyito]

hello hello!!! may i order an idia flavored curry rice plz?? blinks cutely) ty!!

✭ pairing(s): idia shroud x gn reader

★ in which: idia is WAY too confident that he can out miku you.

✩ curry rice black forest cake w/ idia shroud!

✦ entry for my 1k follower event, Freyito's Maid Cafe! check out the link to figure out how to send an order!!

✧ a/n: ykw anon. im so glad you changed your mind because this gave me SUCH a banger idea that i couldnt go to sleep cause i was writing it out in my head. teehee :)

🗒 cw: gn reader, ffxiv sneak, just embarrassed idia :3, not proofread

✎ wc: 2.7k

ᴘᴜʀᴇ ᴇᴠɪʟ | ꜰʀᴇʏɪᴛᴏ'ꜱ ᴍᴀɪᴅ ᴄᴀꜰᴇ !

It was late at night, and you had been on call with Idia. He was grinding out materials for some new transmog that had dropped in his game, and cursing the drop rates. You, on the other hand, were grinding out Project Diva Mega Mix for no particular reason. You had just made up your mind that you wanted to full combo some extra songs, and now you were hellbent on doing so. Plus, it provided some nice background music for Idia and his grind sesh.

By now, you had two songs finished and full cleared (albeit, with 97% accuracy), and you were working on your third, Sweet Devil. You already had four failed runs, your hands were starting to cramp a bit, and Idia’s smart remarks weren’t helping you. Not to mention, you always found the mvs distracting. Too much happening in the background while you were trying to focus on the notes.

You slump back in your chair with a huff as you watch the small word ‘safe’ pop up and interrupt your combo. You watch for just a moment as the symbols fly past on the screen, a barrage of ‘miss’es following shortly after. You finally exit the mv, balling your hands into a fist and then stretching out your fingers.

“I thought you were, like, a god at rhythm games,” Idia chides. You can hear the smile through his mic.

“Well sometimes it takes a couple tries,” You sigh, shaking your head. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure it does,” He chuckles. When you look at his stream, he’s finished up running maps and his character is now toiling away by the marketboard. “I bet I could do it.”

You raise your eyebrow, though he can’t see it. “Hm, what’s the stakes?”

“We need stakes?”

“You’re insulting my integrity as a rhythm game player. I want there to be a deal.”

A silence follows your voice, but you can hear him shift back in his chair. “Okay. What do you want to bet, then?”

Hm. You yourself don’t know exactly what you want if you win. Maybe you could get some gil off of him in game, but that didn’t feel like enough. You look around your room, before spotting something rather intriguing. It was a forgotten purchase, a pastel pink maid dress. It was rather cheap material, but still served its function. You were sure if you looked for them, you’d find the rest of the pieces…

“Loser wears a maid dress,” You declare triumphantly. “I got one in my closet.”

“... I, uh, don’t wanna ask why you have that,” He mumbles, “But I guess I accept. It’d be pretty nice to see you in a maid dress, heh…”

“Don’t act like you’ve already won. You haven’t even opened the game yet.”

“Yeah, yeah, just lemme put this up on the marketboard and I’ll get on the game…”

You lean back, content to wait and give your hands a bit of a break. You can’t help but smirk at not only making Idia eat his words, but seeing him in a maid dress would make you… quite happy, to say the least. The light pink would pair well with his hair and– you have to stop yourself there. You’d rather not distract yourself any further, nor allow yourself to get cocky. You can’t get ahead of yourself, or else you risk losing perhaps the most precious award you could ever have. 

“Okay. I’m on. Which song was it again?” Idia finally speaks up. When you look back at his stream, he’s ended it.

“Sweet Devil– Hey, you should stream your screen,” You point out, tabbing back into your game.

“I’m getting to itttt,” He drags the last letter, like it was too much work, as if he had not streamed his games every time you two called.

You watch as the ‘stream has ended’ switches to his screen, scrolling through the songs before landing on sweet devil. He changes difficulties to extreme, then waits for a moment, like he’s expecting you to say something. You decide to mess with him a little bit, staying silent a little longer.

“I’m waiting,” He groans, and you can almost hear his eyes roll. “I know you’re watching. I heard the little viewer noise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You chuckle, “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Idia doesn’t even grace you with a ‘go’, or anything of the sort, simply starting the song, following your words. You scramble to tab back into the game, quickly selecting the song. 

The song and mv start up, and soon after the notes come in. You do your best to focus, to try and block out the MV, the bright pink lights of Miku’s room and Miku herself made it hard to follow the notes, especially with how fast they were. Still, you find your rhythm relatively easily, considering you knew the song and charting by heart. Normally, you’d be super conscious about the progress bar beneath the screen, checking to make sure you were well above the ‘excellent’, marker. However, you were too determined to focus. And unfortunately, that would be too much of a distraction. You don't even focus on if your hits are 'good' or 'excellent'.

The hold notes scare you the most, considering you always end up slipping up on them, somehow. Either that, or you don’t hold them for long enough and panic when you can just press the other buttons on your keyboard. You tell yourself, over and over again, in your mind, that you can just use the other set of keys. You have to. You can’t risk allowing Idia to have any sort of edge on you.

Three minutes feels like five, or even ten. Idia has been far too quiet during this, not even muttering something under his breath. You feel grateful for a moment, if you heard anything on his side, you’d probably mess up. Maybe you could mess him up. Yes. No. Ugh, if you did, you’d probably mess yourself up, too. And if you had messed him up, he’d complain and call for a redo. You would rather never play this song again, to be honest.

Just as your fingers start to tingle– a result of adrenaline, for some reason–, the word ‘success’ comes up. Behind the notes, Miku turns her little devil tail into a spear and throws it as a planet. You do your best not to celebrate too early, still having to go through with the last couple seconds of the song. You were just happy to have nailed the challenge time, more than happy. 

After the last couple of notes, you’re able to lean back and relax. For a moment. When the ‘clear’ screen comes up, you feel your heart jump at the percentage. 101.53%. You look over at Idia’s stream and can’t help but laugh. 99.07%.

“No,” He utters weakly, with an agony in his voice you have never heard before. He doesn’t say anything else.

“Yes,” You feel maniacal, an odd elation spreading through your chest. You don’t even exit the game, hopping out of your chair. “You stay right there.”

You pull the dress from your closet, listening to Idia frantically call for Ortho from your headphones. The rest of what he says is unintelligible, given the distance between you and your headphones as you rummage through drawers to find the rest of the costume. You find the cuffs, stockings, and even a headband with cat ears. It’s a little bent, but you’d fix it on the way.

Hurriedly, you stuffed the costume into a bag, grabbing your phone and turning on the flashlight. Slinging the bag over your shoulder and rushing out of your house. You keep your flashlight pointed at the ground so you don’t trip, running as fast as you can to the Hall of Mirrors. Like it is a high-stakes situation, time is precious. If you can’t make it to Ignihyde’s dorms soon, then you will never see Idia in a maid dress, even if you won the bet.

The minute you reach the Hall of Mirrors, you practically throw yourself through Ignihyde’s mirrors, scrambling through the halls with harsh breaths. Your heavy footsteps echo through the halls as you make your way up the steps and to Idia’s room, clutching the strap of your bag. Ortho is there, in front of Idia’s door, opening it just a crack.

Seeing you, the boy lights up, smiling at you from underneath his mask. “Oh, hey, Idia. They’re here!”

“Nooo!” Idia squeals, and you can what him scrambling from his chair to close the door.

You shove your foot into the crack of the door just as Idia tries to open it. He uses more force than he means to, squeeze your foot slightly. You don’t emote, despite how much it hurts. Which scares Idia. But you don’t care. You won the bet. And he needs to pay up. Ortho stares blankly, trying to figure out what has Idia acting this way, before scolding his brother.

“That’s mean! You shouldn’t try to shut your partner out, especially like that!” 

Idia shrinks back a little. It’s clear that Ortho doesn’t know what has you on such a warpath, and you are quite happy with that. Finally, you smile a little, opening the door with your other hand. 

“Ortho…” Idia murmurs, turning his gaze away from you and his brother. “We’re gonna, uhm, game all night. Just us two. So, uh, you should get some sleep.”

He sounds utterly defeated, and Ortho remains none the wiser as to what you were about to subject poor Idia too.

“Huh? But you called me here?” Ortho tilts his head, raising an eyebrow.

“I-I didn’t mean it– er, It was a mistake,” 

“... Okay! I’ll leave you two be. Have fun!”

And with that, Ortho hovers away, happy to leave his brother in your hands. By then, Idia knows he’s lost. You take a step in, handing him the bag with the dress and accessories in it. You don’t even speak to him, feeling a bit too giddy about your win, and prize.

“Uhm… can you at least stay out there, while I get changed?” His voice is shy, understandably so. 

“If you lock yourself in there, I’ll get Ortho to break it down,” You place your hands on your hips, in an attempt to seem confident.

“He wouldn’t do that.”

He’s right, you were well aware that your threat was kind of empty. But there’s no way you were going to let him get away.

“Then I’ll get those Heartslabyul first years to kick the door down.”

He lets out a small ‘eep’ at this, frowning. “Okay, okay, I won’t lock the door. Fine. You win.”

He doesn’t allow you any time to reply, taking the back and closing the door all too quickly. You can hear him shuffling about and the clothes rustling, and you feel your stomach flip-flop with nerves. You fidget with your hands and turn your back to the door, pretending like you actually didn’t care all that much so that Idia could get dressed faster, like that would work. You cross your arms, tapping your fingers against your biceps while you wait.

After a while, you hear the door crack behind you, and you turn around way too excitedly. He barely peeks through, giving you a look akin to a pleading puppy. He didn’t open the door all the way, insistent that you had to slip in through the crack, in case any one else would look out and see him. He’d rather save himself the embarrassment.

Finally squeezing through the door, he shuts it quickly. You, on the other hand, are greeted with a sight. His entire face is red, the tips of his hair flickering a bright pink as he looks away in embarrassment. The dress is a little short for him, so he clutches to the hem of the skirt and pulls it down a little. The pink worked well with his hair and his skin, just like you thought. It’s cliche, one of the dresses that was copy pasted from all those maid animes and what not. But still, you think it fit well.

“This is so cheap,” Idia complains, tilting his head up. “Okay. I dressed up. Can you go now so I can get back in my pajamas?”

You realize he’s missing something. The cat ears.

“No. No, I’m not leaving until you put the cat ears on.” You state simply, looking around for where they are.

He grimaces, deflating even more. “Please no. I think I might die. Actually, I’m going to die. Right now.”

“I won the bet fair and square, it’s not my fault. Where are they, Idia.” You speak with such a stern voice, it almost scares him. He finally, hesitantly, points to his chair, his grimace deepening as he looks back at you. “Put. Them. On.”

He groans, turning around and grabbing the cat ears. He gives you one last look, begging you to just let him go. Maybe you’re being a little too sadistic, but c’mon, Idia in a maid dress. That’s it. You plan to make the most of it. Slowly, he lifts the headband over his head, then lowers it down. Now you have your own Idia cat maid in front of you. You can’t help but smile, absolutely jubilant to see this poor man wearing such a cute dress.

“Okay. Can you go now, please,” He pleads once more, bringing a hand up to his face.

“Can I at least take a picture?” You hold up your phone.

“N-no! Please, no. I’m already at my lowest point, don’t have to kick me while I’m down…”

“Okay, okay,” You decide to finally allow him some mercy, “I won’t. But… I don’t think this image is ever leaving my head any time soon.”

He sighs and shakes his head, avoiding your gaze. But he doesn’t reply. Well, that won’t do. You decide to come up with a quick excuse to stay.

“Well, I ran all the way here, in the dark, it’d suck if you sent me back,” You try to play it cool, tilting your head a little and looking up through your lashes at him. This earns you a deeper blush.

“Stop it,” He huffs, turning his head. Met with his set up, he realizes you two are technically still on call. And he finds his way out. “Your pc is on, you know.”

“Huh.”

“It’s on. You’re still in call.” He points to his monitor.

Your blind blanks for a minute, before you panic a little. You would like to stay and see if you can get him to stay in the maid dress for a little longer, but at the same time, you’d rather not blow out the power supply of your pc. That thing is too damn expensive. And you love it too much.

“Okay. Bye.” You huff briskly, turning on your heels and waiting for the door open before running back down to the mirror that connected the Ignihyde dorms to the Hall of Mirrors.

Idia yelps as the door slides open fully, stepping back and pressing himself against the wall so no one would see. Like anyone else was up at this time. He listens to you rush down the hallway, before letting out a breath. Once the door is shut all the way, he’s quick to wriggle out of the dress, throwing the cat ears, cuffs, and stockings (which ended up ripping a bit) to the corner of his room.

Almost breaking the zipper, he yanks it down on the back of his dress and throws it alongside the scattered recipes, before staring intently at it. Why couldn’t you have just waited for him to undress and take it back? He didn’t want these god forsaken items here. In his room. That reminded him of you. That’s like the cheesiest romantic thing couples do! And in this fashion, perhaps even cringey! He wants to burn it, so bad. Or throw it out. But what if someone somehow finds it in the trash? And then they link it back to him? That’d be the worst scenario. The absolute worst.

He continues to stare at it for a minute, before reaching for his pajamas that were hanging off the back of his chair. Fine. He’ll leave the stupid costume alone for now. Perhaps it’d come in handy one day. Give you a taste of your own medicine… or something.

© freyito, 2025 | maid cafe event | maid cafe masterlist | masterlist | queue | kofi | discord server | strawpage | star header by roseschoices , dividers by cafekitsune , headers by yours truly

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[nnight-dances]

PICTURE YOU

PAIRING: karina x fem!reader (reader has periods)

GENRE: fluff, smut (explicit, but not too much?)

TROPES: karina comes back home with a bob and you go crazy essentially. also yeah this is the same universe as CASUAL

LISTEN TO: picture you by chappell roan

NOTE: lol not me breaking the hiatus with this karina fic on a random friday... but come on you can't blame: just look at her!!! actually lost my mind when i saw the new hair reveal like???? have u considered my feelings??? also yea i guess i just associate my karina fics with chappell roan songs now sorry. also also i have been in a crisis once again trying to figure out if i'm bi or just a lesbian so perhaps that is where this fic came from maybe perhaps! anway, pls enjoy <3

in your defence, you were on your period. and you'd been burn out after the past few weeks straight from hell at college. you'd lost sleep almost every single night and you didn't remember the last time you'd felt the rush of anxiety not be there in your veins. all that to say, you were in a specially fragile mental state when karina came home with a bob. 

at first you didn't even recognize her. you'd looked up from your phone where you'd been mindlessly scrolling to take your mind off the stress and then back down, thinking it was weird that a random chick had entered your room. you'd pinned it to be one of karina's friends but as soon as you said karina's name in your head, your neck snapped back up to look at her: "karina?" 

the girl burst into laughter at your shocked exclamation, the ends of her hair hitting her neck. "yes, it's me, jagiya. did you not recognize me?" she's still laughing but you feel something like a fainting spell coming on, with the way your vision blurs and your heartbeat threatens to explode. 

"jagiya?" karina's voice is speckled with doubt now, crossing your shared room to stand closer to your bedside where you lay. her cold fingertips greeted your bare shoulder, "do you not like it?" 

you can't speak for the longest time, just staring back at your girlfriend in utter shock. karina is starting to interpret your silent shock as horror when you finally break the stillness, hand on her jaw bringing her lips to your hungry ones. you devour her, lips overpowering hers as you slip your tongue into her mouth with the kind of force that has karina gasping. 

it is her hand at your chest that stops the kiss, her eyes wide with flustered amusement. "i'm guessing that means you like it?" 

"rina," your voice is a whisper, so drenched in longing that it surprises your own ears, "you're divine. i don't can handle this." you feel weak all of a sudden, falling to your pillow with a huff, but eyes never leaving karina.

"i'm sorry i didn't think a haircut would get you this worked up," karina laughs, climbing up your bed, shuffling into the space between your legs. "but i'm not complaining. you've never kissed me like a starving woman before."

you groan, "don't tease me. i'm just– look, you're already like the hottest person on this campus and if that wasn't enough of a nightmare, you've gone and gotten yourself a bob. now i'm gonna have to fight off the bitches who didn't know you were gay!" 

"did you just say nightmare–"

"yes. i have to live knowing that i've outdone myself with my very first college girlfriend. i'll never reach these heights again."

karina runs a hand through your hair with a smile, "who says you won't always have me?"

you give her an incredulous look, "really? with this bob, it'll only be hours before there's a line of lesbians outside our door begging for your number."

"well, that's too bad," her hand's found its way up your shirt somehow, "i'm taken."

you hum an acknowledgement. then, you sit up to face her, cupping her face in your hands. slowly, you kiss her. longingly. fiercely. 

you pull away to rest your forehead against her, your hand busy exploring the new form of her hair. it's thrilling, the way you can access her neck so much easier. your fingertips rest at her strong shoulder and your lips trail their path, lingering at the valley between her jaw and her throat. you place a soft kiss there and then feeling the tremble of her nervous breath, you go in with more bite, leaving a mark. 

you feel karina's hand clutching at the material of your shirt, the squeezing a pleasant reminder of the way you were making her feel. "i might just be the luckiest girl to exist," you mumble, making your way down to her collarbones. karina's response is a guttural moan, her hand against your waist pushing you closer to her chest now. 

"mhm, there's one way to shoo your fangirls away," you chuckle, admiring the patchwork of blooming bruises on karina's neck. she's flushed, and even better, speechless. 

"you're killing me, y/n," karina whines, clawing at your shirt to take it off. you shake your head, stopping her movements. 

"no, you're the one that's killing me," you complain, lifting karina's tank top before she can protest. "let me at least show you how you make me feel." 

you really do devour karina that afternoon: her toned body spread over your sheets like a dream that you couldn't afford. but it was real. you know because you took your time with her, touching and feeling every inch of her warm body flush against yours: the little hairs on her skin dancing against your hot touch, and the veins running hot to greet your touch. 

you've just traversed the landscape of her abdomen when she sits up, eyes blown out with pleasure. "y/n, i think i'm gonna pass out if you keep at it." 

you look up from between her legs with a grin, "really? then you've just started to understand how i feel–" 

before you can continue your adminstrations, she tugs you up, lips beckoning yours. "let me eat you out," she asks softly as she pulls away from the kiss. and you relish in the sound of her begging you to let her please you, the actual goddess in between your arms. 

"as much as i'd love that," you peck her nose, "'m on my period, babe."

"you know i don't care," she starts and then shivers when your hands find the hem of her panties. 

"don't worry 'bout me, rina," you assure her, "let me make you feel good today, 'kay?" she nods, coming apart so easily while you talk her through it, showering her with praises like there was no end to it. and you'd do it for the rest of your life. watching karina's skin pulse under your touch and the way her eyes were hooded by her short hair, in the end it was always worth it. 

[ak319]

Dark A.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Word of Claim ┃ ─𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟓─

Warnings/MDNI: Angst, slight fluff, abuse, extortion, mentions of non-con. // I don't condone such beheviour irl! Syno: Reunions you didn't expect. ✰ 9.2K.

★ Prev I concept m.list

Charles drove the wagon with steady precision, fast but careful. While you sat in the back, your body was frozen from the pain, and Grimshaw's firm grip was the only thing keeping you upright. The sharp, searing ache in your hand drowned out everything else, past grievances, and future fears. The only thing that existed was the torment of the present. The pain of the wound that you felt in your soul was more than physical.

At one point, as the wagon jolted over a rough patch, you caught yourself thinking, half delirious, half desperate, that maybe they'd have no choice but to amputate. The thought although exaggerated perhaps, wasn't entirely unwelcome. A missing hand might finally convince him to leave, to see you as damaged goods, no longer worth the effort. And no other man would dare approach you either.

But the idea of Arthur walking away, cutting his ties with you at last, made you laugh bitterly through clenched teeth. The absurdity of it. You knew better than to hope for an escape so simple.

You begged them, though, pleaded through the haze of agony. "Drop me off somewhere. Anywhere. Please." Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a rush, desperate to find even the faintest sliver of mercy.

But you already knew what the answer would be.

"We can't," Charles muttered, his voice steady but laced with quiet regret.

"Wouldn't do any good, you need to stop clinging on that hope. The sooner you accept....the less you suffer like this." Grimshaw added, her tone sharp this time, though there was something softer buried underneath, something she refused to show too openly. So she had finally said this too huh? Had become frustrated at your whining?.

Not surprised at all.

And deep down, you couldn't blame her. Grimshaw risking her place, her family, her sanctuary, for you? It wasn't a possibility.

When they finally laid you on a bed, the voices around you blurred a distant hum against the pounding in your head. The sheer relief of being off that wagon, of being around people, new people, people outside the camp, lulled you into the edge of sleep. The muffled chatter of the town filtered through the walls, a strange sort of comfort amidst everything.

But then...

Wait.

That voice. It tugged at something deep in your memory, something warm and long-forgotten. It couldn't be....could it?

Your eyes fluttered open as your body stiffened slightly. The familiarity of her tone, the way it carried... It was her. Edie. Your heart skipped a beat. Your Edie. A friend so close she might as well have been family once before everything fell apart. You had helped her financially and emotionally when she ran away from her family to pursue her dream of becoming a nurse, but never in your wildest dreams did you imagine she'd end up here.

Yet even as your soul surged with recognition and warmth, you forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression calm. Pretend. Pretend you didn't know her. And damn her sharpness, because you knew she was clever enough to already be piecing it together, your circumstances, your forced silence. Her eyes didn't betray much, but you caught the faintest flicker of something. Understanding, surprise, sadness perhaps.

"What's happened here?. " she asked, her tone clinical but careful, as she put on her gloves.

Charles cleared his throat. "Uh... her hand. It's injured."

Edie nodded, her movements swift and efficient as she approached. Her eyes met yours briefly, just briefly, but it was enough to make your breath hitch. "I'll check, just relax." she said simply.

She took your injured hand in hers with a gentleness you hadn't felt in what seemed like forever. Her fingers worked quickly, inspecting, prodding lightly, and each touch sent sharp bolts of pain racing up your arm. You couldn't stop the hisses and whimpers that escaped your lips, but she shushed you softly, her tone soothing as if speaking to a child.

"Hm," she murmured, her focus entirely on your hand. "We'll need to set it properly. Possibly splint it, maybe more depending on how bad the break is." Her voice dipped slightly, quieter, as though addressing you directly. "Do you feel immense pain?"

Your voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling. "Y-yeah. Kind o-of....it's...it feels numb."

"Okay, this might hurt a bit but just trust me." Edie's voice was soft, almost soothing, as she prepared the syringe. The pinch of the needle barely registered in comparison to the ache that had taken over your hand. She moved efficiently, murmuring occasional reassurances as she began the procedure, but you couldn't focus on her words.

Instead, your gaze shifted to Grimshaw. She needed to be out of this fucking room.

Think (Y/N), think---

Your pitiful whimper grabbed her attention. "Yes, dear?" Grimshaw immediately leaned closer.

Thank God Charles was still in the lobby, out of earshot.

"I-I need... some cloth... y'know, for periods," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your chest. "Some new ones... Charles brought less than I needed, so can you... go buy them? Arthur gave you money, right?"

Grimshaw's expression flickered with hesitation, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I understand, but-"

Before she could finish, Edie looked up from her work, her sharp eyes meeting Grimshaw's. She nodded subtly, a silent exchange passing between them.

"Don't worry," Edie said, her tone firm but kind. "We'll take care of her. This might take a while anyway, so she'll be in good hands."

Grimshaw hesitated, glancing between the two of you, but Edie pressed on, her words leaving no room for argument. "Also, how about you grab some herbal medicines from the store while you're at it? We're out of stock here, and trust me, they're excellent for pain relief."

She turned her head slightly. "Marlee! Can you give this woman the names of those herbal pain relievers?"

A younger nurse appeared in the doorway, a slip of paper in her hand. "Here you go," she said, smiling and handing it to Grimshaw.

Grimshaw looked at the list and then back at you, her mouth tightening as if she wanted to argue. But after a moment, she nodded briskly. "Alright, I'll get what's needed."

The moment she left...

You both hugged tightly, and the dam you had been holding back for so long broke. Tears spilled freely as you sobbed into her shoulder, gripping her like she was the only tether to sanity in your chaotic world.

"(Y/N)..." Edie murmured, her voice trembling with emotion. "Oh God! I had heard what happened, from Edna. She told me what happened at your wedding. Otherwise, I wouldn't have---God, look at me." Her words stumbled over themselves, her hands gripping your shoulders to steady you and to take in the sight of you. "What have they done to you?! God...you look so different. Did he do this?!"

A faint nod was only what you could muster.

"Oh...my..." Edie's voice broke as she hugged you again, her arms wrapping around you with such ferocity, as if she could shield you from the horrors you had endured.

"The things they're saying about you and him back there-"

"D-don't! NO! Please!" you whimpered, pulling back, shaking your head frantically. "I don't wanna, I don't wanna go through this again! Please..."

Her face softened instantly, guilt flashing in her eyes. "I get it. I get it. I'm sorry. So sorry," she whispered, her hand brushing soothingly over your hair.

"Li-listen to me," you stammered, gripping her wrist tightly, desperation lacing your voice. "I'm gonna tell you the location, and you're going to my parents and telling them where I am, alright?"

Her eyes widened slightly, then hardened with determination. "Hm, got it. Got it, (Y/N). I'm with you."

"Have you been in contact with them though?"

"No," she admitted, frowning. "All of this...all the information about the tragedy, I got it from Edna through a letter. But don't you worry, okay? I'll go to Sable Creek today, right away. I promise."

And with that, you gave her the directions, which she quickly noted down before returning to bandaging your hand. Her voice dropped to a hush, soothing and steady, both of you painfully aware of Charles' presence just outside.

"Listen, take this too."

Before you could question her, Edie slipped something into your pocket, quick, deliberate, and leaving you no chance to inspect it.

"W-what-"

"It's for preventing pregnancy," she whispered sharply, her eyes darting to the door.

"Wha-" Your voice rose, but she cut you off with a firm glare.

"I'm doing this for you. What if you can't come back-"

"No, I get that, idiot," you hissed back, shaking your head. "But why would you even think, do you really think I'm gonna let him touch me? No way in hell!"

Edie's gaze softened, though her expression remained grave. "(Y/N)...speak facts here. What if he does? Would you be able to stop him?" Your eyes welled up as a shiver ran down your whole body. Painful whimpers shook your body. "I don't wanna hurt you but I am helping you by telling the truth. So be practical. It is for prevention and it is...taken after...God forbid-."

Your throat tightened due to fear and disgust but also realization as you had totally overlooked this part, and you couldn't stop the trembling in your voice. "G-got it. Thank you so much-"

"Shh...it's fine. Relax. Just take these herbs in a little amount with tea. Remember , little amount."

The door creaked open just then, and both of you instinctively fell silent, slipping into the facade of normalcy. Susan stepped in with a warm, reassuring smile, her voice soft as she began asking questions about your health.

And just like that, Edie had to step away.

When it was time to leave, you couldn't even say a proper goodbye to her. The ache in your chest was unbearable, but you swallowed it down, telling yourself it was fine. It had to be fine.

Because soon...soon, you would be free.

❀˖°

The shopkeeper glanced from the quiet, starry night outside to the tall, broad-shouldered man now examining a rack of ladies' clothing. It was an odd sight, this burly figure flipping through fabrics and inspecting delicate jewels as if weighing their worth.

"Need a hand, sir?" the shopkeeper asked, more out of curiosity than necessity.

"I'm good," the man replied, not looking up.

Fair enough. The shopkeeper watched as the man added a few dresses to his growing pile. This was turning into quite the shopping spree. Last customer of the night, and judging by the variety of items he was grabbing, jewels, perfumes, and now clothes, it seemed like he was sparing no expense.

Finally, the man strode up to the counter, dumping his haul unceremoniously. Without missing a beat, he pointed at a shelf behind the shopkeeper.

The shopkeeper followed his gesture. "The shampoo? Which one, strawberry or vanilla?"

"Both."

Damn.

"Your lady's a lucky one. Here you go," he remarked, handing over a neatly folded scarf as requested.

"She ain't. I am. Why you think I'm buyin' these?"

The owner chuckled at the response. "I bet, sir. Anything else?"

"Total."

The shopkeeper began tallying up, muttering numbers under his breath before hesitating. "All of this would be well... $200-"

Click.

"Now?"

"I-s-sir, don't-"

"Now?" Arthur lifted the revolver just enough for the shopkeeper to see the glint of silver, all while keeping it angled away from the store's windows.

The shopkeeper's face paled. "F-f-free!".

Arthur chuckled, a low, menacing sound. "That's what I like to hear. Now pack 'em. And properly. Otherwise, you're the one getting packed tonight."

"I-uh-yes! Please don't-" The shopkeeper's hands shook as he hurriedly wrapped everything, his eyes darting nervously to the gun and then to Arthur's face, hoping for some sign of mercy.

When the parcels were finally ready, the shopkeeper slid them across the counter. "T-there you g-go, sir."

"I'll take some chocolates too on the way out... if you don't mind of course." Arthur holstered his revolver with deliberate ease, taking his time as he gathered the packages. "Good night, Mister," he said smoothly, tipping his hat with a smirk before entering the cool night air.

❀˖°

Arthur went through the motions clinging to the routine like it might steady him. A nod by the fire. A stop at the camp fund box, tossing in whatever he had. A quiet word with Dutch, though neither of them really said anything, and then to Ms. Grimshaw...

"She'll be fine," Grimshaw said when he mentioned you, when he asked, low and almost ashamed, about your hand. "The doc said it'll heal, but it'll take time." She paused, a flicker of sympathy softening her sharp tone. " She's been... quieter. More than usual. Not eating...and just...holed up."

Arthur nodded solemnly, muttering his thanks, but the guilt in his chest only grew heavier.

Time. Healing. Pain.

He hated every damn word of it.

"Bill," The man glanced over from the fire, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

Arthur stopped a few paces away, crossing his arms. "Anything happen while I was gone? Any fights? Any trouble?"

"No. Ain't been much of anything. The camp's been quiet." He took a swig from his bottle and shrugged. "You'd think it'd be good for once, but it's been downright dull."

"You're sure?"

Bill sighed, waving a hand. "Yes, I'm sure. Nobody's said or done nothin'. Least, not that I know of."

Arthur didn't answer right away. He glanced back toward the tent, then shook his head. "And (Y/N)?"

"No screamin' or fightin' this time."

Arthur huffed at his words but nodded and finally, he reached his tent.

He stepped inside, bracing himself, his hands heavy at his sides. But instead of finding you curled under the covers, as he'd expected, you were sitting upright on the edge of the cot.

You didn't look up when he entered. Your shoulders were hunched, your bandaged hand resting in your lap as your uninjured fingers absentmindedly toyed with the edge of the fabric. Suki lay curled beside you, her head resting on your thigh, but you didn't seem to notice her either.

Arthur froze, his throat tightening. Seeing you like this, quiet, defeated, looking so damn small, hit him harder than any blow he'd ever taken.

Now what?

Stop being a coward, Morgan.

He cleared his throat, a low, awkward sound breaking the heavy silence. "Hey," he murmured, his voice softer than he intended.

You didn't flinch, but you still didn't look at him, your eyes fixed on your lap. And that, somehow, was worse. He took deliberate steps toward you, his thoughts muffled as he sat down beside you. Clearing his throat gently, he murmured, "I'm back... much to your dismay." He awkwardly held up the bags of gifts, his grip tightening as he noticed your lack of reaction.

Suki perked up, her tail curling up faintly, and Arthur nearly smiled. At least she seemed calm.

His eyes drifted to you again, your figure still hunched and quiet, and his heart clenched. "(Y/N)? You... okay?" He reached out hesitantly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face, his hand lingering near your cheek. What surprised him most was that you didn't recoil, didn't push him away or claw his hand off. The absence of resistance stung more than rejection.

"I... lost myself that night," he muttered, his voice thick with regret. "I... I am sorry. You jus' said his name and I-how can I just...listen to that. You need to understand. That is not something I will tolerate-"

"You were right." Your voice was steady but hollow, each word cutting through him like a blade. "Remember what you... said? That I had nothing.....That was true."

No.

His heart twisted painfully. 

"I... I was a fool," you interrupted his spiraling thoughts, your tone flat and resigned. "A fool to think that as a woman... I could have anything."

"That's....not true," You have me. Arthur rasped, his hands curling into fists, but you didn't seem to hear him.

"I thought... one day, I'd be sitting where my dad is now," you continued, your gaze fixed on some far-off point as if you were speaking more to yourself than to him. "I thought I'd build something... be someone."

Arthur froze, his hands curling around the bags as his chest tightened. He didn't know what to say. Stop it. The pain he felt hearing the emptiness in your voice was too much. He didn't like this. He didn't like it one bit seeing you like this. It broke him more than he ever thought it could.

"Please..." he murmured, his voice soft and almost desperate. "Look what I brought for you." His movements were rushed, almost clumsy, as he went to the hamper like an eager child, pulling out items and presenting them to you with trembling hands.

"Look, everything you told me you like," he said, his voice gaining a pleading edge. "Your favorite chocolates, the ones you liked as a child, they were so hard to find but I got em', and... look at this. This set. It's yours." He held it up, a delicate piece of jewelry, then a neatly folded fabric, but his eyes weren't on the gifts anymore. They were on you, on the way you sat there, unmoving, fragile. That's when it hit him.

You looked...weaker.

"Did you eat at all when I was gone?" His voice dropped lower, tinged with worry, but you didn't respond. "(Y/N)? Look here, at this stuff while I go and bring food, okay?"

He waited for a moment, hoping, praying for even a flicker of acknowledgment. But there was nothing, and his patience snapped. 

Arthur hesitated for a moment outside the tent, running a hand over his face. Something wasn't right, he could feel it in his gut. You hadn't spoken much, barely reacted to his presence, and now that he thought about it, the whole camp felt quieter than usual. Your silence was the loudest thing he encountered till now.

"Arthur! C'mere!."

"Yes...Dutch?" Arthur's reply was quieter, his eyes darting to Molly, who sat quietly on the cot behind Dutch, who returned his nod.

"Well, you weren't here...and the girl, y'know, I just couldn't bear to see the state she was in. So...I took her to see her parents. Hosea and I handled it."

Arthur's stomach dropped. 

They what? 

"Dutch--but why?-"

"What? Got a problem?"

"No- I just-"

 "She needed that, Arthur. A proper closure. And... needless to say, due to certain rumors now circulating about you two... well, it's affected them. They think she should stay here. For the better. And that's all it took for her father to say this and for her to shut herself...." Dutch trailed off, but the implication was clear. "She hasn't eaten or spoken since."

Is that why you said all that..?

Arthur felt the blood drain from his face. He wanted to yell, to demand why Dutch had taken such a step without him, but... what could he say? Maybe Dutch had meant well, he always means well,  and maybe it was for the best, but knowing what you must've heard, the rejection from your family, the weight of those rumors... it crushed him. How could you bear it? He couldn't fathom. He should have been the one who took you. Guess, it was for the better, it would have been worse if he had been there.

"Yes... Dutch," Arthur muttered, barely finding his voice.

Dutch's hands clapped onto Arthur's shoulders, his grip firm but meant to be comforting. "I care for you all, alright? She's part of us now, Arthur. And I want you to be happy, too, son. Just... take care of her. Make sure she's eating, resting, and you need some rest yourself."

Arthur nodded stiffly, his lips twitching into a broken semblance of a smile. "I will."

"And, um..." Dutch paused, tilting his head slightly. "Also, Mr. (L/N), well, I came to know he's facing some problems with the O'Driscolls. So I figured it'd be best to offer some help. And the price would only be that he stops funding Pinkertons to find us. What do you think about that?"

Arthur blinked, his breath hitching. "W-what? Since when?"

"Just some days ago before the girl's wedding was about to happen. When we went to meet him, he brought it up. Turns out, it's true. So, what do you say? We help him out? After all, they're your in-laws now, aren't they, boy? And getting rid of those pieces of shit is always worthwhile."

Arthur swallowed hard, forcing himself to nod. "Yes, Dutch. 'Course. I'll do it myself if I have to."

But the words felt hollow, like he was agreeing to something he couldn't quite understand. All he could think about was you, what you'd heard, how you felt, and how he could even begin to make it right. But somehow he also felt responsible and protective of your family. It's the least he can do...after this. Protecting them...was protecting you, you were once a part of them.

"I know you can. But remember the boys and I are here as well so when things get too much, we are available. Maybe (Y/N) will appreciate that too, y'know. See? We can be all nice when we wanna be." Dutch leaned back with a satisfied smirk. "I'll keep you updated if I hear anything about the 'Driscoll boys. Now, go on, go to your girl."

Arthur gave a brief nod, his jaw tight, and turned on his heel. He grabbed a bowl of stew from the fire, his movements mechanical as his thoughts churned.

He appeared back at the tent but you were under the covers already....and somehow he expected it...

Arthur hesitated for a moment, the bowl trembling slightly in his hands as he stood over the cot. "Here," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You need to eat. Please, they told me you ain't swallowed a single bite. At least half...please."

Again no response which only left him the option to sigh and put it aside.

He wanted to say more, to bring up the meeting with your parents. But the words caught in his throat. How could he comfort you about something that, in some twisted way, he had set into motion? The rumors, the whispers, the decisions made without you or him, it all tied back to him, to his mistakes.

He took out his journal, desperate to get these thoughts out of his mind as he began scribbling.

"I miss you, (Y/N).

Miss your smile, your laugh, the way you’d go on and on about things and make jokes out of anything.

I know you miss it too. The life you should be living. Not this. Not with me. You should be wrapped in silk and drowning in gold, not stuck in the mud beside a man like me. You should be surrounded by normal people, not outlaws and killers. You should be sleeping in a fine bed, not lying awake beside the same bastard who ruined you.

But don’t you see? The more you fight it, the more you tear yourself apart. And I can live with a lot of things. I can live without your laughter, without your warmth. But I won’t live with you shutting yourself away from me.

And you, you, should’ve known better than to utter another man's name..."

His pencil halted as he realized what he had written. His mind had gone in another direction. The other side. The one he hated to acknowledge but couldn't ignore. A primal side that found a grim satisfaction in the fact that your parents had pushed you away. That closure, painful as it was, came from them. Maybe now, with nowhere else to turn, you'd stop clinging to the past and start... accepting this. Accepting him. He hated himself for the thought, but it lingered all the same, buried beneath layers of guilt and shame.

It was necessary.

Shutting his journal he laid down beside you. He wanted to reach out, to hold your hand, to apologize, hell, to beg if that's what it took.

"I know... it ain't easy," he murmured after a long pause, his voice rough with emotion. "But... I'm here, alright? Always will be."

But who was to tell him that the real truth was a trip that had resulted in you having a gun barrel pointed at your head.

❀˖°

Few days ago.

It was the third day since he had left and thank God he still wasn't back, nobody told you when he would be and you didn't give a fuck to ask anyway. The camp was...empty almost. Dutch, Hosea, and the women resting in their places. The boys had been sent away to different jobs. Oh yes, Bill was here too.

That's why you now sat beneath the shade of a tree, a book resting in your lap, one you had finally felt sane enough to read. Suki lounged by your side, her soft purring a rare comfort. She got it so easy huh? Free to go wherever... whenever. An animal is in a better place than you. But even as you tried to focus on the words on the page, your mind refused to stay quiet.

Did Edie make it? Did she tell your parents? And if she did...why-

A sharp cough pulled you from your spiraling thoughts, accompanied by the faint smell of a cigar. You didn't even need to look up to know who it was, the shadow looming over you confirmed it.

One bitch out of camp, so what? The bigger one's still here.

"Ms. (Y/N), there. Happy?" Dutch greeted, his tone casual as he crouched down, extending a hand to pet Suki, who sniffed him indifferently.

"I wanted to..." He trailed off for a moment, the smirk transformed into a complete look of shame, shocking you.

"To ask you something," he finally continued, his eyes meeting yours. "I feel like maybe I was a bit harsh that day. So, as a form of compensation...How about I take you to meet your parents?"

No way.

"Wh-what?"

"Yeah. You ready?"

"But--Arthu-

"He isn't here and he won't be for a few more days. I figured you both needed a break, so I sent him for a good amount of time. No need to thank me." He stood up with a gentle smile.

"See? I can be nice. Now, missy get up and I'll be waiting for you at the stables."

Slowly, you made your way back to the tent, Suki trailing at your heels. But as the hope began to settle, so did the gnawing pit of anxiety bubbling in your stomach. What if this was some trick? Or worse, what if this wasn't?

You sank down onto the edge of your cot, your hands trembling slightly. For a minute, you just sat there, staring at nothing in particular, trying to calm the storm that raged inside you.

Wait.

What if... you go there and, like-

Breathe.

Your mind spiraled, the what-ifs circling like vultures. If Edie had already informed your parents, you shouldn't even be here right now. This could have been the perfect time for help to arrive. Arthur isn't around, but now Dutch is offering to take you there himself?

But then again... what if Dutch finds out about Edie through your parents?

No. You shook your head, forcing yourself to breathe deeply. You're overthinking. Relax. Your parents aren't fools. They would know how to handle themselves.

Just... get ready and leave.

Still, the pit in your stomach didn't ease. It churned with a deep unease, one you couldn't shake even as you tried to calm yourself.

You sat stiffly behind Bill as the three of you finally reached town. The journey to Sable Creek had taken half an hour or so, but your home was still a few minutes away. The familiar surroundings should've been comforting, but the unease bubbling in your chest refused to settle. How would your parents react and...how would you calm yourself in front of them?. The pain was bubbling over the surface, ready to be spilled in the form of tears and broken words in their embrace.

"Why are we stopping here?" you asked, your voice cautious as you slid carefully off the horse, mindful of your injured hand.

Dutch dismounted gracefully, tying up his horse with practiced ease. "A work needs to be done first. C'mon."

You shared a hesitant glance with Bill, who offered a grunt in response, ignoring you completely.

The building in front of you came into view, and your brows furrowed. A notary office?

You knew the place well enough, Mr. Mason was the officer, and you'd been here before for work-related errands. But what on earth could Dutch, of all people, want at a notary office? The man and legalities seemed as mismatched as oil and water.

"Appointment?"

"You can go in now. Mr. Mason is awaiting you," the receptionist announced to him with a polite smile.

As the three of you entered, Dutch greeted Mr. Mason first. "Oh, Ms. (Y/N), a pleasure to meet you," Mason said, gesturing awkwardly toward a chair. "Um, please, have a seat."

Warily, you lowered yourself into the chair opposite Dutch, who was already leaning back with somewhat a serene expression. Whilst, Bill lingered quietly near the wall.

"So," Dutch began, exhaling a puff of smoke from his freshly lit cigar, "let's get to business, shall we?"

"What is going on here?" you interrupted, turning your gaze sharply to Mason. "Mr. Mason? Care to explain? You know him?"

Mason hesitated, smoothing the papers on his desk with trembling hands. "Well, yo-u could say, Ms. (Y/N), that we are... acquaintances-"

"Excuse me?"

"Now, now," Dutch cut in smoothly, waving his cigar like he was conducting a symphony. "Calm yourself, missy. Let's just get the work done, shall we?"

Before you could respond, Mason pulled out a stack of documents, sliding them across the desk toward you and Dutch. Also, you didn't fail to see a certain...a certain fearful look in Mr. Mason's eyes too, the most jolly man you had come across. Your stomach churned as you reached for them instinctively, your fingers trembling as you flipped through the pages.

Dutch, unbothered, leaned back in his chair, puffing his cigar as if this was just another leisurely evening for him.

Your eyes darted across the bold lettering,

PROPERTY TRANSFER AGREEMENT

Grantor: Ms. [Y/N] [L/N] (hereinafter referred to as "Grantor").

Grantee: Dutch Van der Linde (hereinafter referred to as "Grantee").

Your breath hitched.

"What. The. Hell. Is. This?" you demanded, glaring at Mason, then at Dutch, who remained infuriatingly calm.

"Huh!?" Your voice trembled, the words barely forming as your eyes scanned the papers again. "What is this?".

Your hands trembled as you scanned the document again.

Your land. The plot in Cinderpoint. Nearly an acre of pristine property, yours. A perfect spot, rich with greenery, near the railway. And you knew exactly why Dutch was doing this.

He could afford to buy land elsewhere, hell, in the Heartlands, where an acre went for as little as fifteen dollars. Even this plot wasn't much more, maybe four hundred and fifty at most.

But this wasn't about money.

It was about being on the safe side.

He wasn't buying it and being a criminal he couldn't, that was too risky and too much work but having it "granted" ...it couldn't be easier.

And by having the deed, in his name, Dutch gained three things, legal cover of course, on paper, the land would belong to him, resale power, he could do as he pleased with it, and worst of all, long-term security if he planned to develop it, which you feared was his real goal.

No. This can't be happening.

"Now, (Y/N), listen," Dutch began smoothly, leaning forward with that predatory calm that made your stomach churn. "What we're doing here is mutual business. Since you live with us now, it's only natural, makes sense, really--that your property remains safeguarded. With us. With you. No?."

"You son of a bitch!" You exploded, slamming the papers onto the desk with your uninjured hand. "You think I'd hand over my assets? To you!? Are you out of your damn mind? This is mine! And what the fuck do you mean by 'safeguard,' huh? Just say it, say you're fucking looting me! You need it because then the law can't arrest you for illegal occupation!"

"Ms. (Y/N)-" Mason began nervously, his voice faltering under your glare.

"No! You---shut up! How can you do this, Mr. Mason? You... you know Dad, right? I've-I've worked with you. Please, don't listen to these people."

Dutch chuckled darkly, dragging his chair closer with a deliberate scrape against the wooden floor. "I'd say the sooner we get done with it, the better, darlin'. I am doing this for all of us. Including you. And looting? I prefer the term, 'acquire'."

He leaned in, his leg brushing against yours, boxing you in completely. You were trapped between his looming presence and the desk, his cigar smoke curling lazily around you like a noose.

Just then, the door burst open.

Another man entered, blond, with the weirdest mustache you'd ever seen.

"Ah, Micah, come on in," Dutch drawled, not even glancing up. "We just got started."

Micah smirked, his sharp eyes flicking to you like a predator sizing up its prey.

"Did the bitch agree yet?"

Your breath caught in your throat. The sheer disgust and fear this man evoked made your skin crawl.

"W-who th-!"

Before you could finish, the back of his hand cracked across your face. The impact sent you reeling, stars bursting in your vision.

"P-please, don't treat her like this," Mason stammered, standing abruptly. "Please-"

"Did we ask for your permission? And I am gonna do much worse to your wife Masey, now sit down!"

Your ears rang. The world tilted, your vision blurred by pain and humiliation.

Then, warm breath ghosted over your ear.

Micah's hand gripped your chin, forcing your face upward. His voice dripped with mockery.

"Arthur must be coddling you like some baby, but not us, sweetpea. We are, you could say... a bit tougher. So how about you be a good girl and sign-"

"Go to hell."

With a sharp snarl, you clawed at his hand, drawing a hiss from him.

You didn't hesitate.

Your fingers darted for the pen on the desk, gripping it tight, ready to stab-

Click.

"Sweetheart, cursing ain't gonna get you anywhere." Dutch's voice dripped with mockery, smooth and unbothered, as if this were all just a friendly transaction.

The cold barrel of his revolver pressed hard against the side of your head.

He winked at Micah, who stood right behind your seat, his hands gripping the back of the chair, fingers just barely grazing your shoulders.

Bill remained silent. Micah, on the other hand, let out a wheezing chuckle.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Never in your life had you felt so... degraded. So helpless. Locked in a room with three men who could do whatever they wanted with you.

"It's just paperwork," Dutch continued, as if the gun against your skull was merely a formality. "Sign it, and you can rest easy knowing your little patch of paradise is in safe hands."

Safe hands.

"I am not doing it. I am NOT giving you as-sholes anything! You tricked me into coming here?! How low can you possibly go?!"

Micah clicked his tongue, then suddenly grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back.

You flinched, a sharp gasp escaping you as you thrashed against his hold.

"Now, now, Micah," Dutch drawled, not even looking at him.

Micah scoffed but obeyed, his grip loosening before he shoved your head forward again.

"As you say... boss."

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to steady your breath. Your heart told you to fight, but logic whispered otherwise. You were outnumbered. Cornered. And Dutch still had his gun pressed against you.

For now, you had no choice but to play along.

But for now wouldn't last forever. You prayed. God is with those who are patient, right? You have to remain strong.

Be strong...please.

"We're not leaving this building until you sign. And as for Mr. Mason here, well, sweetheart, it doesn’t take much to bribe a government officer… or to persuade him through other means." He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, letting it curl in the air between you. "So, what’s it gonna be? Are we doing this the civil way, or…" So that's why Mr. Mason looks disturbed. The bitter scent of his cigar filled your lungs, making you gag.

"You don't know half the things I'm capable of. Don't worry, though, you'll learn everything soon enough and then you will be thanking me. Now, sign the papers, or I'll blow your brains out right here. And after that... let's just say that poor little cat back at camp won't be so lucky either-"

"Don't! Le-eave her outta this! Ple-ase!.."

"Sobbing isn't going to change anything, so quit it. Just. Sign. The. Damn. Papers."

"You'll regret this. One day... you'll pay for t-his, you animals."

With trembling hands, tears streaming down your face, you signed.

...Done.

Just like that?

Your heart pounded, a dull, heavy ache in your chest as Dutch slid the pen from your grasp, his smirk stretching wider, the smirk of a winner.

"Wasn't so hard, was it now, pumpkin?" Micah sneered. His voice, his breath, everything about him made your skin crawl. He finally stepped back, standing behind Dutch this time, watching him sign with a look of twisted satisfaction.

When will this end?

"There. All done," Mason muttered, clearing his throat. His movements were stiff, reluctant, but he stamped the papers nonetheless, finalizing the transfer of your land.

He slid them across the desk. "There you go, Mr. Van der Linde."

Dutch leaned back, examining the documents with a pleased nod before turning his gaze to Mason. "And the security matter?"

"Handled," Mason confirmed, though his tone lacked enthusiasm. "You won't have any problems with the law. My contact's taken care of it, and your real name won't be on record.. Just present these original documents, and that'll be proof enough. After that, you can use any alias you want, so if the law comes sniffing around, they won't have a clue. And even if you use your real name, they can't just arrest you for owning this land."

Dutch grinned, tapping a finger against the papers.

"Perfect."

Your head remained frozen in time.

Memories blurred into the present, forcing you back to that day, the day you turned twenty. The day your father handed you the deed with a proud smile. You had visited Cinderpoint once, offhandedly mentioning how much you liked it. That was all it took for him to make it yours.

And now... it was gone.

A sharp knock broke through the silence. The trio stirred, but you remained motionless, no more than a hollow shell in your chair.

Dutch chuckled, his voice thick with amusement. "Mhm. I think it's who I think it is. Well, gentlemen, let's give Miss (Y/N) some privacy. She does deserve this sweet reward now, doesn't she?"

Their laughter echoed as they shuffled out, the door creaking shut behind them. Muffled voices faded into the distance.

Your father who rushed in, didn't speak right away. He just looked at you really looked at you as if memorizing every bruise, every tear-streaked inch of your face. His lips parted, but whatever words he wanted to say never came. Instead, he reached out, hesitantly at first, before pulling you into his arms.

The moment his embrace tightened around you, he broke. A choked sob escaped him, his body trembling against yours as he buried his face into your hair. His breath came in ragged gasps, and you felt his tears soak into your shoulder.

"I failed you," he whispered hoarsely. "God help me, I failed you."

You wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, that there was nothing he could have done. But the words wouldn't come.

Your hands clenched weakly at the fabric of his coat, gripping it as if holding on for dear life. He held you for what felt like forever, gently rocking you back and forth as your sobs wracked through your body. His calloused hand ran over your hair, smoothing it down like he used to when you were a child frightened by anything.

"Shh, my girl, my sweet girl. You're safe now. I'm here."

His words, meant to soothe, only made your chest tighten further. Safe? When had you last felt truly safe? His arms might have shielded you now, but what had been stolen from you, your land, your dignity, your freedom...it was too much...

You felt him take a deep, shuddering breath, willing himself to calm down before pulling away just enough to look into your eyes. He cupped your face, his thumbs wiping away the lingering tears on your cheeks. "Breathe with me, sweetheart," he whispered. "Just breathe. I am here."

You tried. Slowly, painfully, your ragged gasps evened out into something steadier. Your father did the same, his forehead pressing against yours for a fleeting moment of quiet understanding.

And then, at last, he spoke.

"Just... a month before your wedding, I began having trouble with some of my merchants and clients being robbed on the trade routes. I kept it a secret as I didn't wanna worry any of you, especially you. It was the O'Driscolls," he started, his voice heavy with regret. "So, of course, I began funding the Pinkertons to deal with them..."

He paused, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "And... after-" His voice broke as he wiped away a tear. "After they took you away from me, I began paying for you to be brought back too but...I was also suffering a lot of losses in business. The agency was demanding too much from me and doing so little. Then Dutch...came, and he told me I needed to stop. Instead of wasting my money on Pinkertons, I pay him half to...fight the Driscolls. If I didn't stop interfering, if I didn't pull them back, then the next shipment to disappear wouldn't just be goods. Dutch will also start looting my clients. Will kill them. It'd be...bloody. My men. My family. And especially you, (Y/N)...even you and I just-- I couldn't!"

His voice cracked slightly, but he forced himself to go on. "So I had a choice. Keep funding the Pinkertons, who were looting me in their own way, keep fighting against Colm who already had me by the throat, and risk losing everything... or cut my losses and trust that Dutch, twisted as he is, would at least keep to his word that he'd deal with the O'Driscolls himself for me...." He exhaled sharply as if disgusted by the words leaving his own mouth. "It wasn't much of a choice at all."

So...he is valuing his money right now? Is that what it is? You just can't understand anything at this fucking point.

He looked at you now, his eyes pleading. "Please, (Y/N)... you have to understand. I didn't just fold because I was scared. I did it because there was no winning against him. Not like this. And I want you to be safe among those vultures! I can't sleep knowing that...they might do something to you!"

"Stop it, Dad," you interrupted sharply, your voice trembling but firm. "Just stop."

He fell silent, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of it all had finally crushed him.

You reached for the glass of water on the table, the cold liquid doing little to soothe the fire raging inside you. Setting it down with a clink, you stood up, your gaze distant.

"You're giving up, aren't you? Edie must've come to you, and that's why you didn't send...any help? Because business is everything to you? You just believed his....silver tongue? He manipulated you Dad! That's all he did! That's all he knows to do!"

"(Y/N)-"

"You were my ideal dad." A whimper escaped your lips as you stepped back, your voice trembling with pain. "So perfect... I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. You weren't just my dad, you were my best friend. And now? You kept me in the dark about this?" You gestured around you, the betrayal evident in every movement. "Tell me, was staying here, this business, this country...was it worth more than me?"

"(Y/N), when I make decisions, I have to think of everyone," he replied, his tone heavy with pity and pain.

"Your mother-who, I might add, is still in trauma-and Rayan-"

"Was it worth it?!" you interrupted, your voice rising to a shout that reverberated through the room.

"Leaving and starting over from scratch isn’t easy. And right now, with the recent robberies, it’s even worse. My most valuable clients… they’ve lost trust in me, (Y/N). And of course, they’ve heard about the whole incident." He exhaled sharply, frustration lacing his words. "Now they think I was in bed with outlaws all along, that I’ve been using them to loot, to scam them, God, it’s all a mess." His voice wavered, quieter now, but no less burdened. "That I gave you away… as some kind of prize-"

"Stop."

"Not just me, (Y/N)… you too. You were my partner, after all. They’re raising questions-"

"Were?"

A heavy pause.

God...

Your chest burned with the new, agonizing reality that settled in, your breaths coming in shallow bursts as you stepped back, as far from him as you could, though the room felt like it was closing in. The space between you both, once filled with warmth and trust, was now an abyss you couldn't cross.

"These people... they may be heartless," you continued, your voice trembling, "they may have destroyed me because that's what they do. They're criminals, Dad. Bu-t you? You were supposed to be my father. You were supposed to p-rotect me."

He opened his mouth to speak, but his words faltered, breaking on the edge of his throat. "I still am, what more can I do?! I am stuck here." he pleaded.

"No, you're not! You did not..." The words tore from you like a scream trapped in your chest. "If you had, I would've been in my house. In the arms of Mom. Not with a gun to my head, not being tossed around like a ragdoll by a man who calls himself my husband! I thought...you are the most capable man to do that...Dad. There must have been a way! You always had a s-solution for everything! Taught me everything and yet... " Tears blurred your vision as you looked at him, your voice trembling with fury. "Do you see this? He-he did this! And now this? You're giving up everything for this?" You gestured wildly, as though you could point to the ruin of everything he had once stood for.

His face twisted in pain, the guilt heavy on his brow. "Forgive me, but... I can't. You have to accept reality, (Y/N). If you don't--if I don't-then we're all dead. At the hands of either Dutch or that bastard Colm. I can't suffer more losses. I don't even know anymore what's right or wrong. These people--they're targeting everyone. And you...you were too supposed to be sensible. Did I raise you to hang around with an outlaw? And tell me... tell me why? Why did you--Doreen told us about you meeting Arthur! Why did you? Why did you let it go that far? Your mother even warned you! Do you know how disappointed she is? Where were your senses at the time?! How can you be so foolish (Y/N)?! You took advantage of our trust!. And this went on for a whole year?! Then what the hell did you expect?!". His voice cracked with now anger and confusion.

The rush of guilt hit you like a wave, and your hands shook, gripping the armchair in an attempt to steady yourself. You shook your head, frantic. "I--I know! It's ALL MY FAULT, isn't it?!" The tears came then, hot and fast, as your chest heaved with the helplessness and sorrow you couldn't contain. "Oh my God. I can't..." Your vision blacked out for half of a second making you nearly fall on the table.

"(Y/N)?!" His voice cracked with concern, and he moved closer steadying you. "I'm sorry. Please, don't..."

"No....I am sor-ry...M' so sorry. I shouldn't h-ave..."

Your words, your hurt, they couldn't be contained. And so, you let them spill out in a torrent, once again in his chest, not caring anymore whether he understood or not.

"Omar?" Your voice softened, cracking as you remembered the horrifying day once again. "Omar, Papa-?"

"Dear..." His voice faltered, a tear slipping down his cheek as he tried to explain. "He--he tried. He tried to find you. But his family... they weren't having it...weren't happy he was in contact with me and the law regarding you and just....took him to another state with them. They left. But he... he did try. I know he still loves you."

Not for long...he'd find someone else, a normal woman, with good reputation, with no connection to any gang and live happily ever after...

"At least he... tried," you muttered bitterly, pulling away from him. Your chest tightened, the ache inside growing deeper, suffocating you.

He pulled you closer, his fingers trembling against your arms. "Please, (Y/N)... one day, things will be different. I promise. I-I’ll find a way. When I can afford it. These people will be caught, and you’ll come back. I know you will. We will never turn you away."

Empty words. Promises...

"So… it’s your clients, then? Your business. Society mattered to you, after all-"

"Yes, one way or another, it does. It was a tragedy the first time, something we could all move past. But this time, you chose to be part of it. You shouldn’t have, dear. You shouldn’t have."

You see it now. He isn’t fighting for you, he’s asking you to accept it. To wait. To bear it for as long as necessary. Maybe forever.

It's over.

"Do you--are you hearing yourself? I can't take it... papa. I ca-n't-"

A loud smack on the door made you both jump. It was no less than a siren, indicating your return to hell.

This is it then...

A strained silence filled the room as you both matched eyes one last time, your heart heavy, more broken than it was before. There was nothing else that could be said to lessen the pain, no wish to be made, no comfort to be found. And here you thought you might have had a peaceful reunion with your family...

"Tell Mama and...Rayan...I love them."

❀˖°

The ride seemed endless, the hooves pounding against the dirt road a cruel rhythm to the vile words surrounding you. How long were you supposed to endure this? These men... these animals.

It wasn't until the camp came into view that he cornered you again, this time pinning you against Bill's horse. And you, despite the trembling in your hands, met his hardened glare with all the strength you could gather.

"If he can break one hand, I can do worse."

"Dutch!? What are you, stop it! And you both--fuck off!" Hosea came running, intervening immediately. He stepped between you both, and his voice panicked. He shoved Bill and Micah away. "Why didn't you inform me before leaving Dutch?! I was gonna go too! You couldn't let me-" But Dutch silenced him with only a lift of his hand.

"Not everything needs to be handled with gentleness, Hosea. And make sure she understands," Dutch said, his voice cold. "Listen here now, Arthur, he's not to get wind of this. Nobody does. You keep it to yourself missy. He'll know when I want him to know."

"Now you see everything, don't you?" Dutch's voice dripped with mockery. "Your father is practically grateful to me for agreeing to defend his caravans from the O'Driscoll boys. So you'd better be grateful, too. Because if your family can eat and sleep safely to this day and comin' ones, it's because of me."

"You see these people?" Dutch gestured toward the camp. "They have my name attached to them. You are a Van der Linde first and a Morgan second. That means you listen to me. And you'd better damn well listen because if you think for a second I can't harm your family, you're sorely mistaken."

His words hung in the air, suffocating and filled with poison. They twisted the air around you, wrapping themselves around your chest, making it hard to breathe.

"But trust me, you'll come to realize this is all beneficial for you, too. When I build on the land, I'll make sure you and Arthur get the most spacious room. After all, you deserve nothing else."

A gasp of pain escaped you as Dutch left, Hosea's voice drowning around you. His hands reached out to comfort you, but you violently shrugged them off, backing away, further and further, until you were now curled into a cocoon on the cot, shaking like a leaf.

Vultures.

Selfish.

Greedy sons of bitches.

That’s all they are. That’s all they will ever be.

❀˖°

The night was deathly quiet, the kind of silence that gnawed at his insides. Arthur lay on the cot, staring at the ceiling of the tent, listening to the faint rustle of the wind outside and the soft, uneven sound of your breathing. You were finally asleep, or at least, he thought so.

He couldn't stop seeing your face from earlier, the emptiness in your eyes, the way you barely reacted to anything he said or did. It haunted him. That hollow look, sunken eyes, that broken silence, it wasn't you.

Arthur shifted, propping himself up slightly to look at you. Your hair was a mess, splayed across the pillow, your bandaged hand resting limply near your face. Even in sleep, your brows twitched, as if the hurt followed you there too.

It was unbearable.

His hands trembled slightly as he moved closer. He didn't care if you woke up, didn't care if you lashed out, screamed, hit him. Hell, maybe he deserved that. But he wasn't going to let you lay here like this, drowning in whatever torment--- the world, had handed you that day.

Arthur slipped an arm around your waist, his touch cautious at first, but then firm. He pulled you into his warmth, pressing you close, his chin resting lightly against the back of your head. His heart pounded against your back as if it could somehow beat hard enough to protect you from the woe and despair that were clawing at you.

You stirred slightly, before settling again. Arthur's breath caught, but he didn't loosen his grip. He couldn't. He wouldn't. Even if you woke up and pushed him away, even if you cursed him for this, he couldn't let you go. Not when you needed this, even if you didn't want it.

He tightened his hold, his hand smoothing over your arm in slow, steady motions, as though trying to will away the hurt through sheer proximity. "I gotchu," he whispered against your hair. "I gotchu, darlin'."

You're not gonna sleep so broken. Not after whatever you heard back there.

─AN: Interactions are always appreciated and I will always love reading your guys' comments. To be added or removed from the tag list you can mention it. I hope this chap fed you guys well-〒▽〒 (●'◡'●)

★ tag list: @m1stea @warmsideofthepillow03 @thatoneraeder @marzintears @nxttaru @cazzacarm @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @nulixity @poll-u @bajabish @cheesycheddarr @luzzbuzz @dilfsarelife @ninastyless @claire-is-here @raeraypoca @hopingtoclearmedschool @lain3iwakura @bashfulcowgirl87 @catjsashrine @bipolarbitties @lizynownow @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @meheheasasa @necktattooed @jbrownta

[tired-reader-writer]

Thinking about Wolfsong. I initially had Narsus only find out about the whole Gorgan fiasco after canon events start but recently, I've been kinda reconsidering it. Here is a dump of my thought process in no particular order:

So Narsus likely got the court position pretty soon after the whole Three Kingdoms Alliance thing

Shapur is likely involved in repelling said invasion because 1) Andragoras summoned pretty much almost anyone, and 2) it's coming from the east and his lands are in the northeast, Andragoras might want to mobilize the troops to... Peshawar, perhaps? Before the invading troops can penetrate too deep into the country. Many lords were called, yes, but someone like Shapur, whose domain borders Turk, could possibly be doubly expected to respond since this concerns his region. Just food for thought.

I'm not sure about Narsus' timeline in several parts. How long before the TKA was it that Teos died and Narsus became the new lord of Daylam? Was it then that he freed his slaves? Or was it after the TKA ordeal?

He pretty much self-exiled in Pars era 317, so at MOST he would've had two years. Did he live full-time in the capital? Did he ever return to Daylam, even if just briefly? The Daylami seemed pretty familiar with him.

Now that I think about it, Narsus and his mother (I need to name the lady) were kicked out by Teos' main wife and then were accepted back when the wife passed away some time before Teos' death, so maybe he got more time in Daylam than I thought. The problem is that I forgot when he and his mother were accepted back?

Anyways, this opportunity for an encounter between the two kinda offers me the opportunity to have them meet each other early. I am still contemplating what to do with it. Especially since a couple of the enslaved folk Narsus freed could end up in Gorgan's orbit.

There's no way the Gorgan folk could know about Narsus' abolitionist ideals until Narsus pulls that stunt of freeing all his slaves (I assume it happened in Daylam rather than the capital), I mean there's a small possibility that they might know vaguely but it's more likely that they straight up won't know until Narsus does the societal equivalent of kicking down the door and blasting a horn far and wide. There's also very little possibility of Narsus knowing unless Gorgan reaches out to him first— what with their operation being so hush-hush and crucially under wraps because of the Mardi's caution— and they wouldn't reach out before knowing that Narsus is trustworthy.

But after? Could Shapur possibly reach out? Maybe he would want his children to have an ally he knows can be trusted so they won't be so alone against the world. Would it even be Shapur who reaches out? Would it be Sadiq who advises Shapur to do so? Would it make sense for them to see a potential friend and ally and not take the opportunity, especially when Shapur has already cut ties with his relatives over the Isfan debacle and the region can't exactly trust other nobles willy-nilly. I don't know.

In the scenario that he does reach out and they do end up connecting with each other, what can I do with it? Narsus probably got the court position in 315, in my timeline I put down that Shapur becomes a marzban in 316 (age 32), after some ambiguous campaign that he was called to be part of, so he would have to go to the capital again. I did not find anything significant in the novel timeline in the year 316, so I wouldn't know what the occasion is. But in the hypothetical scenario that they're acquainted with each other by this point, what interesting thing can I do with how they view the capital? Does Narsus ever get to return to Daylam during his time as a court advisor of sorts? What could he do with this?

I have something vague pinned down for after when canon starts, where the Mardi folk (esp Khazān and Arslan? not sure yet) help Daylam defend against Lusitanians and encountering Irina and her crew + Kubard and Merlaine and things rolling from there— could that aid be rooted in a friendship established before that point?

Coordinating trade and stuff between the two regions could be pretty difficult if Narsus isn't there to manage the process, though. So I'm still not sure how it all works out.

In the scenario that there is a connection between Gorgan and Daylam, could Narsus possibly go back to Daylam after his exile instead of going to live on Mt. Bashur in isolation? Because even if somebody else warns him to be careful, I don't think it's possible for Narsus to stay quiet about the corruption and injustices in the capital and eventually he'd snap and get fed up and leave when his concerns go ignored.

I'm... still not sure what would happen after he goes back to Daylam (if he does) or why I'm contemplating this whole situation in the first place BUT here I am, pondering and contemplating anyways.

[slytherin-pen]

Despite It All

pairing: Azriel x Eris

word count: 3.1k

warnings: family’s disapproval of relationship, Azriel cries, Eris makes threats, steamy make out, subtle inclusion of my own trauma about “coming out” (quotes because i wasn’t the one who told them) to my family and religion

a/n: my first Azris fic! i already liked the idea of them but after writing them i am ✨in love✨. written for Day 5 of @sjmprideweek “Family”

Cassian’s voice was a low growl as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Where the hell have you been?”

The tension in the room was suffocating. Rhys sat at the head of the table, resting his chin on his fist, violet eyes unreadable but sharp. Feyre glanced between them, her lips pressed into a thin line, while Mor refused to meet Azriel’s gaze at all.

Azriel—still standing in the entryway to the dining room—sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He had known this was coming. The moment he’d stepped foot back into Velaris, this feeling of impending doom settled in his stomach. His shadows, now swirling around him restlessly, had felt it too. He had been gone too long. Rookie mistake for a Spymaster, but he had been…held up.

He ensured his stoic mask remained in place before responding. “As you all know, I was on a mission. Some unforeseen circumstances caused me to stay longer but it’s settled now.”

Cassian scoffed. “That's bullshit. Rhys said the mission shouldn’t have taken you more than a couple of days, yet it took you a week and a half. You’re a 500 hundred-year-old Illyrian warrior and the Spymaster for Cauldron-sake, what could have possibly made you stay for that long—” He hesitated, nostrils flaring. “And you smell like Autumn.”

Silence.

Then Rhys’ eyes narrowed slightly. “Azriel,” he said carefully, “why were you in Autumn? Your mission was on the Continent.”

Azriel clenched his jaw. He could lie. He had done it before, buried his truths so deep that even Rhys couldn’t pry them from his mind. But he was so damned tired. Of the lying, the sneaking around—pushing himself farther and farther away from the people he calls his family. He couldn’t do it anymore. They were his family. They would want him to be happy no matter what, right? And logically, this couldn’t go on forever. He would have to tell them someday anyway. Maybe this was the Mother’s way of nudging him toward the truth. Toward living in his truth.

His fingers twitched with nerves and his shadows dutifully hid them from view. It was now or never. “I’ve been with my mate,” Azriel admitted.

A sharp inhale from Feyre. Mor stiffened as if struck. Cassian’s expression darkened, brows knitting together.

Rhys exhaled slowly. “And who, exactly, is your mate?”

Azriel swallowed. “Eris.”

Mor shot to her feet, her chair scraping against the floor. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” Not anymore.

“That bastard—” Cassian started, but Mor cut him off.

“He’s cruel, Azriel. He let me suffer. He would have married me and Mother knows what if I hadn’t—” Her voice broke, her red-painted lip wobbling and Feyre placed a comforting hand on her arm. Morrigan slowly sank back into her chair.

“Perhaps it’s some sort of trick,” Feyre suggested, her wide blue eyes landing on her mate. “Maybe Eris has a daemati and is using Azriel for some sort of plot.”

Rhys frowned, creases forming between his brows. Azriel felt the claws scrape against his shield of shadow and steel, and he shoved them away.

“I know what he’s done,” Azriel said, his voice low. “I know what you all think of him. But you don’t know him. You don’t know his reasons.”

“I know enough,” Mor spat, her golden hair swishing as she shook her head. “And now you expect us to believe that you—what? You love him?”

Azriel didn’t answer. Because love was not a word he had ever used lightly. But Eris had held him close in the warm, firelit halls of the Forest House, tracing the scars on his hands, whispering declarations, and promising things Azriel had never dared dream of. Eris had kissed him slow and passionately, as if they had all the time in the world. As if he cared for Azriel in a way Azriel had never even cared for himself.

“You can’t be serious, brother,” Cassian pleads. “We have hated him for centuries. The things he has done—“ his wings jerked open then shut again with his rising frustration. “You can’t do this.”

“It is not something I have done,” Azriel corrects. “The Mother chose my mate. If you have a problem with it, take it up with her.”

Cassian slammed his hand down on the table as he leaned forward in his seat, rage and betrayal simmering in his hazel eyes. Morrigan and Feyre flinch in their chairs. “Don’t start that shit with me!” he roars. “You’ve kept this from us. From your family! And it’s because you knew it was wrong.”

Wrong.

Wrong?

No that can’t be right.

What he and Eris had was not wrong. Complicated? Sure. Messy? Absolutely. A game of fire and daggers, of harsh words and sharp gazes in the presence of others, always teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something exhilarating. But never wrong.

Because how could it be wrong when Eris looked at him the way he did? Like he was the only person worth watching in a crowded room? How could it be wrong when Azriel lay in his arms and for once in his Cauldron-forsaken life felt whole?

Rhys raised his hand placatingly. “That is not what Cassian meant,” he turned a glare on the bulky Illyrian before meeting Azriel’s eyes again. “Just help us understand, Az. How did this happen? How long have you known?”

Azriel’s shadows whipped around him, his rage rising like a burning fire. “I will not be interrogated. I did not ask you questions, Rhys, when you told us Feyre was your mate. I congratulated you. She was engaged to another High Lord and I was still happy for you. And Cassian—,” Azriel let out a bitter laugh, “you have some nerve to butt into my mating bond.”

Cassian stiffened, confusion marring his face, but Azriel continued. “I have watched you, brother,” spitting out the term like a bad-tasting tonic, “treat the mate you waited 500 years for like dirt under your boot. You belittle her, insult her, let Rhys—another male—dictate her life. I’ll admit I should have stepped in, should have told you what a prick you were being, but I held my tongue. What did I know about having a mate? About watching her wither away and suffer before my very eyes? I felt sorry for you but now—now I only feel sorry for her.”

Rhys had the decency to look guilty. Cassian recoiled as if he had been slapped, the color draining from his face.

Azriel surveyed the family that had always claimed to love him and realized it had never been unconditional.

He nodded to himself, then turned on his heel and left.

He ignored the shouts at his back—the pleas, the apologies. He will not stand for it. Unlike Cassian, he will protect the bond that is so sacred. He will defend his mate when he is not present, he will separate himself from those who cannot respect the love they have for each other.

The moment Azriel stepped into the Forest House, a warm hand caught his wrist.

Eris studied him, amber eyes filled with concern, then realization. “They know.”

Azriel exhaled shakily. “They know.”

A heartbeat of silence. Then Eris guided him toward the sitting room, his grip firm but gentle.

As they sat on the burgundy sofa, Eris released his grip on Azriel’s wrist and took both hands in his. “You’re shaking,” Eris murmured.

Azriel hadn’t realized. He had withstood the abuse of his step-brothers, survived wars and what should have been fatal injuries—but this rejection hurt more than it all combined.

Eris didn’t push, didn’t pry. He just sat there, steady and comforting, letting Azriel come back to himself.

When Azriel loosed a shuddering breath, Eris finally asked, “Do you regret it?”

Azriel turned to him, eyes burning. “No.”

It was true. He wished his family could have accepted it. Wished they would have wrapped their arms around him and gushed with joy as he had for them, but he did not regret it.

Eris let out a slow breath, something like relief flickering across his face. Then, with the ease of someone who knew exactly what Azriel needed, he shifted closer, brushing their knees together. “Then let them be angry. They’ll learn. Or they won’t. Either way, I’m not going anywhere.”

Azriel stared at him, at this male who had once been his enemy, at the warmth in his gaze, and for the first time since he was a child—he cried.

Eris tutted and maneuvered Azriel to lay his head on his lap—mindful of his wings—and ran his long, nimble fingers through the black strands of his hair. Azriel’s scarred hands gripped the fabric of Eris’ pants until his knuckles turned white like he was afraid Eris might run away.

“Let it out,” Eris murmured, his voice soft and soothing. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Azriel’s temple, his heart breaking for the male. “It’s going to hurt for a while. Maybe longer. But one day, it won’t be so hard to breathe anymore, and that weight in your chest will start to ease. You’ll be able to go about your day without thinking of all the ‘what ifs’, or turning your head to tell them something only to find they are not there. Because I am here. I always will be. And if you need me to hold you I can do that. If you need me to shove you, I can do that, too.”

Azriel’s shoulders shook with his sobs, and Eris’ chest cracked more with every choke on his tears.

This was never what Eris wanted, though it was what he had feared. He had told Azriel it was up to him to decide whether he told the Inner Circle about them. That he would respect whatever decision he made. But Eris knew the Inner Circle clung to the debacle with Morrigan like a child with their favorite teddy bear. Taking her word as fact and never questioning it. And even though he was there too, even though Morrigan did not tell the whole truth—he kept his mouth shut because it was not his story to tell. He chooses to believe that the Mother has a hand in all of their lives, and everything plays out how it should. He would curse her name for this particular conflict if he did not fear her wrath.

The Mother had given him Azriel as his mate, and for that he was grateful, but he could not help but question her methods sometimes. Why must his mate go through this? Why had their path been so rocky and treacherous? Eris’ mother would always say the Goddess only gave the hardest battles to her strongest warriors, but why must there be so many? It could be a test, he reasoned. A test of worthiness, of loyalty, but Azriel was already those things. Perhaps the test was not for him but for the Inner Circle, and they had failed. Now, his mate was the innocent victim of their negligence.

Azriel started to calm down, sniffling quietly. Eris continued to run his fingers through his hair, breathing deeply enough that Azriel could feel it and match his breaths.

“It hurts,” Azriel croaked.

“I know it does, my love. I am so sorry. If I could take your pain, I would.”

Azriel shook his head. “I wouldn’t want you to.” He slowly raised his head from Eris’ lap, wiped his eyes, and adjusted his position on the couch to be shoulder-to-shoulder with Eris. Eris intertwined their fingers, his golden rings chilling Azriel’s heated skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t you dare,” Eris snapped. Azriel flinched and he immediately regretted it. Softer this time, “Don’t apologize for their actions. Don’t apologize for your emotions. Just don’t.”

Azriel remained silent gazing down at their connected hands, watching Eris’ thumb sweep back and forth over his knuckle with rapt attention.

Eris sighed. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Azriel muttered. “I don’t want your feelings to be hurt too.”

“Don’t worry about my feelings,” Eris scoffed. “Whatever they said about me today, I assure you I have heard far worse from them in the past.”

“I know,” Azriel frowned. “Rhys tried to give me a chance to explain it to them, but after Cassian berated me and Mor bringing up the past—“

“Leave it to Morrigan to make it about her.” Azriel cut a sharp glare his way. “Sorry.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter now. As far I’m concerned they are out of our lives. Cassian said it was wrong.”

Eris clenched his jaw and wrapped his free arm around Azriel’s shoulder and pulled him in, placing a tender kiss on his head. “You don’t need to explain anything to them. Their love for you should have prevailed over their hatred for me. It’s not like we were going to have family dinners any time soon,” Eris tried to joke, but it fell flat.

Azriel huffed a sad laugh. “No, we were not.” Azriel looked to Eris’ amber eyes, at the love and worry shining in them. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that he would get to wake up and fall asleep to those eyes every day. To the feel of his fiery red hair on his chest. He began to think he might just be okay in the end with Eris—his mate—by his side. He loved his family, no one could question that, but even they could not compare to the glowing string tying him and Eris rib to rib. To the constant flow of love, affection, and utter devotion that travels down the bond from Eris’ end.

He cupped the side of Eris’ jaw with his hand and brought his lips to his. It was measured and methodical, a lot like their relationship these past few years. Their tongues tangled with an intoxicating slowness, each stroke deliberate. Azriel felt his pants become uncomfortably tight, and as he moved his hand down Eris’ chest to his crotch he felt him having the same problem. He smirked into the kiss, pure male arrogance, and Eris growled as he ran his hands up the back of Azriel’s neck to his hair and tugged at the roots. Azriel moaned and swung his leg over Eris’ to sit on his lap, wings flaring behind him. His shadows encased them in a bubble of darkness, whispering to him about Eris’ fluctuating heart rate and breathing patterns.

He grabbed the collar of Eris’ shirt and yanked, buttons flying and rolling across the floor as they landed. His hands ran up and down Eris’ torso as he rocked his hips rocked back and forth. Eris’ hands found his hips and squeezed as he took Azriel’s lip between his teeth. The scent of their arousals—cedar, cinnamon, and musk—filled the sitting room. Eris started to fiddle with the buckles of Azriel’s leathers when there was a knock at the door.

Eris cursed. “Who the hell could that be?”

Azriel’s chest heaved as he lifted himself off Eris’ lap and settled back on the couch. Eris ran his hands through his disheveled hair and leaned down to peck Azriel’s lips. “I’ll tell them to fuck off and then we can continue this in the bedroom,” Eris purred.

Azriel smiled to himself as Eris walked out the double doors. He leaned his head back against the couch, throat bobbing as he swallowed. His smile grew as thought about being able to do this every day. No more sneaking around, no more extended missions for a few stolen moments with Eris. He will have him all to himself.

Eris walked back into the sitting room, his beautifully pale abs still on display. Azriel was about to comment on them when Eris spoke.

“It appears we are taking in strays now,” he drawled.

Azriel quirked a brow when Nesta Archeron walked through the doorway, a suitcase in tow. He jumped to his feet. “Nesta? he blurted.

Nesta handed her suitcase to Eris and strode straight toward Azriel, he let out an audible oof as she made impact, wrapping him in a tight hug. Azriel returned the gesture once the shock wore off, rubbing his hand up and down her back. When Nesta pulled away her face scrunched, and then she sniffed. Azriel’s cheeks flushed at the realization that she could smell them, what they had been doing before she arrived.

“Wh—What are you doing here?” Azriel stuttered.

Nesta, still smirking and grey eyes swimming with mirth, merely shrugged. “I’m moving in.”

Eris walked further into the room to where Azriel and Nesta stood, placing his hands on his hips. “And pray tell how you managed to get here.”

She rolled her eyes. “Feyre, obviously. She dropped me off at the border between Winter and Autumn, and then I walked.”

“You walked?” Azriel balked.

“It’s why it took me so long,” she nodded. “I was eavesdropping on the conversation you had in the dining room,” Azriel snorted, because of course she had, “and after you left I cornered Feyre in the hallway and demanded she winnowed me.”

Eris’ eyes narrowed. “And she just agreed? What about your mate?”

All the humor drained from Nesta’s face as she met his gaze. “I heard what you said.” Azriel’s face fell, guilt churning in his gut. “You were right. Cassian doesn’t respect me, doesn’t cherish me. And I think I knew that deep down, but hearing someone else say it too for once made me realize I wasn’t overreacting or being difficult. He does not love me.” She glanced at Eris. “Not the way you love him.”

Azriel exhaled slowly. “I’m glad you came, Nesta,” he said softly. “But what about Cassian,” he turned to meet Eris’ eyes, “what if he tries to come here?”

Eris’ expression darkened. “I will feed him to my hounds,” he said menacingly.

Azriel’s mouth gaped, and he readied to scold Eris when Nesta started laughing. She doubled over, clutching her stomach as the cackles escaped her. Tears streamed down her face, and every time she tried to stop, she’d snort and laugh some more.

Azriel couldn’t help but join in. A soft chuckle at first, then a proper laugh as he tilted his head back, a wide smile overtaking his face.

Eris’ eyes whipped back and forth between them, scowling. “I wasn’t joking,” he deadpanned.

Nesta collapsed to the floor in a fit of giggles, bracing a hand on the rug as she tried to catch her breath.

Azriel sighed as he calmed down, walked to Eris’ side, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “This is going to be fun.”

[judesmoonbeauty]

Lover's Contract: Jude Jazza - Epilogue

MDNI.

This is a fan translation only. Please expect grammatical errors and translation inaccuracies. This is a full translation. Creative liberties are taken for characterization and smoother translation process. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translation elsewhere. Thank you for your support! ☾.

The sea breeze caressing my bare skin wasn't as cold as I thought it would be.

— Perhaps it’s because it’s like a warm spring night for this time of year, or because my beloved’s heat burns against my skin.

Jude: Ya look damn good.

Kate: …Aaahhh.

Jude: Ya always clench down here ‘n don’t let go. My fingers are gonna wrinkle up.

His long fingers that sunk between my legs, make slow, repetitive movements.

That stimulation is definitely driving me mad.

Kate: Jude, I love…..I love you.

Spreading my legs wide, I put my hands around Jude's neck.

My moans spill into Jude’s ear, as I tell him I love him—.

Immediately, amethyst eyes tinged with dissatisfaction looked at me.

Jude: What, ya think tellin’ me “I love ya” after I make ya feel good’s gonna satisfy me?

Kate: Oh, I don’t think that.

Jude: Hmph, then if ya wana keep goin’ whaddya gonna do?

“Ya know what, dontcha”, amethyst eyes sneered.

The provocation made my heart beat faster, and overwhelmed with emotion, I grabbed hold of Jude's shirt.…..

Kate: I love you……Mmm.

I pressed my lips deeply against his, then slowly brought my hands down to unbutton his shirt.

(I’m embarrassed to do this myself…..)

(And yet, I can’t wait to do it. I want to touch you, Jude.)

Unable to resist the waves of emotion, I touch his exposed chest.

Jude: …..Yer so bad I ain’t feelin’ nothin’.

Kate: Mm, well I’m not done yet.

Opening his shirt from side to side, I passionately drop kisses on his chest, his navel and lower abdomen.

Even so, Jude barely reacted….Feeling frustrated I looked up at him.

Kate: Jude, I want to make you feel even better. So,……

I touch him over his trousers.

Jude: Fuckin' pervert. Think puttin’ me in yer mouth’s gonna be ‘nough?

Jude doesn't just say 変態 a 'hentai'. He uses 'dohentai' ド変態. "Do" which conveys the idea of "extreme, mega, super, very," or can be used as a expletive prefix for dirty words like hentai. I am opting to translate it this way.

Kate: You should consider any proposal of an affair positively, even if it’s abnormal. That’s one of the 'Three Rules a Lover' must keep.

That’s something Alfons taught me before the mission.

Jude: Are ya so desperate to touch me yer bringin’ up that walkin’ offense to public moral’s nonsense?

Kate: Don’t talk like it’s just because I’m frustrated, there’s more to it than that.

Kate: Jude, I’ve always wanted to make you feel good in return.

Kate: But, I couldn’t bring myself to say it without this opportunity.

Jude: So, ya can say it now ‘cause yer my lover?

Jude: If ya say so, then lemme see whatcha got.

(What.)

When I suddenly stare back, his amethyst eyes flicker invitingly….

I took a deep breath and slowly lower myself in front of Jude, who was still standing.

Jude: I’m tellin’ ya, I won’t forgive ya if ya suck at the way ya touch me.

Kate: Okay, I’ll do my best.

I loosen his belt, and then —

Kate: …..Mm…..Mmmnn….fuwaha….[slurp]….

Jude: …..So damn bad. How ya gonna pull off yer whole, ‘Jude, I wanna make ya feel good,’ like this.

After being insulted, I swallow Jude and start a series of aggressive attacks.

Maybe his insults are one of the things that now completely fuel my pleasure.

Jude: Now yer gettin’ in the mood.

Jude weaves his fingers through my hair and grabs it.

When I gazed up slightly, I saw his eyes narrow with pleasure as he looked down at me….

(He’s starting to feel it….)

I was so pleased that I wrap my tongue around his shaft, and traced it from the base up to the tip.

Jude: ……..Already at the limit.

Kate: Jude, if you’re at your limit, I’ll keep go-

Jude: Ain’t gonna cum from somethin’ like this, ya idiot. Yer the one who’s at their limit.

Just as I thought I was being held in his arms, I was placed on top of one of the oak barrels that were lined up —

And the next moment, he penetrated me to my deepest part.

Kate: Ah, Aahhhn!

Jude: Knew it, yer soakin’ wet.

Jude: Didja get excited suckin’ on me?

A faint aroma of wine wafts from the swaying oak barrels, and the sweet smell arouses dirty feelings.

Kate: Hah, Ahh….I love…. you, Jude.

Jude: Just like a fool only rememberin’ one thin’.

Jude: How much d’ya love me?

Jude sighs and kisses me deeply, devouring my sweet moans.

(Jude’s filling up every part of me.)

We kissed incessantly, embraced each other, and left red marks all over the other’s necks.

Jude: The only thin’ a person can’t fill alone’s an empty heart.

Jude murmured, “We’re together 'cause we're empty.”

— Maybe, it was his way of responding to what I had said to that woman.

But at the mercy of the intense, overlapping heat, I could only call Jude’s name.

Kate: Jude…..Jude….Ju-Aahh.

Jude: Ya might suck at givin’ head, but yer top o’ the class like this.

Jude: It feels so damn good.

When I heard the words “feels so damn good”, my mind went blank.

Under the moonlight, I was wholly filled with Jude.

-In all the places that a person can’t fill alone.

[Event Master List]

So, this seems to be a thing with Jude...like as soon as starts feeling good by Kate, he'll stop her before she can progress and take control. Not because he's about to come, but he's just impatient. He blocked her in his BD event, so CONGRATS Kate! Hopefully, he'll let you practice more....

Anyway, the way they talk about their emptiness here.....my heart. The way they find solace, happiness and love in each other....Ugh, I can't wait for the sequel!

Tag List: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @velisle @nateko @greatwitchsongsinger @injudescoat @aeyumicore @complexivelovely @yuoi-the-magnificent @husbandosandladders @cosmowgyral @lunaaka @rosalyne08 @8the-perfect-lie8 @voydsoul @goustmilk @kraiyne @midnightsrunaway @nawlink

If you wish to be added (and 18+ YO), or removed from my translations tag list, please let me know!

[soaln]

could you do ace with a m!reader who is into breeding (the reader being the bottom)

NO TITLE IDEA ﹒ ౨ৎ

𓏵 ﹒ ┈ warnings : minor dni, breeding kink, maybe ooc, smut w no plot, ace x m!reader, probably bad grammar, over 1,4Kwrds ｡— ◟ 𖦹

The ship rocked gently on the open sea, its wooden frame creaking softly as it cut through the waves. The midday sun blazed overhead, casting a golden glow across the deck, but inside the cabin, the heat was of a different kind. The air was thick, charged with an electric tension that seemed to hum with every breath. The scent of saltwater mingled with the earthy aroma of sweat and desire, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that enveloped the two men in their private world.

Ace loomed above his lover, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his breaths. His lips were slightly parted, his expression a mix of hunger and restraint. The space between them crackled with unspoken need, the kind that had been building for days, weeks, perhaps even longer. His hands, rough and calloused from years of life at sea, moved with surprising tenderness over the smooth expanse of his partner’s chest. Every touch was deliberate, every caress a silent promise of what was to come.

“I told you,” Ace murmured, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver through his lover’s body. “You don’t know when to quit.” His thumb circled one of the taut nipples beneath him, a teasing motion that elicited a sharp gasp. The man beneath him arched into the touch, his body betraying the depth of his need.

But despite the teasing edge to his words, Ace’s gaze was dark and intense, his pupils dilated with desire. His lover’s breath hitched at the sight, his own eyes heavy with lust, his entire body trembling beneath Ace’s weight.

“No,” came the soft but insistent reply. The man beneath him shifted, his hands sliding across Ace’s back, nails scraping lightly over the muscles there. His fingers dug into the flesh at Ace’s hips, pulling him closer. “I can never get enough of you.”

Ace’s lips curled into a wry grin, his amusement evident. “Yeah, I know. You’re insatiable.” His breath was warm against his lover’s neck, and he couldn’t help but let out a low laugh, the sound rich and deep. “Always begging for more. But that’s what I love about you.”

A subtle smirk played at the corner of his lover’s lips. He tilted his head up, capturing Ace’s mouth in a heated kiss, his hands already working to undo the buttons of Ace’s vest. His fingers trembled with impatience, his need palpable. “You can’t deny it either,” he teased between kisses, his voice rough with desire. “You love how much I want you. How much I need you.”

Ace groaned against his lips, pressing his body down into his lover’s. Every touch, every movement, ignited a fire deep within him, a fire he had no intention of extinguishing. He kissed back hungrily, his hands sliding down the lean body beneath him, feeling the warmth and strength of it beneath his fingertips. He could feel the heat of his lover’s pulse against his own, a perfect match to the burning ache between them.

“You’re damn right,” Ace muttered between kisses, his hands traveling lower, gripping his lover’s hips firmly, possessively. “You belong to me. Always have. Always will.”

A tremor ran through his lover’s body at the words, a quiet shudder that only fueled the fire raging between them. His hands moved to pull Ace closer, desperately. His body shifted beneath Ace’s as he arched up, pushing their pelvises together, a sharp intake of breath slipping past his lips as their bodies finally aligned.

“You’re mine, too,” his lover rasped, his voice raw, needy. “Only yours, Ace.”

Ace’s eyes darkened, burning with something primal. “Good.” He pulled back slightly, positioning himself with deliberate slowness. The anticipation built in the silence, heavy and thick, before he lowered his lips to his lover’s throat, pressing kisses down the warm column of skin. “I’m gonna make sure everyone knows you’re mine. Nobody’s gonna be able to touch you like I do.”

His cock thrust forward then, deeply, deliberately, forcing the air from his lover’s lungs with a shocked gasp. “Ace,” came the broken whimper, the sound of his name enough to send a shiver down his spine.

“Yeah, that’s right. Say my name,” Ace murmured, his breath ragged in [y/n]’s ear. He thrust again, this time faster, harder, feeling the way his lover’s body trembled beneath him. “Beg for it.”

His lover’s body responded eagerly, his legs shakingly wrapping around Ace’s waist, pulling him in deeper. “Please,” he begged, his voice a melodic mix of pleasure and desperation. “I need you, Ace. Want you so bad.”

Ace growled, his teeth grazing his lover’s neck. “You’re gonna take everything I give you. Every. Damn. Inch.” With that, he surged forward again, setting a frantic rhythm, his hands gripping the sheets beside his lover’s head, his body moving with the powerful, relentless drive of a man consumed by fire.

The room seemed to shrink around them, the only sound the rhythmic clash of their bodies, the gasps and moans that spilled from their lips. The air thickened with heat, the flames of their desire licking higher, stronger, until the only thing left was the raw, unfiltered need to claim, to possess, to mark their territory in the most primal way imaginable.

“You’re mine,” Ace growled again, pressing in deep, making sure his lover felt every inch of him. “Forever. No one else will ever have you like this.”

His lover’s hands gripped him tighter, nails digging into his back as he came closer, shuddering violently beneath him. “I’m yours, Ace. Always… yours.” He moans.

And with that final admission, Ace gave in, his body shuddering in the release, filling his lover completely with a hot sticky climax. They collapsed together in a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs, breathless, the aftershocks of their shared climax still rippling through them.

Ace pressed a lingering kiss to his lover’s temple, his hands gentle now, fingers carding through his hair as they both caught their breath.

“Never gonna let you go,” Ace whispered, his voice low but steady, the promise hanging in the air between them like a vow.

And for once, it wasn’t just the flames that burned between them. It was something much deeper, something that neither of them could ever extinguish.

---

The cabin was quiet now, the only sound the gentle lapping of the waves against the ship’s hull. The heat of the moment had faded, replaced by a warm, contented glow. Ace lay beside his lover, his arm draped over the man’s chest, their bodies still pressed close. The room was bathed in the soft, golden light of the setting sun, filtering through the small porthole and casting long shadows across the wooden floor. The air smelled of salt and sweat, a lingering reminder of their passion. Ace’s fingers traced idle patterns on his lover’s skin, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his touch.

“Do you think it’ll always be like this?” The male asked, his voice low and husky, breaking the comfortable silence.

Ace turned his head, meeting the man’s gaze. There was a vulnerability there, a question that went deeper than the words. He smiled softly, his thumb brushing over the man’s cheek. “I don’t know about always,” he admitted, his voice gentle. “But for now, it’s enough. You’re enough.”

The man’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile, and he leaned into Ace’s touch. “You always know what to say,” he murmured, closing his eyes for a moment. “I just… I don’t want this to end.”

Ace’s heart ached at the words, a bittersweet pang that echoed his own fears. But he pushed them aside, focusing on the warmth of the moment, the way their bodies fit together so perfectly, as if they were made for each other. “It doesn’t have to,” he said firmly, though he knew the reality of their lives. “We’ll take it one day at a time. That’s all we can do.”

The male nodded, though the worry didn’t fully leave his eyes. Ace leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, then his lips. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered against his skin. “Not yet.”

The words hung in the air, a fragile promise in a world that was anything but certain. But for now, in the quiet of the cabin, with the waves as their witness, it was enough. They held each other tightly, savoring the peace, knowing that whatever came next, they would face it together.

[raileurta]

I don't know of you take suggestions but I saw one of your posts tagged chaos God miko and my brain decided to go what of that was a bit more literal.

Imagine a miko who got exposed to trace amounts of dark energon, not enough to do much damage but more then enough to establish or perhaps reawaken a mental link with unicron.

Imagine a miko who grows up drawn to chaos and mischief, becoming more energetic the more hectic things become and becoming lethargic and tired when things become to peaceful. A miko who always knows things she shouldn't and seems to see your very soul. A miko who grows up lulled to sleep by an ancient voice in her mind telling her stories of distant worlds and singing about the death of empires.

Unicron is only half awake but that is more then enough to chat with his little one and peer through her eyes at the creatures living on him. It's more then enough for him to grow to love his little one as much as a being like him can love. So much so that he decides to take a page out of his brothers book and make her his champion.

The process is slow and painful, it will take years and unimaginable misfortune for her to grow into herself but that gives her more then enough time to seek out the one being on the planet who just might understand her, besides she's curious what her "cousins" are up to.

I do take suggestions!

Your brain is very big and genius right now

The idea of Miko being more chaotic then she already is a pretty scary one lol. Especially if she has some god like powers.

(Finally getting around to answering this months later 😅)

Anyways I imagine she just comes around a bit of dark energon maybe like a spoonful at a really young age. Miko I feel like as a kid would be that person to just eat random stuff. So yeah she ate it. Miko gets very sick from this and is in the hospital for like two weeks. She's mostly unconscious during it and in her dream-like state chats up with Unicron. He's hella confused about this random child and tries everything he can to scare off.

It doesn't work.

So reluctantly he has to deal with her in the mind void. Idk what would be the initial thing that would bring them together (probably extreme violence) but they do become sorta friends. Unicron would deny this though and just says he sees Miko as a pet. Even after Miko is unleashed from the hospital she still regularly visits him in the void. She would learn all types of things from him and vice versa. She teaches him about human stuff, seasons, school ugh, any hobbies she's into, and the horrors of the Internet. He teach her about Cybertronians history, the worlds he's seen, how to make dark matter, his beef with Primus, and horrors beyond comprehension! All around it's a great learning experience for the both of them.

Miko would grow up to be an intelligent but kinda disturbing being. Growing up with the god of chaos and evil in your brain will do that. She would know how to press all the right buttons to set off the prey drive in your brain. Miko also probably at one point or another killed someone too. That person would have obviously been a dick though; she's still got some form of morality.

The process of her becoming a champion would definitely be slow. And torture but worth it in the end. I imagine though she's got cute little horns on her head. She would use magic to disguise them. Maybe some wings too, nothing she can fly with but they're there.

Miko would learn of the transformers and definitely head on over there much to the disagreement of Unicron. I think the matrix would signal to Optimus "Bro watch out for that girl her vibes are seriously off." Optimus doesn't exactly know what's going on but he's keeping an optic out.

This came out more rambley than usually meh.

[foxnikki]

*enters breaking everything*

Resquests are open!!

Nikki, Nikki... Could I ask for Izo and Killer (separately) with a gn/nb s/o who clearly has a bias towards them?

Like, some crew member gets hurt and s/o scolds them for being careless, but with Izo/Killer, s/o is like "my love, are you okay?? 🥺🤜🏻🩹" (the fist is supposed to be a hand holding the band-aid 💀)

Maybe you don't even realize that they CLEARLY have favoritism??

Headcanons pls <3

It's totally fine if you don't wanna write it!!! 💗

— XOXØ, Meli

𝕵𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚

They never really understood your behavior at times: the only thing they were sure of was that you took care of them without complaints. Ah, if only they knew they had favoritism!

Pairing: Izou x gn!reader, Killer x gn!reader [separately] Genre: fluff a/n: this is a really cute idea for a story, thanks for the request ♡

izou

Oh, to say that he was scared at the idea of ​​you taking care of him at first was an understatement. Or rather, it would have annoyed him quite a bit, on the other hand he had heard that you had a particular way of taking care of the wounded, and saying taking care seemed like a funny way of saying that while you were taking care of them you repeatedly complained that they had to be more careful. Izo didn't want to hear any complaints.

He had once injured his arm during a battle, but Marco was already busy treating the others, so he had to go to you even though he didn't want to. You disinfected his wound, stitched it up and bandaged it, all this in silence. The only thing you said was at the end, when you gave him a pat. “Here you go" you told him.

It was a pretty calm situation, though maybe it was just because it was the first time he'd come to you, he thought. Oh, how wrong he was.

The next time the wound reopened and he had to return. That time you talked more. “You should be more careful, you know?” you told him, and your voice sounded worried rather than annoyed. "I care about your health..." Izo started to think that the others were exaggerating and said that you were quite aggressive in your ways. How could I be, if you were nice to him?

Sometimes he would even just show up to talk, and you seemed more than happy to listen to him. Of course, he didn't pay attention to the fact that he was probably the only person in the crew who was given that treatment.

Seriously, if he finds out he has favoritism he might find an excuse to get hurt more often.

killer

He was already used to Kid and his outbursts, so when he learned that the crew's new doctor was a rather aggressive guy he didn't pay much attention to it at first. Then one day he saw you with his friend and, oh my god, you were literally scolding him for getting hurt. It was definitely worse than he thought.

The first time he came to you he had a similar if not lighter treatment, you muttered annoyed about how your companions weren't paying attention to what they were doing. Well, at least you didn't yell at him.

One time he saw you bandaging up Bubblegum and, he would say, you were literally crushing his arm. For once he felt lucky.

The second time was a quieter visit, you simply disinfected his wound and put a band-aid on him while humming under your breath. When you finished you said your goodbyes and you gave a smile. He didn't know why but he felt reassured by this gesture, maybe after all you could be kind. Then, you were the doctor, and you just wanted your companions to be well, even if you had your own ways of doing so. Well, maybe he was an exception.

Yet he doesn't pay much attention to the fact that he has a favourite, and perhaps it's for the best. If he found out, he might tell you to treat others the same way because, as he says, he doesn't like favoritism... even though he probably does it himself by giving you the plate with the biggest meal.

© ꜰᴏxɴɪᴋᴋɪ on tumblr - do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform. Comments and reblogs are appreciated.

[otomehoneyybearr]

My First Dorayaki

Keith & Kagari

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Bonus Card

I was sprinting at full speed through the streets of a town I had visited to procure books. 

Shady-Looking Man: "Stop right there, lady!!" 

(I should’ve known better than to wander around out of curiosity just because I don’t come here often!) 

And now, here I was, having accidentally witnessed a shady deal between some shady-looking men. 

(I need to run faster—come on, legs!) 

Without a clue about the layout of the town, I turned left and right, eventually ducking into a back alley. 

Keith & Kagari: "Huh?" "Hm?" 

Emma: "Huh…? Prince Keith and Prince Kagari?!" 

I froze in place, forgetting that I was even being chased, at the sight of the two unexpected figures. 

Keith: "What a surprise. I didn’t expect we’d run into you in this town, Emma. What a coincidence." 

Keith: "But why are you in such a hurry?" 

Emma: "Well, you see…" 

Shady-Looking Man: "There she is! You’ve caused us a lot of trouble, Lady!" 

(Wha— They’ve already caught up to me…?!) 

The men steadily closed the distance, blocking my escape route. 

Kagari: "Keith." 

Keith: "……Yeah, there’s no doubt about it. But no killing, okay?" 

Kagari: "Spending time with you will make my sword rust." 

Keith: "Emma, please step back a little." 

Prince Keith shielded me behind his back, while Prince Kagari kicked off the wall, swiftly maneuvering to position himself behind the men. 

Shady-Looking Man: "W-Who the hell are you guys?!" 

Kagari: "Just a demon passing by." 

Keith: "Or maybe the last people you’d ever want to meet?" 

Sandwiched between them, the men were helpless and were swiftly subdued by the two beasts. 

.....

—"Wait here for a bit." 

Following Keith’s request, Kagari and I sat off to the side of the plaza. As we waited, a sweet scent drifted through the air. 

Keith: "Here you go, Emma. A freshly made dorayaki." 

Emma: "Wow, thank you! But… are you sure?" 

(To think they’d help me and then offer me dorayaki too…) 

A large hand gently took mine, placing the still-warm, paper-wrapped dorayaki into my palm. 

Keith: "Actually, the reason Kagari and I are here is because we were searching for those men we just caught." 

Emma: "Really…?!" 

Kagari: "They’re part of a group that runs underground deals, causing trouble not just here in Jade but even back in my country, Kogyoku." 

Kagari: "And you, Princess, led them straight to us. You should be the one getting thanked." 

Keith: "Kagari’s right. Thank you, Emma." 

Keith: "In fact, a single dorayaki isn’t enough to show my gratitude. I’ll have to properly thank you later—" 

Emma: "No, no, the dorayaki is more than enough!" 

Emma: "Getting to see you both again, and even being of help, made being chased all the worthwhile.” 

Emma: "Thank you so much!" 

Kagari: "So is the chat over? It’s over, right? I’m eating my dorayaki now." 

Keith: "Kagari, you’re way too impatient." 

Kagari: “Freshly made dorayaki waits for no one.” 

Emma: “Haha, that’s true.” 

Emma: “There’s a bench over there. Let’s sit and eat.” 

I sat on the bench, flanked by Prince Keith and Prince Kagari. 

Keith: “Oh, sorry. I’m pretty big, so I might be taking up too much space.” 

Keith: “"If it’s too cramped or if I’m too close, don’t hesitate to tell me.” 

Kagari: “But you’re already sitting on the edge, aren’t you?” 

Keith: “There are other places to sit, so it’s fine.” 

Emma: “It’s not cramped or too close at all. Actually, you’re sitting so far to the side that you might fall off. Please come a bit closer.” 

Keith: “Really? Okay… just a little, then." 

(Really, just a little.) 

(But at least now there’s no chance of a prince of the nation sitting on the ground. Thank goodness.) 

I unwrapped my dorayaki and took a bite. 

Perhaps because I had been running around so much, the gentle sweetness of the red bean paste seeped into my tired body. 

(It’s delicious…) 

(Still, it really was a miracle. If I hadn’t run into Prince Keith and Prince Kagari, who knows what would have happened to me…) 

(…Next time, I’ll make sure to at least familiarize myself with the area before wandering around.) 

(Oh, that reminds me…) 

Emma: "The way you two fought in perfect sync in the alley was incredible! I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.” 

Emma: "Was it because of that hellish training you once mentioned from your childhood?" 

Keith: “That’s what started it, yes.” 

Keith: “After that, we’ve trained together every time we met. I think it’s because we’ve memorized each other’s moves, timing, and speed.” 

Kagari: “Good for you. If you hadn’t remembered, you’d be going through hellish training all over again.” 

Keith: “...I’m so glad I remembered.” 

(So they weren't exaggerating—it really was something worthy of the name “hellish training.”) 

From Prince Keith’s distant gaze, I could sense the indescribable hardships he had endured. 

Kagari: “Speaking of hellish training, Keith used to bawl his eyes out after those sessions.” 

Emma: “Bawl?” 

Keith: "AHHH!!! Kagari, why are you telling Emma the one thing I didn’t want her to know?!" 

Kagari: “It just came to mind, so I mentioned it. I didn’t realize it was something you wanted to keep secret."” 

Keith: “It’s a dark chapter in my past…” 

Keith: “Besides, if she imagines a weed like me crying, she might end up having nightmares!” 

Keith “Actually… on second thought, crying might be one of the least embarrassing memories from back then." 

(A young Keith crying… I think that sounds kind of adorable.) 

Emma: “Prince Keith, do you have any memories of those training sessions that stand out to you?” 

Keith: “Me? Hmm, there are quite a few, but…” 

His gaze dropped to the dorayaki in his hands, and he let out a quiet "…ah." 

Keith: “A mountain of dorayaki, piled so high it was about to topple off the plate.” 

Emma: “A mountain of dorayaki?” 

Keith: “Yeah. On the last day of training, Kagari brought them to me…” 

●●●●●● Flashback ●●●●●●

Kagari: “One of them is special.” 

Keith: “.......Is it poisoned?” 

Kagari: “No.” 

Kagari: “Look—I ate one, and I’m still standing.” 

Keith: “That's true…What a relief.” 

Kagari: “Now eat it.” 

Keith: “O-okay. Thanks—urk!” 

Kagari: “Did you take a bite? Here’s the second one.” 

Keith: “P-Please wait, I haven’t even finished the first one yet!” 

Keith: “And… can I eat it myself? Since it’s a gift from you, I want to savor it properly." 

Kagari: "I don’t really get it, but fine." 

Keith: "……"

Kagari: "……"

Keith: "……"

Kagari: "……"

Keith:“Mmm…!” 

Kagari: “...!” 

Keith: “It has cream and strawberries mixed in with the red bean paste.” 

Keith: "Dorayaki comes in so many flavors. This is amazing!" 

Kagari: "I see. So it is good." 

Keith: "This must be the special one, right? Thank you, Kagari." 

Kagari: "Yeah." 

Keith: "But why did you bring them for me? And so many, too." 

Kagari: "Because when a student completes their training, it’s only right to give them a reward—a gold star, so to speak." 

Kagari: "I may be your friend, but I’m also your teacher." 

●●●●●● Flashback End ●●●●●●

 

Keith: "—It was the first time I ever received such a delicious gold star from a teacher."

Keith: "I remember feeling so happy I could have jumped for joy." 

(Somehow, it feels like I got to share a piece of that happiness.) 

Emma: "What a wonderful memory." 

At my words, Prince Keith gave me a gentle smile. 

Kagari: “I never expected someone who almost died several times to be that happy over dorayaki.” 

Kagari suddenly leaned against me.

His hands were now empty— maybe he was just at a loss for what to do with them. 

Keith: “You remember it too, Kagari?” 

Kagari: “It was the first time I’d ever gone to a shop to buy dorayaki myself.” 

Keith: “Wait, you bought them yourself?! I didn’t know that.” 

Kagari: “I just did the same thing you did. It’s not a big deal.” 

Keith: “It is to me... So you went and got them yourself…” 

(Once again, I feel like I’ve been gifted a piece of their happiness.) 

(The hellish training might’ve been brutal, but to these two, it’s an unforgettable and precious memory.) 

Without realizing it, I found myself smiling, just like Prince Keith. 

Suddenly, Kagari leaned closer, peering at my face as if studying my reaction.. 

Kagari: "You look like you really enjoyed that story, Princess. Did it interest you that much?"

Emma: "It did. Hearing about it warmed my heart and..."

Emma: "I realized you two are even closer than I thought."” 

Keith & Kagari “Not bad.” 

Emma: “Hehe, even that just proves just  how close you two are." 

(But maybe for them, it’s so natural that they don’t even think about it.) 

The memories they shared afterward left my heart feeling warm and full more than the freshly made dorayaki did. 

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