#and i have to associate him with the room- i just have to

[ariestrxsh]

.• ° * જ⁀➴ content warning: smut, angst, manipulation, cheating, toxic relationship, crying, oral (f!receiving), rough car sex, hair pulling, toxicbf!chris, gf!reader

.• ° * જ⁀➴ author's note: sorry guys i kind of made chris a cheating asshole in this (but i'd still let him hit bc i'm lowkey a cuck).

.• ° * જ⁀➴ summary: you and chris get into an argument after you find him cheating on you at a party, but you can't stay mad at him for long, especially when he knows just what you like, and he gives it to you in the backseat of his car.

.• ° * જ⁀➴ this fic is very loosely inspired by this post (it started off as a roadrage fic that leads to sex but the fic really took me down a different road, so i took the rough car fuck from it and kind of changed everything else so idk)

(i used two different songs for inspo, but they both have the same name, and i actually like this concept a lot bc the halsey song more fits where the reader's head is, and the current blue song more fits where chris' head is, so keep that in mind if you ever listen to the songs associated with my fics.)

Drive

You set foot out of the bathroom at a New Year's party your boyfriend had dragged you to, your eyes scanning the sea of faces in search of him.

You didn't recognize most of the people here, but they all recognized you. Chris knew almost everyone, and they all knew of you by association. Chris was a bit of a social butterfly, especially at parties, constantly flitting through each room and getting easily distracted, so you weren't sure where to even begin looking for him.

You had a better chance of finding one of his brothers first and hoping that maybe one of them had seen him. You continued to look for either of the three of them through the crowd while music thumped loudly through some shitty speakers.

You found your way through the living room and the kitchen, bumping into a few people who knew your name but failed to tell you theirs and were no help in finding Chris. The smell of marijuana burning floated into your senses as you wandered out back, thinking for sure that you'd stumble upon your boyfriend outside lighting up a joint, but he was nowhere to be found.

You did, however, find Nick who was getting hit on by a group of girls who were all giggling and playing with their hair while they all completely missed the obvious signs that he was totally uninterested and also gay. "Hey, have you seen Chris?" You called to Nick as your heels clicked against the stonework in the backyard.

Nick politely excused himself and started walking towards you. "No, I haven't, but thank God you're here. I thought they were going to eat me alive back there," Nick whispered in your ear, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as the two of you started to walk back inside. You frowned at him. All you wanted was to find Chris.

"You know, I saw a cat earlier. If we can find the cat, I'm sure we'll find Matt close by. Maybe he's seen Chris," Nick suggested, shrugging. You and Nick pushed your way past a bunch of drunk college kids when Matt caught your eye at the top of the second floor.

He was bent down, petting a black cat and scratching the sweet animal under the chin as she purred and brushed up against his leg. You two made your way over to the banister and started climbing the steps. "Hey, have you seen Chris?" You called to him, startling the cat and causing her to run off to one of the dark rooms down the hall.

Matt glared at you. "No, I haven't," he huffed. "I can't find him anywhere. I swear, I left him alone for like ten minutes," you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in your stomach and the thoughts creeping into your mind that he might be somewhere entertaining another girl.

"I wouldn't go up there if I were you. I think there might be someone hooking up in one of those rooms," Matt pointed down the hall, smirking. He turned his attention to Nick. "Hey, since Chris can drive himself now and we don't have to wait for him, do you wanna go?" The rest of their conversation was drowned out by the sound of your heartbeat thumping away in your ears as you peered down at the only room you could tell was lit up.

You saw what looked like two pairs of feet stumbling around as their shadows broke through the light shining through the crack in the bottom of the door. Something told you that Chris was in that room, and even though you had nothing to go off besides a gut feeling, you had to be sure.

After Nick and Matt had made their way back down the staircase and out the door to Matt's car, you finally worked up the courage to march towards the door. You pressed your ear up to the wooden barrier. You couldn't make out what the two voices on the other side were saying, but one of them definitely belonged to Chris.

You subtly turned the knob and threw open the door. Sure enough. Your scumbag boyfriend was getting close and friendly with another woman who had her lips latched onto his neck, and he had his hand resting on her hip. He immediately pulled away and backed up as he realized he'd been caught.

"Hey babe," he said, trying to sound casual. You could tell by the sneer on the girl's face and her body language that she wasn't happy to see you. Your glance flickered between the both of them a few times before you felt tears starting to well in your eyes. You turned away and bolted down the stairs and out into the front yard.

It was a shame Nick and Matt had already left because all you wanted to do was go home, and now the reason you were crying was your only ride. Chris followed closely behind, chasing after you. "Babe, what's wrong?" He asked, playing dumb, as if that could really get him out of this one. You pushed him away, but he pulled you close again.

"What the fuck were you doing with that girl!?" You asked through your tears, raising your voice. "We were just talking," he sweetly told you, wiping away a bit of your smeared eyeliner. "Chris, I'm not stupid! She was kissing your neck," you sobbed in response, shoving him again.

"Babe, you're embarrassing me," he shot back, sounding a bit annoyed with you. "You're the one making out with some other girl at a party where everyone knows we're together, and you're the one who's embarrassed?! You're unbelievable!" You yelled.

"You're always jumping to conclusions and accusing me of shit," Chris responded, embracing you once more. "Shhh. Come on, baby. Come home with me, and I'll show you how sorry I am," he cooed in a soft voice, trying to de-escalate the situation.

"You're not fooling me, Chris. I'm not giving into you this time. Just take me home.." you said, your voice trailing off as he started kissing and nibbling on your ear. "Please. Come home with me. I'll make you feel so good," he whispered into the crook of your neck, pressing his body up against yours.

Your knees and your willpower grew weak as you turned your head to expose more of your throat to him, a soft moan escaping your lips.

As angry as you were with him, he could always win you over with sex. It was like a vicious cycle. He'd hit on another girl in front of you, you'd get jealous, the two of you would start fighting, and then he would console you with sex. You hated that it always worked, but you couldn't help the effect he had on you. He was intoxicating, and you were addicted to him.

"Mhmm. Please, Chris.." you hummed back, giving into him. He had you in the palm of his hand. He reached behind you and opened your door for you, leading you into his car and closing it once you'd gotten in.

It still had that new car smell. He climbed into the driver seat, turning the key in the ignition. You listened to the sound of his engine purring as he pulled away from the street, one hand on the steering wheel and his other on your thigh. His pretty blue eyes shifted between the road, his rearview, and his side mirrors.

You watched the way the streetlights overhead illuminated different parts of the car as you drove underneath them, shadows bouncing off the leather interior, creating a strange illusion, kind of like how it felt to be in a relationship with Chris - like a long, late night drive where the lights and shadows played tricks on your eyes to the point where you didn't know what was real and what wasn't.

"Why don't you put on some music, babe?" Chris suggested, breaking you out of your thoughts and attempting to distract you from bringing up the girl from the party again. "My phone's dead. Can I use yours?" You casually asked him, reaching for his phone that was sitting in his cup holder.

"Mine's dead, too," he replied, trying to grab it before you did. You watched his screen light up as an incoming message came through. "Bullshit!" You yelled, snagging his phone out of his hand.

When you opened his lock screen, it was open to a new contact he'd just saved, and you saw a woman's name you didn't recognize, and when you pulled down notification bar to see who the text was from, it was from her.

"Give it back," Chris demanded, trying to wrestle his phone out of your hand while trying to maintain his focus on the road. The text read: I had fun with you tonight. I hope I didn't get you into too much trouble with your girlfriend. Text me the next time you're lonely. ;)

"That's it, Chris. Let me out of the fucking car," you told him, throwing his phone at him and reaching for your door handle. "Jesus Christ," Chris said, rolling his eyes and turning down an empty road that was dark besides one lone streetlight at the corner.

"I'm not kidding. Stop this fucking car or I'll jump out while it's moving," you threatened. "I know you will," he scoffed at you, hence the reason he was pulling off of the main road and bringing his wheels to an abrupt stop.

Chris had pulled over on the side of the street in a residential area, but there was stretch of empty field before you'd hit any houses, and there were no people around because it was around 11 p.m. on New Year's Eve night and everyone was either out at a bar or a house party or nestled comfortably into their beds ready to start off the new year with a good night's rest.

You threw open the car door. "Don't - slam it," Chris started to say, but he was cut off by you slamming the door shut in his face. You grew even more pissed off at the audacity of him to care about his car in a moment like this. You started marching down the street, your heels angrily clicking against the sidewalk as you tried to hold back your tears with arms crossed over your chest.

He rolled down his tinted window. "Get in," he told you, but you ignored him, not even bothering to slow your strides. "Get back in the car," he repeated through gritted teeth. "No, you can leave. I'll find my way home."

"We're 45 minutes from your house, you've been drinking, and your phone is dead. I'm afraid I don't have a choice. I'm not leaving you out here alone like this," Chris told you, slowly driving beside you, his wheels inching forward with your angry stomps. You gave him the silent treatment, continuing down the pavement.

He stopped the car and pulled himself to his feet, coming around to the opposite side where you were and grabbing you by the wrist. "Look, I know you hate me, and you can tell me all about it in the morning, but for now, let's get you back to my place, and I'll do my best to make it up to you," he softly cooed, looking into your eyes as he grabbed both sides of your face and pulled you into a deep kiss.

You kissed him back, your lips moving in unison with his, but you pulled away. "What? You gonna leave me over it?" He asked genuinely. You stared at him blankly. "Because you never do," he pointed out. He was right.

This was a pattern, and there was a part of each one of you that loved the drama of the tumultuous relationship the two of you shared. You both knew it wasn't healthy, but Chris loved the way you'd get jealous over him and cause a scene. It made him feel like you really cared. And you loved the great lengths he'd go to in order to win you back over after a big fight.

And, of course, you were both addicted to the makeup sex. Neither one of you understood the psychology of why neither one of you wanted out of the relationship. After all, you two really did think you loved each other. You just only had really fucked up ways of showing it.

"Come on. You know you want me. You'd get bored with anyone else," he said in a seductive tone as he winked at you. Again, he was right. He pushed you up against the car and started kissing you, wedging his knee between your legs.

"I need you, baby, and I know you need me, too. I'm the only one who can give you exactly what you like, hmm?" He moaned into your mouth in-between sloppy kisses. "Fuck me, Chris," you moaned back.

"Yeah? You wanna go back to my place, and I'll fuck you nice and good," he purred into your ear. "No, Chris. I want you to fuck me right now," you sternly replied. He raised his eyebrows at you. This was out of character for you, but he liked it, and he wasn't going to let the chance go to waste.

"Fuck. You're so hot," he rapsed as he pulled open the back door. "Get on all fours," he ordered you, pushing you into the backseat. He pulled the hem of your black dress up over ass and started taking down your panties.

He eagerly spread you open, and you shuddered at the feeling of his hot breath radiating onto your core. He leaned in and buried his tongue in between your folds, lapping up your wetness. Your face was pressed against the cold, leather interior as a mewl passed through your lips.

He started to harshly suck on your clit, moaning against your sensitive nerve endings as he brought his hand down and slapped your ass hard. You yelped, leaning back into him. You reached around and entangled your fingers in his soft, brown locks as he continued to eat you like a man starving.

"Like when I eat it from the back?" He seductively asked you. "Mhmm," you whimpered, biting your lip and nodding your head. He wrapped his lips around your bundle of nerves, and he began methodically flicking his tongue over it as your whole body started to tremble.

He slurped up all your juices as he roughly kissed your drooling cunt. He created a bit of suction on your clit again, pulling away slowly and stretching your flesh, which made the feeling far more intense. He smirked after he released it from his lips and it snapped back into place. You whimpered at the delightful sensation.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he praised you. You dug your freshly-manicured nails into the seat as he brought you closer to the edge. His tongue explored you in ways that no one else ever could. You felt the knot in your stomach come undone as he devoured you, paying close attention to every part of your vulva, stimulating you with his soft, wet mouth.

You started to shake as you finished onto his tongue, strangled moans pouring into the car. Chris chuckled against your heat, licking you clean. He released his mouth from you, and you heard the sound of him fiddling with his belt. Then his zipper.

You felt him draw a line up your slit with his tip, dragging it through your wetness. He slapped it against your entrance, laughing at the way you sent your hips back trying to coax it in. "You forgive me, baby? You forgive me for getting mixed up with that girl?" He cooed, teasing you with the head of his cock.

"Of course, Chris. I could never stay mad at you," you whimpered, eager for him to put it in. He smirked, snapping his hips forward and burying himself deep inside you. "So big," you whined as you generously accepted him, your pussy stretching around him and accommodating his thickness.

"Take it," he groaned, starting to buck his hips back and forth. He admired the arch of your back and all your perfect curves as he had you in his favorite position. His eyes wandered towards your ass and the way it jiggled every time he jerked his hips forward, driving himself deeper into your hole.

He grabbed ahold of your hair and used it to steady himself as he pounded away. "You take my cock so well," he growled, rutting into your gspot with every jagged thrust. Your eyes rolled back, and you let out a deep, guttural sound that you almost didn't even recognize coming from yourself.

He started to break a sweat, a few drops of perspiration forming on his forehead, his thick hair sticking to it. The car windows started to fog up with the moisture from your combined breath as the two of your bodies moved as one unit in an escalating exchange of energies.

He relished in the way you squelched around him and the sound of skin slapping against skin. "Harder," you practically sobbed as you felt the pressure building in your abdomen again. He fucked you ravenously, picking up his strides and giving it to as hard as he could, sending satisfaction through every inch of you.

His eyes were slammed shut, his eye brows knitted together, and his jaw dropped, pleasured sounds unfurling from his lips. They were deep, sensual, and almost frustrated - almost animalistic. His car rocked back and forth as he took you in the back seat, your fingers grasping for anything to hold onto as you felt your stomach flutter.

"So close," you managed to whine as you reached the point of no return. With Chris still gripping your hair tightly, he kept his pace as steady and strong as he could while on the brink himself. "Cum on my cock, babe," he demanded, his voice textured with lust. He gripped your hair even harder, tugging with even more force than before as your orgasm rippled through you, fully surrendering to him.

Your bodies reacted to one other in a language of unspoken desire as he pumped you full of his warm, sticky load and your walls throbbed around him, creating a positive feedback loop in which each of you triggered a more intense climax in one another.

"Oh, fuck," he rasped, his dick twitching inside of you as he filled you with every last drop. He relaxed his hold on your hair, and you collpased into the back seat of his car. He pulled out of you, admiring the way his cum glistened on your skin in the faint moonlight as it peeked out from behind the clouds.

"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up, go back to my place, and I'll do that as many times as it takes me to make up for what a jerk I was to you tonight."

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[always-just-red]

15 for sylus if it inspires you at all👀 i love your work, it is always so playful and in character and the writing itself is lovely

Hiiiii! Thank you, and thanks so much for this prompt-- I laughed so much as soon as I read the words ‘heavenly harmonies’ with Sylus in mind ahaha 💀 Hope you enjoy!

Sylus X Reader 🩸🎄☃️❄️

Prompt #015: out on the streets doing christmas carolling, blessing the streets with the sweet voices of heavenly harmonies.

“You know, I think this is gonna be some kind of record.”

You give your collection basket a shake, enamoured by the hoard within: a sea of coins that clink, clink, clink as you jostle them, strewn with countless loose notes. There’s a watch in there, too.

“I told you, sweetie…” Sylus is using his phone as a mirror, adjusting the ‘scarf’ you fashioned him from a rope of ruby tinsel. “Your taste in music has room for improvement.” 

You’re not sure what tickles you more: the ironically tone-deaf comment, or the way his antlers jingle when he speaks. Of all the things you fished out from the back of your cupboard to dress-up your last-minute carolling partner, those must be your favourite. They’re red, soft— covered in tiny, gold bells. They’ve slipped slightly on his head, and you chew your lip as he reaches to steady them, making them jingle again. 

“Stop staring,” he tuts with a knowing smile, though his eyes never leave his reflection. 

“Stop preening,” you giggle back. “Who are you— Mephisto?” 

There’s a gentle snort as Sylus tucks his phone into his pocket. He crosses his arms, gazing up at the building you’re standing outside of. “We’re hitting this place next, hmm?” 

“Yep!” You rap a gloved hand against the door. “But don’t say it like that.” 

“Like what?”

“Like a mobster from a black and white movie. Capiche?”

You give him a side-eye. He trades you a smirk.

Warm tones of light leak from the house’s windows, and you feel cosy, despite the persistent bite of the snow and the cold. You knock on the door again; someone is clearly home, and this is the one time of year you get to be annoying without consequence. Twelve months of forced smiles and unrelenting politeness. You are the face of the Association, remember? 

But tonight— and just for tonight— that face can be whatever you want it to be. It’s for charity! 

You knock again. And then again. The house’s lights go out, but your face goes darker. You’re not leaving without something, not when Tara’s out on her winter fun-run, and Xavier’s risking civilian lives with a bake sale. You’re going to beat them. You have to beat them. 

… And raise money for the protection of harmless, small Wanderers, of course. 

Time for your secret weapon. You lift a finger from your basket— a conductor, preparing an orchestra for incoming instruction. Sylus knows the drill. You count him in with a: “one, two, three, four…” 

“Dashing through the snow,” he starts. 

“In a one-horse open sleigh!” 

“O’er the fields we go, laughing all the way!” 

Ha ha ha.

“Bells on bobtails ring, making spirits bright!”

Together: “What fun it is to ride and sing a sleighing song tonight, OH—!” 

The door is flung open, stopping both of you in your loud, tuneless tracks. “Here!” exclaims a flustered young man, “here— this is what you want, right? Take it!” 

He fumbles with his wallet for all of a second before emptying it into your basket. He shakes it to dislodge a few, stubborn coins.

“That’s really kind of you, sir. The Association appreciates your—” 

The door slams shut, but you couldn’t care less. You smile down at your little pile of treasure and almost squeal in delight.

“Happy?” Sylus asks. 

“More than happy!” You set the basket down then go up on your tiptoes, clasping his face with both hands. His antlers jingle. “You’re amazing, Sylus.” 

Soft as it is, it’s still an ambush. His eyes are wide, and he… doesn’t know what to say. 

Cold is seeping through your gloves. “Oh, are you warm enough?” you fret. Your hands fall from his cheeks so you can pull on the collar of his coat, drawing it closer around his neck. 

“I’m… fine.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.”

It’s not an argument you can win. You think if Sylus were frozen from the depths of his heart to the tips of his toes, he would still be out carolling with you. 

Selfless idiot. You laugh as you step back from him and stoop to collect your basket. “That’s a shame,” you tease. There’s a bounce in your step as you leave him. “I was gonna say we should go for hot chocolate. Or huddle for warmth, like penguins. Did you know that they—”

Sylus’s arms are around you suddenly, hugging you from behind so you can’t slip away again. His chin meets your shoulder, his face: the crook of your neck. You can feel his breath, warm on your skin where the night air won’t find it. It’s always been yours.

“I am a little cold,” he confesses, weak only with you. For you.

“Home and hot chocolate?” you chuckle. 

He sighs blissfully: “Please.”

[cinnaleaf]

「 Rouxed Up | A Very Merry Footballer Ficmas 」

summary: you bring your man home for an american christmas while you try to survive your chaotic family | MDNI 18+

warnings: smut, dom/sub dynamic, dirty talk, language, chaotic family, cultural specificity (black southern american), southern slang, food mentions, mentions of alcohol, humour 🎅🏾: my writer elf worked very hard on this to make it special for the american girlies | pt 4 of my ficmas series wc: ~5.9k

You should’ve known things were going to be chaotic the minute you turned onto the street where you grew up. Houston suburbs were excessive, especially during Christmas. There were overly large brick houses lined with lights that doubled the electric bill, inflatable Santas, reindeer, and other decorations fighting for space in every yard. Your parents’ house wasn’t any different: it was a sprawling 4 bedroom home with a front yard cluttered with holiday decorations, lights, and an inflatable football. Your mom swore it was festive enough to win the homeowner’s association holiday contest this year, but they lost to the neighbors across the street for the second year in a row. 

“I guess they do it big in Texas, huh?” Aurélien asked while sliding out of the car to stretch his long legs.

“Always” you answered back, reaching to pull a foil pan full of red beans and rice from the backseat. “This isn’t real Texas though baby. You’re about to step right into Louisiana as soon as we get inside the house.”

You weren’t exaggerating. After the hurricane, your entire family packed up and started over in Houston. They may have swapped New Orleans shotgun houses for oversized Texas bricks, but the food, accents, and chaos all came with them. Now, you were dragging your French footballer boyfriend into the chaos so he could see what a Creole Christmas looked like. He was hype for weeks, asking you nonstop questions about the food, NOLA bounce remixes, if your family had any relation to Beyoncé, and if anyone in the family still spoke French.

When you walked inside, the house was alive with uncles yelling at an NFL game on a large tv in the living room. Your cousins were running around playing hide and seek in rooms they knew they weren’t supposed to be running around in. The smell of seafood stock cooking hit your nose first – shrimp shells, water, and various aromatic vegetables and herbs were bubbling in a pot so big it could feed a small army. The kitchen was at max capacity as your grandma barked orders while your aunt Beverly was busy icing a pound cake.

“Y/N, baby!” Your grandma spotted you before you could even set the tin pan down. She quickly washed her hands and waddled over to you to pull you into a hug that smelled like a mix of cajun seasonings and White Diamonds perfume. “You finally brought him back with you! What’s his name..Leon??”

“Aurélien.” you corrected her politely, enunciating it so she could get it right.

Aurélien stepped forward with a polite, meet the family smile while your grandma looked him up and down quickly and then put on the glasses that were sitting on top of her head to get a clearer look. “Hmm..he’s tall. Very handsome too. Your taste ain’t too bad, I’ll give you that. You must’ve got that from me because your mama never picked ‘em right when she was your age.”

“I told y’all he was fine,” one of your aunts added while checking the pecan pie in the oven. 

“Nana..auntie..please don’t start” you muttered, trying not to laugh while Aurélien stifled his laughter next to you.

“I’m just saying!” your grandma gave you a dramatic shrug and then turned her attention back to him. “So do you know anything about real football? Not that soccer stuff.”

“Nana!” you hissed, feeling embarrassed by your family already. “He’s literally a professional footballer.”

“Uh huh” she said unimpressed. “I don’t know nothing about that.”

Aurélien grinned, leaning into his perfect boyfriend performance with an almost too good to be true charm. “I know a little bit about NFL. Y/N taught me a few things.”

Your grandma waved him off with a scoff. “Mhm, we’ll see. Don’t let my son hear you say that or he’ll have you on the couch talking about the Saints all night.” Then she turned her attention back to you with a no nonsense look. “Y/N, you’re making the gumbo this year.”

Your stomach dropped. “Wait what?”

“Gumbo. You heard me” she said, already making her way out the kitchen. “You’re always in the kitchen when I make it. Show your boyfriend you know how to cook so he doesn’t go back home thinking we raised you wrong.”

“Nana I’ve never–”

“Better figure it out!” she snapped over her shoulder, dismissing you with a wave. “The stock is on the stove and everything else is over yonder (nearby) in the ice box (fridge). Don’t mess my kitchen up.”

Aurélien looked down at you, amused by your predicament. “You didn’t tell me you were the chef tonight.”

“That’s because I didn’t know” you muttered while the panic set in. You knew your entire family would clown you for years to come if you fucked your grandmother’s gumbo recipe up. They were still talking about the mac and cheese you messed up three years ago by adding cottage cheese, so you couldn’t take any chances this year. 

“Okay..” you sighed and tied your braids into a bun as you made your way over to the sink to wash your hands. Before you could even start getting anything accomplished, one of your little cousins, Myles, came yelling and running through the kitchen out of nowhere.

“Y/N! My mom said your boyfriend has money for Robux. Can he buy me some? Pleaseeee?”

“No!” you snapped, holding up a wooden spoon. “And why are you running in here? You know you’re not supposed to be in the kitchen playing!”

“We’re just playing hide and seek,” Myles said while full of sugared adrenaline. “But I’m not hiding in here..I just wanted to see if I could get some robux.”

“Robux your ass out of this kitchen please” you commanded while wrangling him and the rest of your cousins out of the kitchen.

Aurélien cocked his brow, watching you as you ushered your cousins out of the kitchen area. 

“Baby.. I can buy them some robux, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“No. He’s always begging for something” you muttered, shoving flour and oil onto the counter.

“Y/N!” your other cousin, Gianna, yelled from the hallway. “Can you fix my hair? My mama bumped the ends and I don’t like it.”

“Girl, I just got here! Ask Nana!”

“She said no,” Gianna pouted, slowly dragging her feet toward the living room.

Your mom appeared from another room with her hands full of empty tin pans, scowling. “Why are y’all yelling in my house like this?” Her eyes landed on Aurélien and she softened immediately. “Hi Aurél. You hungry?”

Aurélien flashed the same smile he used on your grandma, but it worked a lot better on your mom. “No ma’am but thank you. It’s good to see you again.”

“Is my daughter treating you right?” your mom asked with a smile on her face while setting the pans down beside some plates. “I know she can be a little feisty…”

“Wooow…” you rolled your eyes, not believing your ears. 

“Is she treating me right?” Aurélien repeated with a laugh, glancing at you as he leaned against the counter. “I have no complaints. She’s perfect for me.”

Your mom raised an eyebrow, amused by his smoothness. “You like that? I guess there’s someone out there for everybody…”

“Mom!” you yelled, reaching for the knob on the stove with an exaggerated huff. “Can y’all chill on me?”

Your mom laughed as she walked toward the living room with the others. “Alright, I’m gone. Don’t mess up the gumbo.”

“Don’t burn the roux Y/N!” Myles shouted from wherever he was hiding.

Aurélien snickered, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Yeah. Don’t burn the roux baby.”

You gave him a glare, pointing the wooden spoon toward him. “I don’t need your commentary. You’re here to chop vegetables and shut up. Got it?”

“Got it” he raised his hands up dramatically, but was still grinning like he was about to get on your every last nerve.

You turned back to the counter, yanking the fridge open to pull out the holy trinity. Just as you set the onion, celery, and bell pepper on the cutting board, your Aunt Beverly waltzed in with a glass of something that probably had way too much Crown Royal in it.

“Now why do you have this young man standing here looking like a guest?” she asked, plopping her glass down on the counter. “Aurélien you better start chopping! This ain’t Madrid.”

“I was just waiting for my instructions,” Aurélien replied, grabbing a knife. “I’m ready to work auntie.”

“Aww look at him” she cooed, giving you a look. “You better not mess this one up Y/N. He’s fine and he listens. That’s rare.”

You groaned, already regretting bringing him with you for Christmas. “Why is everyone acting like he’s the only man on earth?”

“Nobody said he was,” Aunt Beverly replied, sipping her drink. “But he’s the finest one I’ve seen you bring around.”

Aurélien didn’t even try to hide his smirk. “Thank you auntie.”

“Don’t thank her” you scoffed, shoving the cutting board closer to him. “Just chop.”

Before you could get into a good rhythm of chopping and stirring, Gianna came storming back in the kitchen, looking even more dramatic than before.

“Y/N!” she whined. “Pleaseeee fix my hair. Look at me!”

You glanced over at her, narrowing your eyes over the bumped ends while you tried not to laugh. “Gigi, you don’t need your hair fixed. It looks fine.” You were lying, she really looked like she worked in management at a call center.

“No it doesn’t!” she cried, stomping her foot. “I look like James Brown!”

You almost burst out laughing so you turned your head back to the stove, tucking your lips in to hide your smile while waving her off. “Just go sit down somewhere.”

“Fine” she huffed, stomping back toward the living room. “I’m telling Nana you’re being mean.”

“Tell her! I don’t care!” you yelled back, very unbothered.

Aurélien was at the counter chopping celery while all of this went down, but you saw him chuckling quietly to himself during the ordeal like this was the most entertaining family he had ever seen. “Do you talk to all of them like that? Is that normal?”

“Only when they act like this…” you muttered, dumping a pile of chopped onions into a bowl. “Which is every time I come home.”

“Your family is funny..I like them.”

“Just chop” you repeated while shaking your head. You were anxious your family would have scared him off by now, but knowing he was enjoying every second gave you butterflies.

While chopping, the sound of the NFL game blaring loudly in the background was interrupted by your uncle shouting, “Y/N! You know what you doing in there? It smells like something’s burning.”

You hadn’t even started cooking yet, and somehow your uncle was smelling phantom scents. You rolled your eyes again, ignoring his comments while you poured oil in the pan. A slow grin crept up Aurélien’s face when he saw how annoyed you were getting. “Burning the gumbo already?”

You whipped your head around, pointing the spoon at him. “Don’t start with me.”

With a heavy sigh, you turned your attention back toward the pan and swirled the oil around under the heat as you slowly added in flour. The roux was a life or death situation; you were either going to be a Creole princess, or your family would be on your neck for the rest of the night.

Aurélien stood close to you, leaning in with curiosity in his eyes. “So how do we do this? What’s the plan?”

“The plan is to stir this until its the color of dark chocolate” you said while moving the spoon in a steady circular pattern. “If I stop stirring it’ll burn and get all clumpy. After that, we add the veggies we just chopped to let it sauté, and then we add everything else and let it simmer.”

He nodded, leaning against the counter to watch you. “That’s simple enough.”

“It’s really not” you replied with your eyes locked on the pan. “And you’re distracting me already, so stop.”

“Baby I’m just standing here.” he smirked. “You’re that easily distracted?”

“No.” you shot back, side eyeing him for a split second. You were that easily distracted when he was around, but you weren’t about to admit to it.

“Are you sure?” He dropped his tone, teasing you. “Why are you gripping the spoon so tight?”

“Because I need to keep stirring..” you muttered while refusing to look at him.

“Hmm.” He paused, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “I know something else that grips like that. And it tastes good too.”

You froze for a second and then snapped your head toward him with your eyes wide. “Aurélien!”

“What?” he asked innocently, but his smirk was far from innocent. “I’m just being honest.”

“Stop” you voiced in a tight tone.

“Stop what?” he asked, sliding his hand to your hip.

“That.” you hissed, smacking his hand away with your free one. “I’m not fucking the roux up because you wanna play around.”

“I think you like it though..”

You were going to fire back but then your dad’s voice cut through the kitchen. “What’s it looking like in here?” Both of you stiffened when your dad walked in the kitchen with a drink in hand, eyeing both of you.

Aurélien straightened up and moved his hands back to his sides like he’d been caught. “It’s going well sir. She’s doing a good job.”

“Hmm” you dad walked up to the stove with his brows knitted in nothing but judgement while he stared at the roux. “Still looks too light to me.”

“It’s not ready yet!” you answered back defensively, tired of everyone getting onto you about the roux.

Your dad took a sip of his drink and shook his head. “I don’t know if I want to eat what you’re cooking…”

“Then don’t” you said under your breath so he wouldn’t hear you. Eventually, he wandered back toward another room. As soon as he was out of earshot, Aurélien leaned on the counter, smirking. 

“You look good in that dress, baby.”

“Aurélien....”

“What?” he teased, dropping his voice. “I can’t compliment my girlfriend?”

You huffed a breath and continued stirring the roux as it turned from a caramel color to a rich dark chocolate shade. “Not now.”

He stood behind you, towering over you as he brushed his lips up against your ear. “Later then?”

“Maybe…” you kept stirring with a vengeance, trying not to reveal how flustered he had you. 

When the roux finally finished, you let out a small sigh of relief. You had one hurdle down, but the gumbo was nowhere near being finished. You pushed the spoon against the sides of the pan to check the consistency to make sure it was smooth and velvety instead of clumpy.

Aurélien hovered over you, smiling like he was the one doing all the work this whole time. “You said it’s supposed to look like dark chocolate, right? Looks like it’s done.”

“Mmhmm.” You grabbed holy trinity mixture and tossed it into the pan with a satisfying sizzle and the aroma hit immediately.

He leaned in closer. “Smells good already.”

“It’s not even half done yet.” you said, pushing him back with your hip as you reached for the seasonings. You added cajun seasonings, thyme, and bay leaves into the pot. You reached for garlic powder, but Aurélien grabbed it first and held it out of your reach with another smirk on his face.

“Really?” you asked, giving him a look.

“I’m trying to help” he replied while sprinkling garlic powder in the pot like he was a pro chef before handing it back.

You rolled your eyes, dumping the rest of the ingredients into the pot while stirring. Aurélien watched you like he was mesmerized.

“Baby you look so good right now.”

“I’m literally sweating and I probably smell like filé powder so why are you lying?” you tried to keep your tone light but the look in his eye had you ready to bend over the countertop.

“I’m not. You look good.” He stepped closer to you and brushed his hand on the lower curve of your back. He tilted his head and traced small patterns against your dress. “And you keep bending over that pot like you want something else…”

“Aurélien.” you warned again, but it sounded more like a whine because his hand slid up to your hip at the same time.

“You’re doing such a good job baby.” he coaxed while gripping your hip to pull you up against him. If he wanted to play, you could too – so you lightly grinded up against him while the gumbo simmered on the stove. 

You could feel his breath hitch against your neck as he kissed you there, lightly nibbling on the skin. “Keep doing that.”

You pressed against him even more while his hands roamed over your dress. Just as you were about to push him off of you, the sound of your aunts’ voice drifted into the kitchen from the dining room. They were in a very loud and animated gossip session, so naturally both you and Aurélien froze in place to start eavesdropping.

“Girl have you seen Linda lately?” Your Aunt Kim’s voice cut through the kitchen.

“Who ain’t seen her?” Aunt Beverly shot back. “She’s all over town riding around in every man’s car but her husband’s. Makes no damn sense.”

“Chileeee…” Aunt Kim said with a dramatic drawl. “She has the nerve to be in church every sunday talking about the lord is her shepherd while she’s creeping with half the deacons.”

“Half?!” Aunt Bev cackled so loud it made Aurélien’s eyebrows shoot up. “Girl she’s hitting the men’s choir and the ushers too. And then she has the nerve to come in there with her wig sitting like a top hat. Baby, secure that wig first, then worry about your next man.”

“Not a top hat!” Aunt Kim howled. “She looks like she’s leading a marching band!”

“Mhm. I might tell you a joke but I’ll never tell you a lie” Aunt Bev continued cackling.

Your hand shot up over your mouth to keep from laughing as Aurélien leaned closer to you, confused. “What are they saying?” he whispered.

You leaned back into him, trying to explain without bursting into laughter. “They’re talking about the pastor’s wife. Apparently she’s been messing around with men who aren’t her husband. And her wig game is real bad.”

Aurélien’s face twisted with disbelief. “So she’s cheating and her wig is crooked? That’s crazy.”

You nodded with tears threatening to spill from how hard you were trying to hold back your laughter. “I swear nobody is safe in this family. They come for everybody.”

“She’s gonna end up in somebody’s sermon if she keeps it up” Aunt Kim said, taking a sip of her drink. “And I’m not saying a damn thing when it happens.”

“Nothing?” Aunt Bev smacked her lips. “Please. You’ll be the first one to say something. You haven’t been quiet a day in your life.”

Both women burst into a fit of laughter and you finally shoved Aurélien off so you could work on plating the gumbo over a bed of white rice. When you were finally done, you called everyone into the dining room. The table was already overloaded with food, but the gumbo was the star of the show. You set the bowls down in front of everyone, ready to hear everyone’s reactions.

“Alright” your grandma said as she sat at the head of the table. “Let’s see if my grandbaby did my gumbo any justice.”

Everyone started digging in and you heard the occasional “Mmm!” of approval from mostly everyone. You noticed your dad had his bowl of gumbo off to the side and he reached for some oxtail instead.

“You’re not gonna try it?” you asked.

He shrugged, unphased. “I don’t eat gumbo unless your Nana makes it. Especially if it has seafood in it. You know that.”

“Wow.” You crossed your arms, glaring at him. “You’re really going to do your daughter like that?”

Your dad glanced up at you with a smirk. “The last time you made a main dish for Christmas, you put cottage cheese in the mac and cheese. I don’t trust it.”

The whole table erupted in laughter, including Aurélien as he tried to cover his mouth. A look of defeat appeared on your face and you slumped in your chair. “I saw it on tiktok.”

“Tiktok doesn’t belong in the kitchen on Christmas day. Do that on your own time.” your grandma shook her head, cracking a crab leg to retrieve the meat inside.

When Aurélien dipped his spoon into the gumbo to take his first bite, his eyes widened. “Mmm” he hummed low and deep in his chest, dragging out the sound as his tongue darted to catch a stray bit of broth on his bottom lip. You froze mid bite, hovering your spoon over your bowl as he let out another groan of appreciation.

“This is so good,” he murmured in a smooth voice. His eyes were locked on yours the entire time, and the corner of his mouth curved into a smirk. “Baby you really did this.”

“It’s just gumbo” you tried to keep your voice even, feeling heat creeping up your skin.

“No,” he said, dipping his spoon back in for another bite. His gaze stayed on you as he savoured it, swiping his tongue across his lips in a teasing way. “This is perfect. I see why you were gripping that spoon now.”

You shifted in your seat, squeezing your legs together while your family was oblivious to the way your boyfriend was dismantling every bit of composure in you.

“Aurélien” you hissed low enough so no one else could hear. “You need to chill.”

“I’m just enjoying your cooking baby” he said, leaning in closer and dropping his voice just for you. “And thinking about what else you’re good at.”

Your spoon clattered on the bowl and you reached for your glass of water, downing it like you were dying of thirst. Aurélien’s hand slipped under the table, brushing against your bare thigh. “You okay?” he asked while continuing to rub your thigh in gentle strokes.

You glared at him, feeling the pool of heat in your core increase from his touch. “No. I’m really not.”

Aurélien didn’t stop his torturous strokes on your thigh as his fingers slipped a little higher. It was taking everything in you to control yourself and push his hand away, but you really wanted to grab it and pull it closer. Your family was still as loud as ever, conversing around the table and had no idea what was happening. Your uncles were arguing about the NFL game with one of your aunts, your grandma was fussing with Myles about trying to sneak a piece of cake before finishing all of his food, and your mom was going on about how she needed better lights next year in order to win the HOA decor competition.

Literally nobody was paying attention to you, and Aurélien took it to his advantage. He brushed his lips against your ear and whispered, “You’re tense baby. Maybe I should help you relax in a bit.”

“Let’s go.” you said under your breath, unable to take it anymore.

“Now?”

You shot him a look. “Now.”

Aurélien didn’t need to be told twice and stood up first, excusing himself from the table with an exaggerated excuse about how he needed to stretch his legs so his muscles wouldn’t get too stiff during the holiday break. It was bullshit, but either way nobody cared. You followed a few seconds later, pretending you needed to refill your glass of water.

When you met him in the hallway, his hand immediately hiked your dress up, gripping your hips from underneath while his lips met yours in a messy kiss. His tongue slid against yours as you arched your body into him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Your room?” he whispered against your lips, already leading you down the hall. You nodded but you could barely think straight when his lips started trailing down your neck. When you reached the door of your bedroom, you pushed it open quickly, expecting an empty bed but you froze in place when you saw someone’s random baby was asleep.

“Who.. whose baby is that?” Aurélien asked in a hushed tone, baffled.

“I don’t even know” you whispered back, shutting the door as quietly as possible before you started laughing.

You wasted no time grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the bathroom. Once you were inside, you locked the door and leaned back against it with a seductive smirk on your face. “We have about five minutes before someone starts looking for us.”

“Then we better not waste it” he said, sliding your dress back up around your hips. You palmed his dick over his jeans, stroking it against the fabric to make him hard while his hand found their way between your thighs. You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped from you when his fingers started teasing you through your panties. His lips moved from your jaw, then to your neck and you tilted back against the door to give him more access.

“Auréliennn” you whispered in a voice shaky as you dug your nails into his arm.

“You need to be quiet for me baby” His voice was low and filled with lust. “Shhhh.”

You nodded, but his fingers slipped under your panties and met with your wetness, causing you to let out a soft, desperate moan. He smirked against your neck, teasing your skin with the warmth of his voice.

“I said be quiet for me.”

You bit your lip to hold back but he wasn’t making it easy for you at all. He had two fingers inside of you while his thumb rubbed your clit, teasing you until your legs started to shake.

“Please” you whispered, still clutching his arm while you struggled to keep it together quietly.

He pulled back enough to look you in the eyes with a smug expression on his face. “Please what?”

“Please” you repeated, voice trembling with want. “Just hurry.” You gripped the belt loop of his jeans with your hand, quickly unzipping his jeans so you could speed the process up. You really didn’t have much time and you were not about to risk not having the orgasm that was pent up and wavering, ready for release.

Aurélien leaned into your ear, arrogantly whispering in your ear. “You were clenching that spoon like you needed something else to hold onto. I’m about to give you something better.”

“Shut up” you muttered, already struggling to keep composure.

“You don’t want me to shut up” he whispered, brushing his lips against your neck as he spoke. “You love this too much. Tell me how good I feel.”

You gripped his shoulders to steady yourself. “You feel so good,” you whimpered. “But we don’t have time.”

“I don’t care” he cut you off, thrusting his fingers inside you with calculation. Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp as he filled you with his fingers, curving just right in a certain spot that made your legs week. “Take it, baby. Good girl.”

You bit your lip to keep quiet but he was driving you wild. His thumb pressed against your clit, swirling with just the right amount of pressure to make your breath quicken into rapid gasps.

“Aurélien I can’t” you hissed quietly.

“You will” he growled, pulling his fingers out and flipping you around so the front of your body was pressed against the door. His hand smacked your ass and you gasped, feeling the sting disperse from pain to pleasure. “Don’t cum until I say so.”

“Okay” you breathed with your cheek pressed against the door as he yanked your panties down. You heard him pull his jeans down and the anticipation made you shake a little. Aurélien lined his dick up against you, pushing inside you in one deep stroke. You clenched around him the minute he was inside and a mewl escaped your throat.

“Damn. You’re squeezing me already? You don’t even want me to move yet?”

“Move.” you pleaded in a barely steady voice. “Please move.”

“In a rush?” He smirked against your shoulder, pulling out slowly before deep stroking back in. The door rattled under his force and he grabbed your hip to steady you. “You want it like that?”

“It’s too loud” you whined, still trying to catch your breath.

“You’re too loud” he shot back, gripping your neck to tilt your head back. His lips brushed up against your ear as he whispered in your ear. “Be quiet or you won’t get to cum tonight.”

The pressure in your core was building fast and he hadn’t even fucked you like he meant it just yet. You bit your lip hard, trying to quiet your moans. His thrusts were deep, hard and merciless with each one hitting deeper than the last. When he reached around to rub your clit again, your legs started shaking.

“I wanna cum” you whimpered in a broken voice. “Aurélien I can’t hold it.”

“Yes you can” he commanded with his grip tightening on your hip as he stilled his movements to an infuriating pace. “You’re my good girl, right? Hold it for me.”

Your whole body was shaking from the intensity of it, you could feel the coil threatening to spring free with every second. “I can’t,” you whispered with tears in your eyes. “Please let me–”

Your orgasm hit you before you could warn him again or finish your sentence. Your body spasmed and a rush of wetness made a mess on your thighs and his. He froze and looked down before letting out a filthy groan. “Aah, fuck” he hissed, smacking your ass again which made you cry out. “Look at you making a mess all over me. Didn’t I tell you not to cum?”

“I’m sorry” you gasped, still trembling from the aftershocks. He didn’t stop and gripped your hips tighter, thrusting into you harder to drag you to another wave of pleasure that had you reaching behind to try and warn him again.

“You like that? You like being punished for not listening??” His voice was raw as he fucked you into a dickmatized state. “I want you to cum again but you gotta wait for me baby.”

At this point your legs were nearly giving out and your body was barely holding it together as he pushed you closer to another orgasm. His hand slipped around your throat, squeezing lightly. “Tell me you want me to fill you up.”

“Fill me up,” you begged, barely audible. “I want it.”

He thrust into you erratically, burying himself deep inside you as he came while trying to keep his groans quiet. You felt the warmth of his cum and the sensation sent you spiralling into another orgasm even more intense than the last. Your whole body shook as you clung to the doorknob next to you, gasping. When he finally pulled out, you were both a sweaty, breathless, wrecked mess. Your legs were still shaking and some of your braids had fallen out of the bun you tied earlier. Aurélien smirked, brushing a stray braid out of your face and leaned in to kiss you softly.

“I love you” he smiled, looking at you in a teasing way.

“Um..are you sure??? I can’t believe you just fucked me like that��” You were still trying to catch your breath and get rid of the ringing in your ear after all that. You wiped a stray tear from your eye as you freshened up the best way you could. Aurélien’s quickie had you exhausted and ready for a nap after just one tiny round. When you exited the bathroom, you tried to keep it together, but you couldn’t even walk properly.

You stepped out of the bathroom first, trying to act as normal as possible while adjusting your dress. Aurélien followed behind you, looking way more put together than you did. Judging by his smirk, he knew exactly the type of predicament he put you in. The moment you walked back into the living room, all conversation stopped and several pairs of eyes locked on you. You barely made it to the couch before your family started pouncing on you like you were prime entertainment. Aunt Bev tilted her head and squinted at you like you owed her an explanation.

“Y/N, why are you walking like that? What’s wrong with you?”

You tried to wave her off as you sank into the couch, crossing your legs like that would make you any less of a target. “I’m fine auntie. Just tired.”

“Tired?” Your grandma’s voice cut through the room. She peered at you over the rim of her glasses, full of suspicion. “You sick or something? You look sweaty.”

“I’m not sweaty!” you shot back, running a hand over your face out of instinct.

“Uh, yes you are” Gianna piped up from across the room with her bumped ends still unbumped. “Why are you shiny like that? You was in there doing push ups?”

“Gigi!” you snapped in a cracked voice as Aurélien strolled past you to grab another bowl of gumbo. Myles came skipping over, still fueled with sugar. He stopped right in front of you and scrunched his face up in confusion. “Why your hair look like that? You look a mess.”

Your hand flew to your head, gripping the loose braids that fell from the bun you thought you tied carefully. “Myles, mind your business!” you yelled, trying to tuck the braids back in while your family cackled.

“I told y’all she was sick” your grandma said while shaking her head as if you had offended her. “Sweating. Hair messed up. Tired. She’s acting like she just ran a marathon and she hasn’t done anything."

“Could’ve climbed a big, tall mountain” Aunt Bev added in with a knowing smirk while sipping her drink.

“Or fell out of a tree” Gianna chimed in, snickering like she was hilarious when it really wasn’t all that funny to you.

“Or got hit by a truck” Myles added with dramatics, which earned a loud laugh from your Aunt Kim.

“Leave her alone” she said, waving her fork at the group before she turned to you. “Seriously though, what were you doing back there? You’re sweating like a whore in church.”

You couldn’t even formulate a proper defense before someone else chimed in, but this time it was your dad who was sitting comfortably in his recliner. “She probably fucked the gumbo up just like I said. I ain’t even touch it. I wasn’t in the mood for one of her little experiments today.”

Your jaw dropped as the entire room started laughing at you. Aurélien was silently enjoying every second of it and finally decided to save you, or so he thought. He leaned against the wall while eating his second helping of gumbo.

“Her gumbo is the best I ever had.”

Aunt Bev raised a brow, slyly smiling as she looked between you and Aurélien. “Mmhmm” she hummed, dragging it out while leaning back in her chair.

“I bet it is.”

[thearcherbrothersx]

"Well, that depends; are you staying around Beijing and the Hebei province? Or perhaps venturing further north, south, west? For what it's worth, I recommend heading south." His index finger began moving slowly, tracing tiny little random patterns on her lower stomach as they spoke, Declan's mind venturing back in time to a few of his own travels. "Usually, my trips are centred around work though, so these days I'm mostly introduced to different sites through my associates, or when I find a full day or two to spend with Lily somewhere. Xian is a must, of course, both historically and culturally. Lily was particularly fond of the Terracotta Warriors."

"14th, hmm?" Declan took a moment to think it over, "So you're a Taurus." His lips twitched with amusement, a sound not unlike a chuckle escaping him. "Interesting." It wasn't anything he'd ever taken a huge personal interest in, but given that his ex wife had a minor obsession with astrology, it was hard not to have picked up a thing or two along the way. "Lily's birthday is the 26th."

Her explanation was received with quiet contemplation, only the occasional soft hum of consideration to let her know he was actually paying attention. Just to let her know she hadn't ruined the mood entirely, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I don't think I've ever been in danger of crumbling, love, but I... understand your meaning." He paused, quiet for a little bit before he continued, "It's probably important to note that I was raised to this life; I don't know anything else." Sad to some people, perhaps, but not to Declan. "And I'm pretty good at managing my own needs as a rule. Food is taken care of by my chef or my PA. As for fun and relaxation, my darling, I believe that's why you're here."

He raised his hands to her upper arms then, rubbing them gently. "Now, I think it's about time we get out of this tub." He nudged her forward a little to give him room to stand. Then he got out and reached in to help her do the same, taking care to account for her weary muscles by keeping the progress slow and steady, only letting go of her once he was certain she could stand on her own two legs beside him. Then he retrieved a large, ultrasoft towel and wrapped it gently around her.

It was a little nerve wracking, the idea of him reading through something she'd notated. Sure, it was a children's book, and the notations were nothing too interesting, but still - it was a look at the inside of her mind, and the idea of him seeing that side of her made her a little nervous. So she simply nodded and let it go.

"Yeah, to China." Maybe he could feel it - the way that Cora relaxed a little more in this moment. She loved it, the process of planning an adventure, going and immersing herself in the culture, losing herself a little in a new place. "I'm working for a few days - general stories about the Great Wall, the Forbidden City." Spending her time trying to find a new angle to old places. "Once work is done, I'll just let myself get a little lost for a couple of weeks." It was a careful balance - wanting to make sure she saw certain tourist hot spots, but also wanting to make sure she was fluid enough to let the experience guide her. "If you've got any suggestions, let me know."

"Ahh, apologies, I thought you meant she wanted to go to London and Orlando. But avoiding Orlando is always a good idea." Shrugging off what felt like an easy mistake, she looked back at him, giving him a small smile. "Hmmm." She didn't point out that it seemed like she and Lily shared some similarities, not wanting to a ruin a good thing. "What day in May? Her birthday, I mean." It could seem like none of her business, and he didn't have to tell her. "I wonder how many days apart we are. Mine is the 14th."

And then the ease was gone for a moment, Cora feeling the tension in him. Okay. A line had been hit. So she took a few beats, letting herself relax, not interested in both of them feeling uncomfortable. She let out a small, silent exhale, that surely he could feel with his arms around her.

"You're you. You're this very important man. You have your business, so you have your employees and that stress." She was speaking slowly, fingertips grazing over one of his arms lightly, trying to ease any tension that may still be in the room with them. "I'm sure there are plenty of people I can't even think about that you're responsible. Then there's your family." And a full circle moment, "And then there's you."

She wanted him to understand she didn't have ulterior motives, that she wasn't trying to angle for more from him. But she also didn't know how to express that the longer they did this thing together, the more she would inevitably care about him. She just didn't know how to untie those parts of herself. "So while you're busy making the world turn." This was not a joke, this was said with sincerity. "Who is making sure that you're getting whatever it is that you need - rest, fun, relaxation, food - who is making sure you're not going to crumble?"

[bardic-tales]

I have been having my migraines a lot lately, so I thought I would write something out yesterday.

Rated: General since he's literally just helping ease a headache.

Pairing: Sephiroth x genderless reader

You're lying in bed. The world behind your closed eyelids a chaotic storm of pain and darkness. A migraine and the agony associated with it grips your head in its iron vice. Each heartbeat pounds mercilessly against your temples. Even the faintest light slipping through the cracks of the curtains feels like a dagger to yours senses. You shift. The movement only worsens the nausea curling your stomach. The bile rises up from the pit of your stomach like a geyser.

Then, you feel him.

The air shifts subtly. The distinct energy and rose and vanilla scent associated with Sephiroth's presence is calming yet commanding. You don't even need to open your eyes to know he's there. The soft rustle of his coat as he kneels on the bed is enough. As his knees sink into the mattress, your stomach rolls once again.

"My cherished one," he murmurs, his voice laces with concern: a nickname he has given you lately. "You should have called for me."

Your lips part to protest that you didn't want to be a burden to him, but even speaking feels to much. Instead, s soft whimper of pain escapes you: a sound that makes Sephiroth brush his hand against your forehead. The leather of his glove feels cool against your hot skin.

"I'll handle this," he says firmly, rising now. You hear the faint clink of metal as Masamune is set aside: an act that reminds you how serious he is about tending to you. He and the ōdachi rarely part.

A few moments later, the bed dips slightly as he returns. This time, you feel the soft, damp press of a cloth against your forehead. The scent of peppermint wafts faintly through the air, calming the ache in your senses. His fingers move expertly, massaging the base of your skull with a pressure that’s somehow precise yet gentle.

"It's the tension right here," he explains in a low voice, a soft husky whisper. "Your body carries more than it should."

The room remains silent save for the steady rhythm of his movements. Every stroke of his hands feels deliberate, unraveling the pain knot by knot, thread by thread. He shifts once, reaching for something, a a soft emerald glow breaks through the darkness behind your eyes, but your hearing picks up a soft melodic hum: like a delicate bell chiming. Your eyes are still closed.

The warmth washes over you, but the spell does not eliminate the pain completely rather it dulls its edges, making it more bearable.

"I won't let this consume you," he promises, and you can feel the weight of his words: the conviction in his voice.

When you finally dare to open your eyes, it's to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, one knee crosses over the other. His cyan-colored eyes softens as he stares down at you. His feline-like pupils contracts with unspoken worry. He holds a steaming black cup in one hand -- herbal tea, its warmth promising some relief -- and offers it to you.

"You don't need to speak," he says when you hesitate. "Just know that I am here. I will always be here."

With trembling hands, you take the cup and sip. The warmth spreads through you, heating every inch of your body. Sephiroth stays close, a sentinel of silence, his presence grounding you in a moment that feels safe, despite the lingering ache.

[fangedxnight1836]

Characters of the day:

The Flags!! - From Stormbringer.

They were a youth “benefits” society featured within the Port Mafia. They were all successful candidates to become the next executives. They were described as being equal or better than Chuuya. Originally called the “Young People’s association”, with all members being aged 25 or younger.

Piano man

Some facts about him:

Leader of the flags

Eldest in the group

Clothes are always black and white

one who invited Chuuya to be in the organisation

The only person who was good at dealing with the super-bills of the mafia

uses an electric carbon steel piano wire gun which is where he got his nickname

HC’s:

He has a delayed reaction when it comes to people telling him jokes.

He has a lot of blackmail when it comes to all the members of the flags (including Chuuya).

As the leader of the group he makes people do all his work and when they say no he pouts while showing his blackmail.

he has a swear jar which only gets filled by albatross and Chuuya.

Lippmann

Some facts about him:

described as being very attractive, appealing to both genders.

his job was very important as he is the point of negotiation between the port mafia and the public

he is a movie star with “crazed fans all over the world”

His ability directly reacted with the attackers murderous intent, impossible to kill him quietly.

HCs

he’s literally the biggest diva alive.

Everyone loves him in the group.

He is the best judge of character and everyone asks him for advice. He says his favourite movie is the notebook but it’s actually all his own movies.

He is the best dressed, and is never caught lacking or having a bad hair day.

Albatross

Some facts about him:

Chuuya and him live in the same “luxurious apartment complex”.

he drags Chuuya out from his room to various battlefields with different transport methods each time. This annoys Chuuya

the flag which is the closest to Chuuya. (Chuuya does have friends, other than what people usually depict him as)

Good at using different vehicles and was trusted by the mafia to use them, in battle. Gave Chuuya his bike after he died 😭. (The pink one).

Some HC’s:

He often influences Chuuya in joining him on some daily pranks to annoy people.

He creates random cuss words to say at people.

He can skate board.

He and Chuuya bully Doc and iceman replacing their wardrobe with each others .

Doc

Some facts about him:

He has saved and deliberately taken around 800 lives,

Among the Port Mafias medical team, he was the best.

His goal was to get closer to God by saving 2 million people, which is why he joined the Mafia. He is waiting for a large scale conflict to allow him to save those lives.

He got his doctorate in Medical science from North America.

Some HC’s:

If he were to be alive or born in a different time line, the show human earthworm in Jujutsu Kaisen would be one of his favourites.

I fear he has insomnia.

He and Ice man rant all the time together.

He scares Chuuya with random over exaggerated incidents people had coming to get healed from him and how he needs to be careful and the battlefield.

Iceman

Some facts about him:

Second eldest in the group

Doesn’t have an ability

Hitman who uses objects around himself to finish the job, not using an ability or weapons

Has a physical constitution which allows him to sense when an ability is activated nearby

Known as a man of the shadows

His kill ratio is higher than that of ability combat users

Some HC’s:

He shows up to Doc for noreason just to complain.

Ice man has the best drinks stashed in his room. (Gatekeeped)

His most painful experience other than battling Verlaine was probably stepping on Lego.

He’s a chill guy fr.

He’s good at pool and often shows off.

[astracora]

A Mandated Holiday Break - Chapter 1

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 779

Written: 21st December 2024

Notes: This is the first fanfic I've posted, it's not proofread, I don't know how many chapters there will be. Pray for me. Post-relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

It's one thing to take their government mandated holidays, as a hunter. It feels wrong, they know they need to take time off. People need breaks. If they don't rest, they fray. As a hunter, being sloppy means letting someone get hurt.

They know that.

Still... they've never been good at taking time off. It was easier with their family around, if Caleb hadn't dragged them home occasionally, they'd have burned themselves out frequently.

Now they just face the disapproving looks of their dear doctor... who is far less enthused, but far too professional to do any dragging.

It's another thing when their favourite captain tells them to go home because they look like shit. Alright, maybe not in that many words, but the sentiment was there. They try to imagine Jenna cursing and while it feels right, they also feel like they've seen something they really shouldn't.

She's right though, they muse. Dark circles, clothing tattering, ache in limbs.

If they'd been asked when they last took a holiday... well they couldn't answer.

Tara nudges them, warm smile on her face, "I'll text you. Go sleep." And with a warm hand on their back, she pushes them towards the door.

They're tempted to look for Xavier to say goodbye for the day, but it's late and he could be anywhere. (Though they're willing to bet he's stolen a break room for a nap.)

Instead they leave the Hunters Association, standing in the street below, staring up at the holiday decorations lining the street. It's cold enough that their teeth chatter...

And they come face to face with the loneliness of being stood here, an empty home and the knowledge that all their loved ones are still busy, working, wrapping everything up.

They could go visit Zayne, but he's got such an important job they don't want to intrude. (The voice in their head that sounds a bit like his tries to remind them they could never intrude.) They could message Xavier, but if he's finally resting they'd had to disturb him. (They never could, he's pleased whenever they spend time with him or join him for a nap.) They could go check in on Rafayel, but he's preparing for an exhibit and they don't want to break his creative flow. (How could they when they're his muse? The reason he found purpose in a paintbrush again.)

Instead they stand and stew and struggle. Internally debating how much they can exist in a space, before a caw snaps them out of their shuddering. Arms wrapped around them through the too thin coat, not at all built for the snow and chill.

Mephie perches on their shoulder, his red eyes gleaming. They're hit with the strange feeling that the robot bird knows and sees far more than he should, before the non metal feathers puff up, snuggling into the crook of their neck.

In seconds all the tense strain in their limbs ease up, and they breathe out a long exhale. "Hey." They manage, forcing their teeth to stop chattering and their smile comes gently.

They're unsure if it's for the birds benefit, or for his owner, but they realise it doesn't matter. Both bring unrivalled comfort.

Their new companion, caws again, tone deaf and glitchy, before clacking his beak at them. Extending his foot, a small message tied to it.

Why Sylus doesn't send them messages in any normal way, they'll never understand. He enjoys phone calls, texts them constantly, but whenever he wants to be dramatic, in flies Mephisto with a letter or a note, on a blaze of feathers and metal.

Gently, they untie it, patting the pretty bird's head as they do so with one hand.

He preens and coos at them happily, glitchy static and very real pleasure at their attention.

'You have time off. I'm booking it for the week.'

They'd question how he knows, but he always seems to know. They should find it creepy, but they've since learned if he doesn't watch their back constantly, people who want them hurt do.

Perhaps they've grown too soft on him, his attentions, his affection, his constantly presence, but they find it more soothing than unnerving.

Still. They would like to know how many ways he's keeping track of them.

If only for the curiousity lurking under their skin, one of the traits he teases them for.

"I guess you're my accompaniment then Mephie?" The bird puffs up, proud and preening, and he looks far too much like his prideful master for a moment for them to not chuckle. As their guide kicks up into the sky, flying off, they follow him a little lighter.

[lususnatura]

🎤 🎤 🎤

a song that i associate with my muse meme!

AHH, hey, ramone!! thank you for sending in this prompt :D since you sent in three of the mic's, i shall now be treating you to three songs that make me think of blamore when i hear them / that i associate with it. an explanation of why i chose them will be in the tags <3

hozier - who we are.

icehouse - crazy.

depeche mode - personal jesus.

[gorbo-longstocking]

pants are for savages didnt you know?

[unproduciblesmackdown]

the most recognized as comedic song being the best part of the movie musical because the conventions that serve as a mode of communicating ideas, for example "people just bursting into song" or "choreography" or "'noticeably stylized' cinematography" that accentuates nonliteral nonrealism-invoking choices, are regarded as Silly or Frivolous. and the effort to shove everything else that's more "serious" into what is expected to be read as dramatic cinema that's not stylized in any ways that seem too "Genre" which only makes [but someone's singing?] underwhelming and out of place because no other elements are supporting it

[dreampearls]

albedo/durin + finn/fern… :-(

MY GOD FERN THE HUMAN.

[coredrill]

touga: this is great! eiji and i finally get to spend some time together, just us guys! 😇 eina, who is fully aware they've already explored the castle together TWICE, taken a bath together, and run around on the picnic together as "just us guys": so like this time it's a date? touga: what eina: what

[goodknifeboy]

I know there are a lot of fanfics about Jason being caught by the Justice League and usually getting bailed out by the batfam, but imagine if it was Brucie Wayne bailing him out:

In the JL interrogation room:

Superman: Alright, Red Hood, who is your supplier helping you move drugs in Star City?

Red Hood, who was undercover investigating a drug ring and got caught in a JL bust and sesnses an opportunity to mess with Batman: Look, I know you guys aren't cops, but can I get at least get one phone call?

Justice league looking skeptical?

Red Hood: You can even monitor it.

Green Arrow: Fine one phone call, but it will be monitored.

Hands Hood a phone

Red Hood: Hey Dad, I got stopped by the Justice League. Could you come bail me out? Really, okay, see you soon. Okay, my Dad said that he would bail me, so could we go over to the teleporters?

Green Arrow: Okay, firstly, we aren't cops, you can't just post bail and get out. Secondly, how would this "Dad" get up here?

Red Hood: You'll see.

Minutes later, Brucie Wayne walks in with a trail of Heroes, trying to explain why he cannot be at the Watchtower.

Superman: Mr. Wayne what are you doing here and how did you get here?

Bruce laying the Brucie persona on thick: Well as one of the Justice League's biggest doners and tech suppliers I have access to the teleporters, as for why I'm here it's to bail out my son. Hi Jaylad!

Red Hood fully expecting Batman: What?

Green Arrow remembering his friend's grief over loosing Jason: Ummmm, Mr. Wayne this is the Red Hood. You know "Bag full of severed heads" Red Hood.

Brucie: Yes, I know he's had some issues with his big feelings, but he's still my sweet little boy.

Superman: And you think that he's your late son Jason Todd?

Brucie: Yes, Batman even confirmed it was him. It turns out that after he died, he was brought back by an organization that planned on using him as a weapon against Batman. But he left them and has been working to improve Crime Alley, I'm so proud of him.

Green Arrow: We caught him in Star City with Drug runners.

Brucie: I'm sure he has a good explanation, don’t you Jaylad?

Red Hood still reeling from Bruce showing up as Brucie and not Batman: I was undercover?

Brucie: See perfectly reasonable, now can I please have my baby boy back? Alfred will be so upset if he's not home for dinner.

Surprisingly, this works , the Justice League is to stunned by this revelation and later confirm this with Batman that yes, the notorious Red Hood is the son of Billionaire, philanthropist airhead Brucie Wayne. Jason, meanwhile, has suffered a huge blow to his cred in the Hero community because of the association with Brucie instead of the Batfam. The bat siblings do not let this go anytime soon.

[insipid-drivel]

Horses: Since There Seems To Be A Knowledge Gap

I'm going to go ahead and preface this with: I comment pretty regularly on clips and photos featuring horses and horseback riding, often answering questions or providing explanations for how or why certain things are done. I was a stable hand and barrel racer growing up, and during my 11 year tenure on tumblr, Professional Horse Commentary is a very niche, yet very necessary, subject that needs filling. Here are some of the literary and creative gaps I've noticed in well meaning (and very good!) creators trying to portray horses and riding realistically that... well, most of you don't seem to even be aware of, because you wouldn't know unless you worked with horses directly!

Some Of The Most Common Horse + Riding Mistakes I See:

-Anybody can ride any horse if you hold on tight enough/have ridden once before.

Nope. No, no, no, no, aaaaaaaand, no. Horseback riding has, historically, been treated as a life skill taught from surprisingly young ages. It wasn't unusual in the pre-vehicular eras to start teaching children as young as 4 to begin to ride, because horses don't come with airbags, and every horse is different. For most adults, it can take months or years of regular lessons to learn to ride well in the saddle, and that's just riding; not working or practicing a sport.

Furthermore, horses often reject riders they don't know. Unless a horse has been trained like a teaching horse, which is taught to tolerate riders of all skill and experience levels, it will take extreme issue with having some random person try to climb on their back. Royalty, nobility, and the knighted classes are commonly associated with the "having a favorite special horse" trope, because it's true! Just like you can have a particularly special bond with a pet or service animal that verges on parental, the same can apply with horses. Happy horses love their owners/riders, and will straight-up do their best to murder anyone that tries to ride them without permission.

-Horses are stupid/have no personality.

There isn't a more dangerous assumption to make than assuming a horse is stupid. Every horse has a unique personality, with traits that can be consistent between breeds (again, like cat and dog breeds often have distinct behavior traits associated with them), but those traits manifest differently from animal to animal.

My mother had an Arabian horse, Zipper, that hated being kicked as a signal to gallop. One day, her mom and stepdad had a particularly unpleasant visitor; an older gentleman that insisted on riding Zipper, but refused to listen to my mother's warnings never to kick him. "Kicking" constitutes hitting the horse's side(s) with your heels, whether you have spurs on or not. Most horses only need a gentle squeeze to know what you want them to do.

Anyway, Zipper made eye-contact with my mom, asking for permission. He understood what she meant when she nodded at him. He proceeded to give this asshole of a rider road rash on the side of the paddock fence and sent him to the emergency room. He wouldn't have done it if he didn't have the permission from the rider he respected, and was intelligent enough to ask, "mind if I teach this guy a lesson?" with his eyes, and understand, "Go for it, buddy," from my mom in return.

-Riding bareback is possible to do if you hold onto the horse's mane really tight.

Riding a horse bareback (with no saddle, stirrups, or traditional harness around the horse's head) is unbelievably difficult to learn, particularly have testicles and value keeping them. Even professional riders and equestrians find ourselves relying on tack (the stuff you put on a horse to ride it) to stay stable on our horses, even if we've been riding that particular horse for years and have a very positive, trusting relationship.

Horses sweat like people do. The more they run, the more their hair saturates with sweat and makes staying seated on them slippery. Hell, an overworked horse can sweat so heavily that the saddle slips off its back. It's also essential to brush and bathe a horse before it's ridden in order to keep it healthier, so their hair is often quite slick from either being very clean or very damp. In order to ride like that, you have to develop the ability to synchronize your entire body's rhythm's with the rhythm of the horse's body beneath you, and quite literally move as one. Without stirrups, most people can't do it, and some people can never master bareback riding no matter how many years they spend trying to learn.

-You can be distracted and make casual conversation while a horse is standing untethered in the middle of a barn or field.

At every barn I've ever worked at, it's been standard practice with every single horse, regardless of age or temperament, to secure their heads while they're being tacked up or tacked down. The secures for doing this are simple ropes with clips that are designed to attach to the horse's halter (the headwear for a horse that isn't being ridden; they have no bit that goes in the horse's mouth, and no reins for a rider to hold) on metal O rings on either side of the horse's head. This is not distressing to the horse, because we give them plenty of slack to turn their heads and look around comfortably.

The problem with trying to tack up an unrestrained horse while chatting with fellow stable hands or riders is that horses know when you're distracted! And they often try to get away with stuff when they know you're not looking! In a barn, a horse often knows where the food is stored, and will often try to tiptoe off to sneak into the feed room.

Horses that get into the feed room are often at a high risk of dying. While extremely intelligent, they don't have the ability to throw up, and they don't have the ability to tell that their stomach is full and should stop eating. Allowing a horse into a feed/grain room WILL allow it to eat itself to death.

Other common woes stable hands and riders deal with when trying to handle a horse with an unrestrained head is getting bitten! Horses express affection between members of their own herd, and those they consider friends and family, through nibbling and surprisingly rough biting. It's not called "horseplay" for nothing, because during my years working with horses out in the pasture, it wasn't uncommon at all for me to find individuals with bloody bite marks on their withers (that high part on the middle of the back of their shoulders most people instinctively reach for when they try to get up), and on their backsides. I've been love-bitten by horses before, and while flattering, they hurt like hell on fleshy human skin.

So, for the safety of the horse, and everybody else, always make a show of somehow controlling the animal's head when hands-on and on the ground with them.

-Big Horse = War Horse

Startlingly, the opposite is usually the case! Draft and carriage horses, like Percherons and Friesians, were never meant to be used in warfare. Draft horses are usually bred to be extremely even-tempered, hard to spook, and trustworthy around small children and animals. Historically, they're the tractors of the farm if you could afford to upgrade from oxen, and were never built to be fast or agile in a battlefield situation.

More importantly, just because a horse is imposing and huge doesn't make it a good candidate for carrying heavy weights. A real thing that I had to be part of enforcing when I worked at a teaching ranch was a weight limit. Yeah, it felt shitty to tell people they couldn't ride because we didn't have any horses strong enough to carry them due to their weight, but it's a matter of the animal's safety. A big/tall/chonky horse is more likely to be built to pull heavy loads, but not carry them flat on their spines. Horses' muscular power is predominantly in their ability to run and pull things, and too heavy a rider can literally break a horse's spine and force us to euthanize it.

Some of the best war horses out there are from the "hot blood" family. Hot blooded horses are often from dry, hot, arid climates, are very small and slight (such as Arabian horses), and are notoriously fickle and flighty. They're also a lot more likely to paw/bite/kick when spooked, and have even sometimes been historically trained to fight alongside their rider if their rider is dismounted in combat; kicking and rearing to keep other soldiers at a distance.

-Any horse can be ridden if it likes you enough.

Just like it can take a lifetime to learn to ride easily, it can take a lifetime of training for a horse to comfortably take to being ridden or taking part in a job, like pulling a carriage. Much like service animals, horses are typically trained from extremely young ages to be reared into the job that's given to them, and an adult horse with no experience carrying a rider is going to be just as scared as a rider who's never actually ridden a horse.

Just as well, the process of tacking up a horse isn't always the most comfortable experience for the horse. To keep the saddle centered on the horse's back when moving at rough or fast paces, it's essential to tighten the belly strap (cinch) of the saddle as tightly as possible around the horse's belly. For the horse, it's like wearing a tight corset, chafes, and even leaves indents in their skin afterward that they love having rinsed with water and scratched. Some horses will learn to inflate their bellies while you're tightening the cinch so you can't get it as tight as it needs to be, and then exhale when they think you're done tightening it.

When you're working with a horse wearing a bridle, especially one with a bit, it can be a shocking sensory experience to a horse that's never used a bit before. While they lack a set of teeth naturally, so the bit doesn't actually hurt them, imagine having a metal rod shoved in your mouth horizontally! Unless you understand why it's important for the person you care about not dying, you'd be pretty pissed about having to keep it in there!

-Horseback riding isn't exercise.

If you're not using every muscle in your body to ride with, you're not doing it right.

Riding requires every ounce of muscle control you have in your entire body - although this doesn't mean it wasn't realistic for people with fat bodies to stay their weight while also being avid riders; it doesn't mean the muscles aren't there. To stay on the horse, you need to learn how it feels when it moves at different gaits (walk, trot, canter, gallop), how to instruct it to switch leads (dominant legs; essential for precise turning and ease of communication between you and the horse), and not falling off. While good riders look like they're barely moving at all, that's only because they're good riders. They know how to move so seamlessly with the horse, feeling their movements like their own, that they can compensate with their legs and waists to not bounce out of the saddle altogether or slide off to one side. I guarantee if you ride a horse longer than 30 minutes for the first time, your legs alone will barely work and feel like rubber.

-Horses aren't affectionate.

Horses are extraordinarily affectionate toward the right people. As prey animals, they're usually wary of people they don't know, or have only recently met. They also - again, like service animals - have a "work mode" and a "casual mode" depending upon what they're doing at the time. Horses will give kisses like puppies, wiggle their upper lips on your hair/arms to groom you, lean into neck-hugs, and even cuddle in their pasture or stall if it's time to nap and you join them by leaning against their sides. If they see you coming up from afar and are excited to see you, they'll whinny and squeal while galloping to meet you at the gate. They'll deliberately swat you with their tails to tease you, and will often follow you around the pasture if they're allowed to regardless of what you're up to.

-Riding crops are cruel.

Only cruel people use riding crops to hurt their horses. Spurs? I personally object to, because any horse that knows you well doesn't need something sharp jabbing them in the side for emphasis when you're trying to tell them where you want them to go. Crops? Are genuinely harmless tools used for signalling a horse.

I mean, think about it. Why would crops be inherently cruel instruments if you need to trust a horse not to be afraid of you and throw you off when you're riding it?

Crops are best used just to lightly tap on the left or right flank of the horse, and aren't universally used with all forms of riding. You'll mainly see crops used with English riding, and they're just tools for communicating with the horse without needing to speak.

-There's only one way to ride a horse.

Not. At. All. At most teaching ranches, you'll get two options: Western, or English, because they tend to be the most popular for shows and also the most common to find equipment for. English riding uses a thinner, smaller saddle, narrower stirrups, and much thinner bridles. I, personally, didn't like English style riding because I never felt very stable in such a thin saddle with such small stirrups, and didn't start learning until my mid teens. English style riding tends to focus more on your posture and deportment in the saddle, and your ability to show off your stability and apparent immovability on the horse. It was generally just a bit too stiff and formal for me.

Western style riding utilizes heavier bridles, bigger saddles (with the iconic horn on the front), and broader stirrups. Like its name may suggest, Western riding is more about figuring out how to be steady in the saddle while going fast and being mobile with your upper body. Western style riding is generally the style preferred for working-type shows, such as horseback archery, gunning, barrel racing, and even rodeo riding.

-Wealthy horse owners have no relationship with their horses.

This is loosely untrue, but I've seen cases where it is. Basically, horses need to feel like they're working for someone that matters to them in order to behave well with a rider and not get impatient or bored. While it's common for people to board horses at off-property ranches (boarding ranches) for cost and space purposes, it's been historically the truth that having help is usually necessary with horses at some point. What matters is who spends the most time with the animal treating it like a living being, rather than a mode of transport or a tool. There's no harm in stable hands handling the daily upkeep; hay bales and water buckets are heavy, and we're there to profit off the labor you don't want or have the time to do. You get up early to go to work; we get up early to look after your horses. Good owners/boarders visit often and spend as much of their spare time as they can with spending quality work and playtime with their horses. Otherwise, the horses look to the stable hands for emotional support and care.

So, maybe you're writing a knight that doesn't really care much for looking after his horse, but his squire is really dedicated to keeping up with it? There's a better chance of the horse having a more affectionate relationship with the squire thanks to the time the squire spends on looking after it, while the horse is more likely to tolerate the knight that owns it as being a source of discipline if it misbehaves. That doesn't mean the knight is its favorite person. When it comes to horses, their love must be earned, and you can only earn it by spending time with them hands-on.

-Horses can graze anywhere without concern.

This is a mistake that results in a lot of premature deaths! A big part of the cost of owning a horse - even before you buy one - is having the property that will be its pasture assessed for poisonous plants, and having those plants removed from being within the animal's reach. This is an essential part of farm upkeep every year, because horses really can't tell what's toxic and what isn't. One of the reasons it's essential to secure a horse when you aren't riding it is to ensure it only has a very limited range to graze on, and it's your responsibility as the owner/rider to know how to identify dangerous plants and keep your horses away from them.

There's probably more. AMA in my askbox if you have any questions, but that's all for now. Happy writing.

[sttoru]

outlaw!toji who initially kidnapped you for money, to rob you from your valuable belongings, eventually forms a strange attachment to you. he can’t help but feel a faint twinge of guilt for robbing a pretty and delicate little thing like you.

so, he decides to let you return to your beloved family in town. though he does not let you go completely.

every now and then when toji is passing by the town you reside in - avoiding sheriffs and other people whom could possibly recognise him from the wanted posters plastered on every wall - he looks for you.

of course, you freak out the first time he sneaked up on you. however slowly yet surely, you let your guard down. the outlaw didn’t harm you in any way after all.

“how ‘re ya doin’, princess?” toji would always greet you with that signature, cocky smirk of his, leaning against a nearby wall with his arms crossed over his chiseled chest or his hands on his worn gun belt.

sometimes you reply quickly, but on other occasions you indulge him and continue the conversation. it’s often at night that he visits you, so you have less of a chance to get caught together.

you don’t know when or how toji found out where your family’s house is. he simply started showing up at your balcony once in a while, just to catch up. after a couple times, you even let him in.

those nightly visits swiftly turned into something more intimate. it feels so wrong yet so right. a dangerous criminal who’s killed hundreds, who had even kidnapped you one day, being invited into your bed— how scandalous.

though you can’t help it. his callused yet warm hands that touch your skin, his burly body that presses you into the mattress just right, his slightly chapped lips that nip at your flesh and leave marks. . . you don’t regret a thing.

especially when you’re both catching your breath after an intense encounter. toji’s muscular body, filled with countless of scars, blankets yours easily. his arms cradle you to his bare chest afterwards and all you can do is relax against him.

“i think i really hit the jackpot with ya, aye? may not have robbed ya of yer stuff that day, but i got ma prize money one way or ‘nother,” the rugged outlaw grins as he lights up a cigar and holds it between his lips.

you can’t even tell him off for smoking in your room. toji’s fingers massage your scalp so good to the point you’re putty in his hands. the scent of tobacco is also comforting. it’s one you associate with him, because he always smells like it. it’s always a combination of tobacco, nature, horses and gunpowder.

toji knows that he has to leave before anyone comes checking in on you, but he can’t leave you when you look so adorable, clinging onto him like a lifeline.

every time he visits, it’s the same exciting story.

when toji is in a more sentimental mood, he takes you out on a ride. he settles you on the back of his horse, speeding off into the sunset, letting you enjoy the view outside of town.

the beautiful freedom that comes with the life of an outlaw. the freedom of seeing nature in all its glory. you get to experience it all.

at times, when you’re out and about, he takes his chance and teaches you how to handle a gun. toji knows you’ve been spoiled rotten by your parents growing up, so you probably haven’t touched a gun a day in your life. that’s where he comes in.

“oi, watch out. yer gonna blow my fuckin’ face off, girl,” toji grunts with a faint chuckle as he notices your clumsy hand gestures while holding his revolver. it’s endearing, truly. he doesn’t yet understand why it warms his heart to see you try and shoot at the targets he set up.

what the outlaw loves more than that, is when you’re both resting against a large oak tree, with his head on your lap. especially after he gets back from a long and successful heist in a far away town.

toji often lets his cowboy hat cover his face while he naps and uses your thighs as the perfect, plush pillow. the gentle breeze only adds to the perfect moment.

when you take his stetson and put it on your head instead in a innocent gesture, he lazily opens one eye and raises a brow in amusement.

“oh? that yer way of telling me y’ want a ride?” toji teases before pinching your cheek. he loves seeing that flustered expression on your face when you’re once again reminded of the cowboy hat rule he taught you the other day.

toji never misses the opportunity, however. he sits up and leans back against the tree trunk, patting his thick thighs which he spreads lightly.

“hop on f’ me then, pretty. show me how good of a cowgirl y’ are, yeah?”

well, briefly said, it’s never a dull moment with outlaw!toji.

[chuluoyi]

𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

- zayne x reader

he is your husband and you are his wife. but of course you know the bitter truth—you will never be able to replace her.

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—angst, hurt/comfort, unrequited love, drunken sex, mentions of injury, blood, hunter!reader (not l&ds mc -> l&ds mc is zayne's late ex-girlfriend here), spoilers! from zayne’s bond story nostalgic sweetness

note: wc. 8k ! i've been having these bits and pieces scenarios for zayne in mind and then i thought what if i combined it all into one angst joyride? :)) tagging per request: @kissxcore @rjreins @i2s2m @tom-pls-fuck-me @yueyoonie @sanriosatoru

07.15 p.m

Zayne would be getting off work soon. He had just finished an emergency surgery, and it had been exhausting. Now it was quite late.

“Dr. Zayne! Great job today!” Greyson exclaimed, suddenly strolling into his consultation room with a grin. “Want to grab dinner with us?”

Honestly, he was starving too. “Where?”

“Oh, you know, that new place that just opened nearby! They have the tastiest tiramisu, or so I’ve heard. C’mon, we’re inviting the nurses too!”

He knew he needed to head home soon, but fatigue and hunger blurred his thoughts at the mention of dessert.

“Alright.”

. . .

08.25 p.m

Getting together with the hospital staff was always nice. They were rowdy, but it was definitely a great way to unwind after a hard day.

The tiramisu was as great as Greyson said. Speaking of his assistant, he and Yvonne were having a blast. Other doctors were getting drunk. Zayne could only shake his head, and it suddenly dawned on him that he had been here quite a while.

It was only when he turned on his phone and saw the time that he realized, with sinking heart that—

He was supposed to meet you at six.

If you were asked how you felt about your life now, you’d be hard-pressed to say you were completely content.

You were a stellar fighter in the Hunter Association, more than content with your job, and you had a good husband. To some, you had what they would call the perfect life.

The wife of the Dr. Zayne. True, it was a flattering title, yet unbeknownst to everyone, also a humbling one.

And the notion struck you once again when your husband of almost two years stood you up on your dinner date without so much as a notice.

“Miss... we’re about to close now...” The waitress approached your table for at least the third time, and you nodded sheepishly, finally finishing your meal.

You paid for it and left the restaurant. The chilly night air hit your skin, giving you goosebumps as you walked home. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Granted, Zayne had a packed schedule, and you figured he might've had an urgent matter to attend to that he forgot to let you know.

Still... it hurts. Knowing you were not a priority in your husband’s eyes wasn’t a fun feeling.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket the moment you arrived at your shared home. Your husband’s name flashed on your screen. The time now was 08.40 p.m.

“Hello, Zayne?”

“Y/N?” Your husband’s voice sounded frantic. “Are you still at the restaurant? I’m going—”

“Ah, no need to. I’m going home.”

“I’ll pick you up then. Stay there—”

“I’ve already arrived.”

An awkward silence settled between you, and you could clearly hear the noise on the other end. Greyson’s laughter was unmistakable.

You forced a laugh, still trying to sound cheerful for him even when realizing that he had completely forgotten about you. “It’s totally fine, Zayne! Are you heading back?”

“Yeah...”

“Take care then. See you at home.”

You ended the call with a sigh, trying to shake off the sting in your heart. As you made your way upstairs to your bedroom, you passed by a large portrait on the wall, and a bittersweet sensation washed over you.

Your wedding photo. Both of you were smiling on what was the most wonderful day of your life. Zayne’s smile was reserved, but yours was radiant.

It is the most wonderful thing that has happened to you... but is it the same for him?

At that time, despite everything, you were convinced a lifetime of happiness awaited you, yet now... it got harder to fool yourself into believing it.

Your marriage has always been lukewarm.

Zayne wasn’t an overly excited person, and you were his opposite—but try as you might, some things between you just didn’t work out. As a result, both of you tended to keep certain things to yourselves.

Most days, this didn't bother him. He valued his privacy, so the way things were suited him just fine. However, several days later, when Greyson approached him with a worried expression and a news, even Zayne had to draw the line.

“Dr. Zayne? Uh, how do I say this? I think I saw your wife being wheeled in earlier with the injured from the hunt zones raid…”

. . .

“Your husband is a doctor here. Why aren’t you calling him?”

Xavier, your fellow Deepspace Hunter who was partnered with you in this mission, questioned you with a hint of annoyance as he observed your pathetic state on the stretcher and crossed his arms. “Why do you have to bleed out in ER when you can get him?”

You winced, pressing the bloodied cloth against your stinging abdomen as you felt yourself growing faint. “He’s... a surgeon,” you panted. “He’s busy.”

Above all, you didn’t want Zayne to see you like this. You could already imagine his angry face, and that mental image alone made you recoil.

“What sort of husband is busy when his wife is injured?” Xavier raised an eyebrow. “Did you at least notify him?”

You shut your eyes, feeling a migraine coming.

“I will then.”

“No.”

“Y/N, you—”

“Shut up, Xavier—”

The curtain was suddenly pulled back, and you braced yourself for whoever had come to check on you next. To your surprise, the cloth in your hand was snatched away, and you felt your uniform being torn open with urgency.

When you opened your eyes, you barely made out your husband’s figure through your hazy vision. “…Zayne?”

His expression was stern, unforgiving even, as he started to disinfect your wound. Despite the tension, you couldn't deny the relief that washed over you. You knew you were in good hands, even if you had to face his fury later on.

Your consciousness slipped away not long after that.

. . .

The next time you woke up, you found yourself in a private room, with a nagging itch where you had been injured.

You groaned, your limbs stiff and heavy, and the room slowly came into focus—along with your husband's face.

"Zayne?" Your voice came out barely above a whisper. He stood pristine in his white coat and glasses, assessing you with a scrutinizing gaze.

"Your wound is, thankfully, shallow," he said flatly, his tone lacking any real concern. "You'll be discharged tonight. I'll take you home as soon as my shift is over."

"Ah..." You blinked several times to clear your head. "Good then. Sorry for showing up out of nowhere. Xavier and I were on a rescue mission, and I accidentally—"

He walked away before you could finish, the abruptness snapping you fully awake. He was furious, that much was clear.

"Ha ha..." You forced a laugh, fiddling with your fingers, trying to ease the awkward tension between you. "It doesn't hurt much, actually. You're right—I'm fine..."

Zayne shot you a sharp glance. "You passed out due to blood loss."

"This isn't the first time it has happened and nor will it be—"

"And it didn't even occur to you to inform me at all. I found out that my own wife was wounded because Greyson passed by the ER and saw you."

His words left you silent, caught red-handed, but your annoyance was reaching its limit. You had imagined how nice it would be if he panicked about you, showering you with care when he found out. But instead, Zayne chose to rebuke you the moment you woke up.

“I’m not a child,” you reasoned, keeping yourself calm. “I’m a hunter. This is nothing new, and you should understand that.”

“The least you could’ve done is to tell me—“

“Do you know why I didn’t? It’s because I know how you’ll react!”

“—and it would do you better to prioritize your safety and not rush headfirst into danger.”

“Believe me, I do but—!”

Suddenly, Zayne spun around to face you, his eyes blazing with fury as he raised his voice. “I’ve told you so many times already, you have to stay back, or you’ll end up—!”

He stopped abruptly, leaving his sentence hanging in the air, but right at that moment, you knew all too well who he meant, and what the implication was.

His, without a doubt, greatest love. His childhood friend, a hunter like yourself, someone he had vowed to save but succumbed to her illness before he could do so, died on arrival.

The irony was sharp. You had become everything she once was. You knew her well, too. When she passed, the entire Hunter Association mourned her loss. And more than that, on the night she died, you had been with him.

Looking back, you should have seen it coming. Still, it hit you like a splash of cold water. Your husband was still preoccupied with thoughts of his ex-girlfriend, and worse yet, he saw pieces of her in you.

And you suspected he had for a while—perhaps even, from the very beginning.

For a second there, not for the first time, you felt your heart shatter.

“I don’t have Protocore syndrome,” you stated, steeling yourself against the heartbreak. “My heart won't suddenly fail because I get injured. I’m not that weak.”

You turned away as Zayne refused to respond, missing his look of disdain as he stormed out of the room.

That was when your first tear fell.

Right from the start, you knew you had to brace yourself for this. You knew that eventually, this tragedy would overshadow your marriage. Because while Zayne might be your husband by law, deep down, his heart still belonged to someone else.

To her.

You two are too much alike.

It wasn’t the first time he had noticed it. And it wouldn’t be the last.

On bad mornings, when his eyes were bleary and he hadn't had a good sleep, he would see her instead of you in your shared bed. And with that mistaken sight came a fleeting sense of relief... until his vision cleared and he remembered she was truly gone and it was you.

Zayne knew how wrong this was on so many levels. It was terribly unfair to you.

Still, his concern for you was genuine. Seeing you lying still on the stretcher brought back that very same nightmare, and really, he truly never wanted you to be hurt.

After his outburst and your clipped response, the two of you barely exchanged any words for the rest of the week. To make matters worse, he was sent on a business trip the following week, and all in all, you went two weeks hardly speaking to each other.

And before he knew it, her death anniversary was only a couple of days away.

. . .

"How much is this?"

"Ah, the bow is 50,000 Gold, sir!"

Inside the airport's souvenir shop, Zayne examined the intricate light blue and white bow clip. Made of tweed and adorned with small pearls, it looked nice.

He thought it'd suit you well.

"I'll get this then."

"Right away!"

As the clerk went to wrap the trinket, Zayne reflected on these past two weeks. A nagging feeling twisted in his gut as he thought about how curt he had been with you in text messages and how often you had left him on read.

Husband and wife shouldn't be this way. He wanted the unbearable air between you to end. Determined to resolve things, he planned to talk to you when he returned. He was on his way to the airport taxi when—

"Zayne!" He stopped in his tracks, recognizing the familiar voice, and turned around.

There you were, waiting by his car with a smile.

It was never in you to stay angry for long. It was a blessing and a curse, really, because while you no longer wished to give your husband silent treatment, a part of you still felt conflicted.

"How was your trip?" you asked as you started the engine, pushing the events of the past two weeks to the back of your mind.

Zayne didn't immediately answer, and you felt his gaze on you as you drove the car. "It was okay."

You hummed in acknowledgement, and he followed up with, "How is your wound? Do you dress it daily?"

"Mm-hm. It's getting better."

"I'll have a look at it later."

"Sure."

Silence. Usually you would ramble to distract him, but now, even you weren’t sure if you should.

Then, he said, "You really didn’t have to pick me up. I could have made my way home on my own."

To that, you pasted on a smile. “You always pick me up whenever I have to go on business trips. It’s only fair I do the same for you, husband.”

Ah. Was it the wrong move? The word had slipped out so easily that you didn’t realize it until after you said it.

But to your surprise, Zayne let out a chuckle and played along. "Well, thank you then, wife. It certainly felt quite off without a certain someone the past week."

So, he actually likes having you around...? The thought made you almost giddy. Despite his usual taciturn and sarcastic demeanor, you knew he was genuine in his own way.

"Bet you missed me," you teased, grinning.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Are you sure it's not the other way around?"

"Nope. But I did miss getting new snowmen."

"...why do you like them so much? I've made plenty for you already."

"No particular reason. Snowman just kinda reminds me of you somehow."

The tension between you had melted away, and you felt a sense of relief. Beside you, even Zayne couldn’t hide his smile. For the rest of the drive home, you chatted like you used to.

When you arrived back at your shared home, he suddenly stopped and presented you with a little box. "I got you something."

"Huh?" you paused, bewildered, as he took your hand and placed the box in it.

"Open it."

With curiosity, you lifted the lid, and were surprised at the sight of a pretty bow clip inside. "Whoa, how cute..."

Zayne eyed you expectantly. "Do you like it?"

Your eyes lit up with delight, and a smile spread across your lips.

"Yes!" you beamed at him with zero hesitation, and in that moment, something struck a chord within him. Zayne had always thought you were easy on the eyes—

—but when you smiled like that, you were truly charming.

"It's healing nicely."

You felt somewhat self-conscious as your husband examined your bare abdomen, where your injury was, as you lied on your bed. His hands, cool and practiced, tenderly removed your stitches.

It wasn't as if Zayne had never touched you. You two had been married for almost two years, and of course you had been intimate several times, but it wasn't as if you were a passionate couple to begin with—so you often found yourself flustered.

"Mm." Despite yourself, you squirmed. Noticing this, he looked up at you, his unfazed eyes meeting yours with a frown.

"Does it still hurt?"

"No, not really... It just feels as if you're tickling me."

He was positively unamused. "I'm not trying to tickle you."

"I know!"

Zayne wrapped your midsection securely with the bandage. When he was done, he let out a sigh and you felt like you had to show him your gratitude somehow.

“Thank you, Zayne…” you mumbled, avoiding eye contact. But in the next second, your heart skipped a beat as his hand rested gently on your head.

"You can thank me by being more careful next time." Your husband looked at you with the smallest of smile. "Your safety comes first, always remember that."

Without either of you realizing it, you both had tried to bury that argument from two weeks ago, yet it was still gnawing at you all the same. The thought that he too was bothered with it made you warm.

"Noted," you cheekily grinned. "If I'm not safe and sound, a certain iceman will get angry at me."

Zayne shot you an unimpressed look. “If you come to me injured again, I’ll start charging you fees.”

You let out a dramatic gasp. "How stingy! I'm your wife, not just some stranger!"

"A very uncooperative wife, you are."

You huffed, and he chuckled. You really thought all was well between you two now, until Zayne suddenly stood up and grabbed the car keys. “Well then, rest. I have to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to stop by the florist—”

And it hit you. In two days. The day everything ended three years ago.

Zayne seemed to realize it too, but you quickly masked your falling smile with a faux one. "O-oh, right..."

No matter how, it's still going to be an important day to him. You had nothing against it, really. Your husband's late girlfriend had once been your colleague too, and you mourned her just like everyone else did.

Still, even with that understanding, in your heart of hearts, it remains just as bitter.

You didn't want to, but you needed to find closure. You hoped that by doing this, it would finally put an end to all your insecurities.

"Let's go together, Zayne. I want to pay her a visit too."

Two days later, you and Zayne, a bouquet of flowers in hand, stood before the grave bearing many colorful flowers and postcards.

You supposed you knew already, but seeing it firsthand, you realized just how deeply she was loved still. The outpouring of respect from the Hunter Association was evident in the tribute left behind.

"It's been a while," Zayne, dressed in his most formal black suit, said solemnly, his gaze fixed on the name etched into the pristine stone.

You watched as he knelt to place his flowers and then brought his hands together in prayer. You followed his lead, placing your own bouquet beside his.

What should you even say to her? Your mind raced with countless thoughts, but none felt right to voice before the woman who had so deeply captured your husband's heart.

In the end, when you sensed that Zayne had finished with his prayer, you decided to remain silent and rose with him.

. . .

“Does it get easier?” you asked out of curiosity afterwards. “Three years has passed already.”

Although Zayne wasn’t one for drinking, even the need won today. He didn’t meet your eyes as he sipped his wine, humming thoughtfully. “Somewhat. As they say, time heals.”

You two stopped by a fine restaurant after visiting the grave. The cemetery had been a two-hour drive from Linkon City, and now it was already evening.

“She loved jasmines,” you remarked, recalling the pot of them you once saw on her desk and the flowers overflowing at the grave earlier.

“She did.” The alcohol seemed to loosen his tongue as he continued, “She loved old popsicles and macarons too.”

“And you like them as well.”

“To be honest, I started liking them back when we were kids…” Zayne had this pained, faraway look in his eyes as he had another sip. “She cried over her melted popsicle and it got me to wonder if it was really that tasty...”

The idea that you had to compete with a dead woman for your husband’s affection left a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt like you had failed thoroughly as a wife.

Despite hating yourself for asking, you needed to know. “Do I help you… in any way at all?”

Zayne was clearly taken aback by the question. His sharp, gray eyes locked onto you, mind whirred as he tried to grasp your meaning.

“Y/N, you...”

It was foolish, you knew. But you waited with bated breath for his response, even when one wrong word could shatter your heart beyond repair. You were ready for any sort of unfavorable answer, but then—

“I... am glad it is you.”

His words made you look up, and you found yourself caught in his gaze. Zayne’s ashen eyes were steady, piercing into you.

“You were there on the hardest days. And ever since, you’ve always stayed by my side.” He held your gaze firmly, voice was thick with emotion you couldn’t quite name. “I’m grateful for that.”

And then, with a sincerity that pierced through every uncertainty, he added, “What I want to say is... I’m glad I married you, Y/N.”

You have loved him for so long. Since the days when you know he isn’t yours to love, until now.

Your heart swelled with so much warmth that tears brimmed in your eyes. His acknowledgment of your presence filled you with a profound sense of belonging you never knew you needed before.

Was it the alcohol?

You suspected it might be, because in nearly two years of marriage, Zayne had never lost his control like this. As soon as the bedroom door was shut, he pushed you against the wall and devoured your lips hungrily.

“Mmph!” His hands gripped your arms while his lips and tongue pried yours open. The kiss was searing, almost forceful, with the faint bitterness of wine still lingering.

“Zay…ne…” you gasped between his kisses—teary, breathless, your voice trembling.

But your breathy grunts only seemed to spur him on. His dark eyes, clouded with lust, fixed on you as his hands slipped beneath your blouse, deftly unclasping your bra with a flick.

He is hot. Your husband was everything a woman desired in a man. Cool, handsome, blessed with hands that could do wonders—

In no time, he had you naked and wet before him, and with alarming speed, he too discarded his own suit and pants, throwing them away in flurry. And you could hardly believe what you were seeing next.

He spitted on his hand, ran it along his member—stroking himself with a practiced ease, never breaking eye contact with you. The next thing you knew, he yanked you into another burning kiss and made you topple on top of him—

“Ah!” his hands guided your hips with precision, positioning you and entering you. The instant he did, you whimpered at the sudden, sharp sting of pain.

“Does it hurt?” he asked almost in a growl when you clung to his shoulder with uneven breaths.

It was too sudden, and you hoped the discomfort would pass, so you timidly shook your head.

“If you don’t want this, tell me to stop.” Zayne tangled his fingers in your hair, turning your face to his. “Understand?”

There was always a distinct, almost commanding aura about him whenever the two of you were in your marital bed. Perhaps the way his voice sound lower, but it just hit different.

And you are a willing prey... whenever he becomes that beast.

He inched inside you slowly, making you moan with each instance. He was thick, warm, and taking him in was a challenge in itself. And when he finally sheathed himself fully, your nails had made its first scratch on his skin.

You felt full, and the way your womanhood stretched and clenched around him with each breathe you took made you dizzy. Panting, you finally met his gaze. Zayne’s gray-hazel eyes were still clouded with desire as he placed his hands firmly on your hips. Unable to resist, you reached out to caress his face.

"Hmm..." he subconsciously leaned into your touch, pressing his eyes shut together. "You smell nice," he huskily muttered.

Right this moment, all negative thoughts eluded you. It felt gratifying that your husband sought your touch like this as you towered over him.

And yet, despite that...

“Do you... finally see me now?” you asked, trailing your other hand down his toned chest and starting to grind against him. Zayne drew in a sharp breath and groaned, his fingers gripping your bum tighter.

Depending on his response, you would either find peace or face another heartbreak. You had placed your happiness on this pedestal more times than you could count, and it was a cross you had to bear.

But you never received your answer.

Your husband merely gazed up at you with a dangerous gleam. And oh, you could've sworn, this sight of Zayne eyeing you as if he were about to ruin you right then and there, would live-free in your mind for many days to come.

He then buried his face in your bosom, sucking on you with such fervor that your hands instinctively reached for his head to massage his scalp. The room was soon filled with your erotic groans and the squelching sounds from where your flesh were joined together— as he thrusted inside you over and over.

Right in this moment, you felt truly desired and wanted.

You are so happy. Incomparably so.

At the crack of dawn, Zayne woke with a start.

The first thing he noticed was how spent he felt, his limbs stiff and a throbbing headache pulsing at the back of his head.

Then he turned to his side, and the sight that met him twisted his gut in such a way that snapped him fully awake—

You were beside him, barely dressed and still deeply asleep. Your hair was a mess, and love bites were scattered across your skin, some on your chest looking almost like bruises.

It dawned on him that he, too, wasn’t decent. A sudden coldness gripped him, though it wasn’t just the morning air.

Him and you... last night...

Yesterday marked the third year. He meant everything he said to you, but the fact that he did this, with you, on the day of her death...

There was... nothing wrong with what he had done. You were his wife, no one could condone him for what he instigated. Yet, it still made him shiver.

And to make it worse, his thoughts from last night echoed back with vengeance, and—

He suddenly feels so immensely guilty.

. . .

It was the best sleep you’d had all week.

When you woke, sunlight had seeped through the window, and you discovered yourself already in pajamas, tucked snugly under a blanket. Still groggy with a dull ache in your lower belly, you relished the lingering afterglow, sighing in pure contentment, until you noticed Zayne wasn’t beside you.

Where did he go? You wondered amidst your haze. Sluggish, you stumbled out of the bed, flinching when your foot met the cold floor.

You eventually found him downstairs, sipping coffee at the dining table still with messy hair. "Zayne?"

He glanced up at you and nodded. There was something different about him, a subtle shift you couldn’t quite place. As you took a seat across from him, you hesitated, unsure of what to say.

Before you could find the right words though, he spoke first.

"I'm... sorry," he said, his tone laced with regret, causing a sharp pang of unease inside you.

"What?" you stared at him, feeling small and unsettled. "What are you sorry for?" you questioned as you gripped the hem of your shirt.

And then came the killing blow—

"Last night," Zayne muttered, avoiding your gaze. "I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. It was a mistake."

Mistake. The word echoed in your mind, but it was still hard to grasp its full weight.

"How was that—" you faltered, trembling, as the realization hit you like a truck and you gasped in disbelief. "Oh..."

Her. Again, and again, and again! Even when he was married to you, even when you were the one next to him each and everyday— even so!

Your husband considers that a night spent with you—his wife—a mistake!

The last of your patience snapped, as you broke down in sobs before him. "You're the worst!" you screamed at him amidst your mournful tears.

Zayne seemed taken aback at your outburst, his eyes wide. "Y/N, wait, you don't—"

"Screw you!" But you were beyond explanations at this point. You fled back to your bedroom. Zayne followed you suit, but you slammed the door in his face and locked it. As you collapsed onto the floor, the realization hit you with full force.

No matter what you did, you would always come second—or not at all.

The fracture in your marriage was undeniable.

Things had changed. Your home felt colder, and the tension was so stifling that you sometimes spent the night at the Hunter Association’s dorm just to escape it.

Zayne initially tried to reach out, but you were unwilling to listen, and eventually, he gave up. Before long, nearly a month had passed with this strain in the air.

You threw yourself into more rescue operations, using work as a distraction from the turmoil that lingered in your mind. Despite your best efforts to distract yourself, the unresolved thoughts and feelings clung to you.

"Xavier, am I lacking as a woman?"

Your frequent partner these days cracked open an eye despite his attempt to nap before today’s rescue mission. "What...?"

"No, forget it."

Things couldn't go like this forever. It was obvious by now—as long as he couldn’t let go of his past and you couldn’t accept him as he was, this marriage couldn't be saved.

Just as you headed towards the printer in the room, Xavier responded. "You talk a lot, eat a lot, and always bothering me when I'm about to sleep..."

You shot him an irked glance, disbelief evident on your face. "Hey!"

"But—" his clear voice cut through the air as he turned to you with half-lidded eyes. "You're exceptionally kind. If anyone can't appreciate that, then it's their loss."

At that moment, the ice inside your chest melted. To know that your own co-worker thought that kindly of you gave you a little boost of confidence.

But then Xavier added, "Sometimes you're stupid too. It's funny to watch."

"—?! You're so mean!"

A subtle smile curved on his lips as he turned to his side, ready to resume his nap. "Anyway, what are you printing?"

You feigned a huff as you gathered the papers and brought them to your desk. "Just something I need to submit when necessary."

A part of you wasn’t fully committed to it, of course—it was just that your emotions had no proper outlet even until now. As you pushed the drawer shut, a wave of bitterness washed over you as you reread the title on the blank form:

Petition for Divorce.

Zayne genuinely wanted to treat you well.

You were a nice girl. Too nice even. From the moment he laid his eyes on you some years ago, as a friend of a friend, he knew you were nothing but kind and cheery.

He still remembered that morning vividly: the hurt on your face, the tears welling up in your eyes, and then you breaking into inconsolable sobs. That sight inflicted something in him—it felt as though his own heart had been split in two.

Believe it or not, he cherished you too.

That night, even though he didn’t show it, he was still mourning her. When alcohol took over his mind and he saw you, you seemed like a perfect escape. He thought that even if he forced himself on you, there would be no consequences.

He hated that he had thought that way. He hated that how, in the end, you had become a means of relief for him.

Now you couldn't even look him in the eye, and Zayne didn't want to risk trying to coax you further. You were angry with him and rightly so, but when you ignored him and went home late more often, he was worried.

It was what drove him to volunteer for the rescue mission. When he saw your name on the hunter list, he felt compelled to make sure you were okay.

. . .

It was strange to see you on duty.

With your hunter uniform and your hair tied up, you were the picture of a very capable hunter. Zayne found himself unexpectedly following your movements as you came and went.

"Dr. Zayne, are you checking your wife out?" the EMT next to him teased with a grin. "Well, when you have a pretty wife such as Y/N, of course..."

He cleared his throat and the EMT giggled as he sauntered away.

So, you were also considered attractive here. Of course you were. Zayne knew it, but he just didn't expect that anyone here would blurt it out so openly.

But that wasn't the most surprising of all—

"Xavier, shush!" you playfully punched the blonde man next to you in the chest, your broad smile lighting up the moment. The two of you whispered closely, and Zayne found himself feeling uncomfortable, like being prickled by several needles.

He has never made you laugh so openly like that. The nagging feeling inside him grew stronger as he watched you—even if it was just in a platonic sense—with another man. It stirred something within him, making him want to pull that blonde aside, give him a word or two, and overthrow him altogether.

Amidst the growing storm inside him, you suddenly turned sideways and caught his eye, and Zayne could've sworn... he felt time stopped at that moment.

It was so candid that it took his breath away. The way your earnest, unclouded eyes met his. How natural you were while loading your gun...

Ah, they were right. His wife was exceptionally pretty.

But before he could fully appreciate it, you broke the eye contact and turned away, pretending as if you hadn’t seen him at all.

Zayne wondered then, why did he feel so hurt all of a sudden?

Battlefields were always a place of chaos, and Zayne was no stranger to it.

He was on standby at the makeshift hospital as patients surged in, continuously aiding first-aid. Some were hunters on duty, and his heart was in his throat the entire time, anxiously hoping you wouldn’t be among them.

"Doc... it still hurts," a little girl sniffled right after Zayne wrapped her injured arm with the gauze. Despite the anxiety, seeing this tearful girl softened his frown.

"It's just going to take a while, hmm?" he patted the kid in the head. "It's going to be better soon enough."

"My mom is still inside..." she said, her eyes welling up with tears. "Doc, will they get her out?"

Zayne hesitated, his thoughts briefly drifting to you. He managed a reassuring smile. "Don’t worry, they’ll—"

Crash! —all of a sudden, a loud explosion shook the hospital, the sound echoing through the chaos. The little girl clung to his coat in fear.

"Call for retreat!" someone suddenly shouted from outside. "Alert all personnel immediately!"

Retreat. The thought that you might be safe soon brought him a sense of relief. He turned to the girl, trying to keep his composure.

"Look, the hunters are retreating, it means most are already evacuated." Zayne managed a reassuring smile. "Stay here. I'll help you find her later, okay?"

He went to the survivors' camp outside, attending to the wounded and keeping a vigilant eye on each returning hunter. Even until 30 minutes later, he still hadn't seen you. Thinking to contact you, he reached out for his phone.

"Who hasn't gotten out?" Jenna, your team leader, demanded the receiver with a stern voice, standing tall several feet away from the camp, and Zayne overheard the snippets of her conversation.

A frantic voice responded, "Xavier is still inside! Y/N too!"

"Those two! They are always—!"

What?

Zayne almost dropped his phone when he heard your name. Terror gripped him instantly, and then suddenly, again, it was his greatest nightmare realized.

You are still inside. You could be hurt. It was possible you had no means to get out of there.

He didn’t register letting go of his coat or crossing the police line—all that mattered was getting to you. He sprinted away, ignoring the shouts of those trying to stop him.

No. Not again!

Debris flew everywhere, and the roars of Wanderers grew louder as he neared the building wreckage. As a splinter was about to hit him, ice shot through his palms, creating a barrier that shattered it.

"Y/N!" he shouted your name, his voice cracking with panic. "Where are you?!"

All he could think about was the memory of you bleeding out in the ER. Zayne never wanted to see that again. Should anything happen to you now...

He didn't want you to be hurt. He hated seeing you cry. For the past weeks, it had torn him apart to see you so unhappy. He wanted to be the one who made you smile, the one you looked at with love.

The realization washed over him like a tidal wave. Yet it wasn’t an epiphany but a simple truth he had always known but never fully grasped until now.

If he lost you now, it'd destroy him.

He continued screaming your name over and over. And then, after turning several turns, he finally saw you, standing alone in the middle of the wreckage—

You turned to him in surprise when you heard your name in his shout, and were rooted to the spot, in disbelief that your husband was right before you.

Zayne felt a wave of relief wash over him, until a hollow croak from above caught his attention. He squinted—

A glass panel had crumbled and was falling directly towards you.

A sense of dread so great overwhelmed him, a lump formed in his throat, and the smoke made it hard to breathe. He sprinted forward, and with everything he had, he pushed you out the way.

The next thing he knew, everything went pitch black.

"Zayne? Zayne!"

A memory flashed in his mind's eye. The one memory he wished he didn't have to relive ever again.

Sitting on the deserted hospital bench, his eyes were vacant. Utter hollowness choked him, leaving him motionless. It was over. There was no blood on his hands, yet it felt as if there were.

Your grip on his shoulder was tight, shaking him. "Zayne, snap out of it!" and only then he brought himself to meet your eyes.

"She died." That was the only thing he could mutter, pain woven in each word. "She really died."

Your eyes widened in horror, an inaudible gasp left your lips. "Oh..."

He didn't really know what happened next, but he remembered the warmth from when you pulled him to your arms, when sobs wracked his body as he thought the world was ending.

Since then, you have always been there.

And subconsciously, he may have regarded you as his lifeline.

. . .

Another memory.

"Are you awake...?"

His mind was hazy, but he recognized your voice. He blearily opened his eyes to find you placing a cool compress on his forehead.

"Who would have thought the great Dr. Zayne can get a fever?" you said with a soft laugh, patting his hair. "Don’t worry about me. Go back to sleep."

You came to see him. He remembered telling you not to. But you still did, and the fact thawed the ice in his heart.

Just as you were about to leave, his hand reached out and pulled you closer. "Don’t go."

"Are you trying to make me catch your cold too?" you teased with a soft laugh.

"Hmph. Who told you to come here...?"

"Ah, so you're whiny when you're not feeling well," you observed with a smile. "Okay, I'll stay! But only if you agree to nurse me if I catch your cold!"

You were noisy, but endearingly so.

. . .

"Don't pay her any mind," you fidgeted on your seat, a frown on your face. "My mom always does that."

There was never any talk about the nature your relationship between the two of you, but it was clear to everyone nevertheless. You were always around him, and he seemed to enjoy your company just as much.

And not for the first time, your mother pushed him towards marriage with you.

"People are always getting the wrong idea," you grumbled. "Sorry, Zayne..." you lowered your head, seemingly in regret.

He was puzzled, because to him, it wasn't necessarily false. All things you did together lead to this.

"What if it isn't a wrong idea at all?"

You looked at him with slight surprise. "Huh...?"

Your presence was a gift. That tragedy was devastating, but having you constantly by his side made it bearable. He was fond of you, and the thought that if it's you, then surely...

In this memory, he was more sure than ever. What he said then, it came from the truest place in his heart.

"What if I told you... as of right now, I can't imagine being with anyone but you?"

The side of his head was throbbing with pain. Everything hurt, the hard asphalt was bruising his face as the headache set in. He could smell the scent of blood and sweat, but more than that—

"Zayne! Ah, hah— Please, please! No!"

Your voice, choked with tears, blared in his ears as you desperately shook him. You sounded so heartbroken, so utterly panicked, and your voice gradually pulled him back to consciousness.

Opening his eyes took tremendous effort. At first, everything was a blur, but then it came into focus—the sight of you disheveled, smeared with soot, with tears streaming down your face. But still you— the woman he had married two years ago.

Yet his heart lurched. You're crying again... why is it that whenever with me, you're always crying?

"Are you... alright?" he rasped, lifting his hand to touch your face.

"Why did you—" You were startled by his question, your gaze fixed on the blood pooling on the side of his face. "Your head is bleeding!"

Ah, so you're fine. The sheer knowledge brought him relief, a faint smile forming at his lips. "I'm glad..."

"I'll help you get back! Hold onto me—" you said after brushing away your tears, lifting him up and draping his arm around your shoulder. "Can you walk?"

"I'm... fine..."

"You're not!" you refuted harshly, voice trembling. "You have to go back!"

You made him lean on you as you made your way back to the makeshift hospital, each step accompanied by your sniffles as you supported his waist.

Zayne glanced at you, feeling a warmth in his chest despite the migraine. "D-Don't cry... I'll be fine."

"You're an idiot!" you choked out, struggling to hold back your tears. "Why did you even come out here?"

"I... have to find you. They said you haven't returned."

"There are still civilians inside! I'll return eventually!"

"I can’t wait for that. I... have to know you're safe."

His response only fueled your frustration. "You don't have to—!"

"You are my wife—" he snapped, turning to you sharply, his eyes flashing with anger. "How can I not worry— for you?"

The forceful tone in his voice went straight to the most tender part of your heart. It really struck you at that moment that he had come out here for you, that his concern for you was that profound.

And that after all these weeks, he still keeps you in his thoughts.

He had pushed you out of the way, even at the cost of himself, barely missing the fallen billboard in that violent crash. If he was in the wrong position, he could've lost his life.

You stared at him, tears glossing your eyes.

"That's enough... Don't cry again." Zayne reached out to wipe your cheeks. His hands, however, were smeared with his own blood, leaving streaks on your face. "Ah... I got blood on you..."

But in that moment, you couldn’t care less. There was this indescribable sting of grief, but also paired with a sense of relief so great in your chest the very second you realize that now, he sees you.

You threw yourself into his arms, hugging him tightly as you sobbed, calling out to him in broken voice. “Z-Zayne...!”

“Why are you crying again...?” he let out a resigned sigh, but still embraced you regardless. “What a crybaby...”

You buried your face deeper into him, shaking uncontrollably. “You... saved me...” you managed to say amidst torrent of tears. “Y-You... got hurt...”

“I’ll be fine,” he retorted in your ear albeit in a hoarse voice, holding you close, even as blood trickled down the side of his face. “And I’d do it again. I refuse to see you hurt.”

You cried harder, and he pulled you tighter, his chest aching at the sight of you so inconsolable. And in that moment, he made the decision right then and there.

He will protect you so long as time will allow him to.

It was as if the invisible wall between you had crumbled to dust after that incident. You stayed by Zayne's side night and day, monitoring his condition.

And one night, several days later...

"Here, don't move..."

You carefully dressed the wound on Zayne's temple, sitting close beside him. He quietly observed your worried eyes and trembling fingers without a word.

"You even need stitches..." you lamented, biting your lip as you wrapped the bandage around his head. Tears pricked your eyes, overwhelmed by the concern you were pouring into the task.

"I'm telling you, I'm fine," he gruffly insisted in an attempt to erase your mournful expression. He felt the delicate, almost hesitant touch of your fingers on his face. "It'll heal with time."

Even as he said that, a part of you was still troubled at the sight of the wound on his head and cheekbone. No matter what he said, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was somehow your fault.

"I'm done. Now go rest," you said softly, your voice tinged with bitterness after tying the gauze. You rose to put the kit away, but even after you finished, Zayne remained upright on the bed, so you leveled a frown at him.

"What, why aren't you— Ah!"

Before you knew it, he pulled you by the arm, and you tumbled into his chest in surprise. "What are you doing?!" you yelled at him, clinging to his shoulder and looking up at him with ire. "You could've hit your head!"

He looked down at you with a flat expression, or is that a hint of amusement glinting in his eyes? “Can't a husband cuddle his wife?”

You blinked dumbly, caught off-guard. “Yes, you can, but...”

His arms then enveloped you, fitting you on his chest and he sighed against your hair. “Then there’s nothing wrong with it. Let’s just stay like this for now.”

And so, that was how he decided to sleep throughout the night—with you on top of him, held close. You felt self-conscious as Zayne had never initiated this closeness with you since that night.

"Are you sure you want to sleep this way?" you wriggled a bit in his grasp.

He draped an arm around your waist, pressing his eyes shut. "Mm-hm."

"You..." A part of you recoiled at the vulnerability but decided to ask anyway. "Won't this be… a mistake...?"

That caught his attention, as Zayne's eyes fluttered open. He looked down at you, who avoided his gaze with a pout and a torn expression, making yourself small in his embrace.

It dawned on him then that this persisting issue in your marriage was thoroughly his fault. His past was something he could never—and would never—trade for anything, but right now, you were that sense of peace that grounded him.

At one point, he has to let it go. These feelings inside him… they drive him to.

He softened, his gaze full of understanding as he gently brushed your hair back. "No," he said quietly, his voice tender. "We’ve come too far for it to be one."

Your clear, innocent eyes reluctantly met his, and at that moment something akin to clarity resonated within him.

He once thought nothing could ever mend the hollowness in his heart. And once, he indeed hoped that being with you would provide some form of relief or replace what he had lost.

But right now, feeling how vulnerable you were in his arms like this, he understood that you were not, and could never be, a replacement for anything else. Even before he realized it himself, what he felt for you was something entirely different— something dear that had grown and evolved into a genuine affection different from what he had felt for anyone else before.

Those times spent with you, wanting to protect you... Now that he reflected on it, it was never about filling a void, after all.

“I... want to treasure you better.”

Oh. Your heart thumped loudly as those words left his lips, warmth spreading through your entire being. Overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice, you clung to his chest, feeling a surge of love and a profound sense of being freed from the chains of insecurity that had taken you hostage all these years.

Most precious. Zayne smiled at you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“This time for sure... I will.”

And at last... he could say it without any lingering guilt.