#her beaconed-hand glows

[shamballalin]

The New Colossus from IN THEIR IMAGE AND LIKENESS subtitled THE RED BAG OF COURAGE SURVIVAL WISDOM ~book 3 in this series not yet published

“Social justice became another life contract I made. I was to have a very busy life standing up for the life, liberty, and justice for all that the United States of America was supposed to stand. “Much of humanity at the turn of the century claimed to stand for the flag, life, liberty, and freedom while ignorantly supporting those with racist, xenophobic, and authoritarian ideologies. I thought…

[riboism]

warm on a cold night

》 pairing: aged up professor! c.jh x fem student reader

》 plot: Choi Jongho, a middle-aged professor struggling with a midlife crisis and an unfulfilling marriage, seeks a brief escape through an affair with a bright young student he meets at a bar during a faculty Christmas party. What begins as a distraction soon forces him to confront deeper guilt and dissatisfaction, leading him to question his choices and the life he's built.

》 content: aged up and married jongho (40s), college student reader, mentions of OC, emma (jongho’s wife), cheating, alcohol, FAT COCK JONGHO AGENDA, manhandling, spanking, creampie, blowjob, face-fucking, stand and carry position, smut with some angst

》 wc: 4.7k

》 a/n: all credits for this idea goes to @yun-fangz

🎧 warm on a cold night- honne

Jongho leaned against the wall, his whiskey swirling lazily in hand as he watched his colleagues laugh and chat over the hum of soft holiday jazz. The semester had finally ended, and a handful of faculty members had chosen to unwind at a cozy bar just a few blocks from campus.

The place was charmingly festive, adorned with twinkling fairy lights, cranberry-decorated wreaths, bright red ribbons, and polished wood paneling that radiated warmth. Inside, the air was thick with the cheer of the season, a stark contrast to the biting cold winds just beyond the frosted windows. Yet, no matter how long he lingered near the fireplace, or how many shots burned in his chest, the chill from outside seemed to cling to him, refusing to melt away in the glow of the celebration.

Jongho lingered in the corner, isolating himself from the rest of the group. He watched the other professors mingle, their laughter bubbling over clinking glasses. The sight stirred a mix of envy and disdain. Their holiday cheer felt hollow, a performance, and yet he resented how effortlessly they seemed to pull it off.

He’d considered skipping the party altogether but couldn’t bear the thought of going home tonight. Not yet.

He shouldn’t be drinking—not this much, anyway—but he kept ordering pint after pint, convincing himself that each one would drown his thoughts a little more. And for a while, it worked. Until it didn’t. Now, his thoughts swirled darker, heavier, impossible to ignore.

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year,” or so the song went. Jongho begged to differ. The Christmas trees, the holiday sales, the relentless jingles—it all made him tense. He was sick of it. Sick of forcing smiles through strained dinners. Sick of walking on eggshells at home. Sick of pretending that everything was fine, that he was still happily married, that he still wanted this. And the thought of hosting Emma’s family for Christmas dinner this year made his stomach churn. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up the facade.

What gnawed at him most was that he couldn’t point to any one thing to explain his unhappiness. There’d been no affair, no fights, no children to argue over. Just a slow, relentless erosion of something he couldn’t name. He had simply checked out, growing numb.

Emma, once a beacon of warmth and brilliance, now felt dimmed to him, like a candle flickering from a draft. He thought back to their early years—the long dinners spent debating poetry, the late nights whispering sweet nothings in the dark, tangling into each other over white satin sheets, her longing for him even when he was only a few feet away. Now, their evenings were quiet, their conversations perfunctory. They ate in near silence, their words dried up like an old well. Nights in bed were worse: two bodies lying back-to-back, the weight of unspoken things pressing down on the space between them, the burning desire for each other now snuffed out like a dying flame.

It wasn’t her fault, not really. And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was suffocating.

Unlike the rest of the faculty, Jongho wasn’t looking forward to the long winter break. While his colleagues spoke eagerly of trips, family gatherings, and restful days at home, he found himself filled with a quiet, gnawing dread. Work had become his refuge—long hours at the office, stacks of papers to grade, and the pretense of ‘office hours’ no one ever attended. It was all a convenient shield. The thought of being home with Emma, with no deadlines or lectures to hide behind, felt almost unbearable.

He’d toyed with the idea of seeing a lawyer. The thought of ending it all—cleanly, definitively—had crossed his mind more times than he cared to admit. But every time, the guilt stopped him. How could he serve her divorce papers without a clear reason? No betrayal, no dramatic blowout, just the suffocating weight of his own unhappiness. It felt cruel, cowardly.

So, instead, he stayed. He let his depression settle in, heavy and inescapable, like an unwelcome guest. His wedding ring sat on his finger like a shackle, not a symbol of love but an anchor pulling him further into the depths of his discontent. Some days, he wondered what it would feel like to let it drag him all the way down to the bottom of the sea.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, staring down at the empty glass in his hand. The amber traces of his last drink clung stubbornly to the bottom, mocking him. With a groan, he pushed himself off the wall and stumbled back to the bar, his movements heavy and unsteady. He leaned over the polished counter, shaking his glass slightly to catch the bartender's attention. Without a word, the bartender nodded and began pouring another whiskey neat, the amber liquid glinting under the soft, golden lights.

As Jongho waited, his gaze drifted. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her—a familiar girl, laughing softly among two friends at a table on the far side of the bar. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and her giggles carried just enough to reach him, rising above the hum of the crowd and the muted jazz playing overhead. For a moment, he squinted, trying to place her. Then it clicked.

Y/N. His student.

He remembered your paper on Keats’ Ode on Melancholy. It was rare for him to recall specific assignments, let alone be impressed by them. Most of his students treated his class like an obligation, churning out rushed, half-hearted essays that betrayed their indifference to literature. But your work had stood out—not just for its clarity and depth, but for the way it annoyed him.

You’d written with optimism, arguing that Keats saw melancholy as a companion to joy, as something that heightened the beauty of life rather than drowning it. Jongho had scoffed at your words as he read them, unable to reconcile your argument with his own misery. To him, melancholy wasn’t some poetic counterpoint to happiness—it was a relentless weight, suffocating and inescapable. Still, he couldn’t deny the paper’s quality or the sincerity behind it. 

The bartender slid his whiskey across the counter, snapping Jongho out of his thoughts. He picked it up, taking a long, deliberate sip before glancing back at you. Your friends had gotten up and were weaving through the crowd toward the exit, leaving you alone at the table. You didn’t seem to notice right away, your attention fixed on your phone, but when you looked up, a flicker of disappointment crossed your face.

Jongho hesitated. He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. But the whiskey burned warm in his chest, loosening his inhibitions and drowning out the voice of reason. Before he could think better of it, he picked up his glass and made his way toward you.

“Y/N?” he said, his voice low and slightly unsteady.

You looked up, startled, your eyes widening in recognition. “Professor Choi?”

He gave you a faint smile, gesturing toward the empty chair next to you. “Mind if I join you?”

You hesitated, glancing toward the door your friends had disappeared through. Then, with a small shrug and a curious smile, you gestured for him to sit.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your tone light but your eyes searching his face.

“Same thing as everyone else, I suppose,” he replied, settling into the chair. “Avoiding reality.”

Your lips curved into a half-smile. “That’s not how you struck me in class.”

He raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “How did I strike you, then?”

You hesitated again, as if weighing your words, before saying, “Like someone who sees too much reality to avoid it.”

The comment caught him off guard, and for the first time that night, Jongho felt seen. Vulnerable, but in a way he didn’t mind. He took another sip of his whiskey, the silence between you stretching just long enough to feel charged.

“So,” he said, setting his glass down. “Do you always come to bars like this, or is tonight special?”

You laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “My friends dragged me here. They’ve abandoned me for some frat party, so… I guess that’s my answer.”

Jongho nodded, leaning back slightly. “Their loss.”

Your cheeks flushed faintly at the comment, and for the first time, he noticed how young you seemed outside the context of his lectures. Yet, your presence held a gravity that felt far beyond your years.

And as the conversation unfolded, Jongho couldn’t quite shake the thought: he shouldn’t be here, saying these things, feeling this pull. But he stayed anyway. “Can I ask you something?” 

You paused, your fingers brushing the rim of your shot glass. You shared the same thought he had: maybe you shouldn’t be here, talking to him, sharing drinks, lingering longer than politeness demanded. But there was something about him tonight—a quiet vulnerability that mirrored your own. You could see it in his slightly hunched posture, in the way his eyes didn’t quite meet yours until they did, holding just a second too long.

And maybe, you admitted to herself, you felt a pull too. You were lonely. It was clear he was, too, and that unspoken connection put you at ease in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Sure,” you said softly.

Jongho leaned in, his voice dropping, as though he were about to share a secret. “Why Keats? Why not something easy, like Poe? Do you know how many essays I’ve graded on The Tell-Tale Heart or The Raven? Yours was the only outlier.”

You tilted her head, a small, thoughtful smile playing on your lips. You rubbed your fingers absentmindedly against the glass, the tequila inside still untouched. “I don’t know,” you said with a shrug, though your tone suggested otherwise. “I guess it’s just… comforting, you know?”

“Comforting?” He blinked, genuinely puzzled. “You think melancholy is comforting?”

You nodded, meeting his eyes directly. “Yeah. It’s like... it’s always there. Inevitable. You can’t escape it, but once you stop trying to, it feels less heavy. More like... a part of you. It’s something to be embraced, something to be experienced. It’s human. I think Keats got that.”

For a moment, Jongho didn’t respond. Your words hung in the air, resonating with something buried deep within him. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, his thoughts turning over themselves. “Most people run from it,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “They see it as a weakness. Something to be fixed.”

“Maybe it is,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to your drink. “But it’s also honest. Keats thought melancholy was the start of a new transition in life. Drowning it out by distracting yourself with alcohol or drugs would just ruin it.”

Jongho looked down at his drink. Your words struck a chord he hadn’t felt in years. This was the kind of conversation he used to have with Emma, back when they stayed up late talking about literature and life before the silence crept in. He felt the faintest spark—a flicker of something he couldn’t name. Connection, maybe.

“You think there’s harm in a little distraction?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes anything but. His gaze lingered on your face, studying every detail as though seeing you for the first time.

Maybe it was the whiskey or the fact that there was no desk separating you this time, but he realized how different you looked up close. Your eyes were wide, filled with a youthful energy that seemed so foreign to him. They practically radiated life, a stark contrast to the weight he carried in his own. The soft glow of the red Christmas lights hanging above reflected off your skin, casting a warm, rosy hue across your cheeks. He hadn’t noticed before—maybe he hadn’t let himself—but you were pretty.

You tilted your head slightly, your lips curling up in a shy smile as you considered his words. “I guess it depends on the distraction,” you said, your voice light, but there was a hint of curiosity there.

He took a slow sip of the dark liquid, his gaze never leaving yours. “Some distractions are good,” he said, his tone low and measured. “When you’re feeling stuck. Or....”

“Lonely?” you suggested, your voice soft and careful.

His expression shifted, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t his usual polite, practiced smile; it was something quieter, more real. Like you’d hit on something he wasn’t ready to say out loud.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to really look at him. The crinkles around his eyes and the subtle greys in his hair hinted at his age, but there was a boyish charm in the way his lips curved into that sly, gummy smile. It made you wonder what he looked like a decade ago, though you suspected he’d been just as magnetic.

Professor Choi was handsome—you’d known that since the first lecture. Most of the students had agreed on it, passing whispered comments and exchanging sly glances whenever he turned to write on the board. You’d harbored your own quiet crush on him, but it had been harmless, distant, academic.

This, however, was different.

Here, in this dimly lit bar, with his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a sliver of his collarbone, his salt-and-pepper hair slightly tousled, and the way his eyes lingered on you—longer than they should—you felt something shift. A warmth spread through you, pooling in your stomach, forcing you to press your thighs together under the table. 

You traced the rim of your glass with your finger, the smooth rhythm giving you a moment to collect your thoughts. His gaze followed the movement of your hand, his whiskey glass forgotten for the moment.

“And what kind of distraction are you looking for, Professor?” you asked finally, your voice low, testing.

His eyes flicked back to yours, and for a second, he seemed to hesitate. His smile faded into something more serious, almost contemplative. “The kind that makes you feel something…something different,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur.

There was a rawness in his words that made your breath hitch. You liked it. He wasn’t like most of the boys you talked to. Of course, he wasn’t just any boy; he was almost twenty years your senior, and with that came maturity and experience. It was different—refreshing, in a way.

You hadn’t realized how close you were to him until now. Your knees brushed under the table, a subtle contact that sent an electric spark up your spine, though neither of you acknowledged it. The scent of his cologne—a mix of mint and sandalwood—filled your nostrils, making it harder to focus. His presence was all around you now, and you couldn’t pull away.

Your gaze drifted down to his hand, still holding his drink, and there, gleaming under the bar’s soft lights, was a shiny gold band on his finger. The sight of it made something inside you tighten, and your shoulders sagged with sudden disillusionment.

“And what if you’re not sure if it’s just a harmless distraction or a momentary lapse in judgment?” you asked.

He caught your glance at his ring, and the weight of it hit him, harder than he expected. Part of him recoiled, disgusted with himself for letting things get this far. Shame settled over him like a cloak. But another part, the part that had been suffocating for so long, felt a strange relief. He was tired—tired of thinking, tired of fighting. For once, he just wanted to feel something. He twisted his wedding ring around his finger, lost in thought, before looking back at you.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

—

Jongho hissed as he watched you part your lips over his throbbing tip. You were kneeling in front of him, your knees cushioned by the fluffy pink rug that lay before your bed. You two had stumbled into your apartment not too long ago, kissing and tugging at each other’s clothes, until the desire within you grew too strong to resist, and you began palming his crotch crazily until you felt him harden in your hand. 

You guided him into your mouth, your skilled tongue swirling around his girth with delight. His cock was so hard and heavy on your tongue that you couldn’t help but bring your fingers down to your clothed heat, rubbing yourself desperately as you imagined how good he’d feel when he’s buried deep inside you. You held onto his cock with your other hand, giving it a few lazy pumps as you sucked and slurped him.

“Feels so good baby,” he panted, his gaze fixated on you. Jongho refused to blink, stuck in a trance in which he couldn’t escape. You looked so sweet with your mouth stuffed full of him, your reddened, puffy lips and teary wet eyes enticing him even further. He felt himself melting into you, his core tightening in anticipation, but he held himself off, just enough to keep enjoying your warmth. 

Jongho grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling it up into a makeshift ponytail so he could have better control. “All the way princess,”  he coached, pushing you down his length until your nose was pressed against his pelvic bone. “Just like that, good girl,” he hummed, proud to see you take all of him so easily. You gagged around him, tears blurring your vision as he guided your head up and down, his sweet, honey-like moans making your core throb. 

Your eyes fluttered up to meet him, watching intently as he tilted his head back, his brows knitting together and his mouth falling open. Each breath he took grew shakier, more unsteady, and you knew he was close. Despite his efforts, Jongho couldn’t hold it in anymore, and he reached his peak somewhat prematurely. He pushed your head down firmly, his hips stilling as he flooded into you. The taste of his salty, thick cum overpowered you, and you moaned in satisfaction over the crown of his cock, forcing him to grasp onto your hair even tighter.

“Swallow,” he rasped, fucking the last bit of cum he had left into your pretty mouth, “all of it sweetheart, don’t waste a drop.” 

You gulped his creamy white just as he demanded, the bitterness on your tongue and his desperate whines making your head spin. You came off him with a plop, licking your lips to prove you listened to his directions well. 

“Good girl,” he smiled down at you, wiping away a tear from your warm, red cheeks. His thumb lingered over your skin as he watched you lick him clean, your soft kisses on his tender head making his gut tighten in overstimulation.  

You then wrapped your fingers around him tightly, his pretty cock standing tall in your small grasp. You lined his veiny length with wet, messy kisses, grinning to yourself each time he jolted and gasped in response to your touch. When you finally pulled back to look up at him, you were met with the sight of his flushed face, his chest rising and falling heavily. A light sheen of sweat clung to his brow, and he looked utterly spent— as if he might collapse into a long slumber at any moment. 

"What's the matter, Professor?" you teased, your voice low and taunting, "Can't keep up like you used to, huh?"

Jongho chucked at your little jab. He leaned down, cupping your face tightly with his hand. “Oh, don’t worry darling, I’m just getting started.” 

—

“F-fuck!” You wailed for the nth time as you fucked yourself over his hard cock, grasping onto your headboard to keep you steady. Your thighs burned with exhaustion, each movement growing heavier and more difficult. Your pace slowed significantly, despite your determination to keep going. Each time you lost your rhythm, Jongho would send a harsh smack on your ass, warning you to keep going. 

He sat against the headboard, nipping and sucking at your tender nipples as you rode him, his big hands grasping at your rear to keep you in place. He loved how you felt in his hands, your skin so soft and malleable, a complete contrast to your wet and tight cunt. 

Smack. 

The sting ignited a fiery pleasure on your skin, but the overwhelming exhaustion had you teetering on the edge of collapse.“Please, Professor,” You begged with tears streaming down your cheeks, “just wanna cum…wanna cum on your fat cock.” 

Jongho finally gave your swollen breasts a much-needed break, plopping off your flesh and sinking back against the headboard. He looked up at you in pure fascination, completely mesmerized by your messy hair and fucked-out expression. “Then cum baby…” He cooed, “What, do you need my permission?” 

Your pace faltered once again, the little bit of strength you had left in your legs finally giving out. You yelped as he brought down yet another hard smack to your already red, sensitive skin. “Please...need help.” 

Jongho understood now. He repositioned his hands onto your hips, grasping them tightly as he took over and jerked his hips up. He pounded into you so rapidly, the sounds of your frenzied moans and smacking flesh filling up the room. 

“Almost there…” He huffed, his eyes locked onto your core, “cum baby, cum all over my dick, need to feel it.” 

Following his words, your walls tightened around him, and before you knew it, your knees buckled in and a wave of relief took over you. You fell over into his chest, crying out as he pumped himself into you slowly now, your slick gushing all over him. 

“That’s it,” He purred into your ear, your chests heaving against each other, “that’s a good girl. Made such a mess, didn’t you?” 

The way he talked to you made you dizzy, and if it was possible to cum from just being called his good girl, you most definitely would. His movements paused, giving you a chance to catch your breath. Your lips lightly traveled over his shoulder, to his neck, until you finally met his plush lips. You felt his big hands caressing your bare back as he kissed you hungrily, his lips tasting of hard whiskey and sweat. He was still inside of you, and the excitement from your moany, wet lips made him stiffen up again. 

Suddenly, he flipped you over on your back, your head falling onto your stack of pillows. You let out a soft groan as his lips pulled away from yours, longing for the kiss to linger just a moment longer. You ran your fingers through his soft, dark strands as he traced his lips over the swells of your breast, making his way down to your wet heat. You gasped loudly as he pecked your skin, his practiced tongue parting your folds until finally reached your aching clit. 

“Taste so sweet,” he moaned into you, the vibration from his deep voice making goosebumps prickle all over your skin. You were so sensitive now, each swirl of his tongue making you melt further into the mattress. 

You lost yourself in his warm mouth, arching your back and writhing in pleasure over your messed up sheets. But then, the warmth slipped away, replaced by a sudden, isolating chill. 

Jongho stood at the edge of the bed now, pulling you closer to him before abruptly lifting you up. You gasped at the sudden move, your arms and legs wrapping around him almost instantly. 

“What are you doing?” You asked, still feeling hazy and confused from the interruption until you felt him tap his cockhead on your dripping cunt. 

You had never been in this position before. It felt all too new, too risky, and you worried if he’d be able to support you all the way. “Professor, I don’t know…” you hesitated, a look of anxiety washing over your soft features. 

Jongho’s lips curled up in that same boyish grin of his. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Afraid you can’t keep up with me?” 

Your nerves disappeared and gave way to determination. "No," you scoffed, a playful glint in your eye. "I’m just worried about your back. Wouldn’t want you to pull something.” 

Jongho smirked. He liked how quick you were with your jabs. “How considerate.” 

He pointed his cockhead towards your cunt, leveling you down just enough so he could slip inside of you. You screamed out as he pulled you up and down his length, working you open like the pocket pussy he keeps locked away in his office. His unrelenting tempo forced you to hold onto his broad shoulders for dear life. 

Jongho was strong. He held you up with ease, supporting you with a tight and secure grasp under your thighs. The sounds of your broken sobs and wet skin smacking against his made your cheeks flame red, which Jongho noticed immediately. He loved seeing you so bashful. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep screaming like that, sweetie,” He said against your ear. Your pussy was so open, and each pump over his cock felt raw and hard. There was a mix of pain and pleasure; the sweet feeling of his cock massaging your walls, and the pain of him jutting into you so deep with precision. You swore you were starting to see stars.

He slowed down, and you expected to feel his cum rush inside you, but when you looked up at him, his expression softened with worry evident in his eyes. 

“Oh, you're crying baby,” He soothed as he gently placed you back on the bed. You hadn’t realized the stream of tears running down your cheeks, your mind too preoccupied with being split open over his thick cock. He quickly leaned over you, his lips brushing against your salty tears, his hands gliding soothingly along your sides. “Want me to stop?” 

Your fingers tangled in his hair once more, threading through the soft strands as he trailed kisses across your face. A soft giggle escaped you, charmed by his sudden tenderness and care. 

“I want you to cum inside me,” You whispered, your voice tinged with a burning need. 

Without haste, he slipped into you once again, this time slow and steady, his face just millimeters away from yours. He thrust into you in languid strokes, leaving soft touches all over your skin like you were a fragile vase he didn’t want to tip over. 

“You feel so good,” He praised, sucking in the soft bit of flesh at your neck, “you’re doing so well for me.” 

His pace quickened again, he was just seconds away from reaching his climax. His breath felt hot against your skin, his dark brown eyes glinting with a fiery desire. “Kiss me,” he whispered, his voice thick with need, “kiss me when I cum inside you.” 

It wasn’t an odd request, but the way he said it—so desperate, so filled with need—you felt you had no other choice but to oblige. You pulled him in closer, your lips finding his once more. You both moved with equal fervor, your hands cradling onto his strong jaw as his cock twitched inside of you. Jongho groaned, his hips going still as he spilled into you, his warm seed filling you up. You laid like that for a while, your lips continuing to move in sync as his pearly white cum leaked out of you. 

—

Later that night, you rested against his chest, your breathing steady as he ran his fingers through your hair. You were deep asleep now, but Jongho remained wide awake, his gaze fixed on the wedding band he'd placed on your nightstand. A wave of guilt slowly crept in, sinking its teeth into him. He wondered what Emma might be doing at this very moment. Losing his phone at the bar meant she most likely bombarded him with calls and texts, desperate for answers—wondering where he was, if he was okay, when he was coming home. He relished his time with you, the feeling of experiencing something new, something that made him feel alive. But your words haunted him. "What if you're not sure if it's just a harmless distraction or a momentary lapse in judgment?"

He thought it over, turning it in his mind like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. This wasn’t just about one night. It wasn’t about the alcohol, or the thrill of doing something he thought would give him a sense of control. He’d replaced drink with sex, thinking it would numb the ache, solve his midlife crisis, fill the emptiness. But it didn’t. It just made everything more complicated.

He felt even less of a man now. The feeling of power that once came with teaching, with being wanted, had faded. In the wake of it all, he felt small, insignificant. What was the point of it all? What was he really searching for? The guilt had been creeping in, but now it was fully consuming him.

This wasn’t just about breaking away from his marriage; it was about breaking down the man he thought he was. And as he lay there, staring at the ceiling, it became painfully clear: this wasn’t a solution. It was a reminder of everything he had lost and could never reclaim.

The warmth of your body against his and your hair's softness felt like a fleeting comfort. It made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t in years, but it didn’t fix the hole inside him. And no matter how much he wanted to ignore it, the truth remained: he was still trapped in a life he didn’t know how to leave behind.

a/n: feedback is appreciated

[itsswritten]

finally.

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader, Nessian (platonic) x reader, fluff

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: Pregnancy reveal, mentions of infertility/struggles falling pregnant, symptoms of pregnancy.

Summary: After years of trying and learning to let go, you are finally gifted your beautiful baby miracle miracles.

Wings Universe - More from this world.

“Gods you really are looking radiant today, Flower!” Elodie beamed, nudging you gently with her shoulder. 

The sun was bright among the wild blossoms, sunlight filtering down to touch your skin with a feverish kiss. The season was slowly shifting from Spring to Summer. Plants were growing larger, petals spreading wider, the pollen in the air stronger. There was a buzz among the land of the Night Court, as nature geared itself for this transformation. You had felt the change in temperature, noticed how the rays licked your skin. Leaving yourself and your friends glowing, sunkissed, glimmering from working in the meadows all day. 

But radiant? That was not the word you would use.

Elodie’s compliment had your brows furrowing gently, bringing your dirt covered hand to wipe the bead of sweat that threatened to roll down your cheek. You weren’t sure how to take the compliment. It described the opposite of everything you were feeling.

Perhaps bloated, and sluggish was more accurate. Out of sorts? You couldn’t quite figure out why, there had been no changes to your routine. Yet everything about you felt, well, just different.

Even Azriel had noticed some subtle changes. Ever the Spymaster noticed everything, especially about his precious mate. Or so he thought. He had mentioned the other day that your scent was sweeter than usual. The typical tones of vanilla and honey were weaved in with a hint of something else he couldn’t quite decipher. Azriel had taken it upon himself to touch every inch of your skin to uncover what, only to come to no answer. 

That had been a long night. A night of caresses and grazes. Not that you were complaining.

Glancing down at your fingers spread within the cool damp soil of the meadows, they flexed under the sponginess of the dirt. You could feel the vitality pulse beneath your fingertips before pulling them out. Glancing upon the skin that hadn’t been touched by dirt yet. Radiant? Perhaps. You always had a glow to you, all fairies did. That unexplainable aura that lit up any room. But maybe just maybe, you had been shining a little brighter. 

Maybe.

Casting a fertilising charm within the ground had been today’s task. Along with your usual working group you had headed to the meadows and woodlands on the outskirts of the Night Court. This particular part of your job, the more physical aspect, was one you usually relished in. The ache of your muscles and bones at the end of a hard day of graft, usually, gave you some kind of instant gratification. But fatigue was plaguing you.

You had been sleeping more than usual. Being a Fairy meant you were always rose with that hot shining beacon in the sky, but there had been numerous mornings recently where Azriel had to coax you from your slumber. The sunshine no longer acting as your alarm. Azriel would rouse you with whispered compliments and gentle kisses. Sometimes, his shadows would stir you too, brushing your skin with their cooling touch.

There had even been times when Azriel had let you sleep in. Never a working day of course. Gods be damned, Azriel knew better than that. A day missed at the meadow was the end of the world. Or at least your world. Azriel learnt in the early years of friendship that you took your duty very seriously. So on the days where he knew you had nowhere to be– nowhere other than his arms. He let you sleep.

“Honestly y/n you have this glow about you…” Elodie continued, turning fully to you now her own hands pulling out of the soil. She gently brushed them down her honey coloured dress, her apron picking up the soil as she wiped them. The sun cast a gentle glow across her deep skin, golden eyes glinting with curiosity. A curiosity you wanted to question but before you could, the call for lunch was bellowed across the meadow. 

Food wrapped in little gingham cloths were passed round, a parcel finding its way to your lap. You were starving you realised, as your tummy made a small groaning noise. Hastily you unravelled the packed lunch, the sweet recognisable scent filling the air around you, a smile spreading on your plump lips at today’s choice.

Cake and jam. Your favourite.

The little parcel was packed with nuts, berries, and veggies. But your sweet tooth had your fingers itching to pick up the sponge cake. Licking your lips gently, you brought the sweet slice, covered in a slab of strawberry jam to your lips. Taking a bite of your favourite sweet treat. 

Only it wasn’t sweet.

Instantly you gagged.

The chewed up cake quickly came rolling out of your mouth as you discreetly caught it in your hand.

“Is the food off?” Elodie hushed quietly, turning to you as she inspected your lunch. 

Your group always took turns bringing in food for the day. And you truly couldn’t knock your friends baking. Perhaps a little stereotypical, but fairies were very domestic. Not only great with plants and gardening, but also sewing, crafting, and of course baking. Gus in particular, whose cake you had just spat out was probably the best baker of all the Hollow. 

Shaking your head quickly, you secretly hid the chewed up cake underneath your berries. Your tongue swilling the metallic taste the cake had filled your mouth with. You couldn’t bear Gus finding out you’d spat out his food. The poor male would be heartbroken. 

“No, no it isn’t. It’s fine I promise. I don’t know what came over me,” you hurried out a whisper. “I’ve been feeling a little off recently. Maybe I’m under the weather.”

Placing her lunch to the side, your friend looked at you with her deep warm eyes, concerned etched into her brows as she gently pressed the back of her hand on your forehead.

Chewing your lip you let your friend examine you. “You don’t have a temperature…” she muttered, more to herself than to you as she began to fuss.

Leaning closer then, her hands clasped around your cheeks. Her grip was slightly firm as your lips were squished into a pout. She didn’t notice though, not as her eyes began to quickly flicker over every line and curve of your face. Her meticulous scrutiny not letting up. A glimmer of something winked across her face, catching her off guard if only for a second before her brows furrowed.

Then she began to sniff you.

“El, what are you doing?” You asked, tone annoyed and bashful, as you swatted her looming face away lightly. She was naturally quite a tactile fairy, but even this was a bit much for her. 

Elodie had sat back now, her eyes widening. It was as though you could see in her eyes the pieces falling into place, but for a puzzle you weren't aware of.

“Thank the Mother,” she whispered, her lips stretching to a smile, before she clasped your hand pulling you away from the group.

“El?” You were annoyed now. Your fingers were flexing at your sides, as she had pulled you into a field filled with tulips. The pink and orange hues swayed gently in the breeze, as an uneasiness began to roll over you. 

“It all makes sense now. How you were so emotional when you saw those baby hedgehogs the other day–”

Shaking your head, you lifted your hands in confusion. You didn’t understand.

“Your scent, your glow…your wings!”

There was an uncomfortable rising feeling under your skin at the signs your friend began to mention, the symptoms you knew all too well that were rolling off her tongue. You knew them so well because for a period of time you had analysed every part of yourself hoping to see these aspects, only to not ever see a glimmer.

It couldn’t be?

Quickly glancing over your shoulder, you squinted to take a hard look at your wings. Furling the iridescent membranes closer to you, as you examined the very appendages your friend was peering so intently at.

There was nothing really different…except maybe there was. You squinted harder.

The tips. 

They’d turned a darker pink.

Your heart was in your throat, an audible gasp leaving your lips as you turned to get a closer look. Spinning in a circle, round and round. Only to find the exact thing Elodie had noticed.

“Wait, Elodie. No, it can’t be?” your lip quivered as realisation began to sink in.

You and Azriel had decided two years ago that you wanted to expand your family. Especially seeing your loved ones with their own growing families. Feyre and Rhys had Nyx and Selene. And of course, Nesta and Cassian recently had their little Athena.

Over the years you had tried everything, taking tonics, eating certain foods, you had even scheduled a very meticulous conceiving plan. But nothing worked. There had been numerous appointments with Madja, and even the healers and midwives of the Hollow. But everything you did was futile. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t fall pregnant.

There was a period of time your mind tore you apart. Speculating and obsessively analysing the possibilities of why you couldn’t conceive. That perhaps it was you and Azriel that weren’t compatible. Biologically. That the Mother had made a mistake with you. That maybe things would have been different if you were Illyrian, not ‘lesser’ fae. That your own body was not strong enough to nurture his offspring. Defective somehow.

That duration of your life had been hard, and even harder to move on from. But with time, and endless love and support from your mate you eventually let go of that dream.

But now, that slither of hope was growing brighter than the summer sun beaming down on you.

Eloide, your longest friend. Had her hands clasped around yours. Her own eyes filled with a watery brim, mirroring your own.

She nodded with a smile.

You were pregnant.

𓇢𓆸

Azriel stood darkly behind his High Lord who was seated casually at the head of the meeting. Azriel was positioned on the left, Cassian on the right. The perfect guards to the Night Court. The large obsidian table stretched across the room. High Lords littered down the long ornate slab, all wearing the colours of their respective court. A few of Rhys’ closest alliances had joined for this gathering, discussing borders and peace treaties.

The meeting had begun in the morning, and by the stacks of documents officials were passing round it didn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.

Azriel was focused, stood clad in his Illyrian leathers, blue syphons gleaming as the muscles in his jaw flexed. Despite this being an era of peace, with so many High Lord’s and emissaires in the room he was on high alert. His shadows gently grazed along the floor of the room as Azriel stayed attuned to the room's conversation.

One of his shadows seemed restless though, vibrating slightly behind his wing before curling up to his ear. Revealing nothing but nervous energy. 

With a subtle jolt, Azriels wings unfurled slightly as he felt a small ripple down the bond. It was skittish and nervous, unease seeping from you down the thread.

Cassian gave Azriel a sideways glance, an unspoken question if everything was okay. But Azriel only stood straighter for his answer, reclaiming his composure as he sent a gentle vibration down the warm glowing bond.

Is everything okay, my love?

You were quite a passionate soul, an empath. Oftentimes, involuntarily, Azriel would feel all types of emotion spill down the bond. It was one of the reasons he loved you, a quality he found endearing. How open to love you were, how you felt the sorrow and joy of others wholeheartedly. But this uneasiness left him unsettled.

Azriel was only met with silence on your end. Spurring him to send another ripple. His shadows started to become more restless, spreading and striking behind his wings subtly, as if displaying the uneasiness of their master or perhaps they were twitching out of eagerness for something else– for someone else.

Azriel was usually quite a composed male, cool and collected was the blueprint of his facade. Yet, when it came to you and your welfare, any patience went quickly out the window.

He was about to send one of his shadowy tendrils to look for you, to check you were okay in the meadows. Also on the verge of sending another question down the bond. Only for the large oak doors to swing open with a force that flushed the room with a gust of wind.

You.

It was you, his beautiful shining mate. 

A very beautiful dishevelled mate, however.

You were flushed, cheeks hot and rosy as you stumbled into the large meeting room. Your lovely pink dress was covered in soil, the lacy strap hanging off your shoulder. The flowers you’d braided into your hair that morning were hanging limp only by a few strands. Pink hues of light flickered across the room, as it became obvious to everyone your beautiful wings were unfurled behind you.

There had been no stopping you once you’d got your confirmation, you had flown urgently to River House. Storming through the hallways with a haste one wouldn’t usually associated with such a delicate fairy.

But you needed him. You needed your mate.

You needed Azriel, and no meeting, no court officials or High Lords were going to stop you.

Your eyes instantly found those hazel beacons, eyes locked in on your handsome shadow of a lover. If you weren’t so encaptured by him, you may have noticed the panicked scrape of Rhys’ chair as he stood in concern, or how Cassian left his post towards you. Hand twitching by his sword, ready to strike at any recognition of the danger that must have caused this display by you.

If you’d been listening you might have noticed how the room had fallen quickly into a silence, all heads snapping to you. Momentarily, eyes glazing over the iridescent lights that were now reflecting off your wings.

A very rare sight.

“What a beauty…” someone purred, although you didn’t hear them.

Azriel was beside you in mere seconds, his shadows consuming you protectively moving you slightly into the pocket realm. The tendrils coiled on the corners of your vision so you could only see Azriel, who tenderly had a hand pressed against your jaw, thumb gently grazing the dirt spread on your face. His other arm protectively wrapped around you pulling you close.

Something must have happened Azriel concluded. Fear seeped into his mind as he began to imagine the worst.

Your energy, the vulnerable look in your eyes and tousled appearance had Azriel reeling. Itching to figure out what had caused this. Had a danger broken into the court? Had his shadows missed something? Were you hurt?

“My love, what is it? What’s wrong?” there was an urgency in his tone.

You shook your head, tears rolling down your cheeks. Azriel was confused. You were in a state of disarray, but he could feel nothing of the sort through the bond. Instead there was an overwhelming feeling of joy and love rippling through.

“There is nothing wrong, love…finally everything is right,” you cried through your smile.

These were not Azriel’s choice of words, but later on when Cassian and Rhys relayed the scenario to the rest of the family they said you looked a little mad. Deranged even. Your tangled appearance and abrupt entrance was unlike anything they’d seen from you.

Azriel was quick to move you from here, his shadows engulfing you both as they transported you to a small lounge in the house. He wanted you away from prying eyes, and needed to check you were safe. That you weren’t hurt. His hands were still cupped around your face as he began to inspect you carefully. His eyes analysing your expression, shadows circling around your ankles to check for anything that might explain your distress– no it wasn’t distress, it wasn’t madness, it was joy.

“Breathe my little butterfly, what’s got you so worked up that you barged into a High Lord’s meeting?” Azriel cooed, his expression softening as he recognised the vulnerability in your eyes. Large scarred hands lightly brushed your unrurly hair, his fingers delicately bringing the dress strap back over your shoulder as he tried to soothe you with his touch.

“Everything is finally right Azriel,'' you whispered, repeating the words from earlier. For a moment Azriel couldn’t understand. The disarray, the vulnerability, the uneasiness. How could everything finally be right?

But then he felt it, the rippling down the bond. That unconditional love again, joy, delight…but also relief. Relief that something had finally happened. Something you had both been waiting, praying and dreaming of.

The Shadowsinger tilted his head, his hands dropping from your face, not daring to breathe the words himself as the emotions he felt began to paint a vivid picture.

“I’m pregnant.”

In that moment Azriel crashed down onto his knees, an overwhelming sensation consuming him as he digested the truth you spoke. It was as if at that moment, everything slowly slotted into place. The clues he hadn’t even known were clues sung to him. Your scent, your temperament and emotions, your wings. Everything he had acknowledged subconsciously, had been tucked away in his mind because he couldn’t phantom the possibility– the possibility of being wrong. Getting your hopes up.

His hands softly came to your hips, drawing you closer as he rested his forehead against your stomach.

“We’re having a baby?” Azriel’s voice broke, the words barely audible.

“Babies.” You whispered back.

𓇢𓆸

Cassian had been pacing back and forth outside the lounge for well over an hour now. He’d desperately called down the bond to Nesta, who had arrived in a hurry with their little Athena in her arms. His reaction may have been slightly over dramatic. But Cassian assured her that if Nesta had seen the state you’d run into the meeting room earlier, she would be behaving the same way.

Nesta didn’t really believe him, her mate had a way of being quite theatrical in situations.

There had been no danger, Azriel had spoken into Rhys mind and it had been passed onto Cassian. So Cassian spent the time speculating on what could have brought such an uncharacteristically reaction from you. He’d seen you when things didn’t go the plan in the meadows and assumed something at work must have gone array.

Nesta sat lazily in a chair outside the lounge, book in hand. Every now and then, glancing up at her mate who was wearing a mark in the stone floor from his pacing. Cassian held his little baby while he patrolled outside the room, whispering theories on what possibly could have happened to Auntie y/n.

“I don’t know Thena…maybe the ladybirds lost their spots again?” He mused, recalling a previous drama you had shared with him once, that had sent you a little haywire last year.

“All spots are accounted for,” your voice sang. Cassian hadn’t even noticed you and Azriel had stepped out of the room.

“Sorry brother I didn’t know you were waiting for us” Azriel smiled softly, giving his brother’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Cassian’s expression softened, as Nesta came to his side. Her arm looping around his free side while she kissed her little babe on the head. “Is everything okay though?” Cassian asked, concern still lingering.

“More than okay,” you beamed, tears quickly filling your eyes again.

Cassian and Nesta glanced between you both. Their expressions desperately trying to figure out what was happening. The penny dropped for Nesta first. Her own lips pulled into a genuine smile.

“Thank the Mother” she grinned, stepping forward to embrace you tightly.

The tears were spilling then, as you hugged your friend back. Little sobs racking through your body. You thought you’d cried it all out in Azriel’s arms, that there were no more tears left to give. But now, in the embrace of your friends– your family. Reality sunk in much deeper.

It only took Cassian a few moments and a glance at Azriel’s overjoyed but emotional expression to understand what was happening.

“Truly brother?” He beamed. Azriel nodded, a small tear running down his face as Cassian bear-hugged his friend, making sure Athena wasn’t squished between the giant Illyrians. 

It didn’t take long for Cassian to start shouting it from the rooftops, bellowing down the halls of River house that two baby Shadowsingers were on their way. And of course, naturally, the day turned into a celebration, a gathering with your loved ones to toast your beautiful miracle babies. 

Later that night, after Rhys and Cassian had drowned themselves in whiskey with a competition of who would be the favourite uncle.

Azriel joined you in bed, you were propped up by plush pillows against the large headboard, night dress adorned as you gazed down at your tummy. Your hands resting lightly on your stomach.

“Finally” you whispered, as Azriel laid beside you, his own hand covering both of yours as he nuzzled into your neck. Inhaling your scent.

He breathed deeply against your throat, relief and joy rippling through every inch of his skin, “Finally.”

a/n: Here is is!!! So sorry this took so long, I've been so busy with lots of interviews and prepping, which has eaten into a lot of my energy recently. But I hope this was worth the wait! I think the next scene that was voted for was the truth or dare/drinking games which would be set pre bond snapping/in the friendship era! So I'll try write that next unless there's something else first you'd like? Anyway I love writing about these two, their my little fluff couple <3 - Lottie x

Forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria

[deunmiu-dessie]

ⅸ▬ ⁽ 𝑔𝑜𝒷𝓁𝒾𝓃𝓈 ⁾

𝓌𝑜𝓇��� 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₂˖₇ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : unedited, short, gangbang (??), NSFW,  explicit content, teratophilia, goblin/human, unprotected sex, creampie, overstimulation, dubcon, rape/noncon elements, sloppy writing, rushed.

૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა ʳᵃʷʳ ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ : this is literally the shortest one-shot in the entire monster fucker series of mine, and that's because it's rushed. i didn't feel like adding plot at all either. but hey, if it got my coochie wet, it should get your coochie wet. ( feeding ya'll so you guys don't starve waiting on the dragon one-shot )

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎: after the death of your brother, it's now your sole duty to provide for you and your mom--- but the woods can be a very scary place.

꒰male!goblins₊⊹ afab!reader꒱

"𝑀other! I'm leaving! "

Silence draped itself over the house, as if time itself had come to a halt. Your mother's voice remained absent, and the absence of anyone bidding you farewell left you with a heavy heart. A gentle sigh escaped your lips and with a tender touch, you closed the weathered wooden door, shouldering the weight of the knapsack upon your back. As your eyes met the foreboding darkness that veiled the forest, a disconcerting feeling settled within the depths of your chest.

In the absence of your brother, who had always been the pillar of support for both of you, you found yourself embracing the role of a caretaker. Your mother, overwhelmed with grief, was unable to fulfill the basic necessities of sustenance and safety. She remained motionless on the bed, her tears flowing ceaselessly, as the days and nights blended together. It was now your turn to rise above the despair and take charge, to bring solace and stability.

With a firm grip on the handle of your short dagger, you fortified your nerves and ventured into the gloomy forest, your knife clenched tightly in a state of restless eagerness. Although the weight of your backpack was as light as a feather, it bore down upon you like an immense burden. Swiftly pivoting, you remained on high alert, ensuring your guard was steadfastly upheld.

Into the heart of the sprawling forest you ventured, your footsteps dancing upon the moss-covered ground, carrying you further away from the gentle glow that had guided your way. The once comforting sense of security dissipated like morning mist, leaving you engulfed in an eerie darkness. The comforting sense of security that had embraced you earlier now vanished into thin air. 

  The path you had treaded upon vanished, leaving no trace of retreat, yet your determination remained unwavering. You pressed on, driven by the desire to reach the berries nestled amidst the dense foliage, and then eventually find your way back home.

As you ventured deeper into the woods, your brother's words echoed in your mind like a haunting melody. He warned you about the goblins, elusive creatures that supposedly roamed the shadows, waiting for unsuspecting intruders to cross into their domain. Despite the ominous tales, he assured you that they were harmless. The image of a goblin, with its peculiar shade of green and diminutive stature, danced in your imagination. How strange it was to think that such creatures existed in the same world as you, yet remained hidden from your sight.

Ever watchful, your gaze remained fixated upon the intricate engravings adorning the tree trunks. A circular insignia defiantly marked with a decisive strike, served as your guiding beacon. Hopeful, you pressed on, faithfully tracing the trail laid before you. 

As the gentle breeze whispered through the foliage, a symphony of rustling leaves enveloped the air. Time seemed to slow down as you cautiously pivoted toward the bush, your trembling hands betraying your anxious state. A surge of adrenaline coursed through your veins, igniting your nerves like a blazing inferno. 

 Suddenly, a deep growl pierced the tranquility, resonating through the very core of your being. Despite the weapon clutched tightly in your grasp, an inexplicable terror seized your heart, threatening to consume your every thought. In an instant, instinct took over, propelling you to turn swiftly and flee, your nimble form weaving through the dense forest, effortlessly evading the entangling vines and treacherous rocks that dared to impede your escape.

You're unsure of how long you've been running but the searing pain in your lungs prompted you to slow your pace, seeking refuge by leaning against a sturdy tree. Your hand brushed against a peculiar marking, distinct from the familiar circle with a slash. You look up quickly, this time, an imposing 'X' catches your eye, accompanied by a haunting message etched jaggedly below: 'go back'. A shiver runs down your spine as the unsettling awareness of being observed, hunted even, envelopes you.

In a moment of desperation, you tightly shut your eyes, as if trying to shield yourself from the malevolent forces that surrounded you and pray. Whispers of wicked laughter dance through the air, reverberating within the depths of the expansive forest. With a quick swivel, you scan your surroundings, hoping to catch a glimpse of any flicker of life amidst the shadows.

   Suddenly, a jolt of pain shot through your body, causing you to gasp. Your eyes widened as you felt a sharp object pierce your ankle, momentarily stealing your breath away. In a reflexive response, you released your grip on the dagger, allowing it to fall to the forest floor. Bending down, you gingerly extracted the needle-like object.

 Yet, as if a veil of mist had descended upon your eyes, your once clear vision became hazy and indistinct. With a determined shake of your head, you attempted to dispel the fog that had insidiously infiltrated your thoughts. Grasping the dagger once more, you struggled to regain your balance, stumbling clumsily as you rose to your full stature.

Alas, the forest floor seemed to twist and twirl in a dizzying dance before your eyes, causing you to succumb to its disorienting spell. In a sudden and unexpected motion, you found yourself sprawled on the ground, the knife slipping from your grasp and soaring away from your reach.

As the atmosphere grew thick with sinister chuckles, it became evident that you had unwittingly stumbled into the realm of the mischievous Goblins. Overwhelmed by frustration, tears of despair trickled down your cheeks, while your determination urged you to inch closer to the gleaming blade.

Suddenly, a force seized your trembling leg, causing you to cry out in fear. Frantically, you thrashed about, employing erratic kicks in a desperate bid to dislodge the mysterious grip.

 It seemed that whatever the Goblins had put on that needle was finally kicking in. Gradually, your valiant resistance waned, your feeble attempts to resist their hold proving futile. A haunting laughter reverberated near your ear, causing you to cautiously shift your gaze towards the sound, tears streaming down your face as you found yourself ensnared by the gaze of large black eyes.

Abruptly, the creature's mouth parted, emitting a series of chitters that harmonized with the surrounding Goblins, creating an otherworldly symphony of communication. You plead with them, your tears cascading down your face and finding solace in the crevices of your hairline. The Goblin closest to you inches forward, its head tilting inquisitively, while its its gaze fixated on the shimmering trails of tears.

The soft murmur of their conversation is the sole sound that penetrates the deafening thump of your heartbeat. You have no clue what they're saying but the delicate caress of a hand on your cheek offers solace as it brushes away the tears that stream down your face.

In total, it appears that there are four figures surrounding you, two positioned near your feet and one on either side. Despite the fact that they are armed, they exhibit a sense of nonchalance, keeping their weapons idle by their sides.

As you begin to relax a bit, a glimmer of hope flickers within you, and you that they perceive you as harmless and decide to leave you here. A gentle warmth caresses your cheek, prompting you to slowly turn towards its source, only to recoil in fear at the looming presence of the monstrous being.

Its mouth, without warning, descends upon yours, planting a sloppy kiss that catches you off guard. Your eyes widen in shock, and you instinctively attempt to pull away, tears welling up in your eyes.

As if in a surreal reverie, a slimy appendage gently prods against your quivering lips, the creature displaying an unsettling indifference toward your futile resistance. Abruptly, a hand gropes your breast, its jagged nails tearing through the delicate fabric.

A gasp escapes your lips, mingling with the invasive kiss, and the intruder's long and thick tongue slides down your throat effortlessly. Paradoxically, this unwelcome intrusion only serves to ignite a fierce determination within you, intensifying your struggle against its grip.

  Like a peculiar elixir, the mingling of the goblins' sweet saliva and your own descends upon your flushed cheeks. In that fleeting moment, you relinquish your futile attempts to escape their clutches. Your limbs refuse to obey your commands, and you find yourself overwhelmed by their sheer numbers. After all, if their intention was to end your life, they could easily do so, just like they had done to your brother.

 Amidst the haze that clouds your sight, you find solace in the notion that this situation could have been far more dreadful. This kiss, though not your first, stands out among the many others you've experienced from the boys in the village who seem to always disregard your lack of consent. Hell, it might be the drug affecting your thoughts, or perhaps it's the overwhelmingly sweet taste of its saliva, but you don't particularly object to your current state.

 Your eyes pop open at the sound of your bindings being ripped, exposing your breasts to the crisp breeze. Your nipples perk up and harden, as if beckoning one of the mischievous creatures to come and taste. Your thighs clench, clit pulsing as a hot mouth descends around your areola, suckling strongly, teeth delicately grazing your tender skin.

A wave of pleasure crashes over you, your moans escape into the Goblin's mouth. Your eyes remain shut, lost in a world where only the sensations matter. The impish creature, with clumsy hands, explores your other breast, teasing and coaxing your nipple. 

  You realize briefly how aroused you are, how slippery your cunt is ( so much so that it’s almost uncomfortable) and your cheeks flush in embarrassment. It's a secret that you'll hold dear forever, how these monstrous beings awaken a desire within you that far surpasses anything that men from your village could ever offer.

Riiiip

You quickly break away from the kiss, gasping for air, only to find yourself staring at the two Goblins by your feet. Your pants are torn, the hasty stitching coming undone effortlessly. Your knickers, worn and slightly tattered, had not been replaced in some time, but you always made sure to keep them thoroughly clean. 

  Your head is turned back, and before you can react, those lips are on yours once more. Your heart races as you feel your knickers being tugged down your thighs, your legs pushed up, exposing your dripping cunt.

Your pussy quivers as a rough tongue swipes across the expanse of your slit. It has you grinding wantonly against its eager mouth shamefully. The Goblin seems to like the way you taste because it grabs your thighs and heaves them over its small shoulders, burying its face deeper into your cunt, lapping excessively and for a moment you're seeing stars.

You arch your back, offering yourself up to its insistent mouth, lost in a haze of bliss. It devours you with a fervor that leaves you breathless, each lick sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. At that moment, nothing else exists but the overwhelming sensation of being consumed by pure, unadulterated lust.

Your eyes flutter closed, and the relentless flick of its coarse tongue against your throbbing clit makes you pulse needly. The kiss stops momentarily and you take that time to breathe deeply, chest heaving as the other Goblins take their time suckling on your breast and eating you out. 

A wet sensation brushes against your lips, prompting you to extend your tongue and savor the warm, bittersweet taste. With a soft moan escaping your lips, you gaze upwards, feeling your cheeks flush at the sight of the Goblin's cock hovering above your mouth.

The girth is thick but it's not long, a good 4 inches at best. Slowly, it guides itself into your hot mouth, and you savor the intoxicating sweetness of its precum on your eager tastebuds. You obediently bob your head, your cheeks growing even hotter as the Goblin's hands entwine in your hair, dictating the rhythm at its own whims.

  A surge of electricity courses through your hips as your clit is slurped on harshly, your eagerness taking over as you gyrate your hips with increasing fervor against the skilled tongue, craving more of its enthralling touch. The sudden, forceful thrust of the other Goblin’s cock down your throat elicits a mixture of sensations, from a deep gag to an overwhelming sense of pleasure and your legs tremble uncontrollably, wrapping around the Goblin's head, as you cum with a soft, high-pitched moan.

With a hint of jealousy, the other one shoves the Goblin away and eagerly plunges his tongue into your throbbing core, chittering at the taste of you. You find yourself utterly vulnerable, incapable of reaching down to push his head away, cunt sensitive and pulsing.

  You suddenly heave as its cock hits the back of your throat, bittersweet thick, sticky cum shooting into your mouth. You gulp it down, the viscosity coating your tongue as you eagerly suck on the bulbous tip to get every last drop of it. The Goblin lets out a guttural moan before pulling away, collapsing onto the lush greenery.

 A gentle breeze caresses your sensitive nipples as the other mischievous Goblin frees them from its warm mouth, straddling your stomach and pressing your breasts together, sliding its cock in between the valley and thrusting. Your lips part, eagerly enveloping the swollen tip as it reaches your mouth.

The Goblin that had decided to eat you out first had maneuvered itself to your head. With a perverted gaze, it pleasures itself, mesmerized by the sight of its tribe member's pulsating cock disappearing into the velvety embrace of your breasts and then past your fleshy lips.

 You let out a squeal of surprise as a painful thickness pushes into you, tears immediately wetting your cheeks at the discomfort. You attempt to move your hips back, trying to get away from the intruding cock. The goblin grabbed the fat of your hips, anchoring itself. Its clumsy fingers dance over your clit, soothing the ache with each teasing stroke. Pushing in until its small balls rest against your plump ass.

  And as soon as it noticed your body relaxing, it began to thrust, its head thrown back in wicked laughter, before glancing downwards, captivated by the sight of its green cock disappearing inside you, marveling at how tight your pussy was gripping him. Oblivious to its actions, the Goblin intensified its circular caresses on your clit, overstimulating your bundle of nerves. You cried out, cunt spasming and quivering around its cock, you came once more– leaving a pearlescent ring of cream around the base of him.

The mischievous creature nestled between your breasts finally cums, tiny hips faltering as its seed trickles down your chin and breasts. Succumbing to temptation, you welcome the tip into your mouth, savoring every last drop of. Its taste was nothing short of addictive.

A thick warmth fills your cunt, coating your gummy walls in a sticky fluid. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, you feel so full and sated. The weight of the two Goblins pressed against your skin, sends a shiver down your spine. Darkness creeps in, but you welcome it, too lost in the moment to care, and whatever they gave you hadn't worn off yet.

The moment your eyes fluttered open, a blanket of darkness surrounded you, the gentle chirping of crickets filling your ears and the icy touch of the night air jolting you awake. Sitting upright, you realized you were situated at the forest's edge, your cozy dwelling just a short distance away. 

Gradually adjusting to the lack of light, you discovered an array of food spread out before you, your hunger pangs intensifying as your stomach rumbled. Without hesitation, you indulged in the succulent berries, pondering whether it was all a mere dream. However, the lingering sensation of the cold breeze caressing your exposed nipples and the stickiness clinging to your thighs contradicted that notion. 

Gathering as much food as you could carry, you stood up and made a swift exit, calling out for your mother. You looked behind you, the feeling of being watched overwhelming. Tomorrow, you vowed to return and express your gratitude to those unseen eyes.

[aventurineswife]

Pathetic Sunday is the Best!

Summary: In the tranquil gardens, you share a heartwarming stroll with Sunday. As he nervously admires your exposed ankles, you playfully tease him.

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Fluff, Soft Romance, Slightly Suggestive.

Warnings: Exposed Ankles.

A/N: I TRIED MY BEST!! 😇🤭 I'll probably write more of him being a pathetic simp of yours (and to improve my writings) lol

Inspired by

Tags: @moonlix14-blog

The air in the Oak Family’s quarters was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, a stark contrast to the chaos that often surrounded them. You found yourself wandering through the vibrant gardens, enchanted by the colorful blossoms swaying gently in the warm breeze. It was a realm unlike any other, a sanctuary that Sunday had crafted for those weary of the world.

As you admired the petals glistening in the sunlight, you heard the soft crunch of gravel behind you. Turning, you saw Sunday approaching, his signature tailcoat billowing slightly with each step. His hair caught the light, and for a moment, you were captivated by how the halo behind him glimmered like a gentle beacon.

“Ah, [Name],” he said, his eyes brightening as they locked onto yours. There was an unmistakable warmth in his gaze, one that made your heart flutter. “What brings you to the garden today?”

“I just needed some fresh air,” you replied, a smile gracing your lips. “It’s beautiful here.”

“It truly is.” he agreed, stepping closer. The soft sound of his boots against the gravel was nearly drowned out by the rustling leaves and distant laughter of others enjoying the paradise he had created.

As he drew nearer, you could see the faint blush on his cheeks. “I, um, wanted to ask if you’d like to join me for a stroll.” he offered, a nervous edge to his voice. It was a side of Sunday you rarely saw—the dignified leader who often seemed so composed and in control now looked slightly flustered, shifting on his feet (like a school girl asking her crush out) as he awaited your response.

“I’d love that.” you said, feeling your own cheeks warm slightly.

As you began to walk side by side, a comfortable silence enveloped you. Sunday pointed out various flowers, sharing their meanings and tales of how they came to bloom in this paradise. But it wasn’t the stories that captured your attention; it was the way he spoke, his passion evident in every word.

Suddenly, a soft breeze rustled your clothing, drawing your attention to your exposed ankles—something you hadn’t even considered until now. Glancing down, you realized Sunday had caught a glimpse, and in that instant, you felt his eyes widen slightly, a mix of surprise and something deeper flickering across his face.

“Your… ankles.” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. The way he blushed made you suppress a giggle. This was the Sunday everyone revered, yet here he was, flustered over something as simple as exposed skin.

“Do you like them?” you teased playfully, taking a step closer to him, intentionally drawing his gaze lower.

“I—uh,” he stuttered, his usual eloquence slipping away. “I mean, it’s just… you look lovely, as always.” His eyes darted away, trying to regain his composure, and his wings instinctively shifted to cover his face, hiding the flustered look that betrayed his dignified demeanor.

The sight of him, usually so confident, now struggling with a light blush on his cheeks was endearing. “Thank you, Sunday. You’re always so kind.”

His gaze returned to yours, and for a moment, the world around you faded. The soft glow of the garden, the sounds of laughter, everything ceased to exist as he looked at you with a mix of admiration and something more profound.

“Being kind is easy when it comes to you.” he admitted softly, a shy smile breaking through his initial fluster.

Feeling a sudden rush of courage, you took his hand in yours, your fingers entwining with his. The touch sent a shiver up your spine, and you could see his breath hitch slightly, a flicker of surprise lighting up his golden eyes.

“Let’s make a promise,” you said, your heart racing. “Let’s always find a way to be happy, even in the midst of chaos.”

He squeezed your hand gently, his expression softening. “I promise. Together, we’ll create a world where happiness isn’t just an escape, but a reality.”

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the world in hues of orange and pink, you walked through the gardens hand in hand, lost in your own paradise, where dreams mingled with reality, and the future felt infinitely bright.

In that moment, with Sunday by your side, you knew you had found something precious—a love that transcended the pain of the world, rooted in kindness and dreams yet to be fulfilled.

[moonselune]

Hello! Could you write all the origin companions reaction to a tav who sacrificed themselves to save them? Whether or not tav gets revivified is up to you. Thank you! I hope you enjoyed your break!

yes yes yes, so this is going to be quite similar to the silly sacrifice one but I tried to focus more on the revivfy section kind of

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

The battle had reached its peak, the air thick with the scent of blood and the clashing of steel. You and Karlach fought side by side, her infernal rage blazing like a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. But then, in a split second, you saw the demon's sword arching towards her, aiming for a fatal blow. Without a second thought, you threw yourself in its path, the blade biting deep into your flesh.

The world seemed to slow as you fell to the ground, your vision darkening. Karlach’s roar of anguish cut through the din of battle. She fought with a renewed ferocity, dispatching the demon with a series of powerful blows, her eyes never leaving your fallen form.

“No, no, no!” she cried, dropping to her knees beside you, her hands shaking as she held your lifeless body. Tears streamed down her face, her fiery aura flickering as despair threatened to consume her. “You can't leave me like this! You can't!”

Desperation gave her strength as she pulled out a revivify scroll from her pack. Her hands were unsteady, but her resolve was ironclad. She chanted the incantation, pouring all her will into bringing you back. For a moment, nothing happened, and her heart nearly shattered.

Then, your chest heaved with a ragged breath, and your eyes fluttered open. Karlach's tears flowed even harder, but now they were tears of relief and joy. She cradled your face in her hands, her touch gentle despite her overwhelming strength.

“You scared me so much,” she sobbed, pressing her forehead against yours. “I thought I’d lost you for good. Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me?”

You managed a weak smile, lifting a hand to brush away her tears. “I’m sorry, Karlach. I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

She held you close, her body shaking with the force of her emotions. “I love you so much,” she whispered fiercely. “And I need you with me. Always.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The night was filled with the sounds of battle, the clash of swords and the screams of the dying. You and Minthara moved as one, a deadly dance of blades and magic. But then, you saw it—the assassin, poised to strike Minthara from the shadows. Instinct took over, and you flung yourself in front of her, the blade intended for her plunging into your chest instead.

Minthara's eyes widened in shock and rage as you collapsed to the ground. She dispatched the assassin with ruthless efficiency, her movements swift and lethal. But as she knelt beside you, her expression shifted to one of desperate fear.

“No, you fool,” she hissed, her hands trembling as she reached for you, only to find your lifeless body. “Why did you do that?”

Minthara’s eyes flashed with anger and sorrow. She pulled out a revivify scroll, her voice steady but urgent as she recited the spell. The magic flowed from her fingertips, enveloping your body in a soft glow.

For a moment, everything was silent. Then, your chest rose with a shuddering breath, and your eyes opened. Minthara’s relief was palpable, but she quickly masked it with her usual stern expression.

“You think death can take you from me so easily?” she asked, her voice laced with mockery to hide the desperation she felt. “You’re mine, and only I decide when you go.”

"Wouldn't dream of it" You smiled weakly, the warmth of life returning to your limbs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Minthara's stern facade cracked slightly, and she leaned down to press a fierce kiss to your lips. “Good,” she murmured against your mouth, her voice softening for a brief moment. “Because I need you by my side. Always.”

She pulled back, her eyes burning with a fierce possessiveness. “Do not ever think you can leave me so easily. Death itself will bend to my will if it means keeping you with me.”

You chuckled softly, wincing at the pain but finding comfort in her words. “I know my love,”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

The battlefield was a chaotic swirl of violence, the clang of steel and the cries of the wounded filling the air. You and Lae'zel fought side by side, a formidable team. But in a split second, you saw an enemy warrior, poised to strike her from behind. Without hesitation, you lunged forward, taking the blow meant for her. The pain was excruciating, but you gritted your teeth, determined to protect her. As the world around you faded to black, the last thing you saw was Lae'zel's horrified expression.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with Lae'zel's fierce gaze, her hands pressed against your chest where the wound had been. The magic of the revivify scroll was still fading from her fingertips. Relief flickered in her eyes before it was quickly replaced with anger.

"Fool!" she snapped, pulling you up to a sitting position. "You call that battle technique? Throwing yourself in front of a blade like a reckless child?"

You couldn't help but chuckle, despite the pain still lingering in your body. "Nice to see you too, Lae'zel."

Her glare intensified, but you could see the worry in her eyes. "Do not mock me. Your survival is not a joke. You are to be better, to fight smarter. I will not lose you to your own stupidity."

"Yes, ma'am," you said, a smile tugging at your lips. "I'll try to remember that next time."

She sighed, her expression softening ever so slightly. "See that you do. I need you alive and by my side, not dead on the ground." She reached out, brushing a lock of hair from your forehead with surprising tenderness. "Promise me you will fight smarter."

You took her hand in yours, squeezing it gently. "I promise, Lae'zel."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

The battle raged around you, guts and gore everywhere, but your focus was solely on Shadowheart. She was cornered, surrounded by enemies, and in that moment, you knew what you had to do. You threw yourself in front of her, taking a vicious blow that would have ended her life. The pain was immense, but you didn't regret it for a second. As your vision blurred and darkness closed in, you heard her scream your name.

When you awoke, the first thing you felt were her tears on your face. Shadowheart was leaning over you, her hands glowing with the last remnants of a revivify spell. Her eyes were red, tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked at you with a mix of relief and frustration.

"You idiot," she choked out, her voice trembling. "Why did you do that? Why would you sacrifice yourself for me?"

You tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "Because I love you, Shadowheart. I couldn't let you die."

She sobbed, her tears falling onto your face. "You reckless fool. You can't just… just die like that. I can't lose you." She tried to scold you, but her voice broke, and she buried her face in your chest, her body shaking with sobs.

You reached up, gently stroking her hair. "I'm sorry, Shadowheart. I didn't mean to make you cry."

She lifted her head, her tear-filled eyes meeting yours. "Don't you ever do that again," she said, her voice filled with a mixture of anger and desperation. "You hear me? I can't… I can't go through that again."

"I promise. I'll be more careful." You nodded, pulling her close and holding her tightly. She clung to you, her sobs gradually subsiding as she calmed down.

"I'm just so glad you're alive," she whispered, her voice still trembling. "I can't bear the thought of losing you."

"I'm here," you said softly, kissing the top of her head. "And I'm not going anywhere."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

The clashing of swords and the shouts of warriors filling the air. You and Jaheira fought side by side, her presence a comforting and motivating force. But then, you saw it—a blade aimed straight at her back. Without thinking, you threw yourself in its path, taking the blow meant for her. The pain was sharp and overwhelming, and you fell to the ground, the world fading to black.

When you opened your eyes, Jaheira was kneeling over you, her hands glowing with the light of a revivify spell. Her expression was calm, though you could see the concern in her eyes. She finished the spell, and the pain began to ebb away as life returned to your body.

"There you are," she said, her tone brisk but affectionate. She pulled you to your feet with surprising strength, and before you could fully process what was happening, she leaned in and pressed a firm, warm kiss to your lips.

"You'll need to be quicker next time, you would have easily been able to deflect that blade," she said, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "But thank you."

You managed a weak smile, still a bit dazed and in awe of how calm she was. "Anything for you, Jaheira."

"Good," she replied, giving you a pat on the back. "Now, back to the fight. We have work to do."

With that, she turned and rejoined the fray, leaving you with a sense of awe and gratitude. She had seen death and resurrection enough times to take it in stride, but her kiss had been full of warmth and reassurance, a silent promise that she would always be there to pull you back from the brink.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The air crackled with magical energy as the battle raged on. You saw Gale, his focus entirely on casting a powerful spell, unaware of the enemy creeping up behind him. Without hesitation, you darted forward, taking the lethal blow meant for him. The pain was excruciating, and darkness quickly consumed your vision.

When you awoke, you felt the tingling aftermath of a powerful spell. Gale stood over you, his hands still glowing with the energy of the revivify spell he had just cast. His face was a mix of relief and exasperation.

"Really? It was that easy" he said to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. "This was disturbingly easy by comparison, you could just ressurect any odd fool.."

Gale continued to ramble to himself until you blinked back to conciousness and managed a weak chuckle, your body still aching. "See? And the things I have to do for you, purple string and all that."

His expression softened as he realized you were awake he was about to retort when he realised why you were bother there in the first place.

"You shouldn't have done that," he scolded, though his tone was gentle. "Sacrificing yourself like that was reckless."

"I had to," you replied, your voice hoarse. "If you died, the Netherese orb would have gone off and killed us all. Someone had to protect you."

Gale sighed, his frustration melting into acceptance. "You have a fair point," he admitted. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it." He helped you to your feet, his grip steady and reassuring. "Just… try not to die again, alright?"

"I'll do my best," you said, smiling up at him. Gale's eyes softened, and he pulled you into a gentle embrace.

"Good. Because I don't want to go through that again." He held you close for a moment before stepping back, his hand lingering on your shoulder. He knew you had reason on your side, and it killed him but for now he would keep some revivfy scrolls to himself, just for you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The battlefield was a chaotic blur, the clash of steel and the cries of the wounded filling the air. You saw Astarion, his back turned as he fought off an enemy, completely unaware of the assassin creeping up behind him. Without hesitation, you launched yourself in front of him, taking the lethal blow. The pain was searing, and darkness quickly overtook you.

When you came to, the first thing you saw was Astarion's face, his expression a mix of shock and relief. He had just finished casting a revivify spell, the magic still shimmering around his fingers.

"You idiot!" he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of anger and worry. "What were you thinking, throwing yourself in front of a blade like that?"

"I had to protect you," you managed to say, your voice weak. You groaned, the pain from the wound still lingering.

Astarion's eyes softened for a moment, but then his usual dramatic flair took over. He placed a hand on his chest, striking a theatrical pose.

"I suppose I should thank you for your valiant sacrifice," he said, his tone dripping with mock grandeur. "After all, you did save my life, and now you owe yours to me. Consider me your god, darling."

You couldn't help but chuckle, despite the pain. "Oh, great. Now I'll never hear the end of it."

Astarion leaned down, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to your forehead. "Don't think this means you can make a habit of dying on me," he murmured, his voice softer now. "I quite like having you around."

"I'll do my best," you replied, smiling up at him. "But maybe next time, try to keep an eye on your surroundings? You supposed omniscient god."

He smirked, helping you to your feet. "Deal. Now, let's finish this fight so I can properly express my gratitude later."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The battle was fierce, and in the midst of the chaos, you saw Wyll, his focus entirely on fending off multiple attackers. Suddenly, an enemy appeared from the shadows, aiming a deadly blow at him. Without thinking, you threw yourself in front of him, taking the hit. The pain was overwhelming, and darkness quickly enveloped you.

When you woke, you felt a familiar warmth and the tingling of healing magic. Wyll's face hovered above you, his expression a mixture of relief and overwhelming joy. He had just cast a revivify spell, bringing you back from the brink of death.

"Thank the gods," Wyll whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "I thought I'd lost you."

You smiled weakly, your body still aching. "Couldn't let that happen," you replied softly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, thanks to you," he said, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "But don't you ever scare me like that again."

Before you could respond, Wyll pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you as if he would never let go. He peppered your face with kisses, his relief and love evident in every touch. "I'm so glad you're alive," he murmured between kisses. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling his warmth and the steady beat of his heart.

"I had to protect you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't bear to lose you either."

Wyll pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression serious. "We're in this together, remember? Next time, we'll protect each other."

"I promise," you agreed, a smile tugging at your lips. "But you better be ready for a lot of hugging if you ever scare me like that again."

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling with genuine happiness. "I'll take that over losing you any day," he said, giving you one more firm kiss before helping you to your feet.

With Wyll's arm around you, providing support and comfort, you both turned to face the rest of the battle, ready to continue fighting side by side.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The battlefield was a frenzy of chaos and bloodshed. Amidst the turmoil, you saw Halsin, his powerful form surrounded by enemies, but his focus on the frontline left him vulnerable. An enemy archer, hidden in the shadows, took aim at him. Without a second thought, you dashed forward, throwing yourself in front of him just as the arrow was released. The searing pain hit you, and darkness quickly swallowed your vision.

When you came to, you were lying on the ground, Halsin's face hovering over yours, his expression one of frantic concern. His hands were glowing with healing magic, and you felt the warmth and energy seeping into your body, bringing you back from the brink of death.

"Don't you dare leave me," Halsin murmured, his voice a mixture of command and desperation. His eyes were intense, filled with worry and relief as he saw you stir.

"Halsin…" you managed to whisper, your voice weak. "You're okay?"

He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Thanks to you," he replied, his tone softening. But then his expression shifted to one of fierce protectiveness. "But that was incredibly reckless. I can't lose you."

Before you could protest or even fully process what was happening, Halsin scooped you up into his strong arms, lifting you effortlessly from the ground. The battle still raged around you, but his focus was solely on getting you to safety.

"Halsin, put me down," you said, trying to sound firm despite your weakened state. "I can still fight."

"No," he replied, his voice unyielding. "You've done more than enough. Your place now is to recover."

You tried to wriggle free, but his grip was ironclad, and his pace didn't falter as he carried you away from the chaos. "Halsin, listen to me. We need every hand we can get out there. I can't just—"

"Enough," he interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "I cannot bear to see you hurt again. Let me protect you this time."

The sheer determination in his voice, coupled with the tenderness in his eyes, made your protest die in your throat. You sighed, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.

"Fine," you conceded, wrapping your arms around his neck. "But once this is over, we need to talk about your definition of 'teamwork.'"

A small, relieved smile tugged at his lips. "Fine," he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "But for now, just rest. Leave me to taking the hits for now."

As he carried you to a secure spot, away from the battle, you couldn't help but feel a mix of frustration and gratitude. You were a fighter, but having someone like Halsin care so deeply for you, willing to protect you at all costs, was a comfort you hadn't expected. And as he set you down gently and continued to shield you with his presence, you realized that sometimes, letting someone else take the lead wasn't always a sign of weakness.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope you all enjoyed it !

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter three ♡

Summary: Life seems to smooth out with Travis, but an encounter with another Miller stirs your feelings again. Joel comes home at night, and a box waits for him at the kitchen. Word count: 4.8k A/N: Here is a shorter chapter (compared to the previous ones lol) while we're waiting for part 4… Can't wait for the Hoffman's barbecue. Joel isn't usually enthusiastic about it, but something tells me he's not going to miss it this time. ALSO, I have tried to tag all of you, but for some reason some tags don't work, if anyone knows how to fix it please let me know <3.

October 17th. The first thing you discovered was a black sweatshirt, crumpled and forgotten, stuffed in the back of your closet among old clothes and memories. You tossed it into the washing machine and set off to search your house for more of Joel’s things. It didn’t take long to find remnants of him: an old Pearl Jam T-shirt, a white mug bearing his initial that you’d pilfered a few months prior, a couple of CDs with his eclectic taste in music, a well-worn paperback novel, and a screwdriver—the very tool you had used to assemble the small piece of furniture for your bathroom, a testament to your attempts at domesticity.

You placed the T-shirt beside the sweatshirt in the washing machine, feeling a bittersweet nostalgia wash over you as the machine began to spin, the water swirling like your thoughts. The rest of his belongings you carefully set aside in a wooden box, considering when and if you would return them to him. Maybe it would be a gesture of goodwill, a way to close a chapter, but the thought of confronting him felt daunting, like standing on the edge of a cliff.

Three weeks later, the distance felt like a weight in your chest. You hadn’t spoken since that last conversation, and every accidental encounter with him had turned into a delicate dance of avoidance, your eyes darting away as if to shield yourself from the unspoken pain. You suspected he was doing the same—his awareness of your schedule precise, his movements deliberate. You didn’t blame him for it; there was a strange gratitude in the space he had created between you, a sanctuary that allowed both of you to breathe.

Sarah, on the other hand, was a constant presence in your life, her visits frequent and welcome. You couldn’t decipher what Joel had shared with her, but she was unequivocal in her understanding that something had shifted between you and her father. 

“Dad said I can come see you as long as I don’t ask too many questions and I don’t fall asleep,” she announced brightly the first afternoon she bounded into your home, just two days after your last exchange with Joel. “But I want you to know I won’t say anything if you want to tell me everything.” 

Her offer was a balm, and despite the lingering pain, you found yourself laughing, the weight lifting slightly as you embraced her. In that moment, you felt relieved to know that Joel had managed to compartmentalize, that his daughter was not to bear the burden of your heartbreak, nor was she responsible for the fallout. You wanted to continue seeing Sarah, and thankfully, she wanted to keep coming over, a small beacon of normalcy in a turbulent time. That connection remained untainted by the rift between you and Joel.

The clock ticked on, and now it was five o’clock on a crisp afternoon. You stood in your front yard, the late autumn sun warming the back of your neck as you surveyed your plants. Closing your eyes, you savored the gentle warmth, the way it wrapped around you like a familiar embrace. Your lawn and those of your neighbors glowed with the fiery hues of orange and yellow, leaves fluttering like confetti in the soft breeze. It was, as always, your favorite season.

Suddenly, a voice broke through your reverie, calling your name. You turned to see Travis crossing the street, his smile brightening the drab fall afternoon. You waved back, unable to suppress a smile of your own as he approached.

“Enjoying the sunshine?” he asked, stopping beside you, his hand settling on your waist as he leaned in to plant a soft kiss on your cheek.

“As much as I can,” you replied, a warmth spreading through you that was both comforting and surprising. Your gaze dropped momentarily to your feet before lifting back to meet his. “Going somewhere?”

“On a quest for dessert,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes. “Care to join?”

You hesitated, considering for a moment. “I’d better stay and get some work done,” you replied, gesturing toward your front door with a tilt of your head. “But let me know when you get back; I’d love to help with dinner.”

He nodded, a flicker of disappointment passing across his face before he masked it with a smile. After a brief goodbye, he left, giving your waist a gentle squeeze that sent a flutter through your stomach, leaving you feeling both elated and unsettled.

Two weeks prior, you had watched him run past your house, clad in sports gear, hair damp with sweat. There was something magnetic about him; he looked so effortlessly good that a rush of something—determination? Recklessness?—had surged through you. You couldn’t let your past with Joel hold you hostage any longer. It was absurd to keep Travis waiting, simply because you hadn’t been sure of what you felt, or how you should feel. So, you had gathered your courage and knocked on his door, your heart racing at the thought of stepping out of the shadows of your previous life.

When Travis opened the door, his surprise morphing into delight had made your resolve solidify. You’d admitted to him that you were navigating a rough patch, and to his credit, he seemed to understand without pressuring you further. That night, he whisked you away for dinner, and in the weeks that followed, the ease of your time together became a welcome reprieve. 

He was everything you needed—funny, honest, and refreshingly straightforward. He laid his feelings out without demanding anything from you, giving you space to breathe, to recalibrate. You had shared meals together, enjoying his company, indulging in laughter and sweet treats that he always brought, knowing they were your guilty pleasure. 

With him, everything felt uncomplicated, and the more time you spent together, the more you sensed your feelings beginning to shift, like the autumn leaves around you. That night, you resolved to let him make the first move, ready to embrace whatever came next.

*

“What did you think?” Travis asked, his gaze lingering on you, as if the answer might reveal something bigger.

You let out a laugh, the kind that builds in the chest and escapes before you can decide whether it’s actually funny or just absurd. “That was… utterly ridiculous,” you said, watching the movie credits roll up the screen. “Ridiculous and completely unbelievable.”

He grinned, sinking back into the couch beside you, his eyes meeting yours with a glint of shared amusement. “Right? It’s like... a marvel in chaos. Terrible, but in a way that you can’t look away.”

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a mix of disbelief and fondness for his strange taste in movies. Zombeavers. He’d made you watch Zombeavers—a movie so bizarrely nonsensical that you couldn’t help but laugh half the time, its zombie-beaver puppets meant to be terrifying but only succeeding in being bizarre. He’d assured you beforehand that it was purely for fun, the kind of film that didn’t demand to be taken seriously, and you’d been dubious but willing.

As your laughter softened, you shifted just a little closer to him, that familiar but thrilling nervousness making your heart flutter. Travis had turned his attention to scrolling through movie options, his fingers lightly tapping the remote as he concentrated. For a brief moment, you hesitated, wondering if it was obvious—how close you were, how much you wanted him to notice. Gathering your courage, you rested your head on his shoulder, letting your gaze drift up to his face just as he glanced down, his eyes softening.

“Are you sleepy, pretty girl?” he murmured, and his voice had that gentle, familiar warmth that made you feel like a teenager again. Your cheeks flushed, and you wondered if he could feel your pulse quicken against him.

“No,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper as you smiled up at him. Tentatively, you lifted a hand to trace the line of his jaw, your fingers grazing his skin as you tilted his face closer. “I just like being with you.”

Travis’s smile deepened, and he leaned in, his hand cradling your face with such tenderness that it nearly broke something in you. His lips met yours softly, a gentle touch, unhurried and respectful, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek. You sank into the kiss, letting it ground you, feeling cherished and safe in a way you hadn’t for a long time.

But there, at the edge of your mind, was Joel. Joel with his intense, almost possessive hunger, the way he’d kiss you as if he were afraid he’d never have the chance again. That rawness, the recklessness—it was such a stark contrast to Travis’s gentle control, his restraint. And part of you hated yourself for even thinking about it, for craving something so reckless, for missing what you knew wasn’t good for you.

You pulled back slowly, afraid that your eyes might betray the swirl of conflicting feelings inside you. Travis’s gaze lingered, his hand still on your cheek, and he seemed almost reluctant to let you go, waiting for you to guide him back in. His patience was admirable, though you felt a strange frustration at the lack of urgency, the careful distance he maintained.

“I’m actually a little tired,” you said, giving him a quick peck on the lips, hoping he wouldn’t see through the slight restlessness in your eyes. “But I’d love to see you tomorrow. How about dinner at my place?”

He nodded, his face brightening. “Sounds perfect.” He stood, reaching out a hand to help you up. “I’ll walk you to your door, and that's just an excuse for another goodnight kiss.”

You laughed, reaching for his hand and letting him pull you up, feeling the warmth of his arm around you as you leaned against him. Outside, the air was brisk, the night cool against your skin, and you wished you’d thought to bring a jacket. Not that it mattered much; Travis lived just across the block, a short walk away, but close enough to Joel’s house that the proximity always felt strange. 

Crossing the street, you noticed Joel’s truck wasn’t there, and you willed yourself not to dwell on it, tuning back in to Travis’s voice as he asked, “Are you going?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Going where?” you asked, your voice apologetic. “Sorry, I zoned out for a second.”

“To the Hoffmans’ barbecue,” he said easily, unbothered by your momentary distraction.

Ah, the Hoffmans’ annual Halloween gathering, an event known for Brenda’s culinary enthusiasm and Ian’s grill mastery. Last year, Brenda had baked an array of spooky treats—eyeball jellies, spider cupcakes, you name it. Sarah had devoured at least ten jelly eyes, and you’d indulged in an uncountable number of chocolate spiders. The evening had ended with a viewing of Nightmare on Elm Street, and everyone had left buzzing with laughter and sugar.

“Yes, of course,” you replied, nodding with more enthusiasm. “Wouldn’t miss it. Brenda is amazing at baking. Have you tried her red berry cupcakes?”

“They’re dangerous,” Travis agreed, grinning as he walked you up to your doorstep.

A flicker of movement caught your eye, and you glanced over to see Tommy, Joel’s brother, sitting on the front porch of Joel’s house, a cigarette hanging lazily from his fingers. He watched you with a friendly, knowing smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back, though you quickened your pace slightly as you reached your door.

“So, what time tomorrow?” Travis asked, tilting his head.

“Eight?” you suggested, feeling an odd mix of excitement and unease.

“Perfect,” he replied, and once again his hand lifted to your cheek, thumb tracing the curve softly. But as he leaned in to kiss you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of invisible eyes from across the street, watching. Your mind lingered, unbidden, on Tommy’s piercing gaze.

Travis leaned down, and you met his kiss, brief, almost rushed, pulling away with a small, nervous smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you whispered, glancing up at him before stepping back. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, gorgeous,” he murmured.

You stood watching him leave, distractedly thinking about the evening you'd spent. You were annoyed that you hadn't accepted his date earlier, and at the same time, you didn't blame yourself too much. 

When Travis walked into his house and closed the door, an involuntary sigh escaped your chest.

"Everything okay over there?" Tommy’s voice jolted you out of your thoughts, sounding like a splash of cold water. He was sitting on the front steps, watching you with a casual curiosity that somehow felt entirely too knowing.

You approached slowly, glancing toward the empty entrance of Joel’s house.

"Hey, Tommy," you greeted, a hint of melancholy coloring your voice. It was strange, seeing him here alone—another Miller, but not the one who lingered in your mind. "How are you?"

Tommy stubbed out his cigarette on the step, shrugging with a small grin. "Well, currently on a break from babysitting duty," he joked. "What about you? It’s been a while—what’d Joel do now?"

A chuckle slipped from your lips, the irony of it all making your stomach tighten. He probably didn’t know anything, yet he’d been part of Joel’s carefully built wall of deception. It made you feel odd, but you brushed the feeling aside.

"I've just been busy," you said, knowing how unconvincing it sounded.

Tommy nodded, understanding the subtext without question. "Right," he said, an amused smile forming, "So, Dunn got the girl?"

You couldn’t help but smile back, though you realized too late that your openness might be ill-placed. "Yeah. He’s a good man. I really like him."

It felt surreal, sharing this with Joel’s brother, but somehow you didn’t mind.

"Sarah’s asleep?" you asked, changing the subject, hoping for some distraction.

He nodded, his smile softening. "Out like a light right after dinner. Poor kid didn’t even try the ice cream she begged me to get for movie night." He chuckled, shaking his head.

You smiled at the image, letting yourself savor the thought of Sarah, the cozy living room, the quiet warmth that had always drawn you to this house. It felt bittersweet, like glimpsing a life you no longer fit into. The last time you’d been there flickered in your mind, and any warmth vanished.

When you glanced back at Tommy, he was watching you, brow furrowed slightly, as if trying to read what you weren’t saying.

"I don’t mean to pry," he began cautiously, his tone gentle. "But Joel’s been… well, intolerable lately. Can I ask what happened?"

You raised an eyebrow, a sardonic smile creeping onto your lips. "Sure, Tommy," you replied, a touch of sarcasm bleeding through. "He hasn’t told you anything?"

"Are you kidding?" He laughed, shaking his head. "I asked him once, a couple of days ago, and he practically bit my head off."

You let out a dry sigh, crossing your arms. "He lied to me, pretty sure you know about that," you said, feeling the weight of it again. "We argued, and… things just happened."

Tommy’s eyes widened slightly, but the look of surprise faded quickly, replaced by a knowing smile. He stood up, crossing his arms as he stepped closer, his gaze amused and unrelenting.

"I knew it," he said, his grin widening. "You two slept together."

Your mouth fell open, and you dropped your arms, an incredulous laugh escaping.

"Shut up," you muttered, taking a step forward, cheeks flushing.

Tommy laughed, as if this moment had been a long time coming. "I always knew it would happen," he said, his tone only half-joking. "Ever since Joel introduced you, I swear, the guy had heart eyes and all. Poor guy looked like he was about to carve your name into every tree from here to the city limits. It was almost embarrassing."

You shook your head, a pang of sadness pressing on your chest. "That’s not it, Tommy. That’s not… it’s not true."

He studied you, unconvinced, his brow furrowing slightly, though the amused glint remained in his eyes.

"Joel doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want… us," you continued, your voice quiet but certain. "And honestly, I don’t think I do either." The words tasted bitter even as you said them, yet you held his gaze, determined to mean it. "I think I might actually like Travis."

"I see." Tommy’s nod was slow, his eyes searching yours as if detecting the truth you weren’t quite hiding.

“Where is he?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, and you almost wished you could take it back. You shouldn’t be concerned about where Joel was spending his nights. But curiosity itched at you, demanding answers.

Tommy hesitated, rubbing his hand over his mouth, glancing off as if debating whether to answer. The pause made you anxious, and you shifted under his gaze, feeling exposed. "He, um, he went to see—"

"Sienna," you finished, the name coming out like a blade you hadn’t prepared for. Tommy’s nod confirmed it, and you felt it cut a little deeper than you’d anticipated.

The thought of Joel being with her after being with you twisted something fierce and raw inside. Yet, a part of you was oddly grateful for the pain; it reminded you just how little he’d been affected by all of this, how seamlessly he’d returned to life as it had been. Why should he have changed anything for one night? That didn’t mean enough to make him reconsider Sienna, his plans, his life without you. It was unbearable and somehow clarifying.

With your voice steadier than you expected, you looked back at Tommy. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Come with me for a second." You spun on your heel, heading toward your house, and you heard Tommy’s footsteps fall into step behind you. Inside, you gestured for him to wait in the foyer, then climbed the stairs, your heart pounding. A rush of resentment, of something close to fury, washed over you. You had to rid yourself of everything that still held you back to him, everything he’d left behind.

When you came back down, you were carrying a box, simple and impersonal. Tommy glanced at it, lifting an eyebrow. "What’s that?"

"A couple of Joel’s things. Be a dear and save me the trip of bringing them back to him." You smiled tightly, the effort to stay composed nearly exhausting you.

Tommy laughed, clearly amused by the defiance in your expression.

"Yes, ma’am," he said with a grin, giving you a small salute as he took the box. You watched him step over the threshold, the box in his hands, feeling a strange mix of relief and something hollow.

"Thank you, Tommy," you said softly, closing the door as he left. Alone in the quiet of your house, your shoulders slumped, and all the strength you’d gathered felt like it was leaking away, leaving behind the ache of realization. Joel wasn’t just far from you; he was unreachable, a memory already fading, three weeks stretching like an eternity between you and the friend he’d once been.

*

Joel opened the door slowly, shoulders slumped, his gaze dropping to the floor before he even stepped inside. The house was dark and quiet, as if it were waiting for him to finally fill it. He glanced around the empty living room, feeling the stillness of the space, then checked the time on his wristwatch: 11 p.m. It felt later than that, somehow.

“Tommy?” he called, his voice breaking the silence as he moved into the kitchen, where he found his brother, casually leaning against the counter with a bowl of ice cream, looking like he’d been waiting all night.

“How was your night?” Tommy asked, raising an eyebrow, his tone almost amused, as if he were privy to some unspoken secret.

Joel exhaled, the kind of tired sigh that settled deep in his chest, and dropped heavily into one of the wooden chairs at the table. He rubbed a hand across his forehead, dragging it down over his mouth before resting it on the table, the weariness of the day palpable in the lines of his face. His eyes met Tommy’s probing gaze, and he tilted his head, frowning slightly.

“Fine,” he replied, his tone clipped and a little defensive. “How was Sarah?”

“She conked out right after dinner,” Tommy replied, a smirk beginning to play at the corners of his mouth, his eyes narrowing with that look of brotherly mischief. “And how was Sienna?”

Joel rolled his eyes, leaning back in the chair, shaking his head as if he could shake off the whole conversation.

“Are you staying over?” he asked after a few beats, redirecting, his voice carefully casual.

Tommy chuckled. “Only if you, sir, will permit me,” he replied with a mock salute.

“Fine,” Joel muttered, getting up from his seat. “Do what you want, but don’t be a pain in my ass,” he added, half-serious, half-amused, as he walked over to the counter beside his brother.

He pulled open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. Tommy watched him, saying nothing, but his gaze lingered, curious, perceptive. Joel poured water into a glass, bringing it to his lips, pausing for a long drink before turning to face his brother. He could feel Tommy’s gaze boring into him, the silence thickening between them.

Joel looked up, his own gaze steady.

“What?” he asked, the word flat, all pretense of patience gone.

“Nothing,” Tommy said, drawing the word out, clearly testing the limits of Joel’s patience. Then, almost too casually, he tilted his chin toward a box resting by the wall across the kitchen.

Joel followed his gaze, his brow furrowing as he walked over. He lifted the box, feeling the weight of it in his hands, then set it down on the counter. With a cautious look at Tommy, he placed his hands on the lid, hesitating.

“What’s this?” he asked, a note of suspicion in his voice.

Tommy leaned back, watching him with a faint smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

“Your girl next door gave it to me,” he replied, each word almost too measured. “Said it was yours.”

For a few moments, Joel just stood there, as if frozen, processing Tommy’s words. He looked down, finally lifting the lid and peering inside. There, neatly folded, was his sweatshirt—the one he’d handed you one chilly evening when he picked you up from work. Beneath that was his old Pearl Jam t-shirt, the one you’d borrowed after a swim in his pool last summer. His favorite coffee mug sat tucked in the corner, along with a few CDs, a dog-eared paperback he’d loaned you weeks ago. Each item seemed to carry its own little echo of the time he’d spent with you.

After a few seconds, Joel placed the lid back on the box, sliding it away from him with a muted thud. He kept his expression steady, but his jaw was set, and his eyes remained fixed on the counter.

“When did she give it to you?” he asked, his voice strained but steady.

“A few moments ago,” Tommy said with a shrug, holding back a smirk as he noticed the tightness in Joel’s expression. “Saw her walking back from Dunn’s house, actually.”

Joel let out a dry, sardonic laugh, a smile twisted in disbelief. "Right. Of course."

"Actually," Tommy said, savoring another spoonful of ice cream, "he walked her to the door, all sweet-like. Gave her the whole mushy goodnight routine—kiss, movie shit." His gaze stayed fixed on the bowl, though Joel could see the glint of mischief there, Tommy barely holding back a grin.

Joel’s fingers drummed on the counter, his gaze hardening. “Good for her,” he muttered.

Tommy didn’t look up, just continued with his ice cream, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Sure she looked that way to me.”

“Like I care,” Joel muttered, his gaze fixed hard on the box beside him, fingers curling against the edge as if steadying himself. “I can bet everything I’ve got she doesn’t even like him that much. That guy isn’t worth it, and she knows it.” 

Tommy’s mouth quirked with amusement as he leaned back against the counter.

“Too bad that’s not up to you,” he said, casually pushing Joel’s buttons, almost like he enjoyed watching his brother’s patience fray. “She looked happy. And for what it’s worth, in her own words, she does like him.” 

Joel’s frown deepened, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Tommy, as if by sheer force he could undo his brother’s last statement. “Wait—you asked her? Tommy, you better not be going around—” 

“Relax,” Tommy cut in, hands raised in mock surrender, though there was still a hint of smugness in his expression. “We just had a small conversation, okay? Didn’t even mention you.” 

Joel let out a sharp, bitter laugh, though his face betrayed a flicker of something raw. His fingers tapped the box, restless and resentful, as if it were the box’s fault for bringing up everything he didn’t want to admit. Then, his voice low and clipped, he gestured to the countertop. “Clean this up when you’re done,” he said, his tone rough. “And don’t piss me off.” 

Without another word, Joel turned on his heel and headed for the stairs, each step heavy and quick, like he couldn’t get away fast enough. The tension in his back, the way his shoulders held too much weight, said enough. Who did Tommy think he was, coming in here with all that, telling him things he didn’t need to hear? He didn’t care about any of it. As far as he was concerned, you could date Travis, marry him if that’s what you wanted. None of it mattered to him. 

But as he climbed the stairs two at a time, his mind raced against his will. You’d been clear, hadn’t you? You didn’t want him in your life. No friendship, no connection, nothing. The words echoed, hollow and yet heavy. And as he reached the top of the stairs, he wondered how many more nights he’d have to wrestle with that idea, struggling to wrap his head around a life where you were nothing more than a memory he had to stop revisiting.

The sooner he accepted it, the easier it would be to see you with Travis, to manage the surge of irritation at the thought of his hands on you, to ignore the image of his arm slung casually around your shoulders. If he could accept it—if he did accept it—it would get easier, right? At least that’s what he told himself. He didn’t care. Obviously, he didn’t care.

He didn’t care that you’d decided to shut him out. Didn’t care that you were so resolute about it, that you barely seemed to miss him. He certainly didn’t care that he’d rearranged his mornings and evenings so he wouldn’t have to see you by accident. It wasn’t as if he still glanced at your door every time he came home, half-hoping he’d see you there, offering a smile and some easy excuse to stay. No, he wasn’t dwelling on how long it had been since he’d heard your voice or felt the comfortable warmth of your hand against his. Nearly a month now. And he was perfectly fine with it, honestly. It didn’t bother him one bit.

So fine, in fact, that he ended things with Sienna over dinner without a moment’s hesitation. Her face had gone blank with surprise, but he’d brushed it off, even throwing in some lie about being “too busy” to make it work, anything to avoid her prying questions. She’d looked at him, confused but oddly resigned, as if she’d sensed his mind had been elsewhere for a while. He didn't care, he was fine with it.

But later that night,Travis Dunn had brought you to your door—walked you up, murmured something as he leaned close, maybe kissed you goodnight. Joel didn’t know the details, but the image of it burned into his mind anyway. He sat in his room alone, a bitter laugh escaping his throat, mocking himself for how easily he’d let the thought take root. You, wrapped up with Dunn. Pf.

In the darkness of his bedroom, Joel sat on the edge of his bed, looking at the empty space beside him, the silence amplifying every unspoken word, every unfulfilled touch. He was fine with it. Of course he was. He repeated it in his mind, willing himself to believe it, even as a hollow ache throbbed in his chest.

And as if the universe were doubling down on the irony, that night he dreamed of you.

-

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @cosmic006533-blog @doblasftcisco @maiyart @concrete-jungleeee @playboygirlsnextdoor00 @maryfanson @rosebuds-and-moonlight @the-universe-is-complicated @formulafun @chewie-bars @glizzymcguirex @pedroswife69 @ivoryandflame @dixonswingz @sarahhxx03 @mellymbee @dailyobsession @msmorningstaarr @mystickittytaco @xxreginaxx @marellabyr @spacegirl-3 @alrihhty @heheheilovepedro @svrgs-blog @94namkooksworld @puddles221b @cowboymcflurry @medusaandposeidonshead @stylesispunk @sweatpeakarolinaa @puddles221b @deansimpalagirl @jasminedragoon @lover-of-books-and-tea @whimsiwitchy @cuteanimalmama @theherothesavior @ivoryandflame @auteurdelabre

[sayoneee]

☆ I WANNA BE YOUR MAN

“his band is playing tonight, at seven,” annabeth reminds you, with the knowing air of someone far wiser, and far older, “you should go.” (1.7k)

contains: loser older brother luke castellan x fem! reader. mortal au. pt 2 of parent trap but can be read standalone ish. guest appearances! rock / metal music references.

kashaf’s note: i think i can call myself a melomaniac now

LUKE CASTELLAN HAS always occupied that in-between space, the no-man’s-land between something and nothing — his indecipherable gaze as his cold, black, and blued knuckles grazed your cheek when he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear swims around your mind endlessly. despite how each thought, each expression, each breath is as familiar to you as your own, you have never quite known where you stand with him, regardless of how quickly he seemed to inhabit a piece of your soul.

the familiar weight of the mixtape that luke made you feels unusually burdensome in your hands, mirroring the heft of the songs on it that you have painstakingly committed to memory, each sleepless night’s offerings of tossing and turning becoming a reoccurring ritual. 

you had popped the tape in your walkman immediately after luke had handed it to you, incognizant of the way his eyes softened as you concentrated on the music, trying to identify the first song. 

“this is that band you like — l.a. guns, right?”

“you’re a regular sherlock,” luke had said, smiling and sarcastic, twisting his silver rings.

“shut up, no i know this song,” you say, tilting your head and snapping your fingers. “its — um — i wanna be yours? nono, don’t make that face at me, asshole, hold on… i wanna be your man?”

hues of pink crept up his cheeks, and you basked in the warmth of his answering crooked grin, the feeling wrapping around you like the caress of a summer night. 

you uselessly stirred the spoon in your now stone-cold cup of chai, leaning across the kitchen table with your head propped up in your other hand. the phone taunts you from its corner on the counter, sitting just by the clear jar of blue cookies, its black hue a beacon among the sea of greens (the cabinets, the tiles — you liked to tell sally that she should try her hand at interior design one of these days) — as of late, the jacksons’ kitchen has become somewhat of a refuge for you. 

you set a steaming china cup down in front of him, listening to the sounds of percy, annabeth, and grover in the living room, pulling out the chair in front of him with a slight creak on the slightly worn wooden floors, and watching him as he taps his fingers along to bob marley’s soft crooning, “little darlin’, stir it up”, lost in his own world.  

“luke,” you say, breaking him out of his revelry.

luke sits up straight, meeting your amused gaze, “yeah?” he asks, reaching for his chai, and mumbling a quiet thanks as he sips it.

“you look kinda stupid when you think,” you say, watching him blink before taking the bait, and hiding your smile of satisfaction behind your cup.

“y’know, this is why you have a black hole for a heart,” he says, grinning crookedly, filling you with an indescribable longing to reach out and trace his grin. 

“what?” you laugh, “what does that even mean?”

“just that you’re mean,” luke says, and the afternoon sun chooses that specific moment to encompass him in its glow, like a kiss from apollo. “and that you’re emo.”

“you literally say this every time, oh my god, i’m not mean or emo.”

“because i’m literally right?”

“you like him,” annabeth says, sympathetically, standing in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, her braids resting across her shoulders, glancing from your untouched cup to your face, an expression of pity gracing her features. her presence caught you so off guard that you don’t even question where percy ran off to, who was usually attached to annabeth like a conjoined twin. 

“i know,” you say, shivering slightly, the revelation feeling strangely empty, although you suppose the same part of your soul that recognized him had always known, a small inkling reappearing with every argument, and every nudge. 

“he likes you,” annabeth adds matter-of-factly, interrupting your stream of consciousness. 

“i know,” you repeat, picking at the lint on your sweater, and while this revelation is supposed to be shocking, it is also hollow, as you suppose your soul also knew this with every hushed conversation in the dead of night, and the slips of silence that only spoke volumes around him.

“his band is playing tonight, at seven,” annabeth reminds you, with the knowing air of someone far wiser, and far older, “you should go.” she turned and stalked back toward the living room.

you sat still for a minute or so, before sighing and putting luke’s mixtape (even in your misery, he is somehow always there) in your walkman, putting your headphones on as axl rose trilled, ‘i said, baby you been lookin' real good’ in his voice that took a while to get used to — something luke gave you a heads up on.

you sighed, conceding to annabeth’s attempts to rewrite whatever fate had pushed the two of you apart, from the hours-long phone calls that dwindled into short, clipped conversations, you can’t necessarily blame annabeth for trying to fashion a phoenix from the ashes of your friendship. 

you stood up, grabbed your jacket off the back of the chair you were sitting upon, and walked into the living room, pausing for a few minutes to watch the scooby doo episode on the screen along with percy, grover, and annabeth, who were currently sprawled across the softly carpeted floor, arguing over monopoly.

“you’re literally cheating,” percy was saying.

“i’m the banker, i’m supposed to be innocent,” annabeth argued back.

“percy, i saw you steal a couple dollars behind annabeth’s back,” grover added, rolling the dice.

“guys,” you said, interrupting their three-way argument, “put on your jackets and shoes, we’re going to the fair in five minutes.”

you ignored the way the troublesome trio exchanged glances, walking through the hallway covered in framed photos of percy and sally, going to wait by the door for them.

“so,” percy says, all-too-innocently, “why the sudden change of plans?” once the four of you are a couple of blocks away from his apartment.

“no reason, just wanted to see what was so hot about the fair,” you say, digging your hands in the pockets of your jacket. once more, you ignore the glances the trio exchange. 

“so it doesn’t have anything to do with a certain curly-haired individual that we’re currently seeing less and less of?”

you keep walking, trying to feign ignorance, although the question was so pointed even you were concerned with percy’s audacity, “what’re you talking about?”

“oh, nothing,” percy smiles. “just the way —”

“— the two of you —”

“— were inseparable —”

“— for a disgustingly long time —”

“— and now you’re not —”

“— but we’re going to the fair because —”

“— his band is playing —”

“— and you’re going to try and fix —”

“— your troubles in paradise.”

you blinked slowly, as the three of them did jazz hands, matching shit-eating grins on all of their faces, “how long did it take for you guys to rehearse that?”

“a week, give or take,” grover says, and annabeth shoots him a glare.

“not the point, the point is, we support you.”

“gee, thanks, all i really needed was the support of three twelve-year-olds.”

“three twelve-year-olds that know you’re stupidly in love with luke castellan,” percy points out.

“okay, y’know what…” you trail off, frowning.

annabeth nudged percy, “not the point here, again.”

“fine, fine, fine,” you huff, as the four of you approach the brightly illuminated fair, looking for the ticket-selling booth, “i’ll buy you guys tickets so you can go hang out on the rides and i’ll go to the concert.”

the three of them nodded happily, making a beeline for the cotton candy stand a few feet away. you shook your head before pushing through the bustling crowd to look for the concert stage. when you finally do find it, after three excuse me’s and four sorry’s, the concert is already in full swing, with what looks like a mini moshpit already forming somewhere near the center.

once you’ve pushed your way to the absolute front, the darkening night sky serving as a backdrop, the harsh lights illuminate all five individuals on the stage, with a gorgeous girl with shaggily-cut hair and a raspy voice singing as lead (thalia? you think you remember luke telling you on the phone late at night once). however, your gaze almost immediately fixed on luke, who was playing a riff on his electric guitar, looking as hot as ever, his crooked grin on full display.

the band is covering l.a. guns’ ‘i wanna be your man’ at the moment, and you’re suddenly very grateful to annabeth for her unsubtle nudges, because you would’ve missed out on this sight of luke castellan, the view of his muscled arms bulging out of his band tee is permanently seared into your memory.

you’re almost sad when the show is over though, finally realizing why luke liked concerts so much, from the crowd surfing to the drumstick tricks during solos (beckendorf, you think the drummer’s name was — luke had mentioned him before) to the lead’s insane vocals, to the girl with long curly hair that stood next to you for most of the concert (probably the band’s most enthusiastic fan), you savored every minute of it. however, you’re glad for the chance to corner luke afterwards, climbing onto the stage as the crowd begins to disperse in waves, and realizing the curly-haired girl was already among the band members packing up their instruments, helping the curly-haired bassist pack his things. 

luke barely looks up at your sudden arrival. “what’re you doing here?” he asks, packing away his guitar.

“i’m here to see you,” you say, trying to drive the hint home.

“i told you that you didn’t have to come see the band if you were busy,” luke says, uncomprehendingly, making eye-contact with you. 

“i like you,” you say insistently.

“c’mon, let’s not kid ourselves right now, you said we’re friends so you don’t have to try to make me feel better,” luke says, shrugging and looking away from your face, rubbing the back of his neck.

“i listen to your dumb mixtape every night, luke castellan. does a person who’s not into you do that?”

there is something so raw about the way he looks right now, with his expression stilling as his cheeks are colored in swathes of red. 

smiling at his dumbstruck expression, you surged forward to kiss him, ignoring all the wolf whistles and “get some, castellan” enveloping the two of you, tangling your fingers into his hair, his hands coming to rest upon your hips.

© sayoneee on tumblr. do not repost, plagiarize, translate or claim any of my works as your own.

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Sleepless Nights

Thomas Shelby x Pregnant Wife Reader

Summary: Thomas cares for his wife.

Wordcount: 2.3k

Warnings:

soft Thomas!, kissing, soft talk, lovely husband things.

Thomas prowls the grand corridors of Arrow House with a mixture of determination and unease. The mansion is a labyrinth of opulence, each corner dripping with the wealth he’s fought tooth and nail to secure. Yet, tonight, none of that matters. His mind is solely focused on one thing—finding his pregnant wife.

The house, with its vast rooms and endless hallways, feels both protective and suffocating. The heavy silence is broken only by the distant ticking of an antique clock, a stark reminder of time slipping away. Thomas’s polished shoes echo on the marble floors as he moves through the dimly lit spaces, his keen eyes scanning every shadow and crevice. The opulent decor, a testament to his success, now seems to mock him with its cold grandeur. He enters the library, where shelves upon shelves of leather-bound books line the walls, their spines gleaming in the faint light. The room smells of old paper and cigarette a sanctuary for his restless mind on many nights. But tonight, it offers no solace. He moves on, his pace quickening, his heartbeat mirroring his urgency.

As he strides through the dining hall, the long table stands like an island in the middle of the room, set for a feast that never seems to be eaten. The chandelier above it sparkles, casting prismatic reflections around the room, but Thomas’s eyes are unseeing. He is a man on a mission, driven by an anxiety he rarely allows himself to feel.

Finally, he reaches the living room, a vast space dominated by an enormous fireplace. The flames within flicker and dance, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. And there she is. His wife, his beacon in the storm of his life, sitting on the couch in an awkward yet somehow comfortable position. The sight of her instantly softens his stern expression, though worry still shadows his features. She’s nestled into the corner of the couch, her swollen belly making her position look ungainly to anyone else, but Thomas knows better. He sees the way her hand rests protectively over her stomach, the way her eyes are half-closed in a state of meditative calm. She’s wearing a loose, flowing nightgown that accentuates her maternal glow, the fabric cascading around her like a gentle waterfall.

“Love,” Thomas says softly, his voice a gravelly whisper that cuts through the silence. “Y’alright there?” His thick Birmingham accent adds a rough edge to the tender words, a contrast that defines him so well.

She looks up, her eyes meeting his with a tired but loving gaze. “Tommy,” she replies, a small smile curving her lips. “Just needed a moment. The baby’s been restless tonight.”

Thomas nods, understanding immediately. He crosses the room in a few strides, his presence a mix of power and protectiveness. He sits beside her, the couch dipping slightly under his weight. Gently, he places a hand over hers, feeling the life within her. It’s a moment of connection, grounding him in a way few things can.

“Been lookin’ for you,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning her face for any signs of discomfort. “Worried me, y’know.”

She chuckles softly, the sound like music to his ears. “I’m fine, Tommy. Just... needed to be alone for a bit.”

Thomas’s eyes soften further, the hard lines of his face easing as he takes in her serene expression. “Y’should rest more, love. Don’t want you overexertin’ y’self.” His voice is firm yet gentle, the protective husband surfacing through the tough gangster exterior.

She nods, leaning her head back against the couch and closing her eyes. “I know. It’s just... there’s so much to do. So much to prepare for.”

Thomas sighs, his hand moving to gently caress her cheek. “Leave it to me. I’ll handle everythin’. You just focus on our little one, yeah?”

He could see the strain in her eyes, the toll the pregnancy was taking on her. His heart ached for her, wishing he could take away her discomfort. "I wish I could do more," he said softly, his voice tinged with regret.

She smiled again, squeezing his hand. "You're here, Tommy. That's enough."

But it wasn't enough for him. He wanted to do more, to alleviate her pain in any way he could. His mind raced, trying to think of something, anything, that might help. Then she spoke again, her voice hesitant.

“Tommy, Ada said if it gets too heavy, you can lift my belly a bit with your hands. It might help.”

Tommy's brow furrowed as he processed her words. It was a simple gesture, yet one that could provide her with some relief. He looked into her eyes, seeing the vulnerability there, and he knew he had to try. "Alright, love," he said, his voice firm with determination. "Let's give it a go."

He moved closer, positioning himself in front of her. His hands, rough and calloused from years of hard work, gently interlaced under her belly. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the fabric of her dress, the gentle rise and fall of her breath. Slowly, he lifted, supporting the weight of their child. She let out a sigh of relief, her body relaxing into his touch.

"Better?" he asked, his voice soft.

She nodded, her eyes closing once more. "So much better. Thank you, Tommy."

He held her there, his strong arms supporting her, providing the comfort she so desperately needed. In that moment, all the worries and burdens of their world faded away, leaving only the two of them. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to simply be present, to cherish the moment.

"You're incredible, you know that?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Strongest woman I know."

She smiled, a soft blush creeping into her cheeks. "I have to be, married to you."

He chuckled, the sound low and rough. "Yeah, I suppose you do." His gaze softened as he looked at her, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings. "But I wouldn't change a thing. Not a bloody thing."

They stayed like that for a while, the silence between them comfortable and reassuring. Tommy's thoughts drifted to their future, to the life they were building together. It was a life filled with uncertainty and danger, but it was theirs. And as long as they had each other, he knew they could face anything. Eventually, he shifted, carefully lowering his hands and easing her back into a more comfortable position. He smiles, before cupping her face; his hands calloused from years of work, are surprisingly gentle as they cup her cheeks. He brushes a few stray strands of hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ear with a care that belies his hardened exterior. The feel of her skin under his fingertips is a reminder of all that he has fought for, and all that he stands to lose.

“Love,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, thick with his Birmingham accent. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” The words are simple, but they carry a weight of sincerity that is unmistakable.

She looks up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and fatigue. Pregnancy has been both a blessing and a challenge, but in this moment, with Thomas so close, she feels a sense of peace. He leans in, closing the small distance between them, and presses his lips to hers. The kiss is intense, filled with a passion that speaks volumes of his devotion. It’s not just a kiss; it’s a promise, a silent vow that he will always be there for her.

His hands move from her face to her shoulders, sliding down her arms and resting on her swollen belly. He can feel the life growing inside her, their child, the future of the Shelby legacy. The thought fills him with a fierce protectiveness, a determination to shield them both from the dangers of his world. He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“You’ve got to know,” he whispers, his voice husky with emotion, “I’d do anything for you. Anythin’ to keep you safe.” His words are punctuated by the gentle movement of his hands, caressing her belly as if to reassure both her and their child of his unwavering commitment.

Thomas stirred from sleep, his body instantly alert despite the lingering remnants of exhaustion. The warmth of the morning sun filtered through the heavy drapes, casting faint, golden lines across the bed where he lay. His hand reached instinctively to the other side, expecting to feel the familiar form of his wife beside him. The cool, empty sheets met his touch instead, sending a wave of unease through him. He sat up abruptly, the fine sheen of cold sweat on his forehead catching the light. He ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing it back from his face as his sharp blue eyes scanned the room.

The clock on the mantel ticked softly, marking the time as just past nine in the morning. Thomas swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the chill of the wooden floor against his bare feet grounding him. He rose to his full height, stretching out the tension in his muscles. He was dressed only in his boxers, the morning air cool against his skin. The bedroom was silent, save for the sounds that nature produced in the waking hours of the morning.

His mind raced through possibilities as he left the bedroom, each step measured and deliberate. The house was vast, and his wife could be anywhere, but his instinct told him to check the usual places first. The corridor outside their bedroom was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn against the morning light. Thomas moved with purpose, his eyes darting to each doorway as he passed. He checked the nursery, but it was empty save for the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through the window. The sitting room was similarly deserted, the furniture untouched and the air still.

Thomas’s worry deepened with each empty room. He descended the grand staircase, his hand trailing along the polished banister. The ground floor was no different – the study, the drawing room, all empty. He paused at the doorway to the dining room, listening intently. The faintest clink of cutlery reached his ears, a sound so subtle it could easily have been missed. Relief washed over him, but he kept his composure as he moved toward the kitchen, the source of the noise.

The kitchen was a contrast to the rest of the house – warm, filled with the rich aroma of freshly baked bread and other culinary delights. The sight that greeted Thomas made him pause in the doorway. His wife was at the counter, her back to him, completely absorbed in her task. She was preparing her favorite pregnancy craving, a look of contentment on her face as she worked. Her hair was loosely tied back, and she had her loose, flowing nightgown, made of soft, breathable fabric, was adorned with delicate lace and ribbon trims. He had it made especially for her.

A soft chuckle escaped Thomas’s lips, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Hungry, eh? For whatever you're eatin' at what... nine in the mornin'..." His voice was low, the thick Birmingham accent adding a familiar roughness to his words.

She turns to him, a small smile playing on her lips. Her eyes are bright, despite the early hour, and there's a certain glow about her that he finds both endearing and reassuring. "Well... I originally woke up because I had to throw up... but then it wore off and I just sat there for a bit before I actually did throw up..." she explains, her voice trailing off as she takes another bite.

He crosses the room to her, his worry giving way to a tender affection. He reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch gentle and careful. "You alright now?" he asks, his voice softening. "You and the little one?"

She nods, placing the bowl on the counter. "Yes, we're fine. Just one of those mornings."

Thomas wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close. He can feel the slight swell of her belly against his skin, a constant reminder of the new life growing inside her. "You should've woken me," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She laughs softly, resting her head against his chest. "You need your rest too, Tommy. Besides, it’s nothing I can’t handle."

He holds her for a moment longer, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. The kitchen, with its warm morning light and the comforting presence of his wife, feels like a sanctuary. A stark contrast to the chaos and violence that often defines his life outside these walls. He pulls back slightly, looking down at her with a mixture of love and concern. "If you need anythin', you come get me. Don’t try to be too strong on your own."

She nods, understanding the depth of his worry. "I will, I promise."

They both stood there looking at each other.

"Any plans for today?" he asks, breaking the comfortable silence.

She looks up at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I was thinking of organizing the nursery a bit more. And maybe take a walk in the garden if the weather holds."

He nods, appreciating her simple plans. "Sounds good. I’ve got a meeting later, but I’ll be back by lunch. We can go for that walk together."

She smiles, the idea pleasing her. "I’d like that."

Author’s Notes:

Credit for the smol sparkle divider: CafeKitsune

[p0orbaby]

You’re Tired of Moving, Your Body’s Aching

summary: after a loss, you’re there to ease the pain

warnings: all the feels

a/n: something small and soft

word count: 1k

-

The night is sweltering, a thick humidity hanging in the air like an unwanted guest. Paris, usually dripping with charm, feels oppressive, each winding street and picturesque facade mocking you with their indifference. The Eiffel Tower glows in the distance, a cruel beacon in a night you’ll never forget. It’s as if the city itself is holding its breath, waiting for you to make your move.

You’ve spent the past hour navigating bureaucratic labyrinths, slipping through cracks in the system with well-timed smiles and carefully chosen words. Getting into the Olympic Village isn’t easy, especially now, but you’ve managed it. Your heart hammers in your chest as you finally make it to the Spanish team’s floor, your shoes barely making a sound on the polished tiles. It’s too quiet, the kind of quiet that buzzes in your ears and makes your skin prickle.

Alexia’s room is at the end of the hall, a sliver of light spilling out into the corridor like a weak beacon. The door is slightly ajar, and as you push it open gently, it creaks, the sound almost deafening in the stillness. She’s there, sitting on the edge of her bed, still in her kit, her face buried in her hands. Seeing her like this, broken, vulnerable, makes your chest ache. A dull, persistent pain that settles behind your ribs.

“Alexia,” you whisper, stepping inside and closing the door softly behind you. She doesn’t look up, but you know she’s heard you. The room feels too small, the air thick with unspoken grief. You cross the room and kneel in front of her, your fingers trembling as you reach for her hands.

She lifts her head slowly, her eyes red and puffy, tears tracing silent paths down her cheeks. Her face, usually so fierce and determined, is a mask of despair. The sight twists a knife in your gut. You wish you could take her pain and make it yours, to bear the weight she’s carrying.

“Hey,” you murmur, cupping her face in your hands. Her skin is warm and damp, her tears mixing with the sweat of the match. “I’m here”

Her eyes, usually so full of fire, are dull and distant. She leans into your touch, closing her eyes as if trying to shut out the world. You brush away her tears with your thumbs, your heart breaking with every hitch in her breath. The silence between you is heavy, each breath a struggle.

“It’s not fair,” she whispers, voice cracking. “We were so close”

“I know,” you acknowledge, because what else can you say? Words feel inadequate, useless. You slide onto the bed beside her, pulling her into your arms. She comes willingly, burying her face in your neck, her body trembling with sobs.

You hold her tight, fingers threading through her hair, murmuring soothing nonsense into her ear. The room is filled with the sound of her crying, the harsh, ragged breaths that speak of a pain too deep for words. Each sob feels like a blow, a reminder of her shattered dreams.

You’re not allowed to stay in the Village, but you’ve made arrangements to be here tonight. It took some doing, a few favours called in, but it was worth it. You’d have done anything to be here for her. The logistics and politics are nothing compared to the sight of her, broken and needing you.

As the minutes tick by, her sobs begin to subside, her breathing evening out. You press a kiss to her temple, lingering there, feeling the warmth of her skin against your lips. The taste of her tears lingers, a bitter reminder of her heartbreak.

“I love you,” you whisper, because she needs to hear it, because you need to say it. “I’m so proud of you, Alexia. So, so proud”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes searching your face. “I let everyone down,” she says, her voice barely more than a breath, laden with self-recrimination.

“No,” you say firmly, shaking your head. “You gave everything you had. You fought with everything in you. That’s not letting anyone down. That’s being a leader. That’s being a champion”

A fresh wave of tears spills over her cheeks, but there’s something else in her eyes now. A spark of the fire you know so well. You lean in and kiss her, softly at first, then deeper, pouring all your love and reassurance into that one kiss. The taste of salt and sorrow mingles with the heat of your desperation to make her feel something other than pain.

When you finally pull back, you rest your forehead against hers, your breaths mingling. “You’re not alone,” you tell her. “You’ve got one match left, and you’re going to win that bronze. I can feel it”

She nods, a small, fragile smile curving her lips. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For being here”

“Always,” you promise, the word a vow that echoes in the quiet room.

You spend the night wrapped around each other, the darkness outside the window a stark contrast to the soft glow of the lamp beside the bed. You talk, you cry, you kiss when she wants to. You hold her as if your very presence can stitch her broken pieces back together. Each touch, each whispered word, is an attempt to rebuild, to heal.

As dawn begins to break, casting a pale light over the room, Alexia finally falls into a restless sleep, her head on your chest, your fingers still tangled in her hair. You stay awake, watching over her, knowing that this is where you’re meant to be. The early morning light paints her face in soft hues, the remnants of her tears glistening like dewdrops.

In the quiet of the early morning, with the world slowly coming to life outside, you make a silent vow. To stand by her, to lift her up when she falls, to be her rock in the storm. Because love is more than just the good times; it’s the strength to face the bad ones together. You press a final kiss to her forehead, the gesture a silent promise.

[winterarmyy]

Against All Odds | Part II

An arranged marriage with the duke's illegitimate son!bucky.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 6.4k++

Pairing: duke's illegitimate son!bucky x noble!female!reader

Warnings: implied 18+ content, implied smut, sprinkles of fluff, death, blood, violence, a truck load of angst, heartbreak, and honestly… just raw pain. so, i'd say grab a box of tissue or a shoulder to cry on, just in case.

A/N: i am sorry for what is about to happen in this chapter. but, please know that I love you. and oh, did i mention that release date is based on my local time zone (UTC+08:00)? anyway, I hope you enjoy your time.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N was stirred awake from her dreamless sleep by none other than the restless movements on the shared bed. Blinking her eyes open, the dim light from the moon intruded her sight; her blurry vision glanced across the room, the light casted a pale glow on the surface. On her side, Bucky was tossing and turning; his face contorted in utter distress. His muscular body was taut, sweat glistening on his skin. His breaths came in harsh, uneven gasps, and his hands clutched on the sheets as if he were holding on for dear life.

“Please, no, please,” he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with desperation. Y/N’s heart ached at the sight of him in such torment. Reaching out, her hands gently touching his arm. His skin was clammy and hot, his muscles twitched under her fingertips. She could feel the frantic pulse under his skin, the erratic rhythm mirroring the chaos in his mind.

“Bucky,” she called softly, her voice laced with concern. “Bucky, wake up.” She sat up and leaned over him. Her hand moving to his sweaty scalp; caressing through his hair, gentle and soothing. “It’s okay, Bucky. You’re okay. Please, open your eyes.”

Bucky’s body jerked as he jolted awake causing his wife to startle at his sudden movement. His eyes wide and unfocused as the salty tears spilled from the corners. His haunted gaze stared into the void, his chest heaving, body shivering. He seemed disoriented, his heart pounding so loudly that it drowned out the world around him. Y/N’s voice, however, managed to pierce through the ringing in his ears. 

Her words were like a lifeline, a beacon in the darkness of his mind. Each gentle whisper seemed to pull him further from the grip of his nightmare, grounding him back in the reality where he was safe and loved. She repeated his name, each utterance calm and reassuring, hoping to anchor him to the present. “Bucky?”, her tone soft; filled with worry. 

He blinked, finally able to see her. “Y/N?” His voice sounded small and broken compared to his large and seemingly powerful build. It was a voice filled with vulnerability, a voice that seemed almost alien coming from someone who is usually so strong. His eyes, typically so steely and determined, were now wide and clouded with fear and confusion; lingered with trails of terror from whatever it was he saw behind his closed eyes.

It pained her to see him like this, reduced to a shadow of the man she knew. The dissonance between his imposing physique and the fragility in his voice was contradicting, making her heart ache for him even more. “Yes, Bucky. It’s me,” she replied gently, her hands delicately traced his clenched fists; drawing meaningless circles around his knuckles.

For a moment, he simply stared at her, as if he couldn’t believe she was real; sitting so close for him touch. Her bare skin glistened underneath the moonlight. The soft pink of her cheeks and lips, the bright gleam of her eyes; it made her look ethereal, almost otherworldly. An epitome of warmth and light; she looked so… alive. 

Within seconds, without warning, Bucky’s body surged forward, engulfing her in a fierce embrace.  “Y/N…” he murmured, his voice trembling as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. His body shaking with silent sobs. She could feel his breath, hot and ragged against her skin, each exhale filled with a depth of emotion that he rarely displayed.

She held him tightly, her hands running soothingly up and down his back. “I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m here, Bucky.” Her heart ached for him, for the pain that he was obviously carrying alone. Her thoughts raced, wondering what kind of demons were haunting his dreams, what kind of pain he was enduring. She felt a fierce protectiveness grew within her, a desperate need to comfort and shield him from whatever it was that tormented him. Each sob that wracked his body seemed to pierce her own heart, deepening her resolve to be his strength.

Bucky’s body trembled with suppressed sobs, as she continued to stroke his hair, whispering soothing words until his breathing began to steady and his tears slowed. She could feel the tension slowly leaving his body, his muscles relaxing under her touch. 

Her whispers were a constant reassurance, a reminder that he was not alone, that she was there. Each stroke of her hand, each soft word, was a promise of her unwavering support and love. She could feel him clinging to her, as if she were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

As Bucky reluctantly pulled away from her arms, she looked up at his broken state; noting the redness in his eyes and nose, the tear stains on his scruffy cheeks, “What’s wrong, my love?” she asked softly, wiping away the remaining tears flowing. Her voice was gentle, but her eyes were filled with determination. 

It had been a few months into their marriage, and the seasons had changed since Y/N had first arrived at Bucky’s mansion. The cold, snowy landscape of winter had gradually given way to the bloom of spring, and with it, the promise of new beginnings. 

In those early days, Y/N’s feelings for Bucky had been built on a foundation of simple trust. As his wife, she had expected to offer support and loyalty, and in return, she hoped for a stable companionship. Yet, it didn't take long for those initial feelings to deepen into something far more profound. 

She had been drawn to his warmth and the vulnerability he rarely showed to others. It was in the quiet moments, when they were alone, that she began to see a different side of him. Far from the heinous rumours people blatantly consume; a side that was not just a fierce protector, but also a man capable of deep affection.

Yet, amidst the beauty of their budding romance, one thing had remained constant: Bucky's nightmares. They were not as frequent as they had been at the start, but they were consistent, recurring often enough to disrupt their otherwise peaceful nights. 

Y/N had grown accustomed to waking in the middle of the night to find him thrashing in his sleep, his brow furrowed in anxiety, his breaths sounding fractured, his skin sticky with sweat. However, she had never seen him like this; tears freely fell from his eyes, looking so fragile and broken. It was both heart-wrenching and humbling to witness. She worried about him, about the torment he seemed to carry within him. She longed to understand the source of his pain, to be his support system even for a little bit.

She continued to gently probe him to tell her the truth; to share his darkness only for him to shake his head, tears filling up yet again as he unwilling to put his pain into words. Instead of speaking out, he leaned in and kissed her deeply, his lips conveying a need that went beyond physical desire. His hands caressed her bare skin, tender and fervent, as if seeking solace in her touch. Each kiss was a wordless plea, a desperate attempt to find comfort and reassurance in the only way he knew how. His touch conveyed an urgent need, a gentle exploration that spoke of his love and longing for her. The desperation in his kiss was clearly evident, a tangible manifestation of the torment he was trying to escape.

Y/N responded with equal tenderness, understanding that this moment was about comfort and connection, not lust. She understood that he needed this, and though she longed to know what was haunting him and hoped to share his burden, however, she respected his silence. It was his story to tell after all, so for now she’ll let him hold her. To have their bodies entwined the way he wanted; to let him have the relief he so hopelessly craved for.

Bucky’s love was passionate yet filled with love that she felt tears pricking at her own eyes. She sensed the depth of his emotions; in each thrust into her heat, in every trembling whisper of “i love you”s, every drop of his warmth spilling into her. She could feel the weight of his sorrow, the intensity of his need for her. Her heart swelled with deep affection, her own tears mixing with his as they clung to each other. She wanted to take away his pain, to be his sanctuary in this moment of vulnerability.

Y/N sat in the sunlit parlour, the soft rays of the morning sun casting a golden hue over the elegant room. Her fingers traced the delicate patterns on her teacup, her thoughts drifting as she absently stirred her tea. Across from her, Wanda sipped her tea with a relaxed smile, her demeanour calm and inviting. Despite the serene setting, Y/N’s mind was occupied with the troubling events of the previous night.

Wanda’s eyes, sharp and perceptive, caught the distant look on Y/N’s face. She tilted her head slightly, her tone teasing yet concerned. “What’s on your mind, Y/N? Has Bucky been bullying you again?” The playful tone was intended to lighten the mood, but Y/N’s thoughts were remained dark.

A soft laugh escaped Y/N’s lips, and she shook her head, a genuine smile breaking through her thoughtful expression. “No, far from it. Bucky has always been a sweetheart, you know that.” she replied, her voice warm with fondness as her thoughts wandered back to her husband. 

Wanda scoffed softly, “If making you walk weird every morning is not bullying to you, I don’t know what is.” She was quick with her wit of banter. Y/N shook her head as her cheeks glowed with a pinkish shade. Her memories meandered to the time when she had first settled into their new home in the northern region. 

The shift from the bustling capital to this colder, more serene landscape had been a significant change, but one she embraced with open arms. It was the beginning of winter, and the snow painted the landscape in a pristine blanket of white. The gentle snowflakes drifted down, and beneath the thin layer of snow, resilient flowers continued to bloom. The contrast was beautiful and invigorating; a sense of peace and tranquillity engulfed her.

She remembered her first days in the sprawling mansion, its grandeur both overwhelming and exhilarating. The staff members, a group of dedicated and welcoming individuals, had eagerly guided her through her new responsibilities as the lady of the mansion. Mrs. Lane, the head maid, had taken special care in introducing Y/N to the intricacies of managing such a vast estate. From the daily routines to the ceremonial duties, Mrs. Lane’s patience and kindness made Y/N’s transition smoother. She recalled the staff’s warm demeanour, their smiles and nods of approval as they showed her the ropes, their hospitality making her feel right at home.

Bucky, too, had been noticeably livelier since she had arrived. The maids, even the knights, frequently mentioned how their lord seemed more cheerful in the days when she was around. Y/N took pride in their acknowledgement, feeling that her presence had brought a positive change to their household fluttered her heart. The compliments and the warmth from those around her were affirmations that she was settling in well and that her husband was happy.

And then there was that one particular evening, as she and Bucky walked through their garden. The sun was setting behind them, the air was crisp, and the snow-covered grounds sparkled in the last remaining light of the winter sun. As they strolled hand in hand, Bucky’s touch was the source of relief against the chill of the season. He led her to a secluded spot under a snow-laden tree, a favourite place of hers that had become a sanctuary for quiet moments. There, he presented her with a small, intricately wrapped box. Its paper adorned with delicate patterns that caught the fading light.

Y/N’s heart fluttered with anticipation as she carefully unwrapped the box. Inside lay a pen, and as soon as her eyes fell upon it, she recognized it instantly. The pen was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, unlike anything she had ever seen. Its barrel was made of a rare, silvery metal that seemed to shimmer with its own light, reflecting a rainbow of hues with each movement. Intricate patterns were etched into the surface, forming an elegant design that was both enchanting and sophisticated. The cap of the pen was adorned with a small, iridescent gemstone that captured and held the light, casting a soft, magical glow.

Her eyes widened in recognition and delight. “Is this…,” she breathed, her voice filled with awe and disbelief. “I.. I never imagined I’d actually own one.” 

Her fingers traced the elegant curves of the pen; heart swelling with a mix of gratitude and wonder. The pen was more than just a beautiful object; it was a tool of her craft. Its smooth, balanced design promised an effortless writing experience, and the magical quality of the pen added a touch of enchantment to her translations and writings. It was an instrument that would transform her passion for ancient languages into something even more special. The rare, magical properties of the pen would make her translations come alive, imbuing her work with a subtle, otherworldly grace.

Bucky smiled, his eyes brighten with a blend of affection and a knowing gaze as he recognized the sparkle in her eyes, “I’m glad you like it,” he said, his tone was gentle.

Her curiosity piqued as she asked, “How did you know?”, her voice a mixture of wonder and intrigue. “I never told you about this pen before.” Y/N's mind raced as she tried to recall if she had ever mentioned it in passing or left any clues that Bucky could have picked up on. She couldn't think of a single instance. This pen had been a private dream of hers, a wish she had never shared with anyone. 

Bucky’s smile was warm, though his eyes carried a hint of enigmatic depth. He took her hand and wrapped it around his arm. “Maybe I’ve been paying attention,” he said with a hint of playful mystery. “Or maybe I just know you better than you think.”

There was a depth in his eyes, a flicker of something significant that Y/N couldn’t quite place; an intensity that suggested an understanding beyond the ordinary. It was as if somehow he managed to delve into her innermost thoughts and desires, uncovering a secret she had kept even from herself. The pen, though exquisitely beautiful, seemed to hold an unspoken meaning; a connection that went beyond the surface.

Y/N’s heart swelled with emotion as she gazed at Bucky, realising just how much he meant to her. His gift was not just a luxury; it was a symbol of their growing intimacy. It was a reminder that Bucky had been attentive; that he had taken the time to understand and appreciate her in ways she had never imagined. Their relationship had started with hesitancy and uncertainty, a tentative dance around each other’s flaws and reputation. Now over time, he had become her rock, her constant companion, and the person she loved more deeply than she ever thought possible.

As her focus returned to the present, Wanda’s voice cut through Y/N’s reflections. “Then what’s bothering you?” Wanda asked, her tone shifting to a more serious note.

Y/N's thoughts then drifted to the moment she met Wanda.

It had been an unexpected yet delightful encounter, filled with a sense of destiny. Wanda was a powerful witch from the magic tower, renowned for her skills and wisdom. Despite her young age, she was considered a prodigy, the youngest ever to hold such a prestigious position. 

She had met Wanda through Bucky, and their bond had been immediate. Both women shared a deep fascination with ancient languages, and their mutual interest had led to a close friendship. They spent countless hours together, deciphering old grimoires and delving into the intricacies of forgotten tongues. 

Though they had only recently come together, Y/N felt an odd sense of familiarity with Wanda, as if their connection had roots extending beyond the present. It was a rare and cherished connection for Y/N, one that made her feel even more at home in her new life.

“Y/N,” Wanda said, her voice firmer this time, “Snap out of it. I’m serious. What’s troubling you?”

She set her teacup down, her expression growing solemn. “Bucky has been having nightmares,” she began, her voice tinged with worry. She recounted the restless nights, the desperation in Bucky’s voice, and how he had clung to her, unable to let go.

Wanda listened intently, her silence heavy with unspoken thoughts. there was sense that she knew more than she was letting on, but Wanda’s demeanour remained calm and collected. “Maybe it’s just the memories from the war taking their toll,” Wanda suggested softly, though her eyes harbouring a deeper understanding.

Y/N’s heart ached at the thought. Maybe it was; maybe it was just the souls he had slain coming back to haunt him; but something in her guts says otherwise. She could sense that this wasn’t just a recurrence of old wounds. Because sometimes, when Bucky awoke from these terrors, she could hear him muttering her name, his voice barely above a whisper; laced with despair. And then it always ended up with Bucky burying his cock deep inside her as he held her close for the rest of the night, clinging to her as if she were his anchor in a storm.

She continued to explain things that did not add up to Wanda’s theory, “And each time these nightmares haunt him, he ends up…” she hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “...ho-holding me for the rest of the night; refusing to let me go,” she explained, her voice threaded with genuine frustration and concern. It was as though his need to hold her was an instinctive response to stave off the terror that plagued his dreams.

Wanda’s eyes twinkled with a hint of playful exasperation. “Oh so you’re bragging to me now? That your husband loves you so much he won’t let you leave the bed?” Her comment, though seemingly light-hearted, carried an undercurrent of truth. In hindsight, it simply might have sounded like jealousy from an unmarried woman but especially to Y/N, who failed to see Wanda’s words as more than just playful teasing , the hidden meaning went unnoticed.

Her cheeks tingled with a deep blush; her laugh was a sound of an underlying embarrassment. “No, it’s not like that!” she protested flusteredly.

Wanda’s laughter was light and carefree, hiding the subtle shift in the atmosphere. “Well, it certainly sounds like it. But seriously, if Bucky’s having nightmares, it’s probably remnant of what he had gone through in the wars he fought. Men like him carry those scars deeply,” Wanda said, her voice softening with a note of empathy.

As they continued to enjoy their tea, Y/N tried to shake off the lingering unease. Wanda’s teasing and their shared laughter provided a temporary respite from her worries. But as she looked at her friend, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Bucky’s nightmares than the memories of the war. For now, though, she let Wanda’s playful banter and their camaraderie soothe her, even if only for a little while.

Bucky stood in the dimly lit room, the soft hum of a nearby lamp casting long shadows against the walls. The air was thick as the cold of the night mingled with the lack of warmth in his eyes. On a heavy wooden table in front of him lay a collection of weapons, each one meticulously arranged in a precise order. The blades, all different in shape and size, gleamed menacingly in the dull light, their sharp edges catching the faint glint of the lamp’s glow.

Carefully inspecting the weapons in front of him, his fingers running over the smooth steel with a precision that bordered on obsession. He picked up a particularly long and slender dagger. And as he turned the blade in his hand, the metal caught the light and cast a cold, eerie reflection of his face. It was a haunting image; his eyes, usually a clear, expressive blue, were now shadowed and distant, their depths hollow and impenetrable. There was a deadness to them that spoke of countless battles fought and horrors witnessed. His face was a mask of stoicism, but beneath the surface, there was a storm raging, a maelstrom of past regrets and unresolved anger. 

Bucky’s grip around the handle was tight, his knuckles white with the intensity of his hold. The veins in his hands stood out prominently, a stark contrast to the smooth, polished steel of the weapon. Each knife was a reminder of the skills he had honed, the battles he had fought, and the assassinations he had carried out. 

He moved to another knife, a small throwing blade with a wickedly sharp edge, he tested its balance with a practised flick of his wrist. The blade spun through the air with a deadly precision before landing with a soft thud into a luxurious painting hung against the wall. His eyes followed its path, and for a moment, a flicker of anger flashed across his face. 

Suddenly, a figure materialised from the shadows, revealing itself with a slight shimmer. Wanda had been there all along, invisible, her presence unnoticed until now. She stepped into view with a wry smile as she glanced at the knife that had embedded itself dangerously close to her. “Whoa, didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that,” she said, her tone a mix of surprise and light-heartedness.

The room was silent for a while, only the faint sounds of Bucky’s movements carried through. He was deeply engrossed in his fortitude, his concentration absolute, a far stretch to the gentle, affectionate man he was whenever Y/N's near. In this moment, Bucky was a figure of intense focus and grim determination. His silence was punctuated only by the clatter of knives and the soft hiss of steel slicing through the air as he continued to hone his weapons. 

Wanda observed him with a mix of respect and concern. The light-hearted air that usually surrounded her had vanished, replaced by a more sombre and serious demeanour. She approached quietly, her footsteps barely making a sound on the floor. As she neared, her voice broke the oppressive silence. “Everything’s ready for the mission,” she said, her tone was devoid of the usual playfulness. Her words were carefully measured and the gravity of the situation reflected in her gaze. 

Bucky didn’t look up, his hands moving with grace as he continued to arrange his arsenal. “I’m almost finished,” he replied tersely, his voice betraying no hint of emotion. His focus was unwavering, his mind wholly consumed by the mission that lay ahead. The weight of his resolve was palpable, filling the room with an air of silenced tension.

Wanda’s expression softened slightly as she watched him. She understood the depth of his commitment and the toll it took on him. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know?,” she said quietly, her voice carrying a note of gentle concern.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, suddenly remembering the brutal betrayal that had led him to this predicament in the first place. The memory of the past; that fateful decision and the ancient magic that brought him back to this very moment, surged through his mind.

The night was alive with chaos as Bucky rode with frantic urgency, the pounding of hooves on the snow-covered ground mingling with the roar of a storm that mirrored the tempest in his heart. His breath came in sharp, visible gasps as he urged his horse to greater speeds, each beat of its powerful legs seeming to push him closer to the nightmare he feared. The familiar landscape of his northern estate was barely visible through the blizzard, the swirling snowflakes obscuring his vision and adding to the mounting dread.

His mind raced, his thoughts a blur of fear and desperation. “No, please, no,” he muttered under his breath, the words a futile plea against the encroaching darkness. The relentless clamour of battle reached his ears, a discordant symphony of clashing steel and anguished cries that only heightened his anxiety.

As he neared the mansion, the sight that greeted him was one of utter devastation. Smoke billowed from the once-pristine home, and the sounds of combat grew louder, more intense. Bucky's heart pounded in his chest, each beat a painful reminder of the urgency to reach his wife. He dismounted quickly, his boots sinking into the snow as he sprinted toward the entrance.

The once-beautiful halls of the mansion were now a scene of utter carnage. The rich tapestries were torn, their vibrant colours now marred by bloodstains. Bodies of servants and knights alike, lay scattered, their lives snuffed out like candles in the winter wind. The floor was slick with a dark, ominous red, and the walls bore the marks of a brutal struggle. Bucky’s gaze was steely, his rage a palpable force that seemed to drive him forward, each step a grim determination to find his wife.

His hands tightened around the hilts of his weapons, the familiar weight of his knives and sword was a small comfort in the midst of the chaos. With each enemy he encountered, his movements were swift and lethal, the precision of his attacks was such a visible difference to the disarray around him. The flashes of steel and the sharp cries of the dying filled the air, but Bucky’s focus was singular. He barely registered the battle around him, his mind a relentless drive toward that one singular goal: Y/N.

Finally, he reached the door to their private quarters. It was ajar, hanging precariously on its hinges. Bucky pushed it open with a forceful shove, his breath catching in his throat at the sight that met him. The room was eerily silent, save for the soft, steady sound of the cold wind outside. His eyes swept the room, a chilling realisation dawning as he took in the scene.

There, amidst the wreckage, lay Y/N, her once-beautiful form now crumpled on the floor. Her delicate back was marred by a series of gaping wounds, the result of a brutal assault. The sight of her lifeless body, curled protectively on the bloody floor, sent a jolt of horror through Bucky. Tears sprang to his eyes, blurring his vision as he stumbled forward, each step heavy with dread and despair.

As he drew closer, the true extent of the tragedy revealed itself. Y/N’s arms were wrapped tightly around something; a small, fragile bundle. His heart clenched painfully as he realised what it was. With trembling hands, he gently pried the baby from her cold embrace, his fingers barely able to grasp the tiny form. The baby was motionless, the silence of its little body a crushing blow to his already shattered soul.

“No, no, no,” Bucky’s voice was a desperate whisper, choked with indescribable grief. He cradled Y/N against his chest, his tears falling freely now as he held the lifeless bodies of both her and their child. His sobs were raw, guttural, the sound of a man who had lost everything. The weight of their deaths was unbearable, a suffocating agony that seemed to crush his very spirit.

As he held her, a torrent of emotions surge through him: anguish, disbelief, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. His world had come crashing down, and the weight of his misery was almost unbearable, his tears fell from the blue of his eyes, “Please, please.” His breaths came in shaky, tortured gasps, as his quivering hands cupped her pale cheeks, “Open your eyes, my dear. I beg of you.” Her closed eyes remained stubbornly shut, unaffected to his hopeless pleas. The stillness of her form was a cruel reminder of those tender mornings when she would pretend to sleep just a little longer, feigning ignorance to his gentle kisses as he tried to rouse her

His hands moved to caress his child, the tiny body so still and unresponsive. The weight of his grief rendered him speechless, unable to utter a single word through the crushing pain. The absence of the high-pitched chortles and shrieks, the silence that echoed back at him, was a devastating reality to the lively sounds he had grown accustomed to. The baby, who had always responded to his touch with joy and curiosity, now lay motionless.

His heart shattered with the brutal realisation that this was not merely the loss of his beloved wife but also the crushing end to the life of their child. The sight of Y/N’s bloodied form and the lifelessness of their child were etched into his mind, a haunting image that would never fade. 

Bucky’s and Y/N’s relationship had not started with ease. In their first lives, the beginning of their marriage was awkward; Bucky’s rough edges clashing with her gentle spirit. He had not known how to be tender, how to navigate the complexities of human emotion. Months were the time that Y/N's eyes would look up at him with evident fear and Bucky’s cold exterior unable to convey his true feelings.

But his wife, his dearest, with her unwavering patience and kindness, had been a constant light in his life. She had shown him what it meant to be human, to be gentle and caring. Despite his monstrous past, she had embraced him with an acceptance that was both humbling and transformative.

Their early days together were marked by a series of stumbles and missteps. Bucky’s attempts at intimacy often fell short, his rough touch and brusque mannerisms was the polar opposite to Y/N’s softness. Yet, her constant presence was a soothing wave to his soul. Over time, their awkward interactions gave way to a profound connection. Her warmth and understanding had nurtured a deep-rooted trust between them. 

Bucky had fallen in love with her in a way that he had never thought possible, his heart swelling with a happiness that was both new and overwhelming.

And when the news of her pregnancy travels to his ears, Bucky’s joy had been boundless. He vowed to protect them both with everything he had, to shield them from harm and create a future filled with love and security. The dream of their family, of a life together with their child, was a beacon of hope amidst the shadows of Bucky’s past. 

As the arrival of his firstborn got closer and closer, Bucky was determined to embrace this new chapter and leave the violence behind; so he approached the Emperor with a request to retire. He sought the reward for his years of service; an end to the wars and a chance to build a peaceful life with his family. But the Emperor, a man consumed by greed and a desire to retain his most powerful weapon, refused his request outright.

Bucky, fueled by the righteous fury of a man protecting his family’s future, resorted to threats. The Winter Soldier’s formidable reputation, sharpened by years of brutal efficiency, made the Emperor cower in fear. Terrified of his own creation, the Emperor reluctantly agreed to grant Bucky his only wish; but only under the condition that he would win one last war for him. 

Bucky, driven by his desire to secure a safe future for Y/N and their child, agreed to the terms.

As the cruel fate had written, the Emperor’s promise was a deceitful trap. 

While Bucky was away fighting the final battle, the Emperor’s true intentions were revealed. Viewing Y/N and their newborn child as distractions; potential threats to his plans and Bucky’s dedication. So he sought out to send his troops to Bucky’s estate. Their mission was clear: remove the ‘distraction,’ the family that Bucky had sworn to protect. The Emperor’s greed and paranoia had led him to a treacherous betrayal.

Now, that dream of a peaceful future with Y/N and their child lay shattered before him, replaced by the devastating reality of their deaths. The promise of safety and love was obliterated by the cruel hand of betrayal, leaving Bucky with nothing but the hollow weight of his ruined dreams.

In a heart-wrenching moment, Wanda appeared out of thin air, collapsing to the floor, her own form battered and bloodied. She had fought valiantly, protesting against the Master of the magic tower who had conspired with the Emperor. The same Master who had helped remove the magical protection Wanda had placed around Y/N and the baby, a gift she had bestowed as a token of becoming the child's godmother. 

The battle had taken its toll on her, yet the sight of Y/N’s and the baby’s unnatural stillness pained her more than any wound maiming her own body. In her dying breath, Wanda dragged herself toward Y/N, who lay silently in her husband’s arms. Her eyes filled with sorrowful determination as he gripped Bucky’s collar, “Are you willing to do anything to save her?”

Bucky was a man lost in a sea of agony, drowning in raw sorrow and overwhelming despair. His world had crumbled around him, leaving him numb and detached from reality. He could scarcely comprehend the magnitude of his loss, the emptiness that now consumed his heart. His vision blurred with tears, he could barely focus on Wanda’s words, the weight of his devastation pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.

Wanda’s grip tightened, her eyes pleading as she uttered, “Dammit Bucky, answer me! Will you?!”

Bucky’s gaze fell on the soulless forms of his beloved wife and child in his arms. He imagined the light of their eyes shining once more, the sound of their voices filling the silence that had taken over. As he envisioned the warmth and laughter that had once been a part of his life, a wave of fierce determination washed over him. His eyes burned with a fierceness, a resolve that was born of immense grief and love. He nodded with resolute certainty, his jaw set in grim determination. 

Wanda smirked triumphly; there was a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes as if she knew what the future held for them. “Now go and kill that fucking bastard,” she commanded, her voice strained but resolute. 

The world around Bucky seemed to warp and dissolve as her magical chants echoed in his mind; the room, the blood, and the bodies fading away. Just before everything vanished, Bucky leaned down to place a kiss on Y/N's lips and the baby's cheek, a silent vow to return and save them. Tears fell from his eyes, mingling with the blood on their skin. He whispered, "I promise, I'll come back for you."

It was as if the world was turned upside down as he was pulled backward through time. The blizzard outside was replaced by the heat of a summer battlefield, the familiar chaos of combat giving way to the eerie silence of a different kind of conflict. 

Bucky’s breath came in ragged gasps as he surveyed the new surroundings, the scent of human flesh burning and the sounds of distant artillery woke him to a reality he thought he would never see again. His heart still raced, the pain of his loss a constant weight in his chest. 

The memories of Y/N’s cold body and their child’s stillness haunted him, more than the bodies of corpses piling in front of him. The remnants of that heart-wrenching image was fresh in his mind. His gaze hardened as he realised where he was; he was no longer in the wreckage of his home but back in the midst of a war he once fought long before. In fact, exactly a few months until he is to be wed to Y/N. 

As he took in his surroundings, Bucky felt a chilling sense of déjà vu, a haunting awareness that he was being thrust back into a time when the stakes were high and lives hung in the balance. The agony of losing his wife and their child was now a burning ember in his heart, driving him forward with a renewed sense of purpose and a determination to change the course of fate. And this time his mission was not to win the war but to put an end to the emperor's life. 

“No. I have to do this alone.” His determination was a wall of resoluteness.

Wanda felt a deep ache in her heart for the burden he carried. She knew that the weight of his mission and the pain of his loss were almost unbearable. She thought about the fact that all of this might not even happened if not for Y/N’s discovery in their first lives. 

After translating one of Wanda’s old grimoires; Y/N discovered an ancient forbidden magic where the ability of manipulating time is not a myth but actually a reality. Though she had been sceptical of its possibilities, Wanda on the other hand was convinced. 

Since then, Wanda had been experimenting with time, first testing it on objects. Shredded paper reconstructed back to its original shape, and slowly she cast it on a wilted flower, bringing it back to when it bloomed. In time, Wanda learned the possibility of the magic to turn back time for more than just small things, but only at a price. 

Dabbling with the magic to such an extent would mean to lose the most important trait of a person, something deeply tied to their identity or purpose. For each individual, this trait was different, and the magic demanded a unique sacrifice based on what they valued most. That was why Wanda had asked Bucky if he was willing to do anything to save Y/N. 

Agreeing to it, Bucky would have to sacrifice his sight. His vision was essential not only for his prowess in battle but also for the simple yet immense joy of seeing his loved ones; Y/N and their child.

Losing his sight meant relinquishing his ability to protect them with the sharp precision he had always relied on. No longer would he be able to look into their eyes and see the warmth that sparked his every day. He would miss the simple joy of seeing his wife's pink cheeks flushed when he kisses her or the radiant beauty of her smile lighting up a room.

He wouldn’t be able to watch his child’s milestones; first steps, the way they would grow and change over time. He’d miss the subtle shifts in their expressions, the silent conversations shared through glances, and the small, fleeting moments that paint a vivid picture of their development.

That was the sacrifice he needed to make to save them.

Wanda had explained that the loss of his sight would occur gradually over time, not instantaneously. She reassured him that she would find a way to prevent it or at least mitigate its impact.

Bucky stayed quiet, contemplating the gravity of his decision, the weight of his sacrifice pressing heavily on his mind. “We can worry about that later.” 

Then he diverted the conversation, “What did you say that time? Oh, ‘Go and kill that fucking bastard’?” A wicked smirk pulled at the corner of his lips.

Wanda’s eyes flashed with unwavering determination. “And I meant every single word.”

Part III >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: yes, i have been reliving this pain in my head ever since i posted that blurb earlier this year :) also, i tried really hard to hide the time-travel aspect until we reach bucky's flashback. i really hope it was conveyed well for you guys to understand what happened. anyways, please leave me the crumbs of your thoughts on this chapter for me to read. thank you so much! i'll see you in a few days.

[dewdropdinosaur]

Kinktober Day 26: Seduction

Summary: Lucifer hadn't flirted in centuries and by all senses of the word, is convinced he has lost his game. But when you look so pretty and sweet across the room, he can't help but shoot his shot. Not that you mind at all. Warnings: Seduction, oral sex, public sex, reader has a vagina. MNDI, 18+. You're responsible for your own media consumption.

Y'all only five more days of this?! Where did the time go?

The air was thick with laughter and the tantalizing scent of indulgence. Glittering lights danced around the room, casting a warm glow over the eclectic mix of demons and lost souls, champange flowed like rivers of unholy water, and n one corner, a piano played an enchanting melody, filling the space with a sense of mischief and allure.

Lucifer, the charming and devilishly handsome ruler of Hell, leaned casually against a grand marble pillar, his piercing eyes scanning the crowd. He’d seen all manner of beings throughout the ages, but tonight, one figure caught his attention: you. Charlie’s beloved mother figure, radiating warmth and kindness even amidst the chaos of the underworld. You had offered your services to the hotel not too long ago and quickly became a staple of the residents, offering a listening ear and aid wherever needed. While Lucifer had been introduced to you once before, rather awkwardly might he add, it did not deter him from admiring you from afar. You were chatting with a group of guests, your laughter like music, and Lucifer felt an unfamiliar tug at his heart—an emotion he hadn’t entertained in centuries since Lillith. As he watched you interact with Charlie’s friends, a playful smirk spread across his face. Perhaps this was a challenge he couldn’t resist. 

With a firm nod and puffing out his chest, he was ready. He hadn’t brought out any modicum of confidence in years, but why not try?  With a graceful stride, Lucifer approached, his presence commanding attention. The crowd parted as he made his way to you, his charisma lighting up the space around him. 

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he drawled, his voice smooth like velvet. Shit, was he really being that smooth right now? “A shining beacon in this abyss of despair. Tell me, what brings you to such a delightful gathering?”

You looked up, a mix of surprise and amusement dancing in your eyes. “Just keeping an eye on Charlie and her friends. They can be a bit wild.”

Lucifer chuckled, his gaze locking onto yours. “Ah, the ever-vigilant protector. How admirable. But surely, even the most dutiful guardian deserves a little fun?”

A playful glint sparkled in your eyes as you replied, “And what kind of fun do you have in mind, Mr. Morningstar?” A soft blush coated your cheeks, it was no secret to anyone but Lucifer himself that you had a huge crush on the King. That first awkward meeting, him stumbling over words and shouting wildly had you head over heels in love within seconds. Though you had never broached the subject, knowing that it might get complicated being with Charlie’s father. 

But it wasn’t a problem if he was the one that iniated the interaction, right?

“Why don’t we find out together?” He stepped closer, his gaze intense yet inviting. “I can show you a side of Hell that’s not so... overwhelming. Just you and me, away from the chaos.”

You hesitated, sensing the allure in his words but also the danger. “And what’s the catch?”

He laughed softly, a sound that wrapped around you like a warm embrace that had you letting out a dreamy sigh. “No catch. Just a chance to enjoy the night without the worries of the world. Besides, who better to share the experience with than someone who knows how to navigate this realm?”

Intrigued, you finally relented, nodding. Extending your hand for him to take, he grasped it with vigor and led you out of the room. “Alright, show me what you’ve got.”

Lucifer’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he led you away from the throng of partygoers. As you wandered deeper into the hotelm the air around you seemed to thrum with excitement. His grasp never left yours, a soft smirk playing on his lips. With each step and passing glance, the excitement turned to arousal slowing pooling in your pants. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Lucifer halted abruptly and turned to face you. Pinning you against the wall, breath fanning over yours in short pants; his eyes flicked between your lips and eyes. 

“I—um—“ Bringing his hand to cup your chin, eyes boring into yours with a darkened lust, his lips slowly came to brush against yours. As if to give you an out, a chance to say you didn’t want this as much as he does. Seeing no hesitation, he encased you between his arms as closed the distance between them in a swift motion. Both yours lips were captured in a fervent kiss. Tongue and teeth clashed, your nimble hands traveling to settle at the nape of his neck and give a soft tug; illicting a moan from the shorter man. For the sin of pride, he might as well have been lust when he was kissing you with such emotion. 

Pulling his mouth away to trail wet kises down the valley of your neck, your hands continued to tug in his hair as breathy moans spilled past your lips in silent pleas for more. Nimble fingers traced up your waist, tugging softly on the waistband of your panties beneath your skirt before snapping the hem.

“May I? Can I take you right here, darling?”

“Fuck, please, Lucifer—“

 Sinking to his knees to pull down your panties from below your dress, leaving your bare cunt exposed to the cool air. Letting out a gasp of surprise that was quickly replaced with a lewd moan, Lucifer dragged his knuckle over your dripping slit. Marveling at how your body reacted to him, each moan and buck of your hips into his hand, Lucifer was nothing short of mezmerized by your perfect figure. Working his way down, his face ended between your thighs. Diving in, his tongue lapped up all the juices that spilled from your needy cunt. Sucking softly here and there while delving as deep as his tongue would allow(he would not admit to using magic to make it longer), your let out wanton moans and hisses of pleasure. Gripping the wall behind you as your eyes remaind squeezed shut in ectasy, you felt like you were in a dream. Was this really happening? Because if this was a dream, someone better never wake you. 

“Wanna see you cum on my face, ducky. Please, please cum on my face for me?” His eyes shown with hope, voice laced so sweetly despite the filth of his words. 

Good gosh, you were in for a perfect night, seduced by the devil himself. 

[fioredeciliego]

Sweet like Sin - Kim Minji x Fem!Reader

10k words

Y/N sat at a gleaming desk, absently twirling her quill as Archangel Gabrielle approached with her signature no-nonsense stride. A scroll materialized in her hand, glowing faintly with divine energy.

“Y/N,” Gabrielle began, her tone stern yet warm. “We’ve decided on your next assignment.”

Y/N perked up, brushing an errant strand of her halo-like light back into place. She loved assignments—they were her chance to guide humans toward a brighter path, to be the beacon of hope she was born to be.

Gabrielle placed the scroll on the desk. “You’ve been paired with a demon.”

The quill fell from Y/N’s hand, clattering onto the marble surface. “A demon?!”

Gabrielle nodded, the faintest hint of amusement in her usually impassive face. “Yes. Every demon gets a guardian angel. We believe this one has potential. It’s your job to bring it out.”

“But—but demons are incorrigible! They don’t listen, they don’t care, and they definitely don’t bake cookies for charity!”

Gabrielle raised a brow. “That’s why it’s your assignment, Y/N. You’ve always excelled in... stubborn cases.”

Y/N groaned, dramatically flopping her head onto the desk. “Fine. Who is it?”

Gabrielle unfurled the scroll with a wave of her hand, revealing an elegant name written in celestial script: Kim Minji.

Y/N squinted. “Never heard of her. Is she one of those fire-and-brimstone types? Or a sulky goth type?”

Gabrielle gave her a knowing smile. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

--

Moments later, Y/N stood in the assigned meeting spot, a tranquil meadow just beyond the pearly gates. She fidgeted, wings twitching nervously. In the distance, a faint shimmer appeared, growing closer and more vivid until a figure stepped through.

Y/N stiffened.

The demon wasn’t at all what she expected.

Instead of horns and a tail or a shadowy aura of menace, Minji looked... adorable. She had shoulder-length dark hair that framed her youthful, smiling face, and her black outfit seemed more chic than sinister. She waved enthusiastically as she approached, her grin dazzling and completely disarming.

“Hi there!” Minji chirped, practically bouncing on her heels. “Are you my guardian angel?”

Y/N blinked, unsure how to process the sheer sunshine radiating off this supposed demon. “Uh... yes? I’m Y/N.”

Minji clasped her hands together, eyes wide with delight. “Wow, you’re even prettier than I imagined! I hit the jackpot!”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat, her wings fluffing involuntarily. “Excuse me?”

Minji giggled, clearly enjoying the angel’s flustered reaction. “Oh, nothing. So, what’s the plan? Do we go cloud-hopping? Maybe you show me how to play the harp?”

Y/N shook herself out of her daze, glaring at Minji. “This isn’t a vacation. I’m here to help you grow kinder and—hopefully—redeem yourself.”

Minji tilted her head, looking genuinely intrigued. “Redeem myself? For what? I haven’t done anything bad today. Unless you count stealing Gabriel’s chocolate stash last week. But honestly, he shouldn’t leave it lying around like that.”

“You stole chocolate from an archangel?!”

Minji shrugged, her grin cheeky. “What can I say? It was calling my name.”

Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering to herself. “This is going to be a long assignment.”

Minji stepped closer, hands clasped behind her back as she peered up at Y/N with an innocent expression. “Don’t worry, angel. I’m sure we’ll get along great. I mean, look at us—we’re a match made in Heaven! Well, and Hell.”

Y/N shot her a pointed glare. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not here to be your friend. I’m here to do my job.”

Minji smirked, clearly undeterred. “Sure, sure. But I bet you’ll like me eventually. Everyone does.”

“We’ll see about that.”

As they began walking toward their first session, Y/N tried to shake off the uneasy feeling in her chest. Minji might be a demon, but her smile was far too warm—and far too charming—for Y/N’s peace of mind.

“By the way,” Minji said, glancing at her. “Do guardian angels always look this good, or am I just lucky?”

Y/N groaned. This was definitely going to be a long assignment.

--

Y/N hovered just above the ground, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. She scanned the meadow, her angelic senses on high alert. After the whirlwind that was Minji’s introduction, she’d spent the last few hours mentally preparing for whatever absurd antics the demon might pull next.

“This is fine,” Y/N muttered to herself, pacing in a small circle. “She’s probably plotting something. Maybe she’ll try to tempt me with—”

“Cookies!”

Y/N whirled around, her wings flaring instinctively. Standing behind her was Minji, holding a tray piled high with what appeared to be freshly baked cookies. The demon’s smile was wide and impossibly innocent, and the sunlight bouncing off her dark hair made her look far more angelic than Y/N was comfortable admitting.

“What,” Y/N said flatly, her gaze flicking between Minji and the cookies, “is this?”

Minji lifted the tray slightly, the smell of chocolate and caramel wafting toward Y/N. “Cookies! I baked them just for you.”

Y/N blinked, momentarily speechless. “You... baked cookies?”

Minji nodded enthusiastically, her grin never wavering. “Yep! I figured since it’s our first real meeting, I should make a good impression. I even used organic ingredients! You angels are into that, right?”

Y/N stared, trying to process the scene before her. “This has to be some kind of trick. Did you lace them with... I don’t know, sin or something?”

Minji gasped, clutching the tray dramatically to her chest. “How dare you accuse me of cookie corruption? These are pure, unadulterated baked goods. Scout’s honor!”

“You were never a scout,” Y/N deadpanned.

“Details.” Minji stepped closer, holding out the tray. “Come on, just try one. They’re not poisoned, I swear. Unless you’re allergic to deliciousness.”

Y/N hesitated, eyeing the cookies with suspicion. She wasn’t naïve enough to trust a demon, no matter how sweet they seemed—or smelled. But as Minji’s expectant gaze bore into her, Y/N found herself reaching out despite her better judgment.

She picked up a cookie, examining it like it was a cursed artifact. It looked... perfect. Golden brown, gooey chocolate chips, a sprinkling of sea salt on top. Against her will, her stomach rumbled.

Minji giggled, clearly pleased. “See? Even your celestial stomach knows what’s up.”

“Quiet,” Y/N muttered, breaking off a small piece of the cookie. She sniffed it, half-expecting it to burst into flames. When it didn’t, she cautiously took a bite.

The taste was heavenly.

Y/N froze, her eyes widening. The cookie melted in her mouth, the perfect balance of sweet and salty. It was, without question, the best thing she’d ever tasted.

“So?” Minji asked, leaning in with a hopeful smile. “What do you think?”

Y/N forced herself to swallow, quickly adopting a neutral expression. “It’s... acceptable.”

Minji’s grin grew wider. “Oh, come on! That was a celestial-sized bite of joy, and you know it.”

“It’s a cookie,” Y/N replied, striving for nonchalance. “Nothing more.”

Minji gasped, placing a hand over her heart as if wounded. “How dare you downplay my culinary masterpiece? That cookie could solve wars.”

“Or start them,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

Despite her feigned indifference, Y/N couldn’t stop herself from taking another bite. She hated how good it was—and how much she hated that she didn’t hate Minji for it.

“Alright,” Y/N said after finishing the cookie, brushing crumbs off her pristine robes. “What’s your angle?”

Minji tilted her head, her expression genuinely confused. “Angle? What do you mean?”

“You’re a demon. There’s always an angle. Are you trying to butter me up so I’ll give you a glowing review? Or maybe you think if you act sweet, I’ll just ignore all your past sins.”

Minji’s smile softened, and she set the tray of cookies on a nearby rock. “Y/N, not every demon is out to manipulate you. Some of us just... like making people happy.”

Y/N arched a skeptical brow. “You’re saying you genuinely enjoy baking cookies for other people?”

Minji nodded, her gaze earnest. “Baking makes me feel calm. And seeing someone smile because of something I made? It’s the best feeling.”

For a moment, Y/N was taken aback. Minji’s words didn’t feel like the calculated charm of a manipulative demon. They felt... sincere.

“That doesn’t sound very demonic,” Y/N admitted cautiously.

Minji shrugged, her smile turning sheepish. “Yeah, well... I’m not exactly your textbook demon. I mean, I do my job—I tempt people, cause a little chaos here and there—but it’s not who I am all the time, you know?”

Y/N frowned, trying to reconcile Minji’s words with everything she’d been taught about demons. “If you don’t like being a demon, why not try to change?”

Minji looked away, her playful demeanor dimming slightly. “It’s not that simple. Once you’re marked as a demon, people expect you to act a certain way. Even if I wanted to... be different, it’s not like anyone would believe me. Except maybe you.”

The weight of Minji’s words hung in the air, and for the first time, Y/N felt a pang of sympathy for her assignment.

“Well,” Y/N said after a moment, trying to lighten the mood, “if you’re serious about changing, maybe start by not stealing archangels’ chocolate.”

Minji’s laugh was bright and melodic, a sound that caught Y/N off guard. “Noted. No more chocolate thievery. So... does this mean I passed the first meeting?”

Y/N sighed, glancing at the tray of cookies. “You didn’t set anything on fire or try to sell my soul, so I guess that’s a good start.”

Minji beamed. “I’ll take it!”

--

Y/N stood in front of the ominous-looking black door, wings twitching with unease. “So, this is your lair?” she asked, eyeing the ornate, gothic architecture with suspicion. “Why am I not surprised it screams ‘demonic chic’?”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, angel,” Minji said, her tone chipper. She leaned against the doorframe, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement. “You might actually like it inside.”

Y/N crossed her arms. “I highly doubt that.”

Minji smirked, reaching for the handle. “Suit yourself. But if you don’t come in, you’ll miss out on my famous hot chocolate.”

“Hot chocolate?” Y/N repeated, her skepticism growing. “What kind of demon has hot chocolate in their lair?”

“The kind who knows how to live!” Minji chirped, pushing the door open with a dramatic flourish.

Y/N braced herself for the worst—screams of the damned, sulfuric smoke, grotesque decor. But as the door swung open, her jaw dropped.

Minji’s lair was... cozy.

The walls were painted a soft pastel pink, adorned with fairy lights and framed posters of serene landscapes. A plush couch sat in the center of the room, surrounded by mismatched but charming furniture. A fluffy white rug sprawled across the floor, and a collection of potted plants thrived in one corner.

“What... is this?” Y/N asked, stepping inside as if she were walking into an alternate reality.

“My humble abode,” Minji said proudly, kicking off her boots and flopping onto the couch. “Make yourself at home. Want a blanket? I have at least ten.”

Y/N blinked, unsure how to process the scene before her. “This doesn’t make any sense. You’re a demon. Where’s the fire? The brimstone? The souls writhing in agony?”

Minji propped her head up on one hand, grinning. “Oh, come on. That’s such a stereotype. Do you really think I’d live somewhere so depressing? I need good vibes to thrive.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re telling me the underworld lets you decorate like this?”

“Not exactly,” Minji admitted, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Technically, I’m supposed to maintain the whole ‘demonic doom’ aesthetic. But I figured, why not make it my own? Life—or afterlife—is too short to be surrounded by gloom.”

Y/N shook her head, utterly baffled. She wandered further into the lair, eyeing the eclectic decor. A small bookshelf caught her attention, filled with romance novels, cookbooks, and what appeared to be a collection of glitter pens.

“Are those... scented candles?” Y/N asked, pointing to a shelf lined with jars labeled Vanilla Dream, Ocean Breeze, and Pumpkin Spice.

“Of course,” Minji replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You can’t have a cozy night in without candles.”

Y/N turned to Minji, hands on her hips. “How are you even a demon? You’re more wholesome than most angels I know.”

Minji sat up, crossing her legs beneath her. “Hey, don’t let the decor fool you. I can be very demonic when I need to be.”

“Oh, really?” Y/N challenged, raising an eyebrow. “Like when you bake cookies or steal archangels’ chocolate?”

Minji gasped, placing a hand over her heart. “That was a moment of weakness! Besides, I apologized for the chocolate thing.”

Y/N couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible in a charming way, right?” Minji teased, winking.

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t answer, instead continuing her exploration. She stopped in front of a cluster of framed photos on the wall, each showing Minji in various candid moments—laughing with other demons, posing with a giant plate of food, and even petting a golden retriever.

“Who takes these pictures?” Y/N asked, genuinely curious.

Minji hopped off the couch and joined her. “Oh, my friend Yeji. She’s a fellow demon, but she’s also really into photography. She says I’m her favorite subject because I’m so photogenic.”

Y/N studied the photos, noticing how happy Minji looked in every single one. It was hard to reconcile this carefree, radiant girl with the image of a scheming, malevolent demon.

“Do you ever take your job seriously?” Y/N asked, turning to Minji.

Minji tilted her head, her playful smile softening. “Of course I do. But that doesn’t mean I have to let it define me. Just because I’m a demon doesn’t mean I can’t have fun or be kind. I’ve learned to make the most of what I’ve got.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment, taken aback by the sincerity in Minji’s voice. “I guess I never thought about it like that.”

Minji grinned, nudging Y/N’s shoulder. “See? I’m not so bad once you get to know me.”

Y/N gave her a look. “Don’t push it.”

“Too late,” Minji said, grabbing a blanket from a nearby chair and draping it over Y/N’s shoulders. “Now sit down and try my hot chocolate. I guarantee it’ll change your life.”

Y/N hesitated but eventually let Minji guide her to the couch. Minji disappeared into the kitchen, and moments later, she returned with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and sprinkles.

“Sprinkles?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow as Minji handed her a mug.

“They make everything better,” Minji replied, plopping down beside her.

Y/N took a tentative sip, and to her annoyance, it was delicious. Rich, creamy, and perfectly sweet—just like everything else about Minji’s bizarrely endearing existence.

As they sat in comfortable silence, Y/N found herself relaxing in Minji’s presence. Despite her initial doubts, she couldn’t deny that Minji had a way of making her feel at ease—a rare feat for anyone, let alone a demon.

“You know,” Minji said suddenly, breaking the quiet, “I think we make a pretty good team.”

Y/N snorted. “We’ve known each other for less than a day.”

“Details,” Minji said with a wave of her hand. “I can already tell you’re going to be my favorite guardian angel.”

Y/N shook her head, hiding her small smile behind her mug. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re stuck with me,” Minji said cheerfully, raising her mug in a toast. “Here’s to our weird little partnership.”

Y/N clinked her mug against Minji’s, still unsure what she’d gotten herself into—but for the first time, she didn’t mind so much.

--

Y/N paced in front of the long, gleaming table, her pristine white robes shimmering under the room’s ethereal light. Wings twitching slightly, she tried to focus on the lesson at hand. Across from her, Minji slouched in her chair, her legs casually draped over the side as she twirled a celestial quill between her fingers.

“First rule of angelic virtues,” Y/N began, her voice steady despite her growing frustration, “is selflessness. A true guardian must think of others before themselves.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Minji drawled, inspecting the feathered pen like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“It’s not exhausting—it’s fulfilling,” Y/N shot back, her tone clipped. “It’s the foundation of everything we do as angels.”

Minji tilted her head, her lips curling into a playful smile. “Let me guess—you were top of your class in angel academy. The kind who turned in assignments early and reminded the teacher about homework, right?”

Y/N crossed her arms. “And proud of it. Those principles are why I’m here to help you.”

Minji let out a low chuckle, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re adorable when you’re annoyed, you know that?”

“I am not—” Y/N started, but Minji raised a hand, cutting her off.

“Relax, angel,” she said, leaning forward with a grin that could melt glaciers. “I’m just saying, maybe you could learn a thing or two from me.”

“From you?” Y/N repeated incredulously, her wings flaring slightly. “Learn what? How to make everything into a joke?”

“Close,” Minji said, tapping her chin as if deep in thought. “How to live a little. Let loose. You angels are so uptight with all your rules and halos.”

“I’m not uptight,” Y/N said defensively.

Minji smirked. “Oh, really? Then prove it.”

Before Y/N could ask what she meant, Minji grabbed a stack of perfectly organized training materials from the table and tossed them into the air. The papers fluttered down like snowflakes, scattering across the room.

“Minji!” Y/N’s voice was sharp, her eyes wide with horror. “What are you doing?!”

“Making things more exciting,” Minji said with an innocent shrug. She picked up one of the papers and held it like a victory flag. “Doesn’t this feel more... free?”

“This is chaos!” Y/N exclaimed, crouching to gather the fallen papers. “And it’s my job to fix it.”

Minji crouched beside her, their shoulders brushing as she reached for a paper. “Maybe that’s your problem, angel. Always trying to fix things. Maybe you should just... let go.”

Y/N paused, her fingers hovering over a page. For a brief moment, the warmth of Minji’s proximity made her thoughts stutter. She glanced sideways and caught Minji watching her with a soft, teasing smile.

“Stop distracting me,” Y/N muttered, looking away quickly.

“Admit it,” Minji said, leaning closer. “You’re having fun.”

“I am not—” Y/N began, but her words faltered as she met Minji’s gaze. There was something disarming about the way Minji looked at her, like she wasn’t just teasing anymore.

“You’ve got that little smile,” Minji pointed out, her own grin widening. “Right there.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed as she turned her attention back to the papers. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Minji said softly, “you’re still here.”

--

Later, after the mess was cleaned up and Y/N had regained her composure, they moved on to the next lesson.

“Gratitude,” Y/N announced, trying to refocus the session. “It’s about recognizing and appreciating the good in your life.”

“I’m great at that,” Minji said, her grin returning.

Y/N gave her a skeptical look. “Really?”

“Of course.” Minji placed a hand over her heart. “For example, I’m incredibly grateful to have a guardian angel who’s so dedicated. And cute.”

Y/N’s wings twitched. “That’s not—”

“And I’m grateful for this lovely lesson, even if it’s a little... rigid.”

Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. “Gratitude isn’t about flattery, Minji. It’s about genuine appreciation.”

Minji’s smile softened, and for a moment, the teasing faded. “You mean like appreciating how hard you’re trying, even when I’m being... well, me?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in Minji’s voice. “I—well, yes. That’s... part of it.”

Minji leaned back in her chair, her gaze lingering on Y/N. “Then I think I’m starting to get it.”

Y/N didn’t know how to respond. The warmth in Minji’s tone left her feeling strangely unsteady, like she was standing on the edge of something she couldn’t quite see.

“Guess you’re not such a bad teacher after all,” Minji added, her grin returning. “But don’t let it go to your halo.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though the faintest smile tugged at her lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re stuck with me,” Minji said, her voice low and teasing.

Despite herself, Y/N felt her heart skip a beat. “Heaven help me.”

--

“Remember, this isn’t a vacation,” Y/N said, glancing over her shoulder at Minji.

Minji twirled in place, arms stretched wide, her dark coat billowing like wings. “It’s not? With scenery like this, it might as well be. You sure we’re not on a date, angel?”

Y/N sighed. “We’re here to help humans, not to fool around.”

Minji stopped spinning and grinned. “I don’t know, Y/N. Humans seem pretty good at fooling around. Maybe I’m just fitting in.”

“Minji,” Y/N warned, her tone heavy with exasperation. “Please focus.”

Minji clapped her hands in mock seriousness. “Yes, ma’am. Focused and ready to spread some good vibes.” She paused, then nudged Y/N. “You know, for someone with wings, you sure are grounded.”

Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose. She needed patience—heavenly patience—to handle this mission.

--

Their first target presented itself in the form of a woman struggling to carry an armful of groceries while chasing after a particularly sprightly toddler.

“That’s perfect,” Y/N said, pointing. “We’ll help her first. It’s straightforward.”

“Straightforward?” Minji echoed, trailing after Y/N. “Helping someone while they’re also managing a tiny human tornado? Sounds like advanced-level heroics to me.”

Y/N ignored her, stepping up to the woman with a polite smile. “Excuse me, ma’am. Would you like some help with those bags?”

The woman turned, her frazzled expression softening. “Oh, thank you. That would be amazing.”

Y/N took two bags with practiced ease. Minji, eager to participate, reached for another but underestimated its weight.

“Whoa—!” Minji yelped as the bag tipped, spilling its contents across the path. Apples rolled into the grass, a loaf of bread landed in a puddle, and a can of soup wobbled precariously near a storm drain.

“Minji!” Y/N hissed, rushing to gather the scattered items.

“Oops,” Minji said, crouching to help. She grabbed an apple and held it up triumphantly. “At least this one didn’t bruise!”

The woman laughed, clearly amused despite the chaos. “You two are so sweet. Thank you for trying.”

As Y/N handed over the recovered groceries, she shot Minji a pointed look. “Maybe let me handle the heavy lifting next time.”

Minji just shrugged, her grin unrepentant. “Hey, at least I made her laugh. That’s helping, right?”

--

Their next stop was an elderly man sitting on a bench, fumbling with his shoelaces.

“I’ll take this one,” Y/N said firmly.

Minji raised her hands in surrender. “Go for it, angel. I’ll stay right here and admire your handiwork.”

Y/N crouched in front of the man, offering him a gentle smile. “Let me help you with that.”

“Why, thank you, young lady,” the man said, his voice warm and kind.

As Y/N tied the laces with efficient care, she glanced up to see Minji digging through her coat pocket.

“Here,” Minji said, holding out a wrapped candy to the man. “A little treat for your walk.”

The man chuckled, taking the candy with a twinkle in his eye. “Well, isn’t that thoughtful? Thank you, miss.”

Y/N stood, brushing her hands off on her coat. She gave Minji a wary look as they walked away.

“Candy?” Y/N asked.

“Hey, it’s the thought that counts,” Minji said, popping another candy into her own mouth. “Besides, he seemed to like it.”

Y/N sighed, but her annoyance was tempered by the warmth spreading in her chest.

--

The final test came when they stumbled upon a group of children gathered around a tree, pointing up at a small, frightened cat perched on a high branch.

“Oh no,” Y/N murmured.

“This is my moment,” Minji declared, already marching toward the tree.

“Minji, wait—”

But Minji didn’t wait. She grabbed the lowest branch and hoisted herself up, her movements surprisingly agile for someone so prone to tripping over her own feet.

“Hey there, kitty,” Minji cooed as she climbed higher. “Don’t worry, I’m here to save you.”

The cat hissed, its ears flattening.

“Be careful!” Y/N called, her wings twitching instinctively under her coat.

Minji waved a hand dismissively. “Relax, I’ve got—”

The branch beneath her foot cracked ominously.

“Minji!” Y/N shouted, her heart leaping into her throat.

“I’m fine!” Minji called back, her voice slightly less confident. She reached for the cat, managing to scoop it into her arms. “See? Easy—”

The cat swiped at her face, yowling loudly. Minji yelped, losing her balance. She slid down the trunk in a flurry of leaves and landed in an ungraceful heap at the base of the tree.

The children gasped. Y/N rushed forward, kneeling beside Minji. “Are you okay?!”

“Ta-da!” Minji said weakly, holding up the now calm cat.

The children cheered, running forward to take the cat from her. “Thank you, lady!”

Y/N stared at Minji, torn between exasperation and something softer, something warmer. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, helping Minji to her feet.

“And you love it,” Minji said with a wink, brushing leaves out of her hair.

--

By the time the sun began to set, the park was quiet, and Y/N and Minji found themselves sitting on a bench overlooking a small pond.

“You’re impossible,” Y/N said, though there was no real heat in her voice.

“And yet, here you are,” Minji said, leaning back and stretching her arms over the back of the bench.

Y/N glanced at her, the golden light of the setting sun catching in Minji’s eyes. She looked so out of place, yet somehow perfectly at home.

“Today wasn’t a total disaster,” Y/N admitted.

Minji gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “Was that... a compliment? From my angelic mentor?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“No promises,” Minji said, her grin softening into something genuine. “Thanks for letting me tag along today. I mean it.”

Y/N’s heart did a little flip at the sincerity in Minji’s voice. She looked away, focusing on the rippling water. “You’re welcome. Just... maybe next time, try not to climb any trees.”

Minji laughed, the sound light and carefree. “Deal.”

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the world around them bathed in warm hues of orange and pink. Y/N felt something shift—something she wasn’t ready to name yet.

But as Minji leaned closer, nudging her shoulder playfully, Y/N couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this demon wasn’t so bad after all.

--

Minji’s lair, a surprisingly cozy space lit by warm, flickering candles. Plush cushions and quirky trinkets fill the room, making it feel more like an artist’s studio than a demon’s lair. Y/N sits on a velvety armchair, scribbling notes in her celestial journal. Minji lounges nearby, her legs dangling off the side of a sofa, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Hey, angel,” Minji said lazily, propping her chin on her hand as she rolled onto her side. “What’s got you so focused over there? Writing a love letter to the Big Guy upstairs?”

Y/N didn’t bother looking up from her journal, her pen scratching purposefully against the page. “I’m writing down all the ways you’ve tested my patience today.”

Minji let out a melodramatic gasp, clutching at her chest. “That many, huh? And here I thought I was being charming.”

“You’re something, alright,” Y/N muttered, glancing up to narrow her eyes at the demon.

Minji grinned, her sharp canines peeking out. “C���mon, Y/N. You’re no fun when you’re all work and no play.” She paused, her eyes glinting with a sudden idea. “Speaking of play... you haven’t noticed anything missing, have you?”

Y/N’s brow furrowed. “Missing?”

“Mm-hmm.” Minji sat up, looking far too pleased with herself.

Y/N hesitated, her hand unconsciously reaching up to the space above her head. Her fingers touched empty air.

Her heart sank.

“Minji,” she said slowly, her tone dangerously low. “Where is my halo?”

Minji’s expression teetered between guilt and amusement. “Oh, that? It’s safe! I promise!”

“Safe?” Y/N’s voice pitched upward as she stood abruptly, her journal falling forgotten onto the chair. “Where is it, Minji?!”

The demon tried to wave her off, but Y/N was already scanning the room, her sharp gaze darting from corner to corner. “I swear, if you’ve done anything to—”

“I hid it,” Minji blurted out, holding up her hands. “But only as a joke!”

“A joke?!” Y/N’s wings flared slightly, their usual ethereal shimmer pulsing with irritation. “Do you even understand how sacred a halo is?”

“I... uh...” Minji rubbed the back of her neck, looking sheepish. “No?”

Y/N groaned, pacing the room. “It’s not just some shiny accessory, Minji! It’s—ugh!” She spun to face the demon, her eyes blazing. “Where. Is. It?”

Minji flinched under the intensity of Y/N’s glare but quickly scrambled to her feet. “Relax, angel. It’s right here!”

She darted over to a cabinet, pulling open a drawer and retrieving the halo. It shimmered faintly in her hands, casting a warm golden glow over her sheepish face.

“See?” Minji said, holding it out like a peace offering. “Perfectly fine. No scratches or anything.”

Y/N snatched the halo from her hands, cradling it protectively. The moment it touched her fingers, she felt its reassuring warmth seep into her skin, calming the storm in her chest.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, her wings drooping slightly as the adrenaline left her.

“Hey, I said I was sorry,” Minji offered, her voice unusually soft.

Y/N glared at her, but there was less heat in her eyes now. “You don’t get it, do you? This halo isn’t just a symbol. It’s part of me. Tampering with it is like...” She paused, searching for the right analogy. “It’s like me messing with your... your horns or something.”

Minji tilted her head. “I don’t have horns.”

“That’s not the point!”

Minji’s shoulders slumped, her usual confidence dimmed. “I really didn’t mean to upset you, Y/N. I just thought it’d be funny. You know, lighten the mood.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” Y/N said sharply, though her tone softened when she saw the genuine remorse in Minji’s eyes.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The golden light of the halo cast their faces in warm hues, accentuating the raw emotions lingering between them.

Finally, Minji broke the silence. “You’re right,” she said quietly, her gaze fixed on the floor. “I don’t get it. I don’t get a lot of things about you... or this whole guardian angel thing.” She gestured vaguely between them. “But I’m trying. I swear I’m trying.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the vulnerability in Minji’s voice. She watched as the demon ran a hand through her dark hair, her usual mischievous energy replaced by something quieter, more uncertain.

“I’ve spent centuries being good at one thing—causing trouble,” Minji continued, her voice tinged with bitterness. “It’s easy. It’s what I’m supposed to do. But this? Trying to be better? Trying to be someone worthy of a guardian angel?” She shook her head. “It’s terrifying. And I guess... I use jokes to cover that up.”

Y/N felt her heart soften, her earlier anger dissipating like mist in the sunlight. “Minji,” she said gently, stepping closer.

The demon glanced up, her dark eyes filled with an uncertainty Y/N had never seen before.

“You’re not a failure,” Y/N said firmly. “The fact that you care enough to even try says more about you than you realize.”

Minji let out a soft laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh. “You’re way too nice to me, angel.”

“Someone has to be,” Y/N replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

They stood there for a moment, the tension in the room shifting into something lighter, warmer.

“You know,” Minji said, her usual playfulness creeping back into her tone, “if you keep looking at me like that, I might start thinking you like me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile that followed. “Don’t push your luck.”

Minji grinned, her confidence returning in full force. “Noted. But I’m still counting this as a win.”

“Of course you are,” Y/N muttered, though her tone was more fond than annoyed.

As Minji flopped back onto the rug with an exaggerated sigh of relief, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a small spark of hope. For all her flaws, Minji was trying—and maybe, just maybe, they were both learning something from each other along the way.

--

Y/N: “Alright, Minji. We’re starting simple. Hand this bread to that old woman. It’s an act of kindness. Easy, right?”

Minji: grinning “Piece of cake!”

Minji confidently strides toward the woman but trips on her own shoelaces. The bread flies out of her hand, soars through the air, and lands directly on a pigeon, sending feathers flying.

Old Woman: shocked “Good heavens!”

Minji: holding up her hands “I-I can explain! It’s… artisanal pigeon bread?”

Y/N: facepalms “We’re off to a great start.”

Minji turns back with a sheepish smile, while the old woman cautiously retrieves the bread and pats the dazed pigeon.

--

The celestial garden was tranquil, a lush expanse of flowers in shades of soft pink, lavender, and white. The air felt like it was laced with magic, as though the very atmosphere itself was imbued with a sense of peace. There were flowers that bloomed with each step, a testament to the care the celestial beings had for this space. Birds with iridescent feathers flitted through the trees, singing melodies that resonated with the purest notes of heaven.

But despite the serene beauty of it all, Minji was nowhere near as calm as the surroundings. Her shoulders were tense, and she had been pacing for the past several minutes, her footsteps light on the soft grass but full of restlessness.

Y/N watched her from a distance, her hands clasped behind her back, her gaze soft but observing. Minji’s usual playful demeanor was absent, replaced with a kind of anxiety that Y/N wasn’t used to seeing.

“Minji,” Y/N called out, her voice carrying through the quiet garden. “Are you alright?”

Minji froze mid-step, glancing over her shoulder to meet Y/N’s eyes. The playful, mischievous spark that usually danced in her gaze was dimmer, replaced by something Y/N couldn’t quite place. She straightened up, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Yeah, of course,” Minji replied, though her voice sounded strained. “Just thinking.”

Y/N frowned, stepping closer. “You’ve been thinking for a while now. What’s going on?”

Minji turned away slightly, looking down at her shoes, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. There was a discomfort in her posture that made Y/N’s heart twinge.

“I… I’ve been thinking about this whole ‘trying to be good’ thing,” Minji admitted, her voice quiet. “I know I’m supposed to be working toward becoming a better demon so I can go to Heaven, but it feels like… like I’m just not good enough. You know?”

Y/N’s heart ached at the sincerity in Minji’s voice. For all the jokes and playful teasing, Minji was still a demon, and demons were supposed to be bad. But Minji wasn’t like that. She was far from it.

“Minji,” Y/N said softly, walking up to her and gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to be perfect. You’re already more than enough just as you are.”

Minji blinked at her, the vulnerability in her eyes surprising Y/N. The words seemed to hit her harder than expected, and for a moment, she seemed unsure of how to respond.

“I know I’m not perfect,” Minji said quietly, her voice breaking just slightly. “But sometimes… I just wish I could be more than what I am. More than just a demon.”

Y/N’s chest tightened at the admission. She had known Minji was struggling, but hearing her admit it out loud made it all feel so much more real. The weight of the situation was sinking in, and Y/N wasn’t sure how to ease it.

“You’re already more than a demon, Minji,” Y/N said, her tone gentle but firm. “You’re kind, you’re sweet, and you have so much to offer. You just… you just don’t see it.”

Minji let out a breath, glancing away as she bit her lip. “It’s hard to believe that when all I’ve ever been told is that demons are supposed to be bad. It’s hard to believe that when I can’t even seem to get anything right.”

Y/N frowned, her hand still on Minji’s shoulder. She gently squeezed it, trying to offer comfort. “That’s because you’ve been listening to the wrong people.”

Minji looked up at Y/N, confusion written on her face. “The wrong people?”

Y/N nodded, smiling softly. “You’ve been listening to the voices that tell you you’re not good enough. But the truth is, you’ve always been good enough. You just have to believe it yourself.”

Minji stared at her, blinking slowly as the words sunk in. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. For a long moment, they just stood there, the weight of their conversation settling over them like a warm, invisible blanket.

Y/N didn’t know what else to say, but she didn’t need to. The silence between them was comforting, as if they both understood without having to explain it all.

Finally, Minji broke the silence, her voice small but sincere. “I’m really trying, Y/N. I want to be better. I want to be… I don’t know… worthy of something.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She could feel the sincerity in Minji’s words, the vulnerability that Minji rarely showed. It wasn’t easy for her to admit these things, and Y/N felt honored that she had.

“You are worthy, Minji,” Y/N said, her voice soft but steady. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. You just need to be you.”

Minji’s eyes softened as she looked at Y/N, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” Y/N replied without hesitation.

Minji’s expression shifted, something warm and tender flickering in her eyes. “You’re the first person who’s ever told me that. Maybe I can believe you, just this once.”

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat at the sincerity in Minji’s voice. She hadn’t realized how much Minji needed someone to see her for who she truly was, not just as a demon or a failure, but as a person.

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, the air thick with something unspoken. The warmth in Minji’s gaze made Y/N’s chest tighten, and for a fleeting second, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, she was starting to feel something more for this clumsy, sweet demon who had wormed her way so deep into her heart.

Minji’s lips parted as if she were about to say something, but then she hesitated, glancing away nervously. “I, uh… I just… I’m really glad I met you, Y/N.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart thudding in her chest. “I’m glad I met you too.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Minji’s lips quirked into a playful grin. “So, does this mean you’ll finally admit I’m the best demon you’ve ever had?”

Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle at her persistence, the tension between them momentarily lifting. “You’re getting there, Minji. But I’ll need a bit more convincing.”

Minji’s grin grew wider, and Y/N could see that playful spark returning to her eyes. “I can work with that.”

Y/N laughed softly, but the warmth in her heart remained, a quiet reminder that she was beginning to care for this sweet, imperfect demon in ways she hadn’t expected.

And for the first time, she felt a little less like an angel tasked with saving someone and a little more like someone who might just be falling for a demon who was trying to find her way.

--

Y/N: “Alright, Minji, this is simple. We’re just going to help that little kid with his lemonade stand.”

Minji: grinning “Got it. I’m a professional.”

Minji, in her excitement, lunges forward—only to knock over the entire lemonade stand, sending cups and lemons flying everywhere. The kid stares at her, wide-eyed, as Minji awkwardly picks up a cup, trying to salvage the situation.

Minji: blushing “Um, it’s... uh... It's the thought that counts, right?”

Y/N: facepalming “I can’t even. Just, let’s go before we cause a lemonade disaster of biblical proportions.”

--

The human realm’s sky was a canvas of brilliant oranges and pinks, the sun dipping lower with every passing second, casting a warm glow across the meadow. Y/N found herself still standing beside Minji, her gaze lingering on the horizon, lost in the beauty of the scene. It wasn’t often she had the luxury of these quiet moments, especially not with a demon.

Minji, however, seemed more fascinated by the reflections in the sky than the tranquil scene itself. She stood with her arms crossed, her usual playful grin on her face, as though the sunset was just another background for the ongoing banter.

“So,” Minji finally spoke, breaking the silence with a lilt in her voice. “You like sunsets, huh?”

Y/N looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “That’s what you got out of all of this? Not the philosophical contemplation of life or the beauty of nature?”

Minji shrugged, her smile widening. “I’m a simple demon. I see a pretty view, and I think—‘Hey, nice view.’”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “That’s one way to put it.” She turned her attention back to the sunset. “I guess I do like sunsets. They remind me that even after the toughest days, the world still turns, and there’s always something beautiful to look forward to.”

Minji turned to her, eyes glinting with mischief. “A little poetic, huh? I didn’t know I was assigned to an angel with such a soft side.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm slightly, and she shot Minji a glance. “What about you, Minji? What do you think about sunsets?”

Minji leaned back slightly, contemplating the question with a furrowed brow. “Honestly? I think it’s the best time to sneak into a party.”

Y/N blinked, confused. “A party?”

Minji gave a teasing smile. “Duh. The sun’s setting, it’s cooler, and you can sneak in unnoticed. That’s like, demon 101.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at her absurd logic. “I don’t think that’s what sunsets are about, but okay.”

Minji smiled slyly. “Well, I’m all about the chaos, you know? I think life’s more fun when it’s unpredictable. You should try it.”

Y/N shook her head, her eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “I don’t know if I want to try your version of chaos.”

“Oh, come on. Just a little fun never hurt anyone.” Minji’s voice softened as she looked out at the sky again. “Maybe you could loosen up a bit. Life doesn’t always have to be so serious.”

Y/N crossed her arms. “I’m not that serious.”

Minji raised an eyebrow, the corner of her lips curling upward. “No? I don’t know, you’ve got this whole angel thing going on. It’s kinda hard to imagine you cutting loose.”

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, Minji continued with an unexpected sincerity. “But I guess I do get why you like sunsets.”

Y/N paused, looking at Minji. “You do?”

Minji nodded, her eyes flickering over to meet Y/N’s. “Yeah. I think they remind me of... new beginnings, or something. The day ends, and even though it’s kind of sad, you know there’s always tomorrow. It’s like, a reset button.”

Y/N was surprised by how deeply Minji spoke, her usual playful demeanor giving way to something more thoughtful. “That’s... a nice way to think about it.”

Minji shrugged, a small smile playing at her lips. “I’m full of surprises.”

Before Y/N could respond, Minji’s voice lightened again, shifting the mood. “But I’ve gotta admit—if I was assigned an angel like you, I’d be pretty intimidated.”

Y/N tilted her head, curious. “Why?”

Minji grinned. “Well, you’re all virtuous and perfect, and I’m, you know, a mess.” She gestured vaguely to herself, as though the idea of her being a demon was self-evident.

Y/N laughed, unable to suppress it. “You’re not a mess, Minji.”

Minji smiled at her warmly. “You know, you’re probably one of the nicest angels I’ve met. But I think... I think I want to do more than just be nice. I want to be something more, Y/N.”

Y/N blinked, sensing the deeper undercurrent of what Minji was saying. “What do you mean by that?”

Minji hesitated, her voice quieter now. “I guess I want to show you that I can be good. That I’m more than just a demon, that I’m worthy of—” She cut herself off, not finishing the thought.

Y/N felt a tug in her chest at the vulnerability in Minji’s words. She stepped closer, her voice soft but steady. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Minji. I’m here to help you, no matter what.”

Minji’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, it felt like the world around them stilled. “I know, but... I want to be better for you. And for myself.”

Y/N’s heart raced at the sincerity in Minji’s eyes. She didn’t expect this conversation to take this turn, but there it was—Minji, the demon who had been nothing but playful and mischievous, showing a side of herself that was raw and real.

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the words hanging in the air.

Finally, Minji broke the silence with a mischievous smile. “Well, enough of all that deep stuff. I’ve got something to show you.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What now?”

Minji pointed toward a nearby bench where an elderly woman had just dropped her purse. “Watch this.”

With a dramatic flourish, Minji strutted toward the bench with purpose, ready to help. But as she reached for the purse, her foot caught on the edge of the bench, and she toppled forward, knocking the purse even further away.

Y/N couldn’t help but watch, wide-eyed, as Minji scrambled to pick up the purse, all the while giving Y/N a sheepish smile.

“I swear, I’m getting better at this,” Minji said, grinning from ear to ear.

Y/N crossed her arms, smirking. “If this is your idea of helping, I think we need a new plan.”

Minji stuck out her tongue, playfully unbothered by the failed attempt. “Hey, at least I tried.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but deep down, she couldn’t deny how endearing Minji’s clumsiness was. There was something about her sincerity, even in the face of failure, that made Y/N’s heart soften.

“Maybe next time, I’ll let you handle the helping part,” Y/N teased, her voice laced with affection.

Minji looked at her with a mischievous grin. “Oh, I’m pretty sure we both know who’s actually in charge here.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You think so?”

Minji winked, stepping closer. “Yeah. But hey, let’s see who can be better at helping next time.”

Y/N shook her head, unable to hide her smile. “You’re impossible.”

Minji’s gaze softened, and she took a small step closer. “But you like it.”

And for the first time, Y/N couldn’t find it in herself to deny it.

--

Y/N: looking exasperated “Okay, Minji. The goal here is simple: just get the coffee order right. We’re helping someone, remember?”

Minji: enthusiastically “Got it. I’m a professional!”

Minji confidently strides over to the counter, only to slip on a spilled coffee bean, sending an entire tray of drinks flying. She spins around, eyes wide in disbelief.

Minji: “Well... uh, I still got the coffee to them, right?”

Y/N: facepalming “Minji, what is happening?!”

Minji: grinning sheepishly “Hey, I’m learning, okay?”

Y/N: laughing despite herself “I think we need a new approach. Fast.”

--

The celestial courtroom shimmered with ethereal light, the walls made of translucent crystal that refracted rainbows across the grand space. Y/N stood beside Minji, her usually composed demeanor fraying at the edges. She clasped her hands tightly, resisting the urge to reach out and give Minji’s arm a reassuring squeeze. After all, this was Minji’s moment to prove herself—not hers.

Minji, on the other hand, looked... well, like Minji. She shifted on her feet, her trademark grin masking the nervous energy practically radiating off her. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her jacket as if she were trying to channel her jitters into motion.

“Kim Minji,” Seraphiel called out, his voice resonating like a choir of bells. The head angel’s towering presence dominated the room, his six majestic wings folded neatly behind him. “You stand before us today to demonstrate what you have learned. Your task is not to impress us but to act with true kindness and compassion. Do you understand the gravity of this moment?”

Minji swallowed audibly, nodding. “Yes, I understand.”

“Good,” Seraphiel said, gesturing with one glowing hand. “Your trial begins now.”

The crystalline floor rippled like water, and the courtroom dissolved into a new scene: a quiet park in the human realm. Birds chirped in the trees, and the scent of blooming flowers hung in the air. On a bench sat an older woman, her posture heavy with sorrow. She clutched a small bouquet of daisies in her hands, her knuckles white against the stems.

Minji glanced at Y/N, her playful bravado slipping as genuine uncertainty crept into her expression. “What do I do?” she whispered.

Y/N tilted her head toward the woman, her tone soft but firm. “You listen. You help her, Minji. And this time, don’t think about how you look or what you’re supposed to say. Just... be there for her.”

Minji nodded, taking a deep breath before approaching the woman. She hesitated for a moment, then lowered herself onto the bench, leaving a respectful amount of space between them.

“Hi,” Minji said, her voice unusually gentle. “Are you okay?”

The woman looked up, startled by the interruption. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face lined with grief. “Oh,” she murmured, blinking at Minji. “I’m fine, dear. Just... remembering someone.”

Minji’s brow furrowed. She glanced down at the daisies, then back at the woman. “Someone important?”

The woman nodded, her lips trembling. “My son. He... he passed away a few years ago. Today’s his birthday, and I always bring him flowers.”

Minji felt a lump rise in her throat. She looked down at her hands, unsure of what to say. She had faced countless situations in her demonic existence—trickery, chaos, even outright danger—but nothing had prepared her for this.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

The woman’s gaze softened, though her sadness remained. “It’s kind of you to say that, but it’s okay. It’s been a while. I just... miss him, you know?”

Minji nodded slowly, her usual wit and humor nowhere to be found. “Yeah. I get it.” She hesitated, then added, “I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone, but I know what it’s like to feel like you’re not enough. Like you’re just... stuck with all these feelings, and you don’t know what to do with them.”

The woman’s eyes widened slightly, her expression shifting from sorrow to understanding. “That’s... that’s exactly it,” she said softly.

Minji bit her lip, her usual confidence completely replaced by vulnerability. She reached out, her hand hovering awkwardly before resting lightly on the woman’s arm. “I know I can’t make it better,” she said, her voice trembling. “But maybe you don’t have to carry it all by yourself. Even if it’s just for a little while, maybe someone else can help.”

The woman’s eyes filled with tears, but this time, they weren’t just tears of grief. She nodded, a faint smile breaking through her sadness. “Thank you, dear. That means more than you know.”

From her vantage point, Y/N felt a surge of pride so intense it made her chest ache. Minji wasn’t just fumbling her way through this trial—she was truly connecting with someone, showing a depth of compassion that even Y/N hadn’t fully expected.

As the scene began to dissolve, returning them to the celestial courtroom, Minji turned to the woman one last time. “Happy birthday to your son,” she said softly.

The woman’s smile widened, and then she was gone, the trial complete.

--

Back in the courtroom, Seraphiel rose from his seat, his expression unreadable. “Minji,” he said, his voice resonating through the space. “You have shown not only kindness but also vulnerability—a willingness to meet someone where they are, even when it is uncomfortable. You have passed this trial.”

Minji blinked, her mouth falling open slightly. “Wait... I did? I passed?”

Y/N laughed softly, stepping forward to stand beside her. “Yes, you passed, you ridiculous demon.”

A grin broke across Minji’s face, the tension in her shoulders melting away. “I knew I could do it,” she said, though the lingering disbelief in her tone betrayed her.

Seraphiel nodded once, his stern expression softening just enough to be noticeable. “You have a long way to go, but this is a promising start. Continue on this path, and you may surprise even yourself.”

As the courtroom dissolved, leaving Minji and Y/N alone in a quiet celestial hallway, Minji turned to her angelic companion, her grin now tinged with something softer.

“You were watching me the whole time,” she said, her tone teasing but her eyes warm.

“Of course I was,” Y/N replied, rolling her eyes. “I’m your guardian angel. It’s literally my job.”

Minji stepped closer, her voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Maybe. Or maybe you just couldn’t look away because you think I’m amazing.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, but she refused to give Minji the satisfaction of a flustered reaction. “Don’t push your luck,” she muttered, though her small smile betrayed her.

Minji chuckled, the sound light and carefree. “You like me, admit it.”

Y/N sighed, her smile widening despite herself. “Maybe a little,” she admitted.

Minji’s grin grew, and for a moment, the space between them felt charged with something unspoken. But then Minji pulled back, her expression shifting to something more genuine.

“Thanks, Y/N,” she said softly. “For believing in me.”

Y/N’s heart swelled. “Always, Minji.”

--

Y/N: handing Minji a bag of dog treats “Okay, this one is easy. Just feed the puppies and make them happy. No tricks, no chaos.”

Minji: grinning “Puppies? Piece of cake!”

Minji kneels down and starts handing out treats, but one overly enthusiastic dog jumps on her, sending the bag flying into a nearby fountain. Chaos ensues as dozens of dogs dive into the water, barking and splashing everywhere.

Y/N: facepalming “Minji! How do you even manage this?”

Minji: shrugging sheepishly, now drenched and surrounded by soggy dogs “At least they’re having fun?”

--

The celestial bridge sparkled with an ethereal glow, its silvery surface shimmering as Minji took her first steps onto it. Above her head hovered the faint outline of a glowing halo—a symbol of her achievement and transformation. Around her, angels and celestial beings clapped politely, their approving murmurs echoing through the boundless expanse of stars.

Y/N stood off to the side, her wings glowing faintly with pride and relief. She had watched Minji grow from a bumbling, mischievous demon into someone who had not only embraced kindness but had become an embodiment of it. The sight of Minji, radiant with her new halo, made Y/N’s chest swell with a warmth she couldn’t deny any longer.

As the ceremony concluded, Minji walked over to Y/N, her familiar playful grin firmly in place despite the solemnity of the event. “So,” Minji said, tilting her head up to indicate the halo, “how do I look? Angelic enough for you?”

Y/N snorted softly, shaking her head. “You’re still you, Minji. Halo or not.”

Minji’s grin widened. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Come on,” Y/N said, motioning toward a shimmering portal that led to the Garden of Eden. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Minji followed without hesitation, her wings fluttering slightly with each step. As they passed through the portal, the lush expanse of the Garden came into view. Vibrant flowers bloomed in every imaginable color, their petals shimmering like jewels. A soft, golden light bathed the landscape, and the gentle hum of celestial energy filled the air.

Minji’s eyes widened in wonder. “Wow. It’s beautiful.”

Y/N led her to a quiet corner of the Garden, where a small stream trickled through a bed of glowing moss. They sat down together on a stone bench, the silence between them comfortable but charged with unspoken emotions.

“Minji,” Y/N began, her voice unusually soft. She stared down at her hands, unsure how to begin.

Minji tilted her head, her playful smile fading as she noticed Y/N’s serious expression. “Hey,” she said gently. “What’s on your mind?”

Y/N hesitated, then looked up to meet Minji’s gaze. “You’ve come so far. Watching you grow, seeing the way you’ve embraced kindness—it’s been incredible. But that’s not all.” She took a deep breath, her wings shifting slightly as if to steady herself. “Somewhere along the way, I realized that I... care about you. A lot more than I’m supposed to.”

Minji’s eyes widened slightly, her mouth parting in surprise. “Y/N...”

“I know it’s not exactly in the rulebook,” Y/N continued, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “But I can’t pretend anymore. You mean so much to me, Minji. More than I ever thought possible.”

For a moment, Minji was silent, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face—a smile so warm and genuine that it made Y/N’s heart ache.

“Y/N,” Minji said softly, her voice almost reverent. “I’ve wanted to hear those words since the day we met.”

Y/N blinked, her blush deepening. “Wait, really?”

Minji laughed, the sound bright and melodic. “Of course. Do you know how hard it was not to flirt with you every second of the day? Well, harder than I already did, anyway.”

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Minji’s smile softened, and she reached out to take Y/N’s hands in her own. “I’ve felt the same way for a long time. You’ve seen the best and worst of me, and you’ve never given up on me. How could I not fall for you?”

Y/N’s heart raced as Minji leaned in closer, her wings unfurling slightly behind her. Their faces were just inches apart, the golden light of the Garden casting a soft glow over their features.

“May I?” Minji asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N nodded, her breath hitching.

Minji closed the distance between them, her lips brushing against Y/N’s in a kiss that was tender and electrifying all at once. Y/N melted into the moment, her wings unfurling fully as a sense of completeness washed over her.

When they finally pulled apart, Minji rested her forehead against Y/N’s, her smile radiant. “So... does this mean I’m officially your favorite assignment?”

Y/N laughed, her eyes sparkling with affection. “Don’t push it.”

--

Minji: holding Y/N’s hands dramatically “Y/N, will you do me the honor of being my one and only angel?”

Y/N: deadpan “Minji, we’ve literally been dating for two minutes.”

Minji: grinning “And they’ve been the best two minutes of my life.”

Y/N: groaning “You’re insufferable.”

Minji: winking “But you love me.”

Y/N: sighing but smiling “Yeah, I do.”

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 019 }

- musings for yandere! sung jinwoo -

disclaimers: dark content; manipulative behavior; mentions of m*rder; i do not condone such behaviors in real life, but this is a work of pure fiction, so anything goes.

DEFINITELY the type to fall hard at first sight for his darling. you can be a hunter, healer, or a mere civilian- it truly doesn't matter to him. for if you are unlucky enough to catch his attention, you will be subjected to his obsession and love- you will not escape from his love unscathed.

the day had been so utterly ordinary for sung jinwoo when he accompanied cha hae-in on what he assumed was her poor attempt at asking him out on a date.

he notices the way she smiles at him, appearing very much like a bright sunflower who's smile can match that of the sun's.

jinwoo was very much aware of her awkward kindness and beauty, yet what he felt for her was nothing more than a mere fondness. if such fondness were to ever grow into love, then he felt certain that such feelings would amount to nothing more than a familial type of love.

and despite how he knew hae-in was considered to be the perfect woman by many-

jinwoo's heart simply didn't burn for her.

after making some small talk, jinwoo waits patiently by hae-in's side for the light to flash, indicating that it was safe to walk across the street. he truly was not expecting for his life to change at all-

and oh, how wrong he was!

for once the light changed and he walked across the street with hae-in in tow-

that was the moment he saw someone that took his very breath away.

that was the moment he saw you.

as jinwoo appeared rooted on the spot, you remained blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil you had caused within the shadow monarch's heart. never once did he blink when you walk past him, eyes eagerly drinking in the sight of your hair and the way your eyes shone with amusement at your phone's screen.

even when you reached the opposite end of the street, jinwoo just couldn't bring himself to look away from you, doing all that he could to burn your image into his memory when he was suddenly pulled away from you and into the sidewalk once more.

the distance between you and him had gotten much farther, and jinwoo could feel his fists clenching in response. feeing annoyed and upset, his eyes began to flash purple in response, glaring down at the blond hunter who's eyes suddenly became wide with fear.

"i-i'm sorry, but i didn't wish for you to get run over." hae-in meekly gestures to the sight of incoming traffic, making him calm down almost immediately while unclenching his fists.

he supposes he should spare cha hae-in after all, since if he had been harmed or run over by a vehicle, then he would further delay his inevitable meeting with you.

looking away from her, he mutters a half-hearted 'thank you,' before shoving his hands within the pockets of his coat, counting down the minutes until he could end this outing with hae-in and bask in his thoughts of you.

no longer will gravity be the one keeping him grounded to the earth, but rather, YOU. it is your mere existence that will serve as jinwoo's purpose in life. YOU will be what keeps him grounded. as if you were a beacon of light that shone a path within his dark and cold world, he would become obsessed with you almost immediately, meticulously planning the day where you would be his while stalking your every movement.

the day he had ran into you, his shoulders harshly bumping into yours as he sent a plethora of his soldiers rushing into your shadow wasn't enough.

it was never enough.

when he purposely collided with you, he had watched you through glowing, purple eyes as you remained slumped against the sidewalk for several seconds from the impact. your eyes had watered a bit as unshed tears were seen glimmering within your gaze in pain-

the sight of it all nearly made him come to you and apologize while comforting you-

but jinwoo held back those urges, watching with pride when you slowly stood back up on your feet. you dusted off any stray dirt that remained on your outfit before walking forward with your head held high, going on with your day as if nothing had happened,

he deeply admires your strength, feeling his heart melt at the sight of you as his world was now bathed in a rose-colored hue.

even knowing that he could simply watch you from a distance, using the soldiers he had placed close to you as his eyes-

jinwoo still wanted more.

even when he spent hours upon hours looking through the eyes of his soldiers to keep track of you-

it wasn't enough.

instead, he uses his loyal soldiers to memorize your schedule, down to the very last second as he wrote down every single activity that you did.

[ weekdays ]

0800: my lover wakes up and gets ready for the day, sometimes making breakfast; sometimes skipping altogether.

NOTE TO SELF: cook for her a balanced and delicious breakfast every single day. it's what she deserves.

0915: darling leaves the apartment and heads to the station for work.

NOTE TO SELF: obtain a copy of her key soon.

1000 - 2100: darling works hard at her job before going home at 2130.

NOTE TO SELF: spoil her well with lavish gifts that she will love.

2225: arrives home to make a late dinner.

NOTE TO SELF: cook all her meals.

[ weekends ]

my darling has a very spontaneous schedule. sometimes she sleeps in; other times she wakes up early to explore the city. i am always trailing behind her, never too far, but never too close, either.

if she buys a ticket to a movie, i'll buy a ticket and sit behind her.

if she enters a restaurant and enjoys her lunch or dinner by herself, i'll pay for her bill with no questions asked.

I NEED HER.

I LOVE HER.

I AM OBSESSED WITH HER.

at the end of each page, he would continuously write your name over and over again, eyes going hazy the more he continued to write your name endlessly before it became nothing but scribbles against his page that looked oddly like a heart.

only when he was certain he knew every aspect of your life did he finally make his appearance, allowing himself to be placed directly before you as he began the process of making you belong to him and him alone.

jinwoo had waited tirelessly for this exact moment.

he spent at least 8 months getting to know each and every minuscule detail about you, forming himself into your ideal man.

when your nose bumped into his hard chest as you 'accidentally' ran into him, jinwoo swore that he could feel his heart racing in response. his arms nearly came around you, trapping you in his tight embrace-

but he had to fight back such powerful urges.

instead, he allows your hands to rest against his chest, pushing yourself slightly away from him. it takes jinwoo a herculean effort to not crush your frame to his chest, hiding his desires with an easy smile when he sweetly asks,

"are you okay?"

jinwoo swore that he could feel his heart soar with happiness at noticing the shift in your expression, turning more shy and embarrassed as you attempted to move away from him.

naturally, jinwoo stops you from going too far, resting the palm of his hand against your back while maintaining the unassuming smile on his face.

jinwoo basks in your voice as you murmured saccharine sweet apologies to him, managing to elicit a delightful chuckle from him as he leads you away from the street.

"if you're truly sorry and wish to make it up to me, then i suppose you can do so by joining me for dinner, right?"

jinwoo finds your stuttering voice and flustered expression to be extremely cute when you manage to give him a nod at his proposal.

now that he's had you where he wants you (hooklineandsinker), jinwoo places a possessive arm around your shoulder,

ready to wrap his tendrils of darkness around your heart-

ready to completely OWN YOU.

the days spent courting you while remaining by your side was such a blessing to jinwoo. never once did he get tired of your mannerisms and quirks, basking in them while spoiling you with his pure love and affections. when he had been with you for close to a year now, THAT was when he slowly allowed his true personality to show, preventing anyone from contacting you to ridding you of the males that dared to look your way...

jinwoo couldn't have been happier with his first relationship-

for it was simply so utterly perfect for him!

with you being so innocent (so trustworthy) of him and his undying love and devotion to you, it had left you blinded to the numerous red flags that surrounded his actions-

which was exactly where he needed you to be.

while you remain asleep in his arms, you were still aware of many things-

like how your cellphone had a strange, blue light hidden within the depths of your camera...

or the sudden disappearance of the male coworker you were assigned to do a project with...

and how the shadows seemed to grow deeper and stronger as what seemed like hundreds of eyes were watching your every move.

jinwoo lets out a low chuckle while whispering longingly to you, "i did it all for love."

as he presses a kiss against your temple, the powerful hunter leans back to reveal something shiny hidden within the palm of his hand. taking a hold of your left hand, he finds your ring finger before sliding the gorgeously crafted ring against it.

jinwoo takes a moment to admire the ring on your finger, in complete awe of it as it remained the sole proof that you now belonged to him.

happy with his surprise for you, he places your left hand back on the bed, falling back into bed with his arms wrapped possessively around you. letting out one last yawn, jinwoo allows himself to slumber as he waits for you to awaken...

once the morning came and you noticed the glittering ring settled against your finger, your heart became filled with love for him, making you awaken your lover with a series of kisses against his perfectly sculpted lips.

sung jinwoo ends up smiling against your kiss, being filled with joy as you remained completely and blissfully unaware of how the ring was simply a thinly veiled chain in disguise, forever tying you to him for all eternity...

a.n. - i have a little bit of a writer's block, but had some brainrots pertaining to yandere!jinwoo... this man is too beautiful to ignore, and i lowkey find myself not minding this darker version of jinwoo... 😭

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[moonselune]

How would Astarion, Gale, Lae'zel and Karlach (separately) react if they witnessed someone random insulting Tav and her only ignoring the offender? As if, no comeback, no fight, just 100% pretending not to hear anything.

Hehehe we love some protectiveness from our dearies don't we?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

The marketplace was alive with activity, the sounds of vendors shouting their wares and children laughing as they ran through the stalls. You and Karlach strolled through the bustling crowd, her large frame a comforting presence by your side as she slung an arm around your shoulders. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the scene.

As you admired a display of colorful fabrics, a gruff voice cut through the pleasant atmosphere. "Look at her, thinking she belongs here. Pathetic."

You felt a flush of embarrassment but chose to ignore the insult, keeping your attention on the fabrics. Karlach, however, immediately bristled, her temper flaring up.

"Oi!" she barked, her voice commanding and loud enough to make several heads turn. "You got a problem with her?"

The offender, a scruffy-looking man with a sneer on his face, shrugged nonchalantly. "Just calling it like I see it."

Karlach stepped forward, her eyes blazing with anger. "And what you should see is a beautiful woman who has more strength in her little finger than you do in your entire body," she said, her voice dripping with contempt. "Buddy, you don't know who you're dealing with."

The man took a step back, intimidated by Karlach's fierce demeanor and the flames flickering from her skin.

"I didn't mean anything by it," he muttered, suddenly looking very small.

"Apologize," Karlach demanded, crossing her arms over her chest, her muscles bulging. You couldn't help but smile at her.

The man mumbled a quick apology before scurrying away, his tail between his legs. Karlach turned back to you, her expression softening as she saw the tension in your shoulders.

"You okay, love?" she asked, her voice gentle now.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "Thank you, Karlach. You didn't have to do that."

She grinned, wrapping an arm back around your shoulders and pulling you close. "Of course I did. No one gets to talk to my girl like that."

You leaned into her, feeling a rush of warmth and gratitude. "I'm lucky to have you."

"Damn right you are," she replied with a wink. "Now, let's get you something nice. I think you deserve a treat after that nonsense."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

The training grounds were buzzing with the sounds of warriors honing their skills, metal clashing against metal, and the grunts of exertion filling the air. You and Lae'zel were making your way through the camp, her presence a beacon of strength and determination. You walked beside her, your head held high despite the stern glares of the githyanki warriors around you.

As you passed a particularly burly githyanki soldier, he spat out a venomous insult, his voice dripping with disdain. "Look at her, pretending to be a warrior. She's nothing but a weakling."

You felt the sting of his words but chose to ignore him, your gaze fixed straight ahead. Lae'zel, however, stopped in her tracks, her eyes narrowing as she turned to face the offender.

"Repeat that," she demanded, her voice a low, dangerous growl.

The soldier sneered, clearly not intimidated. "You heard me. She's nothing."

Lae'zel's hand moved to the hilt of her sword, her posture radiating lethal intent. "You dare insult one under my protection? You question my judgment?" Her voice was like ice, each word cutting through the air.

The soldier faltered, realizing too late the gravity of his mistake. "I-I didn't mean—"

"You will apologize," Lae'zel interrupted, her eyes blazing with fury. "Or I will make an example of you."

The soldier, now visibly shaken, muttered a hasty apology, his bravado evaporating under Lae'zel's fierce glare. Satisfied, she turned back to you, her expression softening slightly. You offered her a shy smile in response.

"You should not have to endure such disrespect," she said, her voice still tinged with anger. "Do not think that ignoring them means you are weak. You have more strength than they could ever understand."

You nodded, appreciating her fierce protection. "Thank you, Lae'zel."

She placed a hand on your shoulder, a rare gesture of affection. "Come. We have training to do."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The evening sun bathed the city streets in a warm, golden light as you and Gale made your way through the bustling crowds. The smell of fresh bread and spices filled the air, and the chatter of people enjoying the end of the day created a lively atmosphere. Gale walked beside you, his hand occasionally brushing against yours, his eyes bright with the simple joy of your company.

As you passed a group of townsfolk, one of them, a burly man with a sneer permanently etched on his face, called out, "Look at her, all dressed up like she thinks she's something special. Pathetic."

You felt the brunt of the words hitting your insecurities but you chose to ignore them, focusing instead on a nearby stall displaying the most beautiful tapestries. Gale, however, immediately noticed the insult and the way you pretended not to hear it. His expression darkened, and he turned to face the offender, his posture tense but controlled.

"Excuse me," Gale began, his voice calm but laced with an edge. "I believe an apology is in order."

The man looked taken aback, his sneer faltering as he met Gale's intense gaze. "What? I didn't say anything to you."

"No, but you insulted her," Gale replied, his tone unyielding. "And that is unacceptable."

The man glanced at you, then back at Gale, clearly considering his options. Gale took a step closer, his presence commanding and his eyes blazing with quiet fury. His hands crackling with untamed magic. "Apologize. Now."

The man muttered something under his breath, barely audible, before turning away and disappearing into the crowd. Gale watched him go, his jaw clenched, before turning back to you.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly, his hand finding yours and raising it to his lips, giving it a small peck

"I'm fine, Gale. Thank you." You chuckle, you quite liked this side of Gale, but you couldn't give that away so easily, not if you wanted to experience the fullness of this side of your lover.

He sighed, his expression softening. "I can't stand by and let anyone treat you that way," he said, his voice filled with genuine concern. "You deserve better than their petty insults."

You leaned into him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I know. And I appreciate you standing up for me."

Gale smiled, wrapping his arm around your waist as the two of you continued your walk.

"Always," he promised, his tone warm and loving. You couldn't help but notice the way the tips of his fingers pressed to you so forcefully and it made you smile. Oh yes, this would have to happen more often.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The bustling market was alive with the sounds of merchants hawking their wares and customers haggling over prices. You and Astarion strolled through the crowd, his arm casually draped over your shoulder, a smirk playing on his lips as he whispered witty remarks about the various stalls and their goods.

You stopped to admire a table of finely crafted jewelry, a stranger's voice cut through the din, sharp and disdainful.

"Look at her, the harlot," the woman sneered, her words dripping with contempt. "As if she doesn't get enough gifts from her gentleman callers."

You stiffened slightly but chose to ignore the insult, your gaze remaining fixed on the jewelry, it was rather beautiful. Astarion's arm tightened around you, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the offender. He could feel the tension in your body and the effort it took to ignore the woman's words.Astarion stepped forward, placing himself between you and the stranger.

"Excuse me?" he said, his voice dangerously calm. "Care to repeat that?"

The woman faltered, taken aback by Astarion's sudden challenge. "Oh, I-I just said—"

"I heard what you said, hag" Astarion interrupted, his tone icy. "But I think you should reconsider your choice of words."

The woman's bravado crumbled under Astarion's piercing gaze. He took a step back, muttering something unintelligible before scurrying away. Astarion watched him go, his expression one of cold satisfaction.

Turning back to you, Astarion's demeanor softened. "Are you all right, my darling?" he cooed, gently cupping your face.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "Thank you, dearest But you know you didn't have to."

He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "Of course I did," he murmured. "Now I believe in fairytales such valiance is rewarded with a kiss."

You sighed and rolled your eyes, pulling him in for a kiss by the lapels of his jacket, knowing that the woman was watching you. Perhaps that's why you chose to deepen the kiss, putting on a show for her. She clearly needed something in her life.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope y'all enjoyed it - Seluney xox

[azsazz]

Lost

Vampire!Azriel x Human!Reader

Summary: Azriel's worried he's drunk you dry.

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 1,022

Notes: Woohoo, look at that. Finished it already. Directly follows Might Bite Back

_________________________________________

Azriel goes the only place he can think of.

He’s long since forgotten the feeling of cold. Of the wind spilling chills down his frail, human skin. Of the sting in his nose, the bite in his chest with every inhale of the crisp, winter air. Of the prickles of blood returning to frozen fingertips after spending too long in the snow.

But the night has always been his safe place, since even before he was turned. The familiarity of the moon looking over him would normally ease the knots in his stomach, the urge to flee in his veins.

 If he could feel right now, it’d be the rolling of his stomach with sickness. It’d be embarrassment, a white-hot lance of regret burning through his blood for the things he’s swore he’d never do to you, lying unconscious on his settee before the fire, your pulse slow and your breathing shallow, tow punctures in your neck.

It doesn’t take long to get where he’s going. It’s a path he’s taken many times, through the winding trees of the forest his home resides in. Deep in the thicket of the Night Court forest between the Steppes and Velaris, bordering the Prison. It’s up in the mountains where he belongs, the very same ones that house other wild beasts just like him; the ones who should never be let out of their cages.

He lost his cool tonight. Went too long without feeding because you hold his interest all too well. It’s been like that since day one, even though he keeps himself scarce for your safety.

Fucking fat lot it’s done tonight.

Azriel can still taste you in his mouth. Not your sweet little cunt, but your blood. He swipes his tongue over his lips, chasing the delectable flavor.

His marred hands shake, because with just one drop of you, he knows he’s addicted to you.

It settles in his bones just like it had when he had the realization that he’d become the very thing he swore he’d never become. Azriel has known that you are the very thing he’s been destined to find, and he’s been very strict on himself, keeping away from you, giving you nothing but the cold, empty shell he’s been for hundreds of centuries. He’s been addicted since you wandered into his senses, the thunder of your blood calling to him like a beacon, the unmoving heart in his chest rattling with a recognition only he seemed to feel.

Azriel’s not even had close to his fill. The nagahound he drained on the way hasn’t done anything to satiate his hunger, not like your blood had. He can’t stop thinking about it, about the warmth, its heady taste, it’s fruity scent. He’d felt like a man again, despite the irony of the situation.

He emerges from the trees, landing in the backyard of the towering home of his High Lord. Azriel stumbles on weak knees like an Illyrian babe just learning how to fly. Once he rights his footing, he sprints for the doors.

The warmth of the faelights spilling across the cobblestones are a welcoming view. They always are, especially when he feels like he’s spent years too long hiding away in his secluded home, away from the hustle and bustle of the City of Starlight. All of his other clan members reside here, but their company has never interested him. Not when they’ve all become respectable parts of the city of night.

Rhysand meets him at the door, the High Lord’s hearing keener than most. He already knows there’s something wrong by Azriel’s stature. The dilation of his pupils, eyes mostly black instead of the familiar and less-than-friendly hazel. The clear flush to his skin after a feeding, the pale glow of his skin golden with the obvious signs of ingesting human blood instead of animal blood and there’s a scent clinging to him that is utterly human.

“Azriel—”

“You have to help her.”

Rhysand startles at the rawness of Ariel’s request. His frantic gaze searches his High Lord’s, hands that he always hides reaching up to grasp onto Rhysand’s to drag him over the threshold. They hit the invisible barrier keeping him from moving into the house to shake his High Lord into action, having not have been invited into the house. Azriel bares his fangs, mind still a spinning loss of thoughts about you and your well-being.

“Help who?” Rhysand asks. He doesn’t bother inviting his friend inside. He stalks out into the night, joining his brother.

Azriel’s plea is broken. “Please.”

Rhysand has only seen Azriel like this one time. The night he was turned into the creature he is now. Pain fills his voice, tightening his throat, dark brows knitted together in a distressed manner. There are often instances where Rhysand wishes that his stoic friend would show some semblance of emotion, but this gut-wrenching one is not the one he wishes to see.

“Okay,” he consoles, using the way Azriel is clinging to him help with their trip back. His shadowsinger’s fingers are digging deeply into his skin, through his finely pressed jacket and nearly breaking his skin. There’s a pinch of pain when his blunt nail does break skin, but Rhysand refrains from saying anything. He will heal, and fast. The human Azriel is leading him to will not. “I will help you, Azriel.”

On a whisp of nighttime, the pair appear on Azriel’s porch.

Azriel growls at the magical powers that keep them from entering homes that they do not own.

“Get inside,” he spits, more to the house than his High Lord, leading the way through the door as quickly as he can. “She’s in the sitting room, before the hearth. She needs help,” he directs, leading the way to where he’s left you.

In Azriel’s haste to get inside, he’s failed to realize one very important thing. It’s the one thing Rhysand catches, halting in his tracks, trying to calm the hellhound that is his shadowsinger when he spins on his heel and snaps his fangs at him.

“Azriel, there is no one here.”