#hope it will be an unexpected surprise!!!!

[persicipen]

𑑛 “ARMOUR-CLAD HEART” ﾉ MYDEI. HONKAI STAR RAIL

gn reader ﾉ words 0.9k ᯽ mydei teaches you some self-defence. reader is not made for fighting and rather weak. an awkward display of affection from mydei’s side lol ﾉ no proofreading, we die like kremnoans ᯽ FLUFF ﾉ GENERAL CONTENT ᯽

You hear a displeased click of his tongue — nothing surprising given your stance and previous pathetic tries at blocking his fist — and take a step back with your face embarrassingly hot. His fake hit was nowhere near fast nor strong, just a mere presentation of where such an attack would come from and land at the end.

“You’d be dead within a second on the Strife’s battlefield. Or perhaps should I even say that a mere thug would get through your defence with little to no preparation?” Mydei’s gaze moves all over you in a judging way, and it takes your every strength not to look away.

“I’m not made for battle! You wouldn’t see me anywhere near it. It’s just way too hot today to focus.”

Another loud “tch” escapes his lips, now much more annoyed and agitated than before, as if he has already completely given up on any hope for you. A blazing sun over the terrace is no excuse to stop the lesson, or perhaps it’s precisely because of its presence.

“Surely someone with an ill intent would wait for you to be comfortable and well prepared for their arrival, am I correct?” He snickers in a sarcastic tone, leaving a short pause to give you another opportunity to oppose him.

But again, this time not only is his attitude towards you harsh and insulting, but his words make complete sense, and they burn with embarrassment even more than the scorching heat that surrounds both of you.

Maybe you’re simply spineless and will forever be even under his tutoring. You bite your lip, trying not to appear weaker than you already are, knowing very well that there will be absolutely no use in defending yourself anymore. But it doesn’t matter now. What does he plan to do next?

Your body tenses up out of reflex only seconds before his warm palm wraps around your arm, turning you around effortlessly while pressing your back against his own chest. An uncontrolled gasp leaves your mouth as you are left immobilised in an instant and the forced proximity feels even hotter than midday, yet the one behind you pays no mind to it, completely focused on keeping you in place.

“Most people would assume you cannot get out of this hold unless you’re physically stronger than the aggressor.”

You feel every slight breath he makes pressing harder on you. Not to mention how his voice sends pleasant shivers down your spine by being so close to your ear. All the discomfort disappears the second a faint memory reappears in the most unexpected of places. The way he holds you reminds you of something entirely different from sparring.

Curse your mind, it doesn’t help to focus at all and it’s especially shameful when Mydei’s not affected; calm and composed, with a fiery spark running along the red marks on his body.

“You’ll most likely always have a free hand or two. Instead of wriggling them mindlessly, use one to press on the bottom of your opponent’s nose or even punch them. The nose is always sensitive, even under the slightest pressure.” He eases the grip around your body and demonstrates what he just said and although he doesn’t apply force at all when bringing his knuckle above your cupid’s bow, you squirm involuntarily in an attempt to escape.

But since he never lets go of your other arm, there’s nowhere to run.

“Now, try it yourself.” Yet instead of waiting for your move, his hand — armoured in golden claws, a trap for your smaller palm — grabs yours and brings it behind towards his face. You peek over your shoulder, a little afraid.

To add on top of everything, he is as serious about this sparring lesson as ever, not paying attention to the closeness between your bodies. The red lines decorating his chest seem brighter than usual, with sweat glistening along his collarbones and hair dishevelled by the breeze.

Your heart skips a beat in anticipation when you are almost certain he’s about to kiss your fingers instead, but in the last second, he inches away and brushes them against the underside of his nose. “Here. Remember this.”

“I’m sure that my enemy won’t navigate my hand towards their weak spot.” A shaky sigh of disappointment escapes your lips.

He chuckles lowly at your comment, raising the corner of his mouth in a sardonic smile.

“You’d rather aim blindly than focus on where and what to attack? You’ve just earned the disapproval of the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos.” He moves in front of you, abruptly pausing all physical contact. “Be thankful that I’m not only willing to teach you how to defend yourself but also for that I will protect you with my own strength as long as you’re near.”

He pushes a damp strand of hair out of your face, the lightest touch of his bare finger causing more tingles to travel down your spine. At the same time, he flinches when realising what he has done and lets his hand drop to his side; the victorious glint in his golden eyes changes to bewilderment. His armour rattles at the subtle gesture of humanity and betrayal of his emotionless posture.

“We’ll practice again until you gain the approval from me. Do not expect me to be lenient.” The heat spreading on your cheeks becomes a problem only after Mydei finishes the sentence and moves away with haste, surely caused by his discomfort.

A gentle breeze runs through the illuminated terrace and cools your skin. You watch him walk away without turning around (you wish he would). This feeling of shame mixes with admiration and unadulterated curiosity to stir up something completely bizarre in your heart.

A pomegranate-sweet infatuation with the prince.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Feel free to ignore if this is too heavy but ive been feeling low and i wonder...

How would the 141 help their SO through a breakdown? Like hyperventilating and crying? How would they talk them down?

Again, if you dont want to write this i completely understand. Much love

It's not too heavy, and I know I'm fairly delayed on getting to this. I hope you're feeling better than when you sent this to my inbox. You're in my thoughts, anon. <3

written with gn!reader

Content & Warnings: emotional hurt/comfort

Out of all of them, Ghost is the most understanding, and the calmest in this situation. Maybe it’s because of his own trauma, or the fact that he’s struggled with own mental health, but there’s no judgment here. There is also no rush to try and tell you to “calm down.” Ghost might be a bit of a weirdo, but he knows how to read the room. He’s not going to immediately lovebomb you. What he will do, is give you space, to speak calmly to you, to be the anchor you need when you feel like you’re sinking.

While Soap is supportive, he’s the least likely of the bunch to get this right. Doesn’t mean he won’t try. The tears and anxiety aren’t going to scare him away, but it’ll create an internal panic inside him all on its own. That’s not your fault, he just doesn’t like to see you cry. He hates it when you’re hurting because Soap knows he’s not always going to be able to fix it. While he enjoys physical touch, he might be more hesitant in this situation to completely wrap you up in his arms until you’re calmer. One thing that you can completely rely on is that Soap is a yapper. He will try to talk you through it, even cracking jokes if it helps distract you.

It's Price that might sway either way. The breakdown could surprise him, throw him off a bit, but this man has quick recovery. He’s used to extremely stressful situations and making changes on the fly. Don’t expect him to be perfect though, or even promptly take the correct actions. If anything, he might freeze up if the breakdown is unexpected. He might stumble through getting to where he needs to be to support you. But he will do his best, making sure he’s by your side, trying to keep you calm and collected, to make sure you know how much he loves and cares for you.

A breakdown doesn’t last long with Kyle around. This man has it down to a science, especially if it has happened before. You know you can be completely vulnerable and open with him, that Kyle is comfortable seeing you at your worst and won’t judge you for it. There is nothing more comforting or calming than Kyle’s presence. This man is nothing but soothing words and gentle touches. He’ll let you press you face into his chest, snotty nose and all, and won’t bat an eye. He’ll hold you if that’s what you need or sit beside you if you require space. If you don’t want him to talk at all and just want him to listen, he’ll do that too.

main masterlist

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 10

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 10k

Trigger warning; mention of clipping

notes; Yo everyone! Hope you’re all doing well! <3 Here’s a new chapter (it’s pretty long, btw) packed with fluff, hehe. Writing slow burn is so fun because it lets me dive deep into the characters’ stories—but let’s get this shit started right (nothing too intense, but still lol). I’m still trying to settle into a proper posting schedule, so for now, it’s once a week (even though I’d love to post the next chapters already because I’m obsessed with them hahaha). Also, I’m thinking of writing a one-shot soon, so if anyone has requests, feel free to share! Enjoy the chapter and see you soon! <333

Links; part 9

The city was breathtaking in the fading light of the setting sun, each building bathed in warm hues of gold and amber that seemed to shimmer like something out of a dream. The streets were alive with the soft hum of evening life—merchants closing their stalls, children laughing as they chased one another down cobbled paths, and couples strolling hand in hand beneath the glow of lanterns that flickered to life as dusk settled in.

You walked a step ahead of Azriel, trying to steady yourself and brush off the strange unease that had lingered since your encounter with the healers earlier. The tension in your chest felt misplaced here, in this beautiful city where you had spent some of your most formative years. It was supposed to feel like coming home, yet the ache in your heart made you question every step. You tried to mask it, keeping your voice even and your steps steady as you spoke.

“Welcome to Solterra,” you said, your tone light but practiced. “The city’s divided into three main areas. We’ll start with the Artisans’ Quarter—that’s where most of the skilled crafters live and work. The Dawn Court is famous for its glasswork, pottery, and textiles, so you’ll see some of the best of that here.”

Azriel, walking quietly beside you, gave a small nod, his gaze scanning the streets as if he were cataloging every detail. His shadows curled at his feet but didn’t stray far, as if even they were captivated by the tranquil beauty of the city. He looked entirely at ease, which was a sharp contrast to the storm of emotions you were trying to push down.

“And after that?” he asked, his voice calm, his golden eyes flicking to meet yours.

You gestured toward the northern part of the city. “We’ll head to the Markets. They’re more chaotic but worth the visit. You can find almost anything there—spices, jewelry, rare herbs, even weapons.” You paused, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Though I doubt you’ll need those.”

Azriel raised a brow, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I think I’ll survive without adding to my collection.”

The ease in his voice and the faint humor in his expression eased some of the tension in your chest. He was behaving like nothing had happened earlier—no awkwardness, no lingering tension, just calm and steady as ever. It surprised you how much that helped, grounding you when you felt like your emotions were spiraling out of control.

“And after the Markets,” you continued, trying to match his calm tone, “we’ll end in the Gardens. They’re best seen at night when the lights from the palace reflect off the fountains.”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than you expected before he nodded again. “Sounds perfect.”

The Artisans’ Quarter unfolded before you like a scene from a painting. Intricate mosaics adorned the walls of buildings, their vibrant colors glowing in the dim light. Glassblowers worked behind large windows, their movements graceful as they shaped molten glass into delicate forms. The scent of fresh bread and spiced tea wafted from a nearby bakery, mixing with the earthy smell of clay and paint.

“Most of these families have been here for generations,” you explained, gesturing to the shops and studios. “The skills they pass down are considered sacred. I spent so many hours wandering here when I lived in Solterra. I’d sit for hours watching the glassblowers work—it’s mesmerizing.”

Azriel listened intently, his sharp gaze taking in everything around him. “It’s... peaceful here,” he said after a moment.

You smiled softly, nodding. “It is. That’s one of the things I missed most when I left. No matter what’s happening in the world, this city always feels like it’s standing still, like nothing can touch it.”

As the two of you continued through the quarter, the tension that had been sitting heavy in your chest began to ease. Azriel’s quiet presence was surprisingly reassuring, and you found yourself relaxing, falling into the rhythm of the city and the steady cadence of his steps beside you.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets, and you turned toward the northern part of the city, leading Azriel toward the bustling Markets. The sight of the vibrant stalls and the hum of voices filled you with a sense of nostalgia, and for the first time in what felt like days, you allowed yourself to breathe deeply and let go of the thoughts that had been weighing on you.

Azriel didn’t say much, but the way his shadows softened around him and the faint smile that played on his lips told you he was enjoying himself. It made you smile in return, a genuine expression that reached your eyes as you began pointing out the different areas of the city with renewed energy. Whatever awkwardness you’d felt earlier had been replaced by something lighter, something that felt almost... normal.

The climb up the narrow, winding stairs was not for the faint of heart, but you had done it countless times before. Your steps were steady and sure, though you were keenly aware of Azriel’s presence just behind you. The sun had fully set by the time you reached the top, the last few golden rays fading into deep purples and blues that painted the horizon.

When you stepped onto the open terrace, you paused, waiting for Azriel to join you. His footsteps slowed, and when he emerged from the staircase, he stopped short. His sharp intake of breath was barely audible, but you caught it nonetheless. He stood still, his golden eyes scanning the view before him.

From this height, the entirety of Solterra stretched out like a glowing tapestry. The city lights flickered like stars in the dark, and the streets wove intricate patterns that mirrored the constellations above. The palace, with its gleaming white spires, stood at the center, its reflection shimmering faintly in the waters of the fountains and canals that crisscrossed the city. The glow of lanterns, their light soft and golden, spilled over the edges of the rooftops, casting everything in an otherworldly glow.

Azriel took a slow step forward, his shadows curling back as if to let him fully take in the scene. “It’s... stunning,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

You turned slightly, watching his reaction with a small, knowing smile. “It’s my favorite spot in the city,” you admitted, your gaze sweeping over the view. “Whenever things felt overwhelming, I’d come here. It has a way of making everything else seem... smaller. Easier to manage.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the scene before him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only by the distant murmur of the city below and the faint rustle of the wind. Azriel’s wings shifted slightly, catching the faint light and adding to the ethereal atmosphere of the moment.

The terrace itself was simple—stone tiles worn smooth by time, bordered by a low railing carved with intricate designs of stars and moons. Small, glowing orbs floated at the edges, casting a soft, magical light over the space. Ivy climbed up the sides of the railing, its dark green leaves adding a touch of life to the otherwise serene setting.

“It’s hard to believe places like this exist,” Azriel said finally, his tone softer than usual. “It feels... untouched.”

You glanced at him, noticing the way his usually guarded expression had softened, his features lit by the faint glow of the orbs. “That’s the beauty of Solterra,” you said gently. “Even when everything else feels chaotic, it stays the same. Like it’s frozen in time.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the city below. There was a stillness in him, a quiet reverence that you hadn’t expected. It was rare to see him like this—unguarded, almost at peace.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” he said after a while, his golden eyes meeting yours.

You gave a small shrug, your smile warm but playful. “You needed to see it. Besides, I couldn’t let you leave the Dawn Court without experiencing this view.”

He huffed a soft laugh, his shadows curling around his feet again. “You were right. It’s worth the climb.”

You let the silence settle between you again, a comfortable quiet as the two of you stood side by side, taking in the beauty of Solterra under the night sky. For the first time in a long while, the weight of your responsibilities felt a little lighter.

You rested your hands lightly on the cool stone railing, your eyes fixed on the glittering city below, the soft hum of life drifting up from Solterra. The weight of the earlier conversation with the healers lingered, no matter how much you tried to push it aside. Finally, you took a breath and broke the silence.

"I'm sorry," you said softly, your voice barely carrying over the quiet night. "For what you overheard earlier."

Azriel, who had been standing a few steps behind you, moved closer, his shadows weaving gently around him. “You don’t need to apologize,” he said, his tone steady. “If anything, I should apologize for hearing it. It wasn’t my place to intrude on something so personal.”

You turned your head slightly, offering him a small, bittersweet smile. “It’s not your fault. And besides...” Your voice trailed off as the bond hummed faintly in your chest—a painful, persistent ache that you couldn’t ignore. Shaking your head lightly, you added, “It’s nothing I haven’t faced before.”

Azriel studied you, his golden eyes unwavering. “Are you better now?” he asked, his question simple but weighted with genuine concern.

You reached up, running a hand through your hair as you exhaled slowly. Turning back to the city, you said, “Much better now. That was... centuries ago. But I suppose it’s not surprising that some healers would talk about me like that. When I arrived here, I was a mess.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Azriel interjected, his voice firmer now. His shadows curled closer to him, as if reflecting his inner tension. “It’s not normal or acceptable for anyone to speak about you that way.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Thank you, but it’s fine. Really. I’ve grown used to it, and... in some ways, they’re not wrong. Back then...” You hesitated, your gaze fixed on a distant point in the city. “When I lost my wings, I only wanted one thing. To die.”

Azriel’s entire body stilled, his shadows frozen in place as he processed your words. “You don’t have to tell me what happened,” he said quietly, his tone surprisingly gentle. “Not if it’s too painful.”

You glanced at him, your lips curving into a faint, almost sad smile. “It’s fine,” you replied softly. “And besides, you’ve already heard most of it.”

He didn’t argue, but the flicker of emotion in his eyes told you that he was still grappling with the weight of what you had shared. You turned back to the view, the city lights reflecting in your eyes as you gathered your thoughts.

“For a long time, I thought losing my wings was the end of everything I was,” you admitted. “It felt like I was no longer whole, like the only thing that made me... me had been ripped away."

“I left the Night Court after it happened,” you admitted, your voice quieter. “It was too hard to stay. Everything reminded me of what I’d lost. It took me months just to be able to walk properly again.”

Azriel’s brows knit together, his gaze intent on you. “Months?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “How did you manage to keep going?”

You let out a faint, humorless laugh. “I think if I’d been clipped younger, it would have been different. But by then, I’d already spent seventy years flying above Velaris and the Night Court. Losing that freedom…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “It broke me in ways I didn’t even realize at first.”

His shadows shifted around him, curling gently as though reflecting his own unease. “But you came here,” Azriel prompted softly. “To the Dawn Court.”

You nodded. “Thesan and Talyen helped me through it. During my training, they gave me purpose again—something to hold onto when I couldn’t see the point of anything. And you know how it ended with Thesan.” A wistful smile touched your lips. “It took me a long time to be able to come back to the Night Court. I wasn’t sure I ever would.”

Azriel frowned slightly, his wings twitching as if in reaction to your words. “Why didn’t you stay here? If they helped you so much, why leave?”

You tilted your head, considering his question. “Because this wasn’t home,” you said simply. “The Night Court was still my home, even if it hurt to admit it at the time. And deep down, I knew I needed to face what happened. Running away might’ve been easier, but it wasn’t what I needed. I don’t have a family, the Night Court, Velaris, Madja, Illyria, they were the only thing grounding me and actually giving me a feelling that I had an attached somewhere.”

Azriel studied you for a moment, his golden eyes shadowed with something you couldn’t quite place. “Do you ever think about what could’ve been?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” you replied honestly. “But what happened shaped who I am now. And even though it’s not the life I imagined for myself, I’ve found meaning in it. I’ve found a way to be okay.”

The bond between you hummed faintly, the ache of its presence both comforting and painful. Azriel seemed to sense it too, his expression flickering with something unreadable.

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the cool night air wrapping around you like a second skin. Then, as if to shift the weight of the conversation, you leaned back against the railing and offered him a small, wry smile.

“Now, enough about me,” you said, your tone lighter. “Have you talked with Rhys?”

Azriel’s jaw tensed slightly, and his shadows coiled closer. “Not yet,” he admitted. “I’m not ready to deal with that right now.”

You nodded, your gaze softening. “That’s fair. But don’t let it fester for too long, Azriel. Things left unsaid have a way of turning into walls between people.”

His lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll handle it when the time is right.”

“Good,” you said simply, letting the moment settle between you.

Azriel’s jaw tightened as the question lingered in the air. He glanced away, his shadows curling around him protectively as if to shield him from the conversation. “I haven’t spoken to Rhys yet,” he admitted, his voice low and tense. “It’s... the first time I’ve been this mad at him for so long.”

You tilted your head, your gaze searching his face. “Because of what he said?”

He nodded sharply, his wings shifting in agitation. “It wasn’t just what he said. It’s how he said it. As if... as if I’m incapable of making my own decisions. As if my feelings aren’t valid.”

Your chest ached at the pain in his voice, the rawness of emotions that he so rarely shared. “Have you thought about what you’ll say to him when you’re ready?” you asked softly.

Azriel shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “No. I haven’t even been able to think about it without... without wanting to hit something. And that’s not who I am. Rhys and I—we’ve always been brothers in every way that matters. But this time...” He trailed off, his shadows curling tighter. “This time, it feels different.”

You nodded slowly, understanding the weight of what he was saying. “It’s hard when someone you care about deeply lets you down.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his golden eyes fixed on the horizon as the light from the city below reflected in their depths. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost vulnerable. “And then there’s Elain.”

The name hung between you like a heavy cloud. You didn’t press him, sensing he needed to find his own words.

“I don’t even know what I feel anymore,” Azriel admitted, his tone laced with frustration. “When she first came here, after being dumped in the Cauldron, I was the one who helped her. I saw her at her worst—terrified, broken, unsure of everything. I wanted to protect her, to help her find her footing in this new, impossible life. I guess... I grew attached.”

You nodded, your expression neutral but your chest tightening as you listened. “Attachment can be powerful,” you offered carefully. “Especially when it’s built on moments like that.”

Azriel exhaled deeply, his shadows flickering faintly around him. “But it’s not just attachment, is it? There’s something more. Or at least, I thought there was. And yet, every time I look at her, I’m reminded that she has a mate. That no matter how I feel, she’s bound to someone else in a way I can never be.”

You leaned slightly against the railing, watching him closely. “Do you love her?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, Azriel didn’t answer. His jaw worked as if trying to find the right words, and his shadows stilled, almost hesitant.

“Maybe not love, at least not anymore...” he said finally, his voice raw with honesty. “But I care about her. More than I ever thought I could. Enough that it hurts to think about letting go. And yet...” He trailed off, his wings drooping slightly. “Maybe I should. Maybe I need to. Because this... this thing between us, it’s just a reminder of what I’ll never have. What I’m not meant for.”

Your heart clenched at the pain laced in his words, the quiet resignation that seemed to settle over him like a heavy cloak. “Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting,” you said softly. “And it doesn’t mean what you felt wasn’t real or valid. But sometimes, letting go is the only way to move forward.”

Azriel’s gaze shifted to you, his expression unreadable. “And what if I can’t? What if the bond... or the absence of it, keeps pulling me back?”

You offered him a small, sad smile. “Then maybe it’s not about forgetting or moving on entirely. Maybe it’s about finding a way to hold onto the parts of her that made you better, while still leaving space for yourself to grow. To heal.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his shadows curling around him as if to guard his thoughts. Then, he gave a small nod, though his expression remained conflicted. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” you admitted. “It’s one of the hardest things to do. But you’ve faced worse, Azriel. You’ll find your way through this too.”

For a moment, the silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken emotions. Then, Azriel exhaled slowly, his gaze once again drifting to the city below. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it was almost lost to the breeze.

You didn’t respond, but the faint hum of the bond between you seemed to carry your unspoken understanding.

Your hands trembled slightly, barely noticeable, as Azriel’s words lingered in your mind. It was hard—hard to hear him talk about someone else with such care and longing, even as you tried to remind yourself that the bond between you wasn’t something he knew about, let alone wanted. Lost in your thoughts, you startled slightly when you felt a soft tug at your hair.

Glancing to the side, you saw one of Azriel’s shadows twirling a loose strand between its wispy tendrils, as though it was curious. It tickled, and despite the heaviness in your chest, a small smile broke through. “It seems your shadows have taken a liking to me,” you teased lightly, brushing the strand back.

Azriel’s brows furrowed in surprise, his gaze following the shadow as if it had acted without his permission. “They don’t usually...” he began, trailing off as another shadow curled lazily around your shoulder. He looked genuinely perplexed.

You laughed softly, the sound light against the quiet night. “Well, I don’t mind,” you said, though the sensation made you squirm a little as it tickled the back of your neck. “It’s... endearing, in a way.”

Azriel shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “They have a mind of their own sometimes,” he admitted. “But this is... new.”

You smiled, brushing the shadow away gently, and turned toward him. “Let’s get something to eat,” you offered, eager to change the tone of the evening. “I know a place nearby. It’s simple, but it’s one of my favorite spots in Solterra.”

Azriel tilted his head, his curiosity evident. “Lead the way.”

This time, you didn’t walk ahead; the two of you moved side by side, your steps falling into an easy rhythm. The city had transformed under the night’s embrace, its streets illuminated by warm golden lights. Lanterns strung above the narrow alleys swayed gently in the cool breeze, casting soft, flickering shadows against the sandstone buildings. People bustled around, vendors calling out their wares while laughter and chatter filled the air. Musicians played lively tunes on street corners, their melodies weaving through the lively hum of the crowd.

The stand you brought him to was modest—a small, well-loved cart tucked away near the edge of the marketplace. The scent of spiced meat wafted through the air, mingling with the aroma of fresh bread and roasted vegetables. Azriel’s sharp gaze took in every detail, but his focus lingered on the way the vendor’s face lit up when he saw you.

“Y/N!” the man greeted warmly, his voice carrying over the din of the street. “It’s been too long. What brings you here tonight?”

You smiled, stepping closer to the stand. “You know me, I can’t stay away for too long,” you replied, the warmth in your tone genuine. “Azriel, this is Nadir. He makes the best sandwiches in Solterra.”

Nadir grinned, nodding at Azriel. “You’ve got good taste if you’re with Y/N. She’s a regular—used to come by late at night after long shifts. I always knew when she’d had a tough day.”

Azriel inclined his head politely. “It smells incredible,” he said, his shadows coiling faintly as if curious about the food.

“What do you like?” you asked Azriel, glancing over the menu scrawled on a wooden board.

“Anything,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. “I trust your judgment.”

You ordered for both of you, chatting with Nadir while he worked. The sound of sizzling meat and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables filled the space as the sandwiches came together. A few moments later, Nadir handed over the wrapped bundles with a cheerful “Enjoy!”

The two of you found a quiet spot near the gardens, a place where flowering trees lined the edge of a small fountain. The night’s quiet was punctuated by the occasional ripple of water and the faint laughter of passersby.

Azriel unwrapped his sandwich, taking a tentative bite. His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded in approval. “This is... really good,” he admitted, the faintest hint of surprise in his tone.

“I told you,” you teased, taking a bite of your own. The warmth of the spiced meat and the fresh crunch of vegetables was exactly what you needed.

At some point, Azriel glanced at you, his expression softening as his sharp eyes caught something on your cheek. Without thinking, he reached out, brushing his thumb gently across your skin to wipe away a small streak of sauce.

The touch startled you, and you froze, blinking at him. A rush of heat bloomed across your face, and you stammered, “Oh, um—thanks.”

Azriel pulled his hand back quickly, clearing his throat. “Sorry,” he murmured, his own cheeks faintly pink. “It was—there was sauce.”

You laughed, the sound a little too loud in your effort to ease the tension. “Yeah, I’m a mess when I eat these,” you joked, trying to wave it off.

The two of you settled back into a comfortable silence, the soft glow of the city lights around you making everything feel oddly peaceful. For a moment, it was as if the weight of everything—the bond, his struggles, your past—had lifted, leaving only the quiet companionship of a shared meal under the stars.

Your evenings had fallen into a quiet rhythm over the past few days. After the meetings, Azriel would find his way to your room in the palace, and the two of you would settle into an easy companionship that felt strangely natural. It had started with a simple offer of tea and had grown into these shared moments—both of you working, sometimes talking, and occasionally just enjoying the calm silence.

Your room, one of the largest in the palace, was warm and inviting. Soft golden light filtered through tall windows, casting a gentle glow over the plush rugs and intricately carved wooden furniture. The bed, draped in deep teal and gold linens, sat against one wall, while a wide desk occupied the other, covered in neatly organized stacks of notes, scrolls, and ledgers. A small sitting area near the hearth had become your favorite spot, with two armchairs and a low table perfect for tea and conversation.

Azriel’s presence in the room had become so routine that it no longer surprised you when he knocked lightly before entering. Tonight was no different.

“You’re getting predictable,” you teased as he stepped inside, carrying his reports under one arm.

Azriel raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching in a faint smile. “I could say the same about you. Tea’s already ready, isn’t it?”

You laughed softly, gesturing to the steaming teapot and cups on the low table. “Touché. I figured you’d show up.”

He sat across from you, setting his reports aside for a moment as he poured himself a cup of tea. “Busy day?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

“Always,” you replied with a sigh, leaning back in your chair. “The logistics for the next round of resource exchanges are a mess. Half the courts aren’t sure what they can spare, and the other half want more than they’re willing to give.”

Azriel nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of tea. “Sounds familiar. Negotiations between the High Lords aren’t much different. Everyone wants something, but no one wants to compromise.”

You chuckled dryly. “At least with the healers, we have the same goal. It’s easier to remind them what we’re working toward. The High Lords, though...” You shook your head. “I don’t envy you.”

He gave a small shrug, his shadows curling faintly around his shoulders. “It’s what I’m used to. But I imagine dealing with this,” he gestured to the neatly organized papers on your desk, “isn’t much easier.”

You followed his gaze and sighed. “Not really. It’s a lot of juggling—balancing what each court needs with what they can offer. And on top of that, making sure it all gets where it’s supposed to go.”

Azriel leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “If anyone can handle it, it’s you. I’ve seen how you manage these meetings. It’s impressive.”

The unexpected compliment caught you off guard, and you felt a flush creep up your neck. “Thank you,” you said softly, glancing down at your cup. “But it’s not just me. The other healers make it work. They’ve taught me as much as I’ve taught them.”

The room was quiet save for the faint crackle of the fire and the occasional rustle of parchment. You had been glancing at Azriel for a while, noticing the slight tension in his movements as he wrote. His fingers occasionally twitched, the pen faltering for just a second before resuming its sharp, precise strokes.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, setting your own quill down.

Azriel paused mid-sentence, looking up at you. “What do you mean?”

You gestured subtly toward his hands. “You’re struggling a bit. Does that happen often?”

He glanced at his gloved hands, flexing his fingers briefly. “The scars don’t hurt much,” he admitted. “But sometimes they make it harder to grip things properly. I usually use a cream to help, but since we’ve been here, it feels a little worse.”

“That’s not surprising,” you said with a faint smile. “The climate in the Dawn Court is much drier than Velaris.”

Azriel nodded, his expression neutral, though there was a flicker of discomfort in his golden eyes. Before he could brush the matter aside, you stood and rummaged through your things.

“What are you doing?” he asked, watching you with a mix of curiosity and exasperation.

“Hold on,” you replied, pulling out a small jar of salve you’d mixed during one of your quiet evenings. You turned back to him, holding it up triumphantly. “This will help.”

“Y/N, you don’t have to—”

You shot him a pointed look, cutting him off. “Azriel, it’s nothing. Stop being difficult,” you said, your tone teasing.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, and to your surprise, he chuckled. The sound was warm and low, and it sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You couldn’t help but smile back, your cheeks heating slightly.

Pulling a chair in front of him, you sat down, your knees brushing his. “May I?” you asked softly, gesturing to his hands.

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. Slowly, you reached forward, peeling off his gloves with gentle care. Your breath hitched slightly at the sight of his scarred hands—marred by burns but still strong and capable.

“How did it happen?” you asked hesitantly, looking up to meet his gaze. “If you don’t mind telling me.”

Azriel’s expression didn’t change, though his eyes darkened slightly. “When I was younger, my half-brothers wanted to see what oil and fire would do,” he said, his voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of pain. “They decided my hands would be the perfect place to test it.”

Your horror must have shown on your face because he added quickly, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve learned to live with them.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you opened the jar of salve. Scooping a small amount onto your fingers, you reached for his hand, your touch feather-light. “You shouldn’t have had to learn to live with this,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel didn’t respond at first, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. As your fingers gently massaged the salve into his scarred hands, it was as if the world outside the room ceased to exist. Each movement was deliberate, your touch light but firm as you worked the cream into the roughened skin, tracing over every ridge and scar with quiet reverence.

Your magic stirred softly, a faint glow emanating from your fingertips as you worked. The light was subtle, a pale shimmer that seemed to dance across his hands, sinking into the damaged tissue and soothing the strain beneath. You weren’t entirely sure if it was for him or for yourself, this act of care. But as the magic melded with the salve, you could feel the tension in his hands ease, the tightness in his skin softening under your touch.

The air between you seemed to thicken, becoming charged with something unspoken yet deeply felt. Azriel’s golden eyes followed your every movement, his shadows curling faintly around his shoulders as if reacting to the moment. They reached out tentatively, brushing against your arm like curious tendrils, almost mirroring the gentle care you were giving him.

Your fingers paused for a moment, resting on a particularly deep scar near the base of his thumb. You traced it lightly with your thumb, your expression unreadable. “Does this one still hurt?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel shook his head slightly, his voice low and steady. “Not physically. Not anymore.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and you didn’t press further. Instead, you resumed your work, your fingers gliding over his knuckles with a featherlight touch. The warmth of your magic pulsed faintly, and you let out a small, satisfied sigh when you saw the way his hands relaxed under your care.

The room felt smaller, quieter, as if it were holding its breath for the two of you. Azriel’s gaze never wavered, his focus locked on you with an intensity that made you acutely aware of every movement, every shared breath. The way you worked—your brow furrowed in concentration, your lips slightly parted as you focused on him—it rooted him in place, a grounding point he didn’t realize he’d been seeking.

Your touch was meticulous, almost reverent, as if you were trying to undo some of the harm etched into his skin—not just with the salve and your magic, but with the quiet care you poured into the act itself. It wasn’t just about soothing his scars; it was about showing him, in a way words never could, that he was worth this kind of gentleness.

Finally, you set the jar aside and rested your hands lightly on his, letting the warmth linger for a moment longer. When you glanced up to meet his gaze, the depth of emotion in his eyes made your chest tighten.

“Better?” you asked, your voice soft, almost hesitant.

Azriel nodded slowly, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. “Much better,” he murmured, his tone thick with something unspoken.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy or awkward—it was full of unspoken understanding, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection that had deepened between you in those stolen moments. And as you both lingered there, the faint shimmer of your magic faded into the stillness, leaving only the warmth of your touch and the steady rhythm of your breaths.

At one point, he broke the silence, his voice quiet but steady. “What about you?”

You glanced up, puzzled. “What about me?”

Azriel tilted his head, his expression softening as he studied you. “You spend so much time taking care of everyone else. Do you ever take time for yourself?”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “This,” you said, gesturing around the room, “is my time for myself. These moments... they’re enough.”

Azriel nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. “Good,” he said softly. “You deserve that much.”

The sincerity in his voice stirred something deep inside you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to simply bask in the quiet companionship. In a life full of chaos and responsibility, this small corner of peace felt like a gift—one you hadn’t realized you needed until now.

 

Azriel arrived outside your door, punctual as ever, only to hear a frantic shuffle on the other side. He knocked lightly, waiting.

“Coming!” your voice called, muffled but rushed.

The door flew open, and there you stood, dripping wet, wrapped only in a towel. Your hair clung to your skin, and water dripped onto the floor. You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, clearly caught off guard.

“My bad—go wait inside, please,” you stammered, stepping back to let him in. “I’m so sorry—give me two seconds.”

You turned, slipping slightly on the wet floor, your arms flailing as you barely caught yourself on the doorframe. Azriel blinked, clearly fighting back a laugh, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low but amused.

"Fine!" you chirped, disappearing back into your room. "Totally fine! Just... give me a minute!”

The space felt as alive as you were—vibrant and lived-in. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with books, jars of herbs, and an array of trinkets collected from various courts. Your desk was a study in organized chaos, papers and notes sprawled across its surface, mingling with teacups and a few candles. A large, open window let the morning sunlight pour in, illuminating everything in a warm glow.

Azriel took a seat on the edge of a cushioned chair, his sharp eyes scanning the room. He couldn’t help but notice the quiet hum of comfort that seemed to radiate from the space, much like its owner.

A few minutes later, you emerged, struggling with the intricate ties of your top, the fabric stubbornly refusing to cooperate. "Azriel," you called, your voice slightly frantic. "Help me out here!”

Azriel stood, stepping closer. “Sure,” he said simply, taking the ties of the top in his hands. As he moved behind you to secure it, his gaze fell on your back.

There, faint but unmistakable, were scars. They cut across your skin in jagged, silvery lines, a stark contrast against the smooth canvas of your back. He froze for the briefest moment, his breath catching. His shadows stirred restlessly, betraying his thoughts.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t let his hands falter as he tied the delicate laces with precision. But something tightened in his chest, a mix of sorrow and admiration for what you must have endured.

You, oblivious, continued fussing. “Usually, it’s Ydle who helps me with this,” you muttered.

Azriel blinked, his brow furrowing. “The bird?”

“Yes, the bird, Azriel,” you said, glancing over your shoulder with an incredulous look. “He’s actually quite good at a lot of things, you know.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Right. A lot of things.”

You turned fully, giving him a pointed look. “Stop with your nasty thoughts, Shadowsinger. Not all winged beings think with their dick, you know.”

That earned you a full, genuine laugh from Azriel, his shadows swirling around him in amusement.

"You’re late," he reminded, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, grabbing your notes and practically running around the room to gather the last of your things. "I ended up drinking with the girls last night—like, a lot—and I went to sleep about... oh, two hours ago."

Azriel raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. "And now you expect to lead a meeting?"

"I’ll survive," you said, waving him off. "Let’s go, or we’ll both be late."

As the two of you left your room, Azriel couldn’t help but shake his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him. You might have been chaos incarnate that morning, but there was no denying you’d pull it together the moment you stepped into that meeting room—and he admired that more than he’d ever admit.

When you and Azriel entered the meeting room, it was clear that the tone of the day was already set. The head healers, though composed, bore an unspoken tension that hung heavy in the air. Your sharp eyes quickly took in the details—slightly rumpled clothes, dark circles under a few pairs of eyes. A quick glance at Farah and Amara confirmed your suspicion: you weren’t the only one running on minimal sleep.

“Rough night?” you murmured to Farah as you passed, taking your seat at the head of the table.

The Day Court healer offered you a tired smile, golden strands of her hair slipping from her loose braid. “You could say that. Seems the city’s festivities are hard to resist.”

Amara groaned softly, resting her elbows on the table. “Why do they schedule these meetings the morning after celebrations? We look like we’ve been dragged through the ocean.”

A few chuckles broke the tension, and even Azriel’s lips twitched faintly at the comment as he took his place near the doorway, his shadows drifting unobtrusively.

“All right,” you said, your voice firm but warm as you tapped the table lightly. “Let’s focus. We have a lot to cover, and not much time.”

The healers straightened in their seats, the atmosphere shifting into something far more serious.

As the meeting pressed on, the air in the room thickened with the weight of the topic now at hand—Koshiev’s growing influence. The earlier camaraderie and trust among the healers gave way to grim determination, each word spoken heavy with the stakes of what was to come.

Rordan from the Autumn Court began, his amber eyes burning with frustration. “Koshiev’s forces aren’t just expanding—they’re leaving devastation in their wake. Entire villages along the borders have been wiped out because of sickness that, mother above, look like they come straight from hell, and the survivors are trickling into the courts as refugees. Camps are overcrowded, and infection spreads like wildfire.”

Veras from the Winter Court leaned forward, his braided hair falling over his shoulder. “The frostbite cases we’re seeing aren’t just from the cold anymore. It’s as if something in the air itself is making the wounds worse, harder to heal. We suspect Koshiev’s forces are using some kind of dark magic, but we have no way to confirm it.”

You nodded, taking in the information with a furrowed brow. “If they’re using magic to weaponize the environment, we’ll need to prioritize protection. I can look into shielding spells that can be used alongside standard care. Farah,” you turned to the Day Court healer, “your court specializes in purification. Do you think you could develop something to counteract this?”

Farah’s golden eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “It’s possible, but we’d need samples to understand what we’re dealing with. Without knowing the exact nature of this magic, we’re working blind.”

Azriel, silent until now, spoke up from where he stood at the edge of the room. His deep voice cut through the air like a blade. “I can get you the samples. If there’s something in the air or water, I’ll have my spies retrieve it.”

The room turned to Azriel, some with surprise, others with relief. You caught his eye briefly and nodded, grateful for his quick offer.

Amara from the Summer Court exhaled heavily. “Even with countermeasures, this is a problem we’ve never faced before. Koshiev’s forces are using tactics that defy every natural law we know. We need more than just defensive strategies—we need to be proactive.”

“You’re right,” you said, standing straighter. “It’s not enough to react to what Koshiev does. We need to anticipate his next moves. That means gathering intelligence—not just on his methods but on his motives. Why is he targeting specific regions? What does he gain from leaving the lands uninhabitable?”

Teylan, the healer from the Dawn Court, added, “And we need to coordinate evacuation protocols. If entire regions are to be affected, we must ensure that civilians can be moved quickly and efficiently. It’s not just about healing the injured—it’s about preventing the injuries in the first place.”

The group murmured in agreement, and you saw Azriel’s sharp gaze shift to Teylan. There was respect in his expression, though his shadows swirled slightly tighter around him, as if unsettled by the weight of the conversation.

“Let’s assign specific roles,” you suggested, your voice cutting through the growing tension. “Veras, work with Farah to develop purification methods. Amara, focus on distributing resources—we’ll need herbs, salves, and antidotes ready for immediate deployment. Rordan, can you focus on organizing supply routes and establishing safe zones within the Autumn Court?”

Each healer nodded, their expressions set with determination. You turned to Azriel. “And Azriel, if you can retrieve those samples, it will give us the edge we desperately need.”

Azriel inclined his head, his shadows flickering like flames in response. “Consider it done.”

The meeting continued with precise planning. Containment strategies, resource allocation, and magical countermeasures were all discussed and debated. Each healer brought their expertise to the table, but the weight of Koshiev’s looming threat was undeniable.

By the time the meeting concluded, the atmosphere in the room was heavy but resolute. These weren’t just plans—they were the foundation for survival, the first step in a war that would test every ounce of strength Prythian had.

As the healers began to file out for a much-needed break, Azriel lingered near you, his gaze steady and unreadable. “You’re carrying a lot on your shoulders,” he said quietly.

You met his gaze, your tired smile barely masking the exhaustion. “We all are, Azriel. But this is the work that needs to be done.”

His shadows flickered faintly, and for a moment, he looked as if he wanted to say more. But instead, he simply nodded, his silence speaking volumes.

The battle against Koshiev had already begun, and you both knew it would demand everything from everyone involved.

The meeting had finally drawn to a close, the weight of the discussions settling heavily on your shoulders. You bid farewell to the other healers, offering last-minute reassurances and final notes for the upcoming plans. As the last of them departed, you made your way back to your room, your steps slower than usual. The exhaustion from the day's intensity pulled at you, but your mind refused to quiet.

Your room greeted you with its familiar warmth and quiet elegance. You sighed, stepping inside and shedding your outer coat. Moving to the small kitchenette, you set about preparing tea. The rhythmic motions of boiling water and selecting herbs gave you a rare moment of peace.

The sound of a knock at the door broke your focus. You turned, half expecting Azriel, but instead found Thesan leaning casually against the frame, his smile warm and familiar.

“You didn’t think I’d let you retreat so easily, did you?” he teased, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

You chuckled softly, rolling your eyes. “I thought you’d be busy catching up with your court, not chasing after me.”

“Multitasking is one of my many talents,” he quipped, settling into a chair with an ease that spoke of years of friendship. His gaze swept the room, a fond glint in his eye. “Still feels like you’ve left your mark on this place. It’s alive, somehow—like you.”

You scoffed lightly, pouring two cups of tea. “You’re being dramatic again.”

He accepted the cup you handed him, his smile never faltering. “Maybe. But I’m also right.”

The lighthearted banter faded as his expression turned more serious. “You handled yourself well today. The meeting was impressive, even for you. But that’s not why I’m here.”

You hesitated, sitting down across from him. “Then why are you here, Thesan?”

“To check on you,” he replied simply. “You’ve been through a lot, Y/N. And I know you—sometimes you carry things alone when you shouldn’t.”

The words hit closer to home than you cared to admit. You stared into your tea for a moment before taking a steadying breath. “There is... something,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “Something I haven’t told anyone.”

Thesan waited patiently, his gaze unwavering. Finally, you looked up and met his eyes.

“It’s not just the war or the plans,” you admitted finally, setting your cup down. “It’s... Azriel.”

Thesan raised a brow, his curiosity piqued. “The Night Court’s spymaster? What about him?”

You inhaled deeply, the words tasting foreign as they left your lips. “He’s my mate.”

The admission hung in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. Thesan’s expression shifted to one of quiet understanding, his head tilting slightly as he studied you.

“And does he know?” he asked gently.

You shook your head, the weight of the secret pressing down on you. “No. And I don’t plan on telling him. He’s... attached to someone else. Elain. One of the High lady’s sister. And there’s the war, the chaos. It’s not the right time.”

“Is there ever a right time for something like this?” Thesan asked gently. “Do you... love him?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, your fingers tightening around the cup. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “But being around him feels... different. Like a part of me is at peace when he’s near.”

Thesan leaned back slightly, his brow furrowed in thought. “Mates are rare, yes. But they’re not infallible. If you feel this strongly, maybe you shouldn’t dismiss it. Just... be careful.”

His advice hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Before either of you could say more, a soft knock at the door interrupted the moment. Thesan rose smoothly to answer, his calm demeanor never wavering.

Azriel stood in the doorway, his shadows curling faintly around him. His sharp eyes flicked to Thesan, a hint of surprise crossing his face. “High Lord,” he greeted, his tone polite but clipped.

Thesan smiled, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Spymaster. What brings you here?”

Azriel’s gaze briefly shifted beyond him, but he couldn’t see you from where he stood. “I was going to ask Y/N if she wanted to take a walk through the city before we leave. But clearly, she’s... occupied.”

Thesan’s smile deepened, and there was a hint of something playful in his tone. “We were just catching up, but...”

Azriel nodded curtly and cut him mid sentence, stepping back. “Another time then, I don’t want to disturb you both.” he echoed, his voice neutral.

He left without another word, his shadows lingering briefly before disappearing into the hallway. Thesan watched him go, a knowing look in his eye as he closed the door and turned back to you.

“Well,” he said, his tone dry, “he’s certainly... something.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t even know what to do anymore.”

Thesan placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his expression softening. “Take it one step at a time, Y/N. You’ll figure it out.”

Azriel sat on the balcony of his assigned room in the Dawn Court palace, the cool evening air brushing against his skin. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of soft orange and deep indigo. His shadows whispered faintly, their tones uncertain, as if they too were trying to process what he was feeling.

He hadn’t intended to overhear you with Thesan, but the sound of your laughter, followed by the soft murmur of your voices, had drawn him to the door. He had stopped himself from intruding, reminding himself that it was none of his business. Yet, the sight of Thesan’s easy smile as he stood in your doorway, the familiarity in his posture, and the casual way his hand rested on the frame had stirred something in Azriel—something sharp and unwelcome.

He knew you had a history with Thesan. He knew that Thesan had a mate. And yet, he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling of jealousy. The knowledge that you and Thesan had shared something once, something real and intimate, unsettled him in a way he couldn’t fully understand.

You weren’t like Mor, whose vibrant energy had captivated him for centuries. You weren’t like Elain, whose gentleness and quiet beauty had drawn him in, offering a fleeting hope for something he could never truly have.

You were you—Y/N.

There was an effortless strength in you, the way you commanded a room without raising your voice, the way you navigated delicate situations with a calmness that belied the fire in your heart. You carried yourself with grace but never hid your scars. You worked tirelessly, yet somehow always found time to smile, to offer comfort, even when you were the one most in need of it.

And that smile—Mother above, that smile. It wasn’t a demure thing meant to appease or charm; it was genuine, lighting up your face in a way that made everything around you seem brighter. Your laugh was low and warm, the kind that lingered in the air long after it faded. The way your eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when you were truly amused stayed with him.

He thought of the way you spoke to him—honest, unafraid to challenge him but never cruel. How you had listened to him in the clinic that night, your words carrying a weight of understanding he hadn’t found in anyone else.

Azriel exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know when it had started—this attachment to you. But he knew it had grown steadily since the moment the two of you arrived in the Dawn Court. You had drawn him in with your unwavering dedication and the quiet vulnerability you allowed to slip through your defenses.

It wasn’t like him to let someone in so easily, to let himself care so quickly. But with you, it was different.

And now, the thought of Thesan knowing you so intimately—knowing parts of you that he could only hope to uncover—gnawed at him. It wasn’t rational, he knew that. But the thought still burned.

His shadows curled tighter around him, as if trying to shield him from the onslaught of emotions. But they couldn’t muffle the truth. He had grown attached to you. Too attached. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what to do about it.

Later that evening, you found yourself standing outside Azriel’s door, a faint sense of unease settling over you. You had to talk to him about organizing your departure, but something felt off. You took a deep breath and knocked softly, waiting until you heard his voice.

“Come in.”

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside to find Azriel sitting in a chair by the window, his shadows swirling lazily around him. His face was unreadable, the sharp planes of his features cast in soft shadows from the lamp beside him. He looked up briefly as you entered, but his gaze quickly flicked back to the papers in his hands.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” you began, your voice light but careful.

He shook his head. “No. Don’t worry. What do you need?”

You hesitated for a moment, noting the slight edge to his tone. “I wanted to go over the plan for tomorrow’s departure,” you said, stepping closer. “We need to coordinate with the palace staff for supplies, and I wanted to confirm our route.”

Azriel nodded curtly, gesturing for you to sit, but he didn’t offer much more. His responses were short, his demeanor cooler than usual. You frowned, watching him as he scanned the papers in his hands.

“Is something going on?” you asked softly, leaning forward slightly in your seat.

Azriel’s shadows curled tighter around him, a sure sign of his tension. “No, everything is ok don’t worry.” he said flatly, not looking up.

You tilted your head, unconvinced. “Azriel, I’m not leaving this alone. We’re going to be stuck together for at least four hours during the flight, and I promise you—I will not stop bothering you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might brush you off entirely. But then he set the papers down and leaned back in his chair, his amber eyes locking onto yours.

“Fine,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Do you still have something going on with Thesan?”

You blinked, caught completely off guard by the question. “What?”

He pressed on, his shadows flickering erratically. “It’s just... sometimes, even if people are mated, they still—” He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line before continuing, “They still keep things with their previous partners.”

You stared at him, the words settling over you like a wave of confusion and exasperation. “Are you serious right now?”

Azriel met your gaze, his expression unreadable, but his eyes carried a flicker of vulnerability he was clearly trying to mask.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “Azriel, do you honestly think either Nesta or Feyre would be okay with Cassian or Rhysand running off to sleep with an ex-partner? Because, no. They wouldn’t. And it’s the same here.”

His brows furrowed, and you continued, your tone softening slightly. “Thesan is a friend now, Azriel. Nothing more. I don’t want anything else, and neither does he. And his mate would probably kill me if I even consider him more than that.”

The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease slightly, though his shadows still hovered around him. He nodded once, his voice quieter now. “I... I just wanted to be sure. Not that it was an actual problem, but...”

You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh, shaking your head. “You could have just asked, you know.”

Azriel’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, his shadows finally retreating a bit. “Maybe next time, I will.”

“Good,” you replied, standing and smoothing the front of your shirt. “Now, can we get back to the actual reason I came here, or should I start worrying about more questions?”

Azriel chuckled softly, a rare sound, and gestured for you to continue. The tension between you had eased, and as you began discussing the logistics of your departure, you noticed that his gaze lingered on you just a little longer than usual.

After clearing the air, you sat up straighter, your tone turning more professional. “Now, about tomorrow’s flight. The weather reports show strong winds in the region where we flew last time, so we’ll need to make a detour.”

Azriel’s brow lifted slightly, his focus sharpening. “A detour?”

You nodded, gesturing to the small map you had brought with you. You spread it out on the desk between you, pointing to a marked path. “Instead of cutting directly through the mountains, we’ll follow the coastline for a bit. It’ll take us an extra hour, but it’s safer than risking the turbulence.”

Azriel leaned forward, his shadows quiet as he studied the map. “The sea route?”

“Yes,” you confirmed. “The winds over the water should be calmer, and there’s a better chance of clear skies. I checked with the palace staff earlier—they’ve used that path before in similar conditions.”

His expression was thoughtful as he traced the route with his finger. “It’s a smart call. And the scenery will be... different.”

You chuckled softly. “Different is one way to put it. I hope you like ocean views.”

Azriel glanced at you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “I’ll take ocean views over unpredictable mountain winds any day.”

“Good,” you said with a small smile. “I’ll let the staff know to adjust the flight plan accordingly.”

He nodded, his demeanor more relaxed now. “Anything else I should know?”

You hesitated for a moment, then added, “The winds might still be a bit tricky when we’re closer to the coast, so we’ll need to stay alert. But I think we’ll manage just fine.”

Azriel’s smirk deepened. “You sound like you’ve done this a hundred times.”

You shrugged lightly, a playful glint in your eyes. “Maybe not a hundred, but I’ve healed enough Peregrins to know what I’m talking about. Trust me on this one, Shadowsinger.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, his shadows flickering faintly around him before he nodded again. “I trust you.” 

don't hesitate to comment if you want to be added to the tag list ;)))

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[ofoceansandtombsanew]

How the Straw Hats Love (As Told By Tarot) Pt I

cw. gn!reader, headcanons, tarot pairing. luffy x reader, zoro x reader, sanji x reader, usopp x reader notes. i've been meaning to this for the straw hats but considering the... amount of crewmates there are lol, i thought why not start with 4 of the bois. next i definitely want to do robin, nami, franky and... hmm maybe jinbei? but to start, our east blue boys! deck. prisma vision tarot, true black tarot

monkey d. luffy

seven of swords, ten of chalices, page of chalices

he isn't just your partner, luffy is your best friend. he knows loneliness and loss too well for comfort and he doesn't want you to ever feel the same way. in a lot of ways, it feels like luffy knows you better than yourself. you never have to question how luffy feels, he's honest and wears his heart on his sleeves. he loves you and he shows it freely through his actions. he doesn't lie to himself and he doesn't want you lying to yourself whether it be how you feel about him or any other aspect of your life. so much love flows from monkey d. luffy and his person for any and everyone, but you're someone special above the rest. you're a treasure among treasures. you're someone who makes him happy and he strives to make you happy. your dreams are just as important to him as his own. what makes you happy might not make always align with his own but he's sure to approach those things with with enthusiasm.

roronoa zoro

three of wands, the emperor, two of wands, six of cups

zoro's dream is to become the world's strongest swordsman. there's not really much else he took into account otherwise as far as what may happen on the path there. he couldn't have predicted luffy, the crew and her certainly never predicted you. in spite of that, zoro hones in on you much like a traveler following a guiding light. his goals allow for much leeway on the path there, there's nothing holding back his devotion and loyalty to you. your relationship is a promise and nothing this man does makes you doubt this promise. there's a tenderness in how he touches you and approaches you but he doesn't doubt your own strength. he trusts in it as much as you trust in his. zoro's is a love that feels like it approaches a part of your lost youth. the things neither of you might have had the chance the done when you were younger but can now indulge in fully by each other's side. enjoy the ride.

black leg sanji

the lovers, seven of pentacles, the fool, the anant

much to no one's surprise, the man's a hopeless romantic. sanji heartily believes in soulmates and fated persons and can only hope he's someone lucky enough to have one of his own. despite being a flirt, sanji isn't one who loves casually. when sanji has his person, he's as loyal and dedicated as they come; investing as much you give him. any love you give him, he appreciates a hundred times fold. if given another chance at life, he truly means it when he says there isn't a thing in his life he'd change if he knows that is the path that will lead him right back to you. there's a darkness to sanji, however. one that doesn't allow him to truly see the value of his person. he stumbles much like a blindfolded child in his yearning in spite of this. he wants so much to make you happy that he needs to be reminded in the importance of his own happiness as well.

god usopp

page of chalices, the tower, judgement, three of wands

usopp's no stranger to unexpected and, at time's disastrous situations. being part of a crew such as his own, he's learned to be prepared for it. there's no rainbow without the rain and if you have no umbrella, usopp is right there to craft one with his ingenuity and the resources at hand. the days of his pessimism and cowardice aren't entirely gone, but when it comes to someone having your back you can count on usopp completely and so too can you trust his affections for you. he might not be the strongest person and he's not the bravest, but his love for you is only ten times stronger. he encourages your creativity and he's tactful when gauging your wellbeing. usopp's desire for strength only stems from his desire to protect those he holds most dear. a brave warrior of the sea won't strive for anything less. out of all the things he imagines for his future, your image is the clearest.

[slaytheday12]

helloooo i have a request for youu

okay so walker scobell x reader where walker and the reader 'dated' when they were kids (like 11ish maybe?) but walker moved away, so they obviously stopped talking. then fast forward to now, he messages her on Instagram and at some point in the convo he says smth like "we never broke up" i hope this makes sense 😭

anyway i love youuu <33

We Never Broke Up

You and Walker had been inseparable as kids. From the moment you met at summer camp, there was an instant connection. At 11 years old, you didn’t know much about love, but whatever you had with Walker felt special. It was the kind of friendship where you’d pass notes, dare each other to do silly things, and sneak away from the group just to hang out under the stars. You’d even playfully called each other boyfriend and girlfriend, giggling at how grown-up it sounded.

But life had a way of pulling people apart. When camp ended, Walker moved across the country. You promised to stay in touch, but as time went on, the phone calls and texts became less frequent, and eventually, they stopped altogether.

Fast forward to now, and you were scrolling through Instagram, mindlessly tapping through stories. That’s when you saw him.

Walker Scobell.

You blinked, unsure if it was the same Walker you’d known all those years ago. But as you clicked on his profile, there was no doubt it was him. Except now, he was famous, starring in movies and making headlines. You hesitated for a moment before hitting the follow button, figuring there was no way he’d even notice.

To your surprise, he did.

The next day, a notification popped up: Walker Scobell has sent you a message.

Your heart raced as you opened it.

Walker: Wait... is this the same Y/N from camp? You: Depends. Are you the same Walker who screamed when we saw that raccoon by the cabins? Walker: 😭 Okay, fair, but yes. It’s me. Hi. You: Hi. Wow, it’s been forever. Walker: Yeah, like, what, 3 years? Maybe more?

The conversation flowed effortlessly. It was like no time had passed at all. You caught up on life how he got into acting, your own adventures, and everything in between. As the chat went on, the nostalgic warmth of your childhood friendship crept back in.

Then, out of nowhere, Walker dropped a bombshell.

Walker: You know... we never actually broke up. You: 😳 Walker: I mean, technically, right? We never said the words.

You laughed out loud, staring at the screen in disbelief.

You: Pretty sure moving across the country counts as a breakup, Walker. Walker: Nope. Doesn’t count unless someone says it. I’m just saying... we’re still technically dating. You: Oh, really? And what does that make us now? Walker: Long-distance couple reunited. 😌

You couldn’t help but smile, your cheeks heating up.

You: You’re ridiculous. Walker: Maybe. But I mean it. You were my first girlfriend, and I’m pretty sure I never stopped liking you.

Your heart skipped a beat. You stared at his message, unsure of what to say. Before you could respond, another message popped up.

Walker: Sorry if that’s too much. I just... I saw your profile and couldn’t stop thinking about you.

You took a deep breath before typing your reply.

You: It’s not too much. Honestly, I’ve thought about you too. A lot.

From there, the conversation shifted into something deeper, filled with confessions and laughter as you both navigated this unexpected reunion. By the end of the night, one thing was clear: whatever spark had existed between you as kids hadn’t faded it had only grown stronger.

Walker wasn’t just someone from your past anymore. He was part of your present, and maybe, just maybe, your future too.

A/N: u know i had to do my queens one first this my o.g girl i love her with my whole heart

Tags: @izzystylinson, @sophand4n4, @kaiwrites092

[the-family-business-83]

Unexpected Calling – Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3 | Masterlist

Fandom: Marvel

Prompt: A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in short change and a letter handwritten by a 9-year old girl.

Type: Series

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader's daughter (platonic obviously), Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Genre: fluff, action, slight angst, might get smutty but idk yet

Warnings: None for this chapter, it's really all fluff. Maybe a slight disclaimer about a lil kid interacting with a total stranger and some mom panic, but nothing bad happens!

Word count: 2.4k

Send me an ask to let me know if you wanna be added to/removed from the taglist!!

A/N: Trying to let myself just enjoy wirting and not overthink it all too much, so I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's a little bit of filler but I thought it was cute and it was fun to write. And yes, I know, it took forever to get posted. I had a lot going on, and I still may not be posting super frequently but to those of you who love this series so far, rest assured: I will still post, even if it's slow.

Any and all mistakes are my own as this chapter is unbeta'd, I did all my own editing/proofreading for this.

Text dividers made by @firefly-graphics <3

Transportation had really come a long way from what he'd been so used to when he was younger. There were planes that's the air of the skies with their quiet rumblings, helicopters that you could hear coming long before they appeared, and cars. Cars were so different these days, he'd gotten used to them but it just wasn't the same. Some part of him still couldn't wrap his mind around the concept of phones being able to connect to the car. And that was just one of many new upgrades.

But Bucky didn't take his trip by air, customs were a bitch to get through on a normal day let alone when he needed to bring weapons with him. He didn't take a train either, because–well. He'd had an uneasy feeling with them ever since 1944 when he fell down the mountainside. So, instead he went by cross-country bus, and kept to himself in his seat once he got on and found one near the back where it was mostly empty. Being perfectly on time, if not a little early, there were a fewhandfuls people that he watched enter in the time that he waited for the bus to start moving. His watchful eye kept them in sight here and there but for the most part, he simply pulled his dark red baseball cap down a little lower and looked out the window to help hide his face. He could only hope that when one passenger entered with not one, not two; but three small children, that they wouldn't be very loud.

Oh how very wrong he had been. Not even 20 minutes into the trip and two of the rugrats were already whining and fighting with each other. Bucky could only stare at them in distaste as he blinked at the sight, wondering how in the world such tiny things could make so much noise. Granted, he'd never really had to deal with children, not like this anyway. And they couldn't have been any older than 3 or 5, each of them. The oldest of the three seemed to be perfectly fine and well-occupied, thank heavens but that didn't make it any more desirable

Sucking a deep breath in, Bucky suppressed the urge to ask the clearly struggling mother to turn off the screeching, and pulled out a book from his day-pack, beginning to flip through it to find his spot. Maybe if he just pretended they weren't there, they would disappear from his mind.

Not likely, but the effort was still made as he focused on the pages of the small paperback copy of The Hobbit he'd brought with him. Glancing up when it once again wasn't working well, he was caught by surprise when suddenly the older child was standing right there by his seat row, and admittedly he tensed in reaction as a sort of mini-flinch. She hadn't said a word, he hadn't even heard her walking over. But there she was, standing with her stuffed bunny in her arms, simply staring at him while he did the same. Both were quiet for a long moment before Bucky glanced up the way towards where her mother sat with her brothers, clearing his throat. "Can I…help you?" He asked a bit awkwardly as he brought his furrowed-brow gaze back to the little girl. Once more, she didn't really say anything, instead just looking him over quietly. Then, she climbed herself up into the seat next to his since it was open, and Bucky was starting to wish he'd put one of his bags there. "Hey, look, kid- your mom- ….what are you doing?"

She shrugged as he stumbled his words out, and glanced down at her bunny fiddling with it a little as she got settled in the seat. "Too loud." Her answer came simply, and while it didn't answer his question completely, he definitely understood the feeling.

Sighing slightly, he glanced towards her troubled mother once more, and then back to bunny-girl. "...Alright, what's your name kid?"

"Mandy." She replied quietly, glancing up at him a moment later with big green eyes. "What's yours mister?"

"Bucky. My name's Bucky." The man paused for a moment then, almost as if debating whether he should send her back to her family yet or not, but she was calm and quiet, and wasn't harming anything. And it wasn't like he was going to let anything happen to a little kid, so he dismissed the idea for now and instead went back to his book.

It was a minute or so later that he felt the little girl–Mandy, he reminded himself silently–leaning over the arm rest between them slightly to see what he was reading. Brows knitting once again, Bucky glanced from the pages to the young girl, whose curly pigtails somewhat bounced in the way of his view of the words. His mouth parted a fraction, ready to let something slip off his tongue to tell her to sit back and let him read. But nothing came. He didn't know how to tell the girl to get out of his space without, well… being a dick. This was a *child* it would have been different had it been an adult. So instead he simply blinked at her in silence as he debated how to handle it.

Mandy seemed to sense he was looking at her though, because then she met his gaze and inched back into place in her seat, curling around her stuffed, yellow bunny, the apology clear in her demeanor. "I just wanted to see your story." She muttered out, albeit the words likely came out a tad muffled because her bunny's head was pressed against her mouth slightly.

Kids. There was something about them that just- got to him. Admittedly, maybe some part of him had a soft spot. One that he'd probably always had, an instinct he'd never been able to shake. And maybe there was something about that moment that reminded him of the slightly younger girl that he'd been on his way to help, that made him realize he was already traveling across the states to investigate the disappearance of some kid's mother. A small gesture really couldn't hurt him. He may not have said anything, but he did nod, and as he brought his crisp blue hues back to the book in his hands, he started reading the words out to her, quietly but still loud enough to be heard against her brothers' tantrums.

Whatever she'd been expecting, Mandy seemed delightfully surprised when he began reading to her, and her eyes lit up as she looked from him to the book, leaning over once again but this time while staying back more in her seat meaning her head rested against his arm lightly, so that he could still see but she couldn't help wanting to peek. There was something about how trusting she was, about how trusting kids often seemed to be, that just genuinely baffled him. Maybe it was because he'd been so jaded for so long that it was just a mind boggling concept to see such innocence. Or maybe it simply was a brilliant anomaly that children lacked the cynicism of their parents and the adults around them, that they saw things grown-ups didn't and thought of things that were unique to them.

Bucky didn't know when the crying and whining had stopped, but eventually the sun went down around them and it was dark in the bus, nothing but the glow-in-the-dark caution stickers and the light of the full moon to let him read the words on the pages. And just as he'd glanced over towards the little girl next to him, seeing that she was well on her way to passing out completely, he heard her mother patter over looking both exhausted and annoyed. "Mandy- for God's sake, you cannot-" only then did the woman seem to register that her daughter was half asleep, not really hearing her mother much and so all that Mandy gave in response was a tired hum as she nuzzled against Bucky's arm a little more.

Well, shit. He may not be experienced with children but he knew enough to know that if he moved she might wake up. And frankly he didn't even know if she'd let him move. Glancing up towards the mother, he offered an apologetic smile. "Didn't mean to scare you…she just kind of walked on over and climbed up. Seemed like you had your hands full so I hope it's okay I kept her busy for you?" He whispered to her, stopping her before she could rage at him–if that was what she'd been about to do, that is. She looked tired, and scared, understandably so. And most of all she looked ashamed that she hadn't even noticed her daughter leave.

"O-oh…thank you, I- I mean, I'm sorry if she caused you any trouble, I just- yeah…those boys…sorry they were so loud, they're in that phase…" she apologized sheepishly in hushed tones of her own, rubbing her palms against the fronts of her jeans as her gaze flicked between her daughter and the quiet stranger of a man. "I passed out and then I…I woke up and she was gone, I'm so sorry sir."

"Not a problem, honestly. She's pretty decent company, let me read in peace with her." Reading that nervousness on the woman’s features, he paused for a moment before shrugging his free shoulder up. "Don't sweat it, I shoulda sent her back…I was going to, believe me but uh. Well, at least now you get a break, right?" He tried to ease her nerves, but then glanced down towards Mandy. "I can carry her back to your seat if you'd like."

He was just so damned kind, she thought. A complete stranger and yet her daughter was clearly safe and well, asleep even and yes, now everything was quiet and she had some time to relax. It didn't stop her mom-dar from going off, but at the very least she'd be a fool to not appreciate his kindness. "No, no it's… it's okay, I don't want to wake her, she's a bit of a light sleeper…just uh, if she wakes up let me know. I'm Erin, by the way…in case that helps." This time it was her turn to offer a kind smile.

"Bucky. Nice to meet you…I'll keep it in mind, hopefully she lets you have a break though." He chuffed an amused breath out his nose.

Doing the same, she shook her head. "Yeah, if only. Thanks, again…I'll let you uh. Read in peace." She teased lightly, taking a hand back through her hair as she went back to her seat before the driver could reprimand her for standing up so long.

Smiling in amusement at that, he watched Erin go back to her sons, and in turn went back to his book after a moment. It was the small things, that made life easier. The small things were what really made things worth it. Sure, saving the world and saving people was big, and it was good. And it was worth it. But sometimes it was moments where he managed to do something more mundane, and helped someone else, that made all the other shit worth it. Because it meant he was still capable of being human.

———

By the time the sun was back up, Bucky rose with it, his eyes slowly opening to the light streaming through the window and he groaned quietly at the crick in his neck from how he'd slept. Running his flesh hand over his face groggily, as he glanced around he noticed that the warmth that had been leaned up against his arm the night day before was no longer there. He would have been concerned, thinking he'd now somehow lost some stranger's child, but he saw the pigtail-bearing girl peeking up over her seat at him a moment later, watching her smile appear once more as she gave him a little wave. Crisis averted. Not like there was anywhere she could really go on a bus, but still.

Despite still being a bit plagued by morning sleepiness, he smiled back and gave the girl a small wave of his own before watching her sink back into her seat properly. Probably at the urging of her mother. His sleepiness didn't last long, though, because soon those boys were back to making noise, but at least it wasn't as much of a headache as yesterday because it was merely them playing and babbling about random things. That was tolerable. And so he relaxed a bit more, rolling out his neck some before he picked up his book again and went on reading.

Somewhere along the way, the lone mother with her trio of children had reached their stop and were gathering their things to leave. It was Mandy who escaped her mother's sight once again to go see the kind man at the back of the bus who had read to her, bunny still in her arms but this time with a warm smile in place. "Hi Mr. Bucky! Mommy said I shouldn't bother you again… but I just wanted to say I liked your story and you're very nice." She didn't give him time to process all of that before she climbed up in the same seat as before, and kissed his cheek for a moment before hearing her mother call her name.

"You're welcome, Mandy. I think your mom needs you though, better get going." He encouraged even as he seemed surprised by her display of affectionate gratitude. The little girl wiggled back down from the seat then, but not without turning to wave at him, walking backwards to do so. "Bye Mr. Bucky!" She rushed the words out before running along to catch up to her mother. Watching her run along, he smiled at her little goodbye, and waved back at her as she went on her way. He wished that woman luck with her undoubtedly trouble-filled journey, honestly. Because he had his own coming up and somehow he felt like she was going to have it harder.

The rest of his ride went on rather uneventful, and when he arrived at his stop it was almost nighttime. But he was all the more closer to getting this job done, so saddling himself up with all his bags, he made his way into town and started heading for the address he'd gotten on the envelope.

Tags: @baw1066 @fluffydanger @vicmc624 @sjsmith56 @capswife @dispatchvampire @sofi1sstuff @sarbear94 @impeterporker @hhiggs @safiraish @kayden666 @saltedcoffeescotch @mcubuckyandsteve @thebuckybarnesvault @himikotoga

[lipstick-and-libraries]

Rainfall and Realizations PT.2

𓋜 Pairing: Minho (XO, Kitty) x fem! Reader

𓋜 Series: The Roommate Exchange

𓋜 Summary: A rainy afternoon in Kitty’s and your dorm brings you closer to her charming but flustered friend, Minho. Between teasing remarks, upcoming secrets and an unexpected walk, sparks begin to fly as Minho starts to see you in a new light.

𓋜 Notes:

Hello again!,

I just want to say, I'm so surprised that the first little drabble has reached about 100 people at this point, thank you to everyone reading and leaving a like <3

While I didn't think I'd be continuing the first part, I am very very happy to do so. I have a couple Ideas, so lets see how long this little slowburn is gonna take, but do feel free to give feedback, ideas or corrections :)

Thank you again, and I hope you have fun with this next part, and the newest little secret (Y/N) possibly has

Taglist!! <3: @finnbbl, @literallysza(tysm, ily)

The days following Minho’s first meeting with (Y/N) were…confusing. For someone who prided himself on being the most self-assured person at KISS, Minho now found himself unsettled, distracted, and unusually tongue-tied.

He hated how much he found himself looking for excuses to hang out in Kitty’s dorm, pretending to help with her chaotic plans or offering to grab coffee with her, only to find himself scanning the room for (Y/N).

And then there was (Y/N) herself. If she noticed Minho’s newfound awkwardness, she didn’t let on. She greeted him the same way every time—calm, composed, and polite but never overly enthusiastic. It drove him crazy.

One rainy afternoon, Minho found himself at Kitty’s dorm again. It had become a ritual of sorts—Kitty would ramble on about her latest love triangle (or square, depending on the day), and Minho would half-listen, his attention split between her words and the hope that (Y/N) would walk in.

“…and then she had the nerve to ask if I wanted to go shopping with her,” Kitty was saying, pacing the small living room.

Minho leaned back on the couch, pretending to listen. His attention kept drifting to the door.

“And you’re not even listening,” Kitty said, snapping her fingers in front of his face.

“What? No, I am,” Minho said quickly. “Shopping with Yuri. Terrible idea. Definitely don’t do it.”

Kitty sighed, flopping onto the armchair across from him. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

Before Minho could respond, the door creaked open. (Y/N) stepped inside, balancing a tray of fresh cookies. She glanced at them, her lips curving into a small smile.

“Kitty, I made a little something for you,” she said, setting the tray on the counter. Her gaze flickered to Minho briefly. “Oh. Hi, Minho.”

Minho straightened up instinctively. “Hey.”

Kitty raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of them. “Cookies? You’ve been spoiling me lately, (Y/N).”

“It’s nothing,” (Y/N) said, putting a couple of them on a platter for Kitty and sliding it across the counter. “I wanted to take some time to bake something again anyway.”

Minho hesitated, then cleared his throat. “Any left over for me?”

(Y/N) glanced at him, her expression unreadable, before nodding. She prepared another plate and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed briefly as he took it, and Minho felt his stomach flip.

“Thanks,” he muttered, taking a bite to hide his reaction.

As the rain pattered against the windows, the three of them settled into a strangely comfortable rhythm. Kitty alternated between brainstorming ideas and scrolling through her phone, while Minho and (Y/N) exchanged occasional remarks about the weather and school.

Minho found himself watching (Y/N) more than he intended. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her plate balanced precariously on the edge of the table. Her hair was slightly frizzy from the humidity, and she wore an oversized sweater that looked impossibly soft.

“So,” (Y/N) said suddenly, looking at Minho. “What’s your role in Kitty’s master plan today?”

Minho blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, I’m the…idea guy?”

“Really?” (Y/N) said, raising an eyebrow. “Because it seems like Kitty’s doing all the talking.”

Kitty snorted. “Exactly. He’s useless.”

“Hey,” Minho protested, feigning offense. “I’m providing moral support.”

“Moral support doesn’t count if you’re just sitting there looking pretty,” (Y/N) said, her tone light but teasing.

Minho’s cheeks flushed at the unexpected compliment—or was it an insult? He couldn’t tell.

“Looking pretty is a full-time job,” he shot back, recovering quickly.

(Y/N) smiled faintly, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Must be exhausting.”

Soon after, (Y/N) excused herself to work on her writing, leaving Minho and Kitty alone again.

“You’re staring,” Kitty said, not looking up from her phone.

“What?” Minho said, snapping out of his thoughts.

“At (Y/N),” Kitty clarified, smirking. “You’ve been staring at her all afternoon.”

“I have not,” Minho said, a little too quickly.

“Right,” Kitty said, drawing out the word. “You’re so obvious, it’s painful.”

Minho groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not…staring. I just think she’s—”

“Gorgeous?” Kitty supplied.

Minho sighed. “Fine. Yes. But it’s not like that.”

“Sure it isn’t,” Kitty said, her smirk widening.

The tea that was made to go along with the cookies was long gone, the rain still drumming softly against the windows, and Minho couldn’t stop replaying the interaction in his head. Her words—“Must be exhausting”—had been light, teasing, but there was something about the way (Y/N) looked at him when she said it. Not dismissive, not disinterested. Amused, maybe even intrigued. Or was he imagining that?

“Minho,” Kitty’s voice cut through his thoughts, dragging him back to reality.

“Huh?”

Kitty rolled her eyes dramatically. “You’re really bad at hiding it.”

“Hiding what?” he said, attempting a casual shrug that probably looked as awkward as it felt.

“You, staring at her like she’s some mysterious treasure map you’re trying to figure out,” Kitty said, her smirk firmly in place.

“I don’t stare,” Minho said defensively. “I glance. Occasionally, and don't mention it again, we just talked about that 20 minutes ago!”

Kitty let out a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re in trouble, I'm just trying to get that into your head”

“I’m not,” Minho insisted, though the heat rising in his cheeks told a different story. “I just think she’s…interesting.”

“Oh, she is,” Kitty agreed. “But don’t think you’re going to win her over by just sitting here and looking pretty.”

“I don’t—” Minho started, but Kitty cut him off.

“Please. I know you. You think a few charming smiles and a well-timed compliment are all it takes.”

Minho scowled, but he couldn’t exactly argue. That had worked for him in the past. “And what, oh wise Kitty, do you suggest I do?”

Kitty tilted her head, considering. “Maybe try talking to her. Actually talking. Ask her about her life, her interests—be genuine for once.”

Minho opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the door to (Y/N)’s room creaked open. She stepped out, clutching her laptop and a notebook, her hair pulled into a clip-up hairstyle.

“I’m heading to the library,” (Y/N) said, glancing between them.

“In this weather?” Kitty asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s quieter when it’s raining,” (Y/N) said with a small shrug.

"Besides, I want to meet up with a guy that needs tutoring, he's hopeless"

"Just some guy, huh?" Minho pauses for a second, watching her every move.

"A random guy that you're bringing some of your cookies?"

(Y/N turns around, facing him with a judging look: "If you really think about it, you're also 'Just a Guy' at the moment"

Minho's brows furrow, and you could almost hear Kitty's low wince in reaction to her statement

“I’ll walk with you,” Minho said, standing before he even realized what he was doing.

(Y/N) blinked, clearly surprised. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Minho said, his tone a little too eager. He quickly added, “I mean, I’ve been cooped up here for hours. I could use some air.”

Kitty barely stifled a laugh, but (Y/N) simply nodded. “Alright, if you’re sure.”

Minho grabbed his jacket, ignoring Kitty’s smug expression as he followed (Y/N) out the door.

The rain had softened into a light drizzle by the time they stepped outside. (Y/N) pulled her hood up, clutching her laptop bag close as they walked.

“So,” Minho began, struggling to find a topic. “The library, huh? Big plans?”

“I just need some quiet to work,” (Y/N) said, glancing at him briefly.

“On what?” he asked, genuinely curious.

She hesitated for a moment before answering. “I write sometimes. Nothing major.”

“Like essays?” Minho guessed.

“Not exactly,” she said, her lips twitching into a faint smile. “More like…thoughts. Stories. Poetry, sometimes.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. “Wow. I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now you do,” (Y/N) said lightly.

They walked in silence for a moment, the rain-soaked campus unusually quiet around them. Minho found himself stealing glances at her, trying to piece together the puzzle of who she was.

“What about you?” (Y/N) asked suddenly, catching him off guard. “What do you do when you’re not hanging out with Kitty or obsessing over your wardrobe?”

“I don’t obsess over clothes, or only hang out with Kitty” Minho said defensively.

(Y/N) gave him a knowing look: "You cant deny the fashion thing, and you do hang out with Kitty a lot at the moment, you seem to be attached at the hip"

“Okay, maybe a little, but not the Kitty thing! She's nice don't get me wrong, but..” he admitted, stopping his rant when he saw (Y/N)'s expression

“But I do other things. Like…uh…” He faltered, realizing he didn’t have a good answer. “I’m pretty into music,” he said finally. “I play piano.”

(Y/N)’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her tone teasing. “You don’t exactly give off ‘classical music prodigy’ vibes.”

“First of all, I’m not a prodigy,” Minho said. “And second, I’m full of surprises.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” (Y/N) said, her faint smile returning.

They reached the library steps, and (Y/N) paused, turning to face him.

“Thanks for walking with me,” she said.

“Anytime,” Minho said, and for once, he meant it.

(Y/N) hesitated, like she wanted to say something else, but instead, deciding for an alternative.

"Minho?"

"Yes?"

"If you ever get lonely when Kitty's out causing chaos, feel free to stop by anyway, alright?"

Minho and her shared a smile before she nodded and disappeared through the library doors.

Minho stood there for a moment, watching the door close behind her. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, replaying their conversation in his head. It wasn’t much, but it felt like progress.

By the time he got back to the dorm, Kitty was waiting for him, sprawled out on the couch with a knowing grin.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well, what?”

Kitty rolled her eyes. “How’d it go? Did you manage to form a complete sentence?”

“Very funny,” Minho said, kicking off his shoes. “We talked.”

“And?”

“And…she’s interesting,” Minho admitted, flopping onto the couch.

She gave him an expecting look, leaning forward towards him

He have her a judgy up-and-down look before asking: "What?"

Kitty groaned and shook her head.

"And? There was something else I know it"

Minho's lips twitched into something resembling a smile before gaining back his facial control

"Well...", he hesitated for a second, "She did indirectly invite me to hang out?"

Kitty’s grin widened. “You’re so doomed.”

That night, as Minho sat at his desk, he found himself scrolling through his phone, staring at the submission screen for the anonymous blog everyone at KISS loved. He didn’t know why he was considering it, but something about (Y/N)’s quiet confidence had gotten under his skin.

Without overthinking, he typed out a message:

“How do you get to know someone who’s completely different from anyone you’ve ever met? Someone who makes you feel like you’re not as put together as you think you are?”

He hesitated before hitting send, then shook his head and closed the app. It wasn’t like she would ever see it.

Or so he thought.

(part 3 coming soon <3)

[sirhamburrger]

what is this feeling? (m. bachira x reader)

━☆ (accidental theatre date, for day one of @phantasmaebg) ━☆ in which an unfortunate situation turns into something less tragic. ━☆ wc: 728 || tags/cw: f!reader, reader is a wicked fan bachira is just a silly little guy || event m.list ━☆ late to the first day of ebg.... not a good start

meguru doesn’t understand why he has to be here.

okay, sure, so karasu has two tickets to see wicked the musical live in tokyo. and fine, he and otoya can’t make it last minute, so now he has both tickets and a growing impatience in his heart. 

it’ll be a good experience, he distinctly remembers the osaka-hailing teenager declaring. you need to learn how to appreciate the fine arts. he doesn’t even like musicals, and he certainly won’t be able to sit through a nearly-three-hour stage performance. even if it has a green-painted-lady in it.

he fishes out his phone, starts texting karasu an apology that he won’t be staying for the whole play. but then he hears a sniffling noise coming from behind him, and he turns to face…

her. 

her, with her wicked t-shirt and baggy jeans and her now-ruined green mascara, and the way she frantically looks through the contents of her bag, then wallet, muttering a watery, unintelligible curse under her breath. and the way looks absolutely devastated right now. 

his heart jumps in his chest, and he’s opening his mouth before he even realises it. 

“hey, you good?”

she jumps, startled, but then relaxes a little - it doesn’t seem as if she’s let her guard down just yet, though. he hands her a packet of wet wipes (once belonging to otoya) for her makeup, and he sees your cautious gaze turn into relief when the green glitter comes off easily.

“thanks,” she mumbles, folding the now-dry wipe into a little square in the centre of her palm. she fidgets with the already fraying corners.

“not an answer,” he presses further, watching he curiously.

she rolls her eyes. (he can’t tell if she’s genuinely irritated or if she finds him weirdly endearing. he sincerely hopes it’s the latter.)

“oh, i just… can’t find my ticket.” she glances between him and your bag, her left hand already reaching back in to search once more. “a stupid mistake, really.” when she sees he’s not leaving, she looks back up at him, quirking a brow upwards.

“well, what are you waiting for?” she gestures at the two tickets he has clutched in his hands, then tilts her chin towards the theatre entrance. “you should go meet up with your date or whoever. the show’s going to start at seven-thirty sharp. wouldn’t want you to miss it.”

meguru blinks. “why do you assume i have a date for tonight?”

she chuckles, and a glimmer emerges in her eyes, one he thinks suits her well. “let’s just say you don’t seem like the kind of person who goes to musicals just for the fun of it all.”

feeling particularly bold in the moment, he replies, “and you are?”

“yeah.” her eyes soften, and a wistful smile stretches her face ever so slightly. “yeah, i am.” she looks down at your empty hands, then back up at him. “too bad i lost my only ticket to a sold-out broadway show. pretty silly of me, huh?”

“come watch it with me, then.” 

meguru’s own words seem to ring in his ears, and for the first time in his life, he’s panicking. even when he was this close to losing the most important match of his football career, he was perfectly calm. but when the stakes are a pretty girl calling him a creepy bastard?

yeah, he thinks his heart is about to combust.

still, his outstretched hand - the one clutching the ticket - does not waver in the slightest. he sees her surprised expression, and tries again. “come with me.”

“i can’t possibly-”

“but you’ve wanted to go for so long,” he interrupts, earning himself a narrow-eyed glare that seems to scream, i don’t need your pity. he quickly breaks eye contact. “and i’m not meeting anyone tonight, so…”

the corners of her pretty mouth twitch up in an unexpected smile.

“i’ll be geeking out the whole time. oh, screaming in your ear, too. are you sure you're ready for that?”

“yeah, no, absolutely.” he attempts a smile of his own, hoping it doesn’t look like a grimace. “you can tell me all about it.”

she lets out a real laugh this time, so sudden and pure, and together they step through the gilded double doors.

end.

bonus:

me [7.25]: sorry  karasu🐦‍⬛[7.45]: sorry for what? karasu🐦‍⬛[7.45]: bruh reply karasu🐦‍⬛[7.47]: BRO WHAT FOR

bllk masterlist || general masterlist © sirhamburrger 2025

[semisasseater]

ᴄʜ-ᴄʜ-ᴄʜ-ᴄʜ-ᴄʜᴇʀɪsʜ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ !!

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childhood!best friend se-mi x fem! reader

Summary: you had the biggest crush on your childhood best friend the biggest, so what happens when you accidentally ask if you can kiss her when you were thinking about it?

Tw: fluff, pillow fights, romance tension, jealousy, wuh luh wuh, very little suggestive things, very very little angst ig if you squint, reader is just down bad.

authors note: ahh i really wanna become a writer now!! i hope you’ll like this though because my mind was BLANK butttttt any tips or suggestions or requests would be great!

Not proofread!

Word count: 576

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“Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

“What?”

Your head spun as you tried to process how you ended up in this situation.

You had a crush on Se-mi—a huge one—for as long as you could remember. Ever since elementary school, you admired her, but you always tried to brush it off as simple friendliness. After all, you were both girls. What if she wasn’t into girls? What if she never saw you as someone she could date?

Those questions lingered in your mind for years. The first was answered when she started dating a girl in eighth grade. You’d felt an unexpected surge of rage and jealousy when you saw them together. You wished more than anything to be in her girlfriend’s place, but life didn’t work that way. Now, years later, you were both in college, yet your feelings hadn’t faded. If anything, they’d grown stronger.

Every time another girl tried to flirt with Se-mi, your jealousy would flare up. You’d lie and tell people the two of you were dating or convince her not to hook up with them. Se-mi never questioned it. She always listened to you. Why? You didn’t know. Maybe it was because you were her best friend—or maybe, just maybe, she felt the same way you did.

“Se-mi can you help me with this math problem?” you whined, sprawled out on her bed with your face buried in her pillows.

She walked over, smiling as she ran her fingers through her messy hair. Plopping onto the bed beside you, she scooted closer and glanced at your laptop screen, giggling.

“Wow you really don’t know this?” she teased.

“Shut up! You know I’m terrible at math” you retorted, grabbing the pillow you’d been lying on and swatting her with it.

Laughing, she tried to block your attacks. “O-okay okay! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” she said between bursts of laughter.

But instead of stopping, she grabbed a pillow and swung back. What started as a playful hit turned into a full-blown pillow fight, the room filling with the sound of laughter and giggles.

Eventually, you tackled her, pinning her down and crawling over her as you both laughed breathlessly. Exhausted, you flopped onto her lap, resting your head against her shoulder. Her arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

Your thoughts wandered as her warmth surrounded you.

“Would it be okay if I kissed you?” you wondered aloud, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“What?” Se-mi asked, her voice soft but surprised.

Realizing what you’d said, your face flushed a deep red, and you scrambled to sit up. “O-oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to say that! I-I was just—”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Panic surged through you as you tried to explain yourself, but Se-mi’s grip on your waist tightened. Her free hand cupped your cheek, pulling you closer.

And then she kissed you.

It was deep and passionate, her lips soft and warm against yours, fitting together like two puzzle pieces that had been waiting for this moment. The kiss wasn’t rushed or hesitant; it was filled with unspoken emotions, affection, and love.

When she finally pulled away, your face was flushed a hot pink. She chuckled softly, running her fingers through her hair again, a habit you adored.

“So…” she murmured, pressing a finger to her lips. “How long have you been wanting to kiss me, pretty girl?”

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@semisasseater

[aventurineswife]

The Herta's Voicelines about her S/O

Requested by: @queeremogurl

A/N: I hope you like this!!

Aventurine's ver | Ratio's ver | Sunday's ver | Luka's ver | Kaveh's ver | Shadow's (OC) ver

The Enigma of Them

Ah, them. Quite an intriguing specimen, aren't they? I never expected someone with so much... unquantifiable charm. It makes me question my own understanding of connection. But it’s precisely because of their unpredictability that I find them fascinating.

First Meeting: Unexpected Encounter

The first time I met them, I was... intrigued. They certainly didn’t seem like the type to fit neatly into my carefully constructed theories. There was something—dare I say it—entirely human about them. But I must admit, I wasn’t expecting their brilliance. It took me a moment to accept that, perhaps, I was not the only genius in the room.

First Date: Surprising Delight

Our first date, if you can even call it that, was a rather... unexpected delight. I thought it would be a mere formality—an exchange of information, a brief distraction. But they surprised me, as they always do. Their ability to blend warmth and wit with intellectual discourse? It’s an art form. I didn’t realize how pleasant that could be.

Thinking About Them: Uncontrollable Fascination

I often find myself lost in thought about them. They’re a strange paradox—a perfect blend of intellect and emotion, something I never thought I’d find so... distracting. They possess a curiosity I can’t help but admire, even if it does sometimes challenge my own. It’s almost as though they’ve made a science of capturing my attention.

Favorite Times Spent With Them: Cherished Moments

There are few moments I treasure as much as when we’re alone together, lost in a shared puzzle or debate. The way they think—so differently from anyone I’ve encountered—has a peculiar allure. But it’s not just that. It’s the way they make the ordinary feel extraordinary. I suppose, in a way, I treasure every second spent with them. Even if I never quite admit that to their face.

Plans for the Future: Endless Possibilities

Future plans? Hm. It’s difficult to say. I’m certain that they’ll accompany me in whatever mind-bending venture I embark on, though. After all, I’m certain they’ll find the same joy I do in unraveling the very fabric of existence. Whether it’s exploring the deepest corners of the cosmos or simply enjoying a quiet moment, I imagine they’ll be there... possibly making it more interesting than it has any right to be.

Unshakable Trust

I trust them more than I trust most. That in itself is a strange admission, considering my penchant for total intellectual independence. But there's something about them—a sincerity, an understanding. When they look at me, it’s not through the lens of expectation or judgment. It’s... refreshing. Almost as though they see me, not just the image I’ve constructed for the universe.

Irreplaceable

Perhaps I’ve made an error in judgment, allowing them so close. But when the brilliance of their mind and the warmth of their spirit intersect... well, I’m not inclined to let go. I’ll be watching closely—of course. But I trust them more than anyone else.

[wisecura]

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1

p.10  ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.12 (getting close to the end)

p.11

AN: very very very sorry for the late post! I do have a clear ending in mind for this (typed up my outlines and everything) and I'm hoping to wrap it up soon--thank you for your love and support! and my cute anons asking for updates. it really had been encouraging even when i'm not feeling great. I hope this chapter is up to par, been feeing a bit of a block and a bit shy with posting. sometimes I focus on the negative and forget i'm doing this as a hobby. (get a bit self conscious and wonder if i'm even good at writing haha) so thank you again for the love and support. If this sounds disorganized please tolerate me ♥️ i'm ranting now, so please--

warnings: this story may cover sensitive and uncomfortable topics. please read at your own risk, violence, lashings, blood, mental breakdowns, yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build.

Short summary: Your arranged marriage to Toji Fushiguro had been sudden and unexpected, but now you found yourself living under his roof alongside your moody stepson. Your only directive from your clan head before moving in was clear: keep a close eye on Toji, the notorious Sorcerer Killer, and his son, a potential sorcerer prodigy.

anons, anons, anons (if i say it three times will you appear?♥️)

Your eyes locked onto it immediately.

He’d forgotten his school bag at home, which was so uncharacteristic for the always-on-top-of-it Megumi. The fact that he's gone off without it was a surprise in and of itself.

And being the good, responsible figure you were, you decided you needed to get it back to him. Sure, you could’ve just texted him, but the nagging curiosity ate away in the back of your mind.

You deserved that much…right? 

Over the past few years, both you and Megumi had grown, though in ways that felt fundamentally different. It seemed like only yesterday when you towered over him by at least a foot, but now, at 22, standing on the edge of what felt like both everything and nothing, you began to pick up on more around you. Each time he came back, it was as though he had learned something new, gained some insight or skill that added to the ever-growing distance between the person he was and the person he was becoming.

And with those changes came those unwelcome feelings that gnawed at the back of your mind. Jealousy—Admiration. A sense of responsibility that weighed heavier than it had any right to. Overwhelming affection that felt almost instinctive, but no less unsettling. A little too...much for deep thought. And astonishment at the person who regularly sat in front of you at the dinner table—so far removed from the boy you once knew. 

Meanwhile, your life felt stuck in place, confined to the monotony of daily errands and long hours indoors. Days blurred together, weeks slipped by unnoticed, and yet that nagging ache in the back of your mind never left. So desperate to go off the beaten path. 

And the trail leading to Jujutsu High was gorgeous. Thick trees lined the path, their leafy branches casting intricate shadows on the pavement. The sunlight peeked through in golden streaks, making the entire scene feel almost surreal. The warmth on your face nearly euphoric. You’d only ever seen pictures of this place when you looked it up online, but they didn’t do it justice. 

“Woah. And who might you be?” 

The sudden voice shattered your focus, making you spin around so fast you nearly lost your footing. Your pulse spiked, heart pounding in your chest as you stumbled back a step, clutching the two bags in your hands like a damn lifeline. For a brief moment, the world around you blurred, leaving only a splotch of leaves in your line of sight.

Your gaze snapped to a face far too close for comfort—definitely too close.

White, unruly hair, gleamed in the sunlight, but it was his eyes, so unnervingly blue, that froze you in place. He was undeniably handsome. But the smirk that graced his face and the look in his eye as his head tilted slightly, was unnerving. As if you were some curious puzzle he’d stumbled upon.

“Lost?” he asked, his tone light and teasing, but there was an undeniable weight in his presence that sent a shiver down your spine. Then it hit you—the suffocating wave of cursed energy radiating off him. It was staggering, an oppressive force pressing down on your chest and making it hard to breathe. How had you not felt it before? It rolled off him in unrelenting waves, so overwhelming it left you momentarily speechless, rooted to the spot.

“What? You shy?”

His voice broke the silence, dripping with that insufferable amusement. He was just as bad as Toji it seemed. He tilted his head a bit more, his eyes glinting mischievously, as if your reaction was the highlight of his day. Your irritation felt obvious, but it was quickly drowned out by the lingering unease that his cursed energy evoked. Stranger danger. stranger danger.

You instinctively stepped back, trying to create some distance, but he didn’t budge. If anything, he leaned in closer, his presence invading your space with an air of lazy confidence, like he had all the time in the world to unravel whatever it was he found so intriguing about you.

You hadn’t even realized you were staring until he spoke again, the lilt in his tone making your cheeks heat with something closer to indignation. Still, you weren’t about to be rude—not with someone who exudes this kind of power. Not when he was the only one walking down this path with you. Not another soul in sight.

“Sorry,” your voice wavering slightly. “Do you… work here?” The hesitation in your tone was unmistakable, and his response was immediate—a wide grin stretching across his face. Fitting.

“That depends… who’s asking?” 

Before you could respond, your name rang out, a deep voice, heavy and familiar, cutting through the air from behind you. The grin faltered on the man’s face for the briefest of moments, replaced by a flicker of surprise as his eyes shifted past you to the source. You turned instinctively, already recognizing who it belonged to, even before you saw him.

Of course, it was Megumi.

“What’re you doing here?” His voice was blunt, almost tense, as he closed the distance between you in a few long, purposeful strides. There was no warmth, no casual greeting—just that demanding tone that made your chest tighten.

Why did he look so upset?

Oh, did you... mess up?

You barely had a chance to open your mouth before he was standing right in front of you, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly. His eyes scanned over you as if he was checking for some kind of damage you hadn’t even realized might be there.

“You... left your bag at home,” you voice was soft, quiet. He didn't seem to acknowledge your words as you attempt to hold up the bag. Proof of your...innocence? Why would you even need a reason to be here? You weren't doing anything wrong.

His expression never wavered, the clench of his jaw making it clear that your answer hadn’t fully soothed whatever was bothering him. His grip on your shoulders softened slightly, though he gave them a small squeeze, almost reassuring. But his attention shifted.

Gaze moving past you, and you felt the change immediately. His posture stiffened, his whole demeanor shifting into something colder, more guarded. Without a word, he stepped in front of you, his body casually yet deliberately placing itself between you and the white-haired man. His shoulders completely blocking you from view. The movement was subtle, but the message was clear. Just how did Megumi know a man like this?

“Gojo-sensei,” —Ah.

“What’re you doing here? I thought you were on a mission.”

The man—Gojo—let out a heavily dramatic sigh, looking completely unbothered by Megumi’s tone. “Finished early,” he replied with a casual shrug, hands crossing behind his head, far too relaxed. “But who’s this you’re hiding?”

His voice gave you chills, and you shifted uncomfortably, not able to see him, but no doubt that creepy grin was still slapped across his face. Gojo didn’t wait for an answer. He leaned slightly, trying to catch a better look at you around Megumi’s frame. “She’s not your girlfriend, is she?”

“No,” Megumi shot back, the word flat and final, his tone leaving no room for interpretation. Gojo raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright. Touchy, huh?” His voice was playful, almost sing-song, but the way his gaze lingered on you felt a little too probing, a little too long for comfort had Megumi clenching his fists.

You swallowed hard, heat rising to your cheeks. Whether it was from embarrassment, unease, or the palpable tension between him and Megumi, you couldn’t quite tell. You hadn’t interacted with Gojo much, but the way Megumi’s entire presence had shifted told you everything you needed to know—Gojo wasn’t exactly a welcome sight. Whatever lightness existed in the air before was gone, replaced by an invisible but tangible weight pressing between the three of you.

Gojo might not have been dangerous, but he definitely gave the impression of someone who liked to push boundaries just to see how far he could go. His teasing nature seemed to thrive on reactions, and you could tell Megumi wasn’t in the mood to indulge him.

A stray thought crept into your mind....maybe Megumi had never mentioned you to anyone here... The idea hit harder than you expected, a dull ache settling in your chest. You banished it before it could take root—now wasn’t the time.

“Yo! There you guys are!”

A bright and cheery voice shattered the lingering tension. You turned to see a pink-haired boy jogging toward the group, a huge grin plastered across his face. His eyes were wide and warm, his energy unmistakable—this had to be the friend from the photo Megumi sent. There was something undeniably magnetic about him, a friendliness so genuine it seemed to pour off him in waves, reminding you immediately of an overexcited puppy.

Megumi stiffened beside you, muttering something under his breath you couldn’t quite catch before reluctantly offering a grumbled greeting. Yuji skidded to a stop just in front of you, planting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. He straightened quickly, his grin softening into something almost shy when his eyes landed on you.

“Oh, hi!” he said, a light blush creeping onto his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his smile still firmly in place. “Sorry—I’m Yuji Itadori! You must be… uh…” His voice trailed off as his brow furrowed, the wheels in his head clearly turning as he tried to piece together who you might be.

Megumi let out a long sigh, his irritation practically radiating off him. “She’s with me,” he said flatly, stepping just slightly closer to you, his tone making it clear he wasn’t in the mood for explanations.

You couldn’t help but smile at him, his presence a much needed distraction. “Nice to meet you, Yuji,” you said warmly. Yuji’s face lit up even more at your friendly response. “Wow, Fushiguro never said anything about—”THWACK!

Before he could finish, Megumi stepped forward and smacked Yuji on the back of the head with a loud thunk that echoed down the trail, making you jump.

“Megumi!” surprise flooding your tone, trying to sound somewhat scolding. This had to be a first. You'd never seen Megumi so...

Yuji barely flinched, rubbing the back of his head for a second before laughing. “Jeez, Fushiguro! What’s with you today?” His grin stayed intact, though you couldn’t miss the slight wince that suggested the hit hadn’t exactly been gentle.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, still chuckling. “It’s fine! I’ve got an extra-thick skull anyway,” he added with a playful wink in your direction. You noticed Megumi seemed even more frustrated with the additional member, but he didn't comment on it. You wondered how long he'd hold out until he just left.

“Well, Megumi,” Gojo emphasized the name with a teasing lilt, his eyes flicking to you as if testing the waters. “This is…interesting. Didn’t mention you’d have company today.”

Megumi’s scowl deepened, his eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s none of your business,” he shot back without hesitation. He hadn't even known you were coming. A mistake on your part obviously.

“Whoa, Fushiguro, didn’t know you were the overprotective type,” Yuji joked, though his curiosity was evident beneath the teasing tone.

Gojo leaned slightly. "She a friend or something?"

This all but confirmed your earlier suspicions. Megumi doesn't talk about you. You drew in a breath. “I’m his—” 

Megumi’s hand shot out, his grip firm but not harsh as it wrapped around your wrist. “We’re done here,” he muttered, his tone low and decisive. Without sparing a glance back, he began steering you away with purposeful steps, leaving no room for protest.

“Wait—what?” Yuji’s voice followed after you, completely baffled. But neither tried to stop him. Gojo chuckled quietly and gave a lazy wave. “See you around… whoever you are,” he called out, lighthearted, his eyes trailing you.

Why the hell was he so curious about you.

Megumi kept his grip on your wrist, practically dragging you along until the two of you reached a more private spot—a quiet little area tucked beneath an overgrowth of trees. Thick bushes surrounded the bench, adding a sense of seclusion that felt both calming and suffocating all at once. You recognized the place from earlier on your walk. It wasn’t far from the front entrance, and the realization sent a small pang through your chest. How many times would he make it obvious he didn't want you here until you'd get it? The self conscious part of you brain was screaming at you. feeling oddly shy with being here.

You stole a glance at him, catching sight of his face. His jaw, clenched, his gaze sharp and tunneled, like he was too lost in his own frustration to notice anything else. The tension in his features was unmistakable, and that tightness in your gut only grew.

When he finally let go of your wrist, you felt the cool air replace the warmth of his touch, though it didn’t ease the knot forming in your stomach. He sighed, his shoulders sinking slightly as some of the tension eased from his posture.

“What’re you doing here?” his voice, low but softer than before.

You could easily cry. Despite being the older one here, you felt more like a scolded toddler, small and out of place. But when your eyes met his, something shifted. The hard glare he’d been wearing was gone, replaced by a calmer expression, maybe even a little tired. His hands moved to his face, rubbing across his eyes as if trying to wipe away the remnants of his frustration.

You really needed to get ahold of yourself. Since when did it matter if he wanted you there? You were there to drop off something he forgot. Maybe it was just the embarrassment teens get when their overly affectionate parent comes to dote on them in front of their friends. Maybe theyd tease him about this later....

When he looked at you again, there was that particular softness in his gaze, the kind that made your chest ache. Your thoughts immediately cleared. Maybe he wasn't so upset with you...

“You embarrassed of me?” you joked weakly, forcing out a laugh that didn’t quite land. You prayed the faint hurt in your tone wasn’t as obvious as it felt.

Megumi’s eyes widened, caught off guard. Like he hadn't anticipated you actually being hurt by his actions. He could sense the tension in your voice, much like how you could sense his. He stared at you for what felt like forever, his mouth opening slightly as though he wanted to respond, only to close again as the words faltered. His head tilted just a fraction, his brows furrowing in thought, like he was scrambling for an excuse but coming up empty. The silence stretched between you, and for a moment, it seemed like he wasn’t sure what to say—or if he even could.

You chuckled, stepping forward to pinch his cheek lightly. “Relax,” you teased, quickly shoving down the lingering sting of your own feelings as you swung the strap off your shoulder and held the bag out to him. He wasn't mad at you. “I told you—I brought your bag. How can someone as responsible as you forget something like this, hmm?”

For a moment, Megumi just stared at the bag, like he couldn’t quite believe you’d gone out of your way for something so trivial. Slowly, he reached out to take it, his fingers brushing yours in the process. The brief contact wasn’t much, but you caught the faintest flush creeping into his cheeks.

“Thanks… mom,” he muttered, his voice quieter than usual, almost shy.

He eyed the second bag slung around your shoulder.

"Oh! And this is for you." He took the bag quizzically, peeking inside only for his eyes to light up. "Thought I'd at least bring your favorite." The packed dinner was a good choice. The awkward tension from earlier melted away as a warm smile spread across his face.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at how cute he was, the tense atmosphere already fading away. A small lull settled between you, the kind of silence that felt comfortable rather than strained. The overgrown trees swayed gently overhead, their leaves whispered softly in the breeze, wrapping the moment in an almost serene stillness. It was starting to get cold out. Soon enough, he would be due for another birthday. Yours had already passed a few weeks back.

Without warning, Megumi stepped forward, pulling you into a tight hug. His arms wrapped securely around you, holding you close as his chin came to rest lightly on top of your head. The embrace was firm, not overbearing, and for a moment, you froze in surprise before leaning into it. He was always one for affectionate gestures... but....

“You should head back,” he said quietly, though there was a faint reluctance in his tone that made you nearly hesitate. You didnt want to leave just yet.

You nodded, your hands brushing his arms briefly before you pulled back. “Alright,” you replied softly, offering him another small smile before turning to leave.

As you walked back toward the path, you spotted Gojo and Yuji nearby, standing a little too still to pass as innocent. You were sure they were supposed to have left already, but there they were—watching. Not that you had anything you were particularly secretive about.

But Yuji’s gaze seemed to dart to anywhere but you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, while Gojo leaned casually against a tree, the ever-present grin on his face somehow managing to look even more smug.

The second your eyes met theirs, Yuji’s face flushed bright red. He muttered something under his breath, quickly averting his gaze as though he could disappear by sheer will. Gojo, on the other hand, stood there shamelessly. All cocky and arrogant. Immediately irritating you again.

Megumi stepped out from behind you, their eyes shifting over immediately. Gojo’s grin turned absolutely wicked, his quirked brow seeming ready to tease him endlessly. Yuji’s mouth twitched, as though he was trying—and failing—not to laugh, his wide eyes flicking between the two of you. 

Megumi, however, barely acknowledged them. He strode past you without a word, but as he did, you felt the faintest brush of his hand against your back. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but deliberate enough to send a jolt through you. Your cheeks warmed instantly, and before you could even process the moment, Gojo gave an exaggerated cough. 

By the time Megumi reached their sides, Gojo and Yuji were all over him, poking his cheeks and teasing him relentlessly. You couldn’t help but wonder if they’d ever let him live down whatever they thought they’d seen. For someone as stoic as Megumi, seeing him soften must’ve been quite the sight for them.

You sighed quietly, feeling a little secondhand embarrassment for him.

The walk home was pretty silent.

It was hard to find much to do when the house was as silent as it was. Time seemed to crawl as you went through the motions of your routine, everything blurring together in the same, boring monotony.

You and Megumi exchanged texts here and there, but as always, he was evasive about certain topics. He avoided talking about his friends, that teacher, and especially his missions. No matter how many ways you tried to bring it up, he always managed to steer the conversation elsewhere.

But he seemed more comfortable sharing through photos—pictures of the meals he was eating, scenic views, and even the occasional selfie with a classmate or two. It seemed he was trying to include you more in his day to day life, maybe sensing your growing urge for something different. You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about it.

He wasn’t supposed to be worrying about you like this—but when had Megumi ever not been thoughtful when it came to you?

He was always helping around the house, bringing home things you needed. He’d carry the heavier bags without being asked, and when he was home, he never went out much. Instead, he’d linger in your presence, watching the same TV shows you liked, or even sitting in complete silence, or even sun napping on the couch. A second shadow.

And if you were forced to admit it, he made the loneliness and monotony a lot easier to bear. His presence had a way of filling the empty spaces, making the house feel less like a silent box and more like a home.

When it came to you, Megumi seemed to have a sixth sense. He was always away at school when you were called out to your clan house, yet, without fail, he’d send you a message the second you got back, asking how you were. He always seemed to know when you were stressed or needed something—sometimes even before you realized it yourself. Megumi wasn’t just thoughtful. No, he was in tune with you in a way that felt almost uncanny.

And now that he was older… you couldn’t help but wonder. Did he still harbor that same puppy crush he had when he was younger? The thought made your head spin. Was he still seeing you in that light, or had it faded? He’d never fully confirmed it back then, never said anything outright. But he’d always been affectionate—hadn’t he?

Wasn’t he always like that? 

And yet… how would you feel about that?

No.

These weren’t the right questions to be asking. You still had a place here. You were still his stepmother. These weren’t the thoughts you should even be entertaining, not for a second. But the thought made you freeze in your tracks, the shirt you were folding suddenly feeling heavier in your hands. It was nearing his graduation—just a week away—and you didn't have the faintest idea what came after.

Would he be moving out? Would he stay home for a while to plan his next steps? Would he be doing Jujutsu work? 

And then there was the question you didn’t want to ask, the one that made your stomach twist. Would you still be allowed to stay here? Or would your clan come calling, pulling you out of the life you’d carefully built over the years? The main reason for you being here was Megumi and Toji. Forming those relationships and feeding small bits of information. But if neither of them were even going to be home....

No, surely they wouldn’t. Not after all this time. If they were going to do that, they would’ve already done it… wouldn’t they? Surely....They hadn't mentioned it before at least.

Toji had come home briefly the week before Megumi’s graduation, but it didn’t take long to learn he’d already taken on yet another mission. Despite the two of you growing closer over time, it never seemed to slow him down when it came to picking up those lengthy assignments that kept him away for days at a time.

This time was no different. He mentioned it was a high-profile case, one with the potential to drag on longer than expected. “Two weeks minimum,” and he wouldn’t be back in between.

It wasn’t anything new. Toji’s comings and goings had always been unpredictable, and you’d grown used to the empty spaces he left behind. But something about this mission left you uneasy. 

But for now, all you could do was wait.

come home

[azen13]

Same anon who asked for the yan!wrio hcs. I wanted to thank you for it! I loved it. And you’re absolurely right! I think you hit the nail on the head regarding how he will act as a yandere. I loved it so much I might as well ask for another fic, hehe 🤭

I wanted to ask if you take requests that include reader with x or y traits. If yes, I wanted to ask for this specific scenario: (if you dont mind, I’ve asked other genshin yandere writers to write this as well and I’m asking you too because I’m really curious on how you’d write this!) Yan!Wriothesley with an oblivious reader. Basically everyone knows wriothesley is infatuated with her, including the guards and inmates, and everyone knows he’s killed for her, except she herself. I wanted to see what you think Yan!Wriothesley would do if he was met with such a reader. It can be a HC or a fic, anything you’re comfortable with!

Thank you for your timee💕

Pensato

A/N: Hello again anon! Thank you so much for this ask. I love Yandere!Wriothesley and Wriothesley in general, so writing for him is such a treat. I think I may have gone a little bit off-track but I hope this will suffice! Thank you again for your ask!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

CW: Yandere Themes, Murder

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Though the weather was far from fair, this was certainly the most beautiful day Wriothesley had spent on the surface for a multitude of reasons. Rain pattered against stone in a wonderful little waltz, providing a soothing ambiance to the day’s activity–you had invited him on the surface to go shopping in Rue d’Arpont, an enchanting street in the Court of Fontaine full of little boutiques and bistros. 

Being that Wriothesley lived in Meropide and didn’t deal with the fickle Fontainian weather on a regular basis, he didn’t have an umbrella, providing him with a convenient excuse to loop an arm around your shoulder and keep you slotted against his side. It was a certainty that by that evening, at least three tabloids would be printed regarding the mysterious Duke of Meropide’s unexpected relationship with one of Fontaine’s premier pianists. Neither you nor he seemed to mind the thought of that much–though, Wriothesley knew you had hardly thought of that happening when you happily offered to shelter him beneath your umbrella. You simply wanted to help a friend, and Wriothesly had taken the opportunity to mark you as property of Meropide in the process.

“I’m glad you invited me to join you.” Wriothesley’s voice broke through the quiet precipitation, the sound of every droplet of water bending to accompany the melody of his words. In the distance, murmurs lent another texture to the quiet building symphony. Just as Wriothesley took a breath, thunder called in the distance and lightning responded, smashing apart the tender composition. A line of electricity arced across the sky, fingers curling down from the clouds to try to grip Fontaine in its gnarled hand. 

This wouldn’t do. With so little time together, Wriothesley longed to keep your attention firmly focused on him. Neither weather nor your naive whims would disrupt the tempo of life he had set for you, now and forever. “Seems like it’s getting really bad.” Wriothesley’s arm dropped from your shoulder, sliding down your side to grasp your waist. By the way your head turned back to him–eyes widening with such innocent surprise and your cheeks ripening to a gentle, flushed pink–he had your attention again, a fact that made his heart flourish. “Maybe we should find some place to get lunch? My treat.” His free hand pointed towards a small restaurant with what appeared to be a greenhouse by its side. Through the drenched window panes, rows of trellises full of little cream-colored flowers seemed to cover the walls. It almost seemed like something only a dendro vision holder could create, so ethereal and elegant.

A bashful smile shone across your face, as soft as the sun’s first kiss of light at dawn. “That’s very kind of you, Monsieur Wriothesley, but-”

“Ah-ah-ah, no ‘but’s. I insist.” Though your voice was as enchanting as a siren’s song, Wriothesley knew better than to indulge in your innocence. Your virtues became vices with how sharp they were, and Wriothesley knew that if he didn’t exploit them, someone with much more wicked schemes would. “Consider it a congratulations for your performance in Meropide.” As he steered you over to the entrance of the bistro, his mind meandered down streams of memories, tracing back to the roots of this desire to protect you.

A letter. One wedged between manila folders stuffed with forms and transcripts that was brought to his desk as part of his daily work. About two hours after beginning paperwork, his hand weary and barely grasping his pen–his preferred weapon of choice when battling the bureaucratic beasts the Maison Gestion conjured–he found his fingers lifting up a letter that was blissfully light. Upon opening it up though, he quickly realized he was in for a different sort of battle: every word on the page was written in cursive and wild and wispy as wind and waves, to the point where it was almost indecipherable. Fifteen minutes passed by as Wriothesley tried to decipher exactly what each letter meant. Eventually, he understood the message: a famous Fontainian pianist was requesting permission to come to Meropide to perform for the prisoners.

That was the seed that you had planted in his mind. The people of Fontaine held such revulsion for Meropide and its inhabitants, it seemed startling that someone–much less a figure as cultured as a musician–would want to come to Meropide on their own free will.

But you did.

He wrote back, not accepting your request just yet, but feigning suspicion. Further details would be required before he could approve of such an event, including the answers to several questions. Among them, a simple, unadorned “Why?”.

Your response came quick, written in the same mesmerizing slanted script. The way you wrote was conversational, as though you were simply talking to a well-known friend and not an imposing, powerful stranger like Wriothesley. The answers to Wriothesley’s more logistical questions were thorough and cooperative, though he could hardly care. He was willing to handle everything, from the moving of the piano to the security of the concert. If anything, your answers only confounded him more and more. Trust seemed to bloom from every sentence, the very paper reeking of benevolence. Since he had been a child, Wriothesley had never allowed such flowers to grow in the garden of his heart; instead, they withered into ash, leaving his body barren of such tenderness.

A warmth pooled in his chest, trickling steadily into each of his limbs. Briefly, Wriothesley wondered if this is what it would feel like to drink Sinthe.

His next letter was simple: a time, date, and place. 

You arrived in Meropide minutes before his letter requested you come, not that Wriothesley minded. Preparations had been made well in advance so the day would proceed smoothly, and Wriothesley had spent many sleepless nights pouring over the list of procedures to make sure you wouldn’t have a bad time in Meropide. Wriothesley escorted you to his office, made you a cup of tea, and offered you a pastry before you went out to perform. While you sat, he noticed in your lap was a small burlap sack that one might use as a Mora pouch. 

“You don’t need to tip me for letting you perform here, you know.” He elected to frame his question as a joke, adding in a teasing smile to make the picture he painted look more convincing. 

Despite your career in the arts, you seemed to be no actor by the way that you squirmed in your seat. “A-aha, I was…shopping earlier.” As you spoke, your eyes seemed to ricochet in their sockets as they glanced at every corner of his office. 

Wriothesley was ready to press further. By this point, he had ruminated on your letter for far too long, as though examining every stroke of every letter to glean some new facet to your intentions. The few minutes he had spent talking to you only confirmed many of his thoughts, reinforcing the budding desire to shield you from any potential criminals that could have done you harm. Even though he had a question ready on his lips, he decided to stay quiet. He planned to keep a close eye on you as you stayed in Meropide, so any suspicious behavior would be easy to observe. Plus, he trusted you. Not fully, but the seed you had planted in Wriothesley’s heart had taken root and sprouted.

When the clock in Wriothesley’s office struck noon, he escorted you out and towards the makeshift venue the prisoners and staff of Meropide had prepared for your performance. It was nothing extravagant, just a simple metal platform with a well-used baby grand piano, but the shoddy backdrop only made you stand out more as you took the stage and sat down. Your fingers slipped up towards the keyboard. As you began to play, Wriothesley had to lean in just to hear the faintest whispers of harmonies. Each note seemed to evaporate, congealing into airy clouds of sound that slowly moved across the room. The music crept towards a crescendo, your hands occasionally dropping into the lower registers of the piano as the auditory sky began to darken and rumble with thunder. 

And then, just as it seemed you were ready to send lightning shooting across the crowd, you released the tension with a torrent of rain. Your hands fell up and down the keys in a blur, glissandoing one way before arpeggiating the other. Finally, as quick as the tempest began, it stopped. Birdsong filled the air, a gentle gust of wind tickling newborn leaves and making them rustle with laughter. 

You hadn’t even released the keys, but Wriothesley wanted to ensure he was the first to congratulate you for your performance. After he began clapping, a rapturous applause echoed throughout the room. You may not have been a vision holder, but you were still capable of such otherworldly feats, conjuring images simply from the vibrations of strings.

While Wriothesley wished to congratulate you for your playing, many other prisoners had the same idea, rushing up to you eagerly. Some leaned in too close, others clapped a hand on your shoulders, all of them seemed to stoke some fervent flame deep in Wriothesley. He kept his lips shut and simply waited, though. None of them were breaking the rules of Meropide, after all.

The line shrunk at a snail’s pace, as it seemed that each new person wanted to talk to you longer than the last. By the time there was only one person ahead of Wriothesley in line, impatience flickered imprudently in his mind. When he saw how engaged you were with this prisoner, though, the flame of impatience quickly burnt itself out, and from the ashes rose a fire that burnt stronger. The prisoner was an old man in his forties or fifties from the looks of it. He wore such a dour expression it seemed as though he was a wax statue in a hot room. The words you spoke to him were furtive, your fingers reaching into the pocket of your pants. As deft as a magician, the Mora pouch Wriothesley had seen earlier slipped from your fingers to the prisoner’s, who quickly pocketed the money.

Before the prisoner could even turn around, Wriothesley had begun taking wide steps back to his office. If you called his name, he didn’t hear, nor did he care. The guards would escort you out when the time was right and take care of any other matters. His presence wasn’t required there. Instead, he had a much more pressing matter at hand. Walking in a ring around the room, Wriothesley flung open cabinet after cabinet in an agitato, ignoring how files shot out and fluttered to the floor. After each one had been revealed, he began to comb through every single form with surgical precision. There was a cancer in Meropide, and it would be removed with no delay. 

The diagnosis was quick. After three or four cabinets, his hands opened a form and read a name he had memorized with such certainty, he didn’t even need to check your signature. As he read the case, his anger ebbed and flowed, constantly changing directions like a river over time. What once was jealousy quickly returned to its original course: protectiveness. Your father was a former merchant with a penchant for gambling. Eventually, he became so mired in debt that he had to turn to less savory business to make money. Namely, selling Sinthe. 

You weren’t the issue. No, far from it. Instead, your father had weaponized your wholesome nature and pointed the tip of the blade at your heart. With how you carried yourself it seemed that it hadn’t pierced you yet, but that didn’t mean it had other effects. The form–which was quickly being crumpled by Wriothesley’s hands–contained a photograph of your father, still that same gloomy expression. Beneath the contours of your father’s face, Wriothesley saw his own adoptive parents take shape. He felt the familiar stab of betrayal, of trust razed and devastated.

Wriothesley believed in rehabilitation, but he also believed in justice. And in a place such as Meropide, where every rule was of his own design, justice would be enacted in accordance with Wriothesley’s wishes. When your father was summoned to Wriothesley’s office one day and never reappeared, everyone in Meropide knew what happened. Weeks later, when you were invited to return to Meropide for tea with Wriothesley, as you walked along the metal promenades of the prison, you noticed how the prisoners cast you strange glances, but couldn’t understand why. Week after week, you continued to return, allowing Wriothesley into your world. 

All those meetings had led him to the surface, to a small bistro on a quaint street. The two of you were brought into the greenhouse, though the sight surprised both you and Wriothesley. Instead of real flowers and trellises, it was an optical illusion; someone had painted the image of a garden lining the walls of the building. 

“Why are there no real…” your voice tapered off, but the waiter was quick to pick up on your question.

“We used to have real flowers, but too many people would pick them. Eventually, the cost of replacing them became too great, so we contacted an artist to paint them.” The waiter shrugged then left.

After pulling out your chair for you, Wriothesley sat down opposite to you and sighed. “What a shame. It looked pretty from the outside.” A few seconds of silence passed as you fiddled with the tablecloth. “Anyways. Say, have any performances planned? I’d love to hear you again.” At the sight of a gentle smile gracing your face, Wriothesley felt himself perk up a little with pride.

“Not at the moment. Sometimes I’m booked, other times I’ve got nothing, and right now…” 

Sensing opportunity, Wriothesley quickly jumped back into the conversation. “Well, if you ever need anything, I’m here for you.” His hand slithered across the table and brushed against your palm, fingers full of barely-restrained greed. He could offer you an entire world of opulence and comfort, protect you from those that seek to undermine your innocence. A delicate wildflower such as yourself might wilt temporarily after being transplanted, but in the long run, a stable environment will allow you to flourish without all the threats of nature. You may be the musician of the keys, but Wriothesley has mastered the song of your heart. When he takes you for himself, all that will be left of you in this world is the silent echo of your sweet melody. 

Your cheeks flushed, you smiled bashfully. “Thanks Wriothesley.” 

[valentine-cafe]

First ask here, but how would a top afab reader go down with the characters that are open to being topped? Any surprises or unexpected people open to the idea? Hope you both have a fantastic day.

˖⁺. “ let me be your desire ” : 

﹙ top afab reader x various monster characters ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . various monster characters x top afab reader !! 🍓 : 

they just love whenever you top them <3

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ penetrative sex ˖ riding ˖ spanking ˖ thigh-fucking ˖ office sex ˖ creampie ˖ dumb-fucking ˖ anal ˖ nipple play | wc : 1.8k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: welcome to the cafe! I hope that this is to your liking <3

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

﹙ alessio 9948e. ﹚. . . always wants to touch and grip !! 🍒 :

Bating breaths and shaky hands reaching up to grip the pair of hips rolling against his in vain effort, as another pair move down instinctively to halt the movement. Your hands pinning his to the soft silken sheets as you hips smack back down against his.

Sounds of the erotic dance tango around the room. Your groans with his moans taking turns to run their lap around the field.

“Ah-ah. What do we say?”

His emerald eyes roll back at the small coo he receives upon his dick being squeezed around in that way that sends him to zenith

“M-nh— pl-p-please— por- Por favor—” He gasps, hips roll upwards with so much thought or concsious notice. How adorable. Pussy drunk already isn’t he?

“Please what, essio. c’mon, talk f’me.” You chuckle breathlessly, hands moving from his to shift to his hips. Drawing them upwards into yours to roll your bodies together in tandem.

“L-let me t-touc-hhnghh!” He whimpers, crying out loud in pleasure when your hands connect his to the soft skin of your waist as you fuck him senseless.

꒰  sorcerer ˖ goth character ꒱

 

﹙ talisen 781. ﹚. . . aimless loving gazes !! 🍓 :

“You’re having a good time huh Tal?”

The sound of your little churckle and remark barely passes through the poet’s ears. His sharp teeth biting into the poor plush bottom of his lip.

What a marvelling sight to behold. That perfect figured above him, working deep moans and whimpers out of him despite the fucked out gaze he’s set on you since you got on top.

You give him a good shove into the pillows and drag his face back up form them by his long black hair clenched in your fist.

“M-Mh— mhaaa-. . . ngh— s-so e-eth-ereal.” A hiccup manages through him, when his cock feels a small squeeze around it and spills willingly as always.

You bite down on your own bottom lip, eyes staring into your boyfriend’s below you as you set a fast pace for the thrusts into his pretty ass, your strap pulling out and slapping against one cheek before going in again.

“You’re too cute Tal.” You croon, smacking a hand against his ass, earning a gaze full of hearts. “Why don’t you spew me some more of those poetic paragraphs baby?” The heavy pants against his ear lead to a flood of his pretty sentences spilling in no time.

꒰  grim reaper ˖ naga ˖ poet character ꒱

 

﹙ rasui 9948e. ﹚. . . hiding away his reactions !! 🍒 :

Flames lick at the face that stares back at you. Amber eyes takeing in your shillouette while you’re fucking him into his office chair after a long day of work. The clenching of your hot cunt around him left the work papers from earlier strewn across the wooden desk and floor.

“Fuck— come on, Rasui, don’t hide away from me now.” The words only pull a groan out of him as a response, his arm shooting up to cover the lower half of his face, his eyes flicking towards a different corner of the room— Anything else but than make you see how flustered you’ve got him, huh?

“Oh come on,”

“Let me see you, or do you wanna be stubborn?” You sigh out with a groan when flaming hair stands high. His fire is more revealing than the sounds and reactions. But still . . . You delight seeing when he’s responsive.

What else can you do but lift your hips as far up as possible, tricking him into thinking you’re about to get off of him.

The amber gaze returns panickedly and you grab his arm, pulling it down so you can see all of his little reactions, while dropping back down on his dick, that spurts hot ropes of cum the second it feels the familiar clench and flutter around it once more. Nursing his veins.

“Haya-t—i” He chokes, a streak of drool trickling down his chin as you fasten the pace, lips crashing onto his to fuel some of the moans and heat.

꒰  fire elemental ˖ mercenary leader character ꒱

 

﹙ orion versless. ﹚. . . urge to bite and rip !! 🍓 :

“Yeah— keep biting, acting like a dog.” You chuckle, yanking at one of your boyfriend’s wings to draw out the gasps he’s been letting out for the past hour or so. Oh the love making you have done around this bedroom.

Here you are, with divine blood trickling down your beautiful skin. Dildo in hand fucking away at your boyfriend’s ass while you ride him, gods. You’ll shoot him straight to Zenith and beyond it’s heavenly reaches with the way you make him feel.

Sharp, draconic teeth sink into the delicate flesh of your shoulder, while claws rip across the canvas of your waist. All joined by the large flaps of wings, sending gusts of wind through the room.

“M-More— More.” A bottle of ink is shoved down on the floor, shattering and painting a spot on the wooden surface black like the abyssal skies of his kingdom. “G- God give me more.” He whines out, tongue lathering at your neck before his teeth wrap around it like a necklace.

You give his nipple a hard pinch, pistoning your hips downwards to fuck his sight black and white with stares.

“Too impatient and needy Orion,” You pant.

“You’re lucky you’re getting this and not punishment for it.”

Low whines of pleasure echo through your ears, as you ride him. Cunt fluttering everytime his teeth dig back into your skin to find full bliss in this moment of souls joining together.

꒰  abyssal ˖ dragon character ꒱

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[cherokeegal1975]

Thanks for the likes. Pretty sure no one is actually interested in reading, listening to or even buying my work. I just get likes and forgotten on this one. I'd be surprised if anyone bothered.

Heads up though, just in case...the first eight chapters of Unexpected Cargo have been edited and those edits do not show up in directly in the book on Amazon or in the audiobook on YouTube. They only exist online in my DeviantART gallery. This isn't intended to be a permanent thing, I'm just waiting until I get an editor...which I will admit may never happen at the rate I'm going.

Reality gives my dreams yet another harsh smack down that I had to learn how to accept...I have cried over it...then gave up much hope...but can't seem to give up altogether for reasons I don't fully understand. I suffer from environmental depression. It sucks. At least I don't need prescription drugs...though I do question my sanity and don't blame myself for it. Having a rough day.

Yes, Unexpected Cargo is an mpreg, but the bulk of what I do as an artist and writer has nothing to do with that genera and I'd like to keep it that way. In fact, I don't post anything of the sort anymore with the exception of this one novel. In fact the only reason I wrote it was as a personal writing challenge and I was supremely bored out of my mind. So I thought I'd try something a little weird as something to do and as a way of breaking out of my own rut of Eden Symbiotic which I had been creating variations of ever since I was five.

Royalties and honest critiques would certainly cheer me up. Don't expect them, but they would be nice.

CherokeeGal1975 Shop | Redbubble

Here's the link to my Redbubble shop. Not that anyone will actually buy anything.

Unexpected Cargo Ch. 1 by CherokeeGal1975 on DeviantArt

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Unexpected Cargo Epilogue by CherokeeGal1975 on DeviantArt

This book is available on Amazon, but you can also read it on DeviantART too. I'd love your feedback. It's so rare that anyone even bothers to read my work. I can honestly say that I don't think it's horrible and there's no harsher critic of my work than myself. I let it drive me to improve than to bring myself down, unlike other people I've heard of.

This story has no fetish, no kink. The story is an mpreg, but I wrote it like something I'd want to read instead of the crap I all too often run into when I'm foolish enough to go looking. If you're into that kind of thing, more power to you, but I'm not.

There is a romance in it. Talking animal companions. Adoption. Tragedy. Lost family members rediscovered. The looming presence of a corrupt king. Magic. It's not gay, though there's a mention of gay were wolves in one chapter that I came up with independently with no clue that it was a thing in this genera.

The focus is on the story as a whole. I also think that if all goes well for me...which isn't likely...I could submit this story to Netflix and it would fit right in with the rest of the original stories they create. Certainly it wouldn't be a huge disappointment like Bright. My opinion of Bright is that the base story elements were a good idea, but the overall plot was awful. Years of waiting to see it and I hated it. I think I did a lot better than that.

One other example that has me thinking that my story will fit in on Netflix is He's Expecting. An okay story based on a four book manga series that was about worker discrimination against women who want to start families. It did that by flipping gender roles on its head. Not sure it accomplished it's goal, but the story wasn't bad. I even bought the books after they were translated into English out of curiosity.

One person said my writing reminded him of Anne McCaffery's works. Okay, cool.

So, let me know what you think. I really want to know.

If you want to find my book on Amazon it's Unexpected Cargo by Meriah Smith.

[guzekna]

[lurking-loaf]

Surprise! They wanted to bring you this pumpkin and when I say they bring you I mean sun makes a cute pose as moon carries all the weight

Awww! Thanks for the pumpkin! I am sending Sun and Moon back to you with something we quickly put together over here.

Hopefully Sun will be a little more helpful on the return trip.