#it really is just all about his strength of will!

[ariichive]

WITH OPEN ARMS

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋

truly, it was never tribbie's intentions to get you two to admit your feelings like this!

mydei x fem. reader 2.7k words

cw: chrysos heir fem. reader, mydei being soft, confessions, tribbie playing matchmaker, fluff :) girl dad mydei supremacy, not proofread whoops

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋

mydei and tribbie stared at you expectantly. tribbie's eyes full of childhood expectancy and innocence. whereas mydei's naturally looked fierce and piercing.

"we must go lady [name], we can't live with the regret of not snatching this deal!"

you were previously doing research on the skies above, trying to find out more about the nameless from above per agalea's request when suddenly tribbie and mydeimos appeared, raving about a deal a favorited reasturant around okhema currently has.

'THREE GUESTS, FREE ALL YOU CAN EAT!' said the flyer tribbie held up to your face. and of course, in very fine print in the corner of the page read, 'with the purchase of our famed wine starting at-' yeah, it was better off not reading the price for your own sanity.

"ah but tribbie, i don't really have the time to-- s-stop with the puppy eyes!" you quickly diverted your gaze to mydei, who naturally looked unbothered by the ordeal. "gods, how did she manage to rope you into this too?"

mydei crossed his arms, "there was no need for persuasion when the opportunity to taste new foods is presented." he had a pleased expression, as if already imagining the endless amount of food he could eat.

"ah, makes sense, i'm sure it takes a lot of calories to maintain all your muscle?" you felt comforted at how relaxed he seemed, it was rare to see such a display. though, his calm demeanor shifted at your words, a faint pink hue taking over. "l-lady [name], it is mandatory to maintain such a build as a kremnoan."

you couldn't help but smile at his flustered reaction, the sharp contrast to his usual confident demeanor amusing. "i see, so it’s part of the job, huh?" you teased lightly,

mydei quickly composed himself, though the pink tint didn't quite fade. "indeed, it is a cultural necessity," he said with a slight tilt of his head, his usual confident posture returning, but there was a hint of something shy in his eyes now. "the kremnoans believe that strength is not just a physical attribute but a reflection of our spirit and endurance."

you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of admiration for his pride in his culture, his heritage. "that’s... really admirable, mydei," you murmured, genuinely impressed. mydei let out a confident thank you as your attention went back to tribbie, who seemed to be giggling to herself.

"what about trianne and trinnon? that's three of you there, why bring us into it?"

tribbie's giggles stopped immediately, as if she wasn't prepared for this question. "w-well uh, we.. we needed an adult to enter! yeah, i'll bring back plenty of leftovers for trianne and trinnon." tribbie sent you an award winning smile.

you raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced by tribbie's explanation. "an adult, huh?" you said, crossing your arms. "and you just happened to think of us as the 'adults' in this scenario?"

tribbie's smile wavered slightly, but she quickly regained her composure, nodding enthusiastically. "yep! absolutely! you're, uh, very mature and responsible, after all." she added with a wink, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from the awkwardness.

you couldn't help but chuckle at her attempt. "mm, sure, we’ll go with that. but don’t think we’ve forgotten about trianne and trinnon. you'd better keep your promise."

her grin returned with your subtle agreement to accompany them. "of course! i'll make sure they get the best of it. you'll see!"

the three of you began to embark on the short walk to the infamous restaurant when suddenly, tribbie stopped. "such a beautiful day on okhema," tribbie said honestly, which you agreed with. "yeah, the air feels extra refreshing today." mydei nodded in agreement.

tribbie smiled, "i could close my eyes and let the wind guide me!" she said as she closed her eyes. mydei tsked, "if you're gonna close your eyes and walk, at least hold onto one of us."

mydei parent mode: activated.

tribble giggled, "you're very right, de. me and trianne hold trinnon's hands whenever she's feeling shy, that way she knows we're here for her!"

you smiled at her cuteness, having witnessed the three of them skipping hand in hand through okhema once.

"in fact, you and [name] should hold hands!" mydei's eyes widened at her words.

mydei's cheeks flushed, a deep pink quickly spreading across his face. "w-what?" he stammered, clearly caught off guard by tribbie’s suggestion.

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his reaction, the sudden shift in his usual composed demeanor amusing. "hold hands, huh?" you said, teasing him lightly. "that’s an interesting idea."

tribbie, always one to push things further, grinned from ear to ear. "oh, come on, you two! it's just a little hand-holding!" she said, her excitement uncontainable.

mydei cleared his throat, his eyes darting between you and tribbie, looking more than a little uncomfortable. "i... i don’t think that’s necessary," he mumbled, though the slight awkwardness in his voice made it clear he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea.

you noticed the little flush in his cheeks and decided to make it a little more fun. "well, mydei, it’s not a bad idea. it could be... comforting, right?"

tribbie bounced up and down, clearly enjoying the playful tension. "exactly! see, it's just like how trianne and trinnon always hold my hands! nothing to be shy about!"

mydei sighed, clearly resigned to the playful teasing, but his gaze softened when he glanced at you. "i suppose... i could... hold your hand for a moment, if you insist."

mydei offered a polite hand to you, one you gently took. tribbie happily made her way to your other side, taking ahold of your other hand.

with your hands now occupied, you couldn’t help but smile at the unexpected warmth of the situation. tribbie hummed happily, swinging your arm gently as the three of you continued down the path toward the restaurant. mydei, though still looking a bit stiff, seemed to relax slightly, his fingers lightly brushing against yours.

"see? nothing to it," tribbie chirped, clearly pleased with herself for orchestrating this moment. she glanced up at mydei, her grin widening. "feels good, doesn’t it? to be connected like this?"

mydei glanced at the ground for a moment, his face still flushed, but after a brief pause, he gave a small nod. "i suppose it does... in a way," he admitted, his voice softening. "it’s... not so bad."

you squeezed his hand gently, offering a reassuring smile. "i’m glad to hear that," you said warmly.

tribbie giggled, looking between you both with delight. "see, i told you it would be fun! you two are the best!"

the gentle breeze rustled through the trees above, the atmosphere feeling lighter with the shared connection between the three of you. mydei’s earlier unease slowly melted away as he began to fall into the rhythm of the moment, his grip on your hand becoming a little more comfortable. you could almost feel the unspoken bond strengthening, even in the simplest of gestures.

soon enough, the restaurant came into view.

and the first thing that greeted you was well...

trianne?

"um trianne? why-"

"WELCOME esteemed guests," trianne was quick to cut you off, fixing her bowtie and faux mustache. "trianne's name is uh," she paused for a second, silently looking at tribbie as they seemed to have a quick telepathic exchange, "trixie! and trixie will be your server."

you glaced around at the completely vacant restaurant and then to mydei, who looked completely unimpressed.

you blinked, unsure whether to laugh or be concerned. the sight of trianne, dressed in a bowtie and sporting a poorly attached faux mustache, was... certainly unexpected. it was hard to take her seriously, especially with the way she was trying so hard to sound official.

"trixie, huh?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "that’s quite a transformation. i don’t think i’ve seen a more... professional server before."

trianne—no, trixie—straightened her back, putting on her best exaggerated smile. "ah, yes, trixie at your service!" she said, adopting an overly dramatic tone that only made the situation even more ridiculous. "what can trixie get for you today, esteemed guests? something spectacular perhaps?" she added, gesturing to the empty restaurant with grand flair.

you glanced around at the vacant tables, your confusion growing. "uh, i don’t see anyone else here... are we the only customers today?"

mydei let out a long sigh, clearly unimpressed. "seems like it... but i'm not sure if this is quite what i expected from a well-known establishment," he muttered under his breath, folding his arms. "though, it is rather joyous to see them having fun like this."

you agreed with him, "might as well entertain them!"

"follow me right this way, tribbie, de, and [nickname]!" you let out a giggle and silently followed after the young girl. mydei just now letting go of your hand to pull out your chair for you, tribbie not far behind.

you cleared your throat ,"is there a menu-"

"NO! we uh, are very limited so chef trinnon's specialty will be served!"

as if on cue, the sound of loud crashing and a soft yelp was heard from the kitchen.

you blinked, your concern growing as the crash echoed through the restaurant. tribbie, looking almost too relaxed, simply leaned over and whispered, "it’s fine, they do this all the time."

mydei didn’t seem as convinced. he was already halfway to the kitchen, his face set with a mixture of concern and curiosity. you, not wanting to be left out, quickly followed behind him, tribbie trailing casually.

as you reached the kitchen entrance, you could see trinnon—covered in flour and surrounded by shattered plates. "o-oh sorry," trinnon said softly. she looked around sheepishly. distracted by the eyes on her, she forgot to turn off the stove and the boiling water began to overflow.

"oh no," trinnon said softly and was about to get up to turn off the stove but mydei was quicker. "you are all much too young to be alone in a kitchen," there was a rough edge to his voice, but it was all out of love. mydei was quick to pick up the glass shards left by the plates, he then grabbed a damp towel and began to wipe the flour off of trinnon's face.

"i… i didn't mean for this to happen," trinnon mumbled, her face flushed with embarrassment. "i just wanted to make something special for everyone…"

"you will, don’t worry," mydei said softly, his voice calming as he gently lifted trinnon's chin, wiping the last of the flour from her face. "but for now, let’s just make sure you’re okay."

you couldn’t help but watch with a warm feeling in your chest, seeing the way mydei balanced his strength with kindness. he had a way of caring that wasn’t always obvious at first, but moments like this made it clear just how much he looked out for the people around him.

tribbie, who had been standing at the doorway watching the whole scene unfold, gave a small chuckle. "oh, this is just like when mama took care of us," she said with a hint of sadness.

you and mydei shared a look of sadness for the poor trio.

trinnon, now feeling a bit more at ease, smiled shyly. "thank you, mydei… and sorry again."

"no need to apologize," mydei replied, his voice now calm and steady. "just be more careful next time, okay? you all go sit back down, i'll show you the cooking skills of a true kremnoan."

with the situation finally under control, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. "well, looks like we’re in good hands after all," you said, nudging tribbie lightly. "this meal might take a little longer, but i’m sure it'll be worth it."

tribbie grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "oh, it’ll be worth it. i mean, with de in charge, we’re basically guaranteed five-star kremnoan cuisine!" she said, giving mydei a playful salute as he turned back to the stove, his brow furrowed in concentration.

you chuckled, shaking your head. "you really do have a way of making everything more interesting, don’t you, tribbie?"

"what can i say?" she shrugged with a smile. "life’s more fun when you don’t take it too seriously!"

you and the three young girls made your way back to the table. smiling hand in hand.

sitting down, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude. there was something comforting about this strange, yet warm, situation. the way everyone was so quick to pitch in and take care of each other—it was a bond that went beyond the usual social niceties.

"so girls, care to tell me what today was for?" you question gently as the three of them chuckle nervously. "w-we see the way you and mydei look at each other," tribbie started. "trianne wanted to set you both up on a date, but we weren't sure how to go about it."

"trianne found a romance book in castorice's bag, it was so slay, slay! we had to follow it!" trianne said with a big smile on her face.

"it seemed like a good idea in the moment," trinnon said softly.

you smiled at the three of them, at such a heart warming moment. "thank you for the attempt, but... i-is my crush on mydei really that noticeable?" you hid your face in your hands, not noticing how the footsteps behind you seemed to halt or the sound of the three girls giving each other high-fives.

trianne let out a mischievous giggle, "we'll let the two of you talk it out!"

mydei looked at the door for a second, his expression unreadable, then finally turned his gaze back to you. "so... seems like things are... out in the open now," he said softly, his voice surprisingly calm.

you finally peeked out from behind your hands, only to find him looking at you with the faintest hint of a smile. "i guess so," you mumbled, still feeling the heat of embarrassment.

mydei’s smile softened, and for the first time, you noticed the way his eyes held a certain warmth—almost as if he were relieved, too. "well, i suppose it was only a matter of time before they figured it out," he said, his voice quiet but sincere, "i do not think i was the best at hiding my feelings either." he admitted while avoiding eye contact.

"w-wait does that mean you really-" the amount of surprise in your voice caught mydei by surprise as he let out a small laugh. "how could i not be enamored by your beauty and strength? after fighting alongside someone as worthy as you, it was only a matter of time before i fell hard."

your heart skipped a beat as his words settled in, the weight of his confession sinking in. you couldn’t believe what you were hearing, and your mind raced to process it all. mydei—mydei—had been feeling the same way? your face flushed, and you struggled to find your voice.

"i… i didn’t know," you stammered, still processing his words. "i thought—i mean, i didn’t want to assume anything. you’ve always been so... calm and composed around me."

mydei finally met your gaze, and there was something vulnerable in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. he looked almost unsure for a moment, as if searching for the right words. "i was careful not to let my feelings cloud my judgment," he explained, his voice softening. "but after everything we've been through together... it became harder to deny what was growing inside me." he paused, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "you... are extraordinary. your strength, your courage, your heart—i couldn't help but be drawn to you."

"now then, please enjoy the meal i made for the all of us."

your heart raced, but in that moment, everything felt right. "yes," you said softly, your words steady and sure. "i’d like that."

bonus:

earlier that day

"de, could you accompany [nickname] and us-"

"yes."

tribbie scratched the back of her head, "it was that easy to convince you?"

"why would i need any convincing when [name] is involved?" mydei said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"wow, he's got it bad. we probably didn't need to break into that reasturant..."

[shawtylex09]

Hi it's me again :3 Is it okay to request some more bunny izuku? I literally see everyone writing about him it's so addictive. Maybe some head cannons of him, how he acts and stuff or even how he gets during heat can be nsfw. You can come up with any scenario. Whatever you prefer mwahh<3

-🐇

You ask and I will de-LIVER.

Keep requesting bc your asks are the best I stg.

Anyways. Obv smut below, all characters 18+, minors DNI.

More Bunny!Izu x Fem!Pro hero!reader

Masterlist

Here’s your banger, I didn’t forget dw

Enjoy ✧˖°.

🌸❤️‍🔥

Head cannons;

B!Izuku I feel like, would be the sweet type of brat, like, don’t get me wrong, he’s a sweetheart; but he’s also a brat in the most ANNOYING ways.

B!Izuku definitely steals and hides your things. He does and I think that’s a universally accepted thing. Anything that’s yours is his, and you accepted this a while after you brought him into your home, even making a little game out of trying to find and get your things back.

B!Izuku loves when you cook for him, and even started to eat bits of pork thanks to the way you make it, making katsudon his favorite meal after trying the pork cutlets you put on the plate, he was surprised at how much he liked it.

B!Izuku is SPOILED and I will never stop saying it, you buy hin whatever he wants. He has his own room, his own phone, video games and consoles, posters, mangas, art supplies- fuck- you even bought him a hand signed All Might figure in mint condition (that costed a pretty penny fr fr.)

B!Izuku will pout at you, and he does that shiet all the time. If you won’t let him on your bed with you? He’s pouting, if you scold him for taking your keys and making you late for work? Pouting little bunny boy.

B!Izuku basically never even sleeps in his own room, always sleeping in bed with you, mumbling sleepily about how much he loves you and is thankful for everything you do for him.

B!Izuku gets really bad heats- like..bad. He’s in heat for no less than a week, and his body will tremble all over, his breaths heavy and legs barely supporting him. He whimpers and whines, begging to still sleep with you in your bed, even though he knows you say no every time.

B!Izuku who is extra bratty during his heat, maybe even a bit rude. He’s petty for sure. If you don’t help him relieve the pain he’s in, he’s gonna be extra sassy, despite his breathless tone and shaky body.

B!izuku definitely lays in your bed when you’re at work, his hips grinding into your mattress as he moans pathetically into your pillows, gripping the sheets and rolling his hips like a desperate animal.

B!Izuku can cum so many times and still not relieve himself, constantly being erect and having his nerves on fire.

B!Izuku gets so desperate during the last few days, pathetically whimpering and shaking in your bed, begging- pleading for help.

Until you give in.

✮˚.⋆

You walked into your shared apartment from work, sighing tiredly as you did so. You slip off your boots and look around. Everything is intact, good, Izuku didn’t decide to mess up the living room or anything just to spite you.

Speaking of..where is your bunny?

You sigh, figuring the worst as a tired deadpan falls onto your expression. You knew it wasn’t Izuku’s fault that this happened to him each month, it was like a woman going through ovulation…on steroids…

A heavy sigh left you, despite knowing it wasn’t Izuku’s fault, it still left you feeling irritated. He was already bratty enough, he certainly didn’t need to be uncontrollably horny on top of that.

You finally muster up all the will and strength you have left, before pushing yourself in the direction of your bedroom.

There he was, sitting on your bed and crying, his head thrown back and teeth gritted as his body trembled. He looked like he was - at the very least - extremely uncomfortable.

“Izuku?” You spoke out into your room, feeling a twinge of guilt in your chest as you watched the sweet boy writhe. “Y-y/n- please..it hurts” he looked over at you, his eyes half lidded and flooded with tears.

You bit your lip.

You were a hero, meant to save people, and yet your sweet bunny boy was in pain.

Fuck.

A click left your door as you closed it behind you, a second following it as you locked it. “It’s alright Zu” you spoke softly, taking off your jacket and tossing it onto the floor.

Izuku barely registered what was happening as he felt the bed dip next to him. His hands instantly reached out for yours, grabbing one and placing it on his hard bulge, expecting you to pull away like you usually did.

This time, however, your hand began to rub at the ache, making Izuku’s eyes widen, then roll back as if your touch was a gift from god himself.

You laid on your side, propping yourself up with your elbow as you began to soothe the burning pit in his stomach. “I’m sorry, Izuku” you murmured quietly, a hand finding his fluffy ear that was folded back. You gently scratched his ear while wrapping your hand around his clothed dick.

“Y-Y/n! Ah..fuck- just like that-“ a little bit of drool teased his bottom lip, his head falling back against the sheets “so good- it’s so good..mmh”

You smiled a little, he didn’t look like he was in pain anymore, which made you feel a lot better.

Izuku continued to moan and femininely whimper as you jerked him off through his shorts, before finally grabbing the hem of them, and his boxers. With a pull, they came down to his thighs, his thick and hard cock springing free, the smooth tip touching his abdomen.

You blushed a little, especially as Izuku looked at you with his fucked out face, his eyes heavily hooded and his lips parted “please- please mommas..please suck my cock”

Your eyes widened in shock, feeling a spike of arousal shoot through you. His face, his tone, his words- it was all so lewd. You looked down at his thick shaft. It was probably around 6-7 inches, a good length with an impressive girth.

You swallowed, feeling saliva pool in your mouth as you looked at the pre-cum beading at the slit of his cock head.

You shifted to kneel on the bed before his thighs, your throat and mouth dry as you leaned down, softly kissing his tip.

Izuku gasped quietly and placed a hand on your head, running his fingers through your hair “please” he whined “don’t tease me, please” his tone was- honestly pitiful, but you understood why, so, you leaned down once more; this time, taking the puffy tip into your mouth, lightly sucking on it.

Izuku let out a soft moan “yes- yes Y/n- fuck” his eyes rolled back in pleasure, and his head fell back, his hips slightly rolling up as he tried to inch himself more into your mouth.

That was all the coaxing you needed, before you began to bob your head, his thick cock making your lips stretch around it, the veins dragging up and down your tongue, and the taste of pre flooding your mouth.

You were a little rusty, it had been a while since you’d been with anyone, but once you got into a rhythm, Izuku was falling apart at the seams under you.

The poor bun couldn’t think clearly, a hand cover his mouth as he gasped and writhed, his thighs spread wide and lifted slightly with the tension in his muscles. His eyes were screwed shut, and his brows furrowed.

His chest messily rose and fell, his jaw dropped and gasps leaving him. How were you so damn good at this? He had no idea, nor did he care. Izuku shakily opened one of his eyes to see you focused on him.

One of your hands gently kneading and massaging his tight, full balls; the other was wrapped around the base, occasionally stroking, while your head bobbed and your mouth sucked.

His eyes rolled back and he clenched his jaw “I love you!” He squealed, making you cough on his length and pull yourself off, sputtering from your surprise and accidentally deep throating his entire dick.

He whined in protest, before his eyes widened.

He had not meant to say that.

“I-I’m sorry- I- I just meant-“ “I love you too.” You smiled at him, and his eyes widened “you love me?” Did he hear you right? His fluffy ears twitching a few times to ensure he wasn’t crazy.

You had just told him..you loved him too.

“Of course I do” you leaned down and ran your tongue up the side of his cock, before kissing the swollen tip “I don’t give just anyone head, you know”

Izuku shuddered and bit his lip “fuck- I’m gonna cum just from that” he whispered, referring to your teasing, yet meaningful words

You simply laughed, before taking his hardened length back into your mouth. Izuku arched his back, his ears folding back against his head. It felt so much better knowing that you felt the same way about him, and he had to restrain himself from busting right there.

“God- yes! I love you! I love you so much! Baby! Mommas! I’m gonna- c-cum- fuck~!” He cried out, his thighs trembling and coming up to wrap around your shoulders.

And cum he did.

With a loud moan and your name on his lips, he came, and he came hard.

You gagged a bit as his load shot into your throat and slightly dripped onto his cock, trying to swallow as much as you could.

You pulled away from his cock to greedily gasp for air, the sheer amount of cum in your throat making your eyes water as you coughed “J-Jesus- C-Christ-“ you sputtered between coughs.

Izuku trembled under you, his cock finally softening and not feeling needy, like it had been for the previous week.

He felt so tired, not having the energy to make a comment as you collected yourself and picked him up, smiling a little down at him “cmon bun, let’s get you in the bath.”

Izuku simply nodded and rested his head against your chest, shaking slightly and sighing, so thankful to have you in his life.

He’d have to return the favor some time.

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖

Part 1.

[comatosebunny09]

serve & protect | sylus

— summary: you’ve stood dutifully by his side for years. seen him at his worst, not once letting that side of him deter you. can you blame him for craving more than your loyalty? — cw: royalty au, king sylus, femme reader, knight/bodyguard reader, mutual pining, marking, restraints, sexual tension, slow burn, sylus isn’t a normal king, this isn’t a medieval setting, there are cars and indoor plumbing ‘round here, reader has hair for the sake of plot — notes: a reimagining of something i wrote a few years ago. heavily inspired by final fantasy xv & the beast within (2024). tysm for reading! — now playing: tender strength - yu-peng chan, hoyo-mix

Willing His Majesty to behave and him actually doing so are two foreign points on a map. 

It’s kind of your fault, really. 

You almost don’t. Nearly preserve your aloofness, your decorum. But then you do let your formalities slip for the briefest second, and that’s what heralds this mess. 

A traitorous sigh slips past your lips, summoning the attention of your wintry-haired charge.

Warmth pours throughout your person, a prickly spike of embarrassment clotting your veins. You stiffen, staring at the dark, heavy curtains shielding the dining hall from the sun’s brilliant spill. Try to ignore how your skin tingles beneath the curious study of your king. How those scarlet eyes crinkle mirthfully, wittingly, and you know all too well no good will come from that look. 

He’s in a playful mood, isn’t he? And you’re about to serve as his court jester. 

“Are you alright, dear friend?” he intones, loud enough for only you to hear, ignoring the monotonous prattle of his guest across the table. 

His voice curls around your brain, seeping through the folds of it. You straighten, arms stiffly folded behind you, quietly clearing your throat to ward off the spell of dizziness threatening to take hold. Curse him for sounding so devastatingly hot. For being so terribly distracting, so unfairly handsome.

You murmur an apology, not once taking your eyes off the far wall to look at him. To do so would be dangerous. Get you into more trouble. You hope by ignoring him, he’ll leave you be, but—

Well, His Majesty is a stubborn man, and once he gets going, there’s no stopping him.

He fiddles with a fork on the dining table with long, skillful fingers. Smooths out the little wrinkles forming in the tablecloth, adjusting himself in his wing-backed seat into an uninterested slouch. “You’ve been awfully huffy today. Are you bored?” 

A little, you inwardly reply. You don’t care much for politics. For these fickle conversations of wealth, alliances, and nobility. You merely follow orders, keeping your opinions to yourself unless they’re explicitly requested. 

Being a knight proves to be much more entertaining than serving as a tactician or advisor. At least you can keep your hands and feet busy instead of rotting away at a desk, ripping out your hair and fretting over the intricacies of running an entire nation. 

You remain quiet, tuning out His Majesty’s attempts to get you to break character. 

But, as mentioned before, your king is a persistent man. 

He sighs, slipping further down in his chair. Props his temple on his knuckles, an ankle resting on the pocket of his knee whilst the free set of fingers drum on the chair’s arm. “I don’t blame you if you are. She’s not very entertaining, is she? Nor is she very bright.”

You snort despite yourself. Quickly remember your decorum, a scowl twisting up your lips. Your eyes shoot to your wayward king. “Majesty!” you admonish on a whispered yell.

A smirk pulls at his lips. He playfully narrows his eyes at you from behind the shelter of his hand. Has you right where he wants you, feeding into his childish games. Just like old times. 

Your staring contest, however, is short-lived when the sharp click of a teacup meeting its saucer echoes through the stilled dining hall.

“I’m sorry,” quips a voice doused in vitriol from the table’s other end, causing your attention to snap to its source. “Am I interrupting something?”

The Queen of Universum ingests the pair of you with sharp, mead-infused eyes, vexation tugging at her red-painted lips. Like two scolded children, you straighten, King Sylus sitting up in his seat with a brilliantly fake smile.

“Of course not. Please, continue with your monologuing,” he says with a theatrical flourish of his fingers. He would roll his eyes if he could; you just know it.

You disguise a laugh as a cough, piping up when the queen’s glare snaps to you. You try not to bristle beneath the weight she carries. Beneath the thin stretch of her lips. She doesn’t like you very much. Of course, you don’t care for her, either. 

She’s made it perfectly clear that she views you as a threat to her plans—marrying her daughter off to your king to forge an alliance between your countries, to spread her family’s reign. No room for love. She’s mentioned more than once that your familiarity with the king is inappropriate, a threat to his crown. How scandalous it would be for him to take you as his bride instead of someone with noble blood.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fingers curling into a fist at your back until your nails bite unforgivingly into your palm. 

Like you don’t already grapple with the notion every time he touches you or smiles a little too charmingly in your direction.

You’re not fit to be a contender for his heart; not fit to be a queen. 

Her eyes finally slip away from you, refocusing on the center of your musings. Your relief is short-lived as an impish smile rounds her lips. You swallow thickly, the queen’s body language boding danger.

“Is it truly necessary for your lapdog to be here? Her presence is spoiling my meal.”

You blink rapidly. Incredulously, mouth spilling open.

Lap—

Lapdog?

I’m sorry, what?

If you had hackles, they would raise. Instead, your nostrils flare, the tendons in your neck pulling, jaw set in a rigid line. An omniscient smirk cants the queen’s lips. She knows just how to creep beneath your skin, how to wrap her claws around your pride and pull it apart. 

How dare she compare you to a bloody dog! You’re loyal, yes. At His Majesty’s beck and call. His shield. Have been for years. But to be compared to an animal, of all things—

He feels the malice sloughing off your skin in waves. Eyes you warily in his peripheral before raising a hand to quell your silent rage.

“Down, girl,” he teases, and you glower at him. 

It seems he also wants to play along with these dog jokes.

Leaning forward, your king perches his elbows on the dining table. Twines his fingers together, resting his chin atop his knuckles, a deceptively sweet smile boasting his teeth. Having known him for as long as you have, you can easily sense the irritation pouring over the tense set of his muscles. The stiffness between his shoulder blades, peering through the tailored pleat of his jacket.

“My Lady,” he begins, words bathed in silk. “I’m not sure how you treat your subjects in Universum, and frankly, I do not care. But here, we address our people with dignity and respect regardless of race, color, status, or creed.”

The queen’s expression morphs into one of mortification. She straightens in her seat, a steady creep of redness inhabiting her cheeks as she studies the doily texture of the tablecloth. You resist an urge to cheer.

“While you are my guest, you are expected to behave with poise and grace. And I would greatly appreciate it if you did not disrespect my friend here like that again.” 

Scarlet eyes briefly flit to you, shining with a spark of fondness—a tenderness that sets your body alight with heat—before returning to the queen. 

“Or anyone in my kingdom, for that matter. Understood?” His Majesty concludes with a raised brow, sparing no room for argument.

Pride swells in your chest, warm like the soft embrace of a fur shawl on a wintry day. He’s shut her up in his own way. Read her to filth with the poise and regality of a man of his stature, and you’re envious of his composure. They don’t call him a king for nothing. 

You straighten at his side, mouth twitching with the threat of an arrogant smile, and your chin lifts slightly. Defiantly. 

She studies her lap, pulling at her fingernails. You watch a kaleidoscope of emotions stroll across her face before a nervous titter falls from her lips. 

“My apologies, Your Majesty. That was very inappropriate of me.” Her pink tongue darts out to wet her lips while she sweeps a chocolate ringlet of hair behind her ear. “I was only hoping that the two of us could have a little…chat.” She looks at you, a note of caution stirring beneath her lashes. “Alone.”

Sylus sits back with a scoff as if he’s just as confused by her request as you are. It’s rare you leave his side. Rare you’re not in his shadow, head on a swivel, fingers wrapped about your sword. You’re even present when he’s sunk beneath the murky pull of sleep. 

“Does her being here pose some sort of threat to you?” he interrogates around a smirk.

“Not so much a threat as it is a distraction.”

A distraction to whom, you wonder. It’s a ridiculous request. You’re his bodyguard, for the Gods’ sake. You wouldn’t put it past her to make an attempt on his life in your absence. Forgo the pleasantries and proposal for marriage and end his lineage here and now. Not that she could.

Your mouth works around a protest, yet it dies in your throat when your king calls your name after some time spent deliberating. He peers at you from his shoulder, and you snap to attention.

“Sorry, dear friend,” he says, tone sloping with repentance. “Would you mind giving us some space for a little while? I fear your presence is making our guest uncomfortable.”

You cast him a pensive look. Lips tremble and part. His expression softens, and he winks at you, turning up the dial of his charm. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Of course, he will. His Majesty is more than capable of handling himself. Sometimes, you wonder what purpose you serve. He’s a hulk of a man, brimming with untapped power and bleeding intimidation. Most days, you feel you’re by his side to create the illusion of protection. 

Remembering your place, you step back and excuse yourself with a curt bow. You caution one last look at your charge before pivoting, briskly making for the door, ignoring the thunderous drum of your pulse in your ears.

You feel his eyes track your every move as your boots click soundly against the glittering, marbled floor. Feel the queen’s gaze drilling into your back, exuding a quieted smugness as if she’s won your silent war of wills. 

As the solid, ornate doors of the dining hall draw closed behind you, you catch wind of their conversation over your shoulder, and your heart plummets to your feet. 

“So,” begins the queen, voice steeping low. “I hear you are in need of a bride.”

—

You’re a mess of grit teeth and unease on the doors’ other side.

You’ve paced back and forth for what feels like an eternity, warring with your emotions. You’re not sure what has you more on edge: having been made to look like a fool in front of your king, or the implications of that statement when you departed from the dining room. 

“I hear you are in need of a bride.”

The conversation was inevitable. Doesn’t mean you have to like it. 

It’s the entire reason Universum’s queen has frequented your kingdom so much. Trying to set him up with her daughter, the princess, under the guise of uniting your people. You both know she’s greedy for power following her husband’s untimely demise, and His Majesty is teeming with it. 

You scoff, stopping your march to lean against the double doors, arms crossed over your chest. With a shuddering breath out, your face turned skyward, and your eyes shuttered closed, you try to compose yourself. 

If you keep huffing and puffing about like this, you might convince yourself that you care for your king more than you should. More than you’re allowed to. 

When you’ve begun to settle your nerves, the chorus of boots striking the carpeted floor piques your interest. 

You open an eye as dark figures of varying heights and sizes ease into frame, moving past you, carrying laughter and camaraderie with them. Crownsguardsmen. 

They regard you with quick bows and wary smiles, their banter lulling to a dull murmur in the face of their superior. You acknowledge them casually, still propped against the oakwood doors, not at all in the mood for formalities. 

Amid the gaggle of guards, a set of curious sienna eyes alight on you, widening with recognition before crinkling with glee. 

The smaller guard shoves through her comrades, briskly approaching you as her teammates walk out of sight. You study the top of her sleek, brown hair before she stops before you. And you stiffen, stammering as she snatches up your hands, her excitement palpable. 

Tara. You recognize her as a new recruit with youthful eyes and enough enthusiasm to power the entire Citadel. 

She reminded you of yourself when you first joined the king’s army. A young woman with a target on her back because of her gender and status. She possessed exceptional prowess with an array of weapons and vast knowledge of the kingdom’s technology. Yet, she was constantly beleaguered by her comrades and, oftentimes, her trainers.

You threw around your brass a little, ensuring she was treated as fairly as her male counterparts whilst she trained as a knight. Sometimes sparred or studied with her on your rare occasions of downtime. You were there to congratulate her when she’d been appointed a member of His Majesty’s royal guard.

With King Sylus on the throne, the Crownsguard became more progressive, opening its doors to anyone willing to lay their life down for him. Too bad a bunch of egotistical, chauvinistic airheads still occupied his ranks. 

“Good afternoon, ma’am!” Tara sing-songs, overflowing with zeal. 

You wince at the pitch of her voice, the brilliance of her smile. But you find her infectious, a soft chuckle ducking through your lips. You unwind one of your hands from her grasp, ruffling her hair affectionately. Had she been anyone else, you would’ve reprimanded her for forgoing the proper customs and courtesies. 

But are you really in any position to lecture anyone about etiquette right now?

“Good afternoon, Tara.” You’re surprised by the mildness of your voice. The fondness of it.

If she had a tail, it would surely be wagging. Your innards color with warmth at the thought. You’ve found someone else you want to protect almost as much as your king.

“How are you today, ma’am?” she asks, dispelling the nebula of your thoughts. 

Averting your gaze, you sigh, recalling what’s got you so out of sorts in the first place. You cross your arms, your spine reacquainting itself with the intricate carvings of one of the dining room’s doors with a muted thunk. “I’ve had better days.”

Tara’s expression pulls into one of curiosity. “Something the matter?” 

She steps closer, bursting your figurative bubble. With her hands clasped behind her back, Tara scrutinizes you, ducking this way and that, giving you a visual inspection. 

“Come to think of it, isn’t His Majesty having brunch with the Queen of Universum right now?” She pensively taps her lip with her index finger, eyes narrowing in thought. “Behind you?”

You flinch, watching her from down your nose. She’s eerily perceptive for someone so young. Invasive, pummeling you with a hundred questions a minute. 

“That’s strange. Aren’t you normally by his side? Did something happen? Did you get into trouble?” Tara goads, nudging you with her elbow.

You scoff, pushing off the door. For all the years you’ve known your king, you’ve never been in trouble with him. Garnered the ire of his advisor once or twice, sure. Pissed off his royal entourage with your sharp tongue, maybe. But you don’t think Sylus harbors a malicious bone in his body for you. You don’t think he ever could.

You cross the hall, perching your hands on an adjacent windowsill. The marble texture is cold beneath your palms. Grounding. You study the mixture of historical and modern architecture lining the horizon, a scene reminiscent of a dragon’s maw. 

The land of Insomnia brims with life beyond The Citadel’s walls, a nation once war-torn slowly rebuilding itself under the guidance of your genial king.

“No, I’m not in trouble.” You turn, sitting on the ledge. Your voice descends as if you’re having a conversation with yourself. “But not everyone seems to like the idea of me at the king’s side.”

Tara moves towards you with a placating smile, taking up one of your hands and squeezing it. “The queen doesn’t like you very much, does she?” 

Your silence serves as her answer. 

The smaller woman pats your hand, thumb smoothing over the rough patch of skin stretched over the clutch of it. “Well, I could’ve told you that.”

You cut your eyes at her in warning. What’s with everyone testing your patience today? Picking on you?

“You’re competition,” Tara matter of factly adds, maneuvering to lean against the windowsill beside you. 

You study the weathered tips of your boots before your gaze slowly rises to Tara. Her eyes gloss over with tenderness. With pity as a slow creep of heat inhabits the pit of your stomach. You avert your gaze, boring into the dining hall’s doors. 

You don’t have to ask what she means by that; you’ve heard the statement numerous times as of late. Your king’s recent treatment of you doesn’t help matters, exacerbating the rumor that you’re more than just his loyal subject.

As if sensing your internal plight, Tara decides to shift gears. You’re grateful for the reprieve, getting too hung up in your mind again. 

“So, do you really think the queen killed her husband?” she whispers, leaning in with a hand cupped around her mouth.

You chuckle. Leave it to Tara to fill the space with gossip. “I couldn’t say. But I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s a bit of a bi—”

As if on cue, the grandiose doors of the dining room groan open, spilling the artificial light inside onto the carpeted floor. You and Tara snap to attention like two youths caught dawdling, stone-faced, the remnants of your conversation corked in your throats. 

How anticlimactic, you muse, watching several figures emerge from the room until your eyes alight on a familiar, riotous mop of white. 

Your breath thickens in your throat as scarlet eyes capture yours. The lips beneath them quirk before the towering silhouette they belong to, strides past you.

Tara’s hand brushes yours. You don’t have to look to know she’s giving you the most impish side-eye. 

The queen turns on her heel to face your king, her entourage scuttling about behind her. She’s half-hidden by the mass that is His Majesty, but beyond his bulk, you make out her red lips curving into a deceitful smile. Bile singes the back of your throat, your fists tightening at your sides. 

“It’s been a pleasure, Your Majesty.” She punctuates her words with a small curtsy and head tilt. 

His Majesty stuffs his hand in his pocket, his wispy hair sweeping over broad shoulders. Boredom lances through his deep timbre, and you imagine his eyes rolling with disinterest. “The pleasure was hardly mine.”

An indignant sound salts the air, dredged from the queen’s throat. You bite back a laugh, recalling what got you sent out in the first place. Tara flinches in your peripheral, tamping down a laugh herself. 

Ignoring your king’s waywardness, the queen squares her shoulders and straightens her spine, her head held high. She clears her throat, holding out her hand for your liege to take. When he does nothing, she waggles it expectantly, wordlessly demanding he kiss it.

You watch the scene unfold with bated breath, tight lips. Inwardly cheer when Sylus scoffs, turning away from his obstinate guest. He waves a tired hand over his shoulder, summoning two guards stationed by the hallway’s entrance.

“Please ensure the queen makes it back to her car. Safely or harmed, I don’t care,” he tacks on under his breath.

The guards acknowledge him with nods and move to flank the queen and her royal retinue. The woman huffs, indignantly stomping her foot like a child deprived of their favorite snack. She grabs the tail of her dress and brusquely spins before being led out, carrying her jilted air with her. 

You resist a smile. Pride spools heavy in your chest. It’s almost like your souls are linked; your king’s never cared for rude nobles and their politics, mirroring your sentiment. 

He conquers the space between you in three measured strides. Pilfers the air from your lungs as electricity and pheromones spark between you, and you’re drawn into the ruinous stir of his eyes. 

Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Tara dismisses herself with a bow, but not before discreetly nudging you in her retreat. Sylus barely acknowledges her, busy memorizing every detail of your face. Every tight breath slipping through your parted lips, every feathery flutter of your lashes.

You rapidly blink as if remembering where you are, keenly aware that the pair of you are alone. 

The king’s proximity throws you off-kilter. The earthy scent and comforting warmth he exudes permeate the thickened layers of your uniform, wrapping around your heart, squeezing, leaving you raw and exposed. Your jaw ticks.

His expression slackens, brows knitting in the inner corners, and he coyly cocks his head to one side. “Are you alright, dear friend?” The texture of his voice is gritty as sandpaper, yet it’s disarming in a way that leaves you weak-kneed with a heavy tongue.

“H-huh?” comes your foolish reply. You would kick yourself for how lovestruck you sound. 

Your king chuckles, a genuine sound reserved for hushed moments like these, tucked away from the prying eyes of his court. Your lips twitch before a slender finger pokes the space between your eyes, dispelling the dreamlike fog that once loomed overhead.

“I asked,” poke, “if you,” poke, “are feeling,” poke, “alright? You look a bit flustered.”

You swat his hand like an enraged feline, to which he chuckles, all manner of refinement thrown to the wolves. He’s as bratty as ever, a reflection of that child you once knew who’d shove you off the hill to be king of it. Who knew he’d grow to take an entire kingdom onto his shoulders?

You clear the phlegm from your throat, taking a step back, haughtiness meddling with your features as his hand falls listlessly at his side.

“I’m fine, Majesty. Though I’d be better if someone learned to keep his hands to himself.”

The monarch in question feigns innocence, blinking owlishly, a dramatic hand splayed over his heart. “What? I thought you liked it when I badgered you like this. When I kept you on your toes.”

You scowl, crossing your arms and impatiently tapping your foot. “Not when it borders sexual harassment. Need I remind you of your briefings, sir? Should we revisit them?”

He sputters, mortification descending on his face. You bite back a snicker. He’s much too handsome like this—playful, boyish, unguarded. An affectionate smile crests over his mouth when you let a bewitchingly sweet laugh slip. He takes a step forward, swaddling you in prickly static, dwarfing you by a good foot. Your traitorous heart thumps something wild, threatening to leap from your chest as the mirth melts from your face.  

“Would you believe that woman came here to coerce me into taking her daughter’s hand?” rasps your king, voice descending into a secret. 

You swallow, staring between his eyes, unconsciously leaning back. You nod when words fail you. Bristle as a set of spindly fingers creep down your forearm in pursuit of your hand, scorching through the fibers of your coat.  

Your breath catches whilst His Majesty brings your hand to his lips, and he kisses it with as much fervor as he did in the gardens. It’s a simple gesture. An innocent one that feels perverse in a way, burning down to your core, the molten heat creeping back up to take residence in your neck and face.

“The only hand I wish to hold,” he smooths his thumb over the notches of your knuckles like a blind mind committing their texture to memory, “is this one.” Another brush of full lips makes you wince as if branded by hot iron. 

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. Not with him so close, nor with the potency of his gaze drilling down to your soul. You wonder if he’s trying to kill you when he tugs you to him, a possessive hand falling to your hip. 

Whatever oxygen was left in your lungs abandons you in a sharp gasp, making way for a pleasant fuzziness and overwhelming heat. He snakes his arm around your waist before dipping you like the pair of you are waltzing, and your hand instinctively clasps around his shoulder to keep you from crumbling to the floor.  

Hooded eyes pan in, filling your vision with nothing but a beautiful wash of red. His stare centers in on your mouth, and he leans closer until your breaths intermingle, and your limbs feel like jelly, and you’re lightheaded, and…and—

You screw your eyes shut, pushing your palms against his catastrophically hard chest. He’s a dream forged by the Gods. Temptation sent to lure you astray.

“Majesty,” you gasp. You sound so incredibly pitiful, so breathless, and it makes you sick. “Majesty, please. You can’t—we can’t—” You twist your head, pillow-soft lips grazing your cheek instead of your mouth, pleasant tingles of sensation humming throughout your body.

“Can’t what?” he breathes, voice strained with the effort of containing himself whilst he roots his nose against the tender space behind your ear. He draws you closer against the hard press of his body whilst nosing along your jaw, ingesting the warm scent wafting off your skin.  

Your shoulder throbs beneath your uniform where two raw indentations reside. They’ve never truly healed after two years, the pain announcing itself in intimate quarters like this with your king. It’s a reminder of your anchor to him, to what truly lives beneath his skin. 

“The maids, the guards. What if—” You scramble for every excuse not to give in. Not to betray the oath you took to protect him. To always put him first, to never fall for him. “—what if someone sees us, Majesty?”

A bitten-off, barely there growl cleaves through your ramblings. Lithe fingers encase your jaw, coaxing you to look at your charge. A glacial thrill shoots through your body at the sight that greets you. White, mussed hair falls perfectly into his face, lips parted and glistening invitingly, eyes wrinkling with a mixture of anguish and yearning. He reminds you of something beastly, fighting to reign in his instincts. Fighting not to lose control. 

“You’ve known me for however long, yet you insist on calling me that.” 

He gathers your cheek into his pleasantly warm palm, angling your neck further back. You fight to keep your eyes open, your fingers curling into the fabric of his blazer. You’re spilling over the edge. Teetering over that blurry line between daydreams and reality. 

“Majesty this, Your Majesty that.” Scoff. “Is this your way of shutting me out? Pushing me away?”

You haven’t the gall to tell him yes, too distracted by the flats of his nails dragging along your cheek, sweeping errant hair strands behind your ear. You shudder, and he pans in, your mouths but a whisker’s width apart.  

“If you carry on like this, I may have to punish you for your insolence.”

You suck in a breath at the underlying threat in his voice. Know it carries no weight. He’d never lay a finger on you outside of affection. But how wonderful it sounds, to be punished for your insubordination. 

Your noses brush, mouths ghosting over each other whilst careful fingers curl around your nape, scrawling through your hair. You fear that you might faint, the heat spooling in your belly threatening to burn through layers of flesh. You’re clutching the lapels of his jacket for dear life now. Torturing yourself, wanting to conquer what little space remains between your mouths and—

Forbidden. The accursed word echoes in your mind like the weighted chime of a church bell. It resounds so miserably in your mind, reminding you of your place. Your duty. You’re no noblewoman. No contender for his heart. 

“Please don’t,” you utter between a laugh and a sob. Begging is unbecoming of you, but when it comes to protecting your king and his crown, you would fall to your knees if you had to.

A pained sound tears through His Majesty’s chest, crackling like a hearth fire. You feel terrible for denying him again. For pushing him away like you always do. But many women regularly throw themselves at his feet, willing to ease his affliction—women of noble blood, of virtue. 

Grief furrows his brows, his eyes sweeping over your face. A forlorn smile touches his lips. He exhales loudly, shakily, his thumb cruising over the outward arc of your brow, his gaze tracking the gentle movement. 

“Of everything that resides within these walls, within this kingdom, you manage to elude me the most.” 

His eyes snap to yours, and you shiver beneath the weight they boast. He could easily flex his power over you. Command you to stay still while he ravages you. But that’s never been his style, has it? Another trait of his drawing you deeper into his spell. 

“Why do you run from me? Why do you continue to deny me? Why continue to deny yourself? I hear how your body calls to me. Your heartbeat, your scent. So ripe. So untainted.” 

The exasperation in his voice makes your stomach lurch. 

I’m not denying anyone, you wish to say. I just…I don’t know. I don’t—

“Where in the hells is he?!” a familiar voice ricochets through the empty hallway—your saving grace. Seems his advisor is on a rampage again. You’ve never wanted to kiss the stoutly man more.

“Impeccable timing as always,” sighs your king, rolling his eyes. He reluctantly releases you, his hands at his waist until your legs remember they are meant to support you. 

Just as you spring apart, smoothing out the wrinkles of your uniform, your hair spills in warm tendrils down your neck, puddling around your shoulders, water-falling from its usual coif. 

You blink incredulously, taking note of the impish smirk canting the king’s lips. Something silver gleams in your periphery.

You watch with horror as he twirls your hairpin between dexterous fingers before bringing the warm, tarnished metal to his lips for a kiss. It’s an intimate sight. An image that makes a shiver wrack your spine, and you don’t know whether to be flattered or mortified. 

“Y-Your Majesty, give that back!”

The monarch in question chuckles something smoky, dangling the ornate pin out of reach when you swipe at it. He has an unfair advantage over you. You contemplate kicking him, figuring the risk of losing your foot is well worth it. 

Your breasts scrub against him as you struggle on tippy toes, clawing at your hairpin with the ferocity of a cat. And as your nipples knot beneath the rough glide of your uniform, you are reminded of the devastating press of His Majesty’s body. By the Gods, it’s too much. You’re sure your face is all types of flustered now, heat spuming beneath your skin.

“My, my. Throwing yourself at your king like this. How scandalous,” he purrs, enjoying your plight a little too much. His twisted way of getting revenge. 

“Your Majesty, that is my mother’s,” you pant, taking a step back with beseeching eyes. 

He clicks his tongue, studying the pin as if it houses all the secrets to your bloodline. “That makes the spoils of victory that much sweeter.”

You watch with puffed up cheeks as he tucks the hairpin into his breast pocket, the jaded metal gleaming condescendingly at you. 

“Consider it collateral.”

For what, you haven’t the foggiest. 

With all the smugness of the world, your king brushes past you, his hands in his pockets. You stomp behind him, fighting to keep stride with his longer ones, clawing at his pocket when a moment presents itself. 

You try to sweep your hair into some semblance of neatness before the pair of you meet his advisor. Before curious eyes can form questions where there should be none. 

You hardly miss the enamored smile rounding his lips as he peers at you over his shoulder. 

“You lunatic,” you curse beneath your breath, barely concealing the hint of fondness inhabiting your voice.

— 

It all makes sense as you shackle his neck with a rusted collar. You can count on one hand how often you’ve had to do this in the past year. 

You step back after sliding your fingers over the stubble on his cheeks. His eyes harbor a deep sadness despite the smirk on his face, baring a pointed canine. 

“What? No muzzle this time?”

You scoff, kneeling before him, defiantly peering into his eyes, a harsh forefinger pressed between his pectorals. “If you keep talking, I’ll have one of the twins fetch it from the car.”

He chuckles at your brazenness. Leave it to him to try to lighten the mood in an atmosphere rife with tension. Thick with urgency, with fear. He tests the cuffs around his wrists and ankles, ensuring they won’t give too much when they’re put to the test later.

As if on autopilot, you reach out to ease sweat-slicked hair from his forehead, and he pauses, those brilliantly devastating eyes drinking you in. 

He swallows, studying the ground. For the first time in a long time, you’ve seen true fear stain your king’s visage. 

“One day, I won’t leave this cage as the man you know and love.”

You scoff, masking your anxiety as you placatingly pat his thigh. You stand, swiping his coat on the way up, dust speckling its sleeves. You have to be strong. You’re slowly falling apart at the seams but must remain fearless. He needs all the strength you can lend him right now.

You give him a quick look, a brief upward pull of your lips, before turning away from your king, the cage’s heavy door squealing shut behind you. You err in your steps when he calls your name. Slightly tilt your chin over your shoulder.

“When that day comes, I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain.”

Your grip on his coat tightens, jaw set in a terse line. “That day will never come,” you murmur, more to yourself than him, and you hurry up the sand-laden stairs towards the structure’s entrance. 

The twins address you with curt nods as you pass them on your way to the car. Night and soaring evergreens stretch overhead like a yawning beast. The moon peers through the treetops, sluggishly cresting its way to the center of the sky.

You sling His Majesty’s coat across the backseat. Stiffen when a familiar glint of silver catches your sight from behind his breast pocket. You grit your teeth, leaning against the car door to grant yourself a moment of respite.

“How do you stand this? Does it ever get any easier?” you recall Tara asking, her eyes glossing over with a thin film of tears as she squeezed your hands. 

She was still fresh to this lifestyle. To this harrowing secret lurking beneath the kingdom. You couldn’t blame her for being scared witless. No one wanted to see the king in pain. Only a handful of people knew of his true nature. What bubbled beneath his skin. 

It never does, you think, pushing off from the car and slamming the door shut. 

Your boots crunch soundly over dead grass and splintered twigs as you make your way back to the twins. You squeeze Kieran’s shoulder reassuringly, giving him a tight-lipped smile. He nods, his somberness hidden beneath the gaudy beak of his mask. 

It never gets easier, hearing him scream like that. Bloodcurdling and raw, reminiscent of a demon clawing its way from the hells. Hearing him call to you in a voice so broken, you feel its talons sinking into your heart. You’ve just grown more skilled at hiding your pain. Holding back your tears.

What good are you if you can’t even protect your liege from himself?

— tags: @f1c-recs, @mt2sssss, @samoankpoper21, @lovemesomesaltysylus

prologue | masterlist

[loufr6]

pick a card – what your future boyfriend will be like

hey loves! so many of you have asked me for love readings, and the ones I’ve done so far have gotten such positive feedback, so I thought… why not try my very first Pick a Card for you all?

take a moment to relax, clear your mind, and simply choose one of several piles or images that resonate with you the most. Each pile is linked to a unique tarot spread, and the cards in that pile will give you insights into your situation trust your intuition, let’s see what the cards have to say about your future boyfriend!

scroll down for your reading…

pile 1 – the dreamy but insecure romantic

cards: the star (reversed), the empress, the high priestess, the world

your future boyfriend has so much potential, but he tends to doubt himself a lot. the star reversed shows that he might have gone through some tough times that have shaken his confidence in love, but don’t worry—he’s healing. with the empress and the high priestess, he is deep, sensitive, and very in touch with his emotions. he admires someone who is emotionally intelligent and knows how to connect on a deeper level. the world suggests that this relationship will be whole and fulfilling, possibly involving travel or being from different backgrounds. it will feel complete and full of potential, but it might take some time for him to fully open up to you.

♡ where you might meet: through travel, online, or a creative/spiritual setting.

pile 2 – the mysterious intellectual

cards: the hermit, the hierophant (reversed), strength, the magician

this man is not the type to rush into things. the hermit shows he is introspective, wise, and prefers to take his time. he might even seem a little distant or reserved at first. the hierophant reversed suggests he might not follow the traditional path in love, and he could have an unconventional view of relationships. but here’s the beauty—strength and the magician show that once he’s ready, he’s incredibly powerful and determined. he’s someone who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to make things happen. he’s likely to be successful in his career and creative pursuits, and his quiet confidence will draw you in.

♡ where you might meet: at a place of learning or intellectual discussion, work, or a deep event that sparks curiosity.

pile 3 – the reformed bad boy with a golden heart

cards: the devil (reversed), the sun, judgment (reversed), death

this guy has been through a lot and is really learning how to let go of his past. the devil reversed tells me he’s breaking free from toxic cycles or habits. he might have a wild side, but he’s working on finding balance. the sun shows that when he’s in a good place, he is radiating positivity and love—he’ll light up your world. but he’s still navigating a few things. judgment reversed suggests that he’s a little hesitant about embracing the full change he needs to grow. still, death is here, and that’s a card of transformation. he’s on the verge of letting go of what no longer serves him and stepping into a much better future.

♡ where you might meet: during a period of change or a big life transformation for both of you.

pile 4 – the passionate but mysterious lover

cards: the lovers, the wheel of fortune, the moon, the chariot

this man is a mix of deep passion and mystery. the lovers shows that he’s someone who is very romantic and could be torn between a few paths in life, especially when it comes to love. it’s possible he has a lot of options but is waiting for the right one to come along. the wheel of fortune suggests that your connection will feel fated—as if it was meant to be. things might fall into place at just the right time, but he does have a secretive side (thanks to the moon). he might not always show you all of himself at first, but the chariot tells me that when he commits, he does it with everything he has.

♡ where you might meet: an unexpected situation, or perhaps when things in your life are shifting or changing.

which pile did you pick? does it resonate with you? let me know in the comments!

[sarah-the-bird-nerd]

Holding their first born child for the first time

The 141 + König and Alejandro holding their first born for the first time.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Johnny is experienced babies, he has several nieces and nephews so there is little to no hesitation from him. The moment he can ,he has your little one wrapped up in his arms, he's ready to do it all. That baby is cuddled close and he's taking pictures, sending them to the rest of the team and then he takes a moment to really look at the baby and cries, because he never thought he'd make it long enough to have a wee bairn of his own.

And Johnny being Johnny, he's already trying to convince the baby to say "Daddy". You will end up yelling at him for holding the baby up Lion King style.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Kyle, while excited and eager, lets you have your moment with the baby, he waits until you are ready to rest, which honestly, isn't that long after you've delivered because it was a very long, very hard delivery. The moment you decide that its his turn, his shirt comes off, he wants that skin to skin contact. He'd done his research in the 9 months before and he wanted his bonding time.

The weight of the baby on his chest is so little that if he hadn't seen the baby be placed on his chest...he would almost not know. He gazes down at the baby with so much pride, love and devotion that anyone who saw them would melt. You included, if you weren't out cold. While you sleep, he continues to hold the baby to his chest, talking to them and telling them all about the protection he'd give them.

Captain John Price

John gets to be the very first person to hold your baby. You had a c-section and while they offered to place them on your chest while they closed you up, you had smiled softly and said that John should hold them first. He accepted the bundle with ease, sitting on a stool next to you. He is fascinated by the little one, cuddling them close to his chest and reaching a hand out, the baby wrapping their tiny fingers around his index finger as you stare over at them in awe. He promises then and there that he will burn the world down to protect them.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Simon almost missed it, he had been training with the team, but he got there and the moment he held his baby he knew he was done for, so in love, in awe that this tiny little human was his. You can see the tears in his eyes, he refuses to let them out, but they are there. You almost feel like you shouldn't be watching this moment because he is completely lost in the baby and he will not put them down. Eventually, you drift off, and as you do you can hear Simon talking to them, promising to be the best father he can be and that he would give them the childhood that he didn't get and that no one would get the chance to hurt them or you.

König

König is scared to hold the baby. The baby is tiny, and König...is not. He's worried that he'll hurt them, drop them or be too rough and it takes a good hour to convince him that it's okay. The moment that he does, he is tracing his large fingers over the baby's tiny limbs, fascinated by just how small this creature is in his hands.

Alejandro

Alejandro is nearly buzzing with excitement. This little baby is a piece of both of you, a symbol of your love and your strength (you had a home birth)...At first he sits with you on your bed, looking down with pride and cuddling close to both of you, and then he gets to hold the baby, settling into the rocking chair that he had bought for you. He rocks gently, telling the baby stories and making promises, talking about how amazing their mom is and that both of your will protect them with their lives.

[telephoniii]

WHY WOULD A FELLOW WANT A GIRL LIKE HER?

☆彡 in which malleus and leona fight for your affections

leona kingscholar x gn!reader & malleus draconia x gn!reader

word counter: 4K

warnings: reader is prefect, cursing, love triangle, possible ooc

a/n: based off of the song “stepsister’s lament” from cinderella the musical— hence the title. one of my favorite works!! I had fun writing this!! both mal and leona are capital p PETTY and I'm living for it. i hope you enjoy :>

No matter how much he claims he doesn't care, Leona finds himself hissing at the sight of you and Malleus together. He wants to deny it so badly— but deep down he knows. 

He knows as he glares at you, sitting on a bench beside the fae, giggling and having a jolly old time. He’s well aware of what he’s feeling as he scoffs, telling the greedy hyena beside him that he’s returning to the dorm.

And he’s fully conscious as he lays in bed, staring at the ceiling; unable to get the image of you and that spiny horned reptile out of his head. 

He’s jealous. Envious. And any damn variation of the sort.

Out of all the people you could choose to spend your time with, you pick that slimy lizard?! 

Your taste is questionable—who’s he kidding? Absolutely awful. Really, going for the guy who doesn’t age? Ever think about how awkward it’s going to be when you’re getting hip pains and he still looks like a teenager? Hell, he’s not one for settling down but wouldn’t you at least want someone with the capacity of growing old together?!

What does that scaley little scumbag do for you anyway?

Sure, Malleus does gift you little trinkets you’ve mentioned in passing. Leona isn’t blind; he can see the way you light up at these gifts. He distinctly remembers seeing a dorky gargoyle keychain on your bag. It stank of that fae freak. 

Yet you seemed to adore the tiny statue, so much so that you went on a small rant about the history. To Leona’s surprise, he listened to every single word you had to say about it. Gargoyles are always way more interesting when it’s you talking about it. 

Though, everything involving you is more interesting nowadays… He had to resist the urge to sand that stupid little toy right then and there.

And he’s well aware of the ‘secret’ walks the two of you have at unholy times of the night, talking about whatever that overgrown lizard is interested in. The way you speak of it like nobody knows is irritating. Only an idiot wouldn’t pick up on it. 

Too bad NRC is full of idiots.

It’s not like it matters too much anyway. He doubts Malleus has the charisma to charm you. The guy isn’t invited to a whole lot of events for a reason. While Leona knows he can come off as a prick, he’s still a prince nonetheless. He was taught how to flatter and flirt— he remembers being surrounded by a bunch of bootlickers as a cub. 

He isn’t intimidated by Malleus’s magic all too much either. Although he’s more than sure you wouldn’t fall for a person solely based on their strength, Leona believes he could take on Malleus. The lizard is painfully predictable after all. 

Not to mention most of his ‘shows of power’ are akin to temper tantrums. If dueling wasn’t banned, that pathetic excuse of a dragon would be dragged in the mud by him.

Everything Malleus does for you, he could do better. He’s sure of it. 

Beneath the surface, is he scared of coming second place to yet another person? Terrified that he’ll always be the second-best choice? That all the time spent with you would never be more than that? Maybe. 

But those night terrors are lessened when he sees you approach— knowing he was the sole reason you were there. 

Leona feels his heart race as you sit beside him, casually talking about your day and whatever hijinks you got into. He worries you might hear just how fast it beats for you when you nap with him, laying your head on his chest. 

As he hears you mumble his name in your sleep, he feels reassured that he’s your one. 

I mean— why would someone as great as you ever want a flimsy, little lizard? Especially when he’s right here, ready to be your pillow in hard and happy times. 

~

A green thunderbolt struck through the sky. Coincidentally, you happened to be napping on Leona outside when this happened— shaking the both of you awake.

Did Malleus do this on purpose?… Of course not. He’s not immature enough to do that, unlike a certain lion he knows.

It’s not his fault that you two were cuddling outside when he was ‘testing’ out something with his thunder.

That doesn’t mean he was any less satisfied watching you get up and walk back to your dorm, leaving that mangy cat by himself.

He never understood what value you gained from hanging around someone as…unusual as Kingscholar. A ‘prince’ who lays around, sleeping the day away? What a joke! Wouldn’t you rather have a prince— better yet a ruler— who’s proactive in his kingdom?

That flappy street cat is better suited to accompany Grim rather than yourself. 

He doubts Kingscholar would hold open the door for you like he does! 

Malleus has heard it’s a human custom to do so; ever since then, he’s now perfected the art of swiftly rushing over to a door and slamming it open for you. It delights him when you giggle at his antics. He bets that idiotic lion would never be able to do that— Kingscholar barely moves anyway. It’s like he’s glued to that bed of his.

Kingscholar seems as though he’d let the door slam in your face. That alone just shows how superior Malleus is to him. 

Although, Kingscholar’s words of advice indeed seemed to matter to you quite a lot. Every time you had attracted chaos, you commonly turned to the lazy loaf and asked for his perspective. And each time, without fail, Mal had watched you take the prince’s suggestion in stride and use it.

It pains him to admit it, sometimes Kingscholar can be rather clever. Malleus is somewhat glad that said lion uses his intelligence to keep you safe.

He doesn’t know what, but something about Kingscholar’s mere existence seems to relax you. Malleus has seen you look at ease in a way he’s never witnessed before when you simply just lay beside the other student. He watches with envy as Kingscholar’s tail protectively wraps around your thigh. 

As long as you’re safe… Malleus supposes he can bear through you hanging out with the lion.

That won’t stop him from interrupting the two of you whenever he feels the time is right. Sudden bolts of thunder, random objects falling from the sky and hitting Kingscholar on the head, out-of-the-blue power outages…

It’s all fair play to him. You still get to hang out with that lazy excuse of a prince anyway.

It doesn’t matter too much to him— at least that’s what he tells himself. It’s not as though you’d leave him to hang out with Kingscholar; no, you’d never. 

You’ll stay, won’t you?

He’s sure of it as you walk beside him in the dead of night. Nobody else knows, nor do they need to as you two stroll along the campus. Seeing your enthusiastic smile next to him as you talk about your dreams fills him with unexplainable joy. Malleus fights the urge to hold your hand, interlocking your fingers with his.

You seemed to have read his mind— you always do understand him like no other— as you glanced down at your hands. A small giggle leaves your lips before you inch your hand closer to his.

“Can we…?” You hum with hopeful and amused eyes.

Wordlessly, Malleus indulges now with your consent. The warmth of your hand compared to the polarizing coldness of his made him feel dizzy. In a good way. 

You’ll never leave him. At least not when you're hand in hand together like this.

~

“Man I’m starving— Hurry it up, henchman!” A familiar, squeaky voice demanded as Grim pushed on your shoulder. 

“Patience, patience. This is very important. It can determine my mood for the rest of the day.” You murmured, standing strong despite Grim’s efforts. Narrowing your eyes, you stared at the different lunch options. 

What were you going to eat today?

“Prefect has a point. Your nutrition affects the way you function.” Jack shrugs behind Grim, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“You say that like they’re going to eat something healthy.” Ace yawns, stretching out his arm and lightly hitting Deuce. “Hurry it up, Prefect! Clock’s ticking!”

“Fine! Fine!” Quickly, you grabbed the same thing you’ve gotten for the past week. A series of groans emerged from behind you.

“All that time just to get that?” Ace crossed his arms, giving you an unamused look. 

“Okay, I’ll get something else then—“

“—Nononononono!” Practically everyone behind you yelled in a panic.

“Just go sit down ‘n secure us a table already!” Epel huffs, to which you happily comply.

You scout out the area, looking for a free table to sit at. Geez, was the cafeteria always this packed?

A sigh of relief escapes your lips as you spot a familiar, robotic Shroud waving to you from a table.

“Prefect!” Ortho chirps, his voice synthesizer going a pitch up. Just as you were about to walk over, you felt your blazer being pulled on from the back. Suddenly, you were yanked away.

“Ay! Watch it—!” You grab the hand that was pulling on you, turning around to come face to face with a smug Ruggie.

“Leona’s callin’ you.”

You rolled your eyes.

“He didn’t want to send a text or call? He just had to send a goon to come and get me?” 

Ruggie nodded with a cheeky grin.

“Yep.”

Groaning, you turn towards Ortho and wave him goodbye, signaling that you are going to leave. “Lead the way, hyena.”

And with that, you found yourself walking through the hallways on your way to Savanaclaw. You hope Ortho told the others about you leaving. It kinda slipped your mind to tell them.

You snapped out of your thoughts as you heard munching coming from Ruggie— “Wait, that's my lunch you’re eating! How’d you even…!? When did you…?!”

It also slipped your mind that Ruggie is both a great thief and greedy when it comes to food.

“Shishishishi… you left yourself open, Prefect! I’m sure Leona will get you something else to eat. He always does.”

“Always is a stretch.” You grumble, watching Ruggie eat your food. “Is it?” You didn’t want to ponder his question. 

Instead, you turn your gaze ahead of you and focus on walking… At least that’s what you would be doing if you didn’t walk face-first into somebody. 

“Gah! I’m so sorry—“ “Child of man.” 

Only one person used that nickname for you. Looking up, you were met with Malleus’s amused smile. 

“Impeccable timing,” The fae seemed happy to see you. You could see his fangs the way he was smiling. Ruggie was unsettled but thankful that Malleus was ignoring his presence. “Would you accompany me for lunch? Lilia, Sebek, and Silver will be there too, of course.” 

You were about to accept right away before you felt a light hit to your side. Ruggie sneakily elbowed you. Before you could curse at him, he gave you a look and— Oh, right. You were going with him to spend lunch with Leona already. A small frown made its way on your lips as you turned back to Malleus.

Great sevens, it was hard to turn him down. Especially when he was all cheery like this. 

Fortunately— or unfortunately, you didn’t have to. A roaring voice from behind you did it for you.

“Herbivore’s coming with me. They agreed to it already.” Leona huffed, a scowl clear on his face as he approached. Ruggie seemed surprised.

“Leona?! What’re you—“ “Did they now? I didn’t exactly hear them say no to my proposal though.” Malleus interrupted Ruggie, whose ears went flat against his head. 

“They don’t need to. They’ve already got plans.” The lion growled, narrowing his eyes at the other third year. 

Malleus stepped forward, the fae’s irritation growing. “Why do you insist on speaking for them so vigorously? My dear child of man, don’t let him dictate your choices—“

“I’m not doing shit. Just stating what they already agreed to.” Leona also stepped forward, refusing to back down. 

You were starting to get worried and turned your head to murmur something to Ruggie. Except Ruggie wasn’t there. The hyena snuck off already. Bastard. A voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Well, Prefect? Who would you rather accompany? Kingscholar— who’ll likely laze around the whole lunch— or I?”

“Damn lizard…” Leona grumbled under his breath before shaking his head and facing you. “Well? The choice is yours. I wouldn’t force you to do anything.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, your gaze flickering between the two. “Well… I—“

Before you could finish, you were interrupted by a loud ring.

The lunch bell had rung. It was time to head back to class.

~

“Are you doing okay?” You ask, shifting closer to Leona. He lets out a small grunt in response, his eyes closed as he sprawled out in his usual spot inside the Botanical Garden. 

For as tough as Leona was, he was unusually soft when tired. He carried this relaxing air around him. That no matter what happens, you’ll be okay with him around. The thought makes you smile as you tilt your head at him.

He was also kinda cute when he laid there like that—

“Quit staring.”

Leona abruptly huffed out. Blinking in surprise, you soon realize that one of his eyes was cracked open. A tiny blush finds its way on your cheeks while he stutters out an apology. The lion’s lips soon form a smug grin.

“You were looking at me pretty attentively, herbivore…” His words are slow and agonizing. Leona’s tail swishes up and down as he leans in closer. Your eyes widen as he comes mere inches away from your face; from your lips.

“…Got something you want to tell me?” You feel your breath hitched at the sudden, feather-light touch of Leona’s hand against yours. Just as you were about to respond—

“Roi du Lions!” 

The romantic atmosphere Leona so carefully built went down the drain, along with his motivation. A groan left his lips.

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt.” Trey soon appears behind Rook, an apologetic expression on his face. You shake your head, standing up. 

“You’re good! What’re you two up to?” 

Leona had an annoyed look on his face as you engaged with the other students. He tried to ignore and drown out everyone’s voices. At least he was, till Rook caught his attention.

“During an exploration for new ingredients that we could bring to our club, Roi de Dragons made a magical appearance.“ You raised a brow while Leona’s ear flicked.

Trey let out a small chuckle at Rook’s dramatic storytelling.

“Malleus just asked us to find something for him in the Botanical Garden.” 

Leona’s scowl deepened. That damn lizard.

“Maybe we could help! What’re you looking for?” You offered.

Trey soon fiddled with his pocket, searching for something. Shortly after, he pulls out a piece of paper. “A… toy? It looks like this. Malleus said he last had it here.”

You made an “O” shape with your mouth. “His virtual pet! Gao-Gao!” Trey lets you hold the paper, letting you get a closer look at the drawing that resembled Malleus’s Tamogachi. 

“I know what it looks like, I’ve got no idea where he could’ve left it though…” Soon enough, you, Trey, and Rook are scouring the Botanical Gardens for this little toy. Leona finds this stupid. 

Slightly bitter about his ruined moment, he lays back down to take a nap.

That’s when his ear flinched after hitting something hard. Turning around with a displeased look, Leona’s eyes narrowed.

There, in his favorite sleeping spot was Malleus’s dumb toy —which wasn’t there literally minutes ago might he add. Picking it up, Leona contemplated crushing the small electronic. However, as he held it, the lion was quick to notice a bit of ink getting on his fingers. 

He turned the Tamogachi around. Written on the back with a blue pen was “Kingscholar :)”

Oh, that fucking Draconia did this on purpose.

~

Sitting up from your bed, you rub your eyes. With an annoyed groan, you get up and go to the door— trying not to wake Grim in the process. You could feel the ghost watching with curiosity. Not that you blamed them. Hell, you were curious too!

Who was knocking at 2 in the morning!?

The sun wasn’t even up. Ramshackle probably looked horrid, inside and outside, at this time.

You weren’t looking too great either: bags beneath your eyes, saggy pajamas, slouched posture… Vil would die on the spot if he saw you. Internally, you prayed it was anybody but him. And thank the Sevens that your prayer was answered.

You titled your head in confusion at the one in front of you.

“Malleus?” He smiled back at you. As though his appearance on your doorstep at the crack ass of dawn was the most normal thing ever.

“Greetings.”

You shook your head, still waking up and trying to make sense of the situation. “Do… Do you need something?”

Now he looked confused. Which only heightened your confusion.  The fae furrowed his brows. “Did you not want to talk, child of man?” 

“I like talking with you! Just, preferably not this early in the morning— Look, why are you here? Did you just want to hang out, Tsunotarou?” You tried being as polite as possible, but damn you were tired. 

Malleus looked just as lost as you.

“…Perhaps you’ve forgotten about the letter you sent me?” You look to the side, slightly scrunching your nose as you try to remember what ‘letter’ he was referring to. 

“Uhh— When did I send this letter?” You give him an apologetic smile. It wasn’t too far-fetched; the idea of you giving him an invitation to Ramshackle. 

However, you feel as though you would’ve remembered if you had actually done it. And you would’ve hoped that past you would be smart enough to set your invitation time to anytime BUT 2 AM. 

“I recall receiving this letter yesterday, in the library,” Malleus explained, his hand reaching into his pocket to find said paper. “You slipped it to me when you walked by—“

The fae grabbed his invitation, only for him to be met with sand that trickled down his hand.

“—with Kingscholar…” He fell silent as he stared at the tiny particles in his hand. You seemed to catch on quickly, giving him a sympathetic look as your eyes flickered between the sand and him.

“Tsunotarou, did you see me give you this letter?” 

The way he averted his eyes to the side, his pale cheeks faintly turning pink from embarrassment, already gave you the answer you needed. It’d be cute if not for the circumstances. As expected, Malleus shook his head.

“My apologies… I assumed it was you since I had acquired it right after you had waved at me and it was an invitation to Ramshackle.”

You let out a small chuckle before brushing off the sand that still dirtied his hand. “Don’t sweat it. It’s not your fault that Leona is… well Leona and he does stuff like this.” Offering Malleus a smile, your hand soon intertwined with his. The blush on his cheeks subtly brightened.

“Well, you did come all this way just to hang out. It’d be a shame to turn you away now. Here, come.” You kick the door to open it wider and pull the fae inside Ramshackle. Leading him to the couch, you could gauge that Malleus was amused by your antics. Practically dragging one of the top mages in the world by the arm into your dorm…

“Let me just freshen up first! Wait here— I’ll be right back. Then we could watch some movies or whatever.” You shrugged with a grin before running upstairs to wash up. Malleus gave you a polite and happy wave as you exited.

Once you left, he let out a sigh and leaned back on the couch. His hands balled into fists as he felt more sand pooling in his pockets. A green bolt of lightning struck from the sky.

That measly fucking lion.

~

You let out an aggravated sigh. Did they not think you realized what both of them were doing to each other? Between the Tamagotchi incident and the whole letter debacle a few nights ago, they were being so obvious.

Jeez, you get that they had a rivalry going on and whatnot, but why did they have to involve you? Fed up and rambling, you look to your side at Grim to get his thoughts on the matter. He sat next to you in the kitchen, munching away on a can of tuna.

“They’re getting really annoying! Stealing my henchmen’s time like that…” A chuckle left your lips at Grim’s bitterness, causing you to pet him on the head. 

“Mhm. I just want them to quit it— at least around me. I’m good friends with both and care a lot about them… Also, don’t talk with a mouthful.” You lightheartedly huff, getting up from your seat to grab Grim another can of tuna as he was beginning to finish his first. He usually ate two to three cans before bedtime.

“Why don’t ya just tell 'em?” The cat curiously asked with a tilt of the head, staring at you. You let out a snort. “Yeah, just tell two extremely powerful mages with an intense hatred for one another to stop. Like that’ll work.”

Grim let out an annoyed groan at your sarcasm. You opened a new can of tuna and slid it to him. His frown quickly disappeared as he began to dig in.

“Eh— sounds like Leona and Malleus could use some quality time together.” Grim offhandedly comments, chewing away on his food. 

“What did I say about talking with a mouthful, man?” You roll your eyes before falling silent, pondering his words. Quality time… Leona… Malleus…

“Grim! You’re a genius!”

~

“Herbivore, what the hell.” Leona’s tone was unamused, giving you a deadpan look.

“I thought it’d be nice if we hung out all together! As a group?” 

The two men stared daggers at each other across the small, dusty table in Ramshackle. With a nervous chuckle, your eyes flickered between the two as you slowly passed out cards for some random board game that Idia lent you.

Leona and Malleus didn’t take their eyes off one another. It was at this moment you were starting to think that Grim, in fact, was not a genius.

These two were definitely going to kill each other.

[softaestluv]

Sticky When Wet

Three times Ghost swore he hated honey with his tea and one time he admitted he couldn’t live without it.

Alpha! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Omega! Reader

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Omegaverse, Alpha/Omega stereotypical behavior, Scenting, Angst, Miscommunications, Denial, Simon is bad at feelings, Possessive behavior, Jealousy, Size difference, Eventual smut

CW: This chapter does contain a little bit of non consensual touching of the face & harassment. However, Ghost is not the one doing it.

Pt. 1, Pt. 2 of 4, Pt. 3

It’s not that you needed someone to look after you, truthfully. You weren’t some weak omega who needed an alpha’s protection— Ghost’s protection.

Ghost just so happened to find himself in these situations; he didn’t want an omega to protect.

Maybe he was lying. Maybe.

However, he couldn’t sit and do nothing about it; his alpha wouldn’t let him, not when it involved you. He could only stand there and listen to a group of trainees rave about you, your honey scent, for so long. They were supposed to be training, but all they seemed to focus on was your lithe frame across the gym and your tempting movements.

Ghost didn’t even know why you were here. Why you chose to work out at this specific time for everyone to see. You didn’t need to work out. You worked in the cafeteria on base; it’s not like you were about to be deployed. Not like Ghost would even allow that to happen if it were possible.

You didn’t need muscle; he was all the strength you would ever need, enough for the both of you. You could remain soft and squishy, plump in all the right places. Just like an omega should be, supple flesh, bulging curves for him to hold, squeeze, use as leverage.

Yet there you were, across the gym during training, for all the recruits to see for some reason. It’s like you fucking wanted them to ogle at you. Ogle at the pretty omega working out in an outfit that seemed too small to be proper clothing. Shorts that barely covered the curve of your ass, rising every so often to reveal a sliver of plump skin during certain movements. Fitted shirt that cinched in the front, deep neckline jutting the fat of your breasts out.

Simon didn’t even want to acknowledge the rest. He didn’t care about it, really. Didn’t care that the plump flesh of your thighs jiggled with each new exercise or how your breasts bounced softly, tauntingly.

He didn’t notice any of it.

Didn’t notice the sweat cascading down your precious skin or how it collected in your collarbones, cleavage, or upper lip. Covering your body in a glistening sheen. Ghost didn’t see any of that; he didn’t even care enough to spare you a glance.

Why would he? He could fucking smell your stench miles away, even through the other alpha's strong scents.

The tones of sage honey and sweet tangerine remained, but now a natural musk joined. An overwhelming scent of sweat and exhaustion intermingled with your sweetness. Ghost supposed you would smell that exact way during sex, though it lacked the arousal that would seep from your scent glands. Tainting the saccharine smell raw and tempting.

He didn’t know what the big deal was. Why all the other men couldn’t keep their urges in their pants to save their lives. No one else complained about your pungent aroma; instead, they seemed to do the complete opposite. Foaming at the mouth like they’ve never smelt omega before. Like your scent was divinity on earth.

The perverted men almost disgusted him more than your scent. Enraged him when they talked about you like you were their dessert.

“Jesus, training ain’t so bad when you get a pretty little show like that, huh?” A recruit laughed, gesturing to your form on the yoga mat.

“You got that right. Practically wearing nothing too,” The second alpha added, smirking wolfishly in response.

The first recruit clapped the other on the back, pulling him closer to mumble to him as if Ghost still couldn’t hear the deceitful words he wanted to share, “Like she wants us to watch her. Especially with that honey fucking scent, begging for our attention.”

“Watch her? She’s probably close to her heat. She's desperate for one of us to fuck her,” the other chuckled.

Ghost's skin was already burning, scalding his bones, but those words, even the thought of another man taking you during your heat had him seeing red. Your heat of all times to take you. When you were so desperate you’d take any alpha that was willing. Regardless of their ulterior motives, regardless if they wouldn’t take care of you the way Ghost would.

You wouldn’t be able to think straight during your heat, just searching for a mate who could knot you, and the fact that the other alphas even thought of taking advantage of your vulnerable state made him seethe with rage.

Besides, Ghost is the only alpha that could take care of you the way you need.

Not like he wanted to help you through your heat.

But at least he would honor your boundaries; your limits. Give you what you craved the way you wanted, not the way he did. Make your throbbing pain go away with his thick knot, keep you nice and satisfied on his cock.

Not like he wanted that.

He was appalled by the thought of your honey scent. Disgusted by the thought of your honeyed slick coating his knot, drenching him sticky, squeezing him tightly.

“Little petite thing too; she’d be easy to make obey.”

God.

Simon was sure there wasn’t a god, but just hearing those words had him hoping there was a higher being to control his actions. Unfortunately, the trainee was right. You were petite. Small structure, lithe frame, dainty little figure. Easily overpowered by every alpha in this room, by Ghost. Tiny little thing in comparison to his massive body. Which is why you do need an alpha’s protection, especially from these men.

You would obey. Though not because you wanted to but because your instincts had no choice but to submit to an alpha’s voice. Simon wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t use his alpha voice with you; wouldn’t even let his scent seep into the room. Intense training had taught him how to control his scent; he would keep the room as sterol as possible keep his dominating scent to a minimum so that your decision was ultimately made by you and not instincts or hormones.

One of the men walked to you, bending over your lying frame on the yoga mat. His dark shadow loomed over your body as you looked up in shock, sliding your headphones off. Simon couldn’t tell what the other man was saying from here, but his jaw ticked in irritation watching you chuckle lightly at whatever he said, sitting up from your lying position.

The man reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as he iterated smug words to you. Ghost’s alpha snarled loudly in his chest, plotting the other man’s death for even putting his fingers on your pure skin. Tainting your purity. Your scent instantly soured, natural musk turning into apprehension and fright.

Ghost's feet were moving before he even realized, alpha urging him to do something to eliminate the threat to the omega. His hand gravitated to your chin, tilting your head to look up at him. The nervous energy seeped off you, your irises drowning in anxiety as you flickered your eyes at him.

“Hmm?” The alpha hummed, “A dainty omega like you should have an alpha to fuck you through your heat, no?”

You gulped thickly, “N-Not gonna go into heat anytime soon. I’m on suppressants.”

That sentence had Ghost swallowing just as loudly. If this is how strong your scent radiated off you on suppressants, he couldn’t even imagine how strong you would smell off of them. Honeyed scent already ruined his black tea, ruined his food. Made his head throb in irritation and disgust from how overwhelming your sickly sweet scent filled the mess hall. He was sure his head would pulse erratically, probably explode in frustration, if he ever smelt your raw, unfiltered scent. Nauseate him to the core with how sweet you would smell, rot his teeth from one breath.

“What a shame,” He continued, “Though, doesn’t mean you still don’t need an ache met.”

“I’m not looking for that right now,” You mumbled weakly, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you avoided his domineering gaze.

“No? Why not? I could give you what you want,” The sergeant continued despite your obvious apprehensions.

“Sergeant.”

The man's eyes snapped up to Ghost’s, raising his eyebrows at him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ghost snarled, practically yelling in anger, rage purposely seeping through his scent glands to ward off the other alpha.

“Just talking to this little bird is all,” He responded, smirking proudly as he rubbed his thumb over your chin.

A motion that had you flinching away slightly. A motion that had his alpha growling loudly in warning, balling his fists. A growl that had the other man halting his movements.

“Do I need to take this up with Captain Price? Or would you rather I address this issue myself?” Ghost gritted through his teeth, holding in the urge to solve the problem by ridding him of this Earth himself.

“No, s-sir. You don’t have to tell captain,” The other man stuttered, confident tone disappearing as Ghost stood over him, skull balaclava casting shadows on his face.

“No? Then get the fuck out of here before I use you as an example during sparring.”

The sergeant nodded swiftly, running off just as all the other men had when they met Ghost’s wrath. You shifted from foot to foot, wearily looking up at him.

“Why do you let them do that?”

“Not to sound rude, sir, but I’m not letting them harass me. They just do it. Can’t really fight back against an alpha. I mean,” you chuckled lightly, hands gesturing down your body, “Not really built for that.”

Simon clenched his fists tightly, focusing on your doe eyes so his irises wouldn’t follow your movements, trace every curve on your body. He knew you weren’t built for that. God, did he know. But your dainty frame was definitely built for other things.

“Maybe if you didn’t parade your scent around they wouldn’t approach you so often.”

Your brows furrowed, just as they did in the cafeteria, confusion blooming on your face once again, “Sir, I am doing no such thing. I’m on suppressants.”

Ghost sighed, eyes twitching in irritation, “Next time, come get me. I’ll deal with them.”

Your face flushed a pretty pink, swiping your tongue across your lips, “You don’t have to-“

“Come get me.”

His gaze pinned you to the spot; end of your sentence evaporated from your lips as he interrupted you, nodding your head in agreement.

“Thank you for always looking out for me.”

Ghost grunted in acknowledgment, turning around to walk away, but you grabbed his sleeve before he could, stopping his movements. He looked down, your lip pinched between your teeth as you avoided his gaze.

“Um, is there a certain way you like your tea?” You asked, tiny hand awkwardly falling from his arm.

“What? Why does that matter?”

“Well, I always see you drink it in the mess hall, but if you want anything added I could always mix it in for you. Like milk.”

You paused, eyes shifting to find his.

“Or honey.”

Ghost almost grimaced as you said the word. Voice dripping in the same sugary warmth of your scent.

“Your scent already sweetens it enough as it is.”

The pink on your cheeks bloomed red, spreading to the tips of your ears at his words.

“I’ll try my best not to anymore, sir.”

And if the next day the mess hall smelt sterile, void of all sage honey and sweet tangerine, Ghost didn’t care.

If you served him a tray with scent blockers covering your scent glands, he didn’t feel guilty.

If he drank his black tea, it didn’t taste stale, didn’t lack any sweetness he craved. He was grateful even; he could finally drink his tea plain, just how it always should’ve been.

If he just so happened to leave his cup of tea untouched that day, it was simply because he wasn’t thirsty. Not because it burned his tongue bitterly.

Tag List: @terrifiedanimegirl @night-girl-301 @identity2212

[sayusims]

Jinshi and Maomao relationship detail

At first, when watching The Apothecary Diaries, I didn't really want Jinshi and Maomao to be together. I mean, I wanted them to be, but since Jinshi was obviously so much more in love than Maomao, I did not think that it would seriously work out. However, I’ve changed my mind. As I haven’t actually read the light novels yet, some of the information I’m going to use is based on what others have said, and I can’t really confirm 100% if it is true, but since these are discussed somewhat in the community, I feel like they are.

My top reason for thinking they are good together is the fact that they pay extra attention to and look at each other more than others. In Jinshi’s case, he is known for being immensely pretty, but because this is the only thing people look at when it comes to him, it causes him to have an inferiority complex about all of the other skills that he does possess. It also does not help that he is surrounded by anomalies of people who have super strength or are insanely smart, so he feels hopelessly average in comparison. Because of this, when he met Maomao, he thought that she would be the same—someone captivated by his beauty who does not see the real him—but it was the complete opposite. His beauty does not hold worth to her. While she obviously finds him attractive and is probably still attracted to his physical body, his worth to her comes almost solely from his personality. The times in the anime that we see best that she is VERY slowly falling in love are times when she mentions him behaving differently or behaving more like himself instead of the persona he puts on daily. She does find Jinshi annoying a lot, but she likes it when he is more youthful and less eunuch-like.

When it comes to Maomao, I remember that in an episode of the anime, Maomao mentioned how she knows she is hard to read. While Jinshi cannot read her, he still tries. Jinshi never backs down or gets put off when he doesn’t understand her apparent logic; he mostly just trusts her and her judgment. He is incredibly patient with her and honestly does not try to rush things (it is KILLING ME). He is extremely worried about her well-being and making the choice that she wants, not what he wants. It is like when he dismissed her from her job in the first part of season 1. He dismissed her even though he had the power to obviously just not do it but also to just kind of make her work even if she thought it was miserable in the rear palace, because I fear that’s what at least half of the men back then would have done. But even though at this time he had a rabid crush on her and knew he was going to be miserable like he was with his toys when he was younger, he did it since he thought that was what she wanted. Another thing Jinshi notices a lot is her injuries. After, I assume, the third time of someone noticing someone else constantly getting hurt but still either waiting to get help or just not getting it at all, most people would give up. Most people would not jump off a wall and carry them bridal style to the infirmary the sixth time, but Jinshi still did, and he did it with urgency. Every time she gets hurt now, he is always panicking and doing the most he can to help, even if it's most times him just screaming. He never gets tired of her and always wants to be around her at almost every moment.

I want to get the manga volumes and the light novel so badly, but I literally have a 50-bullet-point to-read list that just keeps growing because I’ve been stuck on Crime and Punishment for the last two months. But if anyone has some show ideas (they don't have to be anime) that I can yap about and make my brain work overtime, that would be very helpful.

[artist-owl]

Maedhros’s eyes flicked up as the door to his study cracked open. A beat later, Elrond pushed it the rest of the way open with his back, both of his hands occupied with holding a tray.

Maedhros watched him impassively as Elrond walked up to his desk, carefully balancing a goblet of wine on the tray. “What is this, then?” he asked.

Elrond looked up at him. “I know you like to have wine after supper, and I thought I would bring you some.

Possibly, this was merely an attempt at a kind gesture from the young child, possibly even an attempt at placation. More likely, however…

Maedhros accepted the goblet, looking down at Elrond all the while. Elrond looked back guilelessly. Almost unnoticeably, his eyes flickered between Maedhros and the cup.

Maedhros brought the cup to his face and sniffed it. He paused again, considered it, then sighed, set the cup down on his desk, and looked back to Elrond. “Belladonna?”

The innocent look faltered. Elrond winced.

Maedhros sighed again, and propped his elbows on the table, folding his hand over his stump and peering over them at Elrond. “Do you know where you went wrong?”

Elrond clearly didn’t, but he thought about it, small face screwed up in thought. “I…don’t give you drinks usually, so that was weird?”

“Very good. Anything else?”

Elrond looked up at him blankly.

“May I explain?”

“Please,” Elrond mumbled.

Maedhros leaned back in his chair. “You are correct. The first thing that tipped me off was the unusual action – you have never served me anything before, so that was odd. It would have worked better had you done so and really just served me wine, and then made a habit of it. Eventually I would cease my suspicions, at least to the point that I would sometimes lower my guard and allow my mind to be otherwise occupied when you served it. It would not do to be over-hasty in this; you would need to wait and watch my reactions for a long time to discern when this point was reached, and then also when I did allow myself to pay you less mind. Are you following?”

“Yes.”

“Good. The second thing that tipped me off was your expression. You appeared over-eager, and were plainly waiting on my reaction. Even if I did not know to suspect an assassination attempt from you, I would have been cautious at that look – I had six younger brothers, I am familiar with pranks. The third thing,” he said, picking up the cup once more, “is that I am familiar with the scent of belladonna.”

Elrond made a face. “Drat,” he muttered.

The corner of Maedhros’s mouth twitched. “Quite. Now, there are two more things: a suggestion, and a reminder. The suggestion is thus: poison is the weapon of the cowardly and weak. It is the weapon of those who skulk about in the shadows rather than engage in honourable combat. There is a reason that orc weapons are poisoned, while Elven ones are not.”

Elrond’s face remained screwed up, but shifted to something more thoughtful. “But you’re five times my size, and a way better fighter. I can’t fight you like that and win. Isn’t utilizing cleverness and tactics a vital part of strategy? And knowing both your and your enemy’s strengths and weaknesses, to play up your strengths and downplay their weaknesses? It’s just strategy, and knowing to not try to fight a losing battle.”

“‘Knowingly fighting a losing battle is an excellent summation of the last four or so yéni of war.”

Elrond seemed to consider that. “I’m going to say something that you’re probably going to get mad at.”

“I appreciate the warning. I think.”

“The Noldor tried to assault Angband multiple times, and always failed, but Lúthien and Beren snuck in and got a Silmaril.”

Maedhros closed his eyes and carefully measured his breaths. “You were correct in your assessment,” he finally said.

“Sorry. What was the reminder?”

Maedhros sighed and took a sip from his cup. He lowered it to see Elrond staring at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. Maedhros met his eyes and held his gaze for several beats. “I am an Elf. That which Men find poisonous most often has no effect on us.”

Elrond’s open-mouthed expression went from disbelief to rage in an instant, and he said something in Taliska that Maedhros did not understand and was going to assume was a swear. “I can’t believe I forgot that you…”

“I actually have been prescribed a tincture that included belladonna by my healers before. Regardless, I won’t be finishing this cup, because I need my wits about me tonight, and I have no clue what dosage you came up with.”

“Twice the lethal dose.”

“I have no idea how much nightshade it takes to kill a Man. Either way, it was a good try. I think it could have worked against many people. Remember what I told you. I look forward to your next attempt.”

“So that you can tell me how I failed at that one too?” Elrond asked glumly.

“I have full faith that you will be able to succeed in the future,” Maedhros comforted him.

headcanon that in the early days of their captivity Elrond and Elros tried to kill maedhros and maglor multiple times (even if half-heartedly. They are still good kids) and like, expected to be either punished, killed or thrown out and instead they got constructive criticism back

[hyukalyptus]

covered in me — sub!kai x femdomme!reader

cw. it's kinda implied they're both idols that can't be "public," lots of marking with lipstick, pet names (love, baby, good boy), reader wears a dress, body writing (m. receiving), hair pulling, oral (m. and f. receiving), protected penetration, sex toys, light fem domme vibes, nipple play, chubby reader implied. note. i actually really love this one, guys. and i think you will too! this is for @silvergyus' valentine's day event! enjoy and please let me know what you think <3 wc. 4.3k

“I saw you staring at me all night,” Kai whispers in your ear. Have you ever seen anyone look as sexy as he does right now? The way his chest presses against your back and traps you against the bathroom’s vanity feels better than a warm blanket that’s been pulled straight from the dryer. And you find yourself doing it again: staring at him, this time through the mirror while his hands glide from your shoulders and past your waist, drawing circles over your hips with his fingertips. 

Everything about him was—and still is—irresistible tonight. His charcoal grey suit. The wash of deep peach surrounding his eyes with the cutest rose blush on his cheeks. You were dying to run your fingers through his fluffy black hair that’s messy now that it’s the end of the day. But it was just as mesmerizing when it was perfectly styled at the beginning of the night. 

“I can’t stand ignoring you when you’re a few feet away, especially on Valentine’s Day…” You turn around in his arms, draping yours over his shoulders. “I want to scream to the world how in love I am with you,” you say, punctuating the sentence with a kiss. “How much you love me.” Kiss. Sighing, you lean closer to his neck, letting his cologne drift into your nostrils. “I want everyone to know you’re mine.” Kiss. And at that, his hands are right where they belong, resting against the swell of your ass.

“I am yours, huh?” He chuckles.

“Yep,” you say matter-of-factly, but a pout forms on your lips. “But nobody knows,” you grumble. “I can’t do any of the things I wanna do to you…” 

“Like what?”

“Like,” you start, grazing your hands over his chest. “Run my fingers through your hair.” He hums at the feeling of your nails dragging across his scalp. “Hug you. Kiss you.” Then you do. When you pull away, the sight of your oxblood lipstick smudged against his lips makes your stomach do backflips. “Every eye in the room was on you. And I can tell what they want. They look at you and want you for their own,” you say. His groan sends shivers down your spine. “But you’re not theirs, are you?”

“Nuh-uh,” he says smugly. 

“I’m the only one who gets to touch you. I’m the only one who gets to…” you trail off, thinking of the millions of ways you make him feel good or the millions of ways he makes your toes curl. “You know what I really want?” A devastating smirk on his lips gives you permission to go further. You loosen his tie and pull it through his collar, letting it fall to the floor. With slow fingers, you unbutton his shirt, sliding your hands beneath the fabric, pushing it past his shoulders. The crisp white t-shirt beneath feels like a secret, like uncovering something softer, something just for you— shedding the skin of his public persona to reveal your angel in white. 

“What I really want…” you sigh. “I wanna cover you in hickeys and scratches and bite marks. I want to look at your body and see it covered in me knowing I did that to you because you are mine, and I can do what I want to things that belong to me,” you say. You move closer to him with every breath. “I want people to look at you and know you’re mine, that you’re so mine, they don’t stand a chance with you.” 

Then you catch his lips with yours, moving over them with a fire only he could ignite. He is everything to you right now—the air you breathe, the taste on your tongue, the strength you need while he’s making your knees this weak. But most of all, he’s yours. 

“But since I can’t cover you in hickeys and love bites…” you grin evilly, eyeing his smudged lips. “I suppose my lipstick will have to do.” You end that sentence with the softest kitten lick across his bottom lip. “It looks so pretty on you anyway.” 

Guiding him toward the bed, you push him gently and he lets his body fall to the mattress, resting his hands behind his head, like he’s saying do whatever you want to me. And there’s an overwhelming sense of trust that comes with it. You straddle him, tugging at the hem of his white t-shirt, gently kissing right above the waistband of his pants. Disappointed at the lack of lipstick left behind, you stand, digging through your purse. 

As you stride back to bed, you uncap your lipstick, placing it in one of his hands while the other squeezes the crease above your thigh. Your mouth falls open into a plush oval. He sits up, so close to your chest, and slowly drags the lipstick across your lips, painting them a red darker than your cabernet from earlier. Replacing the cap, he stores it for safekeeping atop the bedside table. 

Tugging his t-shirt again, you press your lips to his lower tummy before you let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the imprint of your perfectly-shaped lips on his skin. Not even giving him the privilege of eye contact, you order him to take off his shirt and he obliges, his chest heaving needing more from you.

Humming against his stomach while you skate your nose across his skin, you ask, “Where else should I leave my mark?” He turns his head to the side, silently asking for neck kisses, unable to form a coherent sentence. You smile and press soft kisses against his skin, leaving behind lipstick marks rivaling a trail of love bites. 

Biting his earlobe between your top teeth and bottom lip, you tug, earning a gasp. You ask, “Are you mine, baby? Hm?” He nods. “Say it.”

“I’m yours—” the way his name falls from your lips sounds so desperate your head reels. “Only yours.”

“Right. Only mine,” you say. “In fact…” you trail off, reaching for your lipstick once again, opening it with a pop. Pressing your hand to his chest to keep him from moving, you twist the lipstick up and write your name in big letters across his chest, claiming him as yours. Glancing down at the writing, his fingertips brush over the letters, smudging it barely.

“Feels good to be yours,” he says. It isn’t playful, it isn’t indulgent, not submissive. It’s deeper. You trace over his collarbone with your thumb. 

“Yeah?”  

His eyes flick up to yours and without hesitation, he replies, “Yeah.”  

Maybe you should tease him for how soft he sounds, for how serious this just got, but you don’t. Instead, you press a kiss right over your name, feeling the way his heart hammers against your lips. It makes the heat rush through your body again. 

Back to the matter at hand, you suppose. You can get to the mushy gushy love confessions afterward when you’re laying on his chest all warm and cozy after an incredible orgasm. Trailing delicate kisses down his chest and tummy, you pause to skate your lips across the waistband of those sexy-as-fuck suit pants—a maddening barrier keeping you from everything you want. Your lipstick print is such a cute accessory to his dainty happy trail you’d so wish he’d let grow out. That’s his choice, you remind yourself. But that doesn’t mean you can’t grumble about it. And there’s no ignoring his hardening cock behind those thin layers of fabric. 

He whispers…something. You’re not quite sure and you’re not so sure he knows what he said either. A jumbled, pathetic whimper somewhere between love, please, fuck, and your name. You look up at him with the slyest smirk and nod. 

After tossing his dress pants to the side, all he’s left in are his boxers along with some red letters and splotches of lipstick. That last stitch of clothing doesn’t last long. While he takes those off, you’re suddenly aware of how many clothes you’re wearing. How could you have forgotten to get naked? And it’s like he read your mind. Standing up, he holds out his hand, gesturing for you to stand. He motions for you to turn around for him, letting his hands sweep all over your curves. His thumbs rub your tense shoulders, but only for a few seconds before finding their way to the zipper on the back of your dress. Tugging it down slowly, he lets it fall to the floor in a pool of fabric at your feet. 

Then you guide him to lay on his back again, straddling his thighs and kissing his pelvis, dragging your fingers everywhere except where he needs it most. Precum beads at his tip, crying for something to be wrapped around it. Anything—a hand, a mouth, a cunt, anything at all. 

Finally grasping his cock with your fingers, you gently tap your face with him, leaving kisses up and down his shaft. “This is mine too, right?” You ask. 

“Of course,” he breathes. Smug and satisfied, you pop the cap off your lipstick again and write mine right at the base of his cock where hair would be if he didn’t shave it yesterday. Swirling around his tip with your thumb, you use your other hand to sloppily freshen up your lipstick. Looking up through your eyelashes, you drag the tip of your tongue from the base of his cock to the tip, finally sinking down on him, leaving a ring of lipstick at the base. Sloppy head movements, licks, sucks, slurps, simply obscene dick sucking leaves the messiest lipsticks marks that fade as you carry on. 

Your rhythm falters, not to tease, no, but because you’re too caught up in it. The weight of him on your tongue, the way his cock twitches with every sloppy drag of your lips, heat pooling between your legs. Your moan vibrates through his body, forcing his hips to jerk involuntarily.

Slow down, you tell yourself. But you can’t even listen to your own stupid advice. Your fingers dig into his muscular thighs, taking him deeper and messier, making you dizzier and dizzier. You don’t think you can go much longer without needing something more from him, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. Whines spill from both of your lips, moaning and whimpering from this alone. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice wrecked, hands hovering—like he wants to touch, to yank you by your arms and pin you down to fuck you, but wouldn’t dare interrupt this.

You release him with a pop, making him shudder from the loss. There’s evidence of you all over him—remnants of oxblood all over his pelvis and down his cock, and in the writing on his chest. You pepper his neck and shoulders with love and kisses before sitting up to drag your wet pussy over his cock, teasing him even more, which he didn’t think was possible. He whispers your name, begging…begging to let him inside.

Desperate as ever, he throws his head back, back arching, hands squeezing harshly where your thighs meet your ass. “Please…” he trails off, dragging his hands up and down your thick legs, never getting enough of the feeling of your body. “Need you so bad.”

“Oh?” You tease. He nods. “Just a little longer, baby—” you gasp, feeling the head of his cock brushing your clit as you grind against him. How long are you gonna last like this? You want to drag it out, to tease him, perhaps see how long it takes before tears stream down his face but you don’t think you’d last that long yourself. You drag your teeth across his stomach, playing with the thought of actually biting him this time and leaving a longer term mark. 

You let yourself give in just a tad, biting him as gently as possible and he gasps at the simple thought of a real mark—your teeth imprinted on his skin for days. And you sigh, dropping your forehead to his body, desperate to leave a real one. But you can’t.

“I know, love, I know,” he says, running a thumb across your brow bone. “But look,” he starts, lifting your face by your chin. “Look at me,” he repeats. “This is all you.” And fuck, your thoughts sound like a broken record. The lipstick streaked across his skin claims him just as much as any other mark would. “All yours, remember?” Encouraging you to meet him again, he catches your lips with his, desperately, messily, aggressively kissing you over and over and over. 

And you’ve finally had enough. Reaching into the bedside table drawer, you search for a condom, all without ever leaving his body. It’s almost pavlovian how he reacts to the sight of it. He snatches it out of your fingers to rip it open with his teeth, spitting the corner of it out of his mouth. But he catches the glint in your eye and remembers just how much you love watching him do this. 

While you scoot down his thighs to give him access to himself, he cradles the back of your head, forcing you to watch him roll the condom down his cock. Eyes glazing over, you don’t think you’ve ever been more jealous of a hand. You can’t wait any longer. Reaching between you to guide him inside you, his tip teases your entrance before you clench around almost nothing. 

The first few inches alone are enough to send you over the edge. But when his hands push you lower, your legs tremble as much as your breaths. Sitting down fully, letting him fill you as much as possible, you both let out a simultaneous sigh. To adjust to him, you rock your hips back and forth and he throws his head back, gritting his teeth at the sheer amount of friction, the aching need. 

Your name plastered across his chest heaves up and down. “Fuck…” he whispers, like he can’t control his words. His hips roll and hit a spot inside you making your head reel. You can’t help but chuckle at the intensity of how you’re feeling. Then a second roll turns that chuckle into a moan. You bend to catch his lips with yours again, furiously making out before tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth. And something snaps. 

You sit up quickly, bouncing on his cock as fast as your body will let you. Everything is charged with electricity, buzzes of pleasure running throughout your whole body. He’s gone quiet, but you know you’re making him feel good from the sheer amount of squirming. 

“Should I stop?” You ask. Horror falls over his face.

“N-no, why?” 

“I can’t hear you,” you say. He’s always been a little shy but you love hearing him—his moans, sighs, whimpers, everything is pure magic. He shakes his head, hands gripping your hips to prove you shouldn’t stop. 

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits, face flushed, eyes glazed, barely able to get that sentence out. You slow down just enough to tease, rolling your hips in a way that makes him gasp. 

“Just let me hear you.” Usually, all he needs is a little nudge. Finally, a strangled noise escapes his throat. You smile, pleased, and give him exactly what he needs—more, faster, deeper—until his restraint unravels completely. And when he finally breaks, when he moans loud and unabashed, it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

Dropping your head back, you’re relieved at the break of the silence in the room. Sometimes you think he could make you come just from the noises he makes. Even if you’re doing all the physical work, he’s unknowingly doing the mental work for you. You lose yourself in his noises, in his touches—how he squeezes your tits clumsily, reaching for your hand to kiss your fingers. 

But when you almost double over from the pleasure, you catch yourself with your palms against his chest. At this angle, he ruts his hips up into you and he feels so goddamn good you think you may cry. Your shoulders scrunching at the pleasure of it all, you shudder and he finally gets the hint. 

“You wanna switch, love?” Before you can answer, he’s already helping you flip over to rest comfortably on your back. He stays soft, needy, watching you from above, entranced by the way you move beneath him, tits bouncing, face contouring, skin rippling with his thrusts.

Shoving himself inside you again, your eyes roll back, your body responding to his movements. You’re awestruck by the remnants of your name on his chest and mine on his pelvis but something’s missing now. While he’s still deep inside you, thrusting steadily, you reach for the lipstick and write boy on his right thigh, toy on his left, letting you read it perfectly from where you lay. 

Once you’ve discarded the lipstick to your bedside table, he grabs your wrist—not to stop you, but to hold it. His fingers tremble around yours as he slows his thrusts, his breath shaky as he looks down at the fresh words on his legs.  

“You okay?” you ask, rubbing soothing swipes over his thighs. 

He nods quickly, then pauses, swallowing hard. “I—I don’t know what to do with myself,” he admits, voice small, wrecked. Always looking to you, trusting you in such a  vulnerable state. 

You cup his face. “You don’t have to do anything,” you murmur. “Just feel me.”  

He exhales, like that was all he needed to hear, and then he melts. His forehead drops to your shoulder, arms wrapping around you as he starts moving again, slow, unsteady, like he’s letting himself fall apart one careful thrust at a time.  

You hold him through it, whispering soft praises in his ear, feeling the way his body shivers against yours. And when he finally moans again—needy, helpless, completely lost in you—it’s addicting.

“You’re being such a good boy,” you say. He whimpers again. “You’re my good boy, hm?” He nods, his forehead digging deeper into your neck, so close to losing control. And you debate with yourself for a moment—should you force him to make you come first? Or should you let him come first since he’s being so good? “I can’t hear you.”

“Yes,” he breathes. He’s always made sure you got off first but seeing him like this is too good. You wouldn’t dare stop this now. He’s got fingers for a reason. And a drawer full of toys when necessary. “Tell me.” You hum questioningly. He whines as if saying one more word would be too much for him to handle. But he finally musters up the strength. “Tell me I’m your good boy.” 

“Let me see you first.” He hesitantly sits up, leaving the warmth of your body. You’ll never get tired of this view. Broad shoulders and chest riddled with traces of you, your name still etched across his skin. It’s not the faintest of the four words yet, though. Mine written across his pelvis has withered down to a faint pink blotch. And boy toy is still fresh as blood. His fluffy hair barely sticks to his forehead, cheeks pink and puffy, hands trembling. His perfect pout is deliciously swollen. “Look at you…” you say, running your hands all over him. “You’re my good boy.” He smiles, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. “Oh, you’re such a good boy—my good boy.” 

You reward him with so many sweet praises he doesn’t need to ask permission to come first—he knows. His brows knit together, and the sight alone sends a flutter through you. He’s unraveling, his words tumbling out in a mess of swears and your name, his hips stuttering as he loses control. You keep whispering to him, guiding him through it, your voice steady as he falls apart. A final shuddering thrust, a deep, satisfied sigh, and then—stillness. The warmth of it settles over both of you, leaving nothing but the sound of his heavy breaths and the way he feels inside you. 

Catching himself on his elbows as he falls forward, he peppers your face with kisses, humming sweet satisfied sounds against your skin. Then he kisses your lips as deep as he can, which isn’t much in his post-sex haze, but it’s perfect. 

Everything takes forever while you wait for him to come back to make you come—him carefully tugging his condom off, tying it in a knot, not bothering to walk the ten steps to the bathroom to throw it away before discarding it onto the floor somewhere, looking for your favorite toy in your bedside table before finding his way back on top of you. Everything is agony when you’re this needy. 

But his tongue and lips all over your neck are so nice, goosebumps prickle your skin despite the heat radiating off you. When he tugs at your earlobe with his teeth, you’re really in trouble. He’s barely doing anything and he’s already making you moan. You didn’t think you could get any wetter than when he was literally inside of you minutes ago. But you were wrong. 

“Thank you,” he whispers in your ear, his fingers absent-mindedly playing with your pussy lips. You hum in question. “You heard me. God, you’re perfect.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re perfect too,” you say light-heartedly. “Now make me come.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says playfully, although there’s an undeniable hint of submissiveness to it. 

But he doesn’t start off too quick, no. He trails kisses down your neck, making sure he shows your nipples lots of love, making them slick and wet and cold against the air. It feels utterly dirty how covered in his spit they are—his own filthy version of writing his name on your chest, claiming you as his. And he always, always shows extra love to your tummy. Kisses and nips and squeezes. 

When he reaches your pussy, he spreads your lips, admiring how wet and glistening and delicious it looks. Hell, it felt amazing no less than five minutes ago, you’ll undoubtedly taste just as good, like you always do. He’ll never tire of your taste. And he doesn’t wait. 

Licking a stripe up your pussy, he kisses your clit gently before flicking the pointed tip of his tongue over it. Over and over and over again. Your back arches. This arguably isn’t even the best part and he already has your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. 

Holding your favorite toy in one hand, he teases your entrance for just a second, letting your wetness get it slick and smooth before he breaches you completely. Sure, he could use his fingers, but honestly, he’s skillful with this toy. 

He thrusts it in and out of your wet pussy, perfectly angling it to reach your favorite spot, your hips rolling involuntarily. Meanwhile, he hasn’t let up with his tongue on your clit. And everything feels so, so incredible, like he’s telling your body exactly how to feel and it’s obeying. And he used the exact right words, even if left unspoken. 

Your body sparks like a match, embers smoldering in every nook and cranny. Your bones burn like firewood, slow and steady, but your muscles churn like molten lava, wild and unpredictable. Kai lit your skin ablaze, and now the fire spreads, consuming everything in its path. You don’t fight it. You let it take you and melt you down to nothing but heat, want, and him.

It’s building, a white hot searing scorch until you’re about to erupt. “Kai—” you murmur, suddenly realizing neither of you have spoken for the last ten minutes. Of course, his mouth has been preoccupied and you’ve been simply laying there, enjoying yourself while he makes you feel good. 

He knows you’re close. He can feel it. Just a few more whispers of his name, a handful of breathless swears, your nails dragging across his scalp, likely leaving a hidden mark—and then you’re there.

Your orgasm crashes over you, flames igniting every nerve in your body. Hot waves of pleasure rush all over you as you arch off the mattress, his big hand holding you in place, ensuring you get every ounce of pleasure out of this orgasm as possible. And it’s incredible—his tongue and lips all over your pussy, the way he’s using your toy inside you, his hands on you, his fluffy hair entangled in your fingers. 

You feel him everywhere—in your fingertips, in your toes, in your chest and heart. Everything is overtaken by him and how he’s making you feel. 

When your vision finally clears up, you sigh, looking down at Kai smirking up at you. You shudder as he pulls out the toy, but you don’t feel empty. You never could feel that way around him. He doesn't move right away. Instead, he stays between your thighs, pressing soft kisses to the inside of your legs, too in love with your body to move away. 

Then he finally crawls up your body, brushes your eyebrow with the pad of his thumb, and kisses the tip of your nose. "You okay?" he murmurs. You nod, still catching your breath, and he leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His lips ghost over your temple and cheek, before finally meeting your mouth in a slow, unhurried kiss.  

As he pulls back, his gaze roams over you, softer now, taking a mental picture to memorialize this moment, adding it to the hundreds of scrapbooks in his mind. 

“I love seeing you like that,” you admit with a whisper. Warmth blooms in your chest, different from before—deeper, more consuming. You exhale a quiet laugh, carding your fingers through his hair. “All to myself,” you murmur.

He hums in response, melting at your touch as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. His arms tighten around you, his body heavy and warm as he holds you close, never wanting to let go. “And who else would I belong to?” he asks, voice muffled against your skin.

You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Absolutely no one.”

[asterafroditis]

Hey there !

Hope you have a great day/afternoon/night.

I was wondering if you could write how floyd, rook and jamil would react to a reader that is caring and playful but can be stubborn and impulsive when frustrated or angry, acting on her strong will without always thinking ahead.

You can add things if you feel like it too.

Thanks ❤️

𐔌 . ⋮ reckless resolve .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Floyd, Rook, & Jamil x gn! reader (separate)

𓏵 823 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns used, fluff

hope this exactly caters to your request! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Floyd would find your stubbornness hilarious—at least, at first. He’s the type to get a kick out of watching you dig your heels in, especially when you’re arguing with someone. If it’s a harmless situation, he’ll egg you on, adding fuel to the fire just to see how far you’ll go. He might even purposefully annoy you, pushing your buttons until you snap just because he enjoys seeing that spark of determination in your eyes.

But the second your impulsiveness leads to actual trouble? That’s when his amusement shifts to irritation. If you try to pick a fight, rush headfirst into danger, or ignore warnings, Floyd won’t hesitate to physically stop you. He’s freakishly strong, so all it takes is one arm slung around your shoulders—or throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes—to completely ruin whatever reckless plan you had.

Still, Floyd isn’t the type to sit you down for a serious talk. If you’re getting too worked up, he’s more likely to distract you than lecture you, using teasing, nicknames, or even just dragging you away for a "fun detour." But if things get really bad? If you actually get hurt because you weren’t thinking ahead? His usual playful demeanor disappears, replaced by something more dangerous—something angry.

“Ehehe, Shrimpy, you’re real funny when you get all mad like that~ But if you go bitin’ off more than you can chew, I will have to step in, ‘kay?”

"Hah? You’re not listenin’ to me? Fine then~ But don’t start cryin’ when I gotta carry ya outta trouble."

─────────────────────────

Rook adores your fiery spirit. He finds beauty in the way you stand your ground, in the passion that fuels your playful and caring nature. Even when your stubbornness makes you act without thinking, he doesn’t get frustrated—rather, he sees it as another fascinating layer of your character. You remind him of a wild creature, untamed and free, and he takes great delight in observing how you handle challenges.

That being said, Rook is not blind to the dangers of impulsiveness. He knows there are times when acting on raw emotion can backfire, and when that happens, he’s always nearby—watching, waiting. He doesn’t interfere immediately. Instead, he lets you handle things on your own, stepping in only at the last possible moment to prevent catastrophe. And when he does step in, it’s always with an air of effortless grace, as if he had predicted the outcome all along.

Rather than scolding you, Rook prefers to guide you with poetic wisdom and strategic redirection. He won’t tell you outright to stop being reckless, but he will make you think about your choices, presenting them in a way that turns your own stubbornness into a strength rather than a flaw. He enjoys challenging you, pushing you to grow—not by force, but by intrigue.

“Ah, ma chérie/mon chéri, such fire! Such spirit! But do not let your passion burn so brightly that it blinds you to the dangers ahead, non?”

"Do you know what makes a true hunter? Not just passion, but patience. Strategy. Foresight. And you, my dear, have all the makings of a formidable one—if only you learn when to pause and take aim."

─────────────────────────

Jamil finds your impulsiveness exhausting. He’s spent his entire life carefully planning, always thinking two steps ahead, ensuring everything runs smoothly without drawing too much attention. So when he sees you completely disregarding consequences and diving headfirst into trouble? It stresses him out.

At first, he tries to handle it logically. He warns you, explains the risks, tries to reason with you. But the more you brush off his concerns, the more irritated he becomes. Jamil doesn’t like dealing with unnecessary problems, and your recklessness is a perfect recipe for disaster. If you insist on charging forward without thinking, he’ll force you to stop—either by physically restraining you or by outsmarting you so that you have no choice but to listen.

However, deep down, Jamil understands you more than he lets on. There’s a part of him that respects your determination, your strong will—after all, he knows what it’s like to want to break free, to refuse to be controlled. He just wishes you’d be more careful about it. He hates seeing you get hurt, even if he’d never admit how much it bothers him.

"Honestly, do you ever stop to think before jumping into things? …Tch. Fine. If you’re going to be reckless, at least let me make sure you don’t get yourself killed."

“You’re stubborn. I get that. But if you must act on impulse, at least have the sense to cover your own weaknesses. No one’s going to save you if you don’t think ahead.”

[on-the-clear-blue]

Duke, with a worried expression: I feel like the rest of you are not taking this seriously.

Dick, looking up from a busted up gameboy: What?

Duke: Bruce is getting mind controlled? He is committing crimes?

Jason, suddenly paying attention: Crimes you say?

Duke, scowling: He needs help, just imagine what he will be like afterwards.

Tim, ticking off on his fingers: Guilty, guilty, angry, heartbroken and horny.

Dick, gagging and looking at Tim with disgust: What the fudge Timmy? Why...that last one.

Tim, rolling his eyes: oh well excuse me but when was thr last time Bruce wasn't attracted to a criminal? Think about it? Like really think about it? B gets horny for crime.

Dick, looking like he is about to throw up: Oh I fricking hate you so much right now Tim, horrible, I hate that...but you are right.

Damian, bursting into the room, sword blooded and a manic grin on his face, as well as a black eye and a broken nose: Weaklings! Father is finally fighting me at his full strength! He finally sees that I am a better fighter than you all! He just came into my room and tried to stab me! I must call mother!

The collected bats:....

Dick, getting up from the couch: Yeah we probably should go handle that.

Jason, checking his bullets: I'll keep an eye out for Talia.

Duke, sighing as he sits down: I already fought him and got my ass beat, Call Staph and Cass if you need back up, I ain't dealing with that shit.

Tim, sniffing: Only call me if he breaks out the bat gun or tries to hook up with Harvey.

[notdysfunk]

aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh i love all the wiiiiiiiings! they're so preeeeettty!!! And Y/N's little wing ears are just *chef's kiss* perfecto

so, like, are wings just used for transportation or have people found other uses for them (think fashion shows or strength contests or races)? would some people dye/style their wings (especially if they aren't big/strong enough to fly with so might as well)?

cause I love thinking about the little things you can do with wings, like Y/N using the wings as a scarf/mask when it's cold, or hiding their face when they're blushing, or flapping them when they're excited/to cool themselves down in the summer, or when it's really cold so Sun just wraps himself up in all his fluffy wings (or wraps someone else up with him, wing hugs anybody?)

sorry for rambling, just wanted to let you know that i love your au and will definitely be thinking about it ALOT!

HII!!! AAA THANK YOU SOO, SO MUCH!! I'm so glad my silly winged dca au will have your brain running for a while HEHE I got super excited to answer this one, I loved so many of your ideas so I doodled a BUNCH of them!!

As for your first question, yes!! I never thought about it before, but they absolutely would open to painting wings or styling them (adding accessories to them somehow), especially those who can't fly with their wings! (i.e. y/ns ear wings)!! AND they definitely do have fairs with races and instead of arm wrestling it's probably wing wrestling LOL!! I also imagine some people could definitely incorporate their wings into fashion, such as tucking wings into a dress or sumn!! :O Speaking of Fairs, I imagine there are fairs or festivals in the town, where showing up with bedazzled wings is very common! Of course, anyone can paint their wings any day- but I imagine it was harder to convince Moon to let you paint his wings... until you brought up the Lunar Eclipse fair happening in town tonight... (or any fair hehe) 🎨🌙 Since Sun has so much wing surface-area, you can KIND OF paint a whole scene on his wings if you wanted to. He loves it!! 🎨 AND YESS!! The MC is able to use their head wings to emote!! Such as flapping them when happy, or covering their face when it's cold, OR when they're flustered!!!! Hehehe 💞

[ididntthinkiwould]

I was inspired by all the tiktok edits using Mexican songs for JayVik, so I decided to do an AU where they're mariachis!!

Viktor's cane is hanging off a string in his belt, it's something I saw a man using the other day while on public transportation and I thought Viktor would totally use it too lmao

More about the AU:

🔹️In this AU both Jayce and Viktor are Mexican, Viktor's parents are immigrants that met in Mexico, his dad is Polish and his mom is Czech, but Viktor was 100% born in Mexico

🔹️Jayce and Viktor met when they were kids, they instantly became friends

🔹️They started singing together when they were kids at the parties Jayce's family organized to entertain the guests, but they were really good at it

🔹️as they grew up Jayce's aunts and uncles started inviting them to parties specifically to sing

🔹️family's friends then started inviting them to their parties to sing and paid them, that's when Jayce and Viktor realized they could make money out of it

🔹️they both studied in the UNAM, but kept singing on the side as a way to make money

🔹️The idea was using the money they got singing on bars and parties as a way to fund their research

🔹️Then they met Mel, who owns a very important record label, she convinced them both to sign a contract with her

🔹️Viktor isn't so sure about it because singing was just their side job, but Jayce tells him that they could make even more money to fund their research, so Viktor reluctantly agrees

🔹️both of them know how to play several instruments, but after they sign the contract with Mel, Viktor mostly focuses on playing violin and being the harmony to Jayce's vocals, they go from being a duet to Jayce being the main singer

🔹️They get extremely famous very quickly, Jayce becomes a celebrity

🔹️Mel and Jayce then start dating

🔹️Viktor dislikes how forgotten their whole research is while he gets sicker and sicker. After some time he start experimenting with illegal drugs as a way to cure his illness

🔹️this leads to an accident caused by Viktor that ends up with Sky's death (Sky was one of the musicians they play with during concerts)

🔹️Viktor is pretty shaken by it, but Jayce doesn't notices as he's to focused on the fame and his relationship with Mel

🔹️during a concert, a bomb goes off near the stage and Viktor gets badly injured

As a bonus, the song I think Jayce is singing here to Viktor is "Paloma Querida" here's a translation of a fragment because that song fits so well with JayVik:

"You found me in a dark path

Like a pilgrim without direction and without faith

And the light of your divine eyes

Changed my sadness for happiness and pleasure

Since then, I feel loving you

With all the strength my soul gives me

Since then, dear dove

I've changed my chest for a dovecot"

Aaaand, that's all for now, let's see if I get around to making the other illustrations I have in mind for their divorce and them getting reunited lmao

Hopefully it won't be full illustrations because the lineart in this one was kicking my ass lol

[kenzan-brainrot-mp4]

Idk more random small details about the pyih ending that make me insane because I can't shut up about this stupid game:

Idk how deliberate this was from the translation team (and I have my own mixed feelings about the caption translations from more recent rgg games) but I really like the (potentially unintentional) double-meaning from Saejima saying "Guys our age are supposed to be smart enough not to go chasin' legends." You'd think that because the entire conversation revolves around and constantly repeats the words "dream/yume" (cough cough Yakuza 5) he'd say "not to go chasin' dreams", but I think by using the word "legend" instead he's able to refer to not only the legend of the treasure that everyone's been pursuing the whole game, but also the living legend himself, Kiryu Kazuma (in jp and eng he is referred to very often as a legend/legendary ("densetsu no ryuu/yakuza" - "legendary dragon/yakuza")). Not only was Majima chasing after the legend of some miracle treasure but he's also been chasing the "legend" that is Kiryu himself (something something idolization, something something Majima always wanting to bring back that strength and vitality Kiryu had at the peak of his "legend" days (see: yakuza 1 with Majima trying to fight Kiryu constantly to help him regain his strength, trying to especially hard to support him since yakuza 3), even as the chance of that happening dwindles, even if reality is literally telling him to his face that they can't go back to those days, that everyone's getting older and not what they used to be). Which imo makes Majima saying "Well, still just a dream in the end." all the more heartbreaking. It's resigned, not only to the fact that he'd never find that miracle fix to save Kiryu's life but also the fact that he can't, no matter how hard he tries, keep Kiryu around forever, that he can't keep up the image of the legendary Dragon of Dojima up for him forever. Idk I just think that was very cool and sneaky as hell if intentional, especially since they don't switch out the word "dream" for "legend" anywhere else in the conversation.

Saejima mentioning how Daigo said "Majima's runnin' around like he's forty again". Okay honestly I'm just putting this because I think it's funny that even while Daigo was going through his emo era and pissed off at Kiryu for "killing" his dad, he still remembers how enthusiastic/energetic Majima was over Kiryu all the way back in ~y1, even though we never saw him in that game. I mean it's painful as hell to think about now, considering the present day in-universe and what would end up becoming of that enthusiasm as the years went on but uh, hey.

Majima being so god damn deflective while Saejima's in the middle of revealing all his motivations for going to Hawaii. He says 3 whole lines during that part of the cutscene but it's all so Majima-like it hurts (this part's gonna be Long):

• "Told him that, huh?" (responding to Saejima recounting what Majima told Shigaki about not wanting to go to Hawaii) - Majima trying to act nonchalant/aloof while knowing what Saejima's about to start bringing up, trying to act that way even though we all know damn well that he remembers perfectly (and probably painfully) well how he acted/what he said before going to Hawaii, considering the circumstances surrounding the whole situation. His body language also starts to change from here; he turns his head to look directly at Saejima when talking to him less often, spends more time looking ahead/up/down/avoiding direct eye contact in general even when Saejima turns to look him while speaking multiple times/for prolonged periods of time (istg I could talk about Majima's body language in serious moments like these literally forever but I'll try to keep it brief) • "Kid's always been a ball breaker" (lmao) - Paired with the line before this one (Daigo's reaction to Majima). He tries to sidestep the actual point of mentioning what Daigo said, (directly exposing just how much Majima changes when Kiryu is around/involved) with feigned exasperation, and once again does not actually acknowledge Saejima's point. His body language also changes again to something more restless; (adjusts his posture from the previously relaxed way he was leaning against the car, looks away from Saejima completely, starts tapping his foot/bouncing his leg, lifting his cigarette without actually taking a drag from it) • And then of course the big one: "Well, still just a dream in the end. Stupid or not." Up until this point, Majima hasn't said anything of any actual substance until Saejima directly namedrops Kiryu. It's about the most he actually says of any worth regarding his feelings towards Kiryu himself, but that line alone reveals so much about his feelings not only in that moment, but likely the feelings he's had throughout the series towards Kiryu. It's totally unfiltered, for once, showing off his resignation from not only his inability to help Kiryu by the end of this game but likely also the weight of chasing after Kiryu all these years (again, "Guys our age are supposed to be smart enough not to go chasin' legends." Cue Majima always chasing after Kiryu/what Kiryu wants for literal decades). It's a Singular straight answer after two deflections but it says so damn much, especially coming from Majima himself. • I also just wanna note the quick range of expressions Majima's face goes through when Saejima says "Yeah, too bad about that 'elixir of eternal life.'"

↓

‎

Apart from the different expressions he makes themselves, I think it's so fucking interesting (read: painful) how this occurs when Saejima (who, by the way, is at that moment not looking at Majima) is technically supposed to be the one that the player's eyes are focused on in that moment, since he's the one speaking. The camera doesn't try to manipulate the focus of the shot to hide Majima's expressions/feelings, they don't cut him out of the frame, they don't actually do anything to directly hide Majima's face at all, but most people (including Saejima himself) would miss this regardless, because it's done in a moment where, theoretically, nobody would or should be looking. Hell, even when the camera gives us a Direct close-up shot of Majima's face when Saejima mentions Kiryu ("Kazuma Kiryu. You never could give up on that one.") his expression doesn't betray too much of how he feels, but it's only once focus is finally taken away from him that he becomes most expressive. (rgg has always been so good with showing off characters' feelings with microexpressions and I feel like this applies to Majima especially. the same kind of thing happened in y0 when he saw Makoto at the end of the game (another scene that I could analyze for hours). The times when he doesn't speak and just. Reacts subtly and potentially subconciously with his face are ironically some of the moments where he says the most about himself. Go off king don't openly express your thoughts or feelings at all 🔥🔥🔥) • And then after all that (when Saejima looks at Majima again) Majima changes the topic to Noah. You could argue that Saejima, with bringing everything before that up, was trying to open up the opportunity for discussion on Majima's part about his behavior/feelings towards Kiryu, however this was largely unsuccessful. He only succeeds in this when he finally just says Kiryu's name outright (which, by the way, surprised me so much when I first watched the cutscene. I thought they were going to keep dancing around saying Kiryu's name directly/only implying him for the rest of that conversation, but I straight up gasped when Saejima said his whole name like that. It was significant, and Saejima wanted it to be, too), and even then that success is only marginal. It's enough for Majima to finally give away one of his "real" thoughts, completely unfiltered, about as straightforward as it's gonna get, just Once in that whole part of their conversation, but after that he immediately goes to pivot the topic of the conversation to something else. Which like, damn. Damn. That's pretty crazy.

The final detail I wanna mention, (this one I think mostly everyone got) was the way that Majima repeats his line from the beginning of the game "Where do I begin? That's right… (etc)." I love how they decided to have Majima say that line again differently, because the differences say so much. The version from the beginning of the game is said in a deeper more "intimidating" tone. The whole point of it is for story-telling drama, the theatrics, specifically to entertain/pique the interest of an audience, but the way he says it to Kiryu is much more easy-going and authentic. Ironically, it's once he leaves the player's sights and once he's with Kiryu that he discards the theatrics, where he simply shows off his fully genuine self re-telling the story. (One thing I will note is that the eng sub/dub translated that line so it would be different in the beginning and end ("Alright -- let's set things straight." (to player) -> "Where do I begin? That's right." (to Kiryu) even though he says the same thing twice in the japanese audio. I know that this is so that they can match up Majima's audio with his animations in the english dub, and they reuse the eng dub captions even for the japanese dub, and while I do not neccessarily. Like that. It does hammer in the tone difference between the way he speaks to the player vs. to Kiryu further (again, trying to be more intimidating vs. more easy going), which is an okay consolation if nothing else). I just think it's crazy to hear him talk like that with Kiryu after all this time, considering that he usually only talks this directly with Kiryu in fleeting moments. No high-pitched voice/fluctuating tones, no "Yo, Kiryu-chan", just being straightforward and to the point. Man. God.

It's been 4 days since I beat this game and everytime I see someone post about it or think about it for more than 10 seconds I die and explode into a million pieces. At some point I want to 100% this game so I can get as much dialogue/as many details as possible (also the game's just really fun lol), but for now I am just rotating this cutscene in my head forever and ever in an endless cycle. I am so sorry for posting about this game like everyday but I am so unwell over it it's not even funny I hope you can forgive me </333

[ghcstao3]

was??? going through old wips for inspiration and??? no clue when i wrote this, nor where i was going with it, Nor if i’ve ever shared any of it so. let me know if i should continue

‘09 ghoap AU — “one last job” / cw implied drug use

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The world comes to in a series of sluggish blinks and hazy memories, and Simon already wants nothing more than to crawl back into the hole he’s just emerged from.

The sweat pooling at his temples isn’t exactly conducive to comfortably resting against the wall of the toilet cubicle, skin slick with perspiration keeping his head upright about as effectively as a newborn baby’s neck. But he has no choice so long as he wishes to keep the scant contents of his stomach intact, especially with every swoop and pulse of nausea that washes over him in rhythm with the muted thump of music from the club whose loo he’s been occupying for an indeterminate amount of time. It’s probably disgusting—is disgusting, getting so intimate with the sharpied cocks and vulgar words and stains of mysterious origin plastered all over the partition in such a way, but Simon is dizzy, the wall is solid, and this is hardly one of the worst positions he’s ever been in.

Simon’s leg bounces erratically, the curved edge of the toilet seat digging into his thigh as he struggles to blindly fish his phone from his pocket. His fingers are clammy, tremorous; a frustrated growl tears from his throat when the device slips from his grasp more than once before he’s able to pull it out and pry it open like it isn’t currently the most offensive thing to his senses.

But he pauses, then, not entirely certain why he needed the phone at all in the first place. There had to have been a reason, surely, but as Simon glares at the backlit numbers through a single squinted, bloodshot eye, he can’t find it in himself to be arsed to remember. If he’s honest, he can’t really recall much of anything at the moment, much less why he thought the old burner would serve as any kind of solace, any kind of cosmic saving grace. As it is, the phone is merely a foreign object, silver and scratched and impossible to comprehend the longer Simon stares at it.

An idea strikes him after many minutes have dragged by, whether or not it’d been the one he’d originally forgotten, and he begins dialling his brother—until about halfway through he thinks better of it, knowing that on the off chance Tom actually picks up at this ungodly hour, his voice and inevitable spiel would be more grating than it’d be reassuring, and Simon has already discovered enough new kinds of headaches in the past several minutes to last him more than a lifetime.

He sighs a raspy, crackly sort of exhale, then unceremoniously snaps the phone closed and shoves it back into the lint-filled depths of his trousers. His eyelids are leaden, his shoulders burdened, and he’s content to slump further against the wall and slip back into the embrace of that unconscious void if only because it’s the one thing he can manage without making things worse for himself.

A sudden, sharp rap on the stall door startles Simon just as he’s succumbing to that temporary relief, setting off the drum of his heartbeat like a jackhammer in his chest, a crescendoing panic unhelped by the intruder’s insistence, their continuous knocking on cheap metal. With strength previously entirely sapped from his body, Simon’s sitting up, alert, prepared to flee, even when his aching limbs and substance-addled mind are so adamant to keep him tethered to this, quite literally, shitty place.

“Oi, you right in there?” A Scottish brogue demands of him, booming, deafening; it rattles Simon’s bones, seizes his spine, worms beneath his skin. The words have Simon inexplicably ill all over again, and once he manages to wrench his mouth open to respond along the lines of either fuck off or fuck you, he discovers his mouth has been stuffed with cotton, his lips cracked and tongue stapled in place.

Another resounding beat of knuckles on the door, shoes shuffling on the dirty tile outside. Simon’s heavy gaze drifts downward to loafers far too pristine for an establishment such as this, too expensive and too polished and too out of place, and suddenly he’s even more terrified, more baffled by this individual so keen on seeking him out. Why should someone be so concerned of his rotting away on filthy porcelain, if not for some ulterior motive? If not to ruin him further, somehow more irreparably?

“I know you can hear me, Riley,” the voice says, low and gruff and teetering on the verge of threatening. It speaks a warning, Simon thinks, but he also thinks it could be a million other things he hasn’t the time nor capacity to consider. This warning means little to him, is no more significant than the sweat still beading on the nape of his neck, and he shoves it from his mind with the ease of swatting away a particularly bothersome fly.

He still can’t force himself to reply. Simon smacks his lips instead. He has second thoughts about not calling Tom.