#planning to fill a jar with those

[wehavekookies]

They're wonky and they're bubbly but they fit and i love them.

Made my guy a pair of eyes 👁️👁️

[cursedcola]

Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul (Here) | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits you steal:

Plan-Books (Inherited) : Riddle habitually carries a planner with all his tasks. A physical one, not an app in his cell phone like most students choose. You find it easier to manage and swap to paper-and-pen alternatives at his recommendation.

Tidiness (Inherited): Riddle is a nit-pickier when it comes to physical presentation. His habits of pressing his uniform, laying his clothes out every night, and dressing conservatively rub off. He has a point - ironed trousers do make a difference. Every morning he will redo your uniform tie. It's never knotted to his 'standard', and is his preferred excuse to greet you before class.

"Now, isn't that better? Surely you are more comfortable in ironed linens than those rags you'd been wearing as pajamas. You seriously found them lying in Ramshackle? Were you not given an allowance to buy basic needs? Ridiculous! The Headmaster's irresponsibility holds no bounds!" <- Utterly appalled that you've been sleeping in century-old robes. He supplies you with seven sets of pajamas, a spare uniform, and an iron + board for Ramshackle. All after reaming the Headmaster for neglect in the last dorm-head meeting - either Crowley coughed up the marks or Riddle will supply from his own bank. Seven have mercy if he chooses to become a lawyer instead of a doctor.

No Heels (Developed): Riddle has a height complex. He won't make a show of it, but you wearing heels does emasculate him. Especially if you're already taller naturally. For his sake, you choose to slay your outfits in flats.

"Are those new loafers? Oh - no, they're lovely. The embroidery is exquisite and I can see why Pomefiore's Housewarden models for their brand. I merely thought you preferred the heeled saddle-shoes we saw during the past weekend trip. I must have been mistaken. Never mind me. You look wonderful."

Playing Brain Teasers (Inherited): Riddle has this thing with memory - you don't know if he's really into preventing old-age Alzheimer's or what. He carries a book of teaser games like Sudoku, etc. for when he has downtime and you eventually get into them too.

"Oh! My Rose, would you care to join me for lunch? Trey's siblings recently mailed in a large collection of cross-words. You'll find they are both educational and entertaining - hm? I do not seem the 'type' for word-games? I assure you, even I can relax on occasion. There is no need to look so surprised." <- Riddle's been making a grand effort to do things he enjoys and become more personable. Trey's siblings did not send the collection. Riddle went into town and picked it out on his own. He also found a book on organizing excursions since he's big on quality time. He is dead-set on not being a neglectful or 'boring' partner.

Swear Jar (Developed): Tired of Riddle collaring Ace for his vulgar tongue, you suggest a Heartslabyul swear jar. When the jar gets filled, the money can be used to fund things like study materials and renovations for the dorm. Riddle liked this idea, but now implements it on anyone who sets foot in the Heartslabyul. Considering you spend most of your time there, you've had to develop a vast vocabulary beyond swearing. Oh - you also unironically use the word 'fiddlesticks' now.

Habits he steals:

Useless Expenses (Inherited): You are an enabler without a doubt. Riddle has always functioned with the bare bones - with function and efficiency being the number one priority. Ever so slowly - you've spoiled him with aesthetically pleasing stationary. At first all the needless purchases felt redundant - why buy the pillowcases with flowers when plain white is cheaper? You can invest in a higher quality this way. Yet you've ruined him with gifts that he had no choice but to use. Now he needs to buy the pens with little hedgehogs on them because studying doesn't feel the same with a plain ballpoint.

Slang Dictionary (Developed): With each passing day, all the students in Heartslabyul get more creative at bending the rules. That includes you. Riddle takes it upon himself to carry a 'little-black-book' full of all the sang words he is unfamiliar with. He does want to be a bit more 'hip' to understand you more, but at the same time he wants to bust any student being a smart-mouth. It's an ongoing battle *sigh*.

"Apologies, could you repeat that term for me? Surely it must be relevant to my lecture if you and Ace are whispering. 'Let him cook'? Do you think we are in a culinary lecture?! Have you not been listening to - ah. So it's in reference to letting me finish before interrupting...One moment. I need to make a note."

Chewing Gum (Developed): This is an ode to psychology. In short, eating is tied to a person's fight-or-flight. Instincts dictate that our bodies need to be in a calm state to eat comfortably. One day when Riddle was at his wits end, you tossed him a pack of sugarless gum and told him to chew. Disregarding Trey's unholy dental screeching, Riddle develops a gum dependence for when he's stressed out. On the bright side, his jaw has never been so sharp.

“Mimicry? You must be mistaken. Even if my influence has affected their person, surely there are only positive developments” == Riddle denies any changes if confronted. In truth, he’s well aware of how much you’ve helped him grow. It’s the opposite accusation that spikes concern. Riddle does not want others thinking you’re a mini-version of him. Rumors are not kind and neither is his current reputation. Making those amends is his burden to bare. He is flattered to see you paying attention to his mannerisms, and secretly proud that your bond is strong enough to affect the psyche.

Habits you steal:

Whistling (Inherited): Trey whistles while working in the kitchen or doing general chores around the dorm. He's not very loud with it, so not may students are bothered. Since you laze about in his shadow the tunes he goes through do become repetitive. Now you do the same when cleaning up Ramshackle. Grim wants to knock you both out because he can't take it anymore.

"Ah -- How'd you know it was me in here? Just because I bake for the un-birthday parties doesn't mean I live in the kitchen, you know. My whistling? Huh. Never thought that would be my calling card but there are worse things, haha"

Head-Scratching (Inherited): Trey's got a habit of scratching the back of his head when he's uncomfortable or nervous. That, or rubbing at the nape of his neck while adverting eye contact. You start doing this too whenever you're being scolded or put in a tough situation.

Dental Hygiene (Inherited): By far the most obvious shared trait. Trey enforces his dental habits onto everyone- you are no exception. You now own four different kinds of floss, two toothbrushes (one being electric), and have a strict hygiene routine. Your pearly whites have never been so clean. Eventually you become somewhat of a secondary enforcer, policing anyone who sleeps over your dorm to take care of themselves before bed. All of Heartslabyul learns that there is no going back when you scold Riddle for not brushing after his teatime tart, and live to tell the tale.

"Hey - uh, weird question? Were you handing out floss to the Spelldrive Team yesterday? Seriously? I though Grim was pulling my leg - oh, no! It's not weird at all! Those guys should have a better routine for all the meat they eat when bulking. I'm just shocked you got through to them." <- Very proud. Mildly cocky. He's been itching to get those negligent jocks to floss after their banquets his entire tenure, but steered away from that conflict like the plague. Thank you for making his dreams come true. Now if you could maybe get them to stop picking their gums with toothpicks?

Habits he steals:

Overbuying Food (Developed): Being a baker's son, Trey's good with finances and money. He's also meticulous with the ingredients he purchases for his bakes. You are not. You go to Sam's shop, buy whatever is on sale, and then bring it back home to improvise. This ends poorly more often than not, and behold! Trey has two Ramshackle sluggers snooping around his kitchen for eats. This is unpredictable and therefore he now never knows what amount to buy. You've ruined him.

Phone Calls (Developed): Texting is easier. Especially since phone calls can be a commitment that Trey dislikes being wrapped up in. Whenever Cater's name pops up as the caller, Trey knows he's getting an ear full. The thing is that you never. answer. your. phone. Either the text gets lumped in with the hundreds of missed messages you have, or Grim stole your cell to play mobile games. So Trey gives up and only ever calls. Either Grim will answer or you'll pick up thinking it's the snooze of your alarm.

"Hello? Prefect, where are you? It's me, Trey. Just calling to see if you're still coming to the Un-Birthday party? Riddle's getting a bit nervous since the schedule's set for the next hour. Grim's already here with Ace and Deuce - uh, want Cater to send a double to pick you up? I have a sinking feeling that you're asleep...Call me? Please?" <- He was correct. You called back not a moment after, half-asleep and hauling ass not to be late.

Speaking in Propositions (Inherited): Trey's normally good at keeping neutrality in a conversation, but getting a clear answer out of Yuu you is like solving a rubix cube. Either it's easy and instant, or a long game. Eventually your habit of indecisiveness rubs off on him and he asks questions more than answers them. Evidently this gets his younger classmen to stop asking for favors unless they really need to.

“Aha - really? I didn’t notice at all. Okay. Okay, I picked up on a few hints. What’s so wrong with them taking after me? It’s cute, right?” == Trey is the observant sort that picks up on his influence quickly. Not just anyone carries floss in their pocket at all times - and the looks from his dorm-mates when you offer some up is enough for the realization to click. Trey’s used to playing the respectable sort, and finds it endearing that you’re taking his good notes to heart. In truth, most of Trey’s mimicry is intentional. He’s a flexible guy who doesn’t mind altering his habits to fit your needs. Easier this way, y’know?

Habits you steal:

Speaking in Acronyms(Inherited): Now this is scary. The first time it happened, you had to take a pause and just re-evaluate your entire life. You don't use them nearly as often as Cater does, but somewhere along the line your brain must have rewired to speak in internet lingo. O-M-G you're TOTALLY twinning with him right now, period :)

Nicknames (Inherited): Again, frightening. You once swore against ever calling him Cay-Cay. It isn't very slay-slay. Yet you can only hear him use nicknames for so long until you're unconsciously calling people by them too. Especially since he's always dishing gossip. It starts in your head, which is fine. It's not like they know. Then you call Lilia 'Lils' and that old fart is just grinning behind his sleeve because ohoho~ young love <3

"Did you just- AHA! OMG DO IT AGAIN?! Wait, gotta get my camera out for this - wha? Oh, that's totes not fair! C'mon. Call me Cay-Cay. Just once! I won't even post it to Magicam, please? Lils won't believe me without proof! Pleasssssseeeee - " <- He actually doesn't want you to call him Cay-Cay all the time. Cater likes you using his given name, since it's more personal. Although the way it obviously slipped out on accident is just too cute to ignore.

Reality TV (Inherited): At first you don't like the gossip. It's cheesy, a bit annoying, and the shaky camera-work for nearly every show is headache inducing. Cater likes his dose of drama in his free-time, and Ramshackle has a tv that no one is using. It starts with him watching while you do other things around the dorm. Yet each time you pass the living area, you take longer to leave. Lingering around like one of the ghosts. Then he pulls you in with snacks and starts giving the low-down of what's going on, pulling out a bottle of tangerine shimmer polish to paint your nails. It's just one episode, watch it for him? Please? Oh no. No. No. Suddenly you're invested in who's the baby-daddy of little Ricky and what Chantel is going to do because her sister just lost the house to foreclosure.

"#KingdomOfDeadbeats - am I right? Ugh. I'm so glad we met if that's the dating scene back home...What?! I know it isn't real! Don't be a dummy, I was just joking! Ah! Stop! Don't hit me!" <- Half-hearted jokes about going on one of those talk-shows one day. You're an alien, after all - imagine the juicy drama and views his account would get from doing an interview? It's all jokes though. Cater likes spilling the tea, but hates being it. Don't ever abandon him and go out for milk though, kay? He doesn't want to pay Grim's child support. Otherwise he might have no choice smh

Habits he steals:

Phone/Web Games (Inherited): Cater's phone is mainly full of social media. He's not too into the gaming scene, it's not his peeps y'know? Alas, you download a few dress-up games and one MMO on his phone. First off - props on getting his phone. That's Cay-Cay's lifeline and not just anyone gets to play with it. Pray tell - what is this Wonderstar Planet (props if you know what is being ref.) and how can he become the most influential digital streamer on it? Congrats. He's addicted.

"Who's this Muscle Red and why's he bombing our raid - AH! He just tea-bagged me! So not cool...Prefect? STOP LAUGHING WE HAVE BETS ON THIS MATCH! There goes my collab opportunity, big fail" <- Muscle Red continues to make an appearance. Eventually he becomes Cater's official rival on stream, and Lils is all to invested in the tea cater drops during club meets. Side note. You're the one who gave 'muscle red' Cater's domain code. The lore thickens.

Internet Caution (Developed): This goes without saying, but Cater's well-known in the Magicam scene. He's very forward and knows his way around using charisma. Since you're not in the scene as much, he becomes more cautious of where and when he does streams. The change is so subtle that only the most observant people will pick up on it - but Cay-Cay doesn't want any creepos popping in if y'know what I'm saying. His sisters were the ones to instigate this change.

“Awe~ SRSLY?! That’s fresh news to my ears but good, right? Ne, are there any clips or pics? I need my evidence, y’see. Especially if my cutie is off taking notes from their one and only. C’mon, spill the tea!” == Cheeky Cater is well aware of what’s happening. He’d humor anyone out for some light teasing - after all, he isn’t by your side at all hours. His walls are probably the second most difficult in all of campus to bypass, so he’s both sweetened and nerved to see you picking up on his mannerisms. That’s proof of a strong attachment, after all.

Habits you steal:

Knuckle Cracking (Inherited): Deuce still does this from his biker days. It could be because joint pain from past fights, or possibly air retention in his knuckles from studying. Regardless, Deuce cracks his knuckles at least once every few hours and you began to mimic him. Some people groan at the popping sounds but it really does feel good to release the tension. Let's just hope neither of you dislocate any fingers on accident.

"Stop that! G-geez, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Thought you broke a finger...your hands are stiff? That just means you're studying a lot! I think...uh, let's break? I think there's some leftovers in the kitchen." <- Deuce 100% gets needing to pop those air bubbles. His hands get stiff from studying all the time, but don't crack them too much or you might dislocate something. Side note - he shows you how to wrap your fingers with a soothing salve. He used to do it after fights, but now it's a great help after class.

Double Notes (Developed): Deuce tries. He really does. Yet the lad just isn't great when it comes to book smarts. Seeing that he is dedicated to turning over a new leaf, you make a habit of copying all your notes. He isn't allowed to share them with Ace or Grim - else all bets are off. Sometimes you leave little 'good job' stickers on the last page for him. Is he a toddler? No. Does he peel the stickers off and save them? Totally. He is a good noodle. Suck it Ace.

Sewing (Developed): He breaks things. Most of the time it's an accident. You've learned to carry a mini-sewing kit for all the rips in Deuce's uniform. Same for mini remedies for stains and other problems. It's not like he's trying to get grass stains all over his under-shirt or to split the seam in his gloves (nearly every week). It just happens, and every time he comes to you with a kicked-puppy look with a promise of it being the last time. It is never the last time.

"Uhm...hun'? It happened again. I'm so sorry for bothering you but Housewarden is going to kill me if he sees the tear in my blazer! Can you fix it?! I can't handle another collar with my exam tomorrow! I need to breathe to focus! - really!? I owe you one! Snacks are on me tonight."

Habits he steals:

Bottomless Stomach (Developed): Have leftovers from dinner? Bring them over. He'll get the tubba-ware back in 1-2 days. Coupon for buy-one-get-one at Sam's? He'll take the extra and polish it off in less than a minute. Deuce becomes a human garbage disposal and is taking the unwanted condiments off your sandwich to eat. Just pick them off and leave 'em on the corner of his lunch plate. Even if he dislikes it, he'll down it so you don't have to.

"Mm. Oh, thanks hun' - its that all you're eatin'? You don't like the steam bun? It is a bit dry, but wasting food is disrespectful to the cooks! I'll finish it for you so have my fruit instead. You still need to eat" <- 10/10 very thoughtful and not picky at all. He is grateful to eat your cooking and will gobble up all leftovers at Ramshackle, but doesn't think twice to sharing meals in the cafeteria. He will notice though if you do not eat enough. Restocks the snack cabinet if he sees it's empty. Is touched if you routinely share things you know he enjoys, like saving half your frittata on purpose.

Early Riser (Inherited): See - even if you hate the mornings, there is no choice at Night Raven College. As Ramshackle Prefect you need to be up to take care of business before class. Deuce becomes your personal alarm clock because he wants some time with you before everyone else joins in. Mind you that he lives with three other dudes who threaten to end him every morning because his alarm wakes them up too. Eventually he can wake up without it, but the time leading is unpleasant.

"W-what? Seriously? I've been trying to be more like them! They're a good person and responsible so I've been trying to follow their example. To think we've been doing the same thing this entire time...." == Why would you ever imitate him? He's been trying his damn best to become an honor student worth respecting, and has a long way to go. To think you're comfortable enough with him to mimic his mannerisms? It's a pipe dream, one he doesn't grasp until it's put right in front of his face. You don't let anyone else pick off your plate other than Grim. The next time his clothes tear, he's already handing off his tie before realizing just what's happening. When you wrap his knuckles after a six-hour lock in at the library? He can't help but feel proud at how neat the bandages are. Suddenly the dark memories of hiding bruised knuckles from his mom are pacified with healing balm. Deuce views this development as a gift, and is grateful. Very, very grateful.

Habits you steal:

‘I owe you’ cards (Inherited): Ace's favorite social invention - the 'solid'. Nothing spells new-low like getting your friends to do stuff in exchange for a favor in the future. Most of the time Ace counts on people forgetting he owes them one, but you're not so gullible. The only difference between you both is that while Ace never fulfills his solid, you have a conscience. Give it a few more years. He'll get ya.

"I know this is the third ticket this week but - Oh! C'mon, cut a guy some slack, would you? I'm sorry for bein' late to our date. Yeah, it was shitty. I'm not trying to fight it, aright? I'm here now so let's have some fun and you can chalk three strikes on my tab. I'll even buy ya some candy - Ah! Okay! Two candies but that's where my charity ends!" <- Evidently, the 'I-owe-you' tabs cancel each other out from how often you both call in favors. It's just an excuse to do acts of service or express apologies without being too mushy. Ace is definitely keeping a track record of them though. Expect an ongoing log that dates back to the week you met, when he showed up homeless, collared, and looking to couch surf.

Profanity (Inherited): Ace swears like a sailor. Maybe not so much in his dorm because *cough* he's being policed. He holds no such reservations when you're both alone at Ramshackle. Unfortunately his potty mouth has a mind of it's own - it taints you, and you are a sham of a prefect. Ace earned a week-long collar for teaching you some Twisted-Wonderland exclusive curses. Riddle is not pleased.

Leaving the Windows Unlocked (Developed): There are only so many times he can sneak in through your window before the adrenaline-induced charm wears off. You have class in the morning, and can't be bothered to deal with him on nights he can't pass out in his dorm. Thank seven you have all of Ramshackle to yourself - because Heartslabyul sounds like a nightmare with the roommate situation. You can't leave the front door open for obvious reasons, but most nights the guest-bedroom window will be left slightly ajar in case he needs a place to crash.

"Pssst! Oi! Prefect! ...ugh, Grim! Wake them up, man! The latch is stuck. Don't go back to bed you furball! HEY! IT'S FREAKIN COLD OUT HERE SO LET ME IN ALREADY" <- Please let him in. If Ace has to spend one more night in that stinky dorm with three dudes, he'll string one of their dirty gym socks over your bed. No mercy.

Sleeping with Earplugs (Developed): Bitch Ace snores.

Habits he steals:

Notes Memo (Developed): Ace is bad with remembering things. Anniversaries? Dates? Allergies? He admits to not putting in a great amount of effort, but you can't say he doesn't try at all. He has a notes block on his phone dedicated to things like your go-to takeout orders and preferences. He even has a few alarms set days before any important events because even if you say no-gifts or plans...yeah, he's not that stupid.

Excessive Yawning (Inherited): You're always tired - it wasn't Ace's problem before but now he does feel a bit guilty. Dragging you into his messes felt different when you were just the prefect, y'know? Regardless, it's human instinct to mimic each other's demeanor so he'll openly yawn all the time - normally in succession of you.

"Hey...you're dozing off again. Am I seriously that boring to hang around? - Nah. Just messin' with you. I'd suggest taking a nap during next period but I doubt a goody-goody like you is gonna take that advice. Let's just ditch juice at lunch and go back to the dorm. Don't get mad if I forget to wake you up though"

Medications (Developed): Ace is the last person to become a human apothecary, but he's always got a pack of pain-reliever meds in his pocket with a few bandages, etc. He also attached one of those tiny capsule bottles to his keyring with some stomach meds inside. You took a spill running laps? Dang man. That sucks. Here's a band-aid for your knee. Curse you for making him the slightly-more responsible one.

"Eh..what, like it's a shock? You saying I'm a bad influence? Cause yeah, that checks. Nothin' I can do if they want to take a card outta my deck though," == Ace is entirely neutral on the topic. He is definitely smug that you're coming over to the dark side, but he doesn't need anyone to point it out. He was your first after all. Maybe the start could have been a bit better - but hey, you came around. It's not like he's hurting anyone by helping build your backbone. Although Ace will instantly deny going soft for you in any way, shape, or form.

[fairsweetlonging]

pixie!shen yuan au where he transmigrates into a cute little forest pixie, with pretty gossamer wings that sparkle like stars, a voice that tinkles like tiny silver bells, and long dark hair that he braids while wearing flowers as sunhats!!

he lives in a hollow tree on cang qiong, enjoying the rivers and groves and rocky cliff faces. his little house is filled with all kinds of trinkets, a lot of which he's stolen found from the sect, like buttons and beads and scraps of silk, needles as swords and fancy tea leaves from pots left out by kitchen windows. he quite likes his little life, the only downside is that he can't really read books this way, because even though he sneaks into the libraries at night and his wings are a source of light, most books are way too heavy and he's worried his (faint but present) spiritual energy will be detected.

he watches the disciples train on different peaks, soaking in all the new lore and details that airplane put way too little time and energy into. he's there before the plot, so binghe hasn't arrived yet and he can take his sweet time making a plan to ensure binghe won't destroy the mountain.

one day, though, the rare time he ventures out into qing jing peak, he gets distracted by an open window to the bamboo house. he knows it's stupid, but this might be the only chance he has to take a look inside the villain's lair, it's something he needs to know if he wants to help binghe in the future, and so he goes inside and takes a look around—

and promply gets trapped inside a mason jar.

oops.

shen qingqiu's face looks at him from the other side of the glass, still menacingly beautiful even with the slight distortion. worst-case scenarios flash through his head; crushed into pixie jam, experimentation, harvested for parts, stalled out like a fancy ornament on the shelf... but it's none of that.

"sneaking around my peak, entering my home, naughty little thing," shen qingqiu huffs, "were you not taught manners?"

he leaves the jar on the desk for a bit, chiding shen yuan but then—opens the jar? and lets him out? he tells shen yuan not to sneak into his house anymore and then just... continues with his paperwork. shen qingqiu's cruelty is limited to humans, it seems, and not animals or tiny fairies.

so of course shen yuan comes back.

he doesn't want to push it and risk shen qingqiu crushing him like a fly, but he enjoys hanging around the house and watching the qing jing disciples train and play music. ning yingying is already there, so it can't be much longer before binghe arrives. shen qingqiu is surprisingly kind to her compared to the other disciples, who he regularly drives to tears. the man notices him and tries to shoo him off, but ofc it doesn't work. after some time shen qingqiu keeps casually looking around to find him and shen yuan is proud to be getting on the man's nerves.

at some point liu qingge comes by, stomping hard enough to make the leaves shen yuan uses as a hammock shake. since it's the bai zhan war god shen yuan is excited to see him (liu qingge is often on missions, and shen yuan avoids bai zhan out of a healthy precaution of aggressive teens with swords), so he comes closer. the two peak lords hold the stupidest argument known to man that shen yuan only half listens to, fascinated by the sword liu qingge carries. but then liu qingge suddenly jerks his arm and shen yuan spooks, shooting up.

liu qingge sees something flying at his face and reacts like anyone would—he swats at it. hard.

when shen yuan hits the ground he can feel his wings get crushed under him; for a few seconds he's terrified liu qingge will stomp on him and scrambles to get away, only to get grabbed and scooped up into the air. he wildly kicks his legs and hits his tiny little fists on the hands that hold him, little voice jingling like crazy, but then shen qingqiu raises his voice and snarls at liu qingge.

"you idiot! watch where you wave those big paws of yours, brute! look what you did, you could have killed him!!"

then shen qingqiu turns around and goes into his bamboo house, kicking the door shut. he takes shen yuan to his bedroom, putting him on a soft handkerchief as he looks over his little wings and mutters vicious things to himself about "slaughter-happy idiots". shen yuan is too stunned to respond and just sits there as the scum villain fusses over him. his wings aren't really hurt, just a little squished, it's fine! shen qingqiu then lectures him for being reckless and coming so close to a brute like liu qingge.

after that they sort of become... friendly? shen yuan sets out to be the most mischievous little pixie he can be, but somehow it only works in his favor; he steals little things from shen qingqiu's home (not that he can carry much more than a button or brush), flutters in circles around the man's head, dips his little boots in ink and then walks on paperwork, etc. but shen qingqiu doesn't seem bothered by any of it. if anything, he leaves trinkets for shen yuan to take, offers his hand as a perch to sit on, and makes a tiny brush for shen yuan to use instead.

shen qingqiu gains a little friend and life gets a little calmer on qing jing peak. when binghe comes, shen yuan manages to distract shen qingqiu enough that the tea dumping never happens, and binghe is shooed off after the ceremony. binghe still isn't treated right and still has to sleep in the woodshed, but shen yuan secretly helps him and acts like a little night light in the dark, so binghe gets quite attached.

meanwhile liu qingge is regretful of having slammed a pixie out of midair and must prove his honor, thus begins the habit of dropping off gifts at shen qingqiu's doorstep (also because his sister freaked out a little, apparently hurting fairies is bad luck and he might have cursed himself for eternity? anyway).

this display causes yue qingyuan to show up too with the biggest wettest puppy eyes because he heard xiao jiu has a new friend who now lives in his house? shen qingqiu kicks them all out.

this has already gone on so long so the last thing i want to add is shen yuan eventually manages to cultivate a human form, and with a little effort he can even keep his wings! and of course this makes it worse, because that sweet little pixie is now a beautiful man who wife beams everyone in a three mile radius and doesn't even notice it.

shen qingqiu and luo binghe unexpectedly bond over beating suitors away.

[bluesidez]

The Love Lab presents:

[Is It Warm?]

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!Reader

summary: A stressed-out man deserves a stress-free encounter.

content warning: another PWP but it actually has plot...I should stop calling these PWPs, an uncomfortable scene at the beginning that involves a form of harassment, 18+ so MDNI, body worship (m receiving), thorough body massages, freeform? pegging, unprotected p in v sex (WRAP IT UP 🫵🏾), cum as lube, creampie

word count: 4.6k, halfway proofread

a/n: This is partially a birthday gift to myself and partially a part of the array of fics I wanted to get out before October was over for like...an all-month birthday celebration? School is getting in my way and October is over today, so.....that plan is soiled. But still! Enjoy this!

Here’s the Part 1 of this story! It’s not necessary to read, but it’ll add a bit of context.

“Did you find it yet?”

“No, it’s still the same thing.”

You pout as Miguel digs further into bottom shelf, baskets rattling against him.

One of the stores you frequented was selling a new round of character-themed merchandise and, of course, they were quick to sell out.

This time around, Nueva York’s one and only Spider-Man’s suit would be worn by the different characters adorning the jars, cups, and blankets.

Nueva York’s one and only Spider-Man was also on all fours searching for the basket that your friend hid those multiple things in.

You had work in the morning, so you couldn’t camp outside and grab it as soon as the doors opened. You didn’t want to bother Miguel with something so small either.

However, he picked you up from work as a surprise with a bouquet of roses in one hand which led to the current predicament.

He saw how low the shelf was and didn’t want anyone to look under your skirt, so now you’re stuck staring at his ass filling out his jeans.

“Any warmer?” you ask.

“Maybe?” he mumbled, arch in his back deepening.

You fought the urge to rub your leg along the curve lest he bang his head and knock the entire shelf down. Instead, you folded your arms under your chest and shifted in your heels.

Since you ever so delicately brought him to new horizons, he’s been extra sensitive about your hands fondling that entire zone. He hasn’t really asked you to do it again.

It’s ok. He’s an extremely busy man and the last time, he was conked out and in a daze for a while.

Still, you were obsessed with how he looked from behind.

He starts to back up, pulling a woven basket out from behind the others. He places it on the ground. Once it’s opened, it’s as if the colorful world of cute, lovingly drawn characters was brought to you.

You clap your hands in excitement as Miguel stands up and places the basket in the small cart you’ve been pushing.

“The things I do for my girlfriend,” Miguel sighs as he dusts off his knees.

You wait until he stands straight and pull your arms around his neck to plead for a kiss. He pecks them twice and rubs your waist.

“Thank you, boyfriend,” you whisper with a smile.

Miguel purses his lips and nods, bashful.

You turn and drag the cart down the aisle, Miguel following behind with his warm hand nearly folded over your hips. You hum and comment about the things that you see, turning to look at him with big eyes when you really wanted something.

He’d give the occasional “You don’t need that,” but then there were the silent head-tilts when you described the use of a product so energetically.

“But baby, we could cuddle under this when we watch our shows! And these,” you pointed to some snail mucin you found, “we have to have this for our spa days.”

“That’s,” Miguel folded his arms, “correct. We need to keep our skin clear. And we need to keep warm.”

Errand days always turned to you to Miguel pulling items down and convincing you to get things that you didn’t need but absolutely wanted.

“What about this?” Miguel takes a bra from the rack, head turned toward the piece but eyes looking over at you.

“It’s cute, but I think I could find a cuter one somewhere else.”

“You’re right. I’ll just rip it off.”

“On second thought, add it to the cart.”

It’s about an hour before you both make it to the line for the register.

You’re trying not to add to the “annoying couple” demographic, but Miguel’s arms are holding onto the cart, enveloping you against his chest. You turn and look up at him and smile, giddy that he joined you on this errand run.

He kisses your head and hums along to the song playing through the store speakers. You lay on his chest and read along the products on the shelves next to you.

A man peeks at you over the shelf, eyes cutting into you before he smirks and walks away.

You shudder like you’re cold and make a disgusted sound before you turn your head.

“What’s wrong?” Miguel asks, guiding you and the cart further in line.

“Creepy guy,” you mumble into his chest.

Miguel frowns and turns, squinting around the store. He was definitely hiding now.

“I’ll handle it,” Miguel grunts.

You stay silent, knowing that once he’s set to do something, he won’t change his mind.

One day he quietly asked you “What use would having a boyfriend with superhuman powers be if I don’t use them to protect you?”

You’ve long stopped telling him to ignore things like this.

Another inch further in line and it’s almost time to pay. The guy lingers again by the entrance of the store. You lean your weight on Miguel, feet tired of your heels and anxious of how the next few minutes could play out.

Trying to understand his motive was nearly impossible: you were clearly with someone else with a large physique, clinging to him like a lifeline. That should have been a huge hint.

When it’s time to place your items on the counter, Miguel shifts his body so you don’t see the stranger. The two of you work chat to the cashier, joking about the many things you’ve bought.

With swift movements, Miguel pays for your items and carries your bag before you can even think to pay. He turns and waits for you to lock your arms through his, a habit grown from his need to be near you.

The entrance was empty, other people scattered throughout the store.

Maybe it was just a strange incident.

“Excuse me, miss. Would you mind helping me with something?” the guy asks behind you just when you think you’re in the clear.

“She’s good,” Miguel tells him, face stern.

“What, so she can’t answer for herself?”

You ball a fist up around the back of Miguel’s shirt, steadying yourself, “I can answer for myself, but we’re in a bit of a hurry. So, if you don’t mind, we’ll be out of-“

“I-It’s just that my daughter’s birthday is coming up,” the man holds his hands up frantically. “I have no clue what 10-year-olds like nowadays. I was wondering if you could help me choose something.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. This guy could be lying completely, but the thought of a little girl out there smiling as she ripped the paper off a present tugged at you.

Looking at Miguel, you could tell he was on the same wavelength.

“There is one thing that’s all the craze,” you say.

Back in the store, you were sifting through the aisles again with your attentive boyfriend not too far behind. He was carrying all of your bags in his hands and on his shoulders so you could really make an honest effort to help.

Ten was that turning point where you either really loved imaginary toys or wanted nothing to do with then, perhaps a mix of both.

“She used to love these when she was younger,” the man pulls out a baby doll from the lower shelf.

There’s been about five things he’s mentioned all of which were geared towards a younger audience. He was so insistent that it made you wonder of he’s even talked with his daughter in the past five years.

“I’m not sure she would like this one. What about that?” you point to a popular plushie. It’s not the baby doll, but you’re sure his daughter would love it.

“Oh I don’t know…”

This back-and-forth continues for longer than you want it to. You could have been wrapped around your boyfriend like a koala while he talked about his day and instead you were stuck here.

“Sir, we really have to go,” Miguel intervenes, “I’m sure whatever you get your daughter, she’ll love it.”

The older man sneers, “You wouldn’t know a thing about that.”

“Excuse me?” your face changes, disturbed.

“Such a beautiful thing on his arm and no ring, no child. He’s slacking up,” he slides a hand down your arm. “My daughter could use someone like you-“

Miguel snatches his hand up from your arm, eyes almost glowing under the bright lights of the store.

“Are you insane?”

“Let go of me!”

The man tries to fight against Miguel but falls short as he keeps his cool. He’s only released when his body flashes in an array of blue and pink squares, knees hitting the ground.

Faster than you can comprehend what’s going on, Miguel drags him out of the door. You follow afterwards, apologetic to the confused employees.

“Do you just like to touch women for fun or is it exclusive to people that try to help you?” you can hear Miguel bark at him.

“I’ll have you reported to the authorities!”

“Yeah, yeah. Try and call the rent-a-cops,” Miguel’s lip never unfurled. He whipped out a phone. “Lyla?”

In a series of events, you watched the man go from Miguel’s grip to the stringy webs of Spider Scarlet.

“I see that this fellow is giving you trouble and sorrow,” Ben’s stunted tone crowded the stranger’s cries. “I’ll remove him quickly, no, swiftly. So that you both can have a wonderful night. Together.”

You can almost see the tension build in Miguel’s temple.

“Thank you. It’s much appreciated,” Miguel grunts. “I would like to move on with my night, please.”

“Of course, Bo- I mean hard-working citizen.”

He grabs the glitching stranger to swing back to HQ, a quiet wave to you before he left.

You laugh, feeling Miguel’s shoulders fall a bit.

“You ok, baby?” he takes your hands in his, bags lining his arms,

You nod your head, “I’ve had worst things happen. Could use some comfort, though.”

He gives a sympathetic smile and rubs a thumb across your cheek.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Small, pesky incidents like this kept popping up.

An occurrence of a clown that stood in the gray parks holding a single balloon but doing nothing else, women with pixie cuts complaining about the prices of clothes, balding men with beer bellies and baseball caps: all of these people from different eras were spread across Nueva York.

While you’ve been going into work, keeping your schedule relatively normal, Miguel has been in and out.

It wasn’t a rare sight to come home to his empty penthouse, only the city lights and a talkative Lyla to keep you company.

Sometimes, you were woken up by his arms sliding around your middle and a kiss to the back of your neck, but by the time you woke up, he was gone again.

The life of a superhero’s girlfriend was a bit isolating, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Especially not the shocked look on Miguel’s face as he enters the living room one evening.

“What’s all this?” he asks, looking at the dimly lit lights and taking in the smell of something sweet in the air.

Music is playing from the speakers and Miguel is noticing how smooth the skin of your legs look from in between your silk gown. Taking advantage of his focus, you bend and remove the cloth from the table behind you.

“Ta-da!”

You stand there with your hands out, shaking them. It takes a lot to not jump like a star in excitement.

Miguel looks from you to the table.

“What is it?”

“What does it look like?”

“I meant, what is it for, honey.”

You lean on the massage table with your hip and hold your fingers up to count off, “Well, it’s for you. To relax. To unwind. To let me try out the skills I learned from that class my coworker gifted to me.”

Within the pause, you twirl four fingers in the air.

Miguel sits near the back on the couch with an exhausted look on his face, “Baby, thank you for the gesture, but I don’t know if-”

“Please! I think you’ll really, really love it. I can massage you right now while you’re not super busy,” you say as Miguel stands again. You bounce over in front of him, puppy-dog eyes on full display. “I only rented it for a few days!”

He looked to the ceiling and sighed, weak to the look on your face.

“Fine.”

“Where is your robe at?” a freshly showered Miguel asks with an eyebrow raised. He still pans up and down your body, like he hasn’t explored it a million times over.

A few steps forward and his gaze is stuck on the way your sheer and short gown molds around your body.

There’s nothing underneath but your perfumed skin.

“That’s the perk of having your girlfriend give you a massage,” you say watching him stare at your chest. You take his chin in your hand and guide his face back to your eyes. “Right?”

“Mm hm.”

You snort and tell him to lay down

“Take your towel off, silly.”

Miguel obeys, white fabric pulled from under him with a blink of an eye. He lays it just above his behind.

“This is going to feel so good. I just know it,” you say, giving his back a light rub.

“Thank you in advance,” Miguel replies. He’s lying with his head on his arms, stress from work evident.

You’re really glad he’s letting you help him indulge in this break.

Grabbing the oil from the end table you pulled over, you pour some right on his back, fingers spreading along the pivots of his neck. You. stand in front of the head of the table and press your thumbs into his nape, earning a stunted noise from him.

A smile grows on your face, “I haven’t even really started, Miguel.” Your thumbs start to circle and he turns his face into the open hole.

“Stiff there. Too many screens to watch,” he says. “It smells good.”

“Give those pretty eyes a rest then,” you tut, adding your other fingers to the ones along his neck in an upwards motion.

Shea butter never fails you.

His neck slowly heats up and you giggle to yourself. One compliment and he turned into mush.

“What about here, hm?” shifting down to the tops of his shoulders. The muscles there pulled as tight as a rope. Adding pressure to them makes Miguel groan.

“’S good.”

“I bet,” you work into a knot, warm hands pushing into his skin. “There’s no telling how long this has been here.”

Miguel silently notes that maybe he should wind himself up more if he could end up like this again: pampered by his pretty girlfriend.

As quiet as he kept his running thoughts, his throat involuntary gave you real-time reviews.

Every slide of your knuckles nearly had him purring and your fingertips warmed him through to his bones.

His shoulders feel like air once you’re moving down his spine.

“I’m going to do something different,” your voice is lower so as to not disturb the atmosphere.

You hike one of your knees up on the edge of the table and climb over him, hovering as you asses his back.

Two hands cover his waist with thumbs almost touching each other on his spine. You let go of some of your weight and press your thumbs up his back.

Miguel’s voice vibrates through the room, an arch in his spine forming.

You repeat the action, earning an even louder response.

Moving to stroking in outwards motions from his spine to the sides, you wanted to pat yourself on the back. Miguel was so relaxed under you.

Though, you wanted to smack yourself for getting excited so early, the effect of his sounds making itself evident with how cold the air felt on your exposed lower half.

Switching to move your hands down his arms to hefty muscle of his shoulder blades, you hoped to distract yourself.

“Se siente tan bien,” Miguel sighed, airy and relieved. “I’ve been climbing a lot more this past week.” (That feels so good.)

The praise went straight to your clit.

“I’m glad, Miggy. I’ll work out some more tightness in your back and move down to your legs. Sound good?” you were trying your best to control your tone.

Miguel starts to answer but a stunted sound comes from his lips instead as you start to knead his back in small places.

Back and forth, you move across his skin, heart thumping in your chest.

By the time you got to his lower back, you awkwardly sat on the towel separating the two of you. You were sure it was dampening, but you hoped Miguel was too far gone to notice.

Your thumbs circle in the dips of his skin, his hips lifting up, making you brace yourself.

“Babe, you’re going to push me off,” you say as Miguel tries to glue his waist to your fingers.

“S-sorry,” hips stutter against the table before he lays down completely.

You pat his side as a form of forgiveness and inch off of the table. The towel over his ass was wrinkled, brown skin peeking from under it.

You grab more oil to start on the back of his thighs, a place that you know could carry his tension. With both of your hands focusing on his right thigh, you add pressure to your palms.

Miguel immediately jerked, grunting through his teeth.

“Woah, there,” you rub his leg softly. “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong?”

He’s softly pushing out air as you continue back.

“It’s embarrassing. And rude,” he mumbles after a while.

You move down to his calf, his voice rising as you envelop his skin.

“What is?”

He huffs, turning his head, “I’m hard.”

Switching legs, you try not to show your giddiness.

“Nothing wrong with that. I think it’s a normal reaction.”

“Is it?” he shifts again when you massage the inside of his thigh, so close to the problem area. “The last time I got massaged was before…everything. It was never like this.”

You try to envision a younger, scrawny Miguel laid out on the table before you and giggle.

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not,” you say in between a quiet grin.

Miguel lifts his head a bit, “I can hear you smiling, amor.”

“Ok, how about this,” you remove the towel and softly cover his behind with your hands. “Can I massage here?”

Miguel looks back at you, eyes darker under these lights.

“Isn’t this a full-body massage?”

You bite your cheek to try and stop your face from lighting up, but it fails.

“Then, continue to relax, Mr. Spider-Man.”

“I prefer Mr. Boyfriend, actually.”

Humming, you push into the plushest parts of him, repeating the motion circle after circle.

You try to ignore his hole peering out every time you knead.

Miguel is breathing deeply, back rising and falling.

Looking down, you can tell that his earlier words were true. Poor thing was barely rutting against the table.

You slide a thumb on his taint, marveling at how he lets out a sharp gasp. The feeling makes him grind harder into the soft material.

“Please,” he whispers.

“Please, what, Mr. Boyfriend? Anything I can do to make your experience better?”

“I want,” you brush your finger over his hole and he groans. “Want more.”

You stop and grab the lone tile, wiping the oil from your hands.

Walking near his face, you lean down and kiss his ear, the skin heated, “This requires more facilities. One momento!”

Luckily for him, the dildo from the last time was already clean.

Coincidentally.

You grab it and some lube from the bedroom and rush back to Miguel who is sprawled out on the table.

“Sorry for the wait,” you say. “Let’s start back.”

With lube on your fingers, you rub a thumb over his hole, pressing until you breach past.

Miguel sighs, “Shock. I missed this.”

That surprises you, “Really?”

“Yes,” he moaned as you reach in further. “You make me feel good. I just didn’t have the time to enjoy it.”

Your heart soars, switching from your thumb to two fingers. The way his hips rise shows a beautiful line in his silhouette. When tell him such, he shudders.

“You always compliment me on the things I couldn’t care less for.”

“There’s beauty in all of you though, Miguel,” your words contrast how you’re digging into him, adding another finger and brushing past the ball of fire.

Miguel tightens his fists, pushing back against your hand, “Put it in me.”

“Do you like it when I praise you?” you ask, ignoring his request.

“You already know the answer. Por favor, bebé.”

He was getting whiny and you remembered that this whole endeavor was supposed to be for him, about him.

You climbed back over him, a palm pressed into his back, “I know, I know. I got you.”

“So needy,” you say as you lube up the pink plastic.

Miguel gears up to respond but you shush him when you glide the tip in.

Your name is on his lips, singing along with the melody of the instrumental playing in the background.

You pull your gown up a little, fur on the trim riding up your skin. You moan with him as you let the dildo go deeper.

From here, you can see the glow of his back, glistening under the candlelight from the oil that drives him crazy on you. The nape of his neck is starting to shine with sweat and his fingers are pressing into his palm so as to not puncture the table.

Continuing your movement, you move your wrist continuously, pushing into him and cupping your breasts to stop them from moving.

You’re drenched and when you slide your heat over his cheeks, the end of the dildo feels amazing against your clit. You hold the end of it close and move your hips along every thrust.

“Keep going,” Miguel says, reveling in the way you were getting off on top of him. “Don’t stop.”

Your hips move faster, hand on your chest moving to his back, nails digging into his skin. Your body leans over him, skin-to-skin separated by your thin gown.

No words can be formed as you listen to Miguel let out satisfied grunts, the sound of him covering and uncovering the dildo aligning with him.

You angle it so that it can slide along your folds before it enters him, keening into his skin every time.

“I love you so much, Miggy,” your nails scratch against him, your body tensing like he was the one pinning you into the table.

Miguel jerks, panting out, “Love you, too. Te amo mucho, ángel.”

You continue, Miguel’s words blending from begs for more to confessions of love.

When he reveals that he’s close, arching into you, you suck a kiss into his back, working your dildo past his prostate.

He groans, cum spreading under him. You pepper kisses across his back.

“Hm,” you got up and switch the dildo for a plug, squeezing a cheek for good luck. “I didn’t finish the massage.”

Miguel turns his body around, careful not to knock you off.

“You’re always up to something.”

He smiled, looking at your ruined gown, oil making it cling to you. He’s still hard, cum smeared across his lower abdomen.

You bring your face to his, kissing his lips while his hands slide up your hips.

“I’m just a little crazy when it comes to you,” you reply, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

Miguel moves his chin up, a hand coming to cover your neck.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You smiled into his lips, rubbing your nose against his. He laughed at the gesture and rubbed down your back.

“Shall I continue, Mr. Boyfriend?”

“I’m at your command, Ms. Girlfriend.”

You lean up and slowly pull your gown off of you. Miguel watches you, not missing a single moment.

“While I did have ideas of exactly how this massage was going to go,” you reach back and scoop up the milky liquid on his stomach. You take him in your hand and pump once, twice. “I think I’ll end it with a bang.”

When his tip goes past your entrance, his eyes roll back and his hands grab your hips instinctively.

Your head dips past your shoulders as you sit further, the feeling of him familiar but still overwhelming.

Your hips stutter as you try not to let the greedy feeling of chasing your orgasm come back so quickly. To fight it, you place your hands on his pecs.

“Usually, the chest massage is done in the opposite direction,” Miguel hikes his hips up as you try to get back into masseur mode, earning a high moan from you. “B-but you get special privileges today.”

You focus on applying pressure to his collar bones, working over a fading love mark.

Miguel isn’t having it as he holds your hips and snaps up.

“I think I have a more severe problem area,” he says as you push the skin of his chest towards his armpits. He wasn’t even tense there.

“And I’ll get to it-“

“You don’t understand,” Miguel says, locking his arms around you. “It’s serious.”

He thrusts up, delving into you like he was always meant to do so. You grip his shoulders and hold on, mind hazy at the shift.

“The prettiest masseuse in the world,” he breathes out. His eyebrows are scrunching up, ever so expressive. “My private one.”

“Yes,” you sigh, close from before. You’re turning into putty in his arms.

Arousal builds as he continues to work into you. Your mouth parts, unsure as to what was coming from your mouth.

“C’mon, baby. I know you’re there,” Miguel moves one hand to grip your shoulder. “‘M ready to pay you.”

You convulse around him, core swimming with his words.

He follows right after, hips attaching to you as he fills you up. The table creaks as he pumps a few more times into your lifted body.

When you both come down, your muscles feel like they’ve been reconstructed. Miguel lifts you off of his length, keeping you in the air for a bit just to watch him drip out of you.

“That’s a pretty steep payment,” you say once you’re lying on his chest.

Miguel snickers, “I’ll help you manage it later.”

“But before that,” you wave a hand in the air making a holographic screen with blue squares appear before you both. “Leave a tip?”

Miguel wipes it away as you cackle.

“You’ve ruined me for all future massages in a normal setting and you want a tip?”

“I’m just kidding,” you kiss his pout away.

“Besides,” you reach down and graze your fingers over him. “This tip is pretty good.”

“Only ‘pretty good’? Do you need another one?”

You put your eyes to the sky, thinking, “Let’s eat dinner and get away from the nearly ruined, rented table first.”

Miguel smiles softly, “Good idea.”

dividers by: @/adornedwithlight @/inklore

a/n: I think I would like to consider this story, Is It Tight?, and Wash Day all in the same universe.

Sorry to the people in my taglist who don’t really rock with pegging. It probably won’t happen again. 😭

taglist: @questionable-behaviour @babygotl01292003 @slushycoookie @calig0sto @ghost-lantern

@tatatida @haveclayeveryday @corpsenightmarebride @samjinxx @earth2fae

@maiyart @feegrh32 @darkstalight82 @ladysimp @vmpz8sauceee

@leonsbimbogf @unwrittenletter @madeofstar-dust @leoeloo @just-simpins-blog

@poisamm @thequeenreaders @tinybirdhideout @aly29a2001 @mimi-sanisanidiot

@tojishugetiddies @pigeonmama @av3da @prettygirleli @koikohib

@jaykookies @snails-doodles22 @xo-zeze @plantxella @thedevax

@f1-hoff @stressed-cherry @mozzella @appledressing @abbbbbysvt-17

@woahhajime @vicravluv @xodeity @somniasworld @obsessgurlll

@starboygf @undf-stuff @bmoplanet @alexxavicry @ladysimp

[jude-duarte-wannabe]

Charles jealousy smut please!

my own little devil

order up!

hi lovely thanks for the request, i have been dying to write this and i am a charles girl so i may have gone a little feral while writing this, so apologies in advance <3 i did end up picking prompts from my bakery list to go with this just fyi and those prompts will be bolded.

pairing; charles leclerc x female fwb reader

blurb; your devious little plan to make charles jealous and regret leaving you high and dry the previous night goes wrong.

warnings; biting kink, rough sex, a speck of breeding, spit, dirty thoughts, wall sex, google translated french, semi public sex, creampie, hair pulling, dirty talking, oral fem!receiving, possessive behavior, choking, mentions of pregnancy, dom!charles. [let me know if i missed anything!]

chai; biting or hickeys [i picked biting] lemonade; possessive vodka shot; rough sex tea; semi public doppio; wall sex chocolate mousse; "i'm sorry" croissant; "don't you dare" pancake; "no, we can't, not here" sugar pie; "stop wriggling" boston cream pie; "fuck, it's dripping down your legs"

currently playing; jealous by nick jonas "cause you're too fuckin' beautiful and everybody wants a taste, that's why i still get jealous"

it was all his fault, at least thats what you told yourself when you came up with this devious little plan in the first place, that it was charles's fault for up and leaving before you'd been able to cum around his cock last night.

he'd showed up at your place around two in the morning tipsy and in a grump from having lost the race earlier in the day begging you to make him feel better and so naturally since he was the best fuck you'd ever had, you let him have his way with you but his way last night was utter fucking torment.

he enjoyed, no he loved seeing you beg and he was hoping you'd be begging tonight down on your sweet little knees but you had decided that, that was not going to be the case, you wanted to be the one to have him on his fucking knees for a change.

you knew deep down that this dress would do the trick, the red satin hugged your figure, attaching itself to each and every curve of your body and the bra you wore pushed your boobs so far up that they could fall out of your dress with one wrong move, you looked like a sin; that was all charles was capable of thinking the moment he saw you walk into the club, his own personal little devil.

when you brushed past him on your way to the bar, your fingers grazed across his crotch and the slight gasp he let out made you smirk "you are playing a dangerous game douce fille" charles whispered to himself as he watched you go, hips swinging with every step, charles couldn't help but lick his lips at the sight, desperate for a taste.

charles was fine with letting you wander about the club showing off for him but what he didn't like was you showing off for all the other men there as well with your ass practically hanging out the bottom of your dress, you were his and he wasn't gonna let another guy lay a hand on you, so while he let you have your space, he found his eyes traveling over to you every now and then just to make sure you weren't getting into any mischief.

but little did either of you know, mischief was heading your way. when you felt a hand brush across your back so close to your ass as you leaned across the bar to take your drink from the bartender, you smirked thinking it was charles coming to claim his prize for the night but oh how you couldn't have been more wrong.

as you looked behind you, you made eye contact with a man that just radiated fuckboy energy "please don't touch what isn't yours" you mused quietly and he held his hand's up innocently like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar "relax just wanted to get to know ya, i'm brad" you couldn't help but roll your eyes, brad what a classic fuckboy name.

after a thought you decided he was harmless since you had no intention of flirting or going home with him tonight, so you decided to indulge him a little and so you sat across from one another at the bar, slowly sipping at your individual drinks.

charles had only taken his eyes off you for less than two minutes and when his eyes sought you out, he saw red.... seeing you sitting across from a man at the bar, he wasn't happy and despite you deciding to be a little tease with your choice of dress tonight he trusted you like he had never trusted any other girl before and so he let it go until he watched the guy slip his hand onto your thigh, caressing the skin like he owned you but he didn't, charles did and he was going to make sure that this prick fucking knew that.

"let me get you another drink" brad asked, hand still running along your thigh, little did he know that if he didn't remove it soon he would no longer have a hand and if the intimidating presence behind you didn't give away the fact that brad was fucked, the hand that soon wrapped around your throat should have been a dead giveaway, charles tilted your back to look into your eyes "don't you dare" he practically growled.

"you say yes and i will not be gentle with you" brad's hand slipped from your thigh "i didn't know you were taken" brad stated, trying to defend himself "i'm not" you mumbled, still gazing into charles's eyes and as your words hit his ears, he tightened his grip around your throat.

"lets go" he growled, pulling you off the bar stool and into the bathroom of the club, you'd barely made it in the door before charles pressed your back into the cold tile wall, his hand once again wrapping around your throat and holding tight as you struggled against his hold "stop wriggling" he demanded, his breath hot against your ear as he pressed a little tighter causing black spots to form in front of your eyes, as he watched a tear slip from your eye he eased back a little loosening his hold but not completely letting go just yet "your mine so all those guys can fuck off and leave you alone"

"i'm not yours" you reminded him and he gave you a look that told you that you'd picked your words poorly "yeah, well i'm going to fucking make you mine douce fille" and with that he dropped to his knees, hiking your dress up and around your hips, he dragged the fabric of your panties to the side drooling at the sight of your wet little pussy, if you asked charles in a public setting what his favorite thing about you was he would say your eyes but if you asked in private, he wouldn't even give you a verbal answer and instead just drop to his knees in front of you.

"no, we can't, not here" your fingers tangled in his soft locks, pulling at it to try and distract him from his current mission of wanting to eat your pussy until your legs gave out around his head and your whole body was trembling from his touch but your words met deaf ears as he spit into his hand before rubbing his fingers along your folds, grazing your clit with every pass he made.

"your fucking crazy" you whispered as a shiver ran down your spine due to charles's touch on your clit but also at the idea of being caught in such a compromising position in public, oh how you could see the headlines now.

"FERRARI'S GOLDEN BOY CAUGHT IN ROMANTIC TRYST!"

it was only a few seconds before charles's mouth attached to your pussy, licking through your folds to suck up every last drop of the juices you were currently leaking all over his pretty little face like an alcoholic who'd gone far too long without a drink.

his fingers gripped tightly at your thighs making sure to leave little bruises that he could kiss better later. when he slipped his tongue inside, you shuddered above him, hands pulling at his hair but he never ceased, this man was starving and he was going to feast.

you couldn't help but gently rock your hips against his tongue which caused his nose to brush against your clit causing the most gorgeous friction that had you tilting your head back as a low moan slipped past your lips, fingers tugging at his hair as he smiled against your folds continuing to eat your pussy like a man starved.

you were reaching your peak and fast, you always did when charles ate you out like this, you hips began to move faster against his tongue chasing the pleasure he gave you but right as you were on the edge of pure bliss he pulled away and the sight you saw as he gazed up at you was down right erotic, his cheeks, lips, nose and even chin wet with a mix of your juices and his saliva, the perfect mix in his mind.

his pupils were wide and his mouth hung open as he panted, his warm breath hitting your thigh as he gently nibbled at the skin sending even more shock waves zapping up your spine, he scrambled up your body, hands pulling at his belt desperate to get his hard aching cock inside of your tight little cunt.

"why'd you stop" to say you were pissed was an understatement, he was not about to leave you high and dry again "i'm sorry" he rushed out, he knew that if he was to keep lapping at your dripping wet pussy like the feral animal he was any longer that he would cum in his pants right then and there.

"i was going to cum in my pants" he chuckled, connecting his lips to yours for the first time that night, you moaned at the taste of yourself on his tongue, his kiss was sloppy and desperate causing spit to coat both of your faces.

when you pulled away you couldn't help but smile at the sight, charles cheeks were flushed and warm from the heat radiating between your bodies, his eyes wide and your lipstick was smeared across his lips and chin "so fucking pretty" you murmured, thumb running over his bottom lip as he pulled his aching cock from the confines of his jeans.

you squeaked as he picked you up, practically manhandling you as he wrapped your legs around his waist and plunged in without warning causing your head to slam against the wall behind you "fuck" you gasped "be gentle" but he was far from gentle in this moment as he thrusted in and out of you at an unnatural speed that had your head spinning.

if anyone were to walk into the bathroom in that moment and catch you, you'd have looked like a pair of rabbits in heat from the way you were going at it.

you couldn't help but bite as his shoulder, teeth digging into his skin and drool soaking his shirt in an attempt to keep quiet but the sound of his hips slamming against yours would give you away before any moans did, the sound was wet and sticky as your hips slammed together.

a sharp pain hit you as charles fingers threaded through your hair and tugged forcefully so that he could kiss and bite at the delicate skin of your neck, marking you has his own personal fucktoy, no other man would ever fucking touch you again, not on his watch.

"you wanna come inside me joli garçon, you want me to make you a daddy" charles groaned against your shoulder at the words you whispered in his ear, a million fantasies coming to mind in that moment but pushed them all down in order to focus on you and the pleasure he was making you feel.

when he felt your pussy clench around him, his hips came to a halt, body shaking with pleasure as he released ropes and ropes of his sweet hot cum deep into your tight pussy that still clenched around his cock, milking him dry.

charles's lipstick stained swollen lips pressed against yours as you swallowed eachothers moans, his hand snuck down and started to rub at your clit, pace fast and rough, he was desperate to make you cum around him and when you finally did, juices gushing around his cock, he couldn't help but cum again at the feeling.

when it was all over he pulled his head from the crook of your neck as you both panted "holy fuck" he breathed out "that was the best fuck we've ever had" he darkly chuckled.

"i never knew you were a biter" you giggled which caused your pussy to clench around his cock again, a small shot of cum shooting out.

he slowly and gently let you down and as he kneeled down to pull your dress over your butt, he couldn't help but lean forward and lick a stripe up your thigh "fuck, it's dripping down your legs" his tone of voice told he was proud of the work he'd done.

he had fucking bred you and god did he want to do it again and again until it stuck and you were round and pregnant with his baby.

"your fucking mine now you petit diable"

you couldn't help but laugh at his words "little devil huh"

oh yeah, you were his own personal little devil and a fucking hot one at that.

"yeah, my little devil" he chuckled, lips pressing against yours sloppily once more, you both couldn't help but smile against eachothers lips,

"lets get the fuck out of here" he suggested, tangling your fingers with his own "why, you going to breed me again" you joked not knowing how fucking right you actually were.

[johnbrand]

Call to Action

William was getting antsy in the airport, crossing his legs and kicking his feet anxiously as he awaited his flight. It had been nearly two months since he had last seen his long-distance boyfriend and the excitement was riling him up. William had been preparing for this trip for weeks now. Everything was packed, the shuttle from the airport coordinated. As soon as he landed he would quickly change from his plane pajamas to a fancier outfit to surprise his true love.

All of this made William bouncy with a child-like giddiness. The two had been lovers since their first year of college, but William’s boyfriend had made it clear early on that senior year he planned to study abroad. Even though this separation was planned and temporary, the young, romantic William had swooned since the day he left. He practically looked the part too, his average, lean build and mousy brown hair perfectly accompanying the lovelorn persona.

Doing his best to distract himself, William grabbed for his phone, surprised to find an unknown number trying to reach him. With nothing better to do, he decided to accept the call. William did not notice all the other men in the airport simultaneously reaching for their phones and answering the same number through their devices.

“Men!” a rugged, masculine voice exclaimed from the other end. “It is our time to rise up to save our country!”

William was not prepared for this sudden call to action, but curious, he remained on the line. He did not realize his decision was already made for him.

“Men should be with women! Men need to become fathers again!”

William’s eyes glazed over at the strong words as the masculine voice continued to spout even more offensive remarks. It was jarring, aggravating to a point that…aggravating to a…aggravating to his dick.

William let the man’s uproar of commands project on, unaware of the small boner that rose from his soft pants as insults were delivered at his masculinity. Each of the man’s statements were absorbed willingly into William’s innermost self, adjusting the poor boy to the expectations of a complete stranger. William’s height rose dramatically, a soft breeze tickling against his shins as his pants rode higher up. His thighs and calves began to fill the empty space as the pants became a starchy material, khakis functional either indoors or outdoors. His shoes too, once cheap sandals, grew larger into massive athletic sneakers that (thanks to his manly privilege) passed as "business casual."

“Straighten out those backs and puff those chests!” the voice urged, and William obliged. His muscles tightened beneath the worn-out tee, which was quickly thickening into a sporty-yet-still-professional polo echoing a more standardized hue. William’s chest, now supported by hard-earned bulk, began to cover itself with little hairs while his entire being broadened and squared. The changes crawled out from underneath the new shirt down his arms, leaving William with tanned, lightly dusted appendages and thick mitts begging for a game of catch on the front lawn. A single finger was graced with a simple silver band.

William’s manhood continually throbbed with the man’s words, pulsing larger with every new mandate ordered upon him. “Your role is to reproduce a spitting-image, not a spitting savage!” William felt himself agree, tightening the typical leather belt that had secured itself around his stronger base. His evolving cock protested the loss of freedom, now a machine for fertilization built for a purpose other than sheer pleasure. “You are a man, so act like one!”

“I am a man!” William repeated, his vocal chords deepening with maturity and testosterone. His jaw squared out with manly aftershave, years brutishly piling onto his body to make him better prepared for fatherhood. William's hair flattened out into a neatly combed shape, a long-practiced art form that matched his weathered, experienced eyes.

“Families and jobs are the priority.” the man signed off. “Father our children, father our country!”

Bill placed the phone down, noticing his flight had just arrived. The 30-something-father watched as the passengers got off, noticing all the proud men with their families. The thought aroused his massive paternal schlong, quickly forcing him to spread his legs to make some room. Bill had just finished a week-long corporate retreat, talking business, the home life, and politics with the other like-minded men out on the greens. Now though, he was excited to get home to the wife and kids. So excited in fact that he had to hear his voice one last time.

“Hey hun, boarding the plane now. Have dinner ready by the time I get home." Bill's command held the dominance and authority of natural masculinity. "Tell the kiddos I'll see them soon, love ya.”

[aspenmissing]

Firstly I adore how you write the arcane crew with kids ❤️ What if they have kids but the reader us a feline vastaya ? How mixed would they be ?

ᴋɪᴛᴛᴇɴꜱ?

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ/ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ || 8372 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴅɪꜱᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɢᴀɪɴꜱᴛ ᴠᴀꜱᴛᴀʏᴀ'ꜱ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴀᴡᴡ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ! ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʜᴏᴡ ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜᴇʏ'ᴅ ᴀᴄᴛ ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʜᴀᴅ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ! ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴀ ᴄᴜᴛ ᴍɪx ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ᴠᴀꜱᴛᴀʏᴀ ɪꜱ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴀʙʟᴇ! ɪ ᴡʀᴏᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴍʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴠᴀꜱᴛᴀʏᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ, ꜱᴏ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ! <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx

JAYCE

Years after Jayce’s first encounter with Y/N, their bond had deepened, not just through shared interests, but through the way they balanced each other’s worlds—science and art, reason and magic. Their love had brought forth a daughter named Elena, a perfect blend of both their spirits. Elena inherited her father’s sharp, analytical mind and her mother’s free-spirited energy. In looks, she was a striking mix of both. She had her father’s deep, expressive brown eyes and tan skin, with a soft, angular face that reflected his features. From Y/N, she inherited a darker, more mysterious quality—her mother’s delicate pointed ears and long, flowing hair that shimmered with a hint of silver. Elena’s tail, inherited from Y/N’s Vastaya heritage, was an elegant and playful addition, often swishing with excitement as she moved.

Her childhood was filled with exploration, whether through the scientific marvels of Piltover or the ancient mysteries Y/N had whispered about while they crafted together.

=

One day, when Elena was around 10, she accompanied her parents through the bustling Piltover marketplace. The stalls were alive with vendors selling everything from mechanical parts to exotic herbs. Elena darted from one stall to the next, mesmerised by the intricate clockwork trinkets, the vivid fabrics, and the glittering jars of strange potions.

"Mom, look!" Elena tugged at Y/N’s sleeve, halting in front of a stall filled with coloured threads that shimmered like the paints her mother used in her art. Y/N crouched beside her daughter, smiling warmly.

"That's beautiful, Elena," Y/N said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just like your work."

Elena's eyes sparkled. "I want to make something with these. Maybe a new quilt for the house!" she said excitedly.

Jayce, overhearing them, smiled with amusement. “Already planning ahead, huh? You do know your mum’s quilts are legendary in Piltover, right?”

Y/N chuckled, eyes softening at the thought. "She has a good teacher."

Elena beamed with pride, her excitement growing as she skipped to another stall. Her eyes landed on a peculiar set of enchanted crystals that hummed with strange energy. Her fingers hovered over them, intrigued by their shimmer.

“Are you sure those are safe?” Jayce asked, his protective instincts flaring.

Elena turned with a cheeky grin. “Of course! They’re just… magical.”

Y/N and Jayce exchanged a glance, realising their daughter was a fascinating blend of both their worlds—the rational mind of a scientist and the wonder of an artist with an affinity for the mystical.

=

As the day wore on, Elena continued her exploration, picking up trinkets and curious finds along the way. She was their child through and through—always reaching for something new, whether in the mechanics of Piltover or the untold secrets of magic.

Jayce watched his daughter from a distance as she carefully examined a piece of clockwork, her brow furrowed in concentration, and smiled. He saw so much of himself in her—a mind that could never be contained within the bounds of tradition, always reaching for more.

And as Y/N walked beside him, their hands intertwined, they knew their daughter would continue to weave their worlds together in ways they had never imagined. From Piltover’s mechanical wonders to the untold mysteries of magic, Elena was destined to make her own mark.

Their life in Piltover wasn’t always easy—being a Vastaya in a city of high society meant stares and whispered comments, especially when they strolled together as a family. But Y/N stood tall, her tail swaying behind her as she held Jayce’s hand firmly. The occasional glance or whisper from a passerby didn’t faze her. She had learned to rise above it long ago. Jayce, ever the protector, offered her silent reassurance with his touch, the steady strength of his presence beside her.

"Careful, Elena!" Y/N called after their daughter, who had run ahead in excitement. "Don’t run off too far."

Elena turned with a wide grin, slowing her pace. "I’m just looking for something fun!" she replied, her voice filled with the wonder of a child exploring the world.

A few people glanced at Elena’s energetic enthusiasm, the contrast to the calm sophistication of Piltover’s streets. Y/N caught the looks and flicked her ears in amusement, but Jayce didn’t miss a beat, squeezing her hand as they walked side by side. "She’s got your spirit, doesn’t she?" he teased.

Y/N smiled, her tail flicking behind her as she watched Elena. "She’s got a bit of both of us in her. I just hope she doesn’t get into too much trouble."

"You two are a lot of trouble together," Jayce teased back, his lips curling into a smile.

=

The warmth of the moment was something Jayce cherished. When they first met, he could never have imagined a life like this—a life filled with love, family, and a deep connection to a woman so different from him. Y/N, with her vast knowledge of Zaun, her calming presence, and her fierce protectiveness, had swept him off his feet. She had her own strength, her own struggles, yet she had always supported him, as he had supported her.

And then there was Elena a living testament to the way they’d both changed and grown. Elena was a reminder that love could transcend all—whether it be between cities or species. She had inherited Jayce’s insatiable curiosity and Y/N’s ethereal presence, a calm and warmth that grounded everything. She was the perfect mix of their worlds, a child with a fierce mind and an open heart.

As they walked further through the market, Elena suddenly stopped in front of a stall brimming with art supplies—paints, brushes, and sketchbooks. Her eyes widened with excitement.

"Mum! Look!" she exclaimed, tugging at Y/N’s sleeve. "They’ve got paints and all the colours you use for your lessons! Can we get some?" Her fingers traced the vibrant shades, her imagination alight with possibilities.

Y/N chuckled and knelt down beside her daughter. "You’ve got a good eye, sweetheart. These would be perfect for some new artwork. Let’s pick out the colours we need, and we can work on something together."

As they lost themselves in the moment, a passerby lingered a bit too long, his eyes darting from Y/N’s tail to Elena’s pointed ears. Y/N noticed and smiled politely, but the man quickly averted his gaze, muttering something under his breath. Jayce didn’t miss it either. He shot the man a pointed look, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t say a word.

Elena, her tail flicking behind her in excitement, jumped up. "Can I make something for Dad too? Like you always do for him, Mum?" she asked eagerly, her face lighting up with the joy of creating something special for her father.

Y/N smiled softly, resting a hand on Elena’s shoulder. "Of course, darling. We’ll make something special. How about a painting for Dad to hang in the workshop?"

Jayce couldn’t help but laugh softly. "You two will have a whole gallery before the day’s out, won’t you?"

Y/N winked at him playfully. "Perhaps. But we’ll make it something extra special for you. A masterpiece from both of us."

Elena nodded enthusiastically, her bright eyes alight with excitement. "Yeah, Dad! You’ll love it!"

Jayce smiled, kneeling down to their level. "I can’t wait to see what you both come up with." His heart swelled at the thought of his daughter and Y/N creating something together—an expression of their love for him. It was moments like this that made everything worthwhile.

As the family continued their walk through Piltover, Jayce couldn’t help but feel a deep peace settle in his chest. He had never believed in destiny, but the life he had now felt right—right in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Y/N and Elena were his world, and he would do anything to protect them. The life they had built, the family they had created, was everything he had ever wanted, even if it had come in ways he hadn’t expected.

There was a perfect balance in their little family—Jayce’s determination and vision, Y/N’s wisdom and gentleness, and Elena’s playful energy and unyielding love for both her parents. Together, they were a testament to what could be built when two people from different worlds came together with understanding, compassion, and love. Elena had the best of both worlds in her, and that made her something rare, something special.

=

As they headed home, the sun setting behind them, Jayce whispered softly to Y/N, "Thank you for this... for everything."

Y/N’s eyes softened as she leaned into him. "It’s not just me, Jayce. It’s all of us—together."

With her head resting against his shoulder, they walked into the future hand in hand, ready to face whatever challenges came next. In that quiet moment, surrounded by the warmth of their love, Jayce knew that the future was theirs to shape, together. The stares, the whispers, the discomfort of others couldn’t touch what they had—what they had built. Nothing could.

VIKTOR

Years had passed since that fateful night in the alleyways of Zaun, when Viktor had first reached out to Y/N, guiding her away from the chaos of the streets. That moment had been the beginning of a journey neither of them could have predicted—a journey filled with both hardship and unexpected tenderness. As the years went by, their bond grew stronger, woven together by shared moments of quiet understanding, and an unspoken promise to never let go.

Viktor’s path had eventually led him to Piltover, a city of progress, knowledge, and endless possibility. The brilliant Heimerdinger had recognised Viktor’s genius and, after much persuasion, brought him to Piltover to become his assistant. It had been a turning point in Viktor’s life, a chance to leave Zaun behind and be recognised for his talents. But even in the gleaming towers of Piltover, Viktor had never left Y/N behind. She had been by his side through it all, as steadfast as ever, and it was in her presence that he found his peace.

Though Piltover was unfamiliar, even overwhelming at times, Y/N had adapted with grace. The city's bustling streets and towering structures felt a world apart from the alleys of Zaun, but Y/N’s ability to blend her Vastaya heritage with the world of Piltover’s scientific and artistic communities had made her a quiet but respected presence. Her talents—both as a healer and a seamstress—were highly valued, and over time, she had carved out a place for herself, always with Viktor’s unwavering support.

Their shared history, their differences, and their shared journey from the broken streets of Zaun to the polished city of Piltover were reflected in their daughter—Lira.

Lira had inherited both of her parents' qualities, yet she was truly a reflection of both their worlds. She had taken more after Y/N in many ways—her skin, the same faint greyish hue, her long, delicate ears, and her tail, which swished expressively behind her. But there was also something of Viktor in her, something sharp in her eyes—a quiet intelligence, an almost unnatural understanding of things. Lira was a blend of their two worlds, and in her, they saw the future—a new generation, capable of bridging the divide between science and nature.

They had named her Lira for a reason—a name that meant "song" in the old language of her mother’s people. Lira was a name that symbolised harmony, the blending of two very different worlds. It was also a tribute to her mother's Vastaya heritage, with the hope that, like the name itself, she would find a way to bring unity and understanding to the world, just as her parents had.

Viktor’s heart would swell with pride each time Lira came running into his arms. Her small hands would touch his cane, her eyes full of wonder as she asked him to explain the intricacies of his latest invention. Though Viktor had always been focused on logic, reason, and progress, the sight of his daughter’s curiosity, her hunger to understand the world, softened him in ways he never thought possible. Lira would sit beside him for hours, watching his work with wide eyes, absorbing every detail with an intensity that made Viktor realise that, perhaps, the future was more than just a series of equations. It was in the small moments—like the gleam in his daughter’s eyes when she solved a problem or the way her fingers danced across the pieces of his machines, as though she were already a part of his world.

But Lira also shared her mother’s creativity, her deep understanding of beauty in its many forms. While Viktor worked tirelessly at his projects, Lira would often be by Y/N’s side, learning the intricate arts of weaving, stitching, and crafting. Y/N would teach Lira how to create beauty from the raw, the imperfect—how to use her hands to shape something meaningful from the world around her. Whether it was repairing a tear in a favourite shirt or creating a new quilt from old scraps, Y/N would impart lessons that spoke not only of the skill of the craft but of the deeper understanding of the world’s rhythm—its delicate balance between nature and the manmade.

=

One evening, the soft glow of Piltover’s lights filtered through the windows of their home, casting long, gentle shadows across the room. Viktor was at his desk, lost in thought as he worked, his mind consumed by the details of a new project he was collaborating on with Heimerdinger. The familiar hum of machinery drifted in from the workshop, a constant companion in Viktor’s life. Yet, despite his mind’s focus, his thoughts kept drifting back to how much had changed since that first moment he had helped Y/N in the alley.

Behind him, Viktor heard the soft rhythm of Y/N’s sewing machine—a comforting sound that always brought him a sense of peace. Lira’s voice bubbled up with questions, her soft laughter filling the house as she worked with her mother. The scene was so familiar, so comforting, that Viktor couldn’t help but close his eyes for a moment, letting the peace of it wash over him. It was a far cry from the days of Zaun—no more threats lurking in the shadows, no more hunger or cold.

“Viktor?” Y/N’s voice, warm and calm, broke through his reverie. He turned in his chair to see her standing in the doorway, a soft smile on her face. Lira was perched on her mother’s shoulder, her small arms wrapped around Y/N’s neck as she gazed at her father with wide, eager eyes.

Viktor’s heart swelled with love at the sight of them. “Yes, lásko” he replied, his voice thick with affection. (Love)

Y/N crossed the room slowly, her movements as graceful as ever despite the tiredness that sometimes lingered in her body. She placed a gentle hand on Viktor’s shoulder, grounding him in the moment. “Lira’s been asking about your work again. She wants to understand how it all fits together.”

Viktor smiled, his eyes shifting to Lira, who was now standing at his side, her bright eyes fixed on him with an intensity that reminded him so much of himself as a child. “Does she now?” Viktor said with a chuckle. “She’s certainly persistent.”

Y/N smiled, a touch of amusement in her voice. “Just like you,” she teased. “She wants to know how things work, how they fit together.”

Lira’s golden eyes widened with excitement, and she hopped down from her mother’s shoulder to run to Viktor’s side. “Papa, how do you make the parts move like that?” she asked eagerly, her tiny finger pointing to the small mechanical model sitting on his desk.

Viktor’s heart swelled with pride and affection. He took a deep breath, then gestured for Lira to come closer. “Well, miláčku,” he began, bending down to her level, “it’s all about understanding the way the pieces fit together. It’s a bit like how your mother weaves her fabrics, you see?” (Sweetheart)

Lira tilted her head, processing the information, before repeating thoughtfully, “Like weaving?”

“Yes,” Viktor continued, his voice warm with encouragement. “Everything, whether it’s a machine or something more natural, is connected in some way. It’s just a matter of finding the right way to put it all together.”

Y/N watched the two of them, her heart full as she observed the bond that had flourished between Viktor and their daughter. Lira was a living testament to the way both of them had shaped her. The curiosity, the drive, the sense of wonder—all of it was there, in her.

The three of them stood together in that quiet moment, a family forged from the strength of their love, their shared creativity, and their unwavering belief in each other. The lights of Piltover shone brightly outside, but inside their home, there was a warmth that no machine could replicate. Together, they were a family—strong, united, and ready to face whatever the future held.

And as they stood there, Viktor couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. For the journey, for the lessons, for the love that had filled his life in ways he never thought possible. And for the tiny girl with the golden eyes, whose presence had made it all worthwhile.

“I’m glad we’re here,” Viktor whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/N smiled softly, resting her head on his shoulder as Lira clung to his side, her golden eyes wide with curiosity. “So am I, Viktor,” she said, her voice filled with quiet contentment. “So am I.”

JAYVIK

Several years had passed since that long, weary day in the lab. Time had a way of softening the sharp edges of past pain, but for Y/N, some wounds still lingered, just beneath the surface, waiting for the world outside to remind her of its harshness. Yet, in spite of these lingering scars, brighter days had emerged—days filled with laughter, love, and the indescribable joy of watching her children grow, finding their own voices in the world that had once felt so unkind.

On this particular afternoon, Y/N strolled through the park, her twins—Elowen and Cassian—holding tightly onto her hands as they skipped beside her. Elowen, with her wild curls bouncing in the breeze, had inherited Viktor’s meticulous nature but also Y/N’s boundless curiosity and wild spirit. She was always the first to ask questions about the world around her, eager to uncover the mysteries of both magic and science. Cassian, on the other hand, with his mischievous grin and dark eyes that mirrored Jayce’s, thrived on adventure. His curiosity often led him into trouble, but his infectious joy in exploring made up for it. Together, they were a perfect blend of their parents—two little bundles of energy, wonder, and mischief.

Viktor, leaning on his cane as always, followed closely behind them. His faint but content smile revealed how deeply he cherished these moments—the ones where time seemed to slow down, where the world faded away, and only the people at his side mattered. He was proud of his children, proud of Y/N, and proud of the family they had built together. And there was Jayce, walking beside him, just as devoted, just as protective. Y/N could see the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at their children, his love for them as fierce and unconditional as her own. Together, the three of them made a home, one built on love, understanding, and a shared commitment to protect each other from the cruel realities of the world outside.

=

But as they walked through the park, something stirred in Y/N—an old discomfort, a prickle of awareness that she couldn’t shake off. At first, it was subtle—just a few sideways glances from passersby. But as they continued, the stares grew longer, the whispers more frequent. She could hear the hushed voices, barely masked by the rustling of leaves and the laughter of children. Some of the looks were filled with curiosity, some with disdain. The word "unnatural" caught her ear, and muttered remarks about her “strange” heritage reached her with painful clarity.

Her chest tightened, and she could feel the familiar weight of their gaze bearing down on her. The faces that looked upon her with suspicion, fear, and even hatred never failed to cut through her, no matter how much time had passed. The tightness in her chest grew as she glanced down at Elowen and Cassian, who were oblivious to the tension in the air. They were laughing, caught up in their joy, but Y/N saw the way the world would see them too. Her children—her precious children—were not exempt from the cruel judgment. Their innocence would never be enough protection from the harshness of the world.

Viktor noticed the shift in her posture before she realised it herself. Her grip on Elowen and Cassian’s hands tightened, and her tail, once relaxed behind her, now flicked anxiously. He could see the muscles in her back tense, her ears flattening slightly in response to the murmurs and stares. He knew her so well that he didn’t need to ask. But he did, anyway.

“Y/N?” Viktor’s voice, low and cautious, reached her. He stopped beside her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, his cane resting beside him. His other hand reached for hers, a quiet offering of support. “Is everything all right?”

Y/N blinked, pulling herself out of her thoughts. She gave him a tight smile, but it was weak, strained. “It’s nothing,” she muttered, her voice faltering. “Let’s just go home.”

Viktor’s brows furrowed in concern. He knew her too well to be fooled by her words. He glanced around and saw what she saw—people still staring, still whispering. He could feel her anxiety, a tight knot in his chest as he struggled with the helplessness of not being able to shield her from it all. He said nothing, though, as they turned to leave, both of them guiding their children with quick, deliberate steps.

Cassian, sensing the shift in the mood, looked up at his mother with wide, innocent eyes. His gaze, full of concern, didn’t escape Y/N. “Mum? Why are we going home? We were having fun!”

Y/N forced a soft laugh, bending down to ruffle his dark hair, her heart aching with the weight of his words. “I know, sweetheart. We’ll come back another time, I promise.”

Elowen, always attuned to the emotions around her, glanced up at her mother with a furrowed brow. Her bright eyes, much like Viktor’s, narrowed with concern. “Are we going to be okay, Mama?”

Y/N’s heart clenched as she looked into her daughter’s earnest eyes, those same bright eyes that shone with curiosity and understanding. She kissed Elowen’s forehead gently, a soft whisper escaping her lips. “We’re always okay, Elowen. Always.”

Jayce, who had been walking slightly behind them, caught up and placed a hand on Y/N’s back. He had noticed the subtle shift in her mood, the change that always followed when the world became too much for her to bear. His voice, calm and steady, broke through her thoughts. “Don’t let them get to you, Y/N. They’re just ignorant.”

Y/N gave him a small smile, grateful for the support but not quite able to shake the lingering discomfort. “I know, Jayce. But it doesn’t make it easier.”

Jayce squeezed her shoulder gently. “We’ll make sure they never see the world the way we do,” he said, his tone filled with determination. “We’ll teach them how to rise above it. We’ll show them what true strength is. And they’ll grow up knowing that love and family are the most important things.”

Viktor nodded in agreement, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. “They already know what matters, Y/N. They’re growing up surrounded by love. That’s what will guide them.”

=

They continued their walk home in silence, Viktor keeping a protective hand on Y/N’s back, Jayce walking beside her, a quiet but unwavering presence. His warm smile, though faint, was a silent reassurance that they were all in this together. Elowen was perched on his shoulders, giggling with delight as she tugged on his hair playfully, while Cassian swung from his hand, laughing with each swing. Jayce, as always, did his best to be the stabilising force, effortlessly balancing the responsibility of keeping them safe while maintaining the lightness in his step that made the children feel unburdened by the world outside.

Y/N’s tail flicked nervously behind her, her unease bubbling under the surface despite the joy in her children’s laughter. She could feel the stares, the muttered comments, and the weight of the world pressing against her chest again. Viktor noticed her tension immediately and slowed his pace, coming closer to her side, his hand brushing against hers in quiet comfort. He knew her well enough to recognise the signs of her discomfort, though she was trying her best to hold herself together for the sake of their children.

=

As they neared their home, the murmurs faded into the background, replaced by the warm comfort of familiar streets, the comforting sense of belonging within their own space. Y/N sighed, the tightness in her chest easing as they reached the door. When the latch clicked shut behind them, a sense of relief washed over her like a wave. Here, in the sanctuary of their home, she was safe. She was with Viktor, Jayce, and their children—where the world couldn’t touch them so easily.

Viktor, ever observant, placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle but steady. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice full of empathy. “I know it’s not easy.”

Y/N exhaled a shaky breath and leaned into him, her head resting against his chest for a brief moment. The steady thrum of his heartbeat soothed her, grounding her in the present, in the love they had built together. “I just… I just want to protect them. I don’t want them to see the world like I do. I want them to grow up free of fear.”

Viktor’s hand moved to the back of her head, fingers carding through her hair in a gesture of care. “They will,” he reassured her. “They have us. And we’ll teach them what matters—love, understanding, and the strength to rise above the ignorance around us.”

Jayce, having entered behind them, placed a hand on Y/N’s other shoulder. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, his voice low but filled with unshakable confidence. “They’ll never know the world like we do. They’re going to be better than that. And we’ll make sure of it.”

Y/N felt her heart swell with gratitude, her breath steadying as she looked at the men who stood beside her. Despite the world’s cruelty, she had this—she had Viktor, Jayce, and their children. Their family was her safe place, a foundation built on love, strength, and resilience. Together, they could weather any storm.

=

That night, as they settled in, Y/N tucked Elowen and Cassian into their beds, pressing gentle kisses to their foreheads. The twins were already drifting off to sleep, their innocent smiles and soft breaths reminding her of the purity of their hearts, untouched by the harshness of the world. “You’ll never have to carry the world’s burdens. We’ve got you. Always,” she whispered.

Her heart ached with love as she pulled the covers up around them, watching over them like a guardian, as Viktor and Jayce quietly stood by her side, sharing the weight of the moment. The world outside could be unforgiving, but within these walls, surrounded by their family, Y/N knew her children would always be safe. They had each other—and together, that was more than enough to face whatever the world threw their way.

With Viktor’s steady calm, Jayce’s boundless energy, and the love they shared, Y/N knew they would find a way through the darkest of times—together, stronger, united, and full of love. With their hearts intertwined, they were a force to be reckoned with, no matter what. And that made all the difference.

VANDER

As the months passed, life in the undercity settled into a familiar rhythm, but things were never quite the same after Y/N gave birth to Kael. The quiet, curious child brought with him a special kind of presence that seemed to resonate deeply within the walls of the Last Drop. From the moment he was born, Kael's appearance caught the eye of everyone in the bar. His features were a striking combination of Y/N and Vander—Vander's strong jawline and broad shoulders, but with Y/N's deep, almond-shaped eyes, shimmering with a mysterious wisdom far beyond his years. His small, cat-like nose and faint markings on his skin were unmistakable signs of his mother’s Vastaya heritage, marking him as something rare, something different in a world where differences were not always welcomed.

They named him Kael, meaning "mighty warrior" in an ancient tongue, as Vander had suggested. The name seemed fitting, not just for his appearance, but for the world he had been born into—one filled with struggle, hardship, and a need for strength. Y/N agreed, feeling the weight of the name as she held her son close. Vander, with his protective nature, already saw the resilience Kael carried, even as an infant, and he was proud to see that strength take root in his son. Y/N felt a similar bond, sensing that Kael was destined to carry a power that neither she nor Vander could fully comprehend.

In the meantime, the children of the Last Drop—Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor—had grown especially fond of Kael. The little boy’s serene presence seemed to calm the chaos of the undercity, and the children couldn’t help but adore him. They took turns helping Y/N with him, vying for the opportunity to hold him, to make him laugh, or simply to spend time with him. Vi, ever the fierce protector, kept a close watch over her little brother, ensuring that nothing could harm him. Even in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the bar, she would often sit beside Y/N and Kael, offering a silent, watchful gaze over the newborn.

Powder, though usually lost in her own world, was particularly enamoured with Kael, often offering him her toys and coaxing a giggle or smile from him, her face lighting up with pure joy when he responded. Mylo, the prankster, joked that Kael would grow up to be a tough kid, always looking out for his sister, and while his words were playful, there was an undeniable truth to them—Kael already possessed a quiet strength that would make him stand tall when the time came. Vi, fiercely protective, always kept a watchful eye on him, whether he was peacefully napping or playing, and would stand guard, her instincts flaring if anything or anyone posed a threat. Claggor, the silent one, gravitated toward Kael, his usual quiet nature softening around the baby as he sat nearby, observing with a gentle, affectionate gaze. It was clear to everyone that, despite their differences, each of them held a deep, protective love for Kael, their bond as strong as family itself.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the way her children had embraced Kael. There was a tenderness in the way they interacted with him, a protective instinct that ran deep. Vander, too, found his heart swelling with pride every time he saw Kael surrounded by his "siblings," playing, laughing, and sharing in the simple joy of being together. In a world as harsh as Zaun, moments like these were rare, and Vander appreciated them more than anyone could know. He found peace in seeing Kael grow up in the warmth of his new family, surrounded by those who cared for him and would protect him fiercely.

However, as much as Kael was a light in their lives, the undercity was not without its shadows. Life here was brutal, and not everyone looked upon a Vastaya child with the same warmth that his "siblings" did. It was one thing for Vander and Y/N to protect him within the confines of the Last Drop, but outside, in the rough streets of Zaun, there were dangers lurking at every corner.

=

One day, when Y/N and Vander were busy tending to the bar, they decided to let the kids venture out to explore Zaun for a while. The air was thick with the usual mixture of industry, smoke, and the distant hum of machines. The kids roamed the streets, their laughter echoing off the walls of the narrow alleys, their boundless energy filling the cracks of the city. Vi kept an eye on Kael, who was nestled in her arms, his curious gaze taking in the world around him. Powder ran ahead, giggling as she chased after a small mechanical bird that had caught her eye. Mylo and Claggor wandered together, though Claggor’s eyes were always alert, and Mylo kept up his usual antics, cracking jokes and teasing the others.

It was during this outing that they encountered someone who would test their bond.

A man, clearly down on his luck, spotted Kael from across the street. His eyes narrowed when he saw the child’s markings, his lip curling in disgust. He had no love for the Vastaya, nor for anyone who didn’t belong fully to Zaun or Piltover. The sight of Kael, with his distinct features—a blend of Vander's sturdiness and Y/N’s exotic markings—filled the man with a deep sense of disdain. He muttered something under his breath, his hand gripping the edge of a nearby crate as he approached the group.

“You think you’re one of us?” the man sneered, his voice rough and threatening. “What, you think this little bastard belongs here? A freak like him don’t fit in, not with the city’s blood or with any of you.”

Vi’s protective instincts flared, and she stepped forward, her fists clenched. “Watch your mouth,” she said, her voice low but firm. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

The man, clearly not used to being challenged, took a step closer, his gaze now focused solely on Kael. “I’ve seen your kind before. You don’t belong here,” he spat, his words dripping with venom.

Powder, who had been playing nearby, immediately ran to Kael’s side, standing next to him with her fists raised in defiance. Mylo and Claggor moved in as well, standing shoulder to shoulder with Vi, their expressions serious. The playful antics had fallen away, replaced by the fierce loyalty they had for each other.

“We don’t let anyone talk about him like that,” Mylo said, his usual cheeky grin replaced by a determined scowl. “You need to get lost.”

The man, realising he was surrounded, hesitated for a moment. But his temper flared again, and he sneered. “You’re all freaks, then. What are you gonna do about it?”

=

But before the situation could escalate further, the unmistakable sound of Vander’s voice rang out, deep and commanding as he approached. "I don’t think you’ve been listening," he said, his presence alone enough to make the man hesitate. "You’ll apologise, or you’ll leave. Your choice."

The man looked around at the children, then at Vander, realising too late that he was outmatched. His bravado faltered as he took a step back. "Freaks," he muttered under his breath, his words weak and meaningless now.

But just as he was about to leave, Y/N stepped forward, her eyes narrowing with a fierce protectiveness. Her ears were pinned back, and she let out a low hiss, like a cat cornered in a threat, her stance poised to defend her family. The man paused, momentarily startled by her reaction.

With a final glare at the children, the man staggered off, grumbling to himself, but his bravado had crumbled in the face of Vander and Y/N’s unwavering stance.

The tension in the air evaporated the moment he left. Vi, still holding Kael, looked down at him with a reassuring smile. "See? Nothing to worry about," she said softly.

Powder clung to Kael, her face beaming with pride. "You’re safe, Kael," she whispered, her voice full of admiration.

Mylo chuckled lightly. "Told you you’d be tough, little guy."

Claggor nodded silently, his gaze steady as always, but his actions spoke volumes as he kept a watchful eye on Kael. He wasn’t about to let anything happen to his little brother.

Kael, still a baby, looked up at them all with wide eyes, sensing the love and protection surrounding him. He let out a soft giggle, the sound a reminder that, even in the harshest of places, there was always room for love and family.

Vander and Y/N watched the scene with pride and gratitude, their hearts swelling at the sight of the children’s bond. Despite the chaos of Zaun, there was a rare beauty in these moments—moments when love and loyalty triumphed over hate. Kael was part of something special, something worth protecting, and Vander would do everything in his power to ensure that his son would always know that, no matter how dark the world around them became, he would never be alone.

SILCO + JINX

Years had passed since that fateful moment in the alley, where Silco had broken the chains that bound Y/N, both physically and metaphorically. In those years, the two of them had built something together—an empire forged from shadows and ambition, yet tempered with a bond that neither could fully explain. The world they had shaped around them had grown even darker, but it had become a world that they controlled, one where their power and influence rippled through the streets of Zaun and Piltover.

Silco, ever the calculating figure, had changed in small but undeniable ways. Y/N’s presence, her quiet strength and the way she could bring peace to his otherwise turbulent soul, had carved a place in his heart that he had never imagined. There was still coldness to him, still the calculating mind of a man who would sacrifice anything for power, but Y/N’s unwavering loyalty, her warmth, and the strength of her love had brought a new dimension to him. Silco no longer saw the world only through the lens of domination and revenge. Y/N had taught him that there was a kind of strength in love, and that perhaps there was more to life than just ruling with an iron fist.

The change in Silco wasn’t immediately visible, not to everyone, but Y/N saw it in the way he would hold her hand in the quiet moments after a particularly brutal business deal, or the way his gaze softened when he watched her care for their children. There was an unspoken understanding between them now, something beyond the power plays and dangerous politics that had once consumed them both. They were building a future—not just for themselves, but for the little ones who depended on them.

And then, their daughter was born.

=

She came into the world with a quiet intensity that mirrored both her parents. Her eyes were Y/N’s—bright and full of life, but with a depth that seemed to carry the weight of both their worlds. Her skin, a soft blend of Silco’s smooth, darker tone and Y/N’s lighter, ethereal touch, held the markings of her mother’s Vastaya heritage—small yet distinct patterns that hinted at her mystical bloodline. Silco, who had always been distant and controlled, couldn’t help but gaze at his daughter in awe, as if she were the most precious thing he had ever seen. The first time she cried, it was as though the sound itself cracked open something in him—something that had been sealed off for years.

They named her Sira.

The name felt right—it was simple, yet carried an air of strength and beauty that seemed to fit their daughter perfectly. It was a name that bridged both of their worlds: Silco’s world of control and power, and Y/N’s world of magic and nature. Silco looked at her and saw a future—one where his legacy would live on, not in the empire he had built, but in the strength and intelligence of his child. Y/N looked at her and saw the blending of two worlds that had once seemed irreconcilable, but now came together in the form of their daughter.

As Sira grew, so did the complexities of her existence. To Silco, she was his blood—a living, breathing piece of his legacy, a future that could be molded into his image. To Y/N, she was a connection to her own heritage, a continuation of a line that stretched far beyond the borders of Zaun and Piltover. She was their hope, their love, and their proof that, despite the darkness around them, something good could come from it.

And to Jinx? Well, at first, it was something else entirely.

Jinx had always been fiercely protective of her adoptive parents. They were her family, her everything. She had grown up surrounded by chaos, and Silco and Y/N had been the constant, the ones who had taken her in and treated her as their own. The idea of sharing them, of giving her love and attention to someone else, felt like a betrayal. So when Sira entered the picture, Jinx’s first instinct was to keep her distance, to resent the little girl for stealing the attention that she had always received. To her, Sira was a threat, an intrusion into the fragile space she had carved out in her heart for Y/N and Silco.

But Sira, even as an infant, had an innate charm. It wasn’t just her appearance—a curious mix of the fierce and the gentle—but the way she would giggle and grasp at Jinx’s bright hair or the way her tiny hands would reach out, wanting to touch, to play, to explore. Slowly but surely, the walls Jinx had put up began to crack. The more time she spent around Sira, the more she realised that the little girl wasn’t trying to take anything from her. She wasn’t a threat. In fact, she had a way of drawing Jinx in, of making her feel needed, wanted, and loved in a way that she hadn’t expected.

Sira quickly became the centre of Jinx’s attention. When she was a toddler, Jinx was rarely seen without her, proudly parading her around, holding her outstretched in her arms like a trophy to Sevika, to the gang, to anyone who would look.

"Look at her!" Jinx would say with a mischievous grin, holding Sira up in front of her. "Isn't she just perfect?"

=

At first, Sira was just a quiet baby, taking in everything around her with wide eyes, but she grew into a toddler full of curiosity and joy. Her giggles and the sparkle in her eyes were contagious, slowly softening even the hardest of hearts around her. Even Sevika, who had always been tough and unflinching, couldn’t resist a smile when Sira reached out to her, or when Jinx spun the little girl around, her laugh ringing through the air.

In moments like these, the older woman could hardly resist. The tiny hand in hers, the way Sira’s tiny voice would giggle as Jinx spun her around, the way she proudly showed off the little one as though she were her own—Jinx had finally accepted her role as the big sister, the protector, the one who would teach Sira the ways of their world.

=

Silco watched all of this with an intensity that could only come from a father who was fiercely protective of his daughter and also quietly proud of how his ragtag family had come together, in spite of the violence, the chaos, and the unspoken tension that had once ruled their lives. His dark eyes tracked Sira as she giggled, her tiny hands reaching up for Jinx, who was already spinning her around with a wide grin plastered across her face.

"Jinx," Silco called out sharply, his voice laced with concern as his eyes narrowed. "Careful with her."

Jinx paused, looking over at Silco with mock innocence, but the mischievous glint in her eyes gave away her feigned innocence. "Oh, come on! She loves it," she teased, giving Sira one more quick spin before looking back at Silco.

Silco stepped forward, his protective instincts kicking in, and he held up a hand, his voice suddenly stern. "That’s enough, Jinx." He moved closer to Sira, his eyes softening as he took her from Jinx’s arms. "She’s still too little for that much, alright?"

Jinx raised her hands in mock surrender but couldn’t hide the grin that tugged at her lips. "Alright, alright. You’re such a softie, Silco."

Silco didn’t respond at first, his gaze lingering on his daughter’s small, trusting face as she nestled into his chest, her little hands clinging to him. The sound of Sira’s laughter, light and full of joy, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. It was a reminder that, no matter how dark the world could get, there was still something pure—something worth protecting.

But now? Now, there was something more—something worth fighting for, worth living for. And that something was standing there, in the form of their daughter, who would one day inherit both their legacies, and who would grow up to be as formidable as her parents. Silco, who had always been a man of control, found himself utterly undone by the sight of his daughter smiling up at him. Her little hands reached for him, and his heart stuttered in his chest. This was no longer just about power and survival.

"Daddy," Sira whispered, her voice small and sweet, yet full of certainty as she held her arms out to him.

Silco’s expression softened, his usual cold mask slipping for just a moment. He reached down, lifting his daughter into his arms with a tenderness that only those closest to him would ever witness. "What is it, Sira?" he asked, his voice lower than usual, almost as though he was afraid she might break if he spoke too loudly.

Sira rested her head against his shoulder, her tiny fingers tracing the dark tattoos that marked his skin. "Love you, Daddy," she murmured, her words simple yet full of meaning.

His breath caught in his throat. Silco, the man who had controlled entire factions, who had torn through his enemies without hesitation, now found himself speechless, overcome by a feeling he had never quite understood until now. In Sira’s smile, in the way she clung to him as though he was her entire world, he realised that he wasn’t just a ruler. He was a father.

Y/N, always by his side, watched with a sense of contentment. Her gaze flickered between Silco and their daughter, her heart swelling with pride and love. The journey that had brought them here, to this moment, hadn’t been easy. Their family had been forged from the harshest of circumstances. Yet somehow, in spite of it all, they had found each other and built something stronger than anything Silco had ever set out to create.

"She’s growing up so fast," Y/N said softly, her voice full of affection as she approached, her hand brushing against Silco’s. "Can’t believe how much she’s learned already. She's just like you, Silco. Strong, determined, and fearless."

Silco’s expression darkened slightly at the thought of their daughter inheriting his dangerous traits. "I’d rather she take after you," he muttered, though the hint of affection in his tone was impossible to miss.

Y/N chuckled, her eyes filled with warmth. "Oh, I’m sure she will. She already has your wit. But she also has something more—something that neither of us can control." She smiled up at him, her hand slipping into his, a silent bond that spoke volumes between them.

The two stood there, side by side, with Sira nestled between them.

"You know," Y/N continued, her voice teasing now, "I used to think we would never get this moment. That everything would be consumed by the shadows we’ve built our lives in. But Sira, she’s proof that we can have more than just the fight. She’s proof that we can still live, Silco."

Silco looked down at their daughter, the quiet strength and warmth in her tiny form overwhelming him. The empire he had built, the countless battles he had fought—none of that mattered in the face of this small, innocent life that he and Y/N had brought into the world.

In the silence that followed, a rare peace settled between them. Silco, ever the calculating strategist, found himself no longer concerned with his empire. The life he had created with Y/N and Sira, with Jinx now fully integrated into their strange family, was more than any territory or wealth could ever offer.

And as the years went on, Y/N and Silco knew that no matter what the future held, they had built something unbreakable—a family united by blood, by choice, and by love. A family that, for once, wasn’t just about survival, but about living.

"She’s going to be a force," Jinx remarked from the background, watching as Sira tugged on Silco’s sleeve, her eyes bright with mischief. "Just like her parents." The words were both a promise and a challenge.

Silco glanced back at Jinx, his lips curving in a faint smile. "She’s already a force, Jinx. But she will also be something greater than either of us could ever have imagined."

Y/N nodded, leaning into Silco as Sira reached up once more, her tiny hands brushing against her parents. "Together, we’ve built this. And together, we’ll see it grow."

Sira’s smile was the brightest thing in the room, her hand reaching for Jinx, who immediately scooped her up and spun her around once again. The laughter that followed was full of life, full of love, and Silco found himself finally able to admit, for the first time, that this—this was the future he had always wanted.

[bambambwi]

Valentines Day With Ji Yong!

ermm...late valentines day post

its my first time writing, hope you all enjoy !

It was Valentine’s Day and you wanted to do something special for your boyfriend, Ji Yong. But instead of spending the day out and about, you wanted to do something different this time.

You were originally planning to spend time with him at your place, but then you got an idea.

“i should bake those heart cookies with him, he's been craving those for a while now anyway..”

You immediately got up from the couch and ran into the kitchen, grabbing everything you needed to start baking—until the doorbell rang.

“Ah, that must be him!”

You opened the door to find Ji Yong standing there, holding a bouquet of pink roses and a box of your favorite chocolates. He smiled before leaning in to give you a soft kiss.

“You shouldn’t have! I feel bad—I didn’t get you anything.”

“Don’t need to, aein. I got these for you because I wanted to.” he said with a soft smile.

He made his way to the couch, setting the gifts down before following you into the kitchen, where you were busy gathering bowls.

“What’s all this about, aein?” he asked, tilting his head.

“I thought it’d be fun to bake cookies together!”

Ji Yong’s lips curled into the cutest smile. How could he possibly resist you? You were absolutely adorable.

You both immediately got to work. Even though Ji Yong’s baking skills weren’t the best, he tried his hardest to help.

“Did you say salt or sugar? Because… I might’ve added the wrong one..” he admitted with a pout.

You blinked at him before letting out a small laugh. “Ah… it’s okay. I’ll take care of that. Here, you can mix this instead.”

Ji Yong let out a small breath before looking at you and smiling. You looked absolutely adorable in that apron—how could he focus on baking when you were this cute?

Once you placed the tray of cookies into the oven, Ji Yong was busy cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. But as you turned around, you accidentally bumped into him—causing the extra batter in the bowl to spill all over you.

He froze, staring at you in shock. His eyes widened with panic as he put the bowl down in the sink.

“Aein, I—I’m so sorry!” he blurted out, looking genuinely guilty.

You glanced down at your now messy shirt, then back at him, trying to hold back a laugh. But before you could say anything, he was already rushing off to your wardrobe.

“Stay right there! I’ll get you a clean shirt!” he called out, determined to fix his mistake before you had the chance to react.

“It’s okay, don’t worry so much. I can just wash it,” you said, pulling off your shirt and reaching for the clean one Ji Yong had grabbed from your wardrobe.

Instead of responding, he simply stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm hug. You felt him sigh against you, his grip tightening just a little as if to silently apologize.

You smiled, resting your head against his chest for a moment before pulling away to put on the fresh shirt. He watched you with a soft expression, his fingers lingering at your waist before finally letting go.

Once you changed into the fresh shirt, you both got to work finishing up the kitchen. Ji Yong wiped down the counters and put away the utensils while you cleaned the sink, making sure everything was back in order after the earlier mishap.

After the mess was cleaned up, you turned your attention back to the cookies. Once they were perfectly baked, you took the tray out of the oven, the sweet aroma filling the room.

“Now for the fun part” you said with a grin, grabbing the strawberry jam.

Ji Yong’s eyes lit up as he watched you carefully spoon the jam into a heart shape on each cookie. He leaned over, getting excited to join in.

“I love this part” he said, his hands reaching for the jar of jam.

Together, you decorated the cookies, laughing and chatting as you went along. Ji Yong carefully added his own hearts, his tongue sticking out in concentration. In between, he pulled out his phone and began snapping pictures of you.

You just gave him a gummy smile as you focused on the cookies. The sight of your cute expression was too much for Ji Yong. He threw his head back and laughed, then sat down next to you, pulling his phone up to post the pictures he’d taken of you onto Instagram. He smiled as he added a caption, clearly proud of how adorable you looked in the moment.

Once the cookies were decorated, you both snuggled onto the couch with the tray of treats. Ji Yong pulled you close as you ate the cookies and watched a movie together. Between bites and laughter, he smiled and said, “I really enjoyed today. This was the best Valentine’s.”

You looked up at him, smiling. “Me too. I wouldn’t have wanted to spend it any other way.”

He leaned in, giving you a soft peck on the cheek, still smiling as he settled back into the couch.

liked by y/n, chaelincl & 2,356,956 others

xxxibgdrgn ✸ - valentine’s day done right ! 🐰

view comments

y/n ✸ - 🫶

liked by author

chaelincl ✸ - 👀 👀

liked by author

iloveyei - AWW CUTIES

heartuyi - valentine’s day who? y’all are the real treat fr

unknwnuser - this is adorable!

jijiei - two cuties together !!

daisyww - y/n can bake? wow!

[mellowmusings]

death bed | coffee for your head

Azriel x sick reader part. 2

A/N- I had the idea for this when I heard the song and instead of sick Azriel I made a sick reader, please don't kill me and let me know if you wanna be tagged. Enjoy :). Warning- Angst, reader is depressed and sick, Azzie baby is depressed too. Mainly a really sad fic (mentions of death due to illness). Summary- You had been sick for sometime now and upon visiting a healer you find out the reason, unsure how much time you have left, you wish to spend every second of it preparing Azriel for the moment you leave.

'Don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed'

You were tired to say the least, for the past few nights you hadn't been able to sleep at all, and your sweet mate was worried sick for you, and so you had to change your plans for the day, ditching shopping for a visit to Madja instead.

A bell rang as you step into the healer's shop, the air was thick with the scent of dried herbs and incense, instantly calming your nerves. Soft light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow on shelves cluttered with jars, vials, and bundles of plants you didn't recognize. The space felt ancient, yet welcoming, as if it held the quiet weight of countless healing rituals. A small wooden counter sat at the back, covered with bottles and unmarked potions. The faint sound of wind chimes hung in the air, but it’s the stillness that stood out—everything in this room felt intentional, designed to soothe, to listen. There attending to a small plant with the smallest flowers you had ever seen stood Madja.

Yeah, I don't wanna fall asleep I don't wanna pass away I've been thinking of our future 'Cause I'll never see those days I don't know why this has happened, but I probably deserve it I tried to do my best, but you know that I'm not perfect

You felt like throwing up, surely this was a joke? it had to be a joke, no she was lying or maybe you had misheard her, it had to be that way, right? "I know this can be shocking news y/n but like I said it's also a very rare illness" "No,no you're lying please tell me you're lying". She begged. Her voice broke on the last word, she couldn't breathe she felt choked, she wanted to throw up but instead she just fell to her knees and cried her heart out.

I've been praying for forgiveness, you've been praying for my health When I leave this earth, hoping you'll find someone else 'Cause, yeah, we're still young, there's so much we haven't done Getting married, start a family, watch your husband with his son

She didn't know how long she spent crying there with Madja comforting her and stroking her back, she was in shock but more than that she was worried for Azriel, if something happened to her then- No, no she wasn't going to think about that right now but for some reason her thoughts kept circling back to Azriel, to the quiet that would fill the room when she was gone. He’d wake up, reach for her, and feel nothing but emptiness. The bed would be cold, the silence too heavy. He’d feel it in the small things—no more shared glances, no more soft words in the dark.

Would he be okay without her? She couldn’t shake the fear that the grief would swallow him, that the shadows he kept so tightly contained would consume him without her there to pull him back. Would the memories be enough, or would they slip through his fingers? The thought of him unraveling, of him breaking, made her heart ache in a way she couldn’t ignore. She wouldn’t be there to catch him, and that terrified her.

Her gaze caught on a lovely family in the park, children being chased by their dad, their mom laughing at the scene and smiling lovingly at her partner, right, she would never be able to have that with Azriel either. Maybe, one day he'll find someone else, who'd love him just as much as she did, someone who'd start a family with him, give him heirs as lovely as he is. She hoped so because if Madja was right then-

I wish it could be me, but I won't make it off this bed I hope I go to heaven, so I see you once again My life was kinda short, but I got so many blessings Happy you were mine, it sucks that it's all ending

Don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed, yeah

And I, don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

Yeah, I'm happy that you're here with me I'm sorry if I tear up When me and you were younger, you would always make me cheer up Taking goofy videos while walking through the park You would jump into my arms every time you heard a bark

You lay back against the pillows, your chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. Azriel sat beside you, his fingers gently brushing over your hand, but the tension in the air was thick, suffocating. You could feel the worry in his touch, in the way he kept glancing at you, like he was afraid to miss something, afraid to lose you before he could even understand what was happening.

"Azriel," you whispered, your voice trembling as you gathered the courage to finally say the words. "I’m sick." You tried to keep your tone calm, but it cracked as soon as the words left your lips. "The healer said it’s a rare heart condition. Something... incurable."

His face froze, eyes widening with disbelief, and he leaned forward, as if to pull you into him, to somehow shield you from the world. But you didn’t want his protection right now. You wanted him to hear this. To know the truth, even if it shattered him.

"I wish it could be me," you continued softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "I wish I could take it all. The pain. The time. But I—" You faltered, and the tears you had been holding back finally broke free. "I won’t make it off this bed, Azriel."

His hand tightened around yours, his breath shaky, but he said nothing, his eyes begging you to take it back, to tell him it wasn’t true. But you couldn’t. Not anymore.

"I hope I go to heaven," you murmured, forcing a small smile through your tears. "So I can see you again. One day, after this... after all of this."

Azriel’s face crumpled with pain, his eyes bright with unshed tears. He reached for you, pulling you close as if he could somehow hold you together, like he could make everything right if he just tried hard enough. "No," he whispered, his voice raw. "No, please. Don’t say that. Don’t leave me." It hurt to see the brave and stoic shadow singer crumble infront of you over such a small matter, he had faced death time and time again, but never had you seen him so broken.

You closed your eyes, savoring the feel of him holding you, but there was no denying it now. You couldn’t keep pretending. You couldn’t keep fighting against what you knew in your bones was coming.

"I’m not ready," you whispered, voice barely audible, "but I think... I think you need to be. This is the reality now, Love. I won’t have much time left."

Azriel held you tighter, but it was clear that he was barely holding on himself. You could feel his heart racing against yours, the fear, the love, the desperation. But you knew, deep down, there was no way to stop it.

"I just need you to be ready," you whispered, your voice barely a breath. "Because I won’t be here for long. I need you to promise me something, Az."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face a mask of agony, but he nodded, clinging to your every word.

"Promise me you won’t forget me," you said, the ache in your chest growing, but you didn’t want him to carry this burden forever. "Promise me you’ll live, not survive, but live, even if I’m not there."

He pressed his forehead to yours, and for a moment, it was like the world stopped moving. "I’ll never forget you," he said hoarsely. "And I’ll never stop loving you, not even after…"

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek, but you could feel the finality of it, the quiet acceptance in your soul that you had already said goodbye. "I know. But you have to promise me, Love. Please. Live, for both of us."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy, inevitable. And in that moment, you let go. You accepted what was coming, not with peace, but with a sorrow that was too vast to express.

Azriel didn’t say anything after that. He just held you, and in the silence of the room, you both faced what you knew was coming, as painful and unbearable as it was.

Cuddle in your sheets, sang me sound asleep And sneak out through your kitchen at exactly 1:03 Sundays went to church, on Mondays watched a movie Soon you'll be alone, sorry that you have to lose me

You were curled up against Azriel, the quiet crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. He held you close, his warmth wrapping around you like a shield from the world. The memories flowed easily now, the ones you both cherished, the ones you were trying so hard to relive, to hold on to.

"Cuddle in your sheets," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, "like we used to, like we did so many times. You’d sing me to sleep, your voice soft, your hand in my hair."

Azriel’s thumb brushed over your skin as if committing the sensation of this moment to memory, the feeling of your body pressed against his. "I’ll sing you to sleep forever if I can," he replied, voice thick with emotion. "But you know... I think the best part was sneaking out through your kitchen at exactly 1:03. I used to look at the clock, and I knew you’d be there. We’d laugh, sneak away like we didn’t have a care in the world."

You chuckled softly, a tear slipping down your cheek at the thought. "Sundays, we went to church together. Mondays, we’d watch a movie, get lost in each other’s company. Simple, sweet. And it was ours." You pulled back slightly to look up at him, a small, sad smile on your lips. "I wish we had more of those Mondays."

Azriel's eyes softened with the weight of your words, his voice barely more than a broken whisper. "We still have now," he said, but even he knew the truth in the heaviness of his words. Time was running out.

You closed your eyes, trying to soak in every moment, every detail. You could feel the pain of the inevitable, but for tonight, for this brief moment, you clung to the idea that you could still make new memories. "But soon you'll be alone," you whispered, a sob escaping before you could stop it. "I’m sorry that you have to lose me."

Azriel’s grip on you tightened, his face pressing into your hair. "Don’t say that," he murmured, though his voice was thick with sorrow. "I’ll never lose you. Not really. Not in my heart."

You nodded, your body trembling in his arms. "I hope so," you whispered, holding him tighter. "But I’ll always love you. Every memory, every laugh, every quiet Sunday. I’ll carry those with me, even when I’m gone."

And for a moment, time felt still, like the universe had paused just long enough for you both to hold on to each other a little tighter, to try and make every second count before it was all gone.

Don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

And I, don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

Don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

Azriel sat beside you, his hand resting gently on your own, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast to the chill that seemed to constantly settle in your bones. Your breathing was shallow, weak, each rise and fall of your chest an effort, and yet, despite it all, you smiled up at him. It was the kind of smile that told him you were fighting, even when it seemed like there was no fight left in you.

"I don't want you to stay awake for too long," you whispered, your voice thin, but still full of the love you carried for him. "I know you watch over me, but you need sleep too, Azriel." Your hand squeezed his, the action small but intentional.

He looked at you, eyes filled with an ache that ran deeper than the shadows that normally clung to him. His gaze searched your face, searching for something, anything that might bring you back to him, but there was nothing he could do to stop what was coming. His grip tightened, but he didn't speak. What could he say? Every word felt like a lie in the face of what you both knew was inevitable.

"You've been so strong," he finally whispered, voice hoarse. "Please, don’t give up on me now." His thumb stroked over your knuckles, as if grounding himself in the reality that, in his heart, he knew you were slipping away.

You let out a soft, raspy laugh, and though it was faint, it made him want to smile, even though the pain was consuming him. "I’m not giving up," you said, each word a battle, but the light in your eyes still bright enough to pierce through the darkness. "I’m just… trying to make the most of the time we have left."

Azriel closed his eyes for a moment, his chest tightening, but you gently cupped his cheek, urging him to look at you. "Don’t stay awake for too long," you repeated softly, your hand slipping into his as you pressed it over your heart. "Don’t go to bed, not yet. I’m still here. I’m still with you."

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. You felt his warm breath on your skin, a small reminder of how much he loved you. How much he needed you.

"Let me take care of you," he murmured, his voice breaking. "Let me make you coffee in the morning, just like we used to. I’ll get you out of bed. I’ll help you find your strength again, just like before."

You smiled at him, the tears in your eyes blurring your vision. "I’ll make the coffee," you whispered, "when I can. I’ll make sure you get through it, even after I’m gone. I wrote you letters. Letters for the years to come, so you’ll know I’m still with you. So you’ll know that I’ll always love you, even when I’m not there."

Azriel’s heart shattered. "No," he said hoarsely, "No, you can’t leave me." His voice broke at the end, the rawness of his fear leaking through. You were fighting so hard, so fiercely, for him, but he couldn’t stop the truth from settling in his chest.

"You’ve always been my strength, Azriel," you whispered, your voice so soft, but so full of love. "And I’ll be yours, even when I’m not here to hold you. I need you to live. To keep fighting. And when the days feel long, when the nights feel too empty, I want you to read those letters. They’re for you. I’ll make sure you find your way."

Azriel couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. He leaned down, kissing your forehead, his lips trembling against your skin. "I’m going to keep you here with me, in my heart. Forever. I promise. I won’t forget, I swear it."

You smiled through the tears, despite the weariness that clung to your body. "I’m not leaving you, Azriel," you whispered, "not really. Not ever."

But the truth, unspoken between you both, was that you didn’t have much longer. And still, you fought, not for yourself but for him, so he could have something to hold on to after you were gone.

"Please," he begged softly, his voice breaking, "don’t leave me."

You brushed a tear from his cheek, as your voice trembled, "I’ll never really leave you, Azriel. I’ll always be with you. In every letter, in every thought."

You paused, a soft, warm breath escaping your lips. "I’ll get you out of bed, Azriel," you whispered, a hint of a smile on your face, "I’ll get you going again. Even if I’m not there to see it."

His tears fell freely now, but there was a quiet peace in the way he held you—knowing, with an ache so deep it felt like it might swallow him whole, that he would carry you forever.

And I, don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

A few weeks had passed, and the weight of each day was beginning to take its toll. The glow in your eyes had dimmed, and your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. Azriel stayed by your side every moment, his presence constant, like a shadow you never wanted to be without.

He had been trying to hold on to the last threads of you, keeping the hope alive that maybe, somehow, you would pull through. But he knew. He knew with every soft breath you took, with every fleeting smile you gave him, that time was slipping away from both of you.

Today, though… today it felt like everything was slower. The air in the room was thick with an aching kind of quiet, the kind where even the heartbeats that echoed in the space between you seemed too loud.

Azriel sat on the edge of the bed, his arms around you, pulling you close like you’d always been. His fingers lightly traced the line of your jaw, like he could imprint your face into his soul if he touched you long enough. His lips pressed to your forehead, trying to pour every ounce of love and comfort he could into you, but it felt like it was never enough.

You had grown weaker. Your skin was pale, your breathing labored, but you still smiled at him when your eyes fluttered open.

"I’m still here," you whispered softly, your voice raspy but filled with the love you had for him. "I’m still here, Azriel."

He blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, his throat tight. "You don’t have to fight anymore," he murmured, brushing the damp strands of hair from your face. "I’ve got you. I’ll never let you go."

You smiled faintly, your hand reaching for his, weak but determined. "I know," you whispered. "I know… but I have to tell you something, something important."

Azriel leaned closer, his heart pounding in his chest. "Anything," he breathed. "Tell me anything, love. I’m listening."

"I wrote letters," you whispered, barely able to keep your eyes open. "For the years to come… For you. So you know I’ll always be with you, even when I’m not." He silently promised himself would read every letter you left behind, each one a piece of your love, keeping him alive in a world where you no longer were.

Azriel’s chest tightened, a sob breaking free from deep inside him. "You don’t have to go," he said, his voice raw, breaking with the weight of everything he wished he could say, everything he wished he could change. "I can’t… I can’t lose you."

A tear slipped down your cheek, but your smile didn’t fade. You reached up with trembling fingers, tracing the line of his jaw, as if trying to memorize him the way he had memorized you. "You’ll be okay, Azriel. You’re so strong. You’ve always been strong. Just—just remember that I love you. I always will."

His breath caught in his throat as he kissed your hand gently, his voice cracking. "I love you," he whispered, "I love you more than I could ever put into words."

You closed your eyes, your hand slipping from his, but he caught it again instantly, holding on as if it would keep you tethered to him, keep you from slipping away.

Your breathing grew even more shallow, each one taking more effort than the last. Azriel could feel the tremor in your body, the slow, inevitable shift that told him everything he feared was coming. But he didn’t let go. He couldn’t.

"I’m not ready to let you go," Azriel murmured, his voice hoarse, tears streaming down his face as he held you in his arms. "I’ve never been ready to let you go. Not now, not ever."

You gave him one last, gentle smile, your hand resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. "You’ll always have me," you whispered, your voice barely a breath. "In every letter, in every thought, in every coffee you make. You’ll find me again, in the quiet moments. I’ll always be with you."

And then, as if your body had finally found peace, your chest stilled. Your breathing slowed, and for the first time in weeks, there was complete silence. Azriel’s heart shattered, his breath caught in his throat, and for a long moment, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

"No," he choked out, his voice breaking, his chest heaving with the weight of loss. "No, please…"

But there was no response. Only the soft, quiet sound of his heartbeat echoing through the silence, as if trying to fill the emptiness you left behind. His arms tightened around you one last time, as if holding you could bring you back, as if love could defy death.

For a long while, Azriel stayed there, clutching you to him, his tears falling onto your skin. He couldn’t let go. Not yet. He needed to hold you, to feel you close, to believe, for just a little longer, that you weren’t truly gone.

And in the stillness of the room, as the shadows of night stretched across the floor, Azriel whispered the only thing left in his broken heart.

"I’ll always love you. Always."

The room was silent. Still. But his words lingered in the air, a promise he would carry with him forever.

And I, don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

Azriel stood at the edge of the balcony, staring into the endless void of night. The stars above seemed to mock him, distant and cold, twinkling as though the universe was still moving forward, as though life was continuing. But for him, everything had stopped.

The wind swept through the courtyard, its icy fingers clawing at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the cold that had settled deep in his chest, in his soul. He had not moved from that spot since… since that moment. The moment she had slipped away from him, her final breath trembling in his arms, leaving nothing but an echo of the love they had shared. The world felt like a hollow, silent place, and he was drowning in its emptiness.

He could still smell her, faintly. Her scent lingered in the air, in the folds of the blanket she had used to curl up in, in the spaces between the letters she had written him, all the things that were now gone—faded into the dust of the world she had left behind.

Her letters. He had read them, over and over, each one a tear-streaked page of her love for him, a love he could no longer feel against his skin, in her touch, in her smile. He had read her last words, over and over, searching for some kind of comfort. But the comfort never came. The words she had left behind—I’ll always be with you, Azriel—only left him feeling more alone. Her absence was a shadow that consumed everything.

"I’ll always be with you," he muttered bitterly to the darkened sky, as if the universe owed him something. "Where the hell are you now?"

He wanted to scream. To shout into the abyss that had taken her from him, to demand it give her back. But what was the point? The universe didn’t care. Time didn’t care. And now, all that was left was his hollow existence.

The days blurred together, the ache of her absence cutting deeper with every passing hour. He had stopped sleeping, stopped eating. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything but exist, moving through each day as if in a fog. The shadows whispered her name—her voice, her laughter, the warmth of her skin against his—and all he could do was shut his eyes and pretend he didn’t hear them.

But the silence… the silence was the worst.

Everywhere he went, there were reminders. The empty corner of the room where her chair used to sit, the books she had loved scattered across the table, the coffee mug she had left on the counter—his mug now, though it meant nothing. All of it was just a reminder that she was gone, and he was left alone, trapped in a world where nothing made sense without her. Without her laughter, without the way she’d tease him in the mornings, the soft way she’d press her face to his chest when she needed comfort.

She had been everything to him. His light, his warmth, his reason to fight. And now…

The darkness pressed in on him, a crushing weight on his chest. His wings, once majestic and powerful, now felt like an anchor. He had no use for them anymore. They had carried him through battles, through pain, through moments of glory. But now they felt like a reminder of how empty he was. How much of a shell he had become.

The weight of the silence was unbearable. He could feel the crushing loneliness clawing at him, desperate to consume him whole. And as he stood there, staring out into the endless night, he almost wished for it to. He almost wished for the silence to swallow him, to take him with her, because what was the point of living in a world where she wasn’t there?

“I can’t keep doing this,” he whispered to the darkness, his voice cracking. His breath came in short, uneven bursts, each one a reminder that he was still alive—still breathing, even though every part of him screamed to be gone. To be where she was, wherever that was, because life without her felt like a slow, torturous death.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it as if the physical pain would distract him from the ache in his chest. But it didn’t. Nothing could.

The weight of everything pressed on him—the guilt, the anger, the regret. He had promised her, promised her, that he would take care of her, that he wouldn’t let her go. But in the end, he had failed. He hadn’t been enough to save her. And now, she was gone, and all he had left were the memories. The hollow echoes of her voice, her laughter, her touch.

“I wasn’t enough for you,” he whispered, a raw, broken sob escaping him. His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground, his wings folding around him like an armor of despair. “I couldn’t save you. And now… now I have nothing.”

He curled into himself, his arms wrapping around his knees, his head pressed against them as the tears came in waves. His body trembled with the force of it. Every sob was like a shard of glass digging deeper into his heart, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

The world had moved on. The stars had continued to shine. The wind had continued to blow. But for Azriel, it had all stopped. Because she was gone, and no matter how many times he whispered her name into the darkness, no matter how many times he begged for her to come back, he knew the truth.

She was gone. And he was broken beyond repair.

Time would pass, the seasons would change, but none of it mattered. Nothing mattered without her.

And as the silence closed in around him, Azriel made a vow to the shadows, to the darkness that now felt like home.

He would never forgive himself. He would never forget the way she had died in his arms, the way he couldn’t save her. And as the cold night wrapped itself around him, he whispered through clenched teeth, “I’ll make the world pay. I’ll make everything pay for taking you from me.”

But even as the words left his lips, he knew they wouldn’t bring her back.

And he would have to live with that.

Taglist: @anarchiii @er1023 @siriuslystyle1989 @velarisdusk @scorpioriesling @starlightazriel

[cedarmoonzz]

Are you planning on writing a part 3 of between the bars????? <3 love uuuu

slow like honey ꪆৎ ˚⋅

continuation of: between the bars and once more to see you

fandom: gravity falls

ship: ford pines x reader

content: angst, making out, doomed relationship, mentions of sex, hurt/comfort

summary: unbeknownst to either of you, you both spend your final night together with stanford

Every anniversary for the past six years, without fail, you and Ford would go out to dinner. The tradition had started rather spontaneously. On your first anniversary, you had decided to forgo the usual gifts and opt for something more experiential. You chose a cozy little bistro near campus that served the most delectable pasta you’d ever tasted. The evening was simple yet perfect—filled with laughter, deep conversations, and the realization that you were embarking on something special.

Over the years, these dinners had become a touchstone. From greasy diners to hidden gems tucked away in the neighborhoods of Gravity Falls, each venue added a new layer to your shared story. If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t expect Stanford to ask you out to dinner this time around. The routine felt like it might be breaking, perhaps due to the distance that had grown between you two. Yet, a small part of you held onto the hope that he would make the effort, just as he had every other year.

You stood before the scratched mirror in your bathroom, shifting your weight from foot to foot, the floorboards creaking beneath you. Your reflection stared back with a blend of uncertainty and anxiety, eyes flickering with the weight of the evening ahead. Ford should be coming up from the basement at any moment, and the thought sent another wave of nervous anticipation through you. You had dressed carefully for the occasion—your anniversary dinner—a night that demanded a touch of elegance. Clad in an outfit you had painstakingly pieced together from the second-hand shop by Greasy’s Diner, you hoped the thrifted treasures would suffice.

Boom.

You shut your eyes in frustration, the irritation gnawing at you as another tremor surged through the house. It was as if the very walls quaked in response to whatever Stanford was working on down there, deep in the basement. You could feel the reverberation in your bones, each crash and clatter below resonating up through the floors, making your knees tremble with the force of it. The sound wasn’t just noise—it was an intrusion, a relentless reminder of the chaos that constantly simmered beneath the surface of your life. You were tired of it, tired of feeling every impact three floors above, tired of the way the vibrations seemed to seep into your very being, leaving you on edge, unable to find peace even in your own home.

"Love is patient, love is kind," you mumbled to yourself, the words slipping from your lips like a mantra. You weren’t a religious person—never had been—but there was something about those words that clung to you in moments like this, offering a fragile thread of comfort. As the tremors from Stanford’s work below rumbled through the house, you shut your eyes in annoyance, your eyebrows scrunched up in frustration. Your fingers pressed against your temples, trying to steady the rising tide of irritation.

Boom.

You clenched your teeth at the second jarring crash, a sharp, involuntary reaction that echoed your mounting frustration. "It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud," you muttered, the words barely discernible through the tight grip of your molars, which ground together with an almost rhythmic intensity. The verses, typically a soothing balm, now slipped past your clenched teeth in a strained whisper as you furrowed your brows with even greater force. Your forehead creased into a landscape of deepening furrows, each thud from the basement resonating through your body like a series of small, electric shocks.

You pressed your palms firmly against your eyes, the warmth of your skin meeting the cool, smooth surface of your hands. Your fingers dug into the delicate flesh of your temples, as if seeking to erase the persistent, intrusive thuds from your mind. You leaned back and forth on your heels, the movement gentle yet rhythmic, like a pendulum swinging in a futile effort to find balance amidst the storm. The persistent tremors reverberated through your body, amplifying the agitation that simmered just beneath the surface, leaving you to cling desperately to the fleeting moments of calm you could muster.

"It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered—" The verse was abruptly cut off by a thunderous Boom from the basement. You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer. "Oh, fuck this!" you erupted, the words a raw release against the relentless din that had finally broken your patience.

“Ford!” you bellowed, your voice a raw, resonant cry of frustration that seemed to pierce the very air. With a furious swipe, you raked your fingers through your disheveled hair, the movement almost violent in its intensity. The bathroom door slammed shut behind you with a thunderous bang, the sound reverberating through the quiet cabin like an explosion of pent-up anger. You stormed down the stairs to the first floor, each footfall a heavy, defiant punctuation to your mounting rage. The rhythmic, thunderous stomp of your steps matched the pounding fury in your chest, each stride an urgent testament to your exasperation with the relentless, disruptive noise. "You better be ready down there!"

You slammed your palm against the wall of the hallway, the rusty button of the elevator beneath your hand giving way under the forceful impact. The metal creaked and groaned as it sank slightly, a stark reminder of your mounting frustration. The wall seemed to reverberate with the intensity of your outburst, the weight of your anger pressing down on every crevice and corner.

“Screw this! Screw his stupid portal, his idiotic rules, and screw him!" you fumed, a snarl curling your lips as you impatiently waited for the elevator doors to open. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on you—here you were, standing before the very elevator you had designed and built, now reduced to a mere gatekeeper to the "forbidden" basement below. The last time you had descended to that enigmatic lower level felt like a lifetime ago, but the memories flooded back as if it were yesterday. Back then, you hadn’t known that this creation of yours, this marvel of engineering, would one day become a barrier, a symbol of the very authority you now found yourself defying.

The whirring of the elevator mechanisms was almost taunting, each second stretching out as your frustration grew. But beneath that anger, a spark of anticipation flickered—this wasn’t just a return to a place you once knew; it was a challenge to the very constraints you had helped put in place.

As the doors finally slid open, your breath caught in your throat. Instead of the dim, empty hallway you expected, you were met with the imposing figure of Stanford. His presence filled the small space, his sharp eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. There was no escape now, no turning back—the gatekeeper wasn’t the elevator after all. It was him.

You pause, breath catching in your throat, as you take him in. Ford’s usual ensemble of a white button-down, tie, slacks, and lab coat has been cast aside in favor of a more commanding and intimate appearance. The white button-down remains, a familiar anchor in this transformation, yet the sterile lab coat has been replaced by a tailored black blazer. The fabric clings to his frame with a sensuous precision, tracing the contours of his shoulders and tapering around his midsection, creating a figure that seems both powerful and inviting, a magnet for the eyes. His shirt, once meticulously buttoned to the collar, now betrays a more relaxed demeanor. The top buttons are left undone, exposing a sliver of skin that hints at the warmth beneath, while his red tie, no longer neatly knotted, hangs loosely around his neck. It rests on his chest with a kind of deliberate carelessness, the bold color contrasting against the pale fabric, drawing your gaze.

His brown hair is tousled, strands falling just out of place, as if touched by the wind—or more likely, the consequence of his own distracted hands. This subtle disarray only adds to the intimacy of his appearance, a sign of his vulnerability beneath the polished exterior, inviting those who see him to look closer, to wonder what thoughts lie beneath the surface.

But it's not just his appearance that tells a story. His face is flushed, a deep crimson spreading across his cheeks and down his neck, as if he’s been caught off guard, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. He stands in the elevator, holding a bouquet of flowers, his eyes locking onto yours with a magnetic intensity. There’s an urgency in the way he holds himself, a tension in his posture that betrays a rush of emotion barely held in check. The sight of him like this—disheveled, out of breath, yet so achingly poised with that bouquet in hand— almost makes you laugh.

“[Y/n],” he says, still out of breath, his voice carrying a hushed intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. He extends the flowers towards you, his eyes skimming down your figure with an unmistakable admiration. "You... You look very beautiful." The words tumble out, raw and unguarded, his gaze lingering on you as if trying to commit every detail to memory. There's a vulnerability in his expression, a softness that contrasts with his usual composed demeanor.

The image of Ford standing in the elevator is a stark reminder of your first date all those years ago. You recall a younger Ford, clad in a sweater and slacks, nervously thrusting a bouquet of carefully wrapped lillies towards you as he stood at the foot of your apartment door. His face was as red as the blooms he held, a mixture of anticipation and awkward charm that made your heart flutter then, just as it does now.

Despite the passage of time, Ford remains fundamentally unchanged. You met nearly eight years ago, when you were both twenty years old, grouped together in an Advanced Quantum Dimensional Physics course on a project. Back then, his boyish charm was evident in every nervous smile and every hesitant gesture. Now, even beneath the weight of work and the stress that comes with it, that same charm endures.

"Thank you, Ford," you say, taking the bouquet with a soft smile. "What’s with all the noise? I was about to go down to the basement and beat your ass." Your tone blends relief with playful annoyance, adding a touch of levity to the otherwise tender moment.

Ford’s eyebrows raise, and he snaps out of his thoughts, his face flushing as he tears his eyes away from your form. He gives a sheepish smile, clearly embarrassed by the chaos he’s caused. "Oh! Yes, my apologies. I was, um, looking for my car keys. And I seem to have knocked down a grand total of... three destabilizers? Maybe two particle accelerators.”

"Five pieces of high-tech machinery and we still can't afford a new dishwasher?" you tease, raising an eyebrow at him. Your tone is light, but there's a hint of exasperation mixed with amusement as you look at the mess.

“These are necessary purchases, my dear!” he huffs out a laugh, stepping out of the elevator with a charmingly disheveled grace. He extends his forearm toward you, a gesture both gallant and inviting. “Are you ready to go? Our reservation should be starting soon.” His playful grin and the warmth of his gesture make it clear that he’s eager to move past the chaos and enjoy the evening with you.

You take his arm, linking it with your own as you grin up at him. “As long as you agree to order a bottle of Cabernet for the table, I’m ready to leave when you are.” The easy familiarity of the gesture tugs at a longing inside you, a reminder of the effortless closeness you once shared. Lately, things have been strained between the two of you, and you’ve found yourself ruefully returning to your smoking habit in secret, having learned your lesson from the last time Ford caught you. You wonder if he can smell the smoke on your breath, if the scent lingers in your hair despite the deep conditioning you just underwent. The memory of smoking with a grocery bag tied over your head just two hours prior while re-reading Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar for the fifth time that year brings a pang of regret. You can’t help but feel a tinge of anxiety about whether this secret, this small escape, is detectable to the one person whose opinion matters most.

“Let’s make that two bottles, love,” Ford says with a smile that highlights the bags under his eyes. They’ve deepened, you notice, but he’s still impossibly handsome to you.

The car ride to the restaurant was enveloped in a serene silence, punctuated only by the soft strains of Fleetwood Mac’s newest single emanating from the 8-track tape you had insisted on playing. As the car glided through the wintry landscape, the world outside was a wintery tableau of stillness and quiet beauty. The darkness of the evening, settling in at 7 p.m., cast a soft, muted glow over the landscape. The trees, tall and skeletal, stood cloaked in a delicate blanket of snow, their branches heavy and laden with white. The ground beneath them was similarly covered, the snow pristine and unblemished, save for the occasional delicate track of a nocturnal creature.

The snowy expanse reflected the faint, ambient light of the car’s headlights, creating a shimmering, ethereal quality that danced across the landscape. The quiet was profound, only occasionally interrupted by the gentle crunch of tires over snow or the faint rustling of branches. The scene outside was serene and almost magical, a winter wonderland wrapped in a velvety cloak of darkness, enhancing the feeling of calm and intimacy within the car.

Stanford’s hand rests on your thigh, his left hand gripping the steering wheel while his right palm lies flat but carries a faint tension, as if it’s holding back something unspoken. It’s been two weeks since the night you shared in the snow and a month since his fallout with Fiddleford. Life has settled into a rhythm that feels both familiar and strained.

Despite his efforts to show his love—choosing to spend more nights with you rather than immersing himself in work on the portal—there’s an unmistakable edge to his presence. His hand, warm against your skin, still carries a subtle rigidity, a reminder of the underlying unease between you. His gazes linger longer than usual, and you’ve felt him study you with a mix of affection and concern. His eyes always narrow, as if trying to decipher something elusive about you.

Lost in the whirl of your thoughts, you’re only dimly aware as Stanford navigates the car to your destination. The vehicle glides into a snug parking space near the restaurant—the only refined dining spot in Gravity Falls, a testament to its understated elegance. The night’s darkness casts a soft glow on the restaurant’s exterior, hinting at the warmth and sophistication within.

Stanford’s deft hands turn the keys in the ignition, the engine’s hum fading into silence with a satisfying click. As the car stills, he turns to face you, his expression a blend of eagerness and intimacy. His gaze lingers on you, soft yet intense.

"I want to speak to you about something," he begins, his voice breaking through the silence left in the wake of Stevie Nicks’ fading melody. The suddenness of his words contrasts with the stillness in the car, his tone carrying a weight that pulls your attention fully to him.

Suddenly, your seatbelt feels constricting, as if it’s tightening around you, making it difficult to breathe. The air seems to thin as you take in his gaze, the intensity of his eyes pinning you in place, filling the space between you with a palpable tension. "About?"

Stanford reaches to unbuckle his seatbelt, the click of the release sounding louder in the quiet car. He turns toward you fully, his body shifting to close the distance. You instinctively move to do the same, freeing yourself from the confines of your own seatbelt, now facing him without any barriers between you. His eyes meet yours with a mixture of resolve and vulnerability as he speaks, "About what you asked me. If I'm... still in love with you." The words hang heavy in the air, the gravity of the moment pressing down on you both.

You say nothing, your breath catching as you stare into his eyes, feeling yours widen in surprise. The weight of his words settles over you, and your gaze falters, drifting down to your hands as they instinctively wring together in your lap. The silence stretches, heavy and charged, as you wait for him to speak, your heart pounding in the quiet space between you.

"[Y/n]," he mutters softly, but you don’t respond, your thoughts too tangled to form words. He reaches out, gently cupping your cheek in his palm, urging you to meet his eyes. "There is no one else on this earth who I love more than you." His voice is earnest, but as you look at him, you can’t help but notice how much older he seems—the streetlight streaming through the windshield casting harsh shadows that emphasize the worried wrinkles and dark circles beneath his eyes. "It pains me that you think otherwise," he continues, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin, his expression a blend of sorrow and love.

"And I know that this... project of mine has formed a rift between the two of us," he admits, his voice heavy with regret. His hand stays on your cheek, the warmth of his touch at odds with the cold truth in his words. "I’ve been cruel to you—cold. None of it would be possible without you. I just... wanted to inform you that I am in the process of dismantling the portal.”

His confession hangs in the air, a quiet revelation that sends a wave of shock through you. The project that consumed him, the very thing that had driven a wedge between you, was now being taken apart. His eyes search yours, seeking understanding, forgiveness, something that might ease the burden he’s carried alone for too long.

“Stanley is coming tomorrow to help me put an end to this blasted mess I've created," he adds, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words aloud makes them more real. The mention of Stanley, his estranged brother, only deepens the weight of his confession. You can see the turmoil in his eyes, a mix of relief and fear, etched deeply into his features. His expression is fraught with worry and trepidation, as if the enormity of what he’s undertaking has finally caught up with him. His hand remains steady on your cheek, but there’s a vulnerability in his gaze that you haven’t seen in a long time—a silent plea for your support and understanding as he faces this daunting task.

He looks worried, more scared than you’ve ever seen him before. There’s a tremor in his eyes and a depth to his expression that speaks of hidden fears. You know him better than you know yourself, and it’s clear to you that he’s concealing something. The anxiety etched into his features, the hesitation in his voice—it all points to a deeper truth he’s not yet revealing. The sense of something left unsaid lingers between you, an unspoken tension that underscores the gravity of his confession.

"Oh, screw it," you think, your heart swelling with joy despite the unspoken tension. You’re too overwhelmed with happiness to let the hidden fears or unspoken truths weigh you down. A radiant smile spreads across your face, transforming your expression into a broad, irrepressible grin. Leaning into his palm, you let the warmth of the moment wash over you. "No more late nights in the basement?" you ask, your voice light, as if the weight of the world has momentarily lifted. The joy in your tone contrasts with the earlier seriousness, cutting through the atmosphere like a breath of fresh air, and you bask in the simple, unadulterated relief of the news.

"No more late nights in the basement," he repeats, his voice carrying a note of relief as he takes in your smile. The tension seems to lift from his shoulders, replaced by a softer, more hopeful expression. "I also wanted to ask you something else," he continues, his gaze shifting to meet yours with a mix of earnestness and anticipation.

Your eyes widen just a fraction more as you absorb his words, a thrill of anticipation sparking within you. "What else?”

Ford’s face suddenly flushes a deep red, and he shifts uncomfortably, moving his hand from your cheek to tug nervously at the collar of his button-down. “I was, uh, thinking,” he begins, his voice wavering slightly, “Maybe, once this is all over, of course, maybe we can start preparations for the… for the wedding.” The words stumble out of him, each one laden with a mixture of hope and trepidation. The vulnerability in his gaze contrasts with the warmth of his earlier demeanor, as he waits for your reaction to his tentative forwardness.

You’re convinced you’ve never been more ecstatic to hear this man’s voice in your life. A joyous giggle bursts from your throat, escaping before you can even catch it. The realization that your endearing, slightly clueless fiancé will finally become your husband sends a wave of elation through you. Your heart is practically dancing with delight, overwhelmed by the sheer excitement and happiness. The world around you seems to shimmer with a new, vibrant energy, and every thought and worry melts away, leaving only the radiant joy of this moment.

Without a second thought, you practically leap from your seat into his arms. The car’s interior transforms into a haven of warmth and affection as you envelop Stanford in a cascade of kisses. His face, already flushed from his earlier nervousness, now lights up with genuine laughter, the sound rich and full, reverberating through the confined space. His arms come around you with a comforting firmness.

"Yes! Fucking finally, yes, Ford!" you laugh, your voice trembling with the sheer joy of the moment. Your hands cradle his face with a tenderness that feels almost sacred as you lean in, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. The warmth of his breath mingles with yours, and the kiss deepens, an intoxicating blend of exhilaration and relief that seems to transcend all the struggles you’ve faced. His arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer against him, fully settling you onto his lap. The lack of the car's heater does little to bother you as you nuzzle your face into Ford’s neck, finding solace in the warmth of his embrace.

Stanford laughs softly, his breath warm against your skin as he rubs your back soothingly. "Y/n, darling, we're going to miss our reservation," he murmurs with a gentle chuckle. The sound of his laughter reverberates through his chest, adding a comforting rhythm to the moment.

You pull away from the crook of his neck, lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. Stanford’s hair is now a delightful mess from when you ran your fingers through it moments prior, with rebellious strands splaying out in charming disarray. The collar of his white button-down, once meticulously aligned, now tilts at an angle, as though in a state of blissful disarray. The black blazer, once a paragon of tailored precision, is now creased and rumpled from your shared embrace, the fabric bearing the intimate marks of your contact.

His red tie, previously a picture of neatness, now drapes at a rakish angle, adding an alluring quality to his look. The flush on his cheeks, deepened by the kiss, contrasts vividly with his slightly tousled appearance, while a faint, tender smudge of lipstick lingers at the corner of his lips. You gaze at him, overwhelmed by the fierce surge of love you feel. Despite the messiness, there’s an undeniable intimacy in his appearance, a tangible trace of the passionate moment you shared, making him look both endearing and irresistibly human.

“Forget the reservation,” you say in one breath, your voice breathless and urgent as you surge forward to capture his lips with yours once more. The words barely escape before your lips meet his, and the world outside melts away, leaving only the heated, intoxicating connection between you.

It didn’t last, the kiss. It was intense but fleeting, a fervent moment before Stanford gently pulled away, taking your hands in his. He lifted them to his face, pressing tender kisses to your fingers, to your palms. His expression was a heady mix of adoration and intoxication.

You couldn’t recall ever feeling so radiant, so utterly cherished.

“You are an absolute vision, my love,” Stanford murmured, his voice a soft reverence against the inside of your wrist. He kissed the delicate delta of veins there, his lips tracing a path to the center of your palm, each kiss a silent testament to his deep affection. “You look stunning, incredible—breathtaking. [Y/n], these past few months have been a torment without you by my side. Nothing has made me feel so alive as I do now, looking at you.” He laughed softly, a sound of pure joy, and pressed your hand to his chest. “Do you feel that? My heart is pounding.”

Miraculously, even through the layers of fabric, you could feel the thunderous beat of his heart. He wasn’t exaggerating; his pulse was racing. You took his hand and guided it to your chest, so he could feel your own heart racing in sync with his.

“Look at you,” you said, breathless and beaming. “Dashing, roguishly handsome in your suit. How am I going to keep my hands off you tonight?”

Stanford’s cheeks flushed so deeply that his blush was visible even in the dim light of the car. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and his voice was strained with longing as he replied, “Then don’t. Keep them off me, I mean,” he said, leaning closer, his mouth moving toward yours. “Hold me, touch me however you like…”

The temptation was almost unbearable. Dinner seemed a trivial pursuit compared to the desire to peel him out of his suit, to undress him slowly and explore every inch of his body. It had been far too long.

You leaned in, placing a tender kiss on his cheek before brushing your lips against his ear. “Maybe we should go back home first,” you suggested, pulling back and beginning to disentangle yourself from his embrace.

“That's not a bad idea,” Stanford says, his voice steadier now, though his cheeks still carry a hint of the earlier flush. He clears his throat and adjusts his glasses, which had been askew from your earlier embrace. “We can order takeout for dinner. Although,” he adds with a playful glint in his eye, “I must admit, I find something else much more appetizing.”

[occamstfs]

Terracotta Turmoil

Another muscle growth racial TF! I went with phonetic Chinese rather than using Chinese characters as it feels hotter to me to be able to read the phonetics! Hope y'all enjoy! -Occam

Chase was beyond excited for the opportunity that his museum has recently secured. It didn’t seem possible, and perhaps the provenance isn’t exactly strictly clear or legal, but some donors have ensured that an exhibition is soon to begin. Before that though Chase simply had to sneak a look and wandered into the exhibit’s worksite to closely observe the artifact. 

Upon seeing it Chase is less than impressed with the artistry and history of the object instead thinking of what a score they have wrung from whatever schmuck had it. Chase begins counting dollar signs in his head as he approaches the statue, getting close enough to touch it when he sees a flash in the statue’s lifeless eyes. Keeping his mind ever focused on financial gain his eyes race to meet those of the terracotta statue in front of him where he finds naught but the cold rage-filled gaze of a warrior.

He rolls his eyes and begins to step away to plan the promotions for the exhibit when suddenly he hears a voice in his head, in a language he cannot understand, “Rúguǒ nǐ yào bǎ nǐ de yìzhì qiángjiā gěi wǒ. Ránhòu wǒ huì bǎ wǒ de qiángjiā gěi nǐ” (If you shall impose thine will upon me. Then I shall force mine upon you.)

Chase suddenly scans the room for whatever coworker must be pranking him, though he is sure that none of them know Chinese anywhere near the fluency of his voice. His eyes flicker to the door as it slowly creaks closed with a click, the lock turning by itself. Chase turns with a suspicious look to the statue. His concentration flickers as he once again sees a glint in the statue’s impenetrable eyes. Chase is not a superstitious type but something unnatural was occurring and he wasn’t to be caught on the back foot. 

He is mousy and short but tries to stand tall and puff his chest up at the statue as he starts to engage, “Your, uh yìzhì?”(Will?) Wh-” Despite his meager attempt at bravado he immediately falls back in shock finding himself speaking in a tongue that he never even had a passing desire to know. He stumbles back away from the statue, still facing it. The lights dim in the room and the glitter of the statue’s eyes begin to glow outright, “Wǒ bù xǐhuān shǐyòng nǐ de shēntǐ, nǐ zhège chètóuchèwěi de shǎguā. Dàn nǐ jiāng chéngwéi wǒ líkāi zhèlǐ de ménpiào." (I take no delight in using your body, you utter fool. But you will be my ticket out of here.)

Chase is compelled to make eye-contact with the merciless eyes as they burn a hole into his mind. He is immediately beyond confused and dizzy, no longer sure of anything in the world besides the fact that his condition is only to rapidly deteriorate even further. He feels himself lose control of his mouth as drool begins to pool within it. Little loss though as he is rapidly losing the ability to form any thoughts in English anyway. 

He falls to his hands and knees, mouth agape as he spits up onto the floor. The floor shines like a mirror reflecting the light above as a spotlight onto him and making evident the sinister shine of the statue’s eyes as they continue to burn. He stares at his hands clenched on the floor struggling to latch his mind on any thought that remains. As he struggles suddenly a thought appears through the fog as if it were the most evident thing in the world, Diāoxiàng bù shǔyú zhèlǐ (The statue doesn’t belong here.) 

Chase isn’t even taken aback as his mind starts to return, now using a language he’s never learned. If his thoughts are all in Chinese there is no conceivable explanation beyond that it is the language that he was raised in, but he was gweilo(western) no? He brings his eyes to look at his reflection in the recently waxed floor to see something immediately jarring. His mouth is still ajar, still slightly leaking drool, but his reflection looking back at him has an unmistakable scowl and smirk. 

He recoils, though staying on the ground, as he notices that his short messy hair is starting to grow and straighten. His sandy blonde locks swiftly begin to darken as they lengthen into something far more fashionable. He feels his face respond to the unconscious worry in his mind at seeing his appearance change. In response his reflection bares its teeth as the scowl becomes crueler, the eyes beginning to glow just as the statue’s did. 

He forces his eyes shut to avoid them being penetrated by the burning gaze once more. He is no longer able to open them as he feels his eyelids throb and tighten. Chase grunts and clenches his teeth as pain surges through his face before he forces his eyes back open and is once more greeted with unfamiliarity in his reflection. Impossible to miss were the epicanthic folds that now hang over his blue eyes. He continues to stare at them, seeing his skin begin to pale and smooth as his hair turns black to the roots and his eyes begin to darken, slowly turning brown.

Chase stares at his own irises as they almost move beyond brown to instead be as pitch black as his hair. At the same time a laugh that Chase still recognizes as his own rings through the exhibition hall, though each echo as it returns back to his ears is deeper than the one that came before. He clutches at his hóujié (adam’s apple) feeling it throb larger into his hand. He gasps sharply, feeling more air rush into his lungs as he takes a breath deeper and more labored than ever before.

Now with only one hand keeping him from falling to the ground Chase watches as the eyes of his reflection glow with a rage centuries old, challenging him to not fall on his face as he feels the force of gravity upon him ever-more difficult to ignore. Just before totally collapsing he wrenches his hand from his neck to catch his fall. Struggling against the weight of his body as it feels heavier by the moment, Chase feels his arms begin to strain the sleeves of his dress shirt. Sweat drips from his hair to stain his reflection as his biceps force themselves larger than his shirt could possibly hold. 

Drawing off all the remaining will, or yìzhì rather, he has to resist. He pushes himself higher from the ground rising further than his arms should be able to push him. His biceps burst with power as they grow to the size of a lesser man’s thighs. Sweat drips down his massive arms trailing from thin but present black hair now filling his pits. Chase looks towards his chest and no wonder his breaths were suddenly nigh-impossible, the buttons had already burst from his dress shirt as pecs had forced themselves from his chest and below them abs defined as those you see on only the most prodigious bodybuilders. 

Chase smirks to himself seeing how he has grown. He knew he simply could not let himself fall, his people were zhànshì (warriors) after all. His proud smirk is now truly mirroring his smug reflection. Chase flexes every muscle he can in his more powerful body, feeling the strain of his strength as he tests the limit of each newly formed muscle group. His whole body convulses in pleasure as he becomes acquainted with the power now within him. He feels his hitherto ignored cock grow firm as he feels nothing but pride for his body and his homeland.

He pushes himself fully off the ground to land on his ass as it too grows to break past the limit of his pants. No longer looking at his reflection Chase feels his thighs tear through his jeans and his feet grow large enough to make finding any replacement shoes impossible. His briefs struggle to hold his still growing erection as he continues to bask in his body and power as he finds himself once more sitting in front of the terracotta soldier. 

Rather than seeing it as the financial boon that he intended to when he walked in. Chase now sees it as a testament to the artistry and history that his home country deserves. He feels a fire burn in his chest as rage begins to fill him at seeing such an extraordinary artifact of his culture being subjected to this tourist trap of a museum. His eyes twitch as the last attachments to his old life fade beyond even his subconscious as he remembers the life and history of his real identity. 

Chen was not going to sit around and let this relic of Chinese opulence and power be disgraced by this sorry show. He looks down towards his reflection one last time and sees his face now perfectly mirrors the proud smirk that it has displayed since he first saw it. Chen laughs the same laugh he has always known, one deep and slow, as he stands to prepare his repatriation of this terracotta soldier. First things first though, he’ll need a few new friendly faces, a few new countrymen. He makes for the door whispering to himself as he feels his cock surge in his pants, “Dàodǐ shéi lái zǔzhǐ wǒ” (After all, who is going to stop me.)

[valentine-cafe]

oh, to be a cute, little journalist wanting to expose the crimes of herrera husbands (verse 209) to the public. . .

. . .only to become their newest obsession <33

˖⁺. “ new scoop ! ” : 

﹙ yandere mad doctor & scientist x gn journalist reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . verse 209 jìngyí x gn reader x rishen !! 🍒: ﹙ mad doctor ˖ snake monster ˖ yandere character ˖ mad scientist ˖ moth-spider-mantis hybrid ˖ yandere character ﹚

they never expected a journalist to come as close as you did. that definitely garners quite the morbid interest. after all - how could they not obsess over someone so obsessed with them?

﹙ cws ﹚: dark content ˖ yandere behaviour ˖ stalking ˖ item stealing ˖ manipulation | wc : 0.5k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: i saw this request and immediately jumped to write it last night ybcdc

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

oh they have dealt with the media. ten times and over. the suspicious interviews. the baiting headlines. they know the trifles of fame — especially on their level. but you — oh, you were different. you were magnificent.

while few were foolish enough to blame them for the classics: useless scandals, corruption, big pharma. . . you went another route. they were almost offended to not have picked up on your little investigation long before.

of course they inserted themselves into this investigation. intentionally selecting you to dish out your questions during press conferences. meeting with you after interviews to discuss your stellar skills. showing interest. building a relationship.

oh and you simply took what you could get your hands on. perhaps befriending them would be an opportunity to worm your way in and get the good scoop? it's a sacrifice you are willing to make. and they seem the least but aware.

you let them right into your life. follow up interviews. private ones. coffee dates — wait, was that last one apart of the plan? where did that necklace come from? right. a gift from jìngyí. and that expensive perfume? ah, that's right. rishen's spoils for your birthday.

you started having dinner with them too. but you had to focus. had to ensure that you garner whatever info you can. even if it was the slightest. you'd stage before your wall of a pin chart at home. information, photo evidence. completely unaware that they took have a little board of you at home. filled with your pictures. your articles. your handwriting. strands of your hair. clothing items. the trusty pen that went "missing" last week. evidence too. evidence of their obsession with you.

what a fun game between work hours. to watch you get so close to a lead, if only the ends to be snipped off entirely. it frustrated you. but that frustration could wait, you have a night out with - with them - no! what are you doing? why are you indulging them?

but you'll continue to do so. after all, it's for duty - right? you'd never expect the hooks of their manipulation to settle into your head. whisper so sweetly to your ears that maybe you were wrong. maybe they are simply kind men of science. perhaps the voices of those enigma are false.

what does it matter anyway! you've been invited to their lavish home at last. you can't believe you thought the worst of these two. they are simply an indulgent couple. who do their best to help society. living here with their four dogs and one cat. loving one another. loving you.

loving you indeed. you see it. in the dinner that you all share. the laughs and affection. the sweetness of their lips. the slew of polaroids strung upon walls. the letters, articles pinned upon boards. a room full of you. and all that you do. oh, you'll certainly learn about the extends of this love. when the door of the room you'd stumbled into ( and now stood like a statue in ) shuts tight. locked behind you.

well, they did say curiousity killed the cat.

﹙ taglist. ﹚: | get tagged for specific posts

﹙ tip jar. ﹚: like our work? consider suporting us 𖹭 

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

A Basket Full of Fall

Word count: 1.2k

Pairing: Toto Wolff x wife!reader, ft. jack

Summary: Toto and Jack surprise Y/n with an extravagant boo basket filled with autumnal treats and heartfelt touches

______________________________________________________________

Y/n sat comfortably on the couch, a throw blanket draped over her legs as the soft light of the autumn sun filtered through the windows. Her tea was still warm in her hands, and she was scrolling absentmindedly through her phone, reminiscing about the boo baskets she had fallen in love with last year. It had become something of a joke between her and Toto—how she had shown him TikTok after TikTok of couples exchanging adorable, cozy, fall-themed gift baskets.

She had teased Toto at the time, jokingly asking, "So, where’s my boo basket, hmm?" He had just smirked, pulling her close, and promised that maybe one day she’d get a surprise. But Y/n knew her husband wasn’t the type to jump on trendy gift ideas, so she hadn’t pushed it further. Little did she know, Toto had remembered every detail she mentioned.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Toto and Jack were busy at work, their task much bigger than the average boo basket. What started as a simple idea had spiraled into something much grander. The giant basket they’d chosen was practically overflowing, and Jack was already planning what to tell Y/n once she saw it.

“Papa, what about these fluffy socks? Should we put them in the front?” Jack asked, holding up a pair of soft orange socks with little pumpkin faces embroidered on them.

Toto crouched down, examining the basket. “I think that’s a good idea, Jack. She’ll see them right away.”

Carefully, Jack placed the socks right on top, making sure they peeked out over the rest of the items. The basket was already brimming with a mix of cozy fall essentials and thoughtful gifts. There was a cinnamon-scented candle in a beautiful glass jar, a soft knitted blanket in a warm rust color, and a variety of pumpkin spice-flavored snacks—everything from chocolates to cookies.

Toto had also picked up some more personal items for Y/n. He knew how much she loved curling up with a good book on chilly afternoons, so he added a new novel from one of her favorite authors. There was also a set of bath bombs scented with lavender and chamomile, perfect for the relaxing baths he knew she adored after long days.

“Do you think we have enough chocolate in here, Jack?” Toto asked, eyeing the assortment of treats.

Jack giggled. “There’s never enough chocolate, Papa.”

Toto smiled and shook his head, placing another small box of chocolates into the basket. He then reached for the special pumpkin centerpiece they had bought—an intricately carved ceramic pumpkin that glowed when you placed a small candle inside. It would be the perfect touch for their living room, adding to the cozy atmosphere Y/n loved so much during the fall.

Jack tugged at his father’s sleeve. “Don’t forget the card, Papa!”

Toto smiled softly. “Of course, how could I forget?”

He pulled out a small, carefully folded card from his pocket, the cover decorated with autumn leaves and pumpkins. Inside, he had written a heartfelt note:

To my love, Y/n. Last year, you showed me all those TikToks, and I pretended not to understand why they were important. But I knew how much these little things make you happy. So this is for you—your very own boo basket, from Jack and me, to the best mama and wife we could ever ask for. I love you.

Satisfied with the card, he slipped it into the basket, tucking it beside the candle.

"All done, Jack," Toto said, standing back to admire their handiwork. The basket looked massive, filled with all the warm, comforting items that made fall so special. He was sure Y/n would be surprised—maybe even speechless.

Jack was practically vibrating with excitement. "Can we show her now, Papa?"

Toto chuckled, ruffling his son’s hair. "Yes, let’s surprise her."

Together, they carefully lifted the basket, with Toto handling most of the weight while Jack guided them through the house. As they approached the living room, Jack darted ahead, his excitement barely contained.

“Mama! Close your eyes!” Jack called out, bounding toward Y/n, who looked up from her phone with a puzzled smile.

“What are you up to?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Just close them!” Jack insisted, and Y/n couldn’t help but laugh as she set her tea aside and covered her eyes with her hands.

“Alright, eyes closed!” she said, indulging him.

Toto followed quietly behind, the basket in his arms, his heart racing with anticipation. He knew Y/n would love it, but seeing her reaction was what he was most excited about.

He set the basket down in front of her and glanced at Jack. "Okay, Jack. Tell her she can open them."

Jack practically jumped. “Mama, open your eyes!”

Y/n slowly uncovered her eyes, and the moment she saw what was in front of her, she froze. Her mouth fell open in shock. There, sitting before her, was the most extravagant, oversized boo basket she had ever seen. It was almost comically large, brimming with every fall-themed item she could have imagined—and more. The beautiful autumn colors of the blankets and candles, the smell of cinnamon, and the sight of the chocolate treats filled her senses all at once.

"Toto… Jack… what is all this?" she asked, her voice soft, her hands going to her mouth in disbelief.

Jack, beaming with pride, clapped his hands. "It’s a boo basket! For you!"

Toto stood behind Jack, his eyes soft with love and a small, proud smile on his lips. "You kept showing me those TikToks last year, and I figured it was time to make one for you—our way."

Y/n's heart swelled as she took in every detail. The thoughtful gifts, the little touches that she knew had Toto’s and Jack’s fingerprints all over them. She reached for the card and read Toto's note, her eyes misting as she smiled.

“You two…” she whispered, overcome with emotion. “This is… this is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Jack jumped into her arms. "Do you like it, Mama?"

“I love it,” Y/n said, pulling Jack into a tight hug before reaching out for Toto’s hand, pulling him close as well. She wrapped her arms around both of them, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the basket itself. It was the love and care behind it—the way Toto remembered every little thing, the way Jack had helped with so much excitement.

Toto kissed her forehead softly, his hand resting on her back. "You deserve it, my love. Every bit of it."

Y/n, smiling through happy tears, looked back at the basket. “Well, I guess this officially makes you the king of boo baskets,” she teased, playfully nudging Toto.

He chuckled. “I’ll take that title.”

As they settled back onto the couch, Y/n surrounded by her new autumn treasures, Jack crawled into her lap, holding one of the stuffed pumpkins.

“I can’t believe you remembered all those TikToks,” she said, leaning against Toto as he wrapped his arm around her.

Toto smirked, his voice low and teasing. “How could I forget? You showed me at least fifty of them.”

Y/n laughed, resting her head on his shoulder. “Well, it was worth it. This is perfect.”

[mehiwilldoitlater]

can you do black myth erlang shen x reader please 🥺

It hurts. Please, it hurt. Stop!

Are you even speaking? Spears and swords don't stop to fall over you, and you wonder if you can even feel pain any longer.

You just wanted them to stop.

Those are celestial guards, fighters of the gods, and they have no mercy on the mortals, especially the ones that plan to revive the great sage. And you were so unlucky to have lost your friend.

How could it have happened?! Why was it happening?! They didn't see how already in pain you were?! They keep it going, and they laugh!

You just want everything to stop; your vision is just red and dark.

Then a light strike, and you're not in pain anymore. Ah...so is here where you die? You wanted at least to say something to Yuán Fèn and Bajie, maybe a goodbye...

You didn't get the chance to end your mission. You feel bad, mostly for these things.

///

Suddenly, icy air fills your lungs.

It's sudden and painful, and it's mostly a sign that you're pretty much alive but very much hurt. You can't see properly; your vision doesn't work so well. Why can you see only with your left eye?!

You tried to reach your head with your hands but could sense only the pressure of one of them. Something is attached to your face—just the same sensation on your left hand. 

Gauzes, someone had put some bandage on your face and hand. You still tried to move your right harm, but you can't feel so much; did it fall asleep? 

You tried to put yourself up but met only a wave of more pain in both of your legs. You wanted to scream, moan, or anything, but you could only wheeze, coughing from the dryness. 

Only then you felt something—rushing movements—they were fast and so many. Many small people? Or just one thing with so many legs? You couldn't tell; wherever you were was so dark. The rush of the feet stopped when some more heavy ones got closer to you. Someone had held your head gently, raising it from the cuschion where you were, then something smooth and cold touched your lips, a bowl maybe. 

A liquid started to carefully flow in your mouth, avoiding you to suffocate or spill it. It was... so bitter. It felt awful, but your throat started to feel better. It was warm.

You tried to understand who was tending to you, so you kept looking at the looming figure. Were they talking to you? He seemed like a man by his posture and

No, it couldn't be. It must have been a dream or a sick joke. You gulped, but before you could do anything, Erland had already put you back in your bedding.

///

Oh, how much you wished that was just a delirious dream and allucination provoked by the pain. Tò be just the product of your mind, another of those visions that you had during your adventure.

Instead It was true—scarefully true.

He didn't speak too much; he didn't speak at all. He just tended to your wound, fixed the bed, made you drink that bitter liquid of his, and then went back to... something. He was just there, doing something in that desolated place. 

The house was small, very small; the only objects present there were the bed where you were recovering, some big jars, a small bundle of sheets in a corner, and a fireplace, where usually the pot mumbled and boiled something that you guess he was feeding you.

It wasn't like you couldn't do much in your state; the only thing you could do was just sleep and hope that nothing bad could happen.

And when you didn't sleep, you thought.

Why was he caring for you? He was preparing you for a formal execution? Was he planning to kill you in front of all the monkeys and Yuán Fèn? Maybe hunting you for fun?

Every time those worries started to come into your head, you felt nothing but pure fear and pain. You should have died there. It would have been merciful. 

One day you finally broke that silence, the day you realized that the absence of sensitivity in your right heart was because there was nothing there. One of the soldiers had damaged so much your harm that it was cute off.

You started to panic, to move, and to make sounds that were near a lament. Then you felt something nudging and crying next to your face, pressing and lapping, then something stronger trying to stop you.

"You need to stop; your wounds may reopen."

He seemed calm in his tone, and he kept his composure even when you started to punch him in the chest and get out of him and that place.

"Of you're in pain, tell me. So I can fix it. I have medicines, but you need to calm down."

How could you calm down?! You're hair was ripped off! You kept struggling, moving your stump against him, trying to gain anything, but nothing came to you. He realized the situation and stod up.

"Don't worry, I prepared everything."

And so he revealed, inside one of the big jars, covered in the same strange bitter medicine, your severed harm, that was still moving, imitating the movement that you were trying to do with it.

///

And so, things didn't change that much, except that he was taking your limb in a magic option, and he was taking you the same things to heal your wounds.

He said that, by mortal standard, death was inevitabile, but with that medicine he could save your harm and your eye, which you learned was lost, and he just kept it there. The creepyness of the hole organs in a jar aside, you felt like something was clearly wrong.

He was Erlang Shen! The deity that struck down Sun Wukong! The one that had officially killed him! Why was he curing you?!

You couldn't trust him; you could trust Yaoguais and all but him?! NEVER!

"Came on," he tried to make you drink again the medicine; "without it, your body will take longer and the harm won't stick."

"Firstly," you said, moving the bowl away from your."I'm not a paper doll that you can just fix with glue. And secondly, I don't trust you!"

"If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already. Instead, I'm tending to your wounds. Is not trustful enough?"

For him, it was more like taking to a child that refused the cough syrup.

You rolled your eyes; he was right—he could have killed you, and the possibility of being dead by his hand still lingered. Your only option was to play whatever game he was playing and try to get the first chance to escape from... wherever you were. By the look of the outside, where are you back to the New West? The snow was its notable characteristic after all.

After another nudge of the deity, you finally took the bowl from his hand and swallowed in one gulp the medicine. Your face produced a grimace by the savor.

"Ugh! It's so bitter...what did you put in this staff?!"

"I don't make medicine. I take it from the celestial court."

That I take it was more similar to stealing it. But, for your own sake, you held your tongue. When made sure that all the medicine was consumed, he hummed, satisfied, and silently sat near the fireplace.

Now, with a better look, you realized that it wasn't a house per se, but a very small temple. 

"Why did you steal someone else's shrine?"

After that sentence, you thought Mayube would hear him complain about your insolence or just to tell you to shut up. Instead, he kept tending to the fire, using a long metal rod.

"I didn't steal it; it's mine."

"Yours?" You seemed perplexed. "It's so simple. I thought you had something a little more."

He chukled a little without diverting his gaze. "I don't want to attract attention."

What a strange man, you thought, and so you decided to go back to sleep. But still, one question needed an answer.

"When I was on the brink of death," you spoke between the sheets. "You were saying something. What did you say?"

He stode silently, stopped in his thought, then spoke.

"That I won't allow you to die."

///

On your surprise, you found out that one of the most tolerable things there was no one else but Xiaotian Quan, Erlan's loyal dog. Despite his scary look, the jaws that could easily rip of your head, and the fact that it was a deity, that dog was everything but pure joy.

You couldn't understand why, but it just adored you, snuggling to you when the fire died during the night, asking for food whenever its master wasn't looking. How could you resist?!

"You're so nice, you know that?"

Every time the god left the house for hunting, something you learned he did on a daily basis for all of your meals, the duty of guarding you, maybe monitoring your escape, was set on the dog. You obliged to stay in its warm, caressing his mantle and scratching his muse.

"You're very cute... I wonder if you feel lonely here. I would be, but I'm mostly bored."

You sighed, turning in the bed. You tried to avoid thinking about your state and all. Erland said that it was almost time to reattach the arm, but you still need the medicine for your legs and eye.

"I hope Yuán Fèn is all right... I hope everyone is safe. Things were getting off lately. Everything is...."

You massaged your poor eyes with your good hand.

"I really hope that Sun Wukong is worth the pain!"

You didn't want to have doubt; you wished that your faith was strong like Yuán Fèn and Bajie's, but everything was so hard. How could they just accept it? And staying there, medicated by the one that had killed that you guys were trying to revive, didn't help at all. That statement...what wnated you alive? What was his game?

Come to think of it, no one ever came to come for you—not a deity, not a celestial warrior, not a Yaoguais. It was like no one knew where you were except for the dog and Erlang. Was he hiding you? But for what reason?

You stopped thinking about it when you heard the sound of a huge deer falling to the ground and the sound of a knife starting to cut the meat. Does it really need to do it right there!? Even Bajie had so much decency to move away or wait for you and Yuán fèn to sleep!

He seemed too concentrated to care, so he kept going with his work and stopping the dog to come to him and try to take some meat for himself.

It was...almost a cute scene... Blood of the poor deer aside.

"What are you doing in this?" You finally decided to break that silence.

"You need to eat, no?"

"No, I don't..." You covered your face with your hand. "I mean this! Helping me, curing me, and all! Why?"

"I have my own motives. Wich, I prefer to keep to myself for now." He said, giving a small slice of meat to Xiaotian, letting it lick the blood from his fingertips.

"And you? You're clearly not cut out for this; what is it that you searching for in this quest of yours?"

"I just want to go home. They said that, maybe, Sun Wukong knows a way to send me back. I don't know if it's true, but it's worth the shot." 

You didn't even know why you admired it; you just said it. Maybe it wasn't such a big revelation in your head; it's not normal for someone to go back to where you belong, even if this desire wasn't so strong in recent days. He hummed and kept on cutting and putting the meat in the pot on the fire, alongside some water. He didn't say much; he just acknowledged it, you thought.

"And what if I can do that and send you home?"

Your eyes widened as you looked at the man who had just admitted that he could have done that from the beginning, like he was just telling you some directions on the road. But then suspects rose again.

"What's the catch?"

He stopped, finally looking at you, straight in your eyes.

"You stop this foolish quest of yours, alongside your friend. Give up the relics, and I'll send you back. No more fighting, a normal life."

You loved your gaze, looking at your still remaning bandage hand. He could do that; he could send you back. In front of you, stirring a suo, there's your way home ticket. And the price...

A fire started in your chest, looking at him with a newfound vigor.

"Are you basically telling me to give up?!"

"Tò surrender..."

"Then I refuse! Me, Yuán Fèn, and Bajie had made the impossible! The sacrifices that we made, what we had accomplished... NO! I will never betray my friends! I'll find my way home on my own terms!"

"And what if Wukong is not able to help you? What'll you do then?"

"Then...then I'll still search for a way! I'll never turn my back on the Destined One, NEVER!"

At this rate, you really started to fear that he could be angered by your stubbornness and loyalty towards your friend; instead, he rested quite, with a small smile on his face.

He seemed satisfied, and I kept cooking while you decided to stay silent after that outburst. He truly was something hard to get...

After a few hours, the same soup was served to you, and... It wasn't that apprising. It didn't smell bad or have a bad smell; it was just so blended with every one of your senses. It was just boiled meat in some water.

"There, eat now. You still need some energy."

You held the bowl, admiring how some good pieces of meat had gone wasted in some hot water with not even vegetables or some actual condiments. You took a sip of it; the savor was more of some dirty hot water, blood that had remained in the pot, and the disappointment of being fed like this.

"Are you sure you're a deity?" 

"What kind of question is this?"

"Because to be one, your cooking skill really stinks. Do you even know salt exists?"

At this point, you really thought that you were done. You gulped a chunk of meat, afraid to look at the face of the man, imagining how enraged he must be after hearing such an insult. You really couldn't keep your mouth shut, did you?! Why did you have to meet all those friendly deities that didn't care about status?! Now you must have angered the ONLY deity that you really didn't want to!

"Umpf, I never cooked for anyone. You try if you're that good."

You raised your eyes and...a pouty child, an kid that his mother had taken away the dough because he was making a mess with the flour. His arms crossed, offended by a remark that was true, by the way, his feet tapping the floor in a sign of nervousness, pinting out that your comment had left a mark on him, and his gaze...fixed on somewhere else in the room, maybe on his dog, enjoying its meal with the head of the deer.

Did you embarrass him?

The next day, he was able to gain some good ingredients. Some chilies, some salts and peppers, even some nice fresh onions. Where did he find them? You'll never know, but you must admit, he was quite good at following your distractions. He was careless and followed every step by your hand, and at the end of the job, he ate the soup in silence, without saying anything after that.

He must have found it quite good too.

///

"WAIT! Wait, wait, wait, please! Can't we ask someone else?!"

"No one will be able to help us. I can handle it; please stay still." He took away from the fire the long and thick needle and the silk string attached to the end of it.

"NO! At least put me to sleep! It's going to hurt like hell!" You tried to move away from the stump, only to be stopped by his hand.

"I could rip off your head; that would be more problematic than harm. I'll be fast, but you must stay still." He removed the bandages from what was left of your limb, positioning the severed arm near it.

You gasped, a small tear escaping your eye. You were scared.

He noticed his free hand handing you a piece of wood.

"In your mouth...you'll need it.". 

///

It was like you never lost it to begin with. The same medicine was now an ointment to apply, and he reattached them to help the regrow of the lost parts. Your legs started to feel better too; you could walk with his help or a cane. Xiatian too was a nice helper in that case, being your support and all when you regain your ability to move.

But you were really bored.

"And what...is this?" He motioned towards the numbers of some mini-Snowman, tall as a doll, that you were stilkl making around.

"I don't like talking to you, so I made some company from myself."

"Ah..." he silently reached you, sitting at your side but never disturbing your work.

"They are people that you know?"

"All of them—me and Yuán Fèn—had met them in our journey. Some of them are good; some of them needed the right way; others are lost."

All of them were made with the same round shape, making them similar, but each one had at least one feature that made it different and special. He pointed out one with some small detail on the face.

"Who's the one there?"

"The third spider sister! She's just so nice, you know? They all have the right to hate us, but she's quite the mediator! She loves poetry, and her dresses are so lovely! I like to talk with her; she kind of likes humans!"

"Oh, the spider Yaoguai...and the big one there?"

"The second prince of the flowing sand. He's sad, but he's always nice to me. I hope he can recover soon with his brother."

"I see...and the destine done?"

"Here!" You held pridefully the small snowman, a stick in his hand, and a happy face. So near to your feet, it must have been the first one you had made.

"You really care for him..." 

"I do! He's my friend! ...a very...good friend." He had noticed that silent spark that screamed to be freed from the bounds of morality and friendship. You too were bound after all.

"Well, they're not perfect, but here they are! All my friends! I hope they're fine."

"And where are you? Where's the Bián huá?"

"Oh...me, eh?... I'm not that cool like them. I can just be the one who makes the funny little snowman."

He raised his eyebrow, noticing how little of yourself you were talking. He raised his hand, moving the snow like a whirlwind. The snow, by moving, was forming a small sculpture with your exact semblance.

"....Show off." You blunter out.

///

"And so, my uncle decided to leave the quarry and let it go."

Your laugh echoed in the small shrine. Erlang never noticed how genuine it was before that night.

"You're terrible! I can't believe they ask of all people but you to take care of Wukong!"

"Well," he said, drinking some wine, "I was the only one with enough power to do so, and..." he chuckled, smiled, looking to the ground, and sighed, "He and I... we were so similar. I know no one could have ever bested me, but him."

The words he said, you wonder, how many times he hopes to express those feelings to someone but never finds the right one? How long he kept those weights on his chest? When he talked, he didn't sound like someone full of glory and of himself for defeating one of the strongest warriors in the universe; he seemed sad, melancholic, and regretful.

"Were you friends?"

"...I guess we were." He then aptted your shoulder.

There, something moved in your head. Everything changed; you were no more on that mountain; the shrine had become a vast expanse of clouds; so many people around you—the same that had hurt you.

There were some... no, they couldn't be the Yaoguasi king?! Why were they there?! And...Erlang...why he's covering his hand?

"You have to go to sleep now; you still need to rest."

And, without being able to express anything, he left you there, asking yourself what you just saw.

/// 

The day passed; your body came back to your old vigor, but something was different that day. The air was thick, the snow was falling, and Erlang Shen, after so many days, had finally started to show more emotions than his natural calmness. He was waiting for something.

"Erlang?" You spoke to him, observing how connected he was in front of the fire. Xiaotian was near him, waiting for something like its master.

"About me... sending you home... forgive my lie, dear one. I do not know how to do that."

You were just reaching him to his small spot, near the fire place that he had started in the courtyard, when you stopped in your tracks after hearing him. What? Was that a lie?

"A...lie?...w-why did you?"

"Many before you came... and all of them were swawed away from this path...but you..." His kind eyes met yours. "You surprised me many, many times here."

It was... a test? He was testing your faith. Your trust in the Destined one? And then again, he kept silent, thinking about these weeks alone with you.

You befriended many Yaoguai, chosen kindness. You, that stode in the center of the storm, still believed so little of yourself.

You were a shining star, not knowing how important you were. You started to be important for many... and for him. But this... this is another story.

"Time is near, Bián huá. He's coming, calling by your bounds and your destiny."

"Wh's co-" you realized. Your eyes started to water, remembering about your precious friend that you never, not even a single moment, had stopped hope he could find you.

"Yes," he smiled at you. "This is our last time together."

"I still have so many questions! I need to know! I...i...." those visions. He was his friend. What did he hide that faithful day?! 

"You'll have your answers... as his own."

Sound of steps in the snow. Someone was running, despite the ice, despite the cold. His fluffy tail, his strong and determined eyes.

Yuán Fèn.

"Keep cover, Y/N. You really don't want to see this fight."

///

That wasn't a fight.

You saw your friend fight—that wasn't one—and you couldn't even say that you were in your right mind because, for the first time, you didn't want a winner, nor a loser.

At the end of the fight, you don't know what happened, but light engulfed you, just like the day Erlang saved you from those celestial warriors.

When the light dimmed, you weren't on the snowy mountain anymore.

The warm light of spring danced between the branches of the plum blossoms; the wind slowly hummed between the trees, the grass tickling your feet. The sound of a creek, the chirping voices of the birds...where you even in the mortal realm. And...he was there.

Your normal gourmet was now an intricate Hanfu, pink like the flowers of the plum trees. He smiled a gentle smile; you questioned if it was real or just a product of your imagination.

"...where....are we?"

"I thought you would like some colors."

He remembered you as a prince and you as a princess, one that wondered if she was supposed to fit in her role. He held your hand, asking you one last time...to trust him.

Slowly, your fingers intertwined together, and there you saw it, another vision...

The truth.

You're hands still together, he held so strongly, afraid to lose these last moments. Your eyes start to water again. Small droplets of tears shined through the light.

"You...you and him...you planned it...all this time you..."

"He was a foolish one...to believe that a status could grant him freedom..." he chuckled, a bitter one like his medicines. "And yet... maybe... I too wanted something like that... yet I never had that kind of courage to do so."

Your throat was close, your legs trembled, and he was there, ready to catch you.

"....You..." Hiccups prevented you from formulating more words, but you couldn't stop. "You...suffered..all alone..all this time..I could never."

You couldn't hold it anymore, but his strong arm girded around you, trying to bring an inch of comfort to your heart. You figured out everything, and what you could only feel now was the immense sadness of his own story.

A friend for him, but a villain for many.

"The Bián huá... meant to change the circle... who could have guessed that even with me, you could find some kindness in the end?"

"NO!" Your hand gripped his white clothes. "You've...you've done it for him! You're not evil! You're not like them!"

He sighed,

sad smile on his face. He revealed your face to the light, caressing the eye that he tended with care. A flower appeared in your hair—a small plum flower, white and pure.

"As I would love to fight him over this treasure... this fight has already been won."

"What...what's going to happen now?"

"My dear, your journey...as his own...is only beginning."

And while everything faded, his lips seemed so soft, like those petals.

He still needs to steal something from him.

///

"I can't understand you! Your plan did work! Then why are you still moping around?!"

After the great fight, only Nezha decided to go and meet the sacred divinity.

"Little brother..." said Erlang in a sad tone. "You couldn't understand..."

The young one looked at his own senior...then gasped.

"Erlang...did you just..."

He didn't respond. He just held that flower and a small statue made of snow.

@sun-jglim

@sleepingdramaqueen

@crimsonflameproxy @everlastingmoonlightsworld @biankanoir

@cromboloni

@miraclecherryblossomsblog

@masksandfeathers @certifiedsimpinggalore

@cinnamonroll-anon @justrandomlypassing @cute-angi @dressycobra7 @virtualexpertanchor

@szynkaaa

@sleepydang

@kishimiest @marcu-bug

@weaverworks

@kirax-the-lazy-girl @luckyangelballoon

@phoenixeclipse-lmkau

@naarra

[brummiereader]

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS PART

Uptown Girl (Part Six)

Summary: As Tommy's plan to keep you late from the morning tea you had planned with your Grandmother comes to a successful end. You are both left at the mercy of her interrogations when you finally appear in the foyer to greet her. But with one set of questions having been answered, another swiftly follows. Those of your fiance, and his burning desire to seek revenge for your betrayal.

Warnings: Language, angst, smut (18+ Minors DNI), domestic abuse, assault, violence, use of one racial slur.

Word Count: 3836

"Again. Louder" Tommy's husky voice commanded as you stood propped up against his body with his finger buried inside of you. "Come on, sweetheart" his lips curled into a wicked smirk against your flushed cheek as the sound of Arrow Houses' morning bustle reverberated through the door shielding your risky rendezvous.

" Please" you moaned, your mouth agape with pleasure as he pushed another digit into you.

"Y/N..." he playfully cocked a brow, his eyes gleaming with mischievousness as his skilled fingers came to a sudden stop. Indulging in the sight of you squirming against him.

Having had enough of hearing you address him with unnecessary formalities for so long. Tommy was not only enjoying hearing you moan his name. He was intent on seeking you out and coaxing it from you in the most impractical of places. A pantry. You pushed up against a rickety shelf, stacked precariously with empty glass jars ready to be filled with fruits harvested from the grounds of your home. The few remaining pots from last season, scattered at your feet, having not survived Tommy's enthusiastic, thrusting fingers.

So he did want to get caught, you thought to yourself as you let out a pouty huff.

"You want someone to find us, don't you?" Your brow furrowed in question, only for your suspicions to be abruptly confirmed when his full lips grinned into your mouth as he nestled the pads of his fingers between your silky folds once again, drawing moan after head-spinning moan from your lips.

" Stay with me. Whatever happens with Arrow House, let's keep it this way" his breathy voice rippled against your skin as he curled his fingers. The subtle change of angle, enough to have you falling against his chest with a shudder.

" Tommy please, enough teasing. She'll be here any minute" you begged, unzipping his suit trousers in hopes your own roaming hand would be enough to speed up his painstakingly slow endeavor.

Convinced he was purposely trying to cause a stir of gossip, your Grannie would undoubtedly quiz you about during the mid-morning tea you were already fifteen minutes late for. His comments had gone amiss in the dizzying moment as he continued to languidly stroke you to your impending high.

"Patience, sweetheart. I think it's only fair, after the torture you put me through, eh?" his eyes shone with playfulness, swatting away your need for urgency as he dipped his lips to peck along your neck.

"Say it won't, Y/N. Say nothing will change" he raised his head, looking through his messy fringe tousled in front of his eyes. Seeking reassurance before his growing feelings slipped dangerously into the unknown he had guarded himself so diligently from.

" Tommy..." your chest fluttered, the echoes of his proposal finally catching up with your disheveled thoughts as you searched his eyes. Finding the steely blue barricade of safety lowered. At your mercy.

" Nothing will change" you voiced his words, eyes beaming back at him as you hooked your arms around his neck, pulling him further into your thumping heart.

" Can't hear you, sweetheart" his growing smile toyed one last time as his calloused fingers sped up. Intent on hearing his name fall from your lips as he tipped you over the edge.

" Nothing will...oh god, Tommy!" you gasped, burying your head in the crook of his neck as a warmth washed over you, flushing his hand with the evidence of your high as you desperately held on. Hoping to get one more second of that exquisite feeling.

Proud of himself for having coaxed such an enthusiastic response from you, Tommy watched as you clasped the straps of your garter back in place. Wishing he could throw the darned contraption and any others you might possess in the fire, to save himself time from accessing the only place he wanted to spend every waking moment of the day in.

" I mean it, darling" he approached you, pushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. " You and Cal..."

Cal, his name sent a shiver down your spine. Whatever did happen to your betrothed and his approaching steps of doom that were seconds from finding a man that was not him, fucking you against an aged cabinet less than twenty-four hours ago?

" I know" you stopped him, threading your fingers into his as you looked up to see the frustration he held for the man he hoped no longer had a hold on your every action. "It's time I put an end to it"

"Good" he gave a gentle squeeze of reassurance, followed by soft circling strokes over the backs of your hands.

"Because I like you, Y/N. I like you a lot" he said as the unmistakable signs of a smile creased the corners of his yearning eyes, the tip of his nose brushing against yours in a tender show of affection.

" I like you too, Tommy. I like you a lot"

"Ah, so she lives" your Grannie said upon seeing you and Tommy enter into the foyer. His Aunt, unexpectedly stood by her side.

"Miss Gray and I were about to send a search party out for you. I'm relieved to see you were at least in the company of one another, hm?" her lips pursed into a tight smile with raised brows as she looked between your reddening cheeks and Tommy's ball of deceit, bobbing up and down in his throat, ready with excuses. Even he wasn't immune to a scolding from society's elders.

" I see the resemblance, Miss Gray. Dark mane of hair" she turned to Polly's unenthusiastic frown of annoyance for her nephew, having her traipse up to Arrow House for a second time in less than a week.

"Pity he doesn't share my time keeping as of late" Polly glared at him, hoping he'd burn his fingers on the cigarette he was lighting to distract himself from their mutual interrogation.

" So it seems" Grannie observed you both, perching the weight of her fragile frame against her cane." Curious, my dears. Whatever did have you obtained for so long?"

" Stocks, Grannie. We were keeping track of the pantry's stock, now there's one more of us to feed" you slipped the little white lie past your lips. The truth being enough to cause your elderly Grandmother in urgent need of an ambulance.

"Shall we" you said briskly making your way to her as Polly shot Tommy a knowing look of disapproval, having noticed the top two buttons of your blouse undone, the glaring traces of Tommy's eagerness on your bruising neck.

" Polly" Tommy cleared his throat, leading her to follow in tow to the brunch awaiting them.

" Stocks" she shook her head at the hint of a smirk toying on the corner of her nephew's lips, the documents in her hand coming to a thud against his chest as her heels stopped in front of him.

"You're gonna bring the whole of high society down on your head if you don't do this properly, Tommy" she frowned at his interest droning out with every word she spoke, his thoughts distracted with the sight of you disappearing behind the living room door.

" Not that you would have it any other way" she rolled her eyes. Relinquishing to the fact that her nephews fondness of causing a scene was something he found enjoyment in.

" You know me, Aunt Pol. I can't help myself" Tommy shot her a cheeky smirk, earning him a backhanded slap across the arm as she turned to leave. But not before making one last embarrassing observation, of course.

" You're flying low, Thomas" she nodded her head down to his suit trousers, before her internal thoughts for the lie she was convinced you had both conjured up in regards to your tardiness echoed through the halls of Arrow House as she sauntered to the parlor. " Bloody stocks..."

" Thank you, Frances. But a scone without jam is such a sad looking thing, is it not?" Grannie looked down at her most favourite treat missing its key ingredient.

" I'm sorry, Mam. I'm afraid we're all out of jam. There seems to have been an accident in the pantry" Frances replied, scooping a hearty spoon of cream onto the baked goods.

" What a pity. One can only hope the breakage was worth it, no?" Grannie remarked, her curling lips smiling into the small porcelain cup, painted with summer florals as her eyes darted to each person in the room one by one.

" Grannie. The roses, have you seen the roses planted out front?" you quickly chimed in, your blushing cheeks enough to match that of the delicate flowers outside your home with every knowing smirk of enjoyment Tommy sent your way.

" I did, my dear. Miss Gray, are you prone to a spot of gardeni..." Grannie's conversation filtered from your ears as Tommy continued his endeavor to make you feel as flustered as you could possibly get resumed.

With the talk of the correct way to prune the prickly stemmed flower, now only a background noise in your and Tommy's small bubble of stares. You watched as his fingers, that were mere minutes ago deep inside you, brush over his lips, his piercing eyes observing you from his leather upholstered chair in silence. A silence shared with wanton need to relive the pleasure you brought to each other. The need to be within as close proximity to the other as much as you could possibly get.

Oh, the wicked things you did with that mouth, Tommy's lips parted, his pupils darkening as he watched your fingers trace the curves of your smile, brushing away the droplets of tea that had settled on them. His thoughts of the previous night and the many hours of passion that followed, continuing to distract his usually contained thinking.

Your own little secret. Hidden from the judgment of your peers, intent on shadowing the excitement you had for life. The same excitement you shielded behind the masquerade you would put on to silence their pointing fingers. A show Tommy now found enjoyement in. Knowing the real you. The one he had unraveled was for his eyes only. Solely for him.

" I used to grow a beautiful row of roses outside my home. Hybrid Teas" Polly's voice pulled you back into the conversation of the room as her fingers wistfully danced in front of her at the memory of the perfumed display that once adorned her cottage. " But since Tommy's frequent absence from the office, time's escaped me with my new job as skivvy to my selfless, dotting nephew..." her lips pursed with irritation for her newest of occupations as she lowered her tea cup down to its saucer with a clang.

" Mr Shelby! Heavens, have a heart for your dear Aunt" Grannie tutted, scolding his demanding behaviour.

" Well..." Tommy pulled a neatly rolled cigarette from it's silver case, placing it between his plump lips. " Maybe I've found better company" he finished, lighting the end with a puff of smoke into the air.

" And whose company might that be ?" Your Grandmother's head swiftly turned with curiosity to the boyish smirk she had grown found of.

" You have us positively on edge, Mr Shelby. Do tell" Grannie leaned in, her pressing interrogation matched with her famously formidable stare, enough to make the most hardened of gangsters bend.

" I have to go!" you bolted up from your seat, interrupting your Gran from worming the truth of your growing relationship out of your secret lover. A truth you found your fumbling fingers placing your rattling tea cup down on the ottoman in front of you, not ready to face without its main road block having not yet been dealt with.

" I have to check on my mare" you announced, smiling through your flustered face at the suspicious eyes of your Gran and Polly, curiously waiting for you to elaborate.

" She's...she's sore. From riding. Too much riding, poor thing" you chaotically mumbled through your words as you watched their lips purse into thinly composed smiles, unconvinced by your sudden need to be excused.

" I mean sore from saddling. Saddle sore. Mr Shelby's clearly too big for her" you blurted out with a weary laugh, when your eyes widened with embarrassment as your fumbling words caught up with the suggestiveness of your own, less than comfortable nether regions.

Shut up, god...shut up, you internally berated yourself, quickly turning on your heel and away from the low chuckle from said cause of discomfort.

" Well aren't you going to accompany her, Mr Shelby? And tend to the poor thing?" Your Grannie's wittiness quipped as Tommy rose from his seat.

" Ladies" he cleared his throat, briskly leaving the room as your Grandmother and Polly both exchanged knowing smiles of life's experiences.

" Idiots" Polly rolled her eyes at the mere suggestion you thought they were oblivious to the nature of your relationship.

" Yes, I quite agree" Grannie sighed absently as she raised her cup to her lips, when the door creaked open.

" Mr Shelby?" A stout man entered the room, his hair neatly slicked back with enough lacquer to set the place alight.

" You just missed him" Polly looked up to the pristinely suited and booted gentleman holding a briefcase in one hand and a sealed document in the other.

" Can we help you?" Grannie looked above her second serving of tea at another curiosity she would have join her morning of interrogations.

"I'm afraid it's a rather pressing matter" he replied, placing his business card of credentials on the small wooden table in front of them.

" Well then, you must hand it to us at once. So that it finds him in the quickest manner" Grannie demanded, having learnt of his occupation, and the services you and Tommy had both separately hired him to settle. The deeds of Arrow House, and its rightful owner.

" Rest assured. We will see that it gets to him" your grandmother encouraged his apprehension to hand the crucial document over. "Now, go on" she ushered him from her as he hovered by the table awaiting his payment in return for business.

" Shoo! Shoo!" Grannie waved her hand to the door, waiting for the sound of privacy to click shut.

"Lawyers. Vultures" Grannie rolled her eyes, passing the letter to her fellow conspirator, who swiftly pulled the butter knife from her plate to break the waxy seal.

"Arrow House is his. Shit" Polly sighed, after skimming the typed document and its most pressing details.

" Shit, indeed. Whatever do we do?" Grannie's face washed with worry for what this newly obtained information could mean to your and Tommy's growing relationship, when suddenly Polly removed the lid of the porcelain teapot, submerging the document under the brewing beverage.

" What they don't know, won't harm them" Polly concluded, taking matters into her own hands and away from the strain it had mutually caused you both.

" My thoughts exactly, Miss Gray" Grannie nodded in agreement, placing the lid over their shared crime. A crime made in love, with the best of intentions for the enamored couple that found themselves in the most unjust of situations a budding love could find itself in.

" My fiance..." Cal seethed, snorting the last of the powdery substance from the back of his hand as he drove along the graveled path to your home. Wide-eyed, hair disheveled, clothes smelling of booze. Cal had spent the remainder of the evening and early morning after his late night discovery, in the company of prostitutes, gambling tables and his most trusted lover. Opium.

"My fiance!" He laughed manically, opening the glove box to see his latest shiny purchase. A purchase he was intent on settling your betrayal with.

Stepping outside into the welcome breeze of summer, you continued to scold yourself for your inability to keep your scrambled words to yourself as Tommy's chuckling could be heard approaching you from behind.

" Sore, darling?" He teased, turning you around in his hands to face him and the smirk of enjoyment sitting on his irritatingly pretty face.

" Why didn't you stop me? God knows what I would have said next" Your cheeks reddened at the lingering embarrassment you knew you'd never be able to live down.

" Would it be so bad if they found out, eh?" he asked, ducking his head down to capture your eyes and the endearing stroppy frown creased between your brows.

" I think they already know, Tommy" you huffed, wanting to enjoy his company before your forbidden relationship made its rounds, and you found yourself in a daily routine of never-ending questions from gossiping ladies of society.

" Then what's the problem, love?" his feet shuffled along the gravel as he closed the gap between you, lifting your chin to meet his eyes.

" Well, don't...don't you think I should at least...you know...tell Cal before he finds out? You crossed your arms, loathing the fact he was still a thought in your life.

" Fuck him. I wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire" Tommy seethed, letting go of your waist as he reached in his suit pocket for his silver case of neatly lined up cigarettes. Brows furrowing at the mere mention of his name coming from your lips.

" I need to do this, Tommy. For my own self worth" you looked up to see the conflict he held with you giving even a minute of your time to the man that had taken countless of hours from yours, when the very same man himself, appeared speeding down the lane straight towards you.

" I'm staying" Tommy declared, squinting through the rays of sun to the car rapidly approaching as he held the small of you back, his fingers gripping in a gentle show of possessiveness. You were his. His girl.

" No. He won't do anything" you reassured the doubt in his eyes glaring back at you, his jaw tightening with reluctance to leave your side.

" Fine" he relented with a breathy sigh as his teeth ground together with frustration at your strong willingness to do things on your own accord. "But at any moment that bastard oversteps the line, eh..." Tommy walked in front of you, holding your cheeks in the safety of his hands. "...you call for me, and I'll show him how us backstreet boys deal with a coward that hits a women" his expression hardened, pressing a kiss to your temple before cautiously letting you go.

With long strides, Tommy headed to the stables, flicking his half smoken cigarette on the bonnet of his rival's car. Entertaining the idea of the piercing heat of the metal plate, matched with that of the tumbling burning tobacco, would conveniently find its way to the engine and blow the fucker up, giving him one less grave to dig.

"Fuck!" Cal snapped, slamming his hands on the stirring wheel, watching his opportunity to take revenge walk away, when his hatred honed in on its next target. You.

" Cal, we need to talk" you folded your arms as he threw the car door open, when you caught sight of his raging eyes and nervously took a step back.

"Yes we do, dearest" he sneered, grabbing your arm and pulling you to the side of the house to a darkened, shady spot away from peering eyes.

" Oh, will your secret lover be joining us? " he eratically span around with a crazed laugh to see your darting eyes looking for Tommy, when they suddenly landed on him, widening with dread as his words caught up with you. He knew.

Grabbing you by your arms, Cal slammed you against the brick wall. The back of your skull smashing against the gritted stone as he pushed his imposing frame against your body. Trapping you from escaping his retribution.

" What? You think I wouldn't find out about your late night encounters with him. You should have kept your clothes on, darling" he scoffed as his fingers caressed down your cheek, worming themselves around the nape of your neck to pull you into his burning face. Bubbling with enough fury to scold your delicate skin.

" A whore to a gypsy gangster" he seethed through gritted teeth, dragging your head back to look at him with a sharp pull of your hair clenched within his fist. " I doubt he'll mind if I have his sloppy seconds" Cal leered down your blouse as you began to writhe beneath him. Desperately pushing his snaking hands away from your body as you pleaded and begged for him to stop.

" Tommy!" Your lungs screamed for help, only to be silenced with a hand to your mouth as Cal began to unbutton his suit trousers, kicking your legs apart.

Muffled from making any more noise, your eyes welled with tears. Blurring the darkly image of the man in front of you pumping himself to erection when a surge of anger hurtled towards you and your teeth came down on to his hand in one last attempt to be free from him forcing his way with you.

" Rather a gangsters whore than your wife!" you spat his blood into the muddy ground, breathing heavily through your sobs of anger as you watched Cal stumble back, clutching his bloody bite mark.

Within the blink of an eye, Cal's crimsoned hand came up into the air, slapping you across the face with enough force to send you tumbling to the ground. Sending you into darkness in one single blow.

" Wake up, Y/N" he crouched down in front of you, tapping the side of your face as your heavy eyes fluttered open and closed.

"Y/N" his jaw clenched impatiently at your drowsy state as his hand came to wrap around your neck, squeezing the air from your lungs enough to force you awake with a shrieking gasp.

" Tell me, will this gangster pay for your dear brother's debts?" Cal probed as your eyes darted around in a panic, your nails clawing at his tightening grasp, your feet thrashing against the ground as your lungs collapsed into themselves, desperate for air. " What will Grannie say when she has to bury another member of her family. One that you let die?"

"Tommy" your hoarse voice, strained of air mumbled as your tears pooled over his veiny hand, taut with pressure clasped around your throat.

" Tommy! Oh, oh Tommy!" he mocked your calls for help, turning back to the empty grounds behind him with a taunting laugh.

" He'll get bored of you. Then what will you do? Maybe take up your newly-founded profession?" he smirked, wiping his bloody hand on the cheeks of your tear-stained skin as he released his fingers from around your neck.

"Your brother's life will be paid for, and in return you will walk down the aisle with me in three days' time" he stood up, kicking your leg to get your attention as you sat slumped against the bricks of your home, defeated, batted and bruised.

" I always get my way, sweet pea. Always"

NEXT PART

Tag list: @weaponizedvirtue @un-interneted (unable to tag) @mama-ivy @kmc1989 @leighla3

@emotionalcadaver @mamawiggers1980 @sweetcheesecakesblog @cljordan-imperium

@peakyswritings @tiedyedghoulette @mostly-marvel-musings @classygirlything21 @dana-rmz

[itsmemuffy]

Oh, Lover Boy

♡27 Days of Love: A Valentines Series (x)♡

Day One: A Secret Admirer

Contents: Logan Howlett x fem reader, pure fluff, reader is implied to be bisexual

You trotted down the quiet halls to your classroom. The sun had risen just enough to illuminate your surroundings with hazy rays of light. It was one of those slow, easy mornings when it served no purpose to be in a rush.

Skipping a hot morning meal in favor of a breakfast bar, you were setting up earlier than all the other professors. All the others except for Logan, that is. It was typical for him to be up before everyone else, savoring the quiet dawn.

Logan stood facing the hall leaning back on his desk. The hot mug of coffee in his hand was strong enough to fill the surrounding air with its toasty, bitter aroma.

He spotted you passing by his classroom door, greeting you with a wave and a lazy grin. You only smiled in response, the both of you in unspoken agreement not to break the morning silence just yet.

After you enter your class and open the blinds, you notice something you don't immediately recognize on your desk. On it sat a modest bouquet arranged in a glass mason jar- red and pink carnations grouped with clusters of baby's breath.

Beside the makeshift vase sat a plain piece of folded cardstock. Within the card was transcribed;

For the sweetest girl.

I could eat you right up.

You repeatedly turn the card over in your hands, attempting to process what was happening. In your time here, you have received the occasional flowers. Once or twice for teacher appreciation day or to send you well wishes after getting injured on a mission. Never with a note attached like that.

One thing that immediately stood out to you was how... nice the handwriting was. Definetly nicer than what you saw on a daily basis grading worksheets. The cursive on the note was neat and old-fashioned. Every dip and curve connecting the letters appeared to be penned out with care, deliberate but posessing minimal embellishment or frills.

The list of potential suspects that may be behind this was admittedly short. The night previous you stayed up grading papers until a late hour. Not to mention how early you had arrived today. It could only of been from someone within the mansion.

You cancel out everyone already in a relationship. Oh god, unless Jean and Scott need a third... And then you rule out some less likely contenders. It's probably not Charles... right?

Now you analyze the most likely suitors. Did all those times Ororo put a hand on the small of your back mean something? Was there an alterior motive when Kurt asked you to join him on his yoga sessions? You stand there driving yourself crazy with these thoughts until the morning bell chimes, signaling students to start rolling in to class.

To say you were flustered would be an understatement. The warmth in your chest persisted throughout your lessons. You couldn't tell whether to be flattered or embarassed.

The past couple of years you had shifted your focus away from romance, dedicating your life to help build a community for your fellow mutants. February had become just another month. Being the object of a secret affection was not something you were prepared for.

It was all you could think about, and you couldn't look any of your colleagues in the face while not knowing who left those flowers. After you dismiss your students for lunch, you cook up a scheme to get to the bottom of this. Your plan of action was to visit each class in the hall, peeking at the chalkboards and comparing the handwriting to the one on your note.

You start with the room adjacent to your own. On the board, Ororo had written out an introduction on the ecology unit she had just begun with her students. Unfortunately the letters were too small and close together. Decoratave loops gave her writing a regal effect- beautiful, just like her. Unfortunately, not a match.

One door over brought you to Kurt's drama class. His scribe was much more loose and relaxed than the mystery candidate or Storm's. Something about his handwriting was quite adorable. You find yourself getting sucked in reading pointers he left on Shakespearean tragedies before moving on.

You encounter an issue with your strategy when you find Logan's classroom still occupied by its professor. He sat as his desk doting over a stack of essays on the revolutionary war. To make matters even worse, his chalkboard was blank- freshly wiped down and ready to teach the next group of students.

So caught up in thought, you couldn't have realized you were awkwardly standing in his doorway for quite some time. A rough, easy voice spoke out to you and snapped you out of it.

"Can I help you?" Logan locked eyes with you.

"Oh, I uhh..." You wrung your hands as you made up an excuse, "I was wondering if... you had any spare clipboards? I can't seem to locate mine."

"Clipboards?" He scoffed, but his tone was softer than what was usual for him. You felt a wave of embarrassment crash over you. "Yeah, think I got one in one these drawers."

Logan turned to his desk and started digging for your requested item. He rummaged through piles of probably-dead pens and junk he never uses. You slowly step forward until you stand right behind him.

You leaned in closer, trying to peek over his shoulder discreetly. Close enough to smell the stale tobacco that clung to his jacket. Underneath you picked up the scent of the woodsy cologne he always wore. He never sprayed too much, using just enough where you could only sense it in intimate proximity.

You shift your weight to one foot to keep your balance as you lean forward. Suddenly, the bottom of your shoe loses traction with the floor beneath and you slide into his desk. You catch yourself on the surface of the wood with your arm.

Logan jolts as your hand slams in front on him. "What's the hold up, bub?" You picked up the annoyance in his voice and immediately wanted to dig a hole to bury yourself in.

"Oh, I was just trying to see if..." Fuck. The last thing you wanted to do was embarass yourself further. "Nevermind, it's nothing."

He takes your wrist within his grasp, touch much more gentle than you anticipated. "Are ya going to tell me why the hell you're acting so weird?"

You were now within his hold facing him, closer than you think you've ever been to Logan. Your hands crane as your not quite sure where to put them. He lets your wrist go to hold onto your arm.

"It's nothing..." your eyes dart trying to avoid his gaze. "It's... nevermind."

"Can't be nothin' if it's got ya actin' so jumpy." His breath is fanning the strands of hair dangling over your face.

"Well, someone left me flowers on my desk this morning." He nods in response. "And I was trying to figure out who they were from by the writing on the note." He nods again, like a light bulb went off over his head.

"Ah," Logan tsks. He steps forward and your hands in front of you naturally fall on his chest. "Didja like 'em, sweet girl?"

Your breath caught in your throat as he brings his free hand to lift your chin to meet his gaze. His pupils were so dark and wide you could fall into them, but his expression was relaxed.

Logan was now the center of gravity and you were falling into him. Soft, thin lips and rough stubble had you in his orbit. Your mouth goes slack and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his hand on your chin traveling to cup your cheek. You never had a kiss that took your breath away quite like this. By the time he pulls back to look at you, you are already desperate for more.

"Figured ya would."